University of Virginia Library

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.]