University of Virginia Library

Scena tertia.

Enter Luke with a key.
Luke.
'Twas no phantastick object, but a truth
A reall truth. Nor dream I did not slumber,
And could wake ever with a brooding eye
To gaze upon't! It did indure the touch,
I saw, and felt it. Yet what I beheld
And handl'd oft, did so transcend beleese
(My wonder, and astonishment pass'd ore)
I faintly could give credit to my senses.
Thou dumb magician that without a charm
Did'st make my entrance easie, to possesse
What wise men wish, and toyl for. Hermes Moly;
Sybilla's golden bough; the great Elixar,
Imagin'd onely by the Alchymist
Compar'd with thee are shadows, thou the substance
And guardian of felicity. No marvail,
My brother made thy place of rest his bosome,
Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistris
To be hugg'd ever. In by corners of
This sacred room, silver in bags heap'd up
Like billets saw'd, and ready for the fire,
Unworthy to hold fellowship with bright gold
That flow'd about the room, conceal'd it self.
There needs no artificiall light, the splendor
Makes a perpetuall day there, night and darknesse
By that still burning lamp for ever banish'd.
But when guided by that, my eyes had made
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd,
Each sparkling diamond from it self shot forth
A pyram'd of flames, and in the roof
Fix it a glorious Star, and made the place
Heavens abstract, or Epitome. Rubies, Saphires,
and ropes of Orient pearl; these seen I could not
But look on with contempt. And yet I found
What weak credulity could have no faith in
A treasure far exceeding these. Here lay
A mannor bound fast in a skin of parchment,
The wax continuing hard, the acres melting.
Here a sure deed of gift for a market town,
If not redeem'd this day, which is not in
The unthrifts power. There being scarce one shire
In Wales or England, where my moneys are not
Lent out at usurie, the certain hook
To draw in more. I am sublim'd! grosse earth
Supports me not. I walk on ayr! who's there
Theivs, raise the street, thievs!

Enter Lord, Sir John, Lacie, and Plenty, as Indians.
Lord.
What strange passion's this?
Have you your eies? do you know me?

Luke.
You, my Lord!
I do: but this retinue, in these shapes too,
May well excuse my fears. When 'tis your pleasure
That I should wait upon you, give me leave
To do it at your own house, for I must tell you,
Things as they now are with me, well consider'd,
I do not like such visitants.

Lord.
Yesterday
When you had nothing, praise your poverty for't,
You could have sung secure before a thief;
But now you are grown rich, doubts and suspitions,
And needless fears possess you. Thank a good brother,
But let not this exalt you.

Luke.
A good brother:
Good in his conscience, I confesse, and wise,
In giving o're the world. But his estate
Which your Lordship may conceive great, no way answers
The general opinion. Alas,
With a great charge, I am left a poor man by him.

Lord.
A poor man, say you?

Luke.
Poor, compar'd with what
'Tis thought I do possesse. Some little land,
Fair houshold furniture; a few good debts,
But empty bags I find: yet I will be
A faithful Steward to his wife and daughters,
And to the utmost of my power obey
His will in all things

Lord.
I'le not argue with you
Of his estate, but bind you to performance
Of his last request, which is for testimony
Of his religious charitie, that you would
Receive these Indians, lately sent him from
Virginia, into your house; and labour
At any rate with the best of your endeavours,
Assisted by the aids of our Divines,
To make 'm Christians.

Luke.
Call you this, my Lord,
Religious charitie? to send Infidells,
Like hungrie Locusts, to devour the bread
Should feed his family. I neither can,
Nor will consent to't.

Lord.
Do not slight it, 'tis
With him a businesse of such consequence;
That should he onely hear 'tis not embrac'd,
And charfully, in this his conscience aiming
At the saving of three souls, 'twill draw him o're
To see it himself accomplish'd.

Luke.
Heaven forbid
I should divert him from his holy purpose
To worldly cares again. I rather will
Sustain the burthen, and with the converted
Feast the converters, who I know will prove
The greater feeders.

Sir John.
Oh, ha, enewah Chrish bully leika.

Plenty.
Enaula.

Lacy.
Harrico botikia bonnery.

Luke.
Ha! In this heathen language,
How is it possible our Doctors should
Hold conference with 'em? or I use the means
For their conversion?

Lord.
That shall be no hinderance
To your good purposes. They have liv'd long
In the English Colonie, and speak our language
As their own Dialect; the businesse does concern you:
Mine own designs command me hence. Continue,
As in your poverty you were, a pious
And honest man

Exit.
Luke.
That is, interpreted,
A slave, and begger.

Sir John.
You conceive it right,
There being no religion, nor virtue
But in abundance, and no vice but want.
All deities serve Plutus.

Luke.
Oracle.

Sir John.
Temples rais'd to our selvs in the increase
Of wealth, and reputation, speak a wiseman;
But sacrifice to an imagin'd power,
Of which we have no sense, but in belief,
A superstitious fool.

Luke.
True worldly wisdom.

Sir John.
All knowledge else is folly.

Lacie.
Now we are yours,
Be confident your better Angel is
Enter'd your house.

Plenty.
There being nothing in
The compasse of your wishes, but shall end
In their fruition to the full.

Sir John.
As yet,
You do not know us, but when you understand
The wonders we can do, and what the ends were
That brought us hither, you will entertain us
With more respect.

Luke.
There's somthing whispers to me,
These are no common men; my house is yours,
Enjoy it freely: onely grant me this,
Not to be seen abroad till I have heard
More of your sacred principles, pray enter.
You are learn'd Europians, and wee worse
Then ignorant Americans.

Sir John.
You shall find it.

Exeunt