University of Virginia Library

THE WIDOW'S MARRIAGE: A COMEDY.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Lord Guy Ruffler, A gallant.
• Sir William Travers, His friend.
• Harry Goldstraw, Nephew to Lady Goldstraw
• Hopeful, Suitor to Lady Goldstraw.
• Sir John Pollen, Suitor to Lady Goldstraw.
• Lord Foam, Suitor to Lady Goldstraw.
• Marks, Suitor to Lady Goldstraw.
• Darkly, Servant to Ruffler.
• Nick Prior, Servant to Lady Goldstraw.
• Lady Goldstraw, An old and wealthy widow.
• Madge, Her daughter.
• Dolly Flare, Lady Goldstraw's maid.
• Ladies, Gallants, Tradesmen, Servants, &c.

Scene, London. Time, Beginning of the reign of George II.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Street in London. Enter Sir William Travers and Lord Guy Ruffler.
Travers.
Guy, I will not! This dodging petticoats
Round the street-corners—peeping into shops—
Leering, with shameless meaning, under hoods—
Staring hot blushes into modest cheeks—
And fancying a favor if you catch
A wandering glance—is sheer against my manhood.
Tut! man, you slander all your female kin
By this procedure.

Ruffler.
(Looking off.)
Do I?—Pah! look there:
Into the goldsmith's shop! Can they not see
That I am looking at them? Travers, come,
We'll enter, too: I want a ring—a chain.—
'Sblood! are the women fools?

Trav.
There seem to be
Two fools among them.

Ruf.
Speak you for yourself?
Stand here a while.

Trav.
For what? To be the butt
Of my sharp self-contempt? Ruffler!

[Shaking him.]
Ruf.
(Still looking off.)
Hey!

Trav.
Nay;
I'm talking to you.

Ruf.
As my grandmother.

Trav.
You need it. Look you, listen to me, Guy;
Do you hold woman of no higher use—

Ruf.
Pish! let me go: I 've business in that shop.
Unhand me, pray.

[Struggles to get away.]
Trav.
No, sir, you shall not go.
I cannot see an insult thrust upon
A modest woman; and the man who can,
Without his nature flaming into wrath,
And his arm lifting with instinctive might,
Deserves to have his sisters, mother, wife,
Tossed in together at a city's sack,
While he looks on in powerless agony.

Ruf.
You could not please them better. What a stir,
Among the velvets and the damasked silks,
There was when the invading French were feared!
What rubbing up of jewels, what a dust
Among old finery! How some delicate maid
Would squeak, in her high treble, “Dear mamma,
They say those monsters do not spare the weak:
Let us be caught as ladies!” Then the dame
Would smooth her powder, with a gentle sigh
Of patient resignation. On my life,
I never saw the women in such feather!
You 'd thought the land was dressed for holiday,
Not for invasion. All the time, we men
Stood trembling, like huge jellies, for our throats;
While our brave women—now, you see, I praise them—
Made nothing of their honors!

Trav.
Monstrous stuff!
I would not share your notions of the sex,
To win a tribe of Helens. I can see,
Within the simple innocence and truth
Of uncorrupted woman, a fair spirit,
Ranked, by all-seeing Heaven, not far beneath
Its sinless denizens.

Ruf.
(Laughing.)
Now Heaven forgive
His wicked blasphemy! I'll draw you woman,
According to her earthly character,
Not as your poets make her. Woman, Will,
Is animated vanity. A toy
Made up each morning, by a forward whim,
That scarcely lasts the day through. The same sigh
Over a broken fan, or a broken heart,
Measures her depth of feeling. A long stare
At the last fashion, on a rival's back,
Shows her ambition. A conspicuous seat
At church, or theatre, where she may be
The conscious centre of a thousand eyes,
Shows her religion, or her taste. The power
To bear hot sentiment, and frigid love,
Her soul's endurance proves. Ask her to give
Her hero's character, and when you have
The color of his eyes, and hair, and cloak,
You'll praise her nice perception. See her weed
Her eyebrows of gray hairs, or paint her cheeks,
And there 's her industry, and love of art.
Come to her death-bed—

Trav.
Nay.

Ruf.
Well, end her there:
The thing is soulless, and can go no further.
Yet, for all this, a very pretty doll
For man to dandle.

Trav.
If the heavens be just,
You'll pay this one day. Guy, I reverence woman.

Ruf.
For what? Here 's a discovery, indeed!
For what?

Trav.
For many things. And yet there is
One thing I never fully understood,—
Love, love.

Ruf.
Why, that 's the simplest thing on earth.

Trav.
The very simplest! Were you e'er in love?

Ruf.
Always.

Trav.
With whom?

Ruf.
With everything that wears
More than a yard of velvet in its skirts.
You are a world too wise for happiness.

Trav.
The man who looks for it beyond himself
Is a mere fool. But, Ruffler, I intend
To marry shortly.

Ruf.
Heaven preserve your victim!
What, you'll set traps, ha? Scheme her to your bed?
Play on her weakness? and declare, the while,
How much you reverence her; as travellers say
Some pagans do, who flog unmercifully
Their painted gods, and worship them, by turns.
You talk of taking a poor maid, as though
She were an oyster.—Hist! they leave the shop,
And come this way.

Trav.
In decency retire.

Ruf.
Not I, by Jove!

Trav.
To please me, Guy.

Ruf.
Poh! poh!
You are too much humored.

Trav.
For a moment, then,
Until I can escape.

Ruf.
Well, well; come on.
A woman, more or less, is little gained,
And nothing lost. Sneak, dodge;—I am with you.

[They walk up the stage.]
(Enter Lady Goldstraw and Madge.)
Lady Goldstraw.
La! they are there again. It is too bad:
I cannot walk abroad, to feel the sun,
Without these shadows following. Every day
A pack of courtiers dog me to my door;
Or walk before me, dropping billet-doux;
And one, but Thursday last—I tell you, Madge—
Cast a French plume, that must have cost the knave
A good ten pound, in hope I would return it.

Madge.
And did you not?

Lady G.
Not I, you silly child!
I set my little foot upon it, thus,
And ground it in the mire; to show my pride,
And brave, contemptuous spirit. Mark those men:
See how the tall one eyes me. Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
A proper fellow, too, and bravely trimmed:
A courtier, doubtless. I do wonder, now,
If 't was that villain twitched my dress and sighed,
As we came through the church-door!—Mercy! Madge,
Don't stare so at them. Fie! you naughty child,
I'm blushing for you. Marry! when you 've seen
As many men as I, you'll know a way
To cut your eyes at them, that stirs them more
Than all your rustic glares.

Madge.
Come, mother, come.
Yon jackanapes is grinning like death's head,
With much the same expression; and his friend
Has great ado to keep him back. I fear
The coxcomb will be saucy.

Lady G.
Will he, rogue?—
Let him: I'll give him better than he sends.
Why, things have reached a pass, when pretty women
Are at the beck of every handsome dog
That strolls the streets! My husband, the Lord Mayor—

Madge.
Tell me the story as we pass along.
Yon bear will slip his keeper, if we stay.

Lady G.
So, then,—but how you hurry me away!

[Exit with Madge.]
(As they go off, enter Darkly.)
Ruf.
(Advancing.)
Darkly!

Darkly.
Forsooth.

Ruf.
“Forsooth!” Geneva-cloak!
You end of texts, and stupid homilies,
You all that 's bad in every Christian sect,
Do you “forsooth” me, sirrah, ha?

Dark.
Amen!

Ruf.
A fool! you sin-begotten tag-rag! What,
Are you pranked up, now, in your holy mood?
Come, saint, lay by your amaranthine crown,
And track those women.

Dark.
Ah!

Ruf.
You sigh! you'll groan
When you have gotten to the martyrdom,
I am preparing for your sainthood.

Dark.
O!

Trav.
Guy, if hard knocks can break a road to heaven,
You 're on the way. The man has honest scruples;
Do not outface his conscience.

Ruf.
Have you scruples?—
Have you a conscience?—Have you anything
That hints at honesty within your dirt?
I'll put him to the question. (Seizes Darkly.)
Answer me!

Dark.
The Lord forbid!

Trav.
Indeed!

Ruf.
Of course. Go, knave!

Dark.
Why should I follow the profane of earth,
The painted instruments of thy desire?

Ruf.
Because I order.

Dark.
Bear me witness, sir,
Here, in this world, and at the last account,
I sin by man's compulsion.

Trav.
Truly!

Dark.
Ah!

[Exit.]
Ruf.
A wretch like that would ornament the Shades,
And put the little devils to the blush,
Make Satan pine with envy, and upset
Chaos itself. I never saw his twin.
The club of Hercules could hardly drive
One hand to pen a love-song, while the other
Pilfered his lion-skin, with ohs and ahs
Enough to raise a whirlwind.

(Enter Harry Goldstraw.)
Trav.
Who is this?
What, Harry Goldstraw? Happily met again.
We were in Rome together—mind you, sir?—
That day the miracle would hardly work—
You know the virgin that did roll its eyes?—
Because the rain had rusted something, ha!
Much to the Church's scandal.

Goldstraw.
Ay; and you
To Fra Anselmo, a most bitter papist,
Did seriously offer to anoint
The clockwork with the chrism, and let the Pope
Go home ungreased. “Che, che?” he cried. “Because,
Fra,” you replied, “the Pope's eyes roll without it!”

Trav.
My friend, Lord Ruffler, Mr. Goldstraw. (They bow.)
Boys,
Let 's shake up London with a revel. How,
Goldstraw, you flinch?

Gold.
I have a reason, sir.
You saw two ladies pass—

Ruf.
I told you so:
Here is another hound upon the scent.
Look you, Will Travers, men are all the same;
You are the only Joseph upon earth.
So you were trailing them? O! never mind;
We will not quarrel; we'll divide them justly.
Take the old woman; give me the young thing:
I have a taste for unripe fruit.—

Gold.
My lord—

Ruf.
Well, you may wince, but so fate orders it.
A fairer piece of Eve I never saw
Than the young baggage. You 'd have laughed to see
The little creature stare at me.

Trav.
A look
Full of pure modesty, and more designed
For me than you.

Ruf.
A most immodest leer.
Hear, the vain puppy, how he claims her glance!

Gold.
I pray you, listen—

Ruf.
As for your share,—phew!
Think what a bundle of fine clothes you'll have—
What pots of paint—how many different wigs—
What an array of teeth, all movable,
And warranted to baffle time's decay!
And then her cotton;—why, an Indiaman
Carries no greater cargo! Whalebone too!
A very female Jonah, all encased
In the sea-monster's ribs! And mark—

Gold.
My lord,
Know you of whom you speak?

Ruf.
Not I, in faith:
Some lady of the suburbs, I suppose,
Who 'd bargain for her girl. You frown? 'Ods blood!
Who is the woman, then?

Gold.
My aunt.

Ruf.
The devil!

Trav.
Shame on you, Guy! You 've given a sorry wound
To the best nature ever lodged in man.
See how a loose tongue, like an archer, blind
With the thick dust of battle, shoots its shafts,
With undiscerning aim, at foe or friend.
Down on your knees!

Ruf.
Your pardon. Here 's my hand;
Or, if you like it better, here 's my sword;
Both at your service.

Gold.
By your leave, my lord,
I'll take the hand; it seems an honest one,
Though somewhat hasty.

Trav.
Spoken like brave men!
The sword should be a backward arbiter.
If human weakness can forgive a wrong,
Without blood spilled, let it be done; for so—
By just such steps of charity and love—
We climb to heaven.

Ruf.
Alas! I scarcely know
How to implore your confidence again.
You seem to bear a grief about with you,
That I, perhaps, might lighten.

Trav.
Harry, speak.
A truer mind, and a more slippery tongue,
A better heart, and a more idle head,
Were never bundled up in stranger sort
Than in Guy Ruffler.

Ruf.
When I go to service,
My master shall not get my character
From you, my boy.

Gold.
Alas! the character
You gave my aunt fills up my former grief.
That you, a stranger, by a casual glance,
Should come so near the thing she really is,
Gives me a sorrowful conclusion. She—
But I'll not talk. Come to her house with me;
Where, if you be true friends, you may behold
Things more for tears than laughter.

Trav.
Ah! I see.

Gold.
No, sir, you cannot see, with eyes like mine,
The open folly and the vanity
With which she stains my uncle's troubled grave,—
The faithful guardian of my orphanage,
Whose fragrant memory sheds no balm on her,
Amid the train of fops and fashionists
That flutter round her gold, in buzzing swarms;
Slaves whose mere presence would disgust the sense
Of many a wanton. All these things have sprung,
Not from her heart, which, at the root, is good;
But by the culture of such poisoned sprouts
As grow upon the surface of our nature,—
Self-love and vanity. But come; I'll preach
More by example, if you feel inclined.

Trav.
Nay, Harry, quit these dumps. A woman's whims
Are all too light to bow so strong a soul.

Ruf.
I'll find a way to cure her malady.
I never saw a woman yet of stuff
I could not mould, as wax before a fire.
Some merry plot, half serious and half gay,
I'll plan. I undertake it, sir; and what
I undertake, I do.

Trav.
Go to! Here is
[Patting Ruffler.]
My Vanity, my Ego, my great Me:
Match any woman with him, if you can!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

A Reception-Room in Lady Goldstraw's House. Enter Madge.
Madge.
When will my mother hold her years to be
Beyond man's courtship? O! it sickens me
To see her deck her ruins with bright flowers,—
Through which the ugly seams will peep, withal,—
While I, who, in the course of nature, am as fit
For flowers as Spring is, shut my roses up,
And pine beneath her. Child, forsooth! A child
Of twenty summers, who must know its bounds,
Its nursery, its book, its pretty toy;
Rise with the lark, and lie down with the lamb;—
Must I, indeed?—while she makes daybreak blush
To see her revels, and high noon amazed
To catch her sleeping. If I knew a man,
Of all her tribe, worth loving—Not so fast:
There 's cousin Hal, worth all the bearded race;
But what cares he? Would I were not his cousin!
Ah, well! Hal is so modest too: a fashion
That went out with the tilting-spears and shields.
Poor chivalry! they scorn you; but you died
Rather for lack of heroes, to renew
Your drooping laurels, than your own misdeeds.
If I were Hal—How he torments me!

(Enter Lady Goldstraw.)
Lady Goldstraw.
Child,
You must be jogging: your embroidery
Needs a few stitches, and your French has gone
The saints know where!

Madge.
The saints know little, madam
Of where the French go. If the French go—

Lady G.
Fie!
Your tongue is idler than your hands. Go, go;
Get to your book. I spoil you, silly child,
By my indulgence.

Madge.
Nay; I think you spoil
My mother more by your indulgence.

Lady G.
Mistress,
Would you be pert?

Madge.
Not if I could respect.
Pray hear me, mother.

Lady G.
To your room, I say!
I'll cool your blood upon a water diet,—
Impudent nursling!

Madge.
Madam!

Lady G.
To your room!
[Exit Madge.]
O! what a fume she put me in! I fear
My poor complexion has not stood the shock
Of this emotion. (Looks at a mirror.)
Yes; a fair escape!
No crack nor line, and not a hair awry.
Prior! (Enter Nick Prior.)
Who waits below?

Nick.
Why, Master Hopeful, mam.
Hope 's first to come, and last to go away.

Lady G.
No words! Admit him. Now, I wonder why
This whole house treats me with such disrespect?
[Aside.]
Go, sir! I'll get a master for you, sirrah,
To swinge you roundly.

Nick.
How the old girl shines!
She must have varnished down her paint to-day.

[Aside. Exit.]
Lady G.
Ho! here he comes. Lie still, my little heart!
Why wilt thou flutter, tender fool? Ah me!

[Sinks into a chair.]
(Enter Hopeful. Ruffler, Travers, and Goldstraw, enter behind, observing the scene.)
Hopeful.
Queen of my soul, sweet agony of bliss,
Adored deceiver! daylight is agog
To see thy coming; though bright Phœbus knows
Thy light will shame him! Wherefore, wherefore, wherefore,
Cruel eye of beauty, didst thou keep thy slave
Sitting upon a hall-stool? Has thy heart
No sympathetic thrill to waste upon
Joints stiffened in thy service, rheumatisms
Beyond red flannel and mustard?

Lady G.
Faithless bard,
What, dost thou murmur at thy bondage, then?
I could well-nigh forbid your lips to press
The lilies of this hand.

[Extends her hand, which he kisses.]
Hope.
Nay, mistress mine,
My grief is closed within my placid heart,
As those fair lilies when they fold to rest
Upon thy snowy bed-quilt. Hear, O, hear!
[Takes out a paper.]
This sonnet to thy glory. Little, lady,
Compared with their sweet source, the verses seem;
As rivers which seem trifles to their springs—
Nay, I am out somehow. (Aside.)
But give thy ear
To this soft melody of Phœbus's.
[Reads.]
O! ever-to-be-remembered day and night!
O! never-to-be-forgotten ecstasy!
O! sun-god, with thy sky-born eyes, day-bright,
O'er-look the song-soul of thy votary!
O! teach his love-pen how to soothly write
Of the not-now-forgotten hour, when I
Poured out my love-words to the worthiest wight
That wends, heart-bound, beneath ceruleous sky!
O! dip my ink-dried pen in á sunsét;
Roll out a white-cloud scroll, without a flaw;
For sand, powder a storm-cloud up; and get
Venus to set her silvern taper, for
To light thy Poet; and one name he'll set
Across the sky, and it shall be—Goldstraw!

Lady G.
A sweet, sweet sonnet! much in Petrarch's way.
Yours is a pretty gift of poesy.
Hist! be discreet.

Hope.
I hear profane strong steps;
Much like a man with heavy boots might make.
Lo! rivals, madam! Lo! the slaves that tear
My heart out, and destroy my appetite!

(Enter Lord Foam, Sir John Pollen, and Marks.)
Lady G.
Fair welcome, gentlemen! You have missed much—
The poet's latest verse. Read it again.

Hope.
At thy command I would do much. But, no,
No common ear shall list to holy verse.
Yet if you will—

Marks.
Don't break yourself for us;
Keep something back to live on.

Foam.
La! they say
Your verse is stale before the ink gets dry.

Hope.
They wrong me foully!

Pollen.
(Aside to Hopeful.)
At him! In my day—
In Flanders, yonder—I have seen a throat
Cut for less insults. By the devil's blood!
I smell a coward.

Hope.
Cut the miscreant's gorge,
Here, in this presence!

Pol.
Ay; and fling his head
Into her lap. When we were leaguers, bully,
Down there at Antwerp, an old Spanish Don
One morning sent his mistress, by the post,
The heads of all her twenty paramours,
Strung on a rope like onions.

Hope.
Horrible!
Brought they no tears into her woman's eyes?

Marks.
No, sir; she did not peel them.

Pol.
Look you, sir,
I am a soldier.

Marks.
Then, thank Heaven, I am not.

Foam.
La! fairly struck! Good boy, good boy! I kiss
Your worship's hand.

Pol.
Small shot and thunder! Turks,
I'll teach your tongues—

[Lady Goldstraw faints, supported by Hopeful.]
Hope.
Hold, ruffians! Look here,
And see your handiwork.

Pol.
'Ods bayonets!
Twitch her nose, Foam.

Hope.
Who twitches dies the death!

Foam.
A fan, a fan, la! Merchant, bring a fan!

Marks.
“A fan!” No; bring some water.

All.
(Running about.)
Water, water!

Lady G.
(Starting up.)
No; bring no water; I am not afire.

Marks.
Nor do you use fast colors for your cheeks,
Or water would not wake you.

[Aside.]
Pol.
Blood and drums!
I beg for quarter.

Lady G.
Water me, forsooth!
Do I look withered?

Hope.
Spare, my gracious queen,
[Kneels.]
The wretch who kneels before you, and inclines
His lips unto your shoe-string!

Lady G.
For his sake,
I spare you all.

Marks.
Had I your guineas safe,
I 'd spare your sparing. [Aside.]


Foam.
La! how kind you are!

Hope.
A royal amnesty!

Lady G.
But leave me, sirs;
My nerves are shattered.

Hope.
Misery, misery!

Pol.
'Swounds!
This thing has fallen like a ten-pound shell
Among a company.

Hope.
O! pardon, pardon!

Lady G.
I pardon all. Go, I implore!

Foam.
Adieu!

[Exit, gayly.]
Marks.
'Sdeath! must I lose more interest?

[Aside. Exit.]
Pol.
Soul of me!
Where shall I dine to-day?

[Aside. Exit.]
Hope.
O! agony!
I did not read my sonnet to them. (Aside.)
Ha!
[Starting.]
One look, and then the pall of midnight falls!

[Exit, wildly.]
Lady G.
One cheek has cracked: I felt it giving way
When they cried “water.” Doll, what, Doll, I say!
Ha! there 's the handsome stranger of the street;
And come to court me, doubtless. Lack-a-day!
O! had those brutes cried anything but “water!”

[Exit.]
(Ruffler, Traverse, and Goldstraw, advance.)
Ruffler.
O! such a farce!

Traverse.
Such actors too! But, Hal,
Where is your cousin?

Goldstraw.
Prisoned by my aunt;
Kept out of sight. Blooming and withering
Show ill in company.

Ruf.
Such vanity
I 've heard of.—

Trav.
Practised.

Ruf.
How?

Trav.
Why, in yourself;
Is not all womankind in love with you?

Ruf.
That 's not my fault.

Trav.
Guy, you are sharp enough
For others' follies, stone-blind to your own.

Ruf.
Bah! hang your sermons! Goldstraw, I 've a plan
Working within me, but scarce formed as yet.
Let us to Travers' lodgings; where I'll lie
Till time has brought my struggling thought to light.

Trav.
Onward!—But, Hal, if widow, maid, or wife,
Should look upon us, as we pass along,
Pray you remember, all the sweetest looks
Belong by right to Ruffler; all the frowns
To us, by imposition. Forward, then!

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Travers' Lodgings. Ruffler, Travers, and Goldstraw, discovered.
Travers.
Your plot comes hardly, Ruffler.

Ruffler.
Not at all:
But, as you say, if the old lady's follies
Could reach the end they aim at, she would find
A keen repentance following her success.
She must be married; that 's the starting-point.

Goldstraw.
“Married!” Nay, that 's the ending-point, I fear.
For, in a furious outburst of her folly,
Or by the coming of some needy fellow,
Of handsome person and adroit designs,
She may be cozened to clap up a match,
Either with one who dangles in her train,
Or an adventurer who will spend her wealth,
Rob my poor cousin of her heritage,
And break both hearts together.

Trav.
A shrewd fear.
For, Guy, suppose yourself a ruined man;
How easy would it be to mend your rents
With Lady Goldstraw's patches!

Ruf.
True enough.

Trav.
'T is well all sharpers have not your address,
Or heaven protect rich widows!

Ruf.
Hum! Suppose
That I should marry her.

[Laughing.]
Trav.
He takes the bait.
[Aside.]
'Sdeath! what a life you 'd lead her! It would cure
Her amorous fancies till her dying day.
Lord! how she 'd shy, and try to throw you off,
And how you 'd cling and spur! I understand:
Married in jest, by Darkly, or some knave
With reverend face;—just for a day or so?
'T would work like poison. Ah! you cunning dog,
What nimble wits you have!

[Laughing.]
Gold.
Yes; how they skip,
When Travers pulls the wires! [Aside.]


Ruf.
Well, there 's my plan;
Born by due course of nature, as you see,
Without the aid of doctors.

Trav.
Brava, wife!
No; pshaw! you gull us. What, you will not dare
To carry out your artful project, man?
I doubt your courage. Hal, what think you, Hal?

Gold.
I would be loath to see her ladyship
The victim of a plot.

Trav.
Yet, after all,
Could it exceed the antics of to-day—
The lovers, and the sonnet, and the swoon?
And why not touch her feelings, and awake
The torpid heart that smothers in her follies,
And makes her monstrous? Ruffler's scheme is good—
Excellent, exquisite, without a flaw—
And easily practised.

Ruf.
Ay, simplicity,
That 's your true mark of genius!

Gold.
I'll consider.

Ruf.
Nay, now, you shall consent. I will not have
The travail of my brain miscarry quite
Through stupid counsel. 'T is the only way;
And if you shrink, I'll offer no more plans.
Live on, and suffer by your obstinacy.

Gold.
What think you, Travers?

Trav.
Soberly, I think
The plot a sound one: and, besides, if he
Wring the old lady past her sufferance,
We can remit; for then the cure will be,
Beyond a doubt, accomplished.

Gold.
I consent.
But deal as a good surgeon; give no pain
Where pain is needless; cut the cancer out,
But spare the patient.

Ruf.
Mark me, gentlemen;
I'll have no interference; you must be
But instruments, not artists, in my work.
Prepare yourselves for orders.

Trav.
We'll obey.

[Ruffler struts up the stage.]
Gold.
Travers, I never saw such vanity—
Of all complexions, shapes, and shades—in man.
He takes your thoughts out of your very teeth,
Swallows, and casts them up, as carelessly
As though your brain were his.

Trav.
(Laughing.)
And so it is.
His weakness does not hide his nobler parts
From my respect. We'll hit upon some way
To cure both patients with one medicine.

(Enter Darkly.)
Ruf.
(Seizing him.)
Where have you tarried? By the holy rood,
I feel like basting you!

Darkly.
Swear Christian oaths!
Do not afflict me with the filth of Rome—
The bells, the candles, or the holy rood—
The graven images, or painted saints—
The monks, or bulls, or other hornéd beasts—
The—

Trav.
Peace! you hypocrite, you sightless mole,
Who burrow in the dirt and lees of things,
Nor see the flowers that root in the decay
Of Roman greatness, to delight our time!
Peace, wretch! that ancient church held up a torch,
To light our fathers through the utter gloom
Of feudal ignorance! Learning lived in her;
Her cloisters saved the wondrous minds that made
Greece beautiful and Rome imperial.
What if she lag behind this rapid age?
Is she not old? and age claims man's respect.
What if the daylight show the torch's smoke?
Did it not serve us in the middle night,
And light us towards the morning? Rome, thou fool!
There 's not a church, from Luther to George Fox,
That on her broad foundations is not built!

Ruf.
You hurl a thunderbolt against a gnat.
Peace, father Will!

Trav.
You heard the villain prate.
I am no Papist, yet it angers me
To see that noble bulwark of our faith
Touched with irreverent hands.

Ruf.
Well, sirrah, well!
Where have you been?

Dark.
I tarried round the house
Of the gay gentile, near the offices,
Over against the backside of the court;
And there I saw her handmaids and her men
Bear the repast to its allotted place.

Ruf.
(Mimicking him.)
And, peradventure, thou didst enter in,
To fill thy inward man with broken meats.
Yea, and I marvel that thou didst not burst
Thy hide with stuffing. For, bethink thee, brother,
It falls on fast-day, when it is thy use
To cram thee grossly, just to scorn the church.

Dark.
Yea, verily.

Ruf.
Out, glutton!

Dark.
And it chanced,
A maid of comly mien, and smooth of skin—

Ruf.
How did you know the texture of her skin?

Dark.
In divers ways.

Ruf.
Ugh, losel!

Dark.
And I called,
And said unto the maid, in modest tongue—

Ruf.
With a most filthy leer.

Dark.
Whose habitation,
Or whose dwelling-place, dost thou abide in?
And she answered me, “The Lady Goldstraw's,
Widow to a mayor of mighty London;
A brave and portly dame, stricken in years,
But full of amorous blood.” And who the damsel?
I questioned; and she made reply, “Young Madge,
A child of twenty summers.” So I rose,
And came my way.

Ruf.
Unconscionable liar!
You have been nobbing in stale beer with her,
Eating cold pasties; and, for after cates,
You stole a brace of kisses. Come, put on
Your sanctimonious garb, and follow me.—
Are you prepared?

[To Travers and Goldstraw.]
Trav.
Yea, verily!

Gold.
In sooth!

Dark.
O, O, alas! how the profane ones scoff!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

An Ante-Room in Lady Goldstraw's house. Enter Travers and Madge.
Travers.
So love died long ago?

Madge.
When Venus died,
With her three Graces, and the Golden Age
Came limping downward to these prosy days
Of gain and reason. If we marry now,
'T is this lord's park wedding that lady's field;
Or this man's money-bags and that dame's plate,
Joined at compounded interest; or John's arm
Mated to Polly's thrift. Or give the theme
A wider scope—throw wealth and sense aside—
And then 't is folly caught by beauty's glare;
Or base desire asking the church's seal,
To sin by charter; or sad loneliness
Seeking companionship; or simple malice
Seizing a helpless victim to torment,
While the law nods approval; or—or—or—
For any motive, good or bad, you please,
But not for love. Love has no motives, sir,
No purposes, no aims, no selfish wish;
Love is its own reward.

Trav.
Indeed! then love
For nothing sighs—for nothing groans and weeps—
For nothing wrings his hands, and tears his hair;
Or with this nothing being enraged, for nothing
He fires a house, or cuts a rival's throat,
Or leads the Greeks into a ten years' war,
And tumbles blazing Ilium o'er her walls:
And all for nothing!

Madge.
Then was love a god;
Men demi-gods, who stalked through history
A head and shoulders taller than the world:
Ah! there were heroes then!

Trav.
And heroes now.
Are heroes proven by the knocks they take?—
Is blood the only livery of renown?
I knew a sickly artisan, a man
Whose only tie to life was one pale child,
His dead wife's gift. Yet, for that single tie,
He bore a life that would have blanched the face
Of arméd Hector; bore the hopeless toil,
That could but scrape together one day's food;
Bore the keen tortures of a shattered frame,
The sneer of pride, the arrogance of wealth;
All the dread curses of man's heritage,
Summed in one word of horror—poverty!—
Ay, bore them with a smile. And all the time,
His ears were full of whispers. In his hand,
The common tools of work turned from their use,
And hinted—death! The river crossed his path,
Sliding beneath the bridge, so lovingly,
And murmuring—death! Upon his very hearth
The tempter sat, amid the flaming coals,
And talked with him of—death! A thousand ways
Lay open, for his misery to escape;
Yet there he stood, and labored for his child,
Till Heaven in pity took the twain together.—
He was a hero!

Madge.
Sir, you sadden me.

Trav.
Is man, then, so degenerate?

Madge.
On my faith,
You prove the thing worth something.

Trav.
Would that I
Could prove it in my person!

Madge.
Why?

Trav.
Fair Madge,
I'd have you love me.

Madge.
Horrors! what a man!
How many houses have you? How much land?
How many guineas? Are your cattle fat?
Could you afford a carriage? Sir, you see,
Having no father, I must look to this,
As you 'd be loved, in my own person. Come;
Set up your claim. What settlement, Sir William,
Can you make good upon my daughter?

Trav.
Sir,
I am a hero of the Golden Age,
Belated in your times. A love like mine
Is its own blessed reward. I nothing seek;
And, therefore, nothing will I give. My love
Is an abstraction, a divine idea,
That settles on your daughter, my good sir,
For want of better habitation.

Madge.
Pshaw!
You'll vex me, shortly: I abhor a quiz.

Trav.
Why, so do I; and hating thus myself,
I leave myself, and cast my love on you.

Madge.
Which love is self-love, by your own confession.

Trav.
And being self-love, of the best quality
Find me, between the poles, such tenderness
As that men lavish on themselves; such sighs
As they can utter o'er their private griefs;
Such tears as their own miseries call forth;
Such perfect and complete oblivion
To all the world, for their own darling selves!
It would shame Hero o'er Leander's corpse,
To hear the anguish that a surgeon's knife
Can waken in his patient.

Madge.
Farewell, sir!
I'll hope to meet you in a graver mood.

Trav.
I shaped my mood by yours.—But one word more.
Suppose me grave; should I have credit, then?
You shake your head. Pray, when will you believe?

Madge.
When I believe in love.

[Exit.]
Trav.
I like thee, Madge:
Would I could love thee, as thou dost deserve;
But love!—O, fie! I'll swear I cannot love.
Yet I must feign it; drop philosophy,
And rave myself into a lunatic.
I like thee, though, beyond a shade of doubt;
And there 's a nature underlays thy mirth
That well approves the feeling. 'T is full time
I should set up a nursery, and prolong
The race of Travers; or my father's bones
Will rise against me. He who wills can win.

[Exit.]
(Enter Dolly Flare.)
Dolly.
My! what a handsome gentleman! How well
He 'd look, if he had Mr. Darkly's way
Of pious conversation! There 's a man
The devil fears, I warrant!

(Enter Darkly.)
Darkly.
Sister Flare,
How is it with thee, sister?

Dol.
Poorly, thank Heaven!

Dark.
O! weaker vessel, dost thou feel the need
Of faith, to steady thee?

Dol.
I fear I do.

Dark.
Um, um! faint soul, thou shalt not ask in vain
The arm of succor, (Embracing her.)
or the guiding hand.
[Taking her hand.]
And, peradventure, it might comfort thee
To taste a morsel of refreshing strength:
[Taking a bottle from his pocket.]
Albeit, the spirit is strong, the flesh is weak,
And cries for aid. (Gives the bottle. She drinks.)
Yea, verily! alas!
How much the poor soul needs! But go thy ways;
My strength is waning, even as thine doth wax.
[Takes the bottle from her.]
When thou dost falter by the way, look up!—
Even though this carnal vial cleave unto thee,
Defy the tempter, and look up, I say!

[Throws back his head, and drinks.]
Dol.
(Taking the bottle.)
I will, indeed. O! sir, you have not left
A drop to try my strength on.

Dark.
Marvel not:
Sore was I tempted. Thou of little faith,
O! frail of purpose, canst thou not look up?

[She looks up, and he kisses her.]
Dol.
(Starting.)
O! O!

Dark.
Does thy strength fail? Look up, I say!
[She looks up, and he kisses her.]
Dost thou feel easier? Is the tempter laid?

Dol.
I could look up forever.

Dark.
Verily,
Thy faith is great, O, blessed sister Flare!
Perchance I may abide beneath this roof;
And if it happen, I will come to thee,
Even to thy chamber, to exhort with thee,
And wrestle with the tempter.

Dol.
Dear, good man!
I don't deserve it, sir, indeed I don't:
I feel so dismal-like, when you are nigh,
And I can see your blessed face. O! O!
I fear I am a sinner, sir!

[Weeps.]
Dark.
Look up!

[She looks up, he kisses her, and exit.]
(Enter Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
Here I am, Harry, in my best array.
But where is Travers?

Goldstraw.
Somewhere hereabout:
He strayed off with my cousin. Dolly, girl,
What are you staring at?

Ruf.
A pretty maid!—
Hist, hist! I'll wake her.

[Steals up to kiss her.]
Dol.
(Striking him.)
Out, tempter, out!
Get thee behind me, Satan!

[Exit.]
Ruf.
Blood of mine!
What a she-devil!

[Rubbing his face.]
Gold.
What has come o'er her?

Ruf.
Plague on her handling! Now, I tell you, Hal,
That 's the first check I e'er received from woman.
She 's taken me for you.

Gold.
Without a doubt.
You 're welcome to the error.

Ruf.
Now, suppose
I open on the widow. I intend
To carry the whole matter through by storm.
Who are within?

Gold.
Fools: the same silly crowd.
You 'd better join them.

Ruf.
Mark me put them down,
Clear the whole field, and catch the widow up
Before she can draw breath.—

Gold.
Or hear a word
That sounds like reason.

Ruf.
Ay, ay! Forward, then!
Sound, trumpets! I am armed to win the day!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III.

A Room in the Same. Lady Goldstraw, Lord Foam, Sir John Pollen, Hopeful, and Marks, discovered.
Hopeful.
Star of our lives, make an election now.
Behold thy four slaves suppliant at thy heels;
[They kneel.]
And all they beg, imperial dame of hearts,
Is that thou 'lt choose, among their number, one,
To make the partner of thy four-post bed.
Would thou couldst honor all, and shame the Turk
By a reversal of his way of life;
Yet since vile law confines thee to but one,
Choose from among us here the worthiest;
And let the remnant of thy slaves depart,
Covering their misery with their handkerchiefs.
As for myself—

[They all start up.]
All.
Hold, Hopeful!

Pollen.
Honor, honor!

Marks.
We chose you spokesman, and not advocate.
You must not speak, or speak for all alike.

Foam.
La! yes; well put!

Lady Goldstraw.
How shall I choose aright,
Where no one seems unworthy? Marry, sirs,
A simple woman, immature in years—
Though wise beyond them—here may hesitate,
And hand upon the syllable of judgment.
I like the martial air of bold Sir John—

Pol.
'Sdeath! yes: at Antwerp—

Hope.
Peace! an angel blabs.

Lady G.
I like the manners of Lord Foam—

Foam.
La, now!

Lady G.
The thrift of Marks; the wild poetic soul
That throbs in Hopeful—

Hope.
Glory to my queen!
She chooses nicely.

Marks.
Cease your braying, ass,
Until she chooses.

Pol.
(To Hopeful.)
Breathe another word,
And I will scour my rapier in your soul!

Marks.
Let us cast lots.

Hope.
Back, merchant! Slave, to thee!—
[To Pollen.]
What! dost thou scorn the poet? Flanders' knight,
He of the lyre is master of the blade;
Nor goes out, like a candle, at thy puff!

Lady G.
Beseech you, gentlemen!—

Hope.
Pray not for him:
His cause doth soil the ruby of thy lip
With present arsenic. On my angry sword
Grim horror sits, and murder is about!
Away!

[The others seize him.]
Pol.
I pray you, hold him; he is mad.

Lady G.
O gentlemen—good gentlemen—

Hope.
Mad for your bleeding!

Foam.
La! be quiet, do!

Marks.
Peace, or I'll trounce you!

Hope.
Dost thou second him,
Thou thing of measures, and plague-bearing rags?
Receive thy wages!

[Strikes Marks. All draw.]
Lady G.
Murder! murder! murder!

Pol.
Murder! I 'm slain!

Foam.
And I!

(Enter Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
Keep the king's peace!

Hope.
(Rushing at Ruffler.)
Presuming toadstool, die!

[Goldstraw strikes up his sword.]
Goldstraw.
Stand back! you know me.

Hope.
But I regard you not.

Ruf.
Ha! dogs, you snarl,
You show your teeth, you bite, before a lady!

Lady G.
Marry! that they do, sir, and little else.

Ruf.
Are these your manners? This the high respect
A man should show before yon paragon
Of beauty, sweetness, and accomplished worth?
Now, as I live, my heart takes fire indeed
At the bare thought, and I would make you dance
To the harsh music of this rapier!—

Lady G.
No more—if you do love me.

Ruf.
Love you, sweet!
See, one soft word has saved you. Vanish, then!
I banish you her presence, one and all,
Until our wedding-day.

Hope.
Man, dost thou think
Thy clamor scares us?

Pol.
Poh, poh! soldiers, gull,
Afraid of words! In Flanders, 'sdeath! the French
Said ten words to our one.

Marks.
Ha, magpie, ha!
You 'd steal our lady's gold!

Foam.
La! yes, indeed.

Marks.
We'll clip you close enough.

(Enter Travers and Darkly.)
Ruf.
Here come allies.
Draw out your battle; for I have resolved
To drive you out, through yonder door, like thieves.

(Ruffler and his friends range themselves on one side; the suitors on the other.)
Travers.
What is this folly?

Marks.
It has just come in,
Along with you.

Lady G.
Entreat them to desist.
O dear! my hair has gotten all awry;
I must look dreadfully.

[Aside.]
Trav.
Nay, gentlemen—

Marks.
Pish! draw your sword, and sheath your tongue.

Hope.
Ay, slave,
If you be mortal, we will find it out!

Darkly.
(Coming between.)
Or, peradventure, if I might exhort—

Marks.
Out, scarecrow!

[Darkly retreats.]
Trav.
Taste your madness.

[Draws.]
Pol.
Hold, by Mars!
This looks like earnest. (Aside.)
I proclaim a truce.

Hope.
Base-born deserter!

Marks.
Coward!

Foam.
La! and I
Have no idea of getting my clothes spoiled.

[Crosses with Pollen to Ruffler's party.]
Pol.
Why, sirs, we often did it, down in Flanders,
To bury up the dead. A truce! a truce!
A soldier asks it. Or, if you will fight,
Throw down your arms, and beg for quarter.

Marks.
Hopeful,
We are out-matched.

Hope.
I care not, I! Come on!
The world shall witness how a bard goes off!

[Advances.]
Gold.
This mummery has gone far enough. (Coming between.)
Be still,
Mad poetaster; and you, master Marks,
Off to your counter, or I'll call the watch.

Trav.
A good idea.

Pol. and Foam.
Watch! watch!

Marks.
We will submit
To Lady Goldstraw; but the best of you
Shall not dictate at the sword's point to us.

Hope.
Speak, magnet of my heart! thy slaves prepare
To do thy bidding.

Lady G.
Now, I really like
That stranger's counsel, for the stranger's sake.
[Aside.]
Begone! I banish you. Yet, not to kill
Your loving spirits, I'll mix sweet with sour,—
Return again upon my wedding-day.

Marks.
Keep up your spirits: I, for one, have hope
To be alive to see your funeral.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Ungrateful brute!

Foam.
La! so do I.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Mean fop!

Pol.
Good-morning to your paint! In faith, I 'd take
The same leave of your face, if 't were in sight.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Ugh! slanderous warrior!

Hope.
Madness, madness, madness!
A thousand hissing vipers gnaw your soul,
The nightmare lie beside you, and may dreams—
Grimmer than gorgons, hydras, and the like—
Forever mind you of lost Thomas Hopeful!
This marvellous world to me is black as soot!

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Loving, but vicious!

Trav.
(Laughing.)
'T was a fearful scene!

[Apart to Goldstraw.]
Gold.
But all a sham. You saw the cut-throats cool
When “watch” was cried.

Trav.
Yet Ruffler swaggered bravely.

Gold.
Dear aunt, excuse me. This fierce gentleman,
Who saved our lives, is Lord Guy Ruffler; famed
For gallant deeds done in the field of Mars,
And Cupid's, too.

[Introducing them.]
Lady G.
My service to your lordship.

Ruf.
Nay, nay; command me, madam.

Gold.
Aunt, my friend,
Sir William Travers.

Lady G.
(Apart to Goldstraw.)
Are they both at Court?

Gold.
Yes, both in office; and Lord Ruffler, aunt,
Is of great wealth, and greater expectation.

Lady G.
He seems to like me.

Gold.
Like you! Ah! I fear,
'T is more than liking.

Lady G.
Pshaw, you foolish boy!
Well, well, I cannot see, but so it is,
The men will fancy something in me still.
A lonely widow; only I have worn
Better than most, and youth yet lingers here
With some small show of charms.

Gold.
I never saw
Years touch one lighter; all the gayety
Of youth is yours, without youth's rudeness, madam.

Lady G.
O fie! you flatter.

Gold.
(Apart to Ruffler.)
I have smoothed your way:
Her heart is open now to all mankind.

Lady G.
Lord Ruffler.

[Goldstraw and Travers walk up the stage.]
Ruf.
Madam.

Lady G.
You are from the Court.

Ruf.
'T is true, my lady.

Lady G.
Are there many there
Of greater beauty than our city belles?

Ruf.
You jest.

Lady G.
How then?

Ruf.
I trust you know the worth
Of the transcendent beauty stored in you;
Your glass must brighten with it every day.
Those eyes, that flash upon me, are not blind,
Or heaven belies its light.

Lady G.
O dear! my lord,
You are so sudden! I could scarce expect
To hear such words at once. You frighten me.—
See how my hand is shaking.

Ruf.
(Taking her hand.)
Precious hand,
That trembles at my lips; then, at my lips,
Tremble forever.

[Kisses it.]
Lady G.
O, O, let me go!
'T is cruel to use your strength; and I so weak!

Ruf.
I love you madly!

Lady G.
Ah! you fib, you do—
You know you do—you naughty, naughty lord!

Ruf.
By those bright eyes I swear—and by that brow
Of Parian whiteness—and those curving lips
That match and rival the vermilion dye
Brought from Cathay—and by those cheeks that blush
The Persian rose to paleness—by this hand,
Which now I hold, and never will release,
I swear—and hear me Venus and young Love—
To win a title that shall make it mine!

Lady G.
(Struggling.)
Indeed, my lord, I'll call for help, I will,
If you presume so. You are crushing me—
A poor weak woman—O, unhand me, O!

Gold.
(Advancing.)
What is the matter?

[As he advances, Ruffler releases her.]
Lady G.
Nothing, goose,—begone!
[Goldstraw retreats.]
I must retire a while, indeed I must.
Stay, if you will—I cannot help it—stay;
But don't expect to see me. Lack-a-day!
The fellow 's squeezed me out of shape, I know.

[Aside, arranging her dress.]
Ruf.
Shall I not hope?

Lady G.
Hope is the guest of all;
I cannot help it if you hope. Adieu!
Sweet ruffian!

[Aside. Exit.]
(Travers and Goldstraw advance.)
Ruf.
Talk of wooing girls, forsooth!
Hang me, if aught compares with wooing widows.
The hopeful ease, the careless certainty,—
Ah! that 's the thing to whet one's heart upon.

Gold.
She took it kindly?

Ruf.
“Kindly!” that 's no word.
But I am trammelled with another scrape.

Trav.
How 's that?

Ruf.
Why, look ye, as we came along,
We met the pretty Madge, and, as I live,
She gave me that same stare.

Gold.
She spoke to me.

Ruf.
Ay, but she looked at me. And let me tell you—
For I know all about these woman's ways—
A look goes further with them in a day,
And means more too, than fifty thousand words.

Gold.
The boundless coxcomb! Madge, too!

[Aside.]
Trav.
(Laughing.)
Ha, ha! Guy,
Keep your belief; you'll need it by and by.

Ruf.
What do you mean?

Gold.
Pish! sirs; let us go in.
I have a cork to draw.—My cousin—'sdeath!—
[Aside.]
A jolly bottle of an ancient house,
Ice to the lips, but fire within the blood;
A liquid joy, that, in its native grape,
Basked a whole summer through in old Provence,
And rolled its pulpy fatness in the sun,
And caught the spirit of the Troubadour,
To kindle song amid our colder age!

Ruf.
Come, Travers, come, and crack the bottle. Ugh!
This ancient love-making is somewhat dusty.
I 'm dried up to a cinder with my flames.
Where is the wine, Hal? Quick, my throat 's afire!

[Exeunt.]

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Room in Lady Goldstraw's House. Enter Madge and Goldstraw.
Goldstraw.
Madge, can you keep a secret?

Madge.
Hal, it seems
You cannot keep the one upon your lips.

Gold.
But it concerns you.

Madge.
Do I look concerned?

Gold.
Am I a fool, that you should answer thus?

Madge.
Am I town-crier, that you should fear to tell
This secret which will burst you, if you hold
A moment longer?

Gold.
Now, by Midas' ears,
I will not trust you!

Madge.
Well, well; I'm content.

Gold.
No, you are not.

Madge.
Indeed!

Gold.
You 're mad to hear.

Madge.
And you to tell. Ah! cousin Hal, you men
Call woman curious; but it would not be,
If you wise mortals did not, from our births,
Feed us on secrets. First, you tell your sins,
Then slander us for knowing them. Now, I
Have a great secret, that, when yours is out,
I'll give unasked.

Gold.
A secret! pray, what is it?
That Lady Picture paints?—Miss Wiggins' hair
Grows on her French maid's head?—Miss Cripple's limp
Accounts for the high price of cork this year?—
That Mistress Flimsy's death was hastened on
By swallowing her set of brilliant teeth,
The day she heard Lord Faithless jilted her
For Lady Lucre? For poor Flimsy's maid
Told Lady Pop's, your cousin's maid, who told
Nick Prior, your mother's footman, who told Maud,
Your chambermaid, who told your seamstress, Blanche,
Who told your Dutch nurse, who unguardedly
Dropped it to Dolly Flare—et cetera.
Why, Madge, a secret, such as you would tell,
Has such a pedigree, before you reach
The thing itself, as an old Hebrew king:
I'd go to sleep before you came to it.

Madge.
Ho! ho! (Yawning.)
There is a shameful saying, Hal,
That fools and women talk with many words.
Now, you are not a woman—

Gold.
Then, a fool.

Madge.
A frank confession.

Gold.
Madge.—

Madge.
Hal?

Gold.
Madge.—

Madge.
Hal, again:
What would you?

Gold.
Of this secret?—

Madge.
What, of yours?

Gold.
Well, then, of mine. Lord Guy, Travers, and I,
Have formed a plan to cure your mother's whims.—

Madge.
How, all? And she a woman!

Gold.
No; the whim
Of second marriage, with the ill it brings
To your repose.

Madge.
O, take no thought for me:
My secret will release you.

Gold.
'Sdeath! you wasp,
What is it?

Madge.
Finish yours.

Gold.
Thus far I will.
Make no real opposition to our plot;
Flatter Lord Ruffler, treat Sir William well;
And be instructed, as we go along,
Either by them or me. Will you consent?

Madge.
Is there no malice in it, no true grief,
Intended towards my mother? For, remember,
Were all her fancies multiplied by ten,
She is my mother still; nor do her ways—
Strange though they be, and open to rebuke—
Sever the bond between us.

Gold.
Madge, I swear,
A fortnight hence she'll thank us for her cure,
And vow the bitter medicine was sweet
Wherewith we drugged her. Have you faith in me?

Madge.
Some little, Hal. But work your own designs;
Bring me as seldom in them as you can;
I will not thwart you.

Gold.
And your secret, now?

Madge.
Am I of age to marry?

Gold.
You? poh! poh!
A very child.

Madge.
And so my mother thinks.

Gold.
Why, then I'll swear—for she ne'er thought aright—
You 're old enought to be Methuselah's wife,
On his last birth-day! How old are you, Madge?

Madge.
Twenty.

Gold.
A fib!

Madge.
Too true!

[Sighs.]
Gold.
'Sdeath, and you sigh!
What 's twenty?

Madge.
'T is twice ten; but double that.
I have lived twenty years a lonely maid;
I might live twenty more; or die between,
Like a good purpose that neglects its time,
And dies for want of action. Tell me, Hal,
How do you like Sir William Travers?

Gold.
Well:
A noble fellow; all that 's good in man
Finds lodging with him.

Madge.
Lodges there, and sleeps?

Gold.
No, no; enacts a royal part, and fills
Its fair abode with splendor.

Madge.
Say you so?

Gold.
Of course; who could say less?

Madge.
I'm glad of it.

Gold.
And why?

Madge.
He has proposed to me.—

Gold.
He! he!
The man 's a fool—a stark, rank, raving fool!

Madge.
Thank you, sweet sir! You 're pleased to flatter me.
A fool to wed me!

Gold.
Yes, a very fool:
There is a spice of folly in us all.
You are not suited for each other.—No;
Neither in rank, tastes, fortune, friends, nor aught
That makes a marriage proper. What, good goose,
Would you wed him?

Madge.
I thought of it.

Gold.
O, pah!
He is too wise for you—and knows it well;
He is most absolute and settled down
In his opinion of his intellect.
Why, Madge, he holds such mortals as ourselves
As little better than born naturals;—
Things to be driven, here and there, at will,
Like shuttlecocks.

Madge.
Then he 's too good for me?—
More flattery!

Gold.
Zounds! no; he 's not too good—
Who is?—but then—but then—damn it!—

Madge.
You swore!

Gold.
Now, Madge, I tell you—you are not quite mad—
If you intend to wed, choose some mere man,
A fellow like myself, perhaps; and love him—
Love him with your whole heart—because he needs it.
Don't take an intellect, a thought-machine,
To look up to, and worship. Zounds! I'm mad;
And you 're both fools!

[Walks about passionately.]
Madge.
Dear Harry, so I would;
I like your counsel, you are very wise;
But no mere man, like you, affords the chance.
I 'd love a man, like you, with all my heart,
If one, like you, like you would counsel me;
And teach, like you, this poor heart to confess
How it could love a man, like you, indeed.
Ah, me!

[Weeps.]
Gold.
What is the matter, Madge—sweet Madge?
[Takes her hand.]
Look up; you shall not wed this Travers, dear:
No one shall force you, dearest, dearest Madge;—
[Embraces her.]
By heaven, they shall not! my adored one, my—
[Sinks on his knee.]
By all the saints, I do believe I love her!

Madge.
Ha! ha! ha!

[Laughing.]
Gold.
Out, you witch!

[Starts up.]
Madge.
You really love me?

Gold.
Yes; the thing is out; I'll put the best face
That I can upon it.

Madge.
No; you half hate me.

Gold.
And if I do—

Madge.
No oaths. You love me too
Nearly enough to take compassion on me,
And marry me yourself?

Gold.
Indeed, I do.

Madge.
Yet you were rather late to find it out.

Gold.
True, true: but 't was a thing forever mine;
So much a part of me, I never thought
Upon it, as we do on outward things:
As one may have a leg, an arm, an eye,
And use it daily, without daily saying,
This is my leg, or arm, or eye; and this
Is its true function, and just so it works.

Madge.
Too plain to see, too present to fear loss,
Till loss was threatened: I can understand.
But, Hal—

Gold.
Dear Madge.

Madge.
You spoke?

Gold.
No; you.

Madge.
Well, then—

Gold.
Why, true—

[Embraces, and is about to kiss her, as Darkly enters.]
Darkly.
(Groaning.)
O! O!—

Gold.
'Ods blood! Ha! Darkly, ha!
[Laughing.]
My cousin, sir—I say my cousin, sir—
My aunt's true daughter—by some accident,
Got something in her eye.

Dark.
I do perceive
The maid hath something in her eye, forsooth,
Even at this distance. And perchance her eyes—
Being thy cousin's—do lie round about,
Even in the girdle that confines her garb.

Gold.
(Jerking away his hand.)
Ha! ha! my hand?—O, yes—I put it there—
Only to steady her.

Dark.
Ah, me! I 've heard
The sufferer this wise must be steadiéd.
Hast thou removed the mote? O, neighbor Goldstraw,
First cast the beam out of thine own! A beam
Tempting to damsels, called by the profane
Men of Charles Stuart, the love-light—woe is me!

Gold.
You sanctimonious sharper, blab one word,
And I will flay you!

Dark.
Ah! the wrath of love!
Some mouths are closed with promises, and some
Are sealed with gold, and other some—

[Goldstraw puts a purse into his hand.]
Gold.
Ha! shut?
What have you seen?

Dark.
Naught.

Gold.
Liar! did you not
See Harry Goldstraw kiss his cousin's cheek?

Dark.
Nay, verily.

Gold.
False slave, what know you, then?

Dark.
Naught that concerns them.

Gold.
Well said! Madge, I play
Lord Ruffler's part, his master. Mark me now;
I'll put him to the most extreme ordeal.
Patch-text, you canter, you—you hobbling knave,
There 's something in you, and I'll rip it out!
Speak, or I'll murder you!

Dark.
And shall I speak
The things that are of false Beelzebub?
Coin cunning lies, to please thee? O, alas!

Gold.
Talk, you psalm-singing villain—talk, I say—
Or you and life shall not get off together!

[Beats him.]
Dark.
O! O! my death draws on. Deliverance
Is opening to the martyr! O! O! O!

Gold.
I am quite blown. My faith is strengthened, brother,
By thy endurance. For each day you keep
My secret, I will give you half a pound;
If you betray me, a whole pounding waits,
To which this was but shadow.

Dark.
Verily
Man cannot serve two masters. If I take
Thy golden lucre, I am bound to thee,
Even at thy chariot-wheel.

Gold.
Enough, begone!

Dark.
Master and damsel, peace be with you both!

[Exit.]
Madge.
Will he betray us?

Gold.
While the money lasts,
No fear. A soul more sordid never skulked in man.

Madge.
Hark, some one comes. Your friends.

Gold.
Fly, love! But, Madge,
Think of the plot. And, Madge—

Madge.
Quick, hurry, then.

Gold.
Remember me.

Madge.
I feared you meant to kiss me.

Gold.
Well feared!

[Attempts to kiss her, she slips past him.]
Madge.
Well gone!

[Exit.]
(Enter Ruffler and Travers.)
Ruffler.
See little Madge there, see!
She 's always dogging me.

Travers.
Poor dog!

Ruf.
'Sdeath! Hal,
Your aunt is all one glow. It puzzles me
To keep her in the bounds of prudence. I
Should be your uncle, without aid of priest,
If I allowed her ardor to have way.
The waiting-maid, who boxed my ears for yours,
Is gentler grown to-day, I warrant you.
I must say nothing; but you'll see, you'll see.—
Lord! what a pliant thing a woman is!

Gold.
Poor Doll! You have not wronged her?

Ruf.
“Wronged her!” phew!
I pleased her well enough. Say nothing, Hal:
You'll cross my suit else. Here my widow comes.
Stand by, and see me woo her.

Gold.
(Apart to Travers.)
O! that man!
He has more antics than a tutored ape.

[Exit with Travers.]
(Enter Lady Goldstraw.)
Ruf.
My life!

Lady Goldstraw.
Heigh ho!

Ruf.
Star of my destiny,
Where have you hidden, while my moments ran
To dross and blackness? I have heavy news;
Doleful to you, perchance, and to poor me
Darker than cloudy midnight.

Lady G.
Marry, now!
Cheer up, my lord! hold up your lordly head!
Let me, my lord, like a bright star, essay
To struggle through your lordship's gloomy dumps.

Ruf.
She stole that speech from Hopeful. (Aside.)
Woe is me!
Ruin, destruction, horror, blood, and death,
Stare in my face, and beckon me away!
Yet you, you, author of my joy and grief,
Lull me to rest with dulcet melody!

Lady G.
The Lord 'a mercy! noble gentleman,
What irks your lordship, then?

Ruf.
My father, lady,
The proud and cruel Earl of fifty towns,
Some villages, and miles of fruitful land,
Hearing his heir in thy sweet thraldom lived,
Sends here a messenger of trusty faith,—
John Rook, his butler,—with this dread command:
“Either give up your courtship of the fair
And much-respected Lady Goldstraw, son,
Or wed her instantly, upon the pain
Of my displeasure.” Now, I knowing well
Thy cruelty—for all beauties must be cruel—
Droop in my spirits, and prepare to die.

Lady G.
Poor soul! and will you die outright, indeed?
I am no crueller than the rest, my lord.

Ruf.
You find me choosing out my means of death.
Whether to throw me from some rocky height
Into a den of wolves; or watch my chance
For sharks and porpoises, to boldly plunge
Into their hungry maws; or by some drug;
Or by the ignominious cord; or,
Snatching at once the nearest means of death,
With this fell rapier—

[Offers to stab himself.]
Lady G.
O! O! help, help, help!
Think of the carpet—I will marry you—
My best new Turkey-carpet!

Ruf.
Angel, speak!
Has Turkey's loom embroidered life for me?
And wilt thou wed me?

Lady G.
Spare my modesty.

Ruf.
But when?

Lady G.
O, la!

Ruf.
Now, lady; or the stars
Shall say—we rose upon his bloody corpse!
[He coughs.]
(Enter Darkly.)
Here is my chaplain,—a grim, worthy man,
Of dismal piety, and awful hopes.

Darkly.
O! O!

Ruf.
To him let us confide ourselves.
Then I in triumph, with the morrow's sun,
Will bear thee to my father's gorgeous halls;
Saying, “Great Earl, behold my beauteous bride!”

Lady G.
How prettily you talk, my lord! So you
One day will be an earl, and I—

Ruf.
A countess!
To show how small a thing a title is,
Laid on thy natural majesty.
(Enter Travers, Goldstraw, and Madge.)
Behold,
My plighted bride!

(Presenting Lady Goldstraw.)
Madge.
What, mother—

Lady G.
Silence, child!

Goldstraw.
You will not, aunt—

Lady G.
Will not! and why?

Madge.
O, shame!

Lady G.
Hush, or I'll wring your ears!

(Apart to Madge.)
Gold.
Pray hear me, madam.

Lady G.
Send welcome words, or none.

Travers.
And you, my lord,
Heir to an earldom, run your noble blood
Into a puddle!

Ruf.
Puddle her again,
And at the word you die!

Gold.
It shall not be:
O, aunt!—

Madge.
O, mother!

[They lay hold on Lady Goldstraw.]
Trav.
Base, degenerate lord,
By Jove, you shall not! [Seizes Ruffler.]


Ruf.
And by Mars, I will!

Dark.
O! the blasphemers!

[Groans.]
Ruf.
(Breaking from Travers.)
What, am I betrayed—
Made over like a pawn—my love enslaved!
Come forth, my faithful steel, and show the world
How freedom brightens in thy awful glare!
[Draws.]
Scum of the earth; release my love and me,
Or I will pave a highway with your hearts,
Though you were giants leagued with amazons!
Off, Travers!—Follow, Darkly!—Stand aside!
My sword shall be my groomsman, and grim death
My only guest and witness; dying groans
Shall be my marriage-bells, and thou my bride!

[Seizes Lady Goldstraw, and exit with her, followed by Darkly.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A Boudoir in Lady Goldstraw's House. Enter Lady Goldstraw.
Lady Goldstraw.
I don't half like it: money, money, money—
Nothing but money; and the ink scarce dry
Upon our marriage-contract. How is this?
But Lady Ruffler—I am Lady Ruffler—
Heir to an earldom, a peer's wife, in sooth.
“How does your ladyship?” a duchess cries:
“Ah! poorly, thank your grace,” I say; and then
Her loose-tongued highness has familiar jokes
About the ills of a new-wedded pair:
Says, “Ruffler should be pleased;” and pinches me—
Yes, faith, I feel her grace's fingers pinch—
The gay, bold, wicked duchess! Ah! dear me!
That covers much. And then my husband's love—
The brave, young, handsome fellow! Poor, poor soul,
He loves me dearly; and that covers more.
What are a thousand pounds or so?

(Enter Nick.)
Nick.
Your grace,
Your most imperious ladyship—

Lady G.
Fie! Nick,
You over-rank me, fie! Call me plain Lady—
Plain Lady Ruffler.

Nick.
Well, plain Lady Ruffler—

Lady G.
Presuming knave! such words to rank like mine!
Have you no proper reverence, impudent!
For aristocracy, and birth, and titled names?
Have we not been the pillars of this land?
What would you do without us?

Nick.
I don't know.
We do all your work now, and I suppose,
Mayhap, we 'd do our own then. What would you,
Your royal highness, do without us, hey?
Who 'd dig for you, who 'd wait, who 'd till your land?—
Who 'd fight your battles, die in flocks for you,
And give you all the praise, and gold, and rank,
And stars and garters, and that sort of thing,
While we starve on forgotten? Please your grace,
I heard an old mechanic say all that,
Over a pot of porter.

Lady G.
How now, Nick?
What, will you murmur?

Nick.
No; you see I don't.
When we begin to murmur, then look out
For thrones, and crowns, and things! Your gouty lords
Will feel the people's broad, rough, hob-nailed shoes
Upon their toes.

Lady G.
Dear, dear! Nick Prior, I vow,
If you frequent that odious porter-house,
I'll turn you out of doors.

Nick.
Why, true enough,
A man might learn in better places, mam;
But we will learn it somewhere.

Lady G.
What brought you here?

Nick.
A flock of woodcocks. O, your ladyship,
There is a crowd of fellows at the door,
With bills as long as Lent, to see my lord.—
There is more aristocracy for you!
They make a noise too, and the people stop.

Lady G.
Admit them, then. (Exit Nick.)
I sent that Nick to school
For no good purpose. So, more bills to pay,
More money to be sunk! Has my lord nothing?

(Enter three Tradesmen.)
All the Tradesmen.
Please your ladyship—

Lady G.
Well, well!

First Tradesman.
Hush, I'll speak.
Please, mam, the others sent us up, to see
If we can get some money on our bills.
Here they are, mam. (Throws down a huge bundle of bills.)
Pay all alike, or none:
That 's our agreement.

Lady G.
Give me time to look.

First T.
For certain, madam; but we hope you'll take
A shorter time to look than we have had:
For, please you, madam—

Lady G.
You have said enough.
[Exeunt Tradesmen.]
“For furnishing Miss Polly Trifle's house,
[Reading.]
Five hundred pounds! Ditto for furnishing
Miss Flaunt's apartments, seven hundred pounds!”
Dear me! and all within six months—the monster!
[Takes up another bill.]
“One brocade tissue silk, for Miss”—

(Enter Ruffler, beating in a Servant.)
Ruffler.
Hey! slave,
You'll open doors, you will, and flood my house
With such another deluge of old bills,
To vex my lady, hey!

Servant.
Indeed, my lord—

Ruf.
Indeed your lord! and being such, I'll trounce you!
[Beats him. Servant cries.]
Silence your bellowing, calf! Do you not see
Your clamor grieves my lady? Stupid dolt!
She cannot bear to hear a human cry.

Ser.
Then spare your blows.

Ruf.
'T is not my blows disturb her,
But your most hideous yells. (Beats him.)
Peace, slave!

Lady G.
My lord—
O, dear!—my lord!

Ruf.
What say you, sweet?

Lady G.
Forbear;
'T was not his fault; Nick Prior let them in.

Ruf.
Hah! call Nick Prior. (To Servant.)
I'll make him twice a man:
I'll double all his bones, by breaking them.

Lady G.
Pray, pray, forgive him! I adopted Nick,
Sent him to school, and made a fool of him:
Besides, I ordered him to bring them up.
My lord, 't would break my heart.

Ruf.
Enough, my love.
Go, sirrah! you are innocent, it seems.
Receive those blows but as a specimen
Of what I can do, when my hand is in,
Not a genuine flogging. (Exit Servant.)
Well, my witch,
It seems you called these trading devils up;
I pray you, lay them.

Lady G.
What 's the gross amount?

Ruf.
Some thousands—ten—or twelve—or so.

Lady G.
Lord, Lord!
I cannot pay it; it would ruin me:
Let them take half.

Ruf.
And half dishonor me!
Is this affection? Is this woman's love?
Or have I married with a huckster?

Lady G.
La!
Well, call them in. But, O! my lord, the way,
The naughty way, in which you made these bills!

Ruf.
Naughty! my charities.

Lady G.
Five hundred pounds,
To stock a lady's house, for charity!

Ruf.
'Sdeath! yes: she 'd nothing to her back, poor thing,
When first I met her.

Lady G.
Like enough. My lord,
I'll pay this once;—but no more charities.

Ruf.
Ho, there!

(Reënter Tradesmen.)
Lady G.
(Writing.)
Here is an order on my banker.—
My money in the funds must melt for this.
[Aside.]
Make it go far.

[Gives a paper.]
Second Tradesman.
(To Ruffler.)
I'll send the velvet gowns.

Lady G.
What did you say?

Second T.
My lord bespoke some gowns.

Lady G.
For whom?

Second T.
A lady.

Lady G.
Doubtless! When?

Second T.
To-day.

Lady G.
More charities!

Ruf.
Ay, faith! she 's hardly clothed;
There 's scarce a rag between her and the wind.

Lady G.
And so you get her velvet gowns, 'ods love!—
And on my wedding-day!

Ruf.
Tailor, look here.
Make me a pair of breeches.

Second T.
Yes, my lord.

[Goes to measure him.]
Ruf.
Ass, take that! (Cuffs him.)
They are not for me.

Second T.
For whom?

Ruf.
My lady, to be sure: and here 's the price.
[Throws a purse at him.]
She shall have breeches, if I have no gowns.
'Ods blood! she needs them. Can one ride the horse
She 's mounted on to-day, with decency,
In woman's gear?

Lady G.
O heaven!—O patience, heaven!

[Aside.]
Ruf.
One moment, gentle lady. Look you, tailor:
[To Second Tradesman.]
I want a taffeta body-cloth and hood,
Picked here and there with gold embroidery,
For Jennet, my gray mare. Upholsterer,
[To Third Tradesman.]
Provide me with a bed of eider down,
Roomy and thick, and of the choicest feather,
For Juno, my sick spaniel. Ay, and, tailor,
Make me six court-suits. See the stuff be rich.
Goldsmith, you'll match some jewels to the clothes;
[To First Tradesman.]
A casket for each suit. And—nay, you may go:
I have a thousand wants; but these are chief.
Ah! goldsmith, I forgot the rapiers;
A rapier for each suit; and in the hilt
Of each Toledo see you place a gem,
For which a gentleman may not be shamed.
And, tailor—

Lady G.
Nay, my lord, I'll have a robe—

Ruf.
A robe, the devil! Will you ruin me?
How shall I have my horse-clothes and my bed,
My jewels and my rapiers, and such things,
If I indulge your monstrous luxury?
Shame, shame! be modest.

Lady G.
Pray, whose money buys
Your trumpery, good sir?

Ruf.
Ours, to be sure.

Lady G.
“Ours!” my fine lord: are you beside yourself?
Am I to go worse covered than your horse?
Get me a taffeta body-cloth and hood,
To match your Jennet's; stand me in her stall;
Or let me lie beside your ailing dog.
'Ods mercy! if I must be ruined thus,
I claim a share, above your jade or cur,
In the destruction of my own estate!

Ruf.
La! now, my dear, sweet, gentle, loving wife,
Did I not know you far too well, I'd say
That you are really in a passion, chuck!

[Pats her cheek]
Lady G.
Keep off your hands!

Ruf.
Why, then, hang out a sign,
Like those we see upon the new-made doors,
“Beware the paint!”

Lady G.
Savage! insult your wife
Before the faces of these vulgar knaves!

Ruf.
Insult you, love! because I would preserve
The painful labor of your dressing-maid?
Am I a tasteless Vandal or a Hun,
To mar so delicate a work of art?
'Ods death! you wrong me grievously, sweet wife.

Lady G.
Why are you waiting, tradesmen? You are paid.
[Exeunt First and Third Tradesmen.]
And you, sir goose?

[To Second Tradesman.]
Second T.
To take your measure, madam.

Lady G.
Ay, for the robe.

Ruf.
No; for the breeches, wife.

Lady G.
Out of my house, insulting cur!

Ruf.
What, love,
Has he insulted you? Outrageous patch,
Here in her husband's presence! By the gods,
I'll make your bones ache for your sinful tongue!
Will you not stir? So then, take that, and that!

[Exit, beating him out.]
Lady G.
O! what a temper, what a tongue, what arms,
And what incessant use he makes of them!
Ha, marry! and the breeches, my fair lord;
I'll make you wish you never offered them.
I'll close your wasteful courses too, sweet sir;
Even if I put my whole estate in trust.—
(Enter Goldstraw and Madge, sorrowfully.)
Well, what 's the matter?

Madge.
My new father, mother!

Goldstraw.
And my new uncle, aunt!

Lady G.
But how is this?
Are these sad eyes the welcome that you give?

Gold.
Ah! aunt, your bride-bells should have tolled a knell;
Your friends, in crape, should have walked, two by two,
Behind the hearse that drew you to the church;
The priest, in black, have read the burial-rites;
And when 't was over, better far for you
If you had leaped into your grave alive!

Lady G.
To spoil your fancies, I was wed at home.
Poh, poh! you prate.

Gold.
Dear madam, have you heard?—

Lady G.
Of what?

Gold.
Of Ruffler?

Lady G.
Give his title, sir.

Gold.
Ay, when he gets it.

Lady G.
When he gets it!

Gold.
Yes,
Along with his estate.

Lady G.
You called him rich.
But that is nothing,—I 've enough for both.

Gold.
If he could cheat you, how might I escape?

Lady G.
Where are his father's lands?

Gold.
In chancery:
And his petition for the earldom, too,
Is laid upon the table of the Lords,
Session by session, with a general laugh.

Lady G.
A swindler, eh?

Gold.
Worse, madam, worse, I fear:
A noted rake, a ruined gamester, aunt—
A common drunkard, a notorious cheat—
A murderous bully, thrice tried for his life,
But thrice he dodged the gallows.

Lady G.
Mercy! mercy!
I can't believe it.

Gold.
Heaven avert the time,
When you may be compelled!

Lady G.
(Taking his arm.)
Your arm, I pray.
Harry—O dear!—you see I 'm calm enough.
I do not tremble, do I? Has my cheek
Lost its accustomed color? Look, boy, look!
I bear me as a lady.—Saints above,
I shall go raving mad!

[Exit with Goldstraw.]
Madge.
I cannot laugh;
Yet I suppose I should. This may be wit;
Yet, to my poor dull brain, it seems like cruelty.
Hal has my word to keep the secret too:
Would I had pledged it to that Travers!—

(Enter Travers.)
Travers.
(Aside.)
Ha!
My name upon her lips! Fair Madge, you 're caught,
Caught in the very act.

Madge.
Of what, sir?

Trav.
Tut!
I heard my name.

Madge.
I grant: so may a rogue,
When he is called in court.

Trav.
How, angry, Madge?

Madge.
O! no, sir; pleased, pleased with your pretty tricks—
Pleased with your gambols—with the holiday
You three stout gentlemen have given yourselves
Over a poor old lady!

Trav.
Say the word,
And I will end it.

Madge.
No; 't is well perhaps,
Just punishment perhaps, if men have right
To take heaven's functions, and rebuff our sins;
Or seize the church's office, and patch up
Our moral rents—mere patchwork, though, for all.
Harry persuaded me; he may be right.—
I would I were a hundred leagues away!
I'll hide myself; for since our house became
A moral hospital, sin seems so rank—
In doctors, nurses, patients, and spectators—
That I could wish a plague were on us all,
To spot our skins, and let our hearts alone.

Trav.
'T is but a comedy.

Madge.
So you design;
But Heaven knows how 't will end. Man's comedies
Do often end in sobs, and tears, and blood.
[He takes her hand.]
Let go my hand, sir! Till your play be o'er,
The best among this feigning company
Shall not receive it.

[Exit.]
Trav.
She is worth a crown!
Would I could really lover her! But this love—
Pshaw! 't is a mere infirmity, a toy
Of painted candy, that tastes well enough
Until we swallow it; but, then, there is
No rest until we cast it up again.
Yet for all that, sweet Madge, I'll marry you.
Ah me! I wish I really were in love!

[Exit.]

SCENE II.

An Ante-Room in the Same. Servants cross the stage, carrying dishes, wine, &c. Enter Darkly and Dolly Flare.
Darkly.
Lo! where the servants of iniquity
Bear carnal meats in to the revellers!

Dolly.
But, Mr. Darkly, hear me. I believe
You meant no harm to a poor orphan girl,
Yet, O! you 've done one, sir.

Dark.
Avoid thee, woman!
Why dost thou still pursue me with thy tongue,
And break upon my meditations thus?
I tell thee, as a servant of the truth,
I know not what thou mean'st.

Dol.
Then listen, sir.
You know the time you sought me, to exhort
And drive the tempter from me?—

Dark.
Truly, maid:
And it befell that, waxing strong in faith,
I was caught up in spirit, and abode
Above an hour entrancéd.

Dol.
And I, too,
I was caught up in spirit.

Dark.
Happy soul!
And when I woke, I found thee standing by,
Weeping and wailing at what thou didst call
Thy “loss of honor;” and it so befell,
The night being dark, thy honor being but small
We could not find it. Although I arose,
And lit a taper, and did search the room,
Even from the centre to the ends thereof.

Dol.
It is not possible you do not know
My meaning, Mr. Darkly!

Dark.
As a lamb,
So am I innocent of thy intent.
Unless, perchance, thy so-called honor be
A bead, a trinket, or such vanity,
As maids delight in.

Dol.
Were you quite entranced?
Do you remember nothing?

Dark.
I was rapt
Above this sublunary sphere; the world
Fell from me like a garment; yea, the flesh
Was melted in the spirit, as a vessel
Cast in amid the burning.

Dol.
Then I'll speak
Right up and down.—

Dark.
Speak, but beware the wrath!
If thou dost stain my hearing with such talk
As enters in the organs of the vile,
Lo! I will curse thee with a cleaving curse!
I'll plunge thee quick into the fiery pit,
Where roaring devils broil, and hiss, and stew
On brimstone embers of eternal woe!—
Where groaning Satan stamps his cloven foot,
Lashes his barbéd tail, and howls their sins
Into the splitting ears—

Dol.
(Stopping her ears.)
O stop, sir, stop!
Indeed, I'll hold my tongue—indeed, I will.

Dark.
Thou hast been biding with unholy men.
That man of stripes, that pagan, who afflicts
The humble servant, hath deluded thee—
Yea, even Ruffler, whom men hail a lord.
Therefore, I say to thee, depart with him;
Dwell in his tent; and make thy habitation
Among his handmaids. For, of verity,
That which man breaketh, let him also mend.
Go, I have laid commandment on thee, go!
And if he scorn thee, hie unto his wife,
And lay thy sorrows down before her feet:
So when she gives thee gold and silver coin,
Make thou return to me; and I will counsel
What pious use thy money may go to.

Dol.
Is that your best advice?

Dark.
Yea, verily.
(Enter a Servant, with a dish.)
Young serving-man, tarry a little while.
What dost thou bear? (Opens the dish.)
Strong meats. Ah me! ah me!
A beggar waiteth close beside the porch;
His need is greater than thy lord's. Go, thou,
And stand behind thy master, where he sits;
But make no mention of this silly dish.
[Takes the dish.]
And if he asks thee, answer, “By the way
I slipped and stumbled.” For I say to thee,
Much evil must be done, that good may come
[Trips up the Servant.]
Damsel, I will endure thy company.

[Exit with Dolly.]
Servant.
(Rising.)
Well, that must be a very pious man!

[Exit.]

SCENE III.

A Banqueting-Room in the Same. A table spread for a feast, at which are seated Ruffler, Travers, Goldstraw, Pollen, Foam, Hopeful, Marks, Lady Goldstraw, Madge, and other Ladies and Gentlemen. Servants in waiting.
Travers.
(Apart to Ruffler.)
Go to it boldly, Ruffler. All these fellows
Have been instructed in their parts, and all
Have sworn to aid you; some inspired by fun,
And some by malice or revenge.

Ruffler.
But, Will,
You did not trust them with my plot?

Trav.
O no;
Their natural wickedness was spur enough.
They volunteered a thousand graceless things
More than I asked. Begin.

Ruf.
Sirrah, the woodcock!

First Servant.
Please you, my lord, I stumbled.

Ruf.
Stumbled, ha!—
Take that!

[Throws a bottle at him.]
Lady Goldstraw.
My lord is merry.

[To the company.]
First S.
O, my head!

Ruf.
Poor soul, he 's hurt! I'll heal you, Come, kneel down.
[Servant kneels.]
Travers, that sauce. Let me anoint his wound.

[Pours sauce over servant.]
First S.
O Lord! I 'm scalded!

Ruf.
Scalded! Quick, some wine—
'Ods blood! some wine! He'll die upon my hands.
[Gives a bottle of wine.]
Drink all, my boy; down with it, every drop;
Or I'll not answer for you.

[Servant drinks.]
Lady G.
Joyous heart!
The very life of company. O dear!
The man is surely mad. (Aside.)
Ha, ha! my lord,
[Laughing.]
You have a humor of your own.

Ruf.
How, wife,
Do I enact the good Samaritan,
To have you call it humor? Now, 'ods life!
I feel a virtuous anger at your scorn.

Madge.
I cannot bear this; it will break my heart!

[Aside. Exit.]
Lady G.
I meant no scorn.

Ruf.
'Sdeath! do you answer me?

Lady G.
I 'm dumb, my lord.

Ruf.
This Burgundy is sour:
Who brought it in?

Second and Third Servants.
We did, my lord.

Ruf.
Then drink it.
[Lady Goldstraw shakes her head at them.]
What, you refuse when I command?

[Starts up.]
Servants.
No, no!
We'll drink it.

[They drink.]
Ruf.
All!

Lady R.
You'll make them drunk, my lord.

Ruf.
The better, love; they will not see your state.

Lady G.
My state!

Ruf.
Ay, madam, your unseemly state.
It grieves me to call notice to a sight
Which all here have observed, too plainly, madam.
Pray, ladies, lead her to her room, and use
Your dearest care about her.

[The Ladies rise.]
Lady G.
(Starting up.)
Marry! queans,
Touch me, and I'll be even with your eyes!
You base, ungrateful ruffian, thus to lie—
Ay, never wince—to lie, to lie, to lie—
Over and over in your teeth—to lie
About a lady! The Lord Mayor, my husband—

Ruf.
Hang the Lord Mayor, your husband! Never cast
His old dry bones into my face again!
The devil has him.

Lady G.
And his widow too,
I fear. O gentlemen, if you be such,
How can your manhood brook, unmoved,
This villain's insults?

Goldstraw.
He 's my uncle, aunt.

Trav.
Your husband, madam.

Pollen.
Captain of your squad.

Foam.
La! yes.

Marks.
And guardian of your property.

Hopeful.
(Drunk.)
Ex-queen of my affection—

Lady G.
Silence, cowards!
I will not learn my duty from your lips,
Pale-hearted cravens!—

Servants.
(Drunk. Sing.)
The devil 's a gentleman, I contend—
Tra, ra, la, la! the bottle stands—
His horn 's his beginning, his tail 's his end,
And his—

Lady G.
Dare ye, dare ye, knaves,
Sing filthy rhymes before your mistress' face?
Out of the house—out, every one of you!

Ruf.
Budge, and I'll skin you!

Hope.
(Drunk.)
Scorn not poesy—hic!

Ruf.
(Sings, passing the bottle.)

All.
[Chorus.]
For Rhenish wine is fit for swine,
So is wine of Landes;
But the bowl to reach the soul
Is immortal brandy!

Ruf.
[Sings.]
Drink it down without a frown;
When we cannot tap it,
When the cup we can't get up,
We'll duck our heads and lap it.

All.
[Chorus.]
For Rhenish wine is fit for swine,
So is wine of Landes;
But the bowl to reach the soul
Is immortal brandy!

Ruf.
How like you that?

Lady G.
Come, ladies, if there 's left
One grain of self-respect among you all,
And leave these drunkards. Husband, ribald, brute!
Tear up my rooms, break all my furniture,
Murder my servants, set the house afire—
Do all the devilish pranks your drunken brain
Can stumble over; but, in Heaven's good name,
Drink yourself dead! Never come out of this—
This beastly cloud of shame and infamy—
To torture me with your gross, odious life!
Die, gorged with your own baseness—die, and rot!
And I will bury you, and kiss your body,
Which, living, I abhor!

[Exit with Ladies.]
Ruf.
Indeed! Ho, ho!

[Laughing.]
All.
[Laughing, sing.]
For Rhenish wine is fit for swine,
So is wine of Landes;
But the bowl to reach the soul
Is immortal brandy!

[The curtain falls, amid roars of drunken laughter.]

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Room in Lady Goldstraw's house. Enter Lady Goldstraw, sadly.
Lady Goldstraw.
O sorrow, sorrow! Was there e'er a fool
Before my time—an old, blind, doting fool?
Off, painted face—off, curls—off, all that 's false!
[Rubbing her face, and tearing off her false hair.]
Henceforth I'll make my age my guardian:
He may respect a thing that 's reverend,
Even in me, who merit no respect.
Ah! silly vanity of womankind,
What an example may you see in me!
Who fought with nature, struggling to put off
The gentle touches of her slow decay,
Until she turned upon me, in her wrath,
And gave me all my wishes. A young lord
Who tears my peaceful mansion inside out;
Squanders my well-stored wealth on revellers,
Dogs, horses, wantons; and rewards my grief
With scorn, and mockery, and tempestuous rage
That aims too plainly at my hapless life;
But, missing that, torments me with cruel wounds,
Bleeding from all but mortal parts. Ah me!
Would I were in my grave! But, gentle Madge,
Left to the care of this wild dissolute,
What were thy portion? There I am pulled back,
And bound to life again. My child, my child!
This heart awakens from a long, long trance;
And throws itself upon thee with a love
That will not be cast off except in death!

[Weeps.]
(Enter Ruffler, Travers, and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
What, in the water, drowning in your tears!
How 's this, old girl? Why, what an ancient look
You have to-day! Where has your color gone,
Your curls and gewgaws? Now, for all the world,
You seem like some old ruin that has stood
A thousand years, then tumbled all at once.

Lady G.
Scoff! I deserve it.

Travers.
(Apart to Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ha! the physic works.

Ruf.
Travers, what 's that? (Pointing to the false hair upon the floor.)
Has the wool come to life
Within the carpet?—Does it grow in curls?

[Turning it over with his sword.]
Lady G.
That is my hair.—

Ruf.
No! by the Lord, 't is mine:
It grows upon my carpet.

Lady G.
Jesting still!
The bloom you saw upon my withered cheeks
Was paint, the curls around my sunken brow
Were false, and there they lie, never to rise.
When I have dressed my age in proper guise,
You'll see more changes yet: A poor, old woman!
I shall be sixty-three the fourth of March.

Goldstraw.
Her age, by Jove!

[Apart to Ruffler and Travers.]
Ruf.
A woman tell her age!
Here 's a good symptom, Travers. Now tell me
I cannot manage women!

[Apart to him.]
Trav.
So I do:
You are malignant to a lady's maid,
But harmless to her mistress.

Ruf.
Envy, envy!
There 's Madge.—But, pshaw! I'll not waste words on you.

(Enter Dolly Flare, weeping.)
Dolly.
O, mistress, mistress!—

Lady G.
Well, what is it, child?

Dol.
O, mam, your husband!—

Lady G.
There he stands, my girl:
He'll answer you.

Dol.
He cannot; he 's afraid
To look his victim in the face.

Lady G.
What, what?
Do I hear rightly? How is this, my lord?

Ruf.
'Sdeath! mind your private ways, mend your own sins,
And leave me to myself! What right have you
To interfere with me?

Lady G.
The right I claim
Is delegated from a higher power
Than earth affords—the right of every one
Who lifts a voice to aid the sufferer.

Ruf.
Fine talk, fine talk!

Lady G.
You turn aside, my lord.

Ruf.
To laugh.

Lady G.
You dare not look her in the eyes!

Ruf.
Here, Doll, come here, and let me stare at you.
[Takes her by the shoulders.]
By heaven! I think she'll blush into a blaze,
If I look longer. Dare not look at her!
'Ods blood! I dare do more, before you, too;
[Kisses Dolly.]
And yet I never wronged her.

Dol.
Don't believe him!

Ruf.
Presuming hussy, do you say to me—
To me, remember, who can fathom you—
That I betrayed you?

Dol.
Yes, I do, indeed.

Ruf.
Lord love the women, they are worse than men!

Trav.
Why, Guy, you have confessed it!

Gold.
Yes, to us;
Ay, boasted of it.

Ruf.
Have you no regard
For a man's feelings? 'Sblood! there stands my wife.
You treacherous villains, do you counterplot?
Carry the war to Africa?

[Apart to Travers and Goldstraw.]
Lady G.
A shame
Upon your falsehood!

Ruf.
(To Dolly.)
Baggage, leave the house!
You plot against me, you connive with rogues.

Lady G.
Come with me, Dolly; I cannot do much,
But what I can I will. This last is worst:
I feared and hated the bold debauchee,
But now I brave you, and despise you, sir!

[Exit with Dolly.]
Ruf.
You rascals!

Trav.
Why?

Gold.
We only spoke the truth.

Ruf.
Well, well; but out of time. There 's Madge, too, Madge—
Another female trouble in my path.

Trav.
As how?

Ruf.
The old complaint—love, love.

Trav.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha!
I'll take her off your hands.

Ruf.
Take her, indeed!
What, you cold, bloodless lizard, take my Madge—
You who can rail at love a June-day through!
You icy reptile, if you had my blossom—
My delicate young bud, my fragrant Madge—
What would you do with her? Press her to death
Between the pages of some monstrous book,
As girls do flowers? Parch her with learning? Or,
With a vile course of your experiments,
To reach the mysteries of the human heart,
Pull her poor nature all to pieces, ha,
As country-maids do, leaf by leaf,
The flower they try their simple fortunes on?
What are you laughing at?

Trav.
At you.

Gold.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha!

Ruf.
And you?

Gold.
At both of you.

Ruf.
A merry set.
But here comes Madge. Observe her, how she haunts me:
Yet I can't help it. Do you blame me, sirs?
If girls will fall in love, all I can do
Is to endure with my best modesty.

Trav.
Of course, of course!

[Laughing.]
Gold.
(Aside.)
Which is the greater fool,
Mere vanity or conscious excellence?
Here are two coxcombs, by two different ways,
Both meeting at one point, and both astray.

Ruf.
Withdraw, withdraw! I wish to treat myself
To a small dish of feminine affection.

Gold.
Heaven speed you, king of hearts!

Trav.
We take our leave
Of your imperial highness; yet our leave leaves you
In most amusing company—with yourself.

[Exit with Goldstraw, laughing.]
(Enter Madge.)
Madge.
Father.

Ruf.
My child. Nay, fear me not, approach.
What would you, daughter?

Madge.
A strange suit, good sir:
Divorce my mother.

Ruf.
If you'll take her place.

Madge.
How can I answer till your hand be free?

Ruf.
I bear my wife, your mother, no more love
Than a physician bears some desperate case
Given to his hands, who sees but the disease,
Not the poor wretch who suffers; upon that
I spend my skill.

Madge.
But now the patient mends.
You 've brought her to plain clothes, and simple talk,
Clean cheeks, true hair, and modest carriage.
I pray you, give her to my nursing hands,
And let me do my part.

Ruf.
She may relapse.

(Enter, behind, Lady Goldstraw.)
Madge.
I will go bail for that.

Ruf.
Offer your bail.

Madge.
My lips.

Ruf.
I take the bail.

[Offers to kiss her.]
Madge.
Nay, father, father,
You push paternal privilege too far.

Ruf.
Unnatural child, my heart weeps blood for you!
Give me the bail, and in another hour
She shall be free: if not—

Madge.
Well, if a kiss—
A formal, legal kiss—can set her free;
Here, take it.

[Offers her cheek.]
Ruf.
Now, don't flinch.
[As he goes to kiss her, Lady Goldstraw comes between, and he kisses her.]
Ugh! Heaven be praised,
I took you for the devil!

Lady Goldstraw.
Your close friend,
And therefore kissed me. Madge, my love, come, come.

Madge.
But, madam—

Ruf.
Ay, keep faith; the bail 's unpaid.

Madge.
Can I not kiss my father—only once?

Lady G.
Not if that kiss unclosed the doors of heaven,
And all the world could troop in after you.
O, villain, villain!

[Apart to Ruffler.]
Ruf.
Will you not agree?

Lady G.
“Agree!” you bold, base monster, who would stain
The only pure thing that is left to me!—
“Agree!”—I could say that—but, no, not now;
Not in the hearing of my child, whose ears
Would be polluted by the faintest hint
Of your most virtuous thought. Begone, begone!
Out of the world! you sully human sin
By fouler projects than belong to earth.
Away! you are prepared in quality
For the most darksome corner of the pit.
Away! the gates will gape to let you through.

[Exit with Madge.]
Ruf.
What an infernal blast she blew at me!
I feel quite singed by her sulphureous breath;
And all because my daughter wants a kiss.
(Enter Travers, sorrowfully.)
Why, Will, what saddens you?

Travers.
The saddest news;
Matter to make your inky locks turn gray.
Ah! Ruffler, when you planned this merry jest,
I little thought, my friend, that you would be
Its chiefest victim.

Ruf.
Do not rack me, Will:
Speak out.

Trav.
Well, Darkly—Heaven preserve you Guy!—

Ruf.
Will Travers, by the blessed sun above,
I'll tear you into tatters, limb by limb,
If you torment me!

Trav.
Then, dear Guy, poor Guy,
Darkly has told to me, in confidence,
That he has taken orders as a priest,
And you are married, absolutely, Guy,
To Lady Goldstraw.

Ruf.
Married to that woman!—
That parchment skin-full of old rattling bones—
That relic of past ages—that old hag,
Who rides a broomstick, if there be a witch—
That—Hell! O, hell! You joke with me.

Trav.
Alas!
If I were only jesting!

Ruf.
Blast your wits!
Here 's your rare plot!

Trav.
Yours.

Ruf.
No; yours, I say!
You cut the whole thing out from first to last.
I would be whipped if such a bungling job
Called me its father. O, my luckless fate!
And you, you botcher, hope you to escape?
By heaven, I'll make you eat her, paint and all!

Trav.
Had I the stomach!—

Ruf.
'Sblood! it pleases you:
I see you laughing.—Laugh again, fair sir,
And you shall laugh your last!

Trav.
Poh! poh! you 're hot.

Ruf.
Go to the devil, and be cooked, I pray,
In all the dishes that the French cook veal—
You most egregious calf!

Trav.
Fair words, my friend!

Ruf.
Foul deeds, my foe!

Trav.
Well, then.

Ruf.
And nothing more?
Draw, goose! I'll fray your feathers—draw, thin-blood—
I'll bleed you sweetly!

[Draws and passes at Travers. Travers disarms him.]
Trav.
Have you reached your wits?

Ruf.
Pshaw! fencing-master, trickster! 't were a reach,
To get my wits through you.—O, horrible!

Trav.
Nay, Guy, be patient.

Ruf.
Zounds! you talk to me!
There 's Lady Alice, in the country yonder—
Stuck down among the weeds and cabbages—
I almost love her, and she dotes on me.
If I were loose, I 'd run down to her place,
And marry her, by Satan!—just to get
A guardian for myself. O! fool, fool, fool!

Trav.
Prithee, be calm!

Ruf.
Prithee, be—There, again,
I came nigh swearing! See what you have done:
Ruined my hopes for life, perilled my soul,
And—O! if I were in some open plain,
Some empty place, where I might curse my fill
In peace and quiet! Where has Darkly gone?

Trav.
Fled from your wrath.

Ruf.
And were he shod with wings,
Plumed with the speed of restless Mercury,
Armed with Jove's thunder, Pallas' Gorgon shield,
Mars' spear, the horrid club of Hercules—

Trav.
The Parcæ's chattels, Vulcan's forge and limp,
Cybele's towers, the Titan's mountain load.—
Go on! If he were freighted with these pagan wares,
I swear you 'd find him: but with empty hands,
And lithe legs stirring with a new-born terror—
Like a shrewd thief who sees the officer,
Himself unseen—

Ruf.
Lord! what a tedious tongue!
Out on your “peradventures” and “becauses,”
And “ifs” and “buts”! You talk a deed to death,
Murder a purpose with philosophy,
And sigh and moralize above its corpse,
As if it died by nature.

Trav.
Do forbear!
Your words are simply noises. I can make
A better meaning from the cluck, cluck, cluck,
Of a half-empty bottle of stale wine.

Ruf.
O, yes; I 've caught your plague: a single fool
Often infects a kingdom.

Trav.
Hark you, Guy:
I say you 're married—married to a wife—

Ruf.
And you respect her; or I'll make you, sir!
A husband's title is the only one
To warrant kicks, and cuffs, and hair-pullings,
And other matrimonial tendernesses.
'Sdeath! I intend to make the most of her:
I'll paint her up again, and frizz her curls,
And make her beautiful as a Spring sun,
That shines into the Winter ere you think,
Melting the crusted snow to violets,
And mottled crocuses, and golden grass.—
By Jove! you'll envy me.

Trav.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha! more words.

Ruf.
Zounds! true. I cannot talk my grief away.
Where is this holy devil, Darkly, hidden?
I'll make him swear, before his mother's face,
That he 's no son of hers. Poor Alice too!

Trav.
The country-girl?

Ruf.
Yes: it will kill her.

Trav.
Ah!
What a kind heart you have!

Ruf.
And you, you churl,—
You trimming politician, scheming Machiavell,—
Who 'd trample heaven and earth beneath your feet,
To gain an end!—Now, Will, I coolly tell you,
That if your crafty brain do not contrive
Some way for my escape, I'll murder you
In cold, black blood!—Take care!

Trav.
Take poison!

Ruf.
Pah!

[Exit.]
Trav.
His physic works too. Just one nauseous drop,
Of the same drug he feeds his patient on,
Has soured the doctor's nature to the core;
And brought his heart up, in a dreadful state,
All spotted through and through with Lady Alice!
How stubborn is this criminal, the heart,
That will not speak except upon the rack
Of strong affliction. Now for the last stroke.

(Enter Lady Goldstraw.)
Lady Goldstraw.
Sir William, pity me.

Trav.
I would do more.
Say how my feelings may be put to proof.

Lady G.
Remove my husband for a single day;
But give me time to say a prayer or two,
And make provision for my helpless child,
And I will slide into my timely grave
So quietly that, when you ask for me,
My friends shall give no answer.

Trav.
Say no more.
Ruffler is dearer than my life to me;
But weighed with you, how light a thing he seems!
You who not only bear a store of charms
That might make Juno pine upon her throne,
And Venus drop the round Hesperian prize,
Before your fuller beauties—

Lady G.
O! sir, O!—

Trav.
Nay, hear me, lady. This alone outweighs
A world of Rufflers; but you wear a crown—
Unconsciously, and like a true-born queen—
That makes his life scarce worth the pleasant pain
Of taking it.

Lady G.
How dreadfully you talk!

Trav.
Your wit strikes deeply—you have guessed my secret—
I see it in your eyes. Heaven's meaning glows
Through their deep azure, and their fringéd lids
Are heavy with the tears of ecstasy.
[Takes her hand.]
If I interpret these celestial signs,
With half the cunning of astrologers,
You love me.—Nay, the word is on your lips.
As well might thunder burst upon the world,
From the warm splendor of a sunny sky,
As dread denial from that rosy mouth!

Lady G.
O me! O me! A fragile woman, sir,
In plain, cheap clothes.

Trav.
What covers you is dear,
And gains a sanctity from every touch
That makes it radiant.

Lady G.
Can this be, indeed?

Trav.
It is, I say! Ah! promise me one smile,
One look of cheer, one glance, and Ruffler—Nay,
I'll not profane your senses with his name.
I know a way to free you. I require
No wages for my service. The mere act
That brings content to you repays itself.

Lady G.
Can it be done with safety?

Trav.
Ay; but who
Sums up the venture for a prize like this?
Adieu! time calls for action. Sweet, adieu!
A clear relapse, by Jove!

[Aside. Exit.]
Lady G.
Sir William, stay!
I call that love, real love. But how can he
Shuffle by Ruffler; as if husbands grew,
Like o'er-ripe fruit to us, and only needed
A little shaking to fall off? I fear
The law binds tighter than Sir William thinks.
Yet wits like his are full of happy schemes.
[Looks into a mirror.]
Dear me! I have disfigured this poor shape
By my absurd ideas. These homely robes
I wore as penance for my marriage-rites,
These cheeks were washed with penitential tears,
These locks were shorn with penitential hands:
Art shall repair my folly. Love me now!
How will he love me when I come to him
In all my former glory! Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
Another heart! Who has the impudence
To call me old or faded? Madge, you child,
Get to your books again: leave the field clear
For my triumphant progress! Open doors!
Let my state-chambers brighten up again!
Call in the barbers, milliners, and knaves,
That deck our person for the envious world!
'Ods love! we'll queen it, while our crown is on!

[Exit, proudly.]

SCENE II.

(A Drawing-Room in the Same. Enter Ruffler, Travers, Goldstraw, and Madge.)
Ruffler.
I'm sick of it.

Madge.
And I.

Travers.
I tell you both,
Your wife, sir, and your mother, gentle lady,
Has not withstood the test.

Madge.
Nor ever will.
'T is in her nature, sir; to weed it out,
Were to pull up her being by the roots.
I grant that 't is a hurtful growth; yet it
Has twined itself through many better things,
Which are apparent to a daughter's eyes,
Though lost on you. Let us endure the ill
For the good's sake. I love her; that implies
I love her as she is, not as you 'd make her;
Nor can I now foretell if any change,
Even for the better, might not change my love.
What think you, Hal?

Goldstraw.
That you 're the best of daughters,
But not, in that respect, the best of friends.
Sir William 's purpose seeks your mother's good,
And only indirectly aims at you.

Madge.
Well, well!

Ruf.
Pray you, consider me, good sirs.
Am I a thing to push about at will?
In faith, you'll find me somewhat bulky when
You come to move me.

Trav.
But I promised you—
Did I not, Guy?—the body of Saint Darkly,
Alive or dead. And more—

Ruf.
That is enough:
Let me but hack his carcass into reliques,
And I will do the world some service yet.
I'm ready for my part.

Trav.
So are the rest.
[Leads Madge apart.]
I'll claim your pledge anon.

Madge.
My pledge!

Trav.
The hand,
The hand, fair lady, when the play is o'er.

Madge.
How many poets have been tricked of that!

[Aside.]
Gold.
Your whispers are too loud for secrecy,
Though quite too low for satisfaction, Madge.
If you 'd be private with Sir William Travers,
Withdraw; I'll hold the door, to let you pass.

Madge.
Why, Hal!—

[Taking him apart.]
Gold.
Why, Madge!

Madge.
What, jealous of my words!

Gold.
If they were worthless—

Madge.
There! that pretty thing
Will do unspoken. I foresee a time,
A very dreary time, for little Madge.

Gold.
Or very merry, if she'll stand a while
Out of this artificial, hot-bed world,
To let that spice of coquetry dry up:
A very pretty flower, to deck a maid;
A thorny stalk within a marriage-bed.

Trav.
Come, Ruffler.

Ruf.
Ay, ay, Will; 't is come, good dog—
And go, good dog—and—O! you heartless wretch,
Had you my weight of misery at your heart!
Poor Lady Alice!

[Exit with Travers.]
Gold.
Narrowly escaped.
Here comes your mother, in full tire again,
Blooming with paint, and odorous as the East
With borrowed perfumes. All her curls have grown,
Within an hour, beneath Sir William's breath;
And what she lacks in youth, she gains in art—
A sorry patchwork!

Madge.
A sad spectacle!

Gold.
Her shroud would more become her.

Madge.
Hal!

Gold.
Forgive me.
Your father's grave rose in my memory,
And seemed to claim a partner.

(Enter Lady Goldstraw.)
Lady Goldstraw.
You here, child!
Get to your studies; make yourself more fit
For male companionship, before you thrust
Your greenness forward.

Madge.
Madam!—

Gold.
Madge!—Aunt, aunt,
Pray keep your honey-moon without eclipse.

Lady G.
My honey-moon! You saw—why should I blush?—
[Aside.]
You saw Sir William Travers pass this way?

Gold.
An hour ago, with your good husband, aunt;—
In high words too.

Lady G.
I like not that. (Aside.)
High words?—
Such as—

Gold.
“Base fool!” And “By your leave, you lie!”
And “If you dare be brave, slave!”—

Lady G.
That will do.
O dear! my heart misgives me. Did he mean
To kill my husband? Risk his precious life
Against a drunken brawler! (Aside.)
Harry, run:
They'll come to mischief.

Gold.
Never fear.

Lady G.
Run, run!
Procure an officer.—You stony fool,
Why stand you gaping, when their blood may flow
Even while you stare at me?
(Enter Hopeful, Foam, Pollen, and Marks.)
Who let you in?

Hopeful.
Fallen idol, he who oped the wooden doors
Of our lost Paradise was Nick, thy man.

Marks.
We would congratulate you.

Foam.
La! yes, madam;
We kiss your hand.

Pollen.
I bow my colors down.

Lady G.
You stand there still?

[Apart to Goldstraw.]
Gold.
In wonder.

Lady G.
At these fools?
What brought you here?—what keeps you here?—And why,
In Heaven's sweet name, do you not quit my sight?
I'm on the rack, yet dare not groan!

[Aside.]
Marks.
Your speech,
Hopeful, your speech!

Hope.
Renowned enchantress, list!
We who upon your fateful wedding-day
Showered our blessings on your orange-wreath,
Seeing that wreath has changed to stinging thistles,
Thought it might not be an ungracious act,
To come and gratulate your ladyship
Upon your husband's death. Since that alone—

Lady G.
Has he run mad, at last?

Hope.
Mad!

Marks.
Sober truth:
We saw the body.

Hope.
With more fatal stabs
Than Cæsar gathered in the Capitol.

Pol.
Why, once in Flanders—

Lady G.
Silence! I shall die
Before I understand you. Master Marks—

Marks.
Your husband 's dead: there 's the blunt truth for you.

Lady G.
O, Heaven!—I—Harry—How did he die?

Pol.
Why, like a soldier!

Lady G.
Mercy!

Marks.
Stabbed to death.

Lady G.
By whom?—Quick!

Marks.
No one knows.

Lady G.
Thank Heaven!
[Aside.]
(Enter Travers, his hands bloody.)
You here!—
What 's this—this stain upon your hands? Speak! speak!
You did not kill him?

Trav.
He is yours no more.
Ask me no questions.

[Takes her hand. She shrinks away.]
Lady G.
Murderer!

All.
How?

Trav.
Look there!
(Enter Ruffler, as a ghost, pointing to a wound on his breast.)
Is it a phantom of my feverish brain?
Or—

Lady G.
Terrible!

Trav.
You see it, too!

All.
See what?

Trav.
Thou gory horror, wherefore art thou here?
I say, I slew thee, in fair, open fight!
Monsters like thee should track the murderer,
Not the true man!

Gold.
Poor gentleman! the loss
Of his old friend has quite bewildered him.

Lady G.
Kind Heaven, destroy my sight! Let me not look
Upon this thing, and live!

Gold.
Aunt, are you crazed?
Here 's nothing but a chair—a table here.
Ay, that 's the portrait of your former husband:
He looks upon you sorrowfully, I grant;
But so he must have looked throughout his life.

[Holds Madge back]
[Ruffler advances towards Lady Goldstraw.]
Lady G.
Keep it away!—Stand off!—I had no hand—
Mine are not bloody—in this butchery!
Look at my hand—O, horror! blood here, too!
Ha! ha! we three wear one foul livery!
Ha! ha! how like you scarlet, gentlemen,
For a lord's lady?

[Bursts into a laugh, and faints, supported by Goldstraw.]
Madge.
(Rushing forward.)
Mother!—

Trav.
Give her air.
Ruffler, go wash your ghostly colors off.
[Exit Ruffler.]
Fear nothing, lady: 't is the crisis, now;
That past, all will be well.

Madge.
Ah! my poor mother!—
Inhuman men!—Hal Goldstraw, you as well—
You could consent to this!

Trav.
Hist! she awakes.

Gold.
Dear aunt!

Trav.
How feel you, madam?

Lady G.
Has it gone?

Gold.
What has been here?

Lady G.
My—my—

Trav.
You pause.

Lady G.
You here!
Dare you to question me?

Trav.
Why not, my lady?

Lady G.
Where is my husband?

Gold.
Madam, you should know
How long the good Lord Mayor has been entombed.

Lady G.
Sirs, would you mock me? Am I not a bride?
Was I not married yesterday?

Gold.
Dear aunt,
Your thoughts are wandering. You have been a widow
Some fifteen years or more.

Lady G.
Did I not wed
A loose, low ruffian, by the name of Ruffler?
Was he not killed? And am I not—O, heaven!

[Covers her face.]
Trav.
He will feel flattered at the character
You have bestowed upon him. Ruffler lives,
And is within your house. A sober man,
I can assure you; and no more your husband
Than your fair daughter, there.

Lady G.
Strange! Madge, come here.
You have been weeping. Dry your pretty eyes.
It has been all a dream—but such a dream!
I have been ill and feverish.—All a dream!

Trav.
O, yes; there was a German who believed
Dream-life the true one, and our actual state
A mere illusion: in that faith he died.

Lady G.
I 've heard of such things. It was wonderful!
I have had other waking fancies, too;
But they are over now. Those gentlemen,
Companions of my folly, if they stay,
Must not suggest my weakness: it has past.

Hopeful.
Queen of my heart!—

Lady G.
(Laughing.)
That is sufficient, sir.
I abdicate in favor of my child.
The crown of hearts will hardly slide across
My many wrinkles: here 's a smoother brow,
More worth the dignity of general love,
And thus I bless it.

All.
Long live Madge, our queen!

(Enter Ruffler, dragging in Darkly, and followed by Dolly Flare.)
Ruffler.
Howl, villain, howl! Your agony delights me;
And you, she-devil, add your cries to his;
A merrier concert never struck my ear.
Now, here, upon your knees, before us all,
Confess your lies. Say, are you under orders?

Darkly.
Under your orders, as the hireling lies
Beneath the master's.

Ruf.
But you lie without them,
Much to my sorrow. Am I married?—Speak!

Dark.
No, no!

Ruf.
You never saw me wed?

Dark.
No, no!

Ruf.
You were not present? You were in the moon,
The sun, in heaven, in—

Dark.
No! O! let me say
One great concluding no, and end this choking.

Ruf.
Now, for your penance, I consign you over
To Dolly Flare, forever.

Dark.
But my faith
Forbids vain penance. I am under vows
Never to mate with woman.

Ruf.
Under vows,
You deadly papist! and not wed a woman!
I'll join you to an ape, then.

Dark.
Must I take
Thy Jezebel, thy minion, thy cast ware?
Nay, throw her from the window to the dogs!

Ruf.
That might improve her fate.

Dark.
(To Dolly, who approaches him.)
Avaunt, thou witch!
Child of iniquity, thy touch defiles me!

Dolly.
Not more than yours has me.

Dark.
Speak, and I'll curse thee.

Dol.
Curse away, then: I care not for your curse.
My lord, forgive me: I have lied of you,
For that man 's sake.

Ruf.
Ho! ho! the fox is up!
Darkly, sweet saint, lift up your sacred head.
Here, take her hand. (Joins their hands.)
I join you two in one,
And throw you, thus, across the nuptial line,
As boys do cats.—There, scratch yourselves to death!

Dark.
O! O! the heathen rages! Wife of mine,
Let us remove our habitation hence.
I am inclined to cleave to thee—

[Stealing off.]
Ruf.
Hold, there!
You shall not stir until I see you wed.
Hey! Reynard, would you dodge?

Dark.
O! O!

[Retires with Dolly.]
Ruf.
And you,
My quondam wife, are you inclined to try
A serious union with a young gallant?
Here 's Travers, heart-free.

Trav.
Whew!

Lady G.
Excuse me, sir,
Your friend has been explaining all to me.
The process of your jest was somewhat harsh,
Yet I confess 't was healthful; and, though built
Upon a fiction, that may move my mirth,
I see no reason why the same events,
If true, might not have drained my silly eyes
Of their last tear.

Ruf.
Travers is scorned, then?

Lady G.
No;
Not scorned, but not accepted.

Trav.
Cheer up, Guy;
There 's something left me. Lady, by your leave,
The play is over, shall I gain the hand?

[Offers to take Madge's hand.]
Gold.
(Interposing.)
Sir, by your leave, I urge a prior claim.

[Takes her hand.]
Ruf.
Ho! ho! Will Travers, we are gulled, I think;
[Laughing.]
Apollo 's tumbled from his pedestal!
Nay, hark you, now, superior intellect,
You look less like Minerva than her owl!
O! this is too good! Some one hug me tight,
Or I shall split with laughter! Travers gulled
By two mere mortals!

Trav.
'Sdeath! you monstrous dunce!

Ruf.
(Apart to Travers.)
I am beginning to reform my faith:
I thought Madge Goldstraw loved me. Seriously,
I fear all women do not love us, Will.

Trav.
You should respect them—if you know yourself—
For that one fact.

Ruf.
But Lady Alice!

Trav.
Poh!
Guy, Guy, the truth will out: I really love,
With all my heart, I really love sweet Madge.
I scoffed at love, once—

Ruf.
Bravo! baby Cupid,
This is thy vengeance! Travers, are you paid?

Trav.
Beyond my sin: The gods do naught by halves.
Where goes the hand?

[To Madge.]
Madge.
Where the heart went before.

Gold.
A gentle herald! Do not envy me
The dearest blessing that has crossed my path.
You have a happiness within yourself,
A soul made fruitful by a teeming mind;
Mine is all here, within this little hand.
Your sanction, madam.

Lady G.
Take it. 'T is a match
Your uncle planned, and smiles upon, I know:
The sod lies lighter on his grave for this.

Trav.
Come, Guy, I want some country air. I'll plant
Myself among your weeds and cabbages,
Poultry, and pigs, and Lady Alices.

Ruf.
'Sdeath! mend your phrases.

Lady G.
Gentlemen, no jars.
You, who have made my marriage-day so bright
With heart-felt blessings, must not bring the night
Ere I enjoy the sunshine. I would see
The bowl pass round among this company.
Will goodness not become me—make me fair?—

Ruf.
There 's the old sin, in a new shape—beware!

Lady G.
True; I'll be cautious. You have had a day
Of harmless merriment; thank Heaven, I pray,
For the enjoyment; and preserve your wine
Safe from the bitter taint of tearful brine,
Till you can pledge me in my altered carriage:—
What shall the toast be, sirs?

All.
The Widow's Marriage!