University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A chamber in the dwelling of Harry Matthews, in St. Louis. Robert Warren and Richard Osborne discovered.
Osborne.
I warn'd you of the peril.

Warren.
Yet your wisdom
Had scarcely fancied that his glance could fathom
Disguise so good as mine!

Osborne.
I said his eye
Was like an eagle's. It were hard to say,
What, with his mind once roused into suspicion,
It could not penetrate.

Warren.
'Twould better please me,
If one, who should be in my service only,
Could find my foe less perfect.

Osborne.
And, to do so,
Should prove himself less true.

Warren.
Oh! your truth,
Were better shown in service than opinion!
My habit was good; and I had been secure,
But that, to sound him, I unseal'd myself;
And, like a witling, answered all his questions,
Of persons whom we once had known together.

Osborne.
Be sure, he first suspected ere he question'd.

Warren.
'Tis like enough! At all events he floor'd n[illeg.]
Disgraced me as he still hath done before
In frequent strife. The mask is thrown aside;
He knows me, here, his enemy; and now—
The open conflict!

Osborne.
What is now the game?
The open conflict he would never shrink from!
Why, when his hand was fix'd upon your throat,
Did you forbear the weapon?

Warren.
Ask me rather,
Why one is still superior to his fellow;
Why one is brave, another impotent;
Why I am feeble just where he is strong;—
And why, with will to compass his destruction,
My heart still fails me in the final effort!
Such still hath been the sequel of our issues!
He still hath master'd me with such a will,
My spirit droops before him, and I shudder,
To feel, that, with a hate so fix'd and fearful,
I lack the heart to drive the weapon home!—
But I shall do it yet!

Osborne.
And why the conflict,
Thus ever urged with fate so full of peril?
Now, while you may forbear, and pause in safety,
Forego the struggle, which hath still been hopeless;
Give him repose, and leave yourself at peace.

Warren.
Peace! with these passions!

Osborne.
They will wreck your own!
A something tells me such must be the issue,
In any strife with Maurice.

Warren.
Vain the counsel—
I cannot leave the conflict!

Osborne.
Why?

Warren.
Will not do so!
While still my hate must go unsatisfied—
My pride,—to say no more of other passions.

Osborne.
This woman—

Warren.
Not a word of her!

Osborne.
Smiles she,
That still you prosecute this doubtful struggle?

Warren.
She may, perchance, when she is duly tutor'd,
That, on my whisper, hangs her husband's honor.

Osborne.
This is your purpose, then?

Warren.
You do not like it?

Osborne.
I am your slave,—the creature of your mood,
More at your mercy far than Norman Maurice,
Since he is innocent and I am guilty;—
What matter what I like?

Warren.
Why, that's well said!—
Enough for you I must pursue my victims,
While hate conceives a hell for him, or passion
Dreams still of heaven from her! This day, when Maurice
Leaves for the city, I shall seek his dwelling.

Osborne.
Again! untaught by late experience!
You seek his wife then?

Warren.
Why, not exactly.—
Perhaps you do not know that Mrs. Jervas
Arrived last night at midnight.

Osborne.
How can she
Assist you in this mad pursuit? You tell me
That Maurice still suspects her.

Warren.
Never matter—
She is my ally;—but, here's Harry Matthews:
He comes to take me to the secret council,
Where other plans mature against our foeman.

Osborne.
You will not breathe this secret to these people?

Warren.
I will but breathe it.

Osborne.
And withhold the proof?

Warren.
As suits my purpose. It is very likely,
I shall not call on you till the last hour,
When all is ready for his overthrow!
Of this be sure, Dick Osborne: I will pamper
My several passions as I can, and stint them,
In nothing, that may gratify their rage.

Enter Harry Matthews.
Matthews.
Art ready, Warren?

Warren.
Will be in a moment!

Matthews,
[to Osborne.]
You'll go with us?

Osborne.
Excuse me.

Warren,
[aside to Osborne.]
Why not go?

Osborne,
[aside to W.]
Sufficient, as they tell us, for the day
Its evil; when I can no longer 'scape it,
I'll mix in this conspiracy;—till then,
Let me go idle.

Warren,
[aside to Osborne.]
Hark you, Richard Osborne,
No faltering when the moment comes to speak;
The rod that does not yield to me, I break!

[Ex. Matthews and Warren.
Osborne.
And no escape! I dare not run on ruin,
And face the shame with which he threatens me;
Yet, with a tyranny so terrible,
That plies me with its torture night and day,
'Twere better throw increase of weight on conscience,
And, by embrace with deeds of deadlier aspect,
At least secure escape from sway like this!
Had I the heart for it! Could I find the courage!
'Twere but a blow!—a blow! I'll ponder it.

[Ex. Osborne.

SCENE II.

An apartment in the house of Col. Ferguson. Ferguson, Blasinghame, Matthews, Warren, and other persons discovered.
Blasinghame.
The matter then resolves itself to this—
We know for certain, now, that this man, Maurice,
Will be the opposition candidate:—
Ben Ferguson is ours.

Ferguson.
And why not you?

Blasinghame.
For the best reasons. No! my private business
Needs careful nursing now. This woman, Pressley,
Is like to give me trouble.

Matthews.
Her new lawyer
Is stubborn, then?

Blasinghame.
He seems to be a man;
And we shall suffer him to prove his manhood!
I wrote him of the merits of my case,
Concluding, with a civil exhortation,
As he was young, and but a stranger here,
That he should spare his teeth, nor peril them,
On nuts too hard to crack.

Matthews.
What said he then?

Blasinghame.
Oh! with an answer bold enough, I warrant.

Matthews.
He did not know his customer, I fancy.

Blasinghame.
I think not; and to lesson him a little,
One of my lambs was sent to him this morning—
Joe Savage!

Ferguson.
Joe's a rough teacher, colonel.

Blasinghame.
As God has made him, Joe. He'll do our business
As tenderly as if it were his own.

Ferguson.
But was there not some whisper of a secret
Touching this Norman Maurice, which, if true,
Would render any messages of honor,
Impossible, to him!

Blasinghame.
I did not hear;—
Unfold your budget.

Ferguson.
Harry Matthews, there,
Speaks of a secret in his friend's possession,
That's fatal to this man!

Blasinghame.
Ha! out with it!
'Twill save a monstrous trouble in our wigwam;
For, to say truth, this man is popular,
Grows every day in strength in the assembly,
And, I confess to you, I have my fears,
Touching the game before us. Our new members
Are not what I would have them; and old Mercer,
Catesby and Brooks, gain daily influence,
Under the cunning counsel of this Maurice.
If we can crush this fellow, who has talent,
And shows more stubbornness than I can relish,
'Twere better done before we lose our headway.
This man disposed of, they can find no other
To take the field with Ferguson.

Matthews.
Speak, Warren!

Warren.
There is a secret, gentlemen; a dark one
Which, told, were fatal to this Norman Maurice!
I will not tell it now; but wait the moment,
When, over all, conspicuous most, he stands,
With triumph in his prospect, and his spirit,
Exulting in the state he deems secure!
Then will I come between his hope and triumph;
Then show the guilty secret that degrades him,
Confound him with the proofs which now are ready,
And hurl him down to ruin, the more fatal,
For that I suffer'd him to rise so high.

Blasinghame.
But why not now? The man is high enough!

Warren.
The secret's mine, sir. When I'm done with it,
I'll bury it as did the Phrygian barber,
Where every reed that whistles in the wind
Shall make it into music for his ear.
Be sure of this, I'll yield it you in season,
Ere Maurice sits a Senator in Congress!

Matthews.
Well—that's sufficient!

Blasinghame.
Yes! Let him do that!
Meanwhile, there is a way to save himself.
This Maurice has my message—

Matthews.
He'll not fight!

Blasinghame.
If he would—

Matthews.
His honor would be rescued by his death?

Warren.
Scarcely; since 'tis for me to keep the secret,
Or free it, if I please! But, let me tell you,
That Maurice will not shrink from any combat!
I know him well. He is mine enemy,
But let me do him justice. He will fight,
Though all the devils of hell stood up against him.
Look to it, sir; [to Blasing.,]
your reputation's great,
But Maurice is no common opponent;
And you will need your utmost excellence,
To conquer him when once he takes the field!

Blasinghame.
Well! that's good news! My lamb is with him now;
We'll hear from him by noon.

Ferguson.
Before we part,
'Tis understood we put our troops in motion;
The strife will be a close one! Blasinghame
Hath truly spoken of this new assembly;
It puzzles me to fathom it. This Maurice,
Is, questionless, a man of wondrous power;
And, though I much prefer that we should beat him,
In a fair wrestle, with the usual agents,
Yet this is not so certainly our prospect,
As that we should forego this fatal secret,
That makes our game secure.

Warren.
You shall have it.

Blasinghame.
We meet to-night at Baylor's.

Matthews,
[to Warren.]
You'll be with us?
It may be that your fruit will then be ripe.

Blasinghame.
Ay, come, sir, with your friend.

Warren,
[to Matthews.]
Perhaps! We'll see;—
There may be other fruits upon that tree.

[Exeunt several ways.

SCENE III.

An apartment in the house of Norman Maurice. He appears seated at a table with books and papers before him. After a pause, he closes his books, folds and ties the papers in a bundle, pushes them from before him and rises.
Maurice,
[solus.]
It is the curse of insecurity,
That cruel doubt that hangs upon possession
Glides with the midnight to the sleepless pillow,
And, with the laurel wreath that crowns the triumph,
Sows thick the thorns that make the brow to ache!
Did the endowment not imply the service,
Were we not each enjoin'd with a commission,
The task decreed, the struggle thrust upon us,
Making it manhood to comply with duty;
How better far—the treasure in our keeping,
Love at our bosom, peace upon our threshold,
When bliss can never hope increase of rapture,
And fear begins to dream of unknown danger,—
To fly the world—the conflict,—nay, the triumph,
And, bearing off the trophy we have won,
Hush the ambitious spirit in our hearts
That whispers, “Life hath more!” Have I won nothing,
That I should toil, as unrequited Labor
Still hoping yet to win? Am I a beggar,
Who, perilling nothing in each fearful venture,
Stakes all his hopes on change? With goods so precious,
Should I still venture in the common market,
Where Malice stands, with gibe of cruel slander,
And Envy lurks in readiness to steal?—
When the still shelter of the wilderness,
The depth of shadow, the great solitudes,
Beckon the heart with promise of their own,
Still singing, “Here is refuge!”
Wretched folly!—
As if the serpent could not find the garden;
As if the malicious Hate, by hell engendered,
Had not an equal instinct, how to fathom
The secret haunt where rapture hopes to hide!
Hate bears a will as resolute as love,
A wing as swift, an eye as vigilant,
And instincts, that, as still they keep it sleepless,
Prompt the keen search when Rapture stops for rest!
A sad presentiment of coming evil
Stifles each generous impulse at my heart,
That ever spoke in confidence. This Warren
Is here for mischief; with what hope to prosper—
That single proof destroy'd—I now divine not.
This woman, coming close upon his footsteps,
Confirms my apprehensions. They are allies—
She false as he, but feeble—his mere creature,
To beat the bush, while he secures the game!
Well! I must watch them with a vigilance
Due to the precious treasure in my trust;
And, swift as justice in avenging mission,
With the first show of evil in their purpose,
Crush them to earth, and—Well?

[Enter servant.
Servant.
Major Savage, sir.

Maurice.
Show him in.

[Enter Savage.
Savage.
Your name is Maurice?

Maurice.
'Tis sir. Yours?

Savage.
Mine is Joe Savage,—Major of militia.
You got a letter, sir, a week ago,
From Colonel Blasinghame.

Maurice.
And answer'd it!

Savage.
That answer did not please him, Blasinghame.

Maurice.
I'm sorry for it, sir; but you'll believe me,
When I assure you, that, in penning it,
I never once conceived it necessary
To ask what were his tastes.

Savage.
Eh, sir: you did not!
Well, let me tell you, those who know him better,
Are something curious never to offend him.
But you, sir, are a stranger—do not know him
So well as others, born here in Missouri—
And so, he sends me to enlighten you.

Maurice.
I thank him, sir.

Savage.
Well, you have need to do so;
He does not use such courtesy in common,
But usually the blow before the word!

Maurice.
I'm lucky in his new-born courtesy.

Savage.
You are, sir! He's a rough colt, Blasinghame.

Maurice.
Kicks, does he?

Savage.
Kicks, sir! Why do you say kicks?

Maurice.
Surely, no act more proper to a colt.

Savage.
You are something literal, sir. I'm glad of it,
Since 'twill be easier to be understood!
Well, sir, I come to you from Blasinghame.
You know not, sir, in taking up this case
Of mother Pressley's, sir, that you are doing
That which, until your coming, not a lawyer
Had done here in Missouri.

Maurice.
Shame upon them!

Savage.
Shame, say you? Wherefore, when the right of it
Is all with Blasinghame!

Maurice.
Or with his cudgel!

Savage,
[laughs.]
Something in that, too. Well, sir,—I say!—

Maurice.
Well, sir!

Savage.
Now, as you something seem to know already
Of my friend's mode of managing his case,
I need not dwell upon the policy
Of stopping all proceedings ere the trial;—
In which event I'm authorized to tell you
That Blasinghame forgives your insolent letter,
And spares you as a stranger.

Maurice.
Merciful,
As he is powerful! But what if—having
No such afflicting terror of this person,
So terrible to his neighbors, in mine eyes—
I do reject this liberal grant of mercy.

Savage.
Then, sir, I bear his peremptory challenge,
Which leaves you, sir, without alternative,
Takes no apology, no explanation,
And only seeks atonement in your blood.

[Gives challenge.
Maurice.
Or his!

Savage.
Or his! But that's no easy matter, sir;
He's fought some thirty duels in his time,
Wing'd nineteen combatants, and slew the rest,
Nor had a scratch himself.

Maurice.
Why, we may say,
As Thumb, in the great tragedy—“Enter Thumb,
And slays them all!”

Savage.
You mock, sir!—

Maurice.
Not a bit, sir!
I marvel only, after hearing you,
That still I have the courage to resist.

Savage.
You will not, sir?

Maurice.
I fear me that I shall!

Savage.
What! you accept the challenge, then?

Maurice.
I'll keep it, sir, until this trial's over.

Savage.
Beware, sir, of evasion.

Maurice.
You, in turn, sir,
Beware of insolence. You have my answer;
When I have gain'd this suit of Widow Pressley,
I'll see to that of Colonel Blasinghame.

Savage.
I must have your answer now, or—

Maurice.
The door, sir,—
Unless, indeed, you should prefer the window.

Savage.
Well! You're a man, that's certain! Give us hand.
I'm a rough beast, and like you not the less,
Because you keep a muzzle for the bear;
I feel that you will meet with Blasinghame,
And I shall see it.

[Shakes hands.
Maurice.
Very like you will!
[Exit Savage.
The game becomes of interest!
[tap within.
Clarice!

[Opens to her, she enters.
Clarice.
Art busy, Norman?

Maurice.
Have been. But,—this lady?—

Clarice.
Will you not see her?

Maurice.
Not if I can help it.

Clarice.
She is my only kinswoman, my husband—
You will not drive her from me?

Maurice.
Your only!—
You were my only, Clarice—I your only,
Until her coming! Only to each other,
Was the o'erprecious bond that most endear'd you
To my affections, wife. I cannot suffer
That she should pass between your heart and mine—
She who loves neither.

Clarice.
Nay, Norman!

Maurice.
Nay, Clarice!
This cold, coarse, selfish, this dishonest woman,
Who strove to keep us separate—

Clarice.
Her error,
She pleads, was but, in a mistaken fondness,
To find a suitor, for her favorite niece,
With better hope of fortune than yourself.

Maurice.
Who broke the sacred seal upon our letters,
Mine read,—yours hurried to the flames, unsent—
And would have sold you to this Robert Warren,
My enemy—

Clarice.
She confesses all, and weeps!

Maurice.
Tears of the crocodile! Believe them not.
Plead for her nothing more! I tell you, Clarice,
I cannot hold my table sure and sacred,
With one so false beside me at the board!—
I cannot yield my home, now pure and peaceful,
To such a treacherous heart as that she carries.
My home is not my home, when doubts of safety
Haunt still my thoughts by day, my dreams by night.
She must go hence!

Clarice.
Oh! husband, pardon her!
She urges abject poverty!

Maurice.
More falsehood still!
But we'll provide her;—she shall never suffer,
From cold, or thirst, or hunger, my Clarice.
I will to-day seek lodgings in St. Louis;
To-morrow—

Clarice.
But, should her pride?—

Maurice.
She has no right
To nurse her pride at peril of our peace!
No more! I will not mock her poverty,
Offend her pride, reproach her evil doing—
Will speak her kindly, and will care for her,
So long as I have strength for any care;—
But will not suffer, for a single moment,
Her shadow on the sunshine of my house.
[Knock without.
Come in!
Enter Cols. Mercer and Brooks.
Friends, welcome!

[Clarice curtsies as they bow, and is about to retire.
Mercer.
If we be welcome,
Your lady need not leave us.

Brooks.
That which brings us,
Is business of your own, no less than ours,—
A grateful business still, we trust, to you—
Which, doing honor to your worth and virtue,
It may be grateful to your wife to hear.

Clarice.
If such its burden, I were glad to linger.

Maurice.
Do so, Clarice!—we, gentlemen, are one!
Marriage, with us, fulfils its ample mission,
Making a mutual need for both our hearts;
Whose sweet dependence knows no other refuge,
Than that which each bestows. It is our fortune,
To have no kindred which may pass between us,
To take from either heart the sweet possession
We hold in one another. But, be seated.

Mercer.
Court now in session, sir, your time is precious,
And this great case of yours, 'gainst Blasinghame,
Comes on to-day?

Maurice.
It does.

Mercer.
A moment then?
Our friends, sir, conscious of your great endowment,
Assured of your just principles and conduct,
Your sense of public trust and public duty,
Have, with unanimous voice, in a full caucus,
Deputed us to bear you their request,
That you will be our candidate for Senator,
In the next Congress.

Brooks.
And we now entreat you,
Suffer this nomination.

Maurice.
Friends, believe me,
I feel with proper sense, this compliment;
And, if my own desire, my young ambition,
Were the sole arbiter to shape my conduct,
Then would I say to you, with hearty frankness,
My wing and eye are set upon the station,
To which your accents now implore my flight.
But, though 'twould give me pride to serve our people,
In any station where their rights are vested,
I have some scruples—

Mercer.
Pray deliver them.

Maurice.
To be a candidate in common usage,
To take the field and canvass with the voter,
To use or sanction fraud—to buy with money,
Or other bribe, the suffrage of the people—
Is to dishonor them—degrade myself!

Brooks.
We ask not this.

Mercer.
It needs not.

Maurice.
Hear me, sirs.
Our liberties are in the popular vote,
Their best security, the popular heart,
Their noblest triumph in the popular will,—
And this can never be expressed with safety,
Until the unbias'd voice of public judgment,
Flinging aside each intermediate agent,
Rises, with proper knowledge of its person,
And cries—“Behold our man!”

Mercer.
You are our man!
Such is already what is spoken loudly
By thousands in Missouri.

Maurice.
I'll not deny it—
If I had one ambition o'er another,
One passion, prompting still a search for power,
'Twas for a station such as this you show me,
Where, standing on the platform of the nation,
I might stand up for man! And so, my studies,
The books I read, the maxims I examined,—
The laws I conn'd—the models set before me,—
All had some eminence like this in view,
That, with my training, should the occasion offer,
I might be ready still! But, in my progress,—
The better knowledge I have learn'd from men—
My doubts increase—my scruples grow—and now,
A sense of duty prompts me to declare,
Though each fond idol of the ambitious nature,
Be, from its pedestal, forever thrown,
I will not seek for office on conditions
Adverse to right and manhood. I will never
Become the creature of a selfish party—
Never use wealth or fraud to rise to power,—
Never use power itself to keep in power,
Nor see in him who favor'd my ascent,
A virtue not his own! Nor can I offer
One tribute to the vulgar vanity!
I will not bow, nor smile, nor deference yield,
Where justice still withholds acknowledgment.

Mercer.
We feel the justice of your sentiments.

Brooks.
They're needful to us now, when all's corruption.
Oh! could we but inform the popular mind.

Maurice.
This can be done where virtue is the teacher,
No students learn so quickly as the people.
They have no cliques to foster—no professions,
Whose narrow boundaries, and scholastic rules,
Frown on each novel truth and principle,
And, where they can, still hunt them down to ruin.
They take a truth in secret to their hearts,
And nurse it, till it rises to a law,
Thenceforth to live forever!

Brooks.
We are agreed—
The people must be taught—what should we teach them?

Maurice.
In politics, to know the proper value
Of the high trusts, the sacred privileges,
They do confide their statesmen. Show to them,
On these depend their liberties and lives,
The safety of their children, and the future!
To yield such trusts to smiling sycophants,
Who flatter still the voter's vanity,
At the expense of his most precious fortunes,
Is to betray the land's security;
To sell the wealth most precious in our keeping,
And, for the thing most worthless, yield to fortune,
What fortune cannot purchase! We must teach,
That he who cringes meanly for the station,
Will meanly hold him in the nation's eye;
That he who buys the vote will sell his own;—
That he, alone, is worthy of the trust,
Who, with the faculty to use it nobly,
Will never sacrifice his manhood for it.
If, with these principles and these resolves,
Thus freely shown you, and invincible,
Our people, through their representatives,
Demand my poor abilities,—'twill glad me,
To yield me at their summons. This implies not
One effort of my own. You, sirs, may make me
A Senator, but not a Candidate.

Mercer.
This suits us well. On your own terms we take you;
We feel with you, a stern necessity
To check the abuse of the elective franchise!

Brooks.
But should we call a meeting to enlighten
The people, in respect to public measures
You'll not refuse to meet them?

Maurice.
No, sir, surely!
I still have done so, upon all occasions,
Whene'er a novel principle demanded
Discussion.

Mercer.
Thanks, sir! There will be to-morrow
A general meeting at the Capitol,
Without respect to party.

Maurice.
I will be there!

Brooks.
Our quest is satisfied to our desire.

Mercer.
We will no longer trespass. Farewell, madam,
Farewell, sir. We shall meet again at court.

[Exeunt Mercer and Brooks.
Clarice,
[embracing him.]
Husband, you triumph! There should be no care
Upon your forehead now! Last night, you slept not.

Maurice.
And now, you dream! But clouds will come, Clarice,
Still, with the morrow! Care that flies the forehead,
Still finds a secret shelter in the heart!—
That timid knock!

[Knock without.
Clarice.
It is the widow Pressley.

Maurice,
[opening.]
Come in, madam!

Enter Widow Pressley and Kate.
Widow.
Oh! sir, the day has come!

Maurice.
That brings you back your property, I trust.

Widow.
Alas! sir! You encourage me to hope,—
And yet I fear!

Maurice.
It is that we are liable to fear,
That we must hope. If judgment be not erring
No less than justice, madam, mine's a hope
That grows the bolder with each hour of thought.
Be of good heart, dear madam. Check these sorrows,
That wear such needless furrows in your cheeks.

Widow.
They're old ones, sir, plough'd twenty years ago.

Maurice.
Renew them not!

Widow.
And yet, if what I hear!—
Oh, sir! they tell me that this cruel man
Hath sworn a horrible oath against your life,
If he should lose his case.

Maurice.
Ah! swears he then!
That looks as if he felt some cause of fear!

Widow.
Do not make light of it, I do entreat you!
He's a most desperate ruffian when he's thwarted,
And has the blood of many on his hands!
'Twas said he left the army for his murders,
And in his duels—

Maurice.
Let me see,—“of thirty,
Wing'd nineteen combatants, and slew the rest!”

Clarice.
Oh! horrible! How can you jest upon it?

Maurice.
I jest!

Clarice.
In truth, you smile not!

Maurice.
Do not fear!
I do not think that he will murder me.

Clarice.
Yet be not rash, my husband; take precautions,
This weapon—

[hands him a small dagger.
Maurice.
What! your dagger, my Clarice,
This pretty Turkish trifle from your bodice,
The blade mosaic—handle wrought in pearl—
The sheath of exquisite morocco, dropp'd
In gold and green! This ornament for masking,
Were a frail weapon for a man's defence!
Nay, keep your dagger, child, I shall not need it.

Clarice.
Be not so confident.

Maurice.
Be not so timid!
Who looks for danger surely happens on it!
My papers there! You go with me, dear madam.

[To widow.
Widow.
Thanks, sir!
There was a time I kept my carriage!

Maurice.
Be hopeful: you shall keep it once a[illeg.]
[Aside to Clarice.]
I feed this hapless woman with
Such as it glads me to indulge myself,—
Yet, should I err in judgment!

Clarice,
[aside.]
Oh! should you fail!
'Twould break her heart.

Maurice.
'Twere something worse than death!
[Aside to Clarice.
But we'll not fail! [aloud.]
The courage born of virtue
Hath still a holy sanction for its hope;
And he who strives with justice on his side,
May boldly challenge fortune for success,
If he be true himself!—We will not fail!
The carriage there! Come, madam—for the Court-house!

[Exeunt.