 | Vertue Betray'd : Or, Anna Bullen |  |
15
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter Northumberland and Rochford.Roch.
The News is strange you tell me of the King.
North.
Most wonderful, nor can I guess the meaning,
He came just now from Hunting as his use,
Where at Sir Thomas Seymour's House he was
Most splendidly and kindly entertain'd
At a Repast.
Roch.
Took he there any thing
Amiss?
North.
No: quite contrary, so good humour'd,
I never saw him in my life more pleasant:
But now, instead of going to the Queen,
With words that shew'd more discontent than rage,
He order'd all about him to retire,
And, which is still more strange, enquir'd for Woolsey,
Woolsey, whom all men thought quite out of favour;
Then shut himself within his Bed-Chamber,
And there remains; nor durst the boldest venture
To follow him, and ask him what he ails—
May not the Queen your Sister, think you, be
The innocent Occasion?
Roch.
That's impossible!
For but last Night he came to her Apartment,
With all the heat and love that could inspire
A Bridegroom, scarcely of an Hour's making:
With haste he ran, and where he should have sate
He kneel'd down by her as his Deity;
Printing soft Kisses on her lovely Hand,
And sigh'd as if he had been still a Woeing.
North.
Right Harry still: for by this Flood of Passion
The nearer he's to Ebb and Change.
Roch.
See! the King.
North.
You are Brother to his Wife, and may be bold,
But I'le not venture.
[Ex. North.
16
King.
Who are you that durst press on my Retirement?
Ha! Bullen! Get thee from my sight—Begone—
[Ex. Roch.
Who waits there? Why am I thus troubled?
Let none but Woolsey dare to be admitted.
[To the Attendants.
Who can withstand so vast a shock of Beauties,
[He sits down.
So many Wonders in so bright a Form?
When Heav'n designs to make a perfect Face,
A Beauty for a Monarch to enjoy,
'Tis feign'd that the most skilful Spirits are all
Imploy'd, and just before their Eyes is plac'd
Th'exactest, loveliest Angel for a Pattern;
If it be true; this only must be she,
And must be mine—Who's there? the Cardinal?
Enter Woolsey.
Card.
The humblest Vassal of his God-like Master.
King.
Come hither, Sir—I sent for thee, my Woolsey!
And dost not wonder; when but yesterday
I took from thee the Seal and Chancellour's Place?
But 'tis no matter: Do not care, I say:
I love you still in spight of all your Foes—
You have malicious Enemies at Court;
Besides the Queen, my Lord, is no good Friend
Of yours.
Card.
Wretched am I that have incurr'd
My Kings Displeasure, and my Queens dire Hatred!
But m'Innocence when I am dead, perhaps
May to my Royal Master, tho too late
Appear.
King.
Talk not of Death, good Cardinal,
For I have Business with thee first—By Heav'n!
He that dares mutter Woolsey is a Traitor,
Shall dye for a worse Traitor as he is:
Keep thy own still, the Bishopricks of York
And Winchester, and Cardinal, that is
Above my Grant; and when I give thee leave,
17
Card.
Immortal Wreathes, and Diadems of Saints,
Crown you in Heav'n for this Royal Goodness.
I am grown old, too weak to guard me from
My Foes, but for your Majesties Protection.
King.
O Woolsey! be to me but half so kind
As I shall be to thee. Seymour, my Father!
The lovely Seymour, whom thou toldst me of,
I did devour her Beauties from thy Lips,
And fed my Ears with the delicious Feast;
But since I've seen this Wonder of her Sex!
The Charming'st Creature e're adorn'd the World;
And find her all as far above thy Praises,
As Heav'n can be beyond Man's frail description.
Card.
Have you then seen her, Sir?
King.
O yes, my Woolsey!
And having seen her, guess, I needs must be
But wretched without her, or thy assistance.
Card.
This goes as I expected.
[Aside.
King.
Help thy Prince!
Why art so slow? Has Woolsey lost his Courage?
That Wit that Emperours and Popes has sway'd—
So, let thy Brain begin to travel now;
Bring forth thou more than King; thou more than Man;
Thou hast a Mine within that subtle Breast,
The Stone which dull Philosophy has toyl'd
In vain for—Make me Master of thy Indies—
Lend me thy Wit to purchase Seymour for me.
Card.
You have the Means already in your hands,
Power is the greatest Charmer of that Sex.
King.
Command my Power, my Kingdoms to thy aid,
Join to thy Foxes Tail my Lions Skin;
Take thou my Scepter, bind it to thy Cross,
And to thy Mitre add my humble Crown;
'Tis all my Woolsey's. Woolsey shall be King.
I ask but only Seymour in Exchange.
Card.
You bid too much: Send for her streight to Court;
Make her a Marchioness, or else a Dutchess;
There's hardly now a Woman but will sell
A foolish Honour that none sees, for that
18
King.
How thou deceiv'st my eager Expectations!
This I have done without such rare Advice:
But oh she is inflexible to all!
Deaf to the sounds of Vanity and Pomp!
And more remorseless than a Saint or Hermite.
Her Chastity cold as the Frozen Stream,
And then as hard, and never to be thaw'd,
As Crystal Rocks, or Adamantine Quarries:
That oh I fear, had I but what I covet,
The Crown from Bullen's Head, to offer her,
'Twould scarcely tempt her to thy Prince's Bed.
Card.
Then, Sir, I doubt 'tis hardly in my Power
To help you.
King.
Ha! false and ungrateful Man!
Is that then all the hope your Brain can give me?
Card.
It is impossible, if she be Virtuous,
That e're she shou'd be had by Force or Cunning.
Therefore apply this Remedy a while,
Have but a little Patience 'till 'tis Lawful.
King.
Traitor and Poisoner of thy Master's Rest,
Must I despair? Is that thy precious Council?
Did I descend to ask Advice from Hell?
Consult thy Wicked Oracle for this?
To tell me what is Lawful?
Card.
Understand me.
King.
Give me some hopes, or, by thy damn'd Ambition,
I'le crumble thee to dust; puff thee to nothing:
And make thee less and more dejected far
Than the base Fellow that begot thee, Priest.
Card.
Hear me but—
King.
Why didst thou infect my Breast,
And with thy venomous Tongue deceive me, worse
Than the old Serpent that in Paradise
Betray'd the first of Mankind with a Bait?
So thou, lurking and hid amidst the Charms
Of Seymour's rare and unsuspected Beauties,
Sungst me her Praises in such tempting Words,
That I with ravisht Ears swallow'd the sound,
And never saw the Sting I suckt in after.
19
You will not give me leave t'explain my self,
Nor yet to give you Remedy.
King.
Tell me;
For Remedy I'le have from Heav'n or Hell,
Or I will take thy Blood, thy Scorpions Blood,
And lay it to my Grief till I have ease.
Card.
Your Fury will not let you understand me:
When I advis'd to stay till it was Lawful,
At the same time I meant to let you know
'Twas not a thing so hard to bring to pass.
King.
Ha! said again like Woolsey! tell me streight,
My Soul waits at the Portal of thy Breast,
To ravish from thy Lips the welcome News,
E're they have minted into Words thy Thoughts—
Quick, what can lawfully make Seymour mine?
Card.
Make her your Queen.
King.
Make her my Queen!
Card.
Yes, Sir.
King.
Sure I but dream; what dost thou mean? or how?
Card.
Invest her Head with Anna Bullen's Crown.
King.
Sure thou art mad, and would make me so too—
What, whilst she lives?
Card.
Ay, whilst she lives I said:
Is that so strange a thing that ne're was done?
Divorce her.
King.
Ha!
Card.
What is't that makes you start?
Divorce her, and take Seymour to your Bed.
King.
How! take good heed what 'tis thou pull'st upon
Thy self—Divorce my lawful virtuous Wife
Without a Cause!
Card.
There is a Cause.
King.
What is't?
Card.
Pretend Remorse of Conscience.
King.
Gods!
Card.
Ne're wonder:
Say you are troubled and disturb'd within.
King.
Eternal Villain! Lucifer the Damn'd.
[Aside.
Traitor, at what?
Card.
At that which seiz'd your Mind,
20
Conscience! Conscience!
King.
Horrid tormenting Fiend!
[Aside.
Thou know'st she was my Brother's Wife, and Bullen
On no such just pretence I can disclaim.
Card.
No matter; on the like distrust of Conscience
That made you do the one, you may the other.
Give out that she's not lawfully your Wife,
The first alive, and that you never had
A Dispensation from his Holiness.
King.
His Holiness! I'm blasted with the thoughts:
Pernicious Traitor! How can this be done?
Card.
Leave it to me; Consent you, 'tis enough:
And I'le engage, on forfeit of my life,
To get a Licence from our Holy Father
To disanul this Marriage, and to take
Into your lawful Bed the Beauteous Seymour.
King.
But then I still remain unfreed from Katherine.
Card.
The Church shall grant a Dispensation too
For that.
King.
What Horrour's this I hear! Can this be true?
In all my wanton and luxurious Youth,
Or in my blackest thoughts of Lust and Rage,
[Aside.
I ne're yet found one Wish amongst them all,
Of such a deep Infernal hue. The Horrour
Has kindled my whole Blood into a Flame,
And made me blush a deeper Scarlet than
This Villain's Robe. Disloyal wicked Monster!
But I will strive to hide my just Resentments.
Divorce my second Wife without a Cause!
[To him.
Could it be done, what would the Nation say?
What would the Action look like but a Hell;
To warn succeeding Princes from the like,
And blot me from the Scrole of Pious Kings:
Could it be lawful Woolsey, I would hearken.
Card.
Then lawful it shall be in spight of Scruples:
I see your Conscience is an Infant grown,
A Child again, and wants to be instructed—
Come, let me lead you by the hand, and point
Away for you to walk on even ground;
21
And choose it.
King.
Now thou dost rejoice thy Prince.
Card.
What if she be unfaithful to your Bed,
And prov'd so?
King.
Ha! there's Thunder in that word,
The Bolt ran through, and shiver'd me to pieces.
Disloyal to my Bed! Adultrous! Hah!
Saidst thou not so? Yet hold, if this be true,
There hangs a Shower of Cordial in my reach
To cure this horrid Fit. Woolsey, beware
How thou dost dally with my hopes and fears;
Look to't, and see you wrong her not; for if
Thou dost, by all the Plagues thy Soul deserves,
All Hell shall be too little for thy Carkass:
New Hells shall be created, and more hot
Than what's prepar'd for Traitors, Parracides,
For Ravishers of Mothers, lustful Nuns,
For Lucifer himself t'endure; nay more
Than Villain, Pope, or Cardinal ever felt.
Speak how thou know'st it. Quick.
Card.
Alas! my Lord,
I never meant it enter'd in my own
Particular Knowledge: but it is Reported.
King.
Reported, said'st thou! Is not that enough?
Report! why she is damn'd, if she's but thought
A Whore, much more reported to be so.
'Tis not the act alone that wrongs thy King;
Each Smile, each Glance, and every wanton Look,
That's meant t'another, if I leave unpunish'd,
Shall brand me with the ignominious Name
Of Wittal, which is worse—make me but sure
That the least Breath has utter'd such a sound,
Or whisper'd to the air that she's Unchaste,
By all the horrid Fiends that punish Lust,
And by the black Concupiscence of Hell,
I'le tumble her from the Throne into a Dungeon—
Name me the Man that is suspected.
Card.
Piercy.
King.
Piercy!
22
Yes, Sir: He is the Man she dotes on;
'Tis he lies deeper in her Breast than ever;
For him she sighs, and hoards up all her Wishes;
Gives him her Person warm, inspir'd with Passion,
Whilst for your self she only treats you with
The cold dead Body of departed Love.
King.
Is Piercy then at Court?
Card.
He is this Day
Arriv'd.
King.
Hough! Come without my leave say'st thou?
Card.
He is, no doubt to consummate their Joyes,
Their Signs and Tokens to compare, which they
By Letters and Devices in their absence
Have hourly plotted to deceive you, Sir;
And put in practice when the time is ripe.
King.
Hell and tormenting Furies—I believe thee.
Card.
Nay in your Bed and in her Dreams she thinks on't;
When Pleasures made you dull, it whetted her—
King.
Hold, I can hear no more. By all my Wrongs
And cheated Hopes, thou bring'st to my Remembrance,
How all Complaisances to me were dragg'd
And forc'd from her, like Mirth from one in Torture!
Sometimes I found her Face all drown'd in Tears,
With Gales of Sighs just blowing off those Storms,
In fear away: Sometimes again in Blushes,
As if then all the wanton Heat of love
Were darting through her Eyes to meet my Flame;
But when with eager haste I catch'd her in
These Arms and prest her Lips, alack I found
Instead of Summer there no Ice so cold;
Instead of breath that wou'd revive the dead,
No Air so chill, nor Winter Blast so keen.
Card.
Thus all her actions still will be to you:
The Roses of her Bloom she keeps for him,
The Thorns for you—Had you been Piercy then!
King.
Let me embrace the Saver of his Prince,
The dear Preserver of my Life and Honour!
What shall I do for thee, my Friend?
23
Card.
Here's Rochford!
Pray smooth your Brow, and hide your Discontent:
And now y'are going to the Queen smile on her.
Mean while she'll stumble, like a hasty Child,
And act more plain and open to your Justice;
And when you find her tripping, on the sudden
Strike like the Hand of Heav'n, a sure Revenge,
And never let her rise again.
King.
I will—
My Lord, you may come near: Where is the Queen?
[To Roch.
Roch.
I left her in the Drawing-Room.
King.
Ah Woolsey!
What Angel e're so bright as Woman was,
Had not the first scorn'd her Creator's Laws;
For nearest his own likeness they were made,
'Till they by falseness did their Sex degrade.
[Exeunt K. & Card.
[Manet Rochford.
Roch.
What means this sudden alteration!
Enter Piercy.
Is not that Piercy? Oh! too true he comes!
Not like a joyful Bridgroom, as was told thee,
Poor cheated Sister! but like one, alas!
That knows already, the base wrongs our Friends
Have heap'd upon him! where shall I avoid him?
Ah! why must I of all the Plot be Curst?
To look upon a Face so full of horror;
That like a Hell, at once upbraids my Guilt,
And lashes me with the Remembrance?
Pier.
Methinks I walk like one that's in a Dream,
A horrid Dream, and fain would be awake!
These Rooms of State look not as they were wont,
When Anna Bullen oft has run to meet me;
But seem like Fairy-Land, a Wilderness.
My Friends, like Beasts that never yet saw Man,
Start at my sight; and shun me worse than Fire.
24
O that some Friend, some Friend indeed would meet me!
And wake me out of it—Behold; 'tis granted—
Is not that Rochford there? my Dearest Brother!—
Roch.
My Lord, my Piercy!
Pier.
Come thou to my Armes.—
Methinks th'art not concern'd to see thy Friend:
When I embrace thee, 'tis a pain I find,
Thy Friendship is as cold as Winter Blasts,
Or as chill Age is to a tender Virgin!
What ails my Friend? say quickly.
Roch.
Nothing ails me.
Pier.
Nothing! why look'st thou then so full of horrour?
Thy down-cast Eyes call to my sad remembrance,
How passing by yon Gallery of Pictures,
That happy Gallery that was once the Scene
Of many a joyful meeting with thy Sister!
Looking with wonder on those famous Persons,
Whom the rare Painter had with so much Art
Describ'd, to make Posterity amends,
For their bright Forms now moulder'd in their Urns;
With their Immortal Shapes of Beauty here;
There as we us'd to walk, none e're so kind,
With loving Arms and tender Wishes join'd,
A glad remembrance in their Looks we spy'd,
Of what their Bodies had on Earth enjoy'd;
With stedfast Eyes they watch'd us all the while,
And when we smil'd, they would be sure to smile.
Or if we chanc'd to weep and sigh our woe,
They seem'd to pity us, and do so too:
Such sympathy they drew from all our Fears,
Our very Griefs, and every Look was theirs.
Roch.
The over-flowing of your Love-sick Fancy.
Pier.
But mark me now, my Rochford; mind the sad
Catastrophe. They lookt not now like Friends
Of Comfort, but like boding Sybils rather;
Their Smiles converted all to darting Frowns,
Whilst with their seeming Voice and Hands, methought,
They chid and beckon'd me to shun the place,
As if they did intend to say aloud,
25
Piercy begone, for thou shalt happy be no more.
Roch.
Ah, my Lord!
Pier.
Ha! what say'st thou? 'tis enough,
There hangs a dreadful Tale upon thy Brow,
And there's some horrid meaning in that word—
Let thy dire Looks speak all the rest, I prithee;
Th'hast pierc'd quite through me like an Ague-Fit,
Stopt every circling passage of my Blood,
And made me sweat big drops as cold as Ice—
Say quick! How fares thy Sister? is she well?
My Love! my Wife! Did I not call her Wife?
Speak, Is she living? Is she dead? If so,
And thou dar'st utter it! plant thy dread Voice
Just like a Cannon to thy Piercy's Breast,
And shiver me to pieces.
Roch.
By these words
I find he knows not of my Sister's Marriage!
[Aside.
Still worse and worse!—Alas! my Lord, she lives!
[To Pier.
Pier.
Lives! oh the joy! But is she ought than well?
Tell it with speed! why didst thou say, alas?
Roch.
Well she is too.
Pier.
Then blessed be that Voice;
But why thou speak'st it with such cold reserve,
I cannot guess. Oh tell it out with joy!
Tell it aloud with shouting to the Spheres,
That they may eccho with glad Harmony:
Thy Sister lives: my Bullen is in health.
Roch.
She is in health: but—
Pier.
Ha! but what? speak out:
Why dost thou torture me with dire suspence?
If there be any thing can now be call'd Misfortune,
When thy dear Sister is in health, out with it;
Let it be worse than Thunder I can bear it.
Roch.
Alas! kind Piercy force not me to tell you,
Too soon you'l hear the News from one perhaps
That can relate it, Rocky as he is,
Without a Sigh or Tear in pity of you.
Pier.
You Heav'nly Pow'rs! What does my Rochford mean?
Methinks the joyful Tidings in my Breast,
26
But then again a fatal heaviness
Streight intercepts this dawn of Comfort there,
And like a Cloud hides all those new-born Beams
Of Hope, and bids me dread I know not what.
I am in Hell, in Torments, worse, in Doubt—
Is there no Balsom that can cure this Sting?
No Oedipus that can unfold this Riddle?
I prithee, gentle Rochford, do not rack me:
Take off this heavy Weight that sinks thy Brother.
Come, flatter me, if thou'rt affraid to tell
The Truth, and say that all these killing words
Were not in Earnest.
Enter Northumberland.
Roch.
See, your Father's here.
Pier.
He will take pity, and release me sure.
North.
Harry, thou art most welcome to thy Father;
Welcome to all, and welcome to the King.
Rejoice, my Son, and deck thy Face with Smiles:
There's Love and Fortune coming toward; thee.
Pier.
Pardon me, best of Fathers! spare my Answer:
[Kneels.
Oh tell me first what News is from my Love?
How does my Mistress fare? and what's become
Of Beauteous Anna Bullen? quickly, Sir.
North.
Why, what's become of her? She's very well.
What should become of her? She's Marry'd, Son.
Pier.
Marry'd!
North.
Marry'd! ay Marry'd, that she is!
A Queen she's too, a joyful Queen, I tell thee.
Pier.
Marry'd! and to the King! by all my hopes,
By all our chast, eternal Vows of Love
It cannot be, although my Father says it;
You, whom I'le credit sooner than an Angel.
Marry'd! my Anna Bullen false, and Marry'd!
Perswade me that the Sun has lost its Virtue,
The Earth, the teeming Earth, forgot to bear,
That Nature shall be Nature now no more;
That all the Elements shall vanish streight,
27
And you, and I, and all the living World,
Are what we were before we were begot;
All this must be, when Anna Bullen's false.
North.
I tell thee, rash and disobedient Boy,
Marry'd she is without such Miracles.
Pier.
Ah, dearest Father, on my Knees I beg you,
Repeat that horrid, dismal word no more;
To be obedient, and at once to hear
My Mistress wrong'd, is not in Piercy's power.
Here, crush this Insect, pound me into Dust,
I'm at your Foot! oh lay it on my Neck,
And punish me with death, ten thousand deaths;
For whilst I live I must be guilty still,
And near can think that Anna Bullen's false:
O Sir, be merciful and just at once,
And say you did it but to try your Piercy.
North.
Rise, and repent, and do not tempt my Anger,
Which thou should'st feel, but that I pity thee,
And think thy Folly Punishment enough.
Pier.
See, Sir, her Brother's more concern'd than I
To hear such words. Come, tell 'em, dearest Rochford,
Proclaim her Virtue loud as Cherubins,
Tell 'em, these Rocks, they may in time relent,
And hear the sad Complaints of injur'd Honour:
Is she not Chast! Chast as the Virgin light,
And constant as the Turtle to its Mate,
Her Person sacred still to all Mankind,
And Beauties less corrupted, less defil'd,
Than is the lovely blew that fragrant hangs
On Autumn Fruit, or Morning Dew on Roses.
North.
Tell him, my Lord.
Pier.
Oh hear the Charming sound;
Tell 'em, and undeceive 'em, Friend; tell 'em
How thou wert by, when first we plighted Troths,
And swore Eternal Faith, Eternal Love,
By every Saint, and every Star that shone,
Who then look'd down as joyful Witnesses,
And darted forth in all their bright Array,
To see our Loves that shin'd more bright than they.
28
My Lord, the King and Queen are passing by.
North.
Look you, Romantick Sir, behold your Mistress,
Whose Bride she is.
[King and Queen, Lords and Ladies pass over the Stage, Northumberland follows the King.
Pier.
By the Immortal Powers that gave me life,
And Eyes and Senses to believe, 'tis she—
It is the King, and Anna Bullen Crown'd!
Why Father, Rochford, Friends, is it not so?
And did she not like haughty Juno walk?
Who, as she held the Thunderer by the hand,
Lookt down with scorn on the low World, from whence
She came; so did she cast a loathing Eye
Upon the place where humble Piercy stands—
Now you are mute, dumb as those Conjurations
You hir'd just now from Hell to be my Ruine;
Ha! is't not so? Confess that it is so,
And I am blest; own it, and make poor Piercy happy.
Roch.
Alas! my Lord; afflict your mind no more,
'Tis torment to your Friend to see you thus.
Pier.
Friend, say'st thou? I disclaim that Name in all,
In Father, Brother, Sister, and Companion;
Nature her self abhors it, like the Plague,
And banishes that Guest from all her Creatures—
False Brother to the falsest Woman living!
Was it for this that I was sent from Court?
Was it for this the subtlest of her Sex
Sent me a Letter with ten thousand Charms,
To let me know that I should write, and should
Be written to no more till my return?
T'avoid suspition, as she said; but 'twas
To flatter me that I should not mistrust her.
Roch.
By Heav'n, and all that's true, she's not to blame.
Pier.
Here, Rochford, rip, and tear her from my heart,
Fast rooted as she is: The Poison swells,
O lance it with thy Sword, and give me ease:
She's Hell! she's worse! she's Madness to the Brain;
I am possest, and carry an Host of Devils:
For he that wears a perjur'd Woman here,
Has in his Breast ten thousand Fiends to scourge him.
29
North.
Come, my best Son, the King Salutes thee, Piercy;
Come, see the Bride he has prepar'd for thee,
And think no more of Anna Bullen now.
Pier.
Ha! bring me to her streight! Is she a Woman?
A bright dissembling and protesting Woman?
Smooth as the smiling pittiless Ocean is by fits;
But then her Heart as Rocky, deep, and fathomless:
Has she a Face as tempting as the fair
Deceitful Fruit of Sodom, but when tasted,
Is rottenness and horrour to the Core?
Is she so kind, that nothing can be kinder?
Nay were she Anna Bullen all without,
And Bullen all within, I'd marry her
To be reveng'd!
North.
Thou dost rejoice thy Father:
She is as good and beautiful as Angels,
And has ten thousand Pounds a year; which added
To thy Estate, will make you far more happy
Than Harry with his Crown, or Anna Bullen.
Pier.
Come, bring me to her: when shall we be marry'd?
North.
When my Son pleases: If thou wilt, to Morrow.
Pier.
To Morrow! Now: To Morrow is too late:
What must I waste a Day, and lose a Smile!
The King with Bullen revels all this while.
Haste, thou slow Sun! when wilt thou bring the Morn?
And when! oh when shall the long Day be worn!
That these triumphant Arms may seize my Bride,
And clasp her gently like a wanton Tide.
In Floods of Extasies I'le drown; and say,
Thus Harry and his Queen live all the day;
Thus he embraces her all o're, and o're;
Whilst for each Kiss I'le reap a thousand more:
And for each Pleasure they shall act that Night
I'le pattern then, and double with delight:
But for that rarest Bliss we blush to own,
Spite and Revenge much more my Joys shall Crown.
[Exeunt.
The End of the Second Act.
| Vertue Betray'd : Or, Anna Bullen | |