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| 2. | SCENE II. |
 | Plays and Poems |  |
210
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—
211
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,
212
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—
213
“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
214
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!
215
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!—
216
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
217
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?
218
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!
219
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.]
220
(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;
221
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!
| Plays and Poems | |