Miscellanies By John Armstrong ... In Two Volumes |
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| III. |
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| III. |
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| III. | ACT III. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| IV. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| VI. |
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| XI. |
 | Miscellanies |  |
55
ACT III.
SCENE I.
OLYMPIA, VICTORIA.VICTORIA.
Come, cousin, you may breathe here freely; come,
There floats no fulsome incense here. You need
Fresh air; a tempest were almost too little
To fan this musky cloud of flattery off.
Foh! Such a stench of perfume suffocates worse
Than a volcano's mouth. Heaven! what a tongue!
I do believe the Devil inspires him. Bless me!
With what a face of plain sincerity,
With what a serious confidence, he throws out
The most extravagant flatteries! How they work
On your hard heart I know not: but for me,
I feel so tickled with my share, God knows,
I shall not sleep these three nights.
OLYMPIA.
Ah VICTORIA!
Was ever one so wretched?
VICTORIA.
To be teized thus
Indeed is most vexatious. But an hour,
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A long tempestuous night, a sudden blaze
Like noon burst out, almost with shocking brightness.
It smiled a while, enchantingly it smiled,
And promised balmy climes and happy shores:
Then, like a dream of th' air, this gaudy meteor,
This phantom of a sun, dissolved itself
Into the waste of darkness.
OLYMPIA.
Ah me! VICTORIA!
What shall I do?
VICTORIA.
Be firm, and never yield.
You're in the right, and cannot be too obstinate,
Be constant still; a little struggling more
Will end this strife.
OLYMPIA.
Alas! alas! all's over.
VICTORIA.
All's over! How my dear? I say keep firm.
Why this despondence? recollect yourself.
Have you, good Heaven! forgot your father's promise,
So lately made? his unexpected promise,
So voluntarily made? Insist on that.
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Abide inflexibly by that.
OLYMPIA.
Alas!
You come not near my grief.
VICTORIA.
I guess it. But
There's something yet more shocking than the loss of
A faithless lover. What you may avoid;
And will I hope.
OLYMPIA.
Sure you have never loved.
VICTORIA.
My dear OLYMPIA, would you have me whine?
And with an ill-timed sympathy indulge
A mind already too much softened, when
Th' occasion calls for fortitude and spirit?
One effort more—fear nothing—the steady mind
O'er-matches fate itself.—
OLYMPIA.
My fate approaches.
Ah my VICTORIA!—You heard the news?
VICTORIA.
I did.
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Do you believe it? May it not be false still?
Tell me sincerely what you think.
VICTORIA.
'Tis hard
To judge; a little time will shew it.
OLYMPIA.
But
May it not possibly enough be false?
It comes from a suspicious hand. A falsehood
Believ'd for e'er so short a time may speed
A wicked purpose; and this art they say
The cunning often practise.—Besides, this messenger
Appears not yet; 'tis noon too.—Ah VICTORIA!
Is there not room to hope still?
VICTORIA.
Dear OLYMPIA!
I would suppose the worst in doubtful cases.
For better mortify a little needlesly,
Than meet misfortune unprepared.
OLYMPIA.
Alas!
I am my own impostor. Strange, that misery
59
Resolve at once to look upon my fate?
A SERVANT.
Madam, a Gentleman, one Signor STURIO,
Begs at your leisure to attend you.
OLYMPIA.
STURIO!—
Well shew him in—STURIO you said? Good Heaven!
What shall I do, VICTORIA!—Stay—I'm busy.
Excuse me to him.—Tell him—by and by
I shall be glad to see him. When I ring
You may conduct him hither.
Ah VICTORIA!
[Sitting down hastily.]
What shall I do?
I cannot see this man:
[Rising.]
This beating at the heart makes it impossible—
I pant for breath—I shall not have the power
To speak one word.—Ah me!
VICTORIA.
Dearest OLYMPIA!
Yield not to this alarm. Recover yourself.
This flutter cannot last.
OLYMPIA.
Must I be seen
In this confusion? It must not be—I will not.
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Receive this visit for me? Do, dear cousin.
Say I am sick, or whimsical, or mad;
Say any thing, and let me hide myself.
VICTORIA.
Stay, dear OLYMPIA. Come: it cannot be.
You cannot now with honour to yourself
Avoid this interview. Come, come, be firm.
'Twill soon be over. Were the case my own,
I think I should with most contemptuous coolness
Receive the last leave of a faithless man.
What should you fear who know the worst already?
Let indignation shake this tim'rous fit off;
And shew yourself superior to the loss
Of one not worth the keeping. Come, you can;
I know, I'm sure, you can.
OLYMPIA.
I am ashamed
Of this base weakness.—Well, what must be must be.
[Rings.]
Now, Heaven support me!
VICTORIA.
Never fear. The fit
Goes off: and what alarms you now, my dearest,
You will hereafter laugh at.—Shall I leave you?
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No, stay.—He comes.—Ah!
VICTORIA.
Let him. He's more afraid
Than you.
SCENE II.
OLYMPIA, VICTORIA, STURIO.STURIO.
All happiness to Lady OLYMPIA.
OLYMPIA.
You're welcome, Sir, from Sicily.—Pray sit, Sir.
I'm glad to see you; you're a mighty stranger.
We have not seen you I'm sure almost these two years.
How like you Sicily, Sir? They say it is
A most enchanting spot.
STURIO.
A Paradise, Madam.
OLYMPIA.
They say so. Pray what news there, Sir? I hope
You left all friends well, and—amongst the rest
How does your friend ALPHONSO?
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Madam, I left him well.
OLYMPIA.
We're told he has altered his condition lately.—
He's married?—Is he not?—This Lady, Sir,
My friend, may know whate'er belongs to me.
He's married?—
STURIO.
Madam—
OLYMPIA.
Well, I wish him joy
With all my heart. I hope 'tis happily.
The Lady—you have seen her?
STURIO.
Often, Madam.
CASERTA's daughter: not a first-rate beauty,
Nor yet quite homely.
OLYMPIA.
Well, I wish them happy
With all my sonl.—No other news, Sir?
STURIO.
None. But
This letter, Madam, parting from ALPHONSO,
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Th' abruptness of this hurry; business calls me:
And what more time I have to spare at present
Lord STRENI claims. Madam, may all that's good
Ever attend you.
OLYMPIA.
I thank you, Sir. Farewell.—
SCENE III.
OLYMPIA, VICTORIA.OLYMPIA.
Ah! ah! VICTORIA!
[Throwing herself into a chair.]
VICTORIA.
Dear OLYMPIA, patience!—
What shall I do?—When I should comfort her
I weep myself.—My dear OLYMPIA!—
OLYMPIA.
Ah me!
VICTORIA.
This desperate grief will kill her.
OLYMPIA.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
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My dear OLYMPIA, let us not indulge
This weakness of our spirit.—Come, my dearest,
Come rouse yourself.
OLYMPIA.
Alas! alas! VICTORIA!—
Do not despise me.
VICTORIA.
Nay, my dear, this weakness
Has nothing shameful in it. As it shews
A delicate mind, it is a beauty rather;
And only grows a fault and a misfortune
By too much yielding to it.
OLYMPIA.
Ah VICTORIA!—
I am so humbled with repeated shocks
That my tame spirit sinks beneath its wrongs.—
But for this letter—I am blind with weeping—
Read it, VICTORIA.
VICTORIA.
Burn it.
OLYMPIA.
Read it first.
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“Madam, in spite of all your neglects I have prevailed upon myself to write to you once more, that you may know I have temper enough to forgive them. I am not so selfish as to disapprove of your choice; it is perfectly prudent; for wealth you know is the great support of female pride: vanity I should say, for pride is too noble a name for it. I wish you joy of your Count; there is one noble quality attends him—he is rich. But if he ever dares appear where I am, were he twenty times your husband, I shall take the liberty to put him in mind of some other qualities I have discovered in him. In the mean time I am so far from reproaching you with inconstancy, that I thank you for having shewn it before it could essentially hurt me. I am following your example, and shall forget all former attachments as fast as I can. It is what I owe in justice to myself, and to one of your sex who deserves all my love and esteem. Farewell, OLYMPIA! You are not what I thought you once. But may Heaven rain gold upon you! So prays the forgiving, tho' monstrously abused ALPHONSO”
OLYMPIA.
What does he say?
[Snatching the letter.]
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Cousin, I give you joy
Of this deliverance from one worthless man.
OLYMPIA.
What does he say?—All my neglects—that's well.
He has prevailed upon himself—'Tis much
So great a spirit should condescend so far
As to abuse me!—I have temper enough—
Yes temper! surely—To forgive you, that's pleasant—
'Tis pity you should have reason to forgive me.
Your choice is perfectly prudent—Fool! what choice?
The only choice I ever made was a wrong one,
And I'm ashamed of't—thank Heaven I've missed it!—
Choice!—
What's this he talks
Of wealth—of female pride, and vanity?—
Such rambling stuff!—he's mad! the man's distracted!
You wish me joy. Heaven mend your crazy head!
Did you ever hear the like?
VICTORIA.
'Tis an original.
OLYMPIA.
But if he ever dares appear, &c.
How well he counterfeits anger, and plays the bully!—
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From reproaching you with inconstancy, &c.
—Before it could essentially hurt me—
What does he mean? There is no bearing this!
Base foul-mouthed perjured traitor, have you the face
Thus to abuse me, whose only fault to you
Was too much constancy? I'm well repaid
For all the griefs my foolish constancy
Has cost me!—Am I not, VICTORIA?
VICTORIA.
Curse him!
He is not worth your anger.
OLYMPIA.
I am following your example—
Good again!—and shall forget—forget
Me! by all means do. In justice to one
Of your sex who deserves all my love and
Esteem—
That she may do without deserving much.—
You are not what I thought you once—
No more are you—May Heaven
Rain all its plagues upon me, if you dwell
A moment longer here—Thus, thus I tear
The villain from my heart. 'Tis done at once.—
There, there—thou art no more.
[Tearing the letter.]
68
Who talks of want
Of spirit? How this haughtiness becomes thee!
This indignation's charming.
OLYMPIA.
Well, I'm cured
Of one great folly. How light my heart feels from
A villainous guest that sat like lead upon it!
My spirit mounts again. Believe me, cousin,
I'm glad of this man's baseness; I enjoy it:
There's luxury in it. I do not entertain
A wish so tame as that he had proved unalterable.
'Tis better as it is. It feeds my spite
Voluptuously to find him such a villain.
I wish he knew how heartily I scorn him!
How thoroughly I detest him!—He shall know it.
I'll make him feel it.—
VICTORIA.
Your absolute neglect,
As if such things had never past, will gall him.
'Twill be the finest vengeance! Cool neglect,
If there is pride in him, will humble him more
Than fifty thousand spiteful offices.
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Oh! that mean letter! I could tear myself.
I wish the palsy had seized this hand before
It did me such disgrace.
VICTORIA.
My dear OLYMPIA,
Ne'er let that hurt you. You did but what was honourable.
Were it to do again you should.—It leaves
His baseness no excuse.
OLYMPIA.
Pray, when this message came,
How did I look, VICTORIA? tell me plainly.
Did I seem violently shocked?
VICTORIA.
By no means.
OLYMPIA.
Look'd I not flush'd and pale by turns? No signs
Of wildness or disorder?
VICTORIA.
None that he could perceive.
OLYMPIA.
Did I not faulter in my speech a little?
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Not more than I do now.
OLYMPIA.
Nor tremble?
VICTORIA.
No.
Thou didst behave with so composed a grace,
I could have hugg'd thee.
OLYMPIA.
Well, I'm glad of this.
And now, VICTORIA, I shall shew this false one
How slightly I regard him. I have the means
To shew him instantly 'twas honour, more
Than ill-directed love, that made me stand
So long and close a siege; made me hold out
To disobedience, almost to rebellion,
Against my father's threats, his warm intreaties,
Against his wiser choice. My honour now
Absolved, I cannot be too passive to
My filial duty.
VICTORIA.
What dost thou mean, OLYMPIA?
OLYMPIA.
To mortify a villain's insolence.
71
But how?
OLYMPIA.
By giving my rejected vows to
The man he hates; whom for his sake I scorned;
Whom now I love because I know he hates him.
Yes, I will give his mortal foe my hand.—
By heaven, I will!
OLYMPIA.
You will! indeed not you.
OLYMPIA.
Then, if I do not, may the—
SCENE IV.
OLYMPIA, VICTORIA, STRENI.STRENI.
Well, OLYMPIA.
You cannot doubt it now? The truth appears
At last. You see, what happens every day,
The fickleness of youthful vows: despise it;
The dignity of your sex demands it of you.
Laugh at it.
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Nay, my Lord, I have forgot it.
There is but one reflection stings me now.
I have, against my nature, stubbornly
Opposed my father's will, his just command.
Most heartily I repent it; and I hope
Your goodness will forgive a crime which honour
Betrayed me to. My honour disengaged,
I have no will but yours.
STRENI.
There spoke my daughter!
My will, my pleasure is to see you happy.
'Tis that engrosses all my cares; for that
Have I so steadily withstood your tears,
And made the weakness of affection yield
To rigid reason. Now th' auspicious hour
Appears; and not to dally needlesly
With time, what must be done to-morrow may
As well be done to-day. Nay were it only
For triumph's sake, to make as light of love
As the most fickle boy, the sooner the better.
This very day—
OLYMPIA.
This moment!
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Hold, OLYMPIA!
STRENI.
Hold you, VICTORIA!
VICTORIA.
No: I will not hold.
Shall I, my Lord, when hurried by despair
My friend would plunge into the boiling deep,
Look calmly on, and cry Well done; 'tis right;
This world is not for you; destroy yourself;
And do it bravely, as becomes your spirit?—
But this is worse. Death ends all human woes:
But this is launching a weak slender bark
Into a sea of sorrows.
STRENI.
Pray, good madam,
None of your rhetoric.
VICTORIA.
I affect not rhetoric.
'Tis truth.
STRENI.
'Tis false.
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My Lord, I should be grieved
To see the trial hazarded.—OLYMPIA!—
You're going in a sudden fit of spleen
To throw yourself away. ALPHONSO has done it.
But disagreeable ties sit not so heavy
On his as on our sex. Yet he's unhappy:
Self-ruined, blindly hurried to his fate.
For he has married from mere pique, I'm positive;
And loves you still. That angry letter shews it.
OLYMPIA.
Love me! Ne'er name him more: it shocks me.
VICTORIA.
Cousin,
Is't possible a little passing gust
Of spleen should drive you to devote your life
To eternal discontent? To wed the man
You cannot love—whom you despise?—Good Heaven!
The moment that you cool you'll give the world
To have the deed undone.
STRENI.
This is intolerable!
VICTORIA, you're too busy, much too busy.
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Affairs.
VICTORIA.
My friend's are mine. Pray, good my Lord,
What interest of my own have I to meddle?
'Tis neither vanity nor love of brawls,
I'm sure, that makes me busy. But is this
A time for tame implicit complaisance?
Can I sit still, and silently approve
When those I love are bent on desperate deeds?
Call me officious and impertinent,
As many meddlers as you chuse, I care not.
For be as angry as you please, at least
I will discharge my mind.
STRENI.
You're mad, you're mad.—
You're mad, I tell you.
VICTORIA.
'T may be.—But dear OLYMPIA.
Why will you hurry on a change, at best
So awful; here most certainly so fatal?
OLYMPIA.
It is my father's will.
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Your father is
Too good to exact obedience here, against
Your inclination. 'Tis not very long since
He told you so.
STRENI.
Good God! what must I bear?
Is this exaction? Bless me! is it not
Her own free choice?—Pray, is it not, OLYMPIA?
OLYMPIA.
Alas! my father!—
STRENI.
What wouldst thou say?
OLYMPIA.
Forgive
My wavering mind. I want not to retract
My hasty promise. Only give me time,
A little time, till old impressions die;
That I may yield a more devoted heart,
A heart more worthy of a good man's vows.
STRENI.
Heaven's curse on all romance! You've learnt, OLYMPIA,
A delicacy foreign to this world.
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Yourself into a fool. How many matches,
And happy matches too, had ne'er been made
Were all your sex as scrupulous as you are.
But you're so fickle, now you say this moment,
And now next year.
OLYMPIA.
Alas! it was my rashness.
I hope my father will not urge against me
What passion tortured from me.
STRENI.
Who can bear this?
By Heaven I shall run mad!—To have a daughter
So obstinate against her father's will!
Against her own good fortune!—Gracious Heaven!
Why did you curse me with a stubborn child?
I have but one, and she's—
VICTORIA.
Dear good my Lord,
Why all this heat? OLYMPIA knows her duty;
And only begs a little time—
STRENI.
To shuffle.
I'll have no more of that. I have too long
78
Be longer trifled with in this, depend on't.
And if she is my daughter; if I live,
This day shall make her, what she ought to wish,
Count CLAUDIO's wife: this very hour shall do it.
By Heaven it shall.
VICTORIA.
But why to-day, my Lord?
Why should it be so sudden?
STRENI.
'Tis my pleasure,
I'll have it so. Let me alone; I know sure
What I am doing.
VICTORIA.
Yet hear me, good my Lord—
STRENI.
No more! I would not have you waste your breath.
'Tis fix'd; and may I never taste of bliss
If ought shall shake me.
VICTORIA.
O Heaven!—
OLYMPIA.
Cousin, forbear.—
Pardon it father to my perverse fate
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'Tis but in this I e'er could hesitate
At one command of yours. You are determined;
And were it to my ruin, I obey.
I've nothing more to plead.
STRENI.
My dearest child,
Not to thy ruin; Heaven forbid! I lead thee
To honour, happiness, establish'd bliss.
Thou soon shalt be the envy of thy sex,
And I the happiest father Heaven e'er smiled on.
Come; let us go, and seize the prosperous hour;
No dallying now, while fortune's in our power.
VICTORIA.
Alas! alas! what fortune I foresee
In this, is black, and ends in misery.
| Miscellanies | |