University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Villeroy, Prince of Conde, Bouillon.
Vill.
Thy Jealousies were rash, and grounded ill,
Imaginary Injuries; the King's
Unhappy Passion wrong'd himself, not Thee.
Embrace the gracious Pardon, Nobles both,
Whilst Mercy stretches forth her peaceful Hand,
Be reconcil'd to Loyalty again.

Bou.
That's our Resolve, our Business now at Court;
Stung with Remorse, by Duty summon'd back,
E'er yet our Rashness reach'd its purpos'd End,
We came, with all the Wings of conscious Guilt,
To throw our selves both Suppliants at the Throne.

Vill.
And you will find a Father for a Judge,
Tender to hear, and easy to forgive:
Believe me, Sirs, you will.

Prince.
Believe thee, Villeroy?
Can'st thou then think that we are sunk so deep
In Guilt's dark Gulph, so fetter'd with Despair,
As not to dare look up, to dare believe
There is a Heav'n for Penitence reserv'd?
My Wife is guiltless; and my King forgives
The rash Suspicions of a tainted Brain;
This is my Heav'n: Oh! aid me to support
The swelling Flood of Bliss that breaks upon me!
Charlotta, my suspected, injur'd Wife,
With added Lustre, and diviner Charms,
White as on starry Nights, the feather'd Snow,
And splendent as at Noon, the Orb of Day;
With all the Softness of a pitying Maid,
Invites the Rebel Husband to her Arms,
And hugs me into Extasies of Love.

Vill.
Hah! Who comes here? The Father of your Wife.

Prince.
O curs'd Return of Horror, Guilt, and Shame!
What! Montmorency? hide me, hide me, Villeroy;
Gape quickly Earth, and screen me from his Sight.
My Crime, like Lightning, flashes in my Face,
And makes me less than Man: I shake with Doubt,
And throw spontaneous Tortures on my self.

Enter Count Montmorency.
Mont.
Hah! Dost thou tremble only at my Sight?
Then think, thou monstrous Cause of all my Horrors,
Those Horrors that my Griefs have now prepar'd
To lay before thy Eyes in blackest Pomp,
To damn thy Baseness, and confront thy Guilt:
How will thy Soul support the shocking Charge,
That calls for Justice on thee, Ruffian Lord,
Thou Ruin of my Daughter and my House!
Thou Murtherer, thou Pois'ner of thy Wife!
Nay, thou shalt more than hear it; thy own Eyes
Shall justify the Truth, and to thy Soul
Report the Crime that damns it o'er and o'er.

Prince.
Forbear in Words to aggravate my Sin,
But lead me where the dreadful Scene may glare
Full in my Face, and witness your Report.
If true, by all my Guilt, I, on my self
Will execute what Justice you demand.
[Exeunt.
[The Scene changes, and discovers Charlotta dead, her Women mourning over her. Montmorency, Prince of Conde, Villeroy, Bouillon, Re-enter. Montmorency pointing to the dead Body.]
There, there, with all the sharpest Self-Reproach,
That conscious Guilt can raise, or this extort,
Survey the Havock (recent Act of Woe!)
This villainous Fiend Jealousy has wrought.
There look thy self to Madness; but, alas!
The Sight is too, too terrible for me.

[Exit Montmorency.
Prince.
If possible, I'll stare away my Soul;
[Staring ghastfully upon the dead Body.
My black, self-lashing, self-corroding Soul.
No, I will take a nobler, speedier Way,
Thou much abus'd, thou falsly blacken'd Whiteness;
Thou crying Victim to a Villain's Guilt,
To do thee Justice on thy Traytor Husband.

[Draws his Sword, and offers to stab himself.
Vill.
Art thou a Man? forego this Start of Madness,
[Villeroy prevents him.
Enough of Slaughter is already here;
One Crime can never be aton'd by more:
Calm Thought, and Reason, set thee right again.

Prince.
Why dost thou form a Wish so much unkind?
Calmness of Thought, and Reason, come to me!
The Two severest Enemies of Guilt,
The dreaded sure Returns of constant Pain.
Thinking is Hell, and Reason is a Glass,
That makes me, trembling, startle from my self,
By seeing my Deformity too plain;
Each Blot, each Stain, and Wrinkle of the Soul.
Oh! Villeroy! Oh! Bouillon! would you wish
To see me happy? wish me ever mad.
My injur'd Monarch, and my murther'd Wife,
There, as she lies, dire Sight! upbraiding me,
Stiff in the icy Arms of envious Death,
Are Scenes too dark for Reason to survey.
Come whip me, rack me, use me as you please,
As Justice dooms it, and my Crimes deserve.
Unshock'd, all outward Punishments I'll bear,
Let me escape the sharper Tortures here.

[Exeunt.