University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Lawyer's office in Philadelphia. Richard Osborne at a desk writing.
Enter Robert Warren.
Warren,
[eagerly.]
Hast drawn the paper, Osborne?

Osborne.
It is here.

Warren.
The copy this?—

Osborne.
And this the original.

Warren,
[examining papers.]
'Tis very like! You've done it famously:
One knows not which is which; and Norman Maurice,
Himself, would struggle vainly to discover
The difference 'twixt the words himself hath written,
And these your skill hath copied to a hair.
We shall deceive him.

Osborne.
Why would you deceive him?

Warren.
Eh! Why? It is my instinct! Are you answer'd?
I hate him! Would you have a better answer?

Osborne.
Why hate him when his kindness still have served you?
This very obligation which hath bound him,
And given us cruel power o'er his fortunes,—
His purse—perhaps his honor—

Warren.
Why, perhaps?
Is it doubtful, think you, that this fatal writing,
Made public,—will disgrace him?

Osborne.
An error only,—
The thoughtless sport of boyhood—wholly guiltless
Of all dishonest purpose. We have used it,—
You rather—and the profit has been ours!—
Why, if he pays the money as he proffers,
Why treasure still this paper? More—why hate him?

Warren.
Let it suffice you that I have my reasons!—
And let me tell you, Osborne, that I love not
This sympathy which you show for Norman Maurice.
Beware! who goes not with me is against me!

Osborne.
I'm in your power, I know—

Warren.
Then let your wisdom
Abate its fond pretension as my teacher!
I'm better pleased with service than tuition;
Will hold you as my ally, not my master!
I have remarked, of late, that you discover
Rare virtues in my cousin! He hath fee'd you;
Employed you as attorney in his cases—

Osborne.
Not more than other counsellors.

Warren.
No matter!
It is enough that you are mine!

Osborne.
This jealousy—

Warren.
Is only vigilance! Each look of favor,
Bestow'd on him I loathe, is disaffection
In him that's bound to me.

Osborne.
This document?—

Warren.
The real one,—the original—is mine;
The copy you will yield him when he pays you;—
That he will do so, now, I make no question,
Though where his money comes from is my wonder.

Osborne.
The case of Jones & Peters, just determined,
Brings him large fees. Another action,
The insurance case of Ferguson & Brooks,
Secures him handsome profits. Other cases,
Have lately brought him, with new reputation,
Liberal returns of money.

Warren.
We'll have all!
See that you pile the costs—crowd interest—
Expense of service; tax to the uttermost
The value of your silence and forbearance—
Leave nothing you have done without full charges,
While, what has been forborne, more highly rated,
Shall sweep the remaining eagles from his purse.

Osborne.
What bitterness is yours!

Warren.
Oh! quite ungracious,
Contrasted with the sweetness of your moods!
Once more, beware! Do as I bid you, Osborne,
Or you shall feel me. Yield him up this copy,
Which we shall see him, with delirious rapture,
Thrust in the blazing furnace,—little dreaming,
That still the damning scrawl that blasts his honor,
Lies here, in the possession of his foe!

Osborne.
Will nothing move you, Warren?

Warren.
His funeral only,—
To follow—while above his burial place,
I show this fatal paper,—still lamenting
That one with so much talent should have falter'd,
When virtue cried “Be firm!”—Oh! I will sorrow,
So deeply o'er his sad infirmity,
That they who come to weep above his grave,
Will turn from it in scorn. But, get you ready;—
You'll sup with me; and afterwards we'll seek him.
We must look smiling then as summer flowers,
Nor show the serpent crouching in the leaves.

[Exeunt.