University of Virginia Library

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!