 | The Tragedy of Jane Shore |  |
13
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE Continues.Enter Alicia.
[Speaking to Jane Shore as entering.]
Alic.
No farther, gentle Friend; good Angels guard you,
And spread their gracious Wings about your Slumbers.
The drowzy Night grows on the World, and now
The busie Craftsman and o'er-labour'd Hind
Forget the Travail of the Day in Sleep:
Care only wakes, and moping Pensiveness,
With meagre discontented Looks they sit,
And watch the wasting of the Midnight Taper.
Such Vigils must I keep, so wakes my Soul,
Restless and self-tormented! Oh false Hastings!
Thou hast destroy'd my Peace.
[knocking without.
What Noise is that?
What Visitor is this, who with bold Freedom
Breaks in upon the peaceful Night and Rest,
With such a rude Approach?
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
One from the Court,
Lord Hastings, (as I think) demands my Lady.
Alic.
Hastings! Be still my Heart, and try to meet him.
With his own Arts: With Falshood—But he comes.
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[Speaks to a Servant at entering.]
Hast.
Dismiss my Train, and wait alone without.
Alicia here! Unfortunate Encounter!
But, be it as it may.
Alic.
When humbly, thus,
The great descend to visit the afflicted,
When thus unmindful of their Rest, they come
To sooth the Sorrows of the Midnight Mourner;
Comfort comes with them, like the golden Sun.
Dispels the sullen Shades with her sweet Influence.
And chears the melancholy House of Care.
L. Hast.
'Tis true I wou'd not over-rate a Curtesie.
Nor let the Coldness of Delay hang on it
To nip and blast its Favour, like a Frost;
But rather chose, at this late Hour, to come,
That your fair Friend may know I have prevail'd:
The Lord Protector has receiv'd her Suit,
And means to shew her Grace.
Alic.
My Friend! my Lord!
L. Hast.
Yes, Lady, yours: None has a Right more ample
To task my Power than you.
Alic.
I want the Words,
To pay you back a Compliment so courtly;
But my Heart guesses at the friendly meaning.
And wo' not die your Debtor.
L. Hast.
'Tis well, Madam.
But I wou'd see your Friend.
Alic.
Oh thou false Lord!
I wou'd be Mistress of my heaving Heart.
15
To dress my Face in easie dull Indifference:
But two'not be, my Wrongs will tear their Way,
And rush at once upon thee.
L. Hast.
Are you wise!
Have you the use of Reason? Do you wake?
What means this raving! this transporting Passion?
Alic.
O thou coll Traitor! thou insulting Tyrant!
Dost thou behold my poor distracted Heart,
Thus rent with agonizing Love and Rage,
And ask me what it means? Art thou not false?
Am I not scorn'd, forsaken and abandon'd,
Left, like a common Wretch, to Shame and Infamy;
Giv'n up to be the Sport of Villains Tongues,
Of Laughing Parasites, and lewd Buffoons;
And all because my Soul has doated on thee
With Love, with Truth, and Tenderness unutterable?
L. Hast.
Are these the Proofs of Tenderness and Love?
These endless Quarrels, Discontents, and Jealousies,
These never ceasing Wailings and Complainings,
These furious Starts, these Whirlwinds of the Soul,
Which every other Moment rise to Madness?
Alic.
What Proof, alas! have I not given of Love?
What have I not abandon'd to thy Arms?
Have I not set at nought my noble Birth,
A spotless Fame, and an unblemish'd Race,
The Peace of Innocence, and Pride of Virtue?
My Prodigality has giv'n thee all,
And now I have nothing left me to bestow;
You hate the wretched Bankrupt you have made.
L. Hast.
Why am I thus pursu'd from Place to Place,
Kept in the View, and cross'd at every turn?
In vain I flie, and like a hunted Deer,
16
'Ere I can reach my Safety, you o'ertake me
With the swift Malice of some keen Reproach,
And drive the winged Shaft deep in my Heart.
Alic.
Hither you fly, and here you seek Repose,
Spite of the poor Deceit, your Arts are known,
Your Pious, Charitable, Midnight Visits.
L. Hast.
If you are wise, and prize your Peace of Mind,
Yet take the friendly Counsel of my Love;
Believe me true, nor listen to your Jealousie,
Let not that Devil, which undo's your Sex,
That cursed Curiosity seduce you,
To hunt for needless Secrets, which neglected,
Shall never hurt your Quiet, but once known,
Shall sit upon your Heart, pinch it with Pain,
And banish the sweet Sleep for ever from you.
Go too,—be yet advis'd,—
Alic.
Dost thou in Scorn,
Preach Patience to my Rage? And bid me tamely
Sit like a poor contented Ideot down,
Nor dare to think thou hast wrong'd me—Ruin seize thee,
And swift Perdition overtake thy Treachery!
Have I the least remaining Cause to Doubt?
Hast thou endeavour'd once to hide thy Falshood?
To hide it, might have spoke some little Tenderness,
And shewn thee half unwilling to undoe me.
But thou disdain'st the Weakness of Humanity,
Thy Words, and all thy Actions, have confess'd it;
Ev'n now thy Eyes avow it, now they speak,
And insolently own the Glorious Villany.
L. Hast.
Well then, I own my Heart has broke your Chains.
Patient I bore the painful Bondage long,
At length my generous Love disdains your Tyranny;
17
Vexatious Days, and jarring joyless Nights,
Have driv'n him forth to seek some safer Shelter,
Where he may rest his weary Wings in Peace.
Alic.
You Triumph! do! And with Gigantick Pride,
Defie impending Vengeance. Heav'n shall wink;
No more his Arm shall roll the dreadful Thunder,
Nor send his Light'nings forth. No more his Justice
Shall visit the presuming Sons of Men,
But Perjury, like thine, shall dwell in Safety.
L. Hast.
Whate'er my Fate decrees for me hereafter,
Be present to me now, my better Angel!
Preserve me from the Storm which threatens now,
And if I have beyond Attonement sinn'd,
Let any other kind of Plague o'ertake me,
So I escape the Fury of that Tongue.
Alic.
Thy Pray'r is heard,—I go,—but know, proud Lord,
Howe'er thou scorn'st the Weakness of my Sex,
This feeble Hand may find the Means to reach thee,
Howe'er sublime in Pow'r, and Greatness plac'd,
With Royal Favour guarded round, and grac'd;
On Eagles Wings, my Rage shall urge her Flight,
And hurl thee Headlong from thy topmost Height;
Then like thy Fate, Superior will I sit,
And view thee fall'n, and groveling at my Feet;
See thy last Breath with Indignation go,
And tread thee sinking to the Shades below.
[Exit Alic.
L. Hast.
How fierce a Fiend is Passion? With what Wildness,
What Tyranny untam'd, it Reigns in Woman.
Unhappy Sex! Whose easie yielding Temper
Gives Way to every Appetite alike;
18
Sweeps thro' their Souls, and sets 'em in an uproar;
Each Motion of their Heart rises to Fury,
And Love in their weak Bosoms is a Rage
As terrible as Hate, and as destructive.
So the Wind roars o'er the wide fenceless Ocean,
And heaves the Billows of the boiling Deep,
Alike from North, from South, from East, and West;
With equal Force the Tempest blows by turns
From every Corner of the Seaman's Compass.
But soft ye now—for here comes one, disclaims
Strife, and her wrangling Train. Of equal Elements,
Without one jarring Atom was she form'd
And Gentleness, and Joy, make up her Being.
Enter Jane Shore.
Forgive me, fair one, if officious Friendship
Intrudes on your Repose, and comes thus late,
To greet you with the Tidings of Success.
The Princely Gloster has vouchsaf'd you Hearing,
To Morrow he expects you at the Court,
There plead your Cause with never failing Beauty,
Speak all your Griefs, and find a full Redress.
J. Sh.
Thus humbly let your lowly Servant bend,
[Kneeling.
Thus let me bow my grateful Knee to Earth,
And bless your noble Nature for this Goodness.
L. Hast.
Rise, gentle Dame; you wrong my Meaning much,
Think me not guilty of a Thought so vain,
To sell my Courtesie for Thanks like these.
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'Tis true, your Bounty is beyond my Speaking;
But tho' my Mouth be dumb, my Heart shall thank you;
And when it melts before the Throne of Mercy,
Mourning, and bleeding, for my past Offences,
My fervent Soul shall breath one Prayer for you,
If Prayers of such a Wretch are heard on high,
That Heav'n will pay you back, when most you need,
The Grace and Goodness you have shewn to me.
L. Hast.
If there be ought of Merit in my Service,
Impute it there, where most 'tis due to Love;
Be kind, my gentle Mistress, to my Wishes,
And satisfie my panting Heart with Beauty.
J. Sh.
Alas! my Lord.—
L. Hast.
Why bend thy Eyes to Earth?
Wherefore these Looks of Heaviness and Sorrow?
Why breaths that Sigh, my Love? And wherefore falls
This trickling Show'r of Tears, to stain thy Sweetness.
J. Sh.
If Pity dwells within your noble Breast,
(As sure it does) oh speak not to me thus!
L. Hast.
Can I behold thee, and not speak of Love!
Ev'n now thus sadly as thou stand'st before me,
Thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn,
Thy Softness steals upon my yielding Senses,
Till my Soul faints, and sickens with Desire;
How canst thou give this Motion to my Heart,
And bid my Tongue be still?
J. Sh.
Cast round your Eyes
Upon the High-born Beauties of the Court;
Behold, like opening Roses, where they Bloom,
Sweet to the Sense, unsully'd all, and spotless;
There chuse some worthy Partner of your Heart,
To fill your Arms, and bless your Virtuous Bed,
Nor turn your Eyes this Way, where Sin and Misery,
20
And the Destroyer Shame has laid all Waste.
L. Hast.
What means this Peevish, this fantastick Change?
Where is thy wonted Pleasantness of Face?
Thy wonted Graces, and thy dimpled Smiles?
Where hast thou lost thy Wit, and sportive Mirth,
That chearful Heart, which us'd to Dance for ever;
And cast a Day of Gladness all around thee?
J. Sh.
Yes, I will own I merit the Reproach?
And for those foolish Days of wanton Pride,
My Soul is justly humbled to the Dust:
All Tongues, like yours, are licens'd to upbraid me,
Still to repeat my Guilt, to urge my Infamy,
And treat me like that abject Thing I have been.
Yet let the Saints be witness to this Truth,
That now, tho' late, I look with Horror back,
That I detest my wretched self, and curse
My past polluted Life. All judging Heav'n
Who knows my Crimes, has seen my Sorrow for them.
L. Hast.
No more of this dull stuff. 'Tis time enough
To whine and mortifie thy self with Pennance
When the decaying Sence is pall'd with Pleasure,
And weary Nature tires in her last Stage.
Then weep and tell thy Beads, when alt'ring Rheums
Have stain'd the Lustre of thy starry Eyes,
And failing Palsies shake thy wither'd Hand.
The present Moments claim more generous use;
Thy Beauty, Night and Solitude reproach me,
For having talk'd thus long—Come let me press thee,
[Laying hold on her.]
Pant on thy Bosom, sink into thy Arms,
And lose my self in the luxurious Fold.
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Never! By those chast Lights above, I swear,
My Soul shall never know Pollution more;
Forbear my Lord!—Here let me rather die
[Kneeling.]
Let quick Destruction overtake me here,
And end my Sorrows and my Shame for ever.
L. Hast.
Away with this Perverseness,—'Tis too much—
Nay if you strive—'tis monstrous Affectation.
[Striving.]
J. Sh.
Retire! I beg you leave me—
L. Hast.
Thus to coy it!—
With one who knows you too.
J. Sh.
For Mercies Sake—
L. Hast.
Ungrateful Woman! is it thus you pay
My Services?—
J. Sh.
Abandon me to ruin—
Rather than urge me—
L. Hast.
This way to your Chamber,
[Pulling her.]
There if you struggle—
J. Sh.
Help! oh, gracious Heaven!
Help! Save me! Help!
[Crying out.]
Enter Dumont, he interposes.
Dum.
My Lord! for Honor's Sake—
L. Hast.
Hah! What art thou? begon!
Dum.
My Duty calls me
To my Attendance on my Mistress here.
J. Sh.
For Pity let me go—
L. Hast.
Avaunt! base Groom—
At distance wait and know thy Office better.
22
Forego your hold, my Lord! 'tis most unmanly;
This Violence—
L. Hast.
Avoid the Room this Moment,
Or I will tread thy Soul out.
Dum.
No my Lord—
The common Ties of Manhood call me now,
And bid me thus stand up in the Defence
Of an oppress'd, unhappy, helpless Woman.
L. Hast.
And dost thou know me? Slave!
Dum.
Yes, thou proud Lord!
I know thee well, know thee with each Advantage,
Which Wealth, or Power, or noble Birth can give thee.
I know thee too for one who stains those Honors,
And blots a long illustrious Line of Ancestry,
By poorly daring thus to wrong a Woman.
L. Hast.
'Tis wond'rous well! I see my Saint-like Dame,
You stand provided of your Braves and Ruffians,
To Man your Cause, and bluster in your Brothel.
Dum.
Take back the foul Reproach, unmanner'd Railer.
Nor urge my Rage too far, least thou shoul'st find
I have as daring Spirits in my Blood
As thou, or any of thy Race e'er boasted;
And tho' no gawdy Titles grac'd my Birth,
Titles, the servile Courtier's lean Reward,
Sometimes the Pay of Virtue, but more oft
The Hire which Greatness gives to Slaves and Sycophants,
Yet Heav'n that made me honest, made me more
Than ever King did, when he made a Lord.
L. Hast.
Insolent Villain! Henceforth let this teach thee
[Draws and strikes him.]
The distance 'twixt a Peasant and a Prince.
Dum.
Nay then my Lord! (drawing)
Learn you by this how well
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[They fight.]
J. Sh.
Oh my distracting Fears! hold, for sweet Heav'n.
[They Fight, Dumont disarms Lord Hastings.]
L. Hast.
Confusion! baffled by a base born Hind!
Dum.
Now, haughty Sir, where is our difference now?
Your Life is in my Hand, and did not Honor,
The Gentleness of Blood, and inborn Virtue
(Howe'er unworthy I may seem to you)
Plead in my Bosome, I should take the Forfeit.
But wear your Sword again; and know a Lord
Oppos'd against a Man is but a Man.
L. Hast.
Curse on my failing Hand! Your better Fortune
Has giv'n you Vantage o'er me; but perhaps
Your Triumph may be bought with dear Repentance.
[Exit.
J. Sh.
Alas! What have you done! Know you the Pow'r,
The Mightiness that waits upon this Lord?
Dum.
Fear not, my worthiest Mistress; 'tis a Cause,
In which Heav'n's Guard shall wait you. Oh pursue,
Pursue the Sacred Counsels of your Soul,
Which urge you on to Virtue; let not Danger,
Nor the encumbring World, make faint your Purpose;
Assisting Angels shall conduct your Steps,
Bring you to Bliss, and Crown your End with Peace.
J. Sh.
Oh that my Head were laid, my sad Eyes clos'd,
And my cold Coarse wound in my Shrowd to rest;
My painful Heart will never cease to beat,
Will never know a Moments Peace till then.
Dum.
Wou'd you be happy? Leave this fatal Place,
Fly from the Court's pernicious Neighbourhood;
Where Innocence is sham'd, and blushing Modesty
Is made the Scorner's Jest; where Hate, Deceit,
And deadly Ruin, wear the Masques of Beauty,
And draw deluded Fools with Shews of Pleasure.
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Where should I fly, thus Helpless, and Forlorn,
Of Friends, and all the Means of Life bereft.
Dum.
Bellmour, whose Friendly Care still wakes to serve you,
Has found you out a little Peaceful Refuge.
Far from the Court, and the Tumultous City,
Within an Ancient Forest's ample Verge,
There stands a lonely, but a healthful Dwelling,
Built for Convenience, and the Use of Life:
Around it Fallows, Meads, and Pastures fair,
A little Garden, and a limpid Brook,
By Nature's own Contrivance, seem dispos'd;
No Neighbours, but a few poor simple Clowns,
Honest and true, with a well meaning Priest.
No Faction, or Domestick Fury's Rage,
Did e'er disturb the Quiet of that place,
When the contending Nobles shook the Land
With York and Lancaster's disputed Sway.
Your Virtue, there, may find a safe Retreat,
From the insulting Pow'rs of wicked Greatness.
J. Sh.
Can there be so much Happiness in store!
A Cell, like that, is all my Hopes aspire to.
Hast then, and thither let us wing our Flight,
E'er the Clouds gather, and the Wintry Sky
Descends in Storms to intercept our Passage.
Dum.
Will you then go? You glad my very Soul,
Banish your Fears, cast all your Cares on me,
Plenty, and Ease, and Peace of Mind shall wait you,
And make your latter Days of Life most happy.
Oh, Lady! But I must not, cannot tell you
How anxious I have been for all your Dangers,
And how my Heart rejoyces at your Safety.
So when the Spring renews the Flow'ry Field,
And warns the pregnant Nightingal to build,
25
Where she may trust her little tuneful Brood.
Where no rude Swains her shady Cell may know,
No Serpents climb, nor blasting Winds may blow;
Fond of the chosen Place, she views it o'er,
Sits there and wanders thro' the Grove no more.
Warbling she charms it each returning Night,
And loves it with a Mothers dear delight.
[Exeunt.
End of the Second ACT.
| The Tragedy of Jane Shore | |