University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE 1.

Bellmour, Bargrave, Woodly.
*Bell.
Justice! didst thou say?

Wood.
Consider, Bargrave—
Fortune to Bellmour might have giv'n Success—

Bar.
'Tis true—and then my self had been the Sufferer.
Can you upbraid me for the casual Blessing?

Wood.
No—but yet think, had you the Loser prov'd,
Bellmour had scorn'd t'improve his Game so basely:
He wou'd not, sure, have urg'd it to your Ruin.

Bar.
How know I that? Nay, how cou'd I have blam'd him?
Int'rest shou'd ever be pursued, and sought.

Wood.
You'd make the World believe you sordid. Sure,
Bargrave is not so base, nor so reduc'd,
That he must, for his Int'rest, crush his Friends.
You have Abundance—

Bar.
And you'd have me squander it—

Wood.
No—but be human, merciful, and kind:
Let Charity dispose you to be friendly
To the Distress'd, who suffer by your Means.
Think how, by simple Accidents—

Bar.
No more.
Woodly, your are his Surety—and you strive
More for your own Sake, than your Friend's, to move me.

Wood.
Then I shou'd merit all that Woe, from which
I beg you'd save this Family. O, Sir,
Calmly consider what you do, nor bring
Destruction on the Guiltless. If at Game,
You've had Success, thro' no dishonest Means;
Assert your Innocence, by Acts of Goodness.
If 'twas but Chance, regard his Debts as casual;
Nor set a Value on them, they deserve not.
The Wise are never proud of Fortune's Smiles,
Nor think her Boons their Property and Blessing.
A noble Soul courts Offices of Mercy,
And glories more in being good, than mighty.

Bar.
Woodly, I've long been patient. Now 'twere vain
To urge to protract my Day of Grace.
Besides, I'd not have you officious—

Wood.
Sir,
I cannot be so, in my Friend's Behalf.

Bar.
Then blame me not, if you repent your medling.

Wood.
I know the Obligation I have sign'd—

Bar.
Think also on the legal Consequences.
But, Sir,
Taking of Mercy, how can you expect it,
Who, obstinately, and with proud Disdain,
Refuse me fair Belinda for a Wife?

Bell.
'Twou'd ill become me to advise my Sister
To wed the Man who has undone her Brother.

Bar.
But, by that only Means, you can be safe—

Bell.
Think you I'm fall'n so low, to make Exchange
So vile and base? To barter her dear Life,
Her Beauty, and her Happiness, for Safety!
No, sordid Wretch, I rate her Virtues higher.

Bar.
Then you despise my Favour—

Bell.
As thy self.
Nor seek I Pity, but for this my Friend,
And a poor beggar'd Family. My self
Is in your Power: Do with me what you please.

Bar.
Yet tamely think, before 'tis late to court me.

Bell.
Say, can you give me back my old Possessions,
Restore my lost hereditary Grandeur,
And native Honesty, which first you tempted?
Set me at Rights—make me my self again—
When that is done, then be thy self a Convert—
Shew thy self lovely, honourable, just—
Be what thou should'st be, worthy of Belinda—
Then ask her freely—woo her in thy Charms—
And, doubt not, I will stand thy faithful Friend.

Bar.
Mere Cant, and Passion!—Bellmour, be advis'd—
Consult your Interest. Reason lies in that!
Int'rest is Reason; and when Reason leaves
The human Soul, a Beggar's not so naked.

Bell.
Deluded Wretch! thou never yet knew'st Reason,
Or it has left thy Soul to brutal Wildness.
Reason's the Beauty, Excellency, and Glory,
Of human Kind. 'Tis—

Bar.
Bellmour! preach no more.
When next I see you, you'll accept my Terms.
I lose my Time. Farewel.

Wood.
Yet, Sir, have Patience—

SCENE II.

Bellmour, Woodly.
Bell.
Woodly! my Friend! my suff'ring, ruin'd Friend;
(For thou wilt soon be such) what shall, what can I say,
To give thee Satisfaction, Ease, or Comfort?
All, all is lost! my Money, Land, and Credit,
My very Hopes are gone. But what are these?
These were but poor Considerations all;
And all my own: But I have squander'd more,
Undone my Friends, and thee of Friends the best!

Wood.
Bellmour! I thought I had not been a Stranger,
Or e'en a common, customary, Acquaintance,
Who does a Favour, and repents it done,
Loves its Acknowledgment, and wou'd have Men
To know it, and its Circumstances. What
I've done for thee, was done as for my self;
For what am I without a Friend? and what
Avails my Substance, if it cannot serve him?
I've done too little, and you owe me nothing.
Wou'd I cou'd lend you more!

Bell.
Alas! I've drain'd
Your Purse, sunk deep your Credit and Estate,
And now your Person—Oh—

Wood.
Forbear, my Friend;
If that's in Danger too, I am prepar'd.
There's nothing I'd not suffer for thy Sake!
No Risque, too dangerous, to be run! And, sure,
Were yours the Pow'r, or had you Chance, like mine;
You'd serve me with your Life. I knew your Friendship
In prosperous State: 'Twas confident and free,
Familiar, plain, disinterested, artless!
'Twas perfect! And I'd have you be assured.
I think my self behind you, and indebted.
Your Merits challenge more than I can give,
Or do, or say, to serve you and your House.
To serve the Worthy, and to share their Pain,
Is to distinguish Natures—it exalts us!
A noble Mind feels Recompence in Pleasure,
And Pleasure flows from Consciousness of Virtue.
To share your Happiness wou'd less delight me,
Than to be able to promote, or make it.

Bell.
Prodigious Man! excessive Strength of Soul!
In what great School of Virtue, and of Honour,
Have you acquir'd this sovereign Perfection?
The World is not accustom'd to such Dealings.
Your Sentiments have Pow'r to still my Passions,
And set my banish'd Reason on its Throne.

Wood.
Fear not, my Friend—but moderate your Complaints:
Some lucky Turn may make good Fortune yours.

Bell.
My only Comfort is, in having Friends,
Who by dividing, make my Burden lighter.
Yet not so much, my own Misfortunes press me,
As generous Love—Oh! That o'erloads my Nature.
Your Suffering heaps the Anguish I endure,
And makes my Debts immortal. While my Mind
Holds its Existence, it must be indebted
To unbought Bounty, and Compassion.

Wood.
Still,
You will oppress me with a Load of Gratitude.
Shall I possess a Good, and you be wretched?
Curse on that Soul, that cannot hazard All,
To save his Friend, and succour suffering Virtue.
Let Misers preach Oeconomy and Thrift—
They understand not Life, who are not generous,
Where Love and Merit challenge their Regard.
There's no Profusion in a well judg'd Favour.

Bell.
Oft have I try'd you in a prosperous State
And found you faithful—but Adversity
Uses to bring Estrangement in its Train.
Few know the very Faces of the Wretched.

Wood.
What Woes can make a Man forget himself?
Such is a Friend—he lives but in his Friend—
The Bond of Nature cannot be more firm:
Adversity does search its very Soul,
And brings to Light its Qualities and Virtues;
It sets it off with a redoubled Lustre.
How firmly I am yours no Words can tell—

Bell.
Your Actions are rhetorical. By these,
Your Mind, to me, lies naked. I behold
My self, deep rooted in your faithful Bosom.
Too black a Guest, to enter such a Lodging!
You fondle Vipers, Woodly—Trust me not—
I've stung my Wife, my Children, and my self!
Preserve your self, tho' guilty I shou'd perish.

SCENE III.

Bellmour, Woodly, Courtney.
Court.
Bargrave, so often baulk'd, now vows Revenge,
And Arguments are vain to bring him back.

Bell.
Is he then gone?

Court.
He is—and much enrag'd
At the Repulse he met with from Belinda:
But most resents your obstinate Aversion
To the propos'd Alliance. Shall I (oft he questions)
Give Bellmour Fortune, who denies me Favour?

Wood.
I'll try again to pacify his Wrath—

Court.
Or sink beneath his Burden.

Bell.
O, my Friend,
Approach him not. 'Tis dangerous—

Wood.
Then Ill go.
Welcome the Danger that may save my Friend.

SCENE IV.

Bellmour, Courtney.
Bell.
Did he then threaten Woodly?

Court.
Doubt it not.
Woodly, he says, must pay your Debts, or lie
His Prisoner.

Bell.
Oh!

Court.
Sir, if I might advise,
Consent to this Alliance.

Bell.
'Twere in vain.
Bargrave wou'd not forgive my Friend, nor me,
Ev'n were Belinda his.

Court.
Yet might indulge you
With farther Time; who knows what then might happen?

Bell.
Courtney, persuade me not. Fix'd as a Rock,
Here let me stand—I'll never give Consent.

Court.
Suppose Belinda marry him without it—

Bell.
She will not, sure.

Court.
What if she loves him still?

Bell.
Impossible.

Court.
Belinda's but a Woman.
Passion will work—and Interest sways the best.
Now, granting, you shou'd never be a Gainer,
Say, is it just to oppose your Sister's Good?

Bell.
Good! do you call it? Can it be a Good,
A Blessing, to be wedded to a Villain?
What are his Riches? do they make him virtuous,
Excuse his Crimes, or buy him from the Devil?
I tell you, Courtney, I'll not see her ruin'd.
Are we not miserable enough already?
Let us not be more wretched. It is Time,
Now, to grow frugal, and to manage well
Our little Wealth, and poor Remains of Honour.

SCENE V.

Bellmour, Courtney, Belinda.
Bel.
O Bellmour! I have err'd.

Bell.
In what, Belinda?

Bel.
In sending Bargrave hence, enrag'd—I fear
He'll make us all repent his Disappointment.

Bell.
Heav'n wou'd disprove Repentance of that sort.
Let Wretches, loaded with such Guilt as mine,
Rue their ill Conduct. You are to be prais'd,
Who, by Discretion guided, kept your Honour
And Peace of Mind.

Bel.
Alas! I feel no Peace:
My Mind is all Distraction and Despair.

Bell.
I'm the guilty Cause of all your Sufferings;
You mourn for my Misfortunes and Distress:
For sure you do not grieve for Loss of Bargrave.

Bel.
Ah, my hard Fate!

Bell.
What means my Sister? Speak;
Wish you, unsaid, the Language that I counsell'd?
Did not your Heart approve your Tongue's Discourse?

Bel.
I own the Frailty of my Nature. Tho'
Bargrave is base, and obstinate and cruel,
I wish him mine, ev'n tho' I shou'd be wretched.

Bell.
The News does sink me deeper. Oh!

Bel.
My Brother,
(He offers to go.
Hear me! 'tis not that he's my Heart's Desire—
Heav'n knows I hate his Nature, nor esteem
His Person dear: But when I think of you,
Your Wife, your Children, Family and Fame—
What cou'd I not be willing to sustain?

Bell.
Then 'tis but Pity and Compassion still;
A generous Sympathy in our Distress!
I thank Thee for't. Yet seek not our Relief;
Nay, wish not for it, by inglorious Means.
Let us endure the worst, and fall together.

SCENE VI.

Courtney, Belinda.
Court.
Belinda, nothing now remains but Ruin.
Our only Hope was in your gentle Usage
Of that malicious Creditor. Indeed
'Twas cruel to repel him, tho' your Brother
Urg'd it—to a Family most cruel!
Tho' Bellmour's Soul abhors him, cou'd not you,
By winning Ways, avert the fatal Blow,
Or lengthen out the Time? Now, all must perish.

SCENE VII.

Courtney, Louisa, Belinda,
Lou.
As when some shipwreck'd Wretch discerns a Rock
And, hopeful, thither beats his watry Way,
But, trembling, while he climbs its rugged Brow,
Slips, and falls back, and dies amid the Waves;
So I, thro' Misery, mark'd a Dawn of Comfort;
But ah! how soon has Disappointment sprung!
And plung'd me deep again in dark Despair!

Bel.
Sister, I've wrong'd Thee. O, I cou'd tear my Flesh
My Heart, for what I've done. Wou'd Bargrave yet
Return! O Courtney, find him. But 'twere vain.
He own'd the Marriage cou'd not make him spare
The generous Woodly: He, alas! must suffer
And what torments me most—(Louisa, pardon)
What most corrodes and preys upon my Vitals,
Is his Indifference. Were he but in Love,
Fierce, barbarous as he is, I cou'd consent;
For Bellmour's Sake, ev'n forfeit all Life's Ease,
And hug my Misery: But, alas! he's cold,
Heard-hearted, and indifferent; he courts,
As if he scorn'd me; and cou'd be delighted
More by Repulse, than by a kind Reception.
This, this is Torture!

Lou.
O unhappy we!
My Heart will break: I cannot bear its Anguish.

Court.
Despair not; Heav'n may yet afford Relief.
What if I should invite him back? And say
Belinda now repents his late Repulse?

Lou.
O Sister, speak the Word. Who knows but Heav'n
May change his Purpose, and convert his Nature?
Besides, your Prudence, Wisdom, Love and Charms,
May help to soften his inhuman Heart.

Bel.
Go: I'll comply, tho' Misery prove my State.

Court.
Nor will I lose a Moment.

SCENE VIII.

Louisa, Belinda.
Lou.
Now you're kind.
May Heav'n reward your Kindness, and inspire
Your Hearts with mutual Love!

Bel.
Alas! poor Bellmour!
The News will weigh him down.

Lou.
'Twou'd sink him more
To see his Friend, his Wife and Children ruin'd.

Bel.
What's my poor Life, in Ballance for a Family;
I'll hazard all. Let worst that can befal me.

Lou.
Again, a Gleam of Comfort breaks thro' Clouds
Of Sorrow, on my Heart. May Angels guard you,
Dear, lov'd, and loving Sister. I shall long
For Courtney's coming.

SCENE IX.

Belinda.
Bel.
Were my Soul inspir'd
With Pride and Scorn, like some of female Kind,
Ill wou'd I brook being made a Tool, a Slave!
A Property! to purchase Good for Others.
But most I'd shew my Anger and Resentment
Against a Man, who woes me with Indifference.
It galls my Heart, to think my boasted Charms
Make but such saint Impressions on his Mind,
And have not Force to melt him down to Love.
O I shall rage, and lose my Reason quite.
Now I cou'd suffer ev'ry Woe of Life
To have him mine—to make his Heart a Conquest.
'Twere Glory to o'ercome a Soul, so stubborn.
—But why this Earnestness? this fiery Keeness?
Sure, 'tis not Love. Alas! it is, it is.
What shou'd it be? It will reveal itself.
The Flames of Love in narrow Prison pent,
Ungovern'd, blaze, when once they find a Vent.
Complaints break naturally from Breasts distress'd.
So bursts the Ball, where Air is much compress'd.