University of Virginia Library

ACT. I.

SCENE I.

—A Terrace opening on the Thames. On one side the mansion of Lord Beaufort in the half distance, the gate of the grounds belonging to it at the back of the stage. On the same side, in front, another gate, supposed to open from the small garden of Scroope's cottage. On the other side, the house of the Widow Lovel.
Enter Richard from the gate at the back.
Not here yet! though the sun is up and bright,
And shines upon her lattice as 'twould rouse
The dullest sleeper! And the breath of morning
Comes fresh and stirringly across the river;
Yet with no air to chill thee, gentle flower,
And close the lids which the sun wooes to open.
Master Scroope's window standeth wide—Old Thrift
Is peering ere the dawn.—I'd wage a noble
He has walked a two miles down the stream to spy
Some rich freight of a wealthy clime, that comes
To be gorg'd by wealthier London. That a man
Whose looks denote the care of decent poverty,
Should carry half this river's wealth about him
In the small compass of securities,
Rich bills of lading, and the keys of chests,
Whose precious store of gold and gems might raise
An army cloth'd in pageantry! Who would deem
Yon cottage, whose white neatness seems to shun
The dangerous imputation of its wealth,
Were the abode of beauty's costliest work,
Of Mariana!—There's an arm so round,
So purely white, that opens that small casement—
Enter the Widow Lovel from her house.
'Tis drawn back suddenly—ha! plagues and torments!
The gossipping rich widow!

WIDOW.
Master Richard!
You're early up, sir! 'faith! a good ensample
For young unmarried men. I told my husband,
Dead and gone Master Lovel—

RICHARD.
Heaven and earth!
Defend me from a lecture, as interminable
As she treated that poor man with! How to escape—

WIDOW.
You did not mark me, sir; it is a pleasure
To discourse to one's friends and neighbours; and, save you,
I've few or none to hear me.

RICHARD.
Her whole stock
Of chattering to my share—and Mariana—

WIDOW.
There's the Lord Beaufort—your protector; he's
A proud and stately nobleman—no talking
With people of that rank.

RICHARD.
'Tis a great privilege
Of their nobility.

WIDOW.
Then there's his son and heir,
His honour, Master Edward—he's all pride—
And Master Scroope, though kind enough to one
Who hath any troubles, and a calm, grave man,
Will not endure one's conversation.

RICHARD.
Half
My precious time spent—how to send her hence—

WIDOW.
And then his daughter, Mariana; faith
I think the wench must be in love—aye, now
You turn and listen to me.

RICHARD.
Did I, faith?—In love!—aye?—well?

WIDOW.
Perhaps with the young Beaufort—
Are you not well?

RICHARD.
Yes—yes—with the young Beaufort?

WIDOW.
Not that her eye agrees with mine in that:
For my part I have seen and can see now—
But I was talking of my talking to her;
One's little tattle—some folks call it scandal,
It may be, or it may not—sooth—where was I?
Oh!

RICHARD.
Oh!

WIDOW.
You sigh'd—well; when I've spoken to her
Some half hour, she looks full up in my face
And asks me what I said.

RICHARD
(aside.)
'Twould puzzle you
To tell her.—I shall lose the opportunity—
'Twill be a blank day with me—not a word
With Mariana.

WIDOW.
Now to you, who are neither
Highborn, nor proud, nor rich, nor yet in love,
One may talk.

RICHARD.
Yes, it seems so. Dame, you've heard
The queen to-day will take her barge at Westminster,
And sail to Greenwich.

WIDOW.
Is it so?—I've seen her
So often I shall wait here 'till she passes
And catch her from my window.

RICHARD.
You'll take boat, sure;
There is a pageant.

WIDOW.
I have seen so many—
There was the last—two dolphins.—

RICHARD.
Yes, I saw it,
'Tis nothing unto this. Seventeen whales
Meet her as she embarks, spouting aloft
Floods of rich wine.

WIDOW.
Into the water?

RICHARD.
Aye.
Enough to make the Thames one bowl of negus.

WIDOW.
Seventeen whales!

RICHARD.
Five great sea unicorns,
Caught in Utopia, are to be harness'd
Unto a car, in which her highness rides
From Westminster to Greenwich—where a mystery,
Call'd Balaam and his ass, will be presented
By the corporation, and the beast will speak,
As representative of the mayor and aldermen.

WIDOW.
A new device!

RICHARD.
Not altogether new,
For corporations have had such interpreters,
Yet pleasant.

WIDOW.
Very pleasant.

RICHARD.
You'll not miss
The sight and hearing?

WIDOW.
Nay, forsooth, I will not.
You'll come with me?—

RICHARD.
I've weighty business.

WIDOW.
What?
To borrow money of old miser Scroope?
He will not lend it. Come, have you no friend?
Can you not guess now? Who for very kindness
Would and could give—

RICHARD.
Nay that is not my need.
Think of the unicorns.

WIDOW.
Well, well! my own barge,
For I've one, waits you, if a seat and cheer,
Such as the richest cellars and best larder—

RICHARD.
I've neither thirst nor hunger—but the whales—

WIDOW.
Aye, true, the seventy whales!

RICHARD
(aside.)
I said seventeen.

WIDOW.
Here, John, well, Robert, (enter servants)
get the boat in order.
I'll sail to-day—directly; (exit servants)
will you not?—
Remember! such a sight—

RICHARD.
True, woe is me!
I shall miss all and more, your company:
But it must be.

WIDOW.
Nay, you shall have my company,
Whene'er you please to ask it.

RICHARD.
But the mystery
Of Balaam—You'll be late—

WIDOW.
True—despatch knaves!
I fain would hear the ass speak.

RICHARD.
I've heard many,
So 'tis no treat to me—but pray away,
The tide serves—do you hear the trumpets?

WIDOW.
Aye,
Not very well—but there they are, I dare say—
My boat, knaves farewell—gentle master Richard.

[Exit
RICHARD.
So, she is gone.

WIDOW
(returning.)
Another word! the ass—
Is it a real ass?

RICHARD.
Truly, I know not.
The best informed, and such as are the deepest
In the state secrets, say it is machinery,
Inflated with a funnel—

WIDOW.
With a funnel!
Well, 'tis ingenious—adieu, Master Richard.

[Exit.
RICHARD.
She's fairly off, I hope—Aye, there she steps
Aboard the boat—push well off, lads, or else
Some other question—Adieu, gentle dame—
The gate is softly opening—all is safe, love,
Come forth, my Mariana—
(Enter Mariana from gate in front.
My own heart!
My Mariana! What a purgatory
Have I endur'd—I fear'd she ne'er would leave me,
And I should lose the one hour of my day
In which my soul is banquetted, that feeds me
With hope and joy, that make my duller hours
One dream of this short sweet time.

MARIANA.
It must be short
This morning, Richard, for my uncle rose
Early, and soon returns; he hath some business
With Goldlove, that starv'd miser, or his nephew,
Young Flaw, the sly, young, spendthrift lawyer, who
Pretends to be enamour'd of me.

RICHARD.
It may be
To sacrifice thee to that demon, wealth,
Thy uncle worships—one way or the other
To wed thee to old Goldlove's hoards.

MARIANA.
Nay, Richard,
You wrong my uncle.

RICHARD.
He hath a sordid love
Of riches, and whoe'er hath that, yields all
Unto his idol.

MARIANA.
Thou wilt anger me;
Aye, me—as gentle as you deem me, Richard
My uncle is a thrifty, careful man,
Frugal, abstemious, no miser, Richard.
He sordid! 'tis that he will not be sordid
That he is thrifty.

RICHARD.
A cold, unkind man!

MARIANA.
Your fears speak, not your judgment: he unkind!
My uncle! my dear uncle! no, sir, the world
Has treated him unkindly—he has a heart
Open as yours, though not so rashly spent
In feeling 'ere his head prompts—He hath suffered
Deeply from treachery, hath the doubts that age
And sad experience cast, as 'twere a shield,
Before our unarm'd impulse. He unkind!
Didst ever hear him speak to me—or of me?
Cold didst thou say? thy love is not more fervent
Than his for me.

RICHARD.
Forgive me, Mariana.
My fears did speak and not my judgment.

MARIANA.
Aye,
I knew it—he's my uncle and I love him—

RICHARD.
And I will love him too.

MARIANA.
Aye, that you will.
Was I angry with you?—there's my hand.

RICHARD.
It trembles
Yet—

MARIANA.
With no anger.

RICHARD.
I did fear these suitors.

MARIANA.
And have I nought to fear? The Widow Lovel—

RICHARD.
The Widow Lovel—nay—

MARIANA.
She's very rich,
And not past thirty; and I think would find
Her perch if you should whistle

RICHARD.
Prythee, now—

MARIANA.
Then the fair Isabel Beaufort.

RICHARD.
Mariana,
Spare that. She's gentle, noble, good—I would not
Even know or think that she—

MARIANA.
If she—

RICHARD.
Peace! peace!
My honour, faith, my love are pledg'd to you;
Nor would temptations of pride, beauty, power,
Cause me to hesitate—think of another;
But spare one who might almost call you sister.

MARIANA.
I will, I will; my spirits were too free.
I might, how much more worthily, have pin'd
And perish'd hopeless.

RICHARD.
Ah! that we could end
All thoughts but those of love—hush every doubt
In fond security—would I dare ask
Thy uncle.

MARIANA.
And you dare not?

RICHARD.
Love, what am I?
An orphan, nameless—a poor idle youth.
Stripped of the badge—the livery and protection
Of the Lord Beaufort—a mere helpless thing,
Without so much as a low handicraft
To earn a daily pittance.—I could not
I should blush for such a one to ask thy uncle
For this great treasure.

MARIANA.
Thou'rt wealthy, Richard,
In the integrity of an honest heart
And gentle breeding—and—

RICHARD.
What weigh these, love,
Against the world's wealth? Thou'rt too dear to me
To wed thee to a state of poor dependence
Though 'twere my own. Lord Beaufort may promote me
To state or warlike service, and I may
Earn some distinction worth thee: at the worst
I must strive to be patient—being blest
But with a hope of thee.

MARIANA.
And fear not, Richard;
I know my uncle—there may speedier means
Be found than court attendance, or promotion
Won tediously by scars.

Enter Bridget from the gate in front.
BRIDGET.
Madam, a boat,
In which I think I spy your uncle with
Old Goldlove and his nephew, Master Flaw,
Is rowing towards the terrace.

MARIANA.
Leave me, Richard;
And, that our farewell may not be too long,
It shall not be a heavy one—go—hope
And fear not—fare thee well.

RICHARD.
Farewell Mariana:
I trust thee—as I love thee—with my soul—

[Exit at upper gate.
MARIANA.
Farewell. Heaven bless thee—all the gracious prayers
That I can think I'll breathe for thee—Ah me,
I shall not see him 'till the morn again—
Never 'till now was time so wearisome.

Enter from a boat, on the Terrace, Scroope, Goldlove, and Flaw.
SCROOPE.
There's for thy fare—
(to Watermen attending).

GOLDLOVE.
His fare—sooth, 'tis too much.

SCROOPE.
Let's waste no more time on't.—Why, Mariana,
Good morrow! I had left the house an hour
'Ere thou would'st rise. Age finds small rest a-bed
When the mind's stirring and abroad—and youth,
Innocent and heedless, presses once again
Its pillow.—Youth's sleeps are so sweet and balmy.

MARIANA.
Good morrow, my dear uncle: Master Goldlove
And you good Master Flaw—good morning—sirs.

SCROOPE.
Yet is there something looks untowardly;
Thine eyes are misty, girl—

MARIANA.
'Tis nought, dear uncle.

SCROOPE.
Well, take in Master Flaw, and bid them set
A stoup or two of wine and some light cheer;
The river's air has made me hungry, and
Our friends will taste with us.

FLAW.
An opportunity
Not to be miss'd.—Sweet Mistress Mariana,
I follow you—oh, for a simile
To tell you how I follow you.

MARIANA.
Nay, sir—
Rack not your brain for it, 'twill keep you fasting—
Try if my uncle's wine inspire you, sir.

[Exit.
FLAW.
A challenge, faith—she's struck—now, Master Flaw,
Speak and she's won.

[Exit.
SCROOPE.
Will't please you to walk in?
Come, Master Goldlove—we'll dispatch that matter
About the Indian tissues.

GOLDLOVE.
I but came, sir,
To give my nephew countenance with your niece—
As for the tissues we will talk on Change:
He'll win her heart, sir.

SCROOPE.
'Tis a difficult prize.

GOLDLOVE.
But he's a lawyer, has a tongue is young, too,
Swears, dances, drinks.

SCROOPE.
These are accomplishments;
But yet I think her safe.

GOLDLOVE.
Makes poetry

SCROOPE.
Ay, that's a subtle stealer of the heart:
I thought he but wrote verses.

GOLDLOVE.
Tis the same thing?

SCROOPE.
Not quite.

GOLDLOVE.
Dispatch him soon.

SCROOPE.
I will not keep him
Longer than needful.

GOLDLOVE.
Thank ye—thank ye—farewell.

[Exit.
SCROOPE.
Farewell—I'll watch my neice and my young lawyer!
My poet!—that's a rare, unheard of union—
Ha! ha! a poet! This is poetry,
The sun, the rippling stream—the mighty wealth
Of nations clustering to our London mart,
The grandeur of pure nature and of man
In his proud enterprize, his lofty passions,
And his sublime endurance—all that tends
To lift the spirit upwards from controul
Of baseness:—'tis the heaven of high thoughts
That stirs our earthly natures—and this verse maker—
A poet!—Well—I'll join them.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

—The interior of Scroope's house—A parlour neatly furnished and bearing every mark of wealthy comfort—Books, paintings, musical instruments, &c.
Flaw and Mariana.
FLAW.
Tush, my fair mistress, I am not that dull ass—
A studious lawyer.

MARIANA.
I wrong'd you not so much, sir.

FLAW.
It were a wrong, indeed—Old musty Lyttleton
May grow yet mouldier for me—I'm not
A shelf to carry folios—I but study
As much law as will pass with my old uncle—

MARIANA.
To make his will, sir?

FLAW.
If 'twere in my favour
I would not draw it up myself—No, lady—
I'm for the stirring humours of the times—
The ordinaries, plays, the bear-garden.
Now of all things I love a bear-garden,
Unless 'tis poetry.

MARIANA.
Ay, sir, 'tis difficult
To choose between them.

FLAW.
Then there are the roarers,
The brave Alsatians that despise the law
And such weak cobwebs—

MARIANA.
And you know them too, sir?

FLAW.
Ay, marry, and have led them in some rambles.
There was the last great robbery, of the plate

MARIANA.
Why, surely, sir

FLAW.
Nay, nay, I would not boast—
But he's no lad of spirit and true mettle
That hasn't seen the world—Why, there's Will Shakspeare
In his last play of Falstaff, makes a king's son
Turn highwayman for true sport—and they say, too,
And I have heard him jest on't o'er his cups,
That he once stole a deer.

MARIANA.
Then you know Shakespeare?

FLAW.
Know him—I've heard him swear 'tis such as I
That he most loves to talk with—and I've seen
A thing or two I've said in print—but car'd not
To challenge it. Here comes your uncle, lady.
Enter Scroope.
And I had much to say to you.

SCROOPE.
Say on, sir—
I'll listen to you, too.

MARIANA.
Or Master Flaw
Can speak with you alone, sir.

FLAW.
What! already!
I've made short work of it. (Aside.)


SCROOPE.
My girl, I'll spare you
The pains of hearing him (aside to her.)
Go, Mariana,
And bid Will wait me in the counting-room
With the account 'twixt me and Master Goldlove;
He will be here anon.

MARIANA.
I shall, dear uncle.

[Exit.
FLAW.
And ere my uncle Goldlove come—I'd beg, sir,
Your ear to a proposal—

SCROOPE.
Come, speak out, sir—
My niece—

FLAW.
Sooth, sir, if I can guess her mind,
She hath left us here together that I may
Speak her desires as well as mine—I love her.

SCROOPE.
And think you she returns your passion?

FLAW.
Nay.
I know not yet—love hath its ceremonies,
Its toys and trifles, serenades, love verses—
Then come the walks to Moorfields, progresses
By water down to Greenwich; all which duties
I long to pay her.

SCROOPE.
Well, sir,—win and wed her.
Her answer's mine—but to pursue such wooing
Must to a young man, Master Goldlove's heir,
Who's not profuse in his allowance to you,
As I should guess, be somewhat chargeable;
I have a hundred marks now unemployed,
Which if you choose to borrow—

FLAW.
I could pay it
Upon my marriage or my uncle's death,
Or any other fortunate time—

SCROOPE.
True, true, sir.

FLAW.
And 'tis an omen, sir, of your good wishes.
I hope for my acceptance with your niece.

SCROOPE.
Whatever it is I lend it freely, sir.

FLAW.
Whate'er interest?

SCROOPE.
Seal me but your bond
For the repayment when I call on you;
I am no usurer, and lend the money
In hope of no such profit. Pray you step
Into my counting-room, and bid my clerk
Prepare the writing and tell out the gold.

FLAW.
I'll do it gladly, sir.

[Exit.
SCROOPE.
So, he is mine.
Enter Bridget.
Come hither, Bridget; thou for fifteen years
Hast been a faithful servant.

BRIDGET.
Ay, sir—faithful
To a kind master.

SCROOPE.
Good, then! Tell me, Bridget,
What suitors hath my niece, besides the three
That have been here this morning?—as I think
Goldlove, or Flaw, or Parallel, could never
Call blushes on her cheek—unthought-of tears
Within her downcast eye; unconscious sighs,
And that soft, gentle, happy melancholy
That links all joys and sufferings of our thoughts
In love.

BRIDGET.
I should not tell, perhaps.

SCROOPE.
I ask not
For what in delicate and womanly feeling
She may have trusted to thee; I but ask
Of my old servant that which her fidelity
To me requires she should tell me. Fear not;
I think you've never known me use authority
Cruelly to any; and my niece—

BRIDGET.
The young Beaufort
Hath spoken to her.

SCROOPE.
Ay, she told me so,
Yet neither proudly nor yet timidly.
Young Beaufort—'tis a name I love not—but
If 'twere so, it might be a noble cause
To arouse the charity I scarcely owe
To that proud house.

BRIDGET.
Then—but I fear you'll chide her—
She hath conversed, and more than once, with Richard,
Lord Beaufort's page—Richard Fitz-Allan—

SCROOPE.
Wherefore
Should I chide, Bridget?

BRIDGET.
He's so gay and wild—
Thoughtless and kind too.

SCROOPE.
Happy, happy youth!
Fervid and generous youth! Shall our age dare
To envy and condemn thee? I have been young,
Though my life had but little youth in it.

BRIDGET.
But he's so poor—I thought—

SCROOPE.
And I so rich,
Have such a weight of needless wealth.

BRIDGET.
And he's
Somewhat improvident.

SCROOPE.
What hath he had
To make him provident? Improvident
Of my Lord Beaufort's pittance!—A just prudence
Comes oft with means of prudence.

BRIDGET.
You're not angry
For that they've met?

SCROOPE.
No. I would but secure
Her in a state as near to happiness
As earth may grant—content, or peace, or ease,
Whate'er it may be. Once I had belief
In happiness, and though for me 'twas madness,
Yet I'd resign the wisdom of experience
To hope she might be happy.

BRIDGET.
The young Beaufort—

SCROOPE.
A hornet! I'll enmesh him—gold—gold—gold!
And thinks't thou he or Richard?—

BRIDGET.
That I know not.
A lord's son—and to be my Lady Beaufort—

SCROOPE.
Are prizes to most women—toys to her;
At least if I can judge her. Stay!—no matter,
I must not bribe fidelity. I'll pay it
Some other time (aside.)
Go to your mistress, Bridget,
And no word of our talk.

BRIDGET.
I shall observe, sir.

[Exit.
SCROOPE.
Yes, all!—the hornet, Beaufort, and the bee,
Young Richard—all!—I'll play the spider with:
But with no venom'd sting. Young Beaufort's needs
Are open: I can buy him cheap. I have
This first care of my life despatch'd and clear;
The full account of my affections closed
With Mariana's marriage. Then for Beaufort.
Lord Beaufort—the proud nobleman: his mortgage
Expires to-day. His houses, lands, himself,
All are within my grasp. Let but my heart
Pour out its charities on Mariana,
Then for a sterner and a stricter audit—
Severe and equal justice with Lord Beaufort.

[Exit.