University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The street before Arden's door.
Mosby
alone.
The morning's dark, and horrid, as my purpose.—
Thrice have my snares been laid for Arden's life,
And thrice hath he escap'd.—I am not safe:
The living may revenge.—Oh! cou'd I win
Alicia to conspire her husband's fall,
Then might I say, security, thou'rt mine,
And laugh at all to come.—For other instruments,
There's Green: he bears him hard about this suit
For th'abbey-lands, to which the hot youth pleads
Some fancy'd right.—Michael, the trencher-fav'rite;
A bastard, bred of Arden's charity:
He has been privy to our secret joys,
And, on that trust presuming, loves my sister—
Winks at adultery, and may at murder.
Maria is his price. I've plac'd her here,
Companion of my sweet Alicia's hours,
To spread her charms for ever in his eye:
To her are all my visits. But Alicia—
She must, she shall comply: when to my arms
Her honour she resign'd, her fond reluctance whisper'd,
She cou'd deny me nothing.—This to try.

[Exit into Arden's house.

SCENE II.

A chamber.
Arden
in his night-gown.
Unhappy Arden, whither canst thou wander
To lay thy heavy load of sorrows down!
Will change of place relieve th'afflicted mind,
Or does all nature yield a balm to cure
The pangs of slighted love and broken faith?
Ungrateful false Alicia! false with Mosby,
The vile dependent of my foe profess'd,
Lord Clifford's full-fed flatt'rer!—O damn'd!—
Come, Franklin, come: Arden, thy friend invites thee;
And let me pour my griefs into thy bosom,
And find in friendship what I've lost in love.

Enter Alicia.
Alic.
Why, Arden, do you leave your bed thus early?
Have cold and darkness greater charms than I?
There was a time when winter-nights were short,
And Arden chid the morn that call'd him from me.

Ard.
This deep dissembling, this hypocrisy,
The last worst state of a degen'rate mind)
Speaks her in vice determin'd and mature.

[Aside.
Alic.
What maid, that knows man's variable nature,
Wou'd sell her free estate for marriage bonds?
From vows and oaths, and every servile tye,
The tyrant man at pleasure is set free;
The holy nuptial bond leaves him at large;
Yet vests him with a power that makes us slaves.
'Tis heav'nly this—

Ard.
To stop my just reproach
Art thou the first to tax the marriage state?

Alic.
Are you not jealous? do you not give ear
To vain surmises and malicious tongues,
That hourly wound my yet untainted fame?

Ard.
And wou'dst thou make me author of the shame
Thy guilt has brought on us!—I'll bear no longer.
The traitor Mosby, curs'd, detested Mosby,
Shall render an account for both your crimes.

Alic.
What do I hear!

[Aside.
Ard.
That base mechanic slave
Shall answer with his blood.

Alic.
O hear me speak.

Ard.
No, I am deaf: As thou hast ever been
To fame, to virtue, and my just complaints.

Alic.
Thus on my knees.

Ard.
Adult'ress! dost thou kneel
And weep, and pray, and bend thy stubborn heart
(Stubborn to me) to sue for him?—Away,
Away this instant, lest I kill thee too.
[Recovering himself.]
No—Not the hell thou'st kindled in this bosom
Shall make me shed thy blood.

Alic.
I do not hope it.

Ard.
For me, be as immortal as thy shame.

Alic.
I see your cruel purpose: I must live,
To see your hand and honour stain'd with blood.
Your ample fortune seiz'd on by the state,
Your life a forfeit to the cruel laws.
O Arden, blend compassion with your rage,
And kindly kill me first.

Ard.
Not for my sake
Are all thy tears (then had you felt them sooner,)
Plead not the ruin you have made; but say
Why have you driven me to these extremes?
Why sacrific'd my peace, and your own fame,
By corresponding with a menial slave?

Alic.
Thou canst not think, that I have wrong'd thy bed?

Ard.
Wou'd I cou'd not!

Alic.
By heav'n!—

Ard.
No perjuries.
But now, as you lay slumb'ring by my side,
I still awake, anxious and full of thought,
(For thou hast banish'd sleep from these sad eyes)
With gentle accents thrilling with desire,
You call'd on Mosby, love made me doubt my ears,
And question if the dark and silent night
Conspir'd not with my fancy to deceive me:
But soon I lost the painful pleasing hope;
Again you call'd upon your minion Mosby.
Confirm'd, I strove to fly your tainted bed,
But, wanting strength, sunk lifeless on my pillow.
You threw your eager arms about my neck,
You press'd my bloodless cheeks with your warm lips,
Which glow'd adult'ress, with infernal heat;
And call'd a third time on the villain Mosby.

Alic.
A dream indeed, if I e'er call'd on him.

Ard.
Thy guilty dreams betray thy waking thoughts.

Alic.
I know I'm simple, thoughtless, and unguarded;
And what is carelesness, you construe guilt.
Yet were I weak as those fantastic visions,
Sure I cou'd never have condemn'd you, Arden,
On circumstances and an idle dream.

Ard.
But such a dream.—

Alic.
Yet was it but a dream,
Which, tho' I not remember, I abhor;
And mourn with tears, because it gives you pain.
Arden, you do not wish me innocent,
Or on suspicions cou'd you doom me guilty!

Ard.
Not wish thee innocent! do sinking mariners,
When struggling with the raging seas for life,
Wish the assistance of some friendly plank?
'Tis that, and that alone, can bring me comfort.

Alic.
O jealousy! thou fierce remorseless fiend,
Degen'rate, most unnatural child of love;
How shall I chace thee from my Arden's bosom?

Ard.
There is a way, an easy way, Alicia.—

Alic.
O name it—speak.

Ard.
What's past may be forgotten.
Your future conduct.—

Alic.
You distract me, Arden.
Say, how shall I convince you of my truth?

Ard.
I ask but this: never see Mosby more.
[He starts.
By heav'n, she's dumb!

Alic.
O how shall I conceal
My own confusion, and elude his rage?

[Aside.
Ard.
Thou'rt lost, Alicia!—lost to me—and heav'n.

Alic.
Indeed I'm lost, if you unkindly doubt me.

Ard.
Wilt thou then ne'er converse with Mosby more?

Alic.
If e'er I do, may heav'n, and you, forsake me!

Ard.
You'll keep your word, Alicia!—Prithee, say—

Alic.
You'll break my heart.

Ard.
I'd rather break my own.
Then thou art innocent, and lov'st me still.

Alic.
And ever will.

Ard.
Give me thy hand—thy heart,
O give me that!

Alic.
That always was your own.

Ard.
Thou flatterer—then whence this cruel strife?
Still art thou cold: nor warm are thy embraces,
Nor sparkle in thine eyes the fires of love:
Cold, cold, and comfortless.

Alic.
Indeed you fright me.

Ard.
'Tis possible.

Alic.
What?

Ard.
That thou may'st yet deceive me.

Alic.
O! I am wretched!

Ard.
Both perhaps are so.
But if thou ever lov'dst, thou'lt not despise me,
And wilt forgive me, if indeed I've wrong'd thee,
As I've forgiven thee—Pity, I'm sure, I need.
[Exit Arden.

Alic.
Thou hast it, Arden, ev'n from her that wrongs thee.
All, all shall pity thee, and curse Alicia.
Can I feel this, and further tempt the stream
Of guilty love! O whither am I fallen!

Enter Maria.
Mar.
An happy day, Alicia—and may each morn
Of coming life be usher'd with like joy.
Franklin, from court return'd, has brought the grant
Of the abbey-lands confirm'd by the young king,
To Arden for his life: nor will deliver
But to himself the Deed.

Alic.
A worthy friend!
The grant is not more welcome to my husband,
Than Franklin's company.

Mar.
He's flown to meet him.

Enter a servant.
Serv.
Madam, your brother Mosby—

Alic.
Where is Mosby?

Serv.
He waits below.—

Alic.
O haste, and lead me to him.

Serv.
Madam, he but desires to see his sister.

Alic.
His sister! what! did he not ask for me?

Mar.
Perhaps—

Alic.
Pray, give me leave—looks he in health?

Serv.
He seems in health—

Alic.
Here, and not ask for me!
Seems he or angry then, or melancholy?—
Answer me, stock, stone.—

Serv.
Truly, I can't say.

Alic.
Thou canst say nothing—Get thee from my sight.
Yet stay—no matter. I'll myself go seek him.

[Exeunt Alicia and servant.
Mar.
Where reason is, can passion thus prevail!
[Exit Maria.

SCENE III.

A parlour in Arden's house.
Enter Alicia meeting Mosby.
Alic.
Mosby, that brow befits our wayward fate.
The evil hour, long fear'd, is fallen upon us,
And we shall sink beneath it. Do not frown—
If you're unkind, to whom shall I complain!

Mosby.
Madam, it was my sister I expected—

Alic.
Am I forgotten then! Ungrateful man!
This only cou'd have added to my woes.
Did you but know what I have borne for you,
You wou'd not thus, unmov'd, behold my tears.

Mosby.
Madam, you make me vain.

Alic.
Insult not, Mosby.
You were the first dear object of my love,
And cou'd my heart have made a second choice,
I had not been the object of your scorn:
But duty, gratitude, the love of fame,
And pride of virtue, were too weak t'erase
The deep impression of your early vows.

Mos.
Therefore you kindly chose to wed another.

Alic.
Reproach me not with what I deem'd my duty.
Oh! had I thought I cou'd assume the name,
And never know the affection of a wife,
I wou'd have died ere giv'n my hand to Arden.

Mos.
You gave him all.—

Alic.
No, no, I gave him nothing:
Words without truth—an hand without an heart.
But he has found the fraud—the slumb'ring lion
At length hath rous'd himself—

Mos.
And I must fall
The victim—

Alic.
No, he knows not yet his wrongs.

Mos.
But quickly will.

Alic.
That, that's my greatest fear.

Mos.
Then, branded with a strumpet's hated name,
The cause abhorr'd of shame, of blood, and ruin,
Thou'lt be expos'd and hooted thro' the world.

Alic.
O hide the dreadful image from my view!
Chaste matrons, modest maids, and virtuous wives,
Scorning a weakness which they never knew,
Shall blush with indignation at my name.

Mos.
My death—but that—tho' certain.—

Alic.
Labour not
To drive me to despair. Fain wou'd I hope—

Mos.
You may—and be deceiv'd. For me I know
My fate resolv'd—and thee the instrument;
The willing instrument of Mosby's ruin.
Inconstant, false Alicia!

Alic.
False indeed,
But not to thee, cruel, injurious Mosby.

Mos.
Injurious! false one! might not all these dangers
That threaten to involve us both in ruin,
Ere this have been prevented?

Alic.
Ha!—say on.

Mos.
And not preventing, art not thou the cause?

Alic.
Ah! whither, Mosby—whither wou'dst thou drive me?

Mos.
Nay, didst thou love, or wou'dst secure thy fame,
Preserve my life, and bind me yours for ever;
'Tis yet within your power.—

Alic.
By Arden's death!
Mean'st thou not so? speak out, and be a devil.

Mos.
Yes, 'tis for thee I am so.—But your looks
Declare, my death wou'd please you better, Madam.

Alic.
Exaggerating fiend! be dumb for ever.
His death! I must not cast a glance that way.

Mos.
Is there another way?—O think, Alicia.

Alic.
I will, for that will make me mad: And madness
Were some excuse. Come, kind distraction! come,
And Arden dies—my husband dies for Mosby.
[Shrieks, and runs to Mosby.
Enter Arden and Franklin.
He's here! O save me! tell me, did he hear?

Ard.
[Starting.]
Franklin, support your friend.
I shake with horror.

Frank.
What moves you thus?

Ard.
See—Mosby—with my wife!

Mos.
But, Madam, I shall spare your farther trouble;
In happy time behold my neighbour here.

[As taking leave of Alicia.
Alic.
Mischief and wild confusion have begun,
And desolation waits to close the scene.
[Exit Alicia.

Mos.
Sir, I wou'd gladly know, whether your grant
Of the rich abbey-lands of Feversham
Be yet confirm'd or not?

Ard.
What if I tear
Her faithless heart, ev'n in the traitor's sight,
Who taught it falshood.

[Aside.
Frank.
He is lost in thought.
But I can answer that: It is confirm'd—
I brought the deed, with the great seal annex'd,
Sign'd by our pious Edward, and his council.

Mos.
I'm satisfied.—

Ard.
So am not I—By hell,
There's justice in the thought.—I'm strangely tempted.

[Aside.
Mos.
My friend seems wrapt in thought—I came to advise him,
That Green, by virtue of a former grant
His father long enjoy'd—

Ard.
For my estate
The law, and this good seal, is my security;
To them I leave Green and his groundless claim.
But my just right to false Alicia's heart,
(So dearly purchas'd with a husband's name,
And sacred honour of a gentleman)
I shall assert myself, and thus secure
From further violation.

[Draws.
Mos.
Her known virtue
Renders the injury your fancy forms,
A thing of air.

Frank.
Impossible to thought.
Whence, Arden, comes this sudden madness on thee,
That your Alicia, ever dear esteem'd,
And deeply lov'd—

Ard.
Out on the vile adult'ress!
But thou demure, insinuating slave,
Shalt taste my vengeance first. Defend thyself.

Mos.
I scorn to take advantage of your rage.

Ard.
A coward too! O my consummate shame!

Mos.
This I can bear from you.

Ard.
Or any man.
Why hangs that useless weapon by thy side,
Thou shame to manhood?—Draw.—Will nothing move thee?

[Strikes him.
Frank.
Hold. Whither wou'd your mad revenge transport you?

Ard.
Shall shameful cowardise protect a villain?

Mos.
You chuse a proper place to shew your courage!

Ard.
Go on. I'll follow to the ocean's brink,
Or to the edge of some dread precipice,
Where terror and despair shall stop thy flight,
And force thy trembling hand to guard thy life.

Mos.
What I endure to save a lady's honour!

[To Franklin.
Frank.
Your longer stay will but incense him more;
Pray quit the house.

Mos.
Sir, I shall take your counsel.
[Exit Mosby.

Ard.
He hath escap'd me then—But for my wife—

Frank.
What has she done?

Ard.
Done! must I tell my shame?
Away, begone—lest from my prey withheld
I turn, and tear th'officious hand that lets me.
Soft! art thou Franklin? Pardon me, sweet friend;—
My spirits sail—I shake—I must retire.

Frank.
To your Alicia.

Ard.
To my lonely couch;
For I must learn to live without her, Franklin.

Frank.
Pray heaven forbid!

Ard.
To hate her, to forget her—if I can:
No easy task for one who doats like me.
From what an height I'm fallen! Once smiling love
Of all its horrors robb'd the blackest night,
And gilt with gladness ev'ry ray of light,
Now tyrant-like his conquest he maintains,
And o'er his groaning slave with rods of iron reigns.