University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Briar's House.
Briar and Charlotte.
Briar.
Yes, Charlotte, yes, my child, to make you happy,
I'll curb my rage, I'll bridle up my hate:
The bitter indignation that I bear
To Freeman is not level'd at his son:
I will love him, my girl, for loving you.

Charlotte.
O! may your days be long and pros'prous all!
He surely is the sweetest, gentlest, youth,
That ever trod the plains, or woo'd a maid!

Briar.

Daughter, I must confess I did not think 'twas in the
pow'r of words to throw my temper into such a mold
as the young man has fram'd it to:

His language found a passage to my heart,
And made me wish the son of Freeman well.

Charlotte.
What do my eyes behold? my Freeman's mother!
Come, I suppose, to bless me with her voice.
I shall grow mad with joy.

Briar.
Ah! does the proud dame once condescend to enter
Briar's roof!

SCENE II.

Mrs. Freeman enters.
Briar.

This unexpected visit, Madam—

Mrs. Freeman.

Is on no slight occasion, neighbour Briar—My
husband has inform'd me of my son's addresses to your
daughter—

Briar.

And you wou'd make us sensible of the great honour
you intend us.

Mrs. Freeman.

An honour that's too great for you or her.

Briar.

Good woman, have a care: be not too presuming.

Mrs. Freeman.

How! is this your language to your landlord's sister?
Have not you and your fore-fathers been, time out of
mind, the vassals of my family?

Briar.
Tenants we've been, and always pay'd our rent,
Tho' we've been poor:—but, Madam, to the purpose;
Whate'er it is, tell it in words as plain
As is the man to whom you speak.

Charlotte.
O! my poor heart, on what a wreck thou'rt thrown!

(To herself.
Mrs. Freeman.

Then plainly my design is this, to tell you that your
thoughts soar much above your low condition. Whate'er
my son's misguided love may be, or whate'er his

father's resolution is, your daughter is no wife for Mrs.
Freeman's son. Look round about you, and you
soon may find a husband for your daughter among the
labouring honest hinds of Kent: or if, my wench, you
chuse a single life, perhaps I may prefer you, when
young Freeman marrys, to be his lady's waitingmaid.

Charlotte.
Whatever is my lot,
Eternal blessings be on Freeman's head.

(She weeps.
Briar.
Waste not a tear my child.—Woman be gone;
Civility to thee wou'd be a crime.
Know that my daughter, cloath'd by nature's hand
With beauty, and adorn'd with modesty
And truth, wou'd grace thy family
With such a picture of the female sex
As never yet it saw.

Mrs. Freeman.
I tell thee, man—

Briar.
I tell thee, woman, I will hear no more.
Yourself was the first cause of my hatred to Freeman's family,
Which encreas'd with time, and now is fix'd,
Fast as the roots of oaks, in Briar's heart:
O! cou'd my imprecations influence heav'n,
Mildews shou'd blast thy corn, a murrain seize
On all thy flocks and herds; but on thyself
What curse wou'd I draw down!
A long old age, deformity, and cramps.
As for my child, she shall this day be sent
Where Freeman's son shall ne'er behold her more.
Away, my ears are deaf to your reply.

(He thrusts her out.

SCENE III.

Charlotte.

My father, my ever honour'd father, do not break the
heart of your much lov'd, and ever loving, daughter,
in your resentment to a haughty Woman.

Briar.

Did she not treat that daughter with disdain? If I forgive
her, may ev'ry curse I wish'd to fall on her fall on
myself and mine.—If you're desirous of a father's
love, forget young Freeman.

Charlotte.

Impute not to my Freeman a fault that's not his
own: I dare engage, for him and for his father, that
neither gave consent to what she has done: she follow'd,
unknown to them, the dictates of her pride and settled
hate.

Briar.
Then from that pride and settled hate shall grow
Plagues which shall taint her ev'ry hour of life.
How fruitful is an angry mind of thought!
I've now conceiv'd a vengeance that I'll take.

I'll send you forthwith to your uncle; whose care of
you will equal mine: he has a son,

Who long has view'd you with a lover's eye;
Whose honesty and industry will make you
A joyful mother and a happy wife.

Charlotte.
O! name no husband for your child but Freeman:
I have a reason, Sir, which I cou'd give,
That wou'd disarm you of your rage, and change

Your resolution.—Alas! what can I say? If I tell
him of our marriage, it may enrage him more.

(To herself.
Briar.

Absence, my child, is a certain cure for love: the dayly
intercourse of new and different objects will, by degrees,
drive those ideas from your mind which now
perplex you, and, in due course of time, obliterate all
traces of your present love. Believe a father that instructs
you from the experience which himself has had.

Charlotte.

Here comes my advocate; to whom I fly for refuge;
and in whose breast I must repose the secret of our
marriage.

(To herself.

SCENE IV.

Mrs. Briar enters.
Charlotte.

My dearest mother, help to break the storm that's
low'ring over me. My unkind father, tho he means
me well, is taring me from all that I hold dear on
earth, except himself and you, from my lov'd Freeman.

Mrs. Briar.

With the submission of an humble wife, I do intreat
my husband to recollect the vows he pay'd to me. Had
I, when of our daughter's age, been torne from you,
I shou'd not now, so well I know my heart, have
liv'd to intercede for her to you.

Briar.

The woman's always contradicting me. Do'st thou
imagine that thou lov'st the girl better than I do? or
do'st thou think thyself more wise and able to contrive
her good than is thy husband?

Mrs. Briar.

I neither think myself so wise and able to contrive as
you; nor do I think my love exceeds your own for

our dear child: but I think I know the workings of her
tender heart by what I well remember to have felt myself
for you.

Briar.

Tho you do thwart my will, I cannot hate you; for
you have always been a good and an obedient wife.

Charlotte.

Heaven give her words success!

(To herself.
Briar.

But if I once resolve, your words are spent in vain;
they pass

Like gentle winds over the standing corn,
Ruffle the ears, but leave no trace behind.

My brother's son shall make her a happy bride: I'm
going to prepare her for her journey: do you prepare
the girl to bear it well.

(He goes.

SCENE V.

Mrs. Briar.

Charlotte, if once your father is resolv'd on any
act, all arguments to him are as if we shou'd endeavour
to argue down a storm or northern blast: submission
therefore, if you can submit, to his paternal will, is
all the remedy I can propose.

Charlotte.

Are you against me too? While he was here, you
pleaded for your daughter; and now wou'd you persuade
me to that which you oppos'd when he was present?

Mrs. Briar.

I wou'd persuade you to your ease, my child: and, if
there is a way to shun the match your father has propos'd,
you're sure of my assistance, while I can act
consistent with the duty of a parent and a wife.

Charlotte.

Then I've some hopes. Let us retire into your chamber;
and there I will relate to you the secret which I
fear to tell my father.

(They go.

SCENE VI.

Freeman's House.
Freeman senr. Mrs. Freeman, and Y. Freeman.
Y. Freeman.

'Tis cruel, Madam, 'tis unmercyful, to torture thus
the heart of an obedient and a tender son; but I'll
complain no more of your unkindness:—and did her
father say she shou'd be sent where Freeman never
shall behold her more?

Mrs. Freeman.

He did, and loaded me with bitter curses.

Y. Freeman.

Charlotte, I come once more to try the art of
soft persuasion: the fabled task of him who mov'd the
rigid king of hell to gain his wife is now impos'd on
me.

(He goes.

SCENE VII.

Freeman senr.

I've borne too long the froward temper of a headstrong
woman: this is too much to bear.

Mrs. Freeman.
What have I done to make you treat me thus?
Near thirty years I've been your virtuous wife,
And never had reproach from you before.

Freeman senr.
And therefore you've presum'd upon my easyness of temper: 'tis true,
You've never had reproach from me before;
And much I wish you never had deserv'd it.
Ungenerous dame, look backward to the day
In which I first engag'd my love to you,
And say if you can call to mind a moment
In which I ever cross'd your purposes.
Your beautys, whose attraction once was great,
Have never suffer'd but by the hand of time:
Care never prey'd upon your rosy cheeks;
Nor have your eyes e'er met an angry brow
From me till now: your inclinings
I always with a lib'ral heart indulg'd:
Is it therefore kind, or honourable,
Thus to proclaim an open war with me,
To fight against my will in an affair
On which depends
The whole felicity of a lov'd son?

Mrs. Freeman.
What I have done—

Freeman senr.

By your own confession what you've done is wrong.
After I told you of our son's settled love for Briar's

daughter, and of my own approbation of his choice,
what but a spirit of malignity cou'd drive you on to
break a match, which seems to be the chain that
holds the life and safety of your son?

Mrs. Freeman.
The honour of my family's concern'd:
Why shou'd my blood contaminate itself,
By mixing with so low and vile a race,
If I am able to prevent the evil?

Freeman senr.
That pride
Shou'd thus survive the mem'ry of your love!
Presume to talk of family no more to me;
That has been bandy'd in my ear too long:
Our currents, which have thirty years been join'd,
Make but one stream in him. Have you forgot
That your son's case was once your own? If you have,
I'll wake that nature in your breast which you
Shou'd ne'er have suffer'd to have sleep'd.

Mrs. Freeman.
I never saw this rage in him before.
(To herself.
If I have acted wrong,
You need not tell me of that wrong in thunder:
I can receive rebuke, or hear advice,
If you deliver it with a softer voice.

Freeman senr.

You've been unus'd to my rebuke, and deaf to my
advice: when therefore the peace, the interest, of my
family's concern'd,

I must not, as in slight affairs I've done,
Suffer your pride and humours to direct,
Where honour, and where wisdom, shou'd preside.

Mrs. Freeman.
I see my error, and repent sincerely my late misdoings.
(To herself.
Your former lenity and tenderness
Convince me of your goodness and your love:
And your resentment in a cause so just
Speaks the resolution of a manly mind,
To which my weakness ought always to submit.
If you'll forget, or if you can forgive,
All my pass'd conduct which has giv'n you pain,
My future life shall all be pass'd
In humble resignation to your will,
And in submission
To your superior wisdom and your pow'r:
And may my life be long with you, that I
May earn your pardon
By a long practice of obedient love.

Freeman senr.