University of Virginia Library

SCENE FROM THE MUSICAL FARCE OF “THE BEGGAR GIRL.”

Scene—A Wood.
Time—Night.
COL. MORDAUNT.
Now roars the tempest hoarse, and heavy rains
Swell the harsh-sounding rills; while ev'ry blast
Shakes the proud oak, that on the mountain's height,
Reigns monarch of the woods. The humble shrub,
Safe in the shelter'd vale, feels not its rage!
Thus, are some minds on fortune's summit plac'd,
Toss'd by rude storms the peasant hears unmov'd.
I'll to the inn, and rest.—Rest, did I say?
Alas! by grief o'ercome, 'tis now some days,
Since balmy sleep invited to my pillow.
O, life! what art thou?—But a load of sorrow;
That man, weak reptile, shrinking still must bear!
Must bear? (Pauses for some moments)
Not so!
(Draws a pistol in despair)
This, this can end my woes! —My wife, the sweetest flow'r that ever bloom'd,
A prey to th' worms!—Her father's cruelty—
The thought is hell!—My daughter!—But no more!
My heart-strings burst, and frenzy heats my brain;
O, how it burns! it burns!—Now, now we meet,
No more to part!

(Presents the pistol to his head. Enter Capt. Cleveland, who quickly seizes his arm; Mordaunt throws away the pistol.)
CAPT. CLEVELAND.
Dear friend! dear, but rash Mordaunt!

MORDAUNT.
What! Cleveland's voice? again, thank Heav'n, I'm well!
O I had like t' have done the fatal deed—
Poor thoughtless, frantic wretch!

CLEVELAND.
Do be composed. Good Mordaunt list to me—

MORDAUNT.
How near I stood
The dreadful precipice of endless ruin;
And tremble yet.—What! scorn th' Almighty's pow'r!
And dare him to the conflict! How my mind
Sinks at the bare rememb'rance; and cold damps
Hang on my weakened body. I could weep
And welcome death, for life is reft of joys:
But time may bring repentance.
(Kneels)
O most high!
A trembling sinner bends to thee for mercy.
Grant, thou, whate'er my suff'rings in this world,
That christian fortitude may ne'er forsake me;
But still may I prepare for that to come!
(Rises)
O Cleveland! what a change! Religion pours
Her healing balm of comfort o'er my mind,
And come what will, I'll wait death's friendly blow!

CLEVELAND.
How fortunate am I, thus, from the grave,
To snatch a brother; brave and merciful:
Whose deeds in foreign climes, long, long will live—
Who at the peril of his life, sav'd mine!

MORDAUNT.
Cleveland, if thou'rt a friend, name that no more.

CLEVELAND.
Hearing you had left the inn, I trac'd you
To this lone spot. Forever will this hour
The happiest seem, of all my happy days.

MORDAUNT.
Cleveland, may Heav'n long guard thee, my preserver!
Let me again embrace thee. We'll to th' inn.
My spirits, quite exhausted, lack repose.