University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A Garden.
Young Freeman and Charlotte.
Y. Freeman.
This morning's sun shines on the happyest husband
That ever yet possess'd a lovely bride.
The author of our beings and our joys
Gave us a taste of paradise to come
In the rich transports of the bridal night.
Behold, my love, the splendid eye of day
Looks o'er the hills in brightness all aray'd,
While at our feet the flow'rs send up their sweets,
And ev'ry tree, and bush, is melody,
As if all nature hail'd us to our bliss.

Charlotte.
I'm surely bless'd beyond the lot of wives:
I cou'd say much upon our happy state;
But you have spoke; yet all that you have say'd
Falls short of my conception of my happyness.

Y. Freeman.
Hide not a blush, a blush the morning wears.
With what delight I feast my ravish'd eyes,
While ev'ry touch fills all my veins with pleasure!

Charlotte.
I've not a want, my dearest Freeman, now,
But my poor mother's and my father's smiles;
Which I shall soon behold; for your good father
Went early out to seek the wish'd-for guests,
And bring them hither.

Y. Freeman.
Swift ye minutes run,
And give to my embrace that honour'd pair,
To whom I owe the spring of all my joys!
In this dear bosom of unrifled sweets
Is all the treasure of my soul repos'd.

SCENE II.

Weldon enters.
Weldon.
There stands a friend, so much he shares my heart,
Whose peace I value equal to my own;
Yet must his ears receive a tale from me
That to his early joys
Will prove like blightings to the budding flow'rs:
But 'tis a tale that, if I shou'd not tell it,
He soon must hear from a less friendly voice:
And tho it may 'e're long seem strange that I
Shou'd chuse to be the bearer of the news,
Yet 'tis an office that becomes me well,
Because I shall,
With the same hand with which I give the wound,
Pour in a balm to mitigate the pain.
(To himself.
Joy to my Freeman and his charming bride;
And much I wish that I cou'd give ye both
More comfort than I bring.

Y. Freeman.
Welcome the dear companion of my youth,
My much lov'd Weldon: thou art come, my friend,
To share
And to encrease the pleasures of the day.
Thus plac'd betwixt ye, I've the best reward
That honour can expect,
Friendship in one hand, in the other love:
But, methinks, my friend,
You wear a sadness in your countenance,
That suits the present hour but ill.

Weldon.
I've at my heart
A burden that I must unload to you,
And you alone: and, tho the season
Seems but ill chosen for a task like this,
It must not be delay'd.
Forgive me, heav'nly bride, if I exact
From you what hard necessity requires,
And from your side,
For some few moments, take your faithful mate.

Y. Freeman.
Go in, my love; and there expect me soon;
Thou beauty that art always in my eye!

Charlotte.
Whate'er my beauty is, my only pride
Is plac'd in my obedience and my love.

(She goes.

SCENE III.

Weldon.
Freeman, we've long been friends; and, when at college,
We have often turn'd
Together o'er the philosophic page;
Thence have we learn'd that true philosophy
Consists in bearing ills inevitable
With the same patience as we'd view a storm,
Or hurricane,
Which are not in our pow'r to stop or lay.

Y. Freeman.
So well I know my friend that I am sure
He wou'd not bring a trifle to my ear
Prepar'd with such solemnity as this.
Speak what you have to say; I am resign'd.

Weldon.
I'm glad you are; for you have much to bear.

Y. Freeman.
What can affect my peace? My Charlotte's well,
And she is mine;
My father, and my mother, all are well:
As for our goods of fortune, were they less
Than what they are, they'd be enough for me:
But hold, I now begin to doubt my pow'r:
If the sad story that you have to tell
Is of the sorrows which you bear yourself,
I shall break in
Upon the joys which I propos'd to day,
And mix my griefs with thine.

Weldon.
I've giv'n that advice I scarce can take.
Your tenderness for me makes me already
Anticipate the anguish to myself
Which you too soon must feel:
However, resolve to bear it like a man;
And be sure I will not leave you
In the distress with which I shall o'erwhelm you,
But keep a stretch'd out hand,
Till I have pull'd you out, or sunk with you.
Stand firm; be ready for the stroke.

Y. Freeman.
I am
You see a sturdy oak that well will bear
The buffetings of the contending winds.

Weldon.
Within this hour
I saw your father seiz'd, and haul'd to jail.

Y. Freeman.
At that I'm more surpris'd than terrify'd:
The action must be forg'd, he's not in debt;

Nor is his credit so low, or he so little lov'd, as to be
unable to procure him bail.

Weldon.
This is but as a gale that only moves
The leaves, and has not force to shake them off:
This you bear well; and, as the winds arise,
Keep steady as the oak, and fortify

Your mind with resolution.—The charge against your
father is no less than murder.

Y. Freeman.

He never cou'd delight in blood, but rather wou'd spill
his own to save another's: yet, go on, and tell me who's
the murder'd person.

Weldon.
Give me your hand; and stand against this blast,
And you may bear the rest.—Your Charlotte's
father is dead.

Y. Freeman.

Murder'd by whom? not by my father; for, since
your arbitration of the difference betwixt them, they
were friends,

And by the strictest bonds which cou'd be bound:
There's in our familys so great a change,
That all our hearts are one. I have some hopes
That the report of Briar's death is false:
How hear'd you it?

Weldon.
I saw him breathless, and besmear'd with blood,
And saw your father, after he was seiz'd,
And hear'd the charge against him,
With ev'ry circumstance attending it.

Y. Freeman.

Let me lay my hand upon your friendly arm; and tell
me each particular of this mysterious melancholly tale.

Weldon.
Briar was found,
In his own fields, dead and besmear'd with blood,
And in his side a wound, your father by him,
And in his hand the staff that gave the blow,
The iron spike at the sharp end of which
Was cover'd o'er with blood, and, as they try'd,
Exactly fill'd the wound.

Y. Freeman.
This is like thunder from the hand of heaven;
And I must yield to it.

(He sinks down.
Weldon.

Rise, my friend; and tho my words may seem at present
like a face that's veil'd, yet credit what I say:
Briar indeed can never be restor'd; but your father,
tho he must thro a heavy suffering pass, shall, like a
vessel in a dreadful storm expected long to sink, safe
reach the land at last.

Y. Freeman.
That's some relief to my dejected soul;
But Briar is no more; and that's enough
To heap on us intolerable woes:
But tell me, Weldon, make me, if you can,
Sure that my father's life is not in danger.

Weldon.
I have conceiv'd how I can safe that life;
And rest assur'd, if one of us must sink,
'Tis I'll be drown'd: enquire no farther of me.

Y. Freeman.
My trust is all in you; yet I foresee
The remedy itself must be severe.

SCENE IV.

Mrs. Freeman enters.
Mrs. Freeman.
Was ever pleasant morn o'ercast like this!
O! my lov'd son, for much expected joy,
Aray yourself with sadness and despair.
I have receiv'd
Such fatal tydings as I dread to tell.

Y. Freeman.
They have already reach'd my ear, and pierc'd
My heart: but I've a friend
Who, while he plung'd me in a sea of woe,
Lifted me up, and bad me cherish hope;
And, like the wretch just ready to be drown'd,
I'm glad to catch at any twig that offers.
Madam retire, and leave to us to guide
The shipwreck'd bark thro such a storm as this.
What comfort I can bring you
My honour'd mother may be sure I'll give.

Mrs. Freeman.
Talk not to me of comfort; I'll have none;

For none do I deserve. O! cou'd I but recall the
hour in which my pride drove me to Briar's house,
contented I'd meet death in any form; for my fears
tell me that the visit, which then I made, may be the
secret spring of all

The miserys in which we're now involv'd.
O! look not on me with an eye of love!
For your rash mother merits all your hate:
But you may spare reproaches; for my thoughts
Are scorpions to me; and my burning brain
Almost deprives me of the pow'r of thinking.

Y. Freeman.
Add no fresh griefs
To those which now are scarcely to be borne.
O! my poor Charlotte, what hast thou to feel!

Mrs. Freeman.
The torrent has o'erwhelm'd that lovely flow'r;
Which I committed to the care of those
Who will not be unmindful of their charge.

Y. Freeman.
That charge be only mine.

SCENE V.

As he is going Charlotte enters.
Charlotte.
Where's Freeman? Where's my husband? Are you here?
Give me my father.—
Is this the joy, is this the paradise,
The nuptial boon which, with a thousand sighs
And glowing kisses, you promis'd me?—What?
Sent you your father out to murder mine?
Know that the wound of which my father dy'd
Has kill'd your wife.

Y. Freeman.
O! think that ev'ry tear my Charlotte sheds
Draws from her Freeman's heart the sanguine drops.

Charlotte.
O! O!

(She leans on him and sighs.
Y. Freeman.
Yield not, my love,
So much to grief; for ev'ry sigh you fetch
Flys to my breast, and does the dagger's office.
Sorrows flow on me in too full a tyde;
And much I doubt my pow'r to stem the torrent.

Weldon.
Speak comfort to her; for she seems to faint.
Remember what you promis'd, that you'd bear
The buffetings of the contending winds.
Summons up all your spirits; and disdain
To droop;
For now's your time most to exert the man,
Whose bus'ness is to prop that falling flow'r.

Y. Freeman.
Soul of my soul, look up, and see, in me,
A father, husband, lover, and a friend.
Heav'n surely trys us with afflictions soon,
And checks us in the high-day of our blood,
Lest, with too great share of human bliss,
We shou'd grow wanton, and forget its pow'r.

Charlotte.
Then heaven shou'd give us strength to bear a trial so severe.
When I behold you, when I hear you speak,
I can not think you wou'd be accessary
To such an act as curdles all my blood,
And turns me almost to a weeping statue.

Y. Freeman.
Turn, turn, your eyes on me; and here repose
Your ev'ry sorrow, and your ev'ry care;
For here alone you must expect relief.
(He turns to Weldon.
With how ill a grace, my friend, I strive to administer comfort,
Who want a comforter so much myself.

Weldon.
That you shall have in me, confide in me.

Charlotte.
My father! O! my father!

Y. Freeman.
Your father's death is yet a mystery
Which to-morrow will unveil.

Charlotte.
To-morrow will not give me back my father:
Methinks I hear him cry, Charlotte, my child,
Fill not the arms of him whose barb'rous sire
Imbrued his hand in the same blood of which
You was a part: and must you be obey'd?
That too is hard:
My Freeman is not guilty: O! my heart!
Weldon steps betwixt young Freeman and Charlotte.
Thus I divide ye, till to-morrow shews
On whom the guilt of Briar's death must fall:
If Freeman's innocence appears, then meet,
And make each other's happyness your care;
But, if he's guilty, sever'd then remain
For ever.

Y. Freeman.

Hold; that is unfriendly urg'd: the terms are too severe:
the guiltless for the guilty must not suffer; that
is repugnant to nature's laws and ev'ry rule of right.

Charlotte.
Ah! Freeman, is it so? Then much I fear
I've took my leave of joy.

Weldon.
Oppose not my proposals; trust thy friend,
Who will use evr'y honest art to heal
Your wounds, and to emerge ye from distress.
(Aside to Freeman.
I'm going now
Upon a work that to the world will shew
My sense of honour, justice, and of truth:
To-morrow ye shall see me here again,
If rightly I presage, a welcome guest.

Y. Freeman.
I yield to the conditions: only this,
After I've visited my unhappy father,
Let me watch her slumbers if she sleeps,
Or, if her griefs deny her eyelids rest,

Let me near her, lest, in the absence of her reason,
she may commit some violence on the lovelyest frame
that beauty e'er was cast in.—Let me inteat my mother
to be mindful of herself, and to extend her care
to the dear idol of my eyes and soul, while I am absent
here: expect my quick return; which, I hope,
will be more joyful than this parting is.