University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Briar's House.
Freeman senr. and Briar.
Briar.

Your son was here last night: I told him plainly
then my resolution: my daughter is no wife for
him.

Freeman.

Once more I tell you that what his mother did was all
unknown to us.

Briar.

It may be so; yet shall my child ne'er be subjected to
her ungovernable pride;

Who, in her peevish moods, wou'd ev'ry day
Upbraid her with her father's lowlyness,
And sour her meals with tart unkind reproaches;
And who wou'd let her know that all she wears
Is but the badge of charity. Rather
Than match my girl to wretchedness like that,
I'd throw her on the barren heath to dwell
In a poor homely hut thatch'd by the hands
Of her laborious husband, whose dayly toil
Shou'd be their chief support, while she at home
Plys, from the morning to the ev'ning sun,
The spinning-wheel,
In the coarse garment which herself has wrought.

Freeman senr.
Nor this, nor that, needs be your daughter's lot:
My wife repents her late rash act,
And wishes now to call your child her own.

Briar.

Which she shall never do: I thank her for her visit;
for by that she shew'd me what a fury my poor child
has escap'd.

SCENE II.

Young Freeman enters.
Young Freeman.
With the respect
Due to the fountain of my Charlotte's life—

Briar.

Young man, this visit is as fruitless as the last: your
father's and your own persuasions no more can move
me than can contending winds remove a mountain.

Y. Freeman.
Sir, you mistake me;
I come not to intreat, but to demand.
Restore to me my wife, my virgin wife,
Whom yester's sun beheld
In wedlock's sacred bands to Freeman join'd.

Briar.
O! this is well! first you rob my fold,
And then, with an undaunted face, demand
The lamb that I've re-taken from the thief.
The negligence with which you've treated me,
By marrying my daughter
Without so much as asking my consent,
Shews me in what mean light you place her father.
You thought, as I suppose,
That there was no necessity to ask
A poor unfortunate parent his assent

To wed his dow'rless child: he doubtless, you believ'd,
wou'd thank you: but know, unthinking youth, this
disrespect throws thee as far from my regard as is the

west from east; and, if I'm able, I'll part my daughter
from you

As far asunder as the north and south.

Freeman senr.

Hear me, rash man: perhaps the sentence that you pass
on him devotes yourself, your wife, and child, to misery:
here stands a father wrong'd, as you call yourself:
I was no more consulted in the match than you;
yet I forgive it; for 'twas a fault of youth, a fault of
love.

Y. Freeman.

This was the first occasion I ever gave my father to
complain, and shall be, if I know myself, the last. I
wish that others wou'd learn from you humanity and
prudence.

Briar.
Let them forgive who will, I'll not forgive:
Perhaps I'm wrong, yet, while I think I'm right,
Tho I am wrong, I will be so. You may
As well attempt
To make the gallant steed a patient ass,
As try to frame my temper to your own.

Freeman senr.

I wou'd be your physician, and cure you of that phrenzy
which seems to hurry you on to your destruction.
You are on a precipice, and see it not; and I wou'd
fain prevent you from taking the fatal leap.

Briar.
Thou solemn and profound philosopher
Reserve your sage instructions
For those who will be thankful for your pains.

Y. Freeman.
I blush to see my father condescend
To plead so much in vain, and I the cause:
Pardon me, Sir,
That I have brought this weight upon your head;
Lose no more words on that ungen'rous man.
Cast the rich seed upon a barren rock,
And thence expect to reap a fruitful harvest.
Since you have stop'd your ears to mild persuasion,
I tell you, man,
You can as soon drive from the stars their brightness
As from my Charlotte's thoughts expel her Freeman;
Where-e'er she is, she will be always mine;
You may as easyly make vice and virtue one, as prevail
on her
To give her heart or hand to any other:
She is my wife,
More lov'd by me than by the eye the light,
Or by the ear than is the charmer's voice:
I go, but I shall come to you again,
And make you render up a true account
Of the great treasure you withhold from me.

Briar.
Know I can threaten, friend, as loud as you.
Tho much I love my child,
Yet there is nothing that I will not do
To keep her from you: so be gone; I hurl
Defyance after you.

Freeman senr.
You may repent too late.

(Freeman senr. and Y. Freeman go.

SCENE III.

Briar.
—Going towards the door.
What ho! you clod of earth, you walking piece of dirt,
Go call your mistress hither, tell my wife
Her husband wants her here.—It is resolv'd:
Young Freeman and my daughter have not yet
Consummated their marriage: without delay
Charlotte shall therefore wed my brother's son.

SCENE IV.

Mrs. Briar enters.
Briar.
What have you done? Have you prevail'd upon the Girl
To bear her parting with a patient mind?

Mrs. Briar.
No: Freeman has lay'd so strong a hold upon her heart,
That neither you nor I can tare him thence.

Briar.
'Tis her first love; and it must cost some tears.
The girl is young, and therefore flexible:

That softness, on which with ease Freeman impress'd
his love, may, by judicious hands, be molded to another
shape.

Mrs. Briar.
It will be very hard, I fear, to find
An object that can drive him from her breast.
The youth is lovely in his person, and is,
By her account, possess'd of ev'ry art
To captivate the soul of innocence:
He has such virtues, and such qualitys,
Which ever must, she says, secure the heart
He has won.

Briar.
You seem to dwell upon his praise with pleasure:
That's not the end for which I sent for you.

What?—You, I suppose, indulge her in her commendations

of him: are those the means you use to
make her think of him no more?

Mrs. Briar.

Reproach me not with faults of which I am not guilty.
—I have exerted all the authority which a mother
ought: I have us'd all the persuasions which I think are
just: yet I wou'd not use authority with cruelty; nor
wou'd I persuade my child to that which may make all
her future life unhappy, and make that life perhaps but
short.

(She weeps.
Briar.

This is a plot against me: you are in Freeman's Interest
I see. You practise on me with your pray'rs and
tears. You did prevail last night; and I consented that
she shou'd stay; but it was with the hope that you
wou'd not abuse the indulgence which I shew'd, and
that you wou'd endeavour to bring her to obedience to
my will.—However, now I'll ease you of the task:
the journey is but short, I'll to my brother's go with
her myself, and see her marry'd before I leave the place.

Mrs. Briar.

If ever I found favour in your eyes, or if I ever have
deserv'd your love, hear me this once, hear a tender
mother and a faithful wife.

Briar.
Be quick; I can not hear long speeches now.

Mrs. Briar.
This once, and I have done.
If to your brother's son you wed our child,
You marry poverty to beggary,
And make the girl a slave, a wretched slave,
Match'd to an abject clown that she abhors:
Think therefore, for I know you love her well,
How you can bear to see her live a poor
Unhappy wife, a stranger to content!
And if her life's cut short, which heav'n forbid,
By grief, how will you then bedew her cheeks
With tears, with fruitless tears!
Now turn your eye, from this dark dismal prospect,
To the fair scene which Freeman's love presents:
The husband of her choice will crown her days
With tenderness and joy; and we perhaps
May share their fortunes as we share their love.
Distress, that seems approaching to our door,
May by this match be drove entirely from us.
I've done; and now
The language of my heart has pass'd my lips,
I'm all obedience to my husband's will.

Briar.

(They go.

SCENE V.

Freeman's House.
Young Freeman and Mrs. Freeman.
Y. Freeman.
You may as well
Call back the blushes to the faded rose,
Or bid the drooping lilly raise its head,
As ask a smile, or cheerful look, from me.

Mrs. Freeman.
Why will you indulge this melancholly
To the destruction of a parent's peace?

Y. Freeman.
Ye pleasant hills, and ye delightful vales,
Ye painted meads, and love-sequester'd shades,
Which oft' have witness'd to my happyer hours,
Farewel, the goddess of the scenes is fled!
The bright inspirer of my heart with joy
Is gone, and left me to despair and woe.

Mrs. Freeman.
Hear a fond mother that wou'd fain apply
A remedy to your distemper'd mind.

Y. Freeman.
But why unjust do I accuse the maid!
Can the eye wish to bar harmonious sounds
The entrance of the ear? Or is the ear
Desirous to deprive the eye of sight?
Charlotte, whose happyness depends on mine;
Can never join to wreck her Freeman's heart.

Mrs. Freeman.
How may the folly of a moment lose
What can not be recover'd in an age!
What miserys have I brought upon myself!

Y. Freeman.
Hark! is not that the charmer's voice afar,
That crys, come Freeman, haste to rescue me,
And snatch me from the snares which now surround me!
I come, O! nymph divine, to seize my right,
Resolv'd to bear away my lovely prize,
Or perish in th' attempt.

(As he goes towards the door Charlotte enters.

SCENE VI.

Young Freeman.
Ah! is the cloud that hover'd o'er my head
So soon dispers'd! It is;
And the gay sun breaks brighter on my eye.
See! the dear angel of my comfort comes!
Say, heav'nly fair, tell me, thou faithful bride,
By what assisting pow'r you broke the toils
Which my foes pitch'd for you, and shun'd their hands
To find your constant and your tender mate?

Charlotte.
I wanted, and I sought, no pow'r but love
To guide me to you: soon as I saw
We cou'd not change my father's resolution
To tare me from you, I conceal'd myself,
Waiting till night had spread her friendly shade
That unobserv'd I might escape, and fly
To you for succour; which if you deny me,

I have no refuge but in death. Your gentle father,
when I enter'd his hospitable gate, met me and took

me kindly by the hand, and with a tender smile say'd,
welcome thou lovely guest, go in, and find one that
will give you as much comfort as you bring to him.

Y. Freeman.
Yes,
You shall find comfort and a welcome here:
I'll be the castle of my love's defence;
My father and my mother both shall join
To guard the outworks; and no pow'r on earth
Shall force you from me.

Mrs. Freeman.
Excuse my child what yesterday you hear'd.
Fall from my tongue; and believe that heaven cou'd
not send
A guest more welcome to me than yourself.

SCENE VII.

Freeman enters with a letter in his hand.
Freeman senr.
Hail happy pair;
And may your days be many in the land,
And ev'ry day be happyer than the last.
The storm that held ye from the wish'd-for shore
Is lay'd, and an unruffled calm succeeds.

Y. Freeman.
Bless'd as I am, I'm sure my father brings
Some heav'nly tydings to enhance my joy.

Charlotte.
As from a Night pass'd in uneasy dreams,
I see the dawning of a cheerful morn.

Freeman senr.
Here, Lewis, take and read it to your wife;
And pour into her ear a balm that soon
Will reach her tender heart, and cure what pains
May still be lurking there.

Young Freeman
reads the letter.

SIR,

The ills of fortune, and the reasonable persuasions of
the best of wives, joined with the warmest affection
for my daughter, have brought me to a just sense of my
error in opposing a match on which alone depends the felicity
of my dear child. I do not presume to make any
proposals: I give her to you and your family: and I shall
give myself contented to the grave, whenever my days are
expired, being satisfyed that I háve made her happy
by this last act of mine. My heart is now divested
of all enmity to you: may your happyness encrease with
your years, whatever is the future lot of

Your humble servant Briar.

Charlotte
looks into the letter.

'Tis my dear father's hand, and blessings on him! I
know he always lov'd me; and by this act he has convinc'd
me that I'm the first in his affection, when his
cool judgement sways. Excuse my tears; for they are
tears of joy.

Y. Freeman.
My Charlotte,
See the big tear hangs on your Freeman's eye.
This unexpected change in your father
Commands my admiration and my love:
I'm restless till I clasp him to my breast,
And let him know how much he shares my heart.

Freeman senr.
I'll rise to-morrow with the sun, and pay
An early visit to my brother,
And greet him truly with a brother's love:
The ills of fortune
Which he complains of I will soon remove:
I will prevail on him, and on his wife,
That fair example of connubial love,
To come and pass the joyful day with us.
The merry bells shall wake the cheerful morn,
And call the neighbours round to Freeman's hall;
There shall they feast, and quaff the plenteous juice,
Wishing the lovely bride and bridegroom joy.
My wife and I will, with unsparing hands,
Attend our welcome guests, and let no want
Of nuptial merryment disgrace the day.

Mrs. Freeman.
A grateful office has my husband chose
For his obedient wife, whose ev'ry day
Of all my life to come shall shew my children
That I've no happyness without their love.

Y. Freeman.