University of Virginia Library

ACT IV. The Unfortunate Couple.

A short Tragedy.

SCENE Lyons.
SCENE A House.
Enter Dampierre, with a Letter in his Hand.
Dam.
Lust of Revenge! Mad Child of slighted Love!
Thou driv'st me, like thy Parent, to this House;
But not with Hopes so sweet. Yet I must on.
Elvira, lov'd by me, has cast me from her,
With insolent Reproof,
And all the Spight of a damn'd vertuous Wife.
She may complain of me to her Grammont. I must prevent her.
For fav'ring me, her Woman must to morrow
Be turn'd away: But we've this Night, to plot.
The Creature's as revengeful too as I.
So when my cred'lous Kinsman Grammont comes
To his fond Wife to Night, with this false Letter
She shall so raise the Jealousie I've kindled,
That Mischief will be great, and I reveng'd.

Enter Lysette.
Lys.
Well, Sir, the Letter.

Dam.
There—'Twas writ to me,
[Gives it her.
To come to her, before she knew I lov'd her:
But I've torn out my Name, and part of it:
Tear the rest with your Teeth when Grammont meets you.
Thus if he looks on't here and there a Word,
Back'd with your feign'd Surprize will make him think
'Twas sent to Montigny, as you must tell him.

Lys.
Enough; go in; leave me to watch his coming.

Dam.
Succeed; Dampierre has Gold waits to reward thee.

[Exeunt.
Enter Grammont, and a Page before him with a Flambeau.
Gram.
Business, unlucky Business, long has kept me
From my Elvira. Tho' all late as 'tis,
Methinks some dark ill-boding Fancy seems
To tell me, 'tis too early yet, to seek
Those Joys I ever found in her dear Arms.
A strange unusual Damp has seiz'd my Soul;
And I, who use with eager Joy to fly
To my Elvira, have now scarce the Strength,
Or Will, indeed, to move one step that way.
Oh Dampierre! Dampierre! what was thy Design!
Since I left thee, my working Thoughts have been
In a perpetual hurry: Thou, alas!
Hast poison'd all my dearest Joys,
And in my troubled Mind laid the Foundation
Of eternal Doubts! Perplexing, gnawing, killing Doubts!
And yet, I know thee, Dampierre, base, of a poor, mean,
Low Spirit too, and so capable of any Mischief.
Why then should'st thou gain Credit with Grammont?
No, from my Memory henceforth I chase.
Thee, and each Thought of thy base Treachery.
Grammont's too happy in a vertuous Wife
And gen'rous Friend—But, hark! What Noise is that?
[A noise of opening a Door, and Lysette enters, who seeing Grammont, pretends to avoid him, he stops her; and turning up her Hood, sees her tearing a Letter with her Teeth.
Oh! 'tis the Door opens. Hah! Who art thou that steal'st away
So guiltily! Nay, I must see—Lysette! Whither away
At this unseasonable Time of Night?
And what Paper's that thou mumblest so?

Lys.
Alas! I am undone! Pardon me, Sir! O pardon me, I beseech ye.

Gram.
Wou'dst have me pard'n thee e'er I know thy Fault?
Confess, and then perhaps thou may'st deserve it.

Lys.
O never, never! All that I desire
Is, that you wou'd be so just as to believe
Me only guilty; for on my Life my Lady's innocent.

Gram.
Hah! Thy Lady! Speak what of her?

Lys.
Why, she, I do declare to all the World,
Is innocent, by all that's Good she is!
Nay, were I to die next minute,
My Tongue shou'd end my Story with that Truth.

Gram.
I ask not of her Innocence; but tell me,
And tell me truly, as thou hop'st for any Mercy from me,
Whither we'rt thou stealing with that Letter, and what were the Contents of it?

Lis.
For Heav'ns sake, and for your own, Sir, press me no further.
Here on my Knees I beg you wou'd not.

Gram.
Hah! do'st thou dally with me?
Come, speak quickly, or, by Heav'n thou dy'st.

Lis.
Do with me what you please; but force me not,
I do beseech you, to a Confession, that—

Gram.
What? Speak, I say; tell me what was that Paper?
To whom directed, and from whom?

Lis.
Alas, I die for fear.

Gram.
If thou continu'st obstinate,
Not all the World shall save thee from my Fury.

Lis.
It was—

Gram.
What was it? Speak, I say.

Lis.
It was a Letter.

Gram.
From whom?

Lis.
It was a Letter from my Lady—

Gram.
Well said; to whom?

Lis.
To—Yet Sir, excuse me, I conjure you.

Gram.
Ah! more trifling! Out with it boldly, or—

Lis.
'Twas to Montigny, Sir; your best and dearest Friend Montigny.

Gram.
To Montigny! was it to Montigny, that Elvira sent thee
With that Letter, at this unseasonable Hour?

Lis.
It was: But why shou'd that so much disturb you?
A petty Quarrel parted 'em in the Evening,
When, tho' Montigny humbly su'd for Pardon,
She would not grant it, till at last, good Lady,
Repenting her Severity, she cou'd not rest,
Till she had giv'n him an Assurance under
Her Hand, that what he then so earnestly
Desir'd, was now as freely granted; and—

Gram.
Peace, Screech owl! Peace, thou rank Messenger of Lust!
By Heav'n I know not why I do not kill thee.
Hence from my Sight! away!
[Exit Lysette.
But which Way now, wretched Grammont, wilt thou
Direct thy wand'ring Steps? Where e'er thou goest
Destruction, Horror, and Amazement will attend thee.
Thy faithful Ears, deaf to all other Tales,
Will turn each Sound into this one sad Story,
Elvira's false, Montigny's false; and now
Grammont's become the Scorn of all the World.
Oh, 'tis too much for Mortal Man to bear.
By Heav'n I'll make my sad and just Revenge
As signally notorious as my Wrongs.
But hush. Be still y'unruly Passions of
My Mind; and think Grammont, that to revenge
Is but the way to publish thy Disgrace.
Patience then, oh Patience! grant me, just Heav'n, more Patience;
Or take from me that little I am yet Master of;
And in Return, bless me with Madness, eternal Madness;
Madness without one Minute's Interval of Sence.
Grief, Rage, Despair, possess my tortur'd Mind.
Make me but mad, ye Gods, and you'll be kind.

[Exit.
Enter Dampierre and Lysette.
Dam.
So, all goes well. I watch'd, and heard, and joy'd.

Lys.
Yes, yes, all yet goes wondrous well indeed;
But what the End will be, for my part I can't guess.

Dam.
No matter: Let there be no End at all,
But that which puts an End to all things; Death.
Oh, may Confusion, Rage, Despair,
And everlasting Jealousie attend 'em to their Graves.

Lys.
Amen, say I; But yet suppose they shou'd at last come
To a right Understanding; what wou'd become of me, I pray?
Were it not better, think you, to decamp
In time, and leave 'em to themselves?

Dam.
By no means; that wou'd make 'em presently
Smell out thy Roguery and their own Error.
Rather be more diligent, and more assiduous
In your Attendance now than ever.
Consult their Looks: For till you find the Weather
Clearing there, you need not fear a Storm.
And then at last it will be time enough to fly.
In the mean time, here, Thou hast been
Industrious, and do'st deserve Encouragement.

[Offers her a Pair of Gloves.
Lys.
A paltry Pair of Gloves, I'll warrant you. Foh! I'll have none of 'em.

Dam.
Away, Thou art a Fool; and know'st not what
Thou hast refus'd. They are, I tell thee,
Gloves of the richest Scent; Besides, each Finger
Is lin'd with Gold: Here wear 'em for my sake.

Lys.
Well, for once I care not if I do; the cordial Gold
Perhaps may keep my Spirits up, and give me
Strength to bear the Brunt of all. Adieu, Sir.

[Exit Lysette.
Damp.
She shall not sell me as she sold her Mistress.
Those Gloves, how rich soe'er their Scent may seem,
Yet once well heated in the Hand, will cast
A strong and deadly Smell most fatal to the Brain;
A Poison sudden in its Operation.
So thou, poor Fool Lysette hast thy Reward.
Thus Caution dooms some dang'rous Tool of State,
Lest Petty Villains shou'd betray the Great.

[Exit Damp.
Enter Grammont follow'd by Elvira.
Elv.
Oh Grammont! Nay, turn not, turn not, cruel Man, away;
But look upon thy poor disconsolate
Elvira, almost drown'd in Tears: Oh speak!
Oh speak at last, and let her know wherein
She has been faulty or unfortunate
Enough to merit this hard Usage from her much lov'd Grammont.

Gram.
Art thou Elvira?

Elv.
Why do'st thou ask that unkind Question?

Gram.
Because Elvira ever lov'd Grammont;
And so cou'd never be a Trouble to him.
But thou alas! art most importunate.
Prithee be gone, thou art not Elvira,
Not the same Elvira; that I'm sure of.

Elv.
Yes, I am the very same I ever was;
The very same Elvira still, on whom
With dearest Transports thou did'st once bestow
Ten thousand Vows of everlasting Love.

Gram.
Forbear, forbear, Elvira, and re-call
Not to my Memory those happy Days,
In which I dearly lov'd, and thou we'rt kind.

Elv.
If in Elvira's Love thou once we'rt blest,
Why art thou not so still?

Gram.
Oh Elvira! All things are strangely alter'd since that time.
Love once was pure; and Friendship sacred held;
Yet now the one is little else but Lust,
The other all Design. Vertue is fled,
And Vice reigns now triumphant in each Sex.
We are all wondrous weak, alas, and frail.—Oh—!

Elv.
Alas, what means that sad and dismal Groan,
By Grief extorted from thy Manly Breast?
Thou can'st not sure be so unjust, as to
Suspect my Love? Yet if thou art,
Speak, I conjure thee; but speak plainly then,
And not in unintelligible Groans.
Speak, cruel Man, oh speak, do I not love thee?
Am I false? Oh may Elvira live no longer
Than with a Passion innocent and pure
She loves her dear Grammont.

Gram.
What pity 'tis our Hearts are not expos'd
To open View, as are our Faces, that
So, ev'n our most private Thoughts might all
Appear naked and bare, as at their first
Conception, e're drest up in ornamental
Words of a much different Import!

Elv.
Ah, cou'd'st thou but see into my Heart,
Thou there wou'd'st soon perceive thy Errour
And my Innocence. But since my dear Grammont
That cannot be, believe my Words, believe
These Tears, believe my Actions. Oh see
I am here ready to receive thee still,
Rude and unkind, ungrateful and inhumane
As thou art. Come then, come to these Arms,
Ne'er yet stretch'd out to thee in vain.
Wilt thou not come? Not yet? Thou can'st not sure
Deny me now, when all I beg of thee,
Is, that once more thou wou'd'st be happy.

Gram.
Why shou'd'st thou desire Impossibilities?
Alas, I never can be happy more.

Elv.
Then must I be for ever miserable.
Cruel Man, shew yet some small Remainder of Humanity.
Be not so rash: Either accuse, or else acquit me;
But pass not Sentence on me 'ere I'm heard.

Gram.
No; Fear not too hasty or too hard
A Sentence from my Mouth. False as thou art,
I cannot hate where once I lov'd so well.
Live then Elvira, live long; but live
A Stranger to Grammont; and that thou may'st
Live happily, wipe from thy Memory
The dearest Passages of some few past Years;
And see thou quite forget there e'er was such
A Wretch i'th' World as I am.

Elv.
Hold! oh hold!
It is too much. Alas, insult not poorly
O'er my Weakness, nor play the wanton with my Grief.
Why do'st thou bid me live if it must be
Without Grammont? Why do'st thou wish me happy,
When all my happiness, thou know'st depends upon thy Love?
Yet that, thou say'st, is forfeited, is lost to me for ever.
Oh! my Grammont, it is enough thou art unkind;
Be not unjust to thy Elvira. For Pity's sake grant something
To the dear Memory of our mutual Love.
And if thou know'st me false, tell me wherein,
When, or with whom I have offended.

Gram.
What Satisfaction wou'd it be to thee,
Elvira, shou'd I tell thee all? Since all
Alas! can be no more than what thou know'st,
As well at least, if not much better than
My self; In short I am convinc'd thou canst not
Clear thy self; and if so, consider, that
A weak Defence is worse than none at all.
Tempt me not then to speak, since 'twill but add
To thy Confusion, and my Shame: But I would willingly
Spare both as much as may be with my Honour.

Elv.
Confusion, Shame, Contempt, and everlasting Infamy
For ever be my Lot, if e'er I wrong'd
Thy Love so much as in one guilty Thought.
Oh my Grammont, my dear, my lov'd Grammont,
See thy Elvira on her tender Knees,
From whence she ne'er will rise, till she has learnt
The strange and fatal Cause of her Disgrace.

Gram.
Away; this thy affected Obstinacy
Wou'd make me hate thee, were it possible,
Elvira! Is it not enough that thou
Hast wrong'd my Honour, but that I my self
Must here repeat the shameful Tale,
Only to gratifie thy wanton Curiosity?
Perhaps indeed I know not half thy brave
Exploits; so my imperfect Tale may yield thee
Some Diversion. But have a care; The Cuckold yet
Bears his Misfortune patiently enough.
Make him not then thy sport: For, if thou do'st,
By Heav'n!—Away, away, Elvira.
I wou'd not be provok'd; away, I say,
While yet I'm Master of my growing Passion.

Elv.
Do what thou wilt, be rude, be cruel,
Be inhumane as thou hast been to the Poor
Elvira; Yet while she has any Strength,
She never will let go this Hold, unless
Thou first communicate the fatal Secret.

Gram.
Away, away, thou'lt force me to be rude.
Be not so strangely obstinate, alas!
I wou'd be civil, tho' I can't be kind.

Elv.
Barbarous Man! Yet speak, what have I done?

Gram.
Will nothing then content thee? Then thus
I throw thee off, and force my Way.

[Strives to get from her, and drags her about the Stage.
Elv.
And thus
I cling to thee close as the tender Ivy.
To the sturdy Elm. Do, do, merciless
Grammont, do, pull, hale, tear, drag, nay kill me,
Yet I'll not willingly let go. But oh!
His cruel Strength prevails.

[He breaks from here.
Gram.
Farewel thou most importunate of Women.

Elv.
Stay, stay, my lost Grammont; give me but one
Poor Minute more, and all is done. Fear not;
I will no longer urge my Innocence.
It is enough that thou believ'st me false.
Oh, for thy own Repose, may'st thou for ever
Think me so!
Farewel, my dear unkind Grammont, farewel:
And when I'm dead, think what the poor Elvira
Wou'd have done to have kept thy Love, who on
Her own tender Breast dares thus revenge the fatal Loss.

[She pulls out a Dagger and stabs her self.
Gram.
Hold! hold, Elvira, hold!
By Heav'n 'twas boldly done, and nothing cou'd
Have giv'n so sure a Blow, but Innocence
It self. Yes, my Elvira, every Drop
Of that dear Blood loudly proclaims to all
The World thy Innocence, and my sad Guilt,
Oh! Ye juster Powr's above, to what strange Fate
Am I at last reserv'd! See, at thy Feet,
My dear Elvira, the wretched'st Thing alive:
A Thing unworthy of the Name of Man:
A Penitent who dares not hope for Pardon
Either from Heav'n or Thee; tho' both, alas!
Are infinitely good and merciful.

Enter Leonora and La Roche.
Leon.
Never did so much Joy as here we bring spring from sad so a Cause.
Oh, Heav'n! Are all my dearest Hopes thus dash'd?
Oh Brother, who has done this bloody Deed?

Elv.
'Twas I; 'twas I my self, my Dear; weep not
For me; but rather go and comfort, if thou can'st, the poor Grammont.

Leon.
Oh Grammont!
Unfortunate Grammont, most grosly hast
Thou been impos'd on by that Monster Dampierre.
Know then, that Letter thought directed
By Elvira to Montigny, and sent
At that suspicious time of Night,
Was but a Trick, a meer Device, the whole
Only a Scene contriv'd by Dampierre, acted by Lysette.
This Truth from her own Mouth we just now learnt,
And she confirm'd it with her latest Breath:
For she is dead, poison'd by Dampierre.
Oh that we had known this some Minutes sooner!

Gram.
Gods! What has this miserable Caitiff done
To draw down all your Anger on his Head?
What horrid Crimes before had stain'd his Soul,
That you shou'd thus all at one fatal Blow
Oppress the Wretch with your severest Judgements?
Oh that some Mountain now wou'd fall on me,
And in its dreadful Ruins crush my Head.
But hark! Methinks the Gods grow loud, Hark! how
Their awful Thunder grumbles in the Sky.
See how the fiery Balls fly whizzing by,
Dealing Amazement and Destruction all around!
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
See yon old Miser laden with swelling Bags
Of ill-got Gold, with how much awkard Haste
He limps away to Shelter: See how he ducks,
And dives, and dodges with the Gods, and all
Only in hopes t'avoid, for some few Days
Perhaps, the just Reward of his accurs'd Extortion.
The hot Adult'rer now, all chill and impotent
With Fear, leaps from the polluted Bed,
And crams himself into a Cranny.
Those Mighty Men of Blood, who make a Trade
Of Murther, now forget their wonted Fierceness;
Out nois'd they shrink aside, and shake for fear
O'th' louder Threatnings of the angry Gods!
While I, I only, tho' the wicked'st Wretch of all,
With an erected Countenance, stand to't,
Courting those Dangers others seek t'avoid.
And yet there's not one Dart, one Bolt for me;
Tho' I, Heav'n knows, deserve 'em all. Oh!

[He throws himself on the Ground.
Elv.
Let not the Knowledge of my Innocence,
My dear Grammont, add to thy Grief:
Rather believe me guilty still. Alas!
Thy gen'rous easie Nature was abus'd,
Impos'd on, by a Kinsman's wicked Arts.
Thou still art innocent, and so am I,
Who freely can forgive thy greatest Faults.
Come then, Grammont, come to thy Elvira;
And with a Kiss, a cold and dying Kiss,
I'll seal thy Pardon.

Gram.
My dear Elvira, this thy prodigious
Goodness does but encrease my Misery.
Yet I will come, yes, my Elvira!
With a down dejected Countenance,
Not daring to look up, but creeping thus,
And crawling on the Earth, I do approach
Thy Feet: Here spurn the vile Thing, tread, trample
The miserable Insect into nothing.

Elv.
Oh! my Grammont! yield not too much to Grief;
It is a fatal, tho' a slow Disease.

Gram.
I thank thee, dear Elvira, for that Hint:
Now thou art kind, and giv'st me good Advice.
Whoever wou'd endure an Age of Pain,
When one such Blow as this, might give him present ease?

[Stabs himself.
Leon.
Hold! oh hold, Grammont! Oh Heav'ns! what has he done!

La Ro.
Too much, alas! tho' 'tis no more than what
I apprehended from his just Despair.

Enter Dampierre.
Dam.
by the Door.
I've heard loud Cries: I hope Grammont has kill'd her.—
So! Murther has been busie. I'll draw near,
And with dissembled Pity mock their Woe.
O dismal Sight! Oh horrour! Poor Elvira!
[He comes close by 'em.
Wretched Grammont! Curs'd be the fatal Cause
Of this most sad Mischance!

Gram.
Then, Villain, die!

[Grammont kills him with the Dagger.
Dam.
Oh! Death and Hell! I'm kill'd.

Gram.
The Murth'rer of our Joys has his Reward:
'Twas needful Mischief: We may kill a Monster,
Tho he resists not.

Dam.
How am I a Monster?

Leon.
Think on Lysette! She's dead,
But first discover'd all.

Dam.
Curs'd be her Tongue, and thine; curs'd my Italian,
For his unprofitable lingring Poison;
And yet more curs'd my self for trusting either.
I'm fitted—Oh, Revenge! too fierce Revenge!
Thy Sweets, like Love's, soon, when enjoy'd, grow bitter:
Like Guns o'er-charg'd, thou hurt'st the Hand that fir'd thee.
I'm dying—Oh! I wou'd, but can't repent.
Hah! there's a dreadful Gulph!—I'm on the brink—
Oh! now I'm falling, and for ever sink.

[Dies.
Elv.
Where, where art thou, my Grammont?
A rising Mist has on a sudden snatch'd
Thee from my sight. Alas! I faint; I die.

(She dies.
Gram.
She's gone; and all my Comfort is, that I
Shall quickly follow. Yes, this sight wounds
Deeper than the sharpest Dagger. I come,
I come, Elvira; my aspiring Soul
Begins to mount; not to o'er-take, but at
An awful distance to attend and wait
On thine above, in those blest Regions of eternal Peace.

[He dies.
Leon.
Alas, he's gone! Oh! I've scarce Pow'r to speak it.
If Grief will let me live, I will attend
Them to the Earth, and give 'em both one Grave:
And as with Tears their Story I relate,
Teach happy Lovers to avoid their Fate:
Nor rashly to despair, nor Sland'rers trust,
Since Heav'n at last ne'er fails to right the Just.