University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Bellmour, Louisa, 3 Children.
Bell.
Why did I marry? to beget a Race
Of Beggars, hopeless, helpless in their Misery!
Naked, abandon'd, trod on, for my Sake!
What will not Beggary make 'em do? turn Bawds,
Or Pandars—shocking, melancholy Thought
The Devil scorns to be so base: His Pride
Disdains th'inglorious Slavery. But my Sons
Are ignorant, silly, despicable Beggars.

Lou.
Bellmour, forbear Reflections so afflicting
To those you love. See! you have cut the Hearts
Of these poor Innocents—

Bell.
Ay, innocent indeed—
And, therefore, I more criminal and curst.
—Come near, my Boys, and look upon your Father.
D'ye know me?

Eld. Boy.
Sir, we, sure, must ne'er forget
So good a Father.

Bell.
Yes, I'd have you all
Forget me now. I've been the worst of Fathers.
You know me not, if you believe me good.
I've turn'd your Foe, and gam'd away your Birthright.

Eld. Boy.
Heav'n will provide for us. You us'd to teach us
To trust its Goodness.

Bell.
Heav'n is in your Soul,—
O that I were a Child, like you unspotted!
But I'm grown old in Vice, and black as Hell,
Unfit for Heav'n, unworthy of Society.
Bear me, some Tempest, to a desart Land,
Where Print of human Feet was never found;
There let me range with Birds and Beasts of Prey,
Thro' gloomy Caves, and Rocks, o'ergrown with Moss;
There let me groan and weep my Horrors out,
Grow wild and savage, as my Fellow Brutes,
'Till Death uncase this wretched Soul, and send it
To everlasting Torment and Despair.

Lou.
For Heaven's Sake, Bellmour, moderate your Temper.

Eld. Boy.
Sir, you affright us—Sure you will not leave us—
Or shall we go to see those uncouth Lands?

Bell.
Moving Innocence!—Retire, my Boys, retire.
I cannot see their Sorrows.

SCENE II.

Bellmour,
Louisa.
Life's a Burden—
I cou'd even throw it down: But something whispers
That my black Crimes have heap'd a future Hell
Of Vengeance, for my Punishment.

Lou.
O Bellmour,
To see you thus dejected and despairing,
Makes me think manly Virtue all a Jest.
My female Weakness cou'd no more be bent
Beneath Adversity.

Bell.
My Crimes, my Follies,
Hunt me, Louisa; and where'er I go,
Conscience still hallows Vengeance in my Ear.

Lou.
Poor Bellmour.

Bell.
Poor indeed! a Monument of Woe!
Beggar'd alike in Fortune and in Soul!

Lou.
Yet hope good News. Courtney may bring it to us.
He comes—

SCENE III.

Bellmour, Courtney, Louisa.

*Why look you pale, good Uncle?

Court.
To bring unwelcome Tidings to the Wretched,
Gives the sad Teller half the Hearer's Woe.

Bell.
Friendly Preparative! What follows next
Can be but Woodly's Ruin!

Court.
He's undone!—

Lou.
Unhappy Bellmour!

Court.
Near your House I met him,
Hemm'd by a swarthy Guard of licens'd Villains,
The Law's grim Blood-Hounds. With rapacious Talons
They dragg'd him on, in merciless Serenity,
To shut him from his Hopes, in joyless Prison!

Bell.
Oh!

Court.
At short Distance, near the Sycamore,
That marks the Turning to that now-fall'n House
Of this poor Gentleman, I saw his Lady,
Wild, with a Storm of Grief! Her Hair dishevel'd!
And her loose Robes, blown, careless, by the Wind!
Struggling, with weeping Servants, to break free.
Fain wou'd she follow him, to share Restraint:
But, by superior Force held back, and hinder'd,
With straining Eyes, she kept him long in View;
And, when a gushing Flood obscur'd her Sight,
Still more to lengthen out a last, sad Look,
She wip'd away the Tears, and gaz'd again!

Lou.
Dreadful Description!—Close it here, good Uncle!
It cuts too deep, and wounds my Bellmour's Soul.

Court.
No more remains to tell, but, that his House
Is fill'd with Ruffians, his rich Goods torn down,
And his griev'd Wife, and Children roam, unshelter'd,
Without a Home, to succour them.

Lou.
O guide them hither,
Let me, with open Arms, fly to receive them,
And strive, if possible, to give them Comfort.

Bell.
Louisa!—As thou would'st preserve my Life,
Bring not their Grief too near me.—My melting Soul
Flows into Air, as I but hear their Misery:
To see it would distract me—Said he nothing?

Court.
Marking me, as I turn'd my Face aside,
He call'd and counsell'd you to save yourself,
By sudden Flight—Since other Ruffians, brought
By Bargrave, your malicious Creditor,
Will presently be here, on the same Purpose.
As for my Fate, said he, bid him not mourn it:
To fall for Bellmour, wou'd have giv'n me Joy,
Had Bellmour's self not fall'n.

Bell.
He falls, indeed!

Court.
Now, as I enter'd, Bargrave, just arriv'd,
With his infernal Crew, besets your Gates.
A barbarous Triumph glows on his proud Cheek,
And from beneath his Brows o'er-jutting Low'r,
Malicious Insult grins, in hollow Ambush!

Lou.
Now, Bellmour! thou art lost!—immediate Ruin
Will swallow Thee, and Me, and our dear Children!
All! All! must sink together—Teach us, good Uncle!
Which Way to fly—What Measures to pursue.

Court.
The Doors, fast barr'd, are guarded by your Servants;
And you may thro' the Grove, escape, unseen.

Bell.
No let him enter—This Bargrave taught me Vice,
And counsell'd ev'n the Adventure, that undoes me!
He wrongs the Devil, who makes himself the Punisher
Of Ills, which he excited! Justice acts wisely!
Oh! She's not blind.—She chuses a fit Moment,
And throws him on my Vengeance. Let him enter,
Bring he as many Lives, as he has Crimes,
May Curses catch me, if he 'scape my Hand!

Lou.
As thou lov'st me, Bellmour! be not rash.
Shou'dst thou add Murder to our other Woes,
How wretched shou'd we be?

Court.
Persuade him rather,
Sooth him to Pity. Wou'd he free your Friend,
And add some Weeks of Liberty for Tryal,
What Succour may be found; you've many Friends:
Who knows what unhop'd Aid may rise to save you.

Bell.
No, Courtney; Friendship rises but with Fortune,
And sets when Men go downward. Yet I thank you.
Rage had obscur'd my Reason—Say to Bargrave,
I have an Offer for his private Ear.

SCENE IV.

Bellmour, Courtney, Louisa, Belinda.
*Bel.
O, my Brother,
Shall those be ruin'd, whom I might preserve?
Give your Consent, I'll strait comply with Bargrave,
And strive to save you all tho' I shou'd perish.

Lou.
Kind Sister now!

Bell.
Too generous Maid! Forbear—

Court.
I fear 'twere now too late, by Terms like these,
To win him. Int'rest only can prevail.

Bell.
Yet let me try—

Lou.
For Heav'ns Sake, Bellmour, yield.
Belinda may avert the threaten'd Blow,
And Woodly's Liberty procure. Who knows
But Bargrave only takes this cruel Means
To force your Approbation and Consent?
Or shou'd Belinda fall, all you wou'd say
Remains—You then might sooth him as you pleas'd.

Court.
There is no Harm in Tryal. Be advis'd.

Bell.
I'll ne'er consent.

Court.
Yet let her hold a Parley,
And seem at least to yield. Some Good may happen.

Lou.
Nothing but Ruin else.

Bell.
Then I'll withdraw.

Court.
I'll bring him in.

Bel.
Louisa, leave me too.

SCENE V.

Belinda.
O Love, thou bitter, poisonous, Sweet! be gone,
Or work Effects, which, but a God, can do,
To crown my Wishes, and preserve my Honour.

SCENE VI.

Bargrave, Belinda.
Bar.
At length you think of yielding! Madam; now
I'm cool'd, I've chang'd my Mind. Not Love, but Justice,
Employs my Thoughts.

Bel.
Sir, were your late Addresses all in jest?
Meant you to mock me by your boasted Courtship?

Bar.
No, Madam, I was serious; tho', I own,
I was not much in Love. But your Disdain
Has chang'd my Mind.

Bel.
Then now 'twere vain to yield—

Bar.
She comes.
(Aside.
Nay, Madam, I've a good Opinion
Of your Desert—

Bel.
If I have any Charms,
Or merit your Conceit, why, for my Sake,
Relent you not? why spare you not my Brother?
O cruel Bargrave—

Bar.
Madam, you refused
To win my Pity: You provok'd my Rigour.
Repent you now?

Bel.
Hard Fate, thus to be forc'd
To my own Passion!

Bar.
Ha! am I belov'd?
Is your Heart mine? Say, durst you not reveal
The Truth before? Impossible: 'Tis Art,
Mere Art! But I'm no Cully. You'd, in vain,
By subtle Means, endeavour, now, to alter
My purpos'd Justice.

Bel.
Not, if I comply'd!

Bar.
You mean, by Marriage—Now, I've learnt to hate it:
Compliance wou'd be fruitless, in that Way.
But wou'd you gain my Favour to your House,
Another Way remains—

Bel.
What mean you, Bargrave?

Bar.
Then must I speak my Meaning? Why, in Brief,
Let me enjoy thee.

Bel.
Shocking, barbarous Man!

Bar.
Think of it well. You know my Pow'r. And now,
Compliance, of this Sort, can only save
Your Brother and his Friend. You, by Degrees,
May pay their Debt: I ll take it out in Kind.

Bel.
Thy Soul is all Infection.

Bar.
'Tis no matter—
My Body's sound, and that's enough for you.

Bel.
I shall go mad. Presumptuous, impious, Man!
Is it for This I've cherish'd secret Love?
For this Return, a Tenderness conceal'd
Within my Heart for thee, by All abhorr'd?
This then, at last, the Intention of thy Courtship?
O Patience, Patience! if there's such a Virtue,
I want it, Heav'n. Nay, rather lend me Thunder—
For such a Wrong, so heinous an Affront,
Deserves a Wrath, almighty as thy own,
To blast this Wretch, and hurl him into Hell.

Bar.
Temper your Rage, and take my Terms. Perhaps
You'll next repent you did not.

Bel.
Furies seize him.
Hast thou not other Crimes enew to Damn thee,
Besides thy Lust? And must I meet thy Flame?
Are all the Brothels rifled? O thou hast thrown
A Wild-fire in my Brain!

Bar.
Let Nature work.
When you grow Cool, you will not be so Cruel.
Think of your Brother's desperate Condition—
Think of his Family. Consider, Hope
Is fled: This only Plank remains to save him.
Now, I'm so much a Servant to thy Beauties,
Thy Body once enjoy'd, his Friend is free;
And each new Favour shall deserve another.
If Lords shou'd pay so dear for every Capering,
'Twou'd try the Back of their Estates. What say'st thou?

Bel.
No more, inhuman Wretch—

Bar.
Nay, most human,
You shou'd have styl'd me, for my Condescension.
Think but how cheap you buy your Brother's Safety.
The World will praise thee for thy Composition.
‘Alas! good Soul they'll say, 'twas generous Pity—
‘Love for her Brother, and his sinking Family.
‘What Woman wou'd not venture such a Trifle
‘To save her Friends? ‘Poets will spread thy Name
In Ballads, sacred to thy kind Compliance.
Methinks, I see Posterity instructed
In thy fam'd Story—Mothers teach their Children,
And grieve that the Example was not theirs.
I shall have all the Blame: But I'll endure it,
For thy dear Sake. Let them blaspheme my Conduct—
To give thee Peace, and do thy House a Courtesy,
I'll run a thousand Hazards. Now, what say'st thou?

Bel.
That thou'rt a Monster, and my Soul abhors thee.
I'd sooner meet a Basilisk, and be one.

Bar.
I've done. Now, to my Business. Soon you'll rue
Your stubborn, senseless Virtue—when you see
Your Brother dragg'd to Prison, this old House
Despoil'd, Louisa and her Children
Turn'd out to Beggary, naked and forlorn—
Your self a piteous Object, but unpitied—
Nay, more to sting and torture thee, ev'n I
Will spread it round the Country, thou'rt my Whore,
My turn'd off Harlot, my detested Leavings.
Then wilt thou wish, in vain, thou had'st indeed
Consented, and preserv'd thy House and Fame.

Bel.
O Villain! Villain! Dar'st thou prove so base?
Thou wou'dst outdo the Devil's self in Mischief!
Lost and undone! I see no Succour now!
No Hope remains! All, all must perish soon!
O Bargrave! Bargrave!

(Weeping.
Bar.
Wisdom will correct thee.
E'er yet I leave thee quite, be won to Softness.
I'll give thee some few Moments to consider,
And, mean while, hear what Bellmour has to offer.

SCENE. VII.

Belinda.
Bel.
Consideration will but heap my Griefs.
Wretch that I am! slighted! insulted! lost!
What shall I do? Comply? Or be reveng'd?
Reveng'd! How? O that I cou'd be reveng'd!
I'd lose a Limb, I'd die, to be reveng'd!
But, Oh! my Brother! a poor, ruin'd Family!
Tho' for my own Misfortune and Distress,
My Stock of Tears were spent, the Thoughts of His
Were able to create a weeping Spring
Within my barren Head.

SCENE. VIII.

Bellmour, Belinda.
Bell.
I know thou lov'st me.
Poor Maid! I shall endeavour to cherish Life
If thou lament'st me thus: So rich a Comfort
Will make me wish I might even live a Wretch.

Bel.
O wou'd my Life cou'd satisfy your Creditor!
But, barbarous Man! he courts me to Dishonour,
And tempts the Murder of my very Soul!

Bell.
What did'st thou say? Does Bargrave then declare
That Lust, not Love, inspir'd his boasted Courtship?

Bel.
He does—and offers to enlarge your Friend,
And save your House, at Price of my Undoing.

Bell.
And thou cou'dst die (did not I hear thee say so?)
To save us from Destruction!

Bel.
'Twou'd be Pleasure.

Bell.
In this great Love, thou wound'st my inmost Soul
Suffer for me? why thou art innocent.
I have provok'd the Rigour of the Law,
And dare obey it manly. But, alas!
My Wife! my Children! and my Friend!—O Sister!
Cou'dst thou with any Thing, but Death, relieve us—

Bel.
Nothing cou'd be too precious for thy Safety.

Bell.
Death's a devouring Gamester—sweeps up all
But cou'dst thou spare an Eye, or Arm?

Bel.
Most gladly,
Wou'd Bargrave rest well satisfy'd.

Bell.
And can'st
Thou grudge to save us by a gentler Means?

Bel.
O name it—

Bell.
Did not Bargrave promise Safety,
If thou'dst comply with his unhallow'd Terms?

Bel.
Ha! Sure, you wou'd not tempt me to be base.
You, who refus'd Consent to lawful Wedlock,
Will never yield to shameful Prostitution.
You do but try my Virtue.

Bel.
O Belinda!
I know the Kingdoms of the World contain not
Riches enough to tempt thee to such Shame:
But I'm thy Brother! thy poor, ruin'd Brother!
A Brother whom thou lov'st! and who loves thee!
Who has done much, in prosperous State, to serve thee!
I know it makes thee grieve to hear me speak it—
But condescend to lose thy Virgin Virtue,
And I shall love thee better for't—We'll live,
Live, and repent together, pray and weep,
Till Heav'n hath pardon'd all.

Bel.
O never, never,
Sure, you'd not have me stain'd!

Bell.
Where? who shall see
A Blemish in thy Face, or Fame? Thy Beauty
Will be the very same. Thy speech, thy Person,
The same they are.

Bel.
O Rebel to all Virtue!
To all Religion! Cou'd I think that Bellmour
Wou'd ever tempt me thus to Sin?

Bell.
Not Bellmour,
But what he's made—'tis his Condition tempts you.
—Yet tho' thou scorn'st to buy me from Destruction,
On Bargrave's Terms, thou wilt not sure survive me.

Bel.
What means my Brother?

Bell.
To prevent, by Death,
His cruel Purposes.

Bel.
What? kill thyself!

Bell.
My self, my Wife, my Children; all shall die!
To disappoint his Malice, and Men's Scorn.

Bel.
You fright me, Bellmour—

Bell.
'Tis resolv'd. Then tell me,
Wilt thou die with us? shall I now dispatch thee,
Unspotted, and so valiant, hence to Heav'n?

Bel.
Oh, will you murder?

Bell.
Do you tremble?

Bel.
Not
At Terror of your Sword, or horrid Death:
But at the Horror will affright thy Soul
For such an Action.

Bell.
It will be most glorious,
To make thee die a Martyr, undefil'd.
Shou'dst thou live longer, thou might'st grow corrupt,
And be unfit to die. Then, say your Pray'rs,
And stand prepar'd for Heav'n.

Bel.
O Bellmour! Bellmour!
Is there no Remedy, but Death? and by thy Hand?
I'm shock'd. What shall I do? I'll give Consent—
I'll yield to Bargrave, and redeem you all.

Bell.
Yield, didst thou say? Consent to thy Dishonour?
Thou meritst not to live.

(Stabs her.
Bel.
O I am slain!
It had been well if any other Hand
Had giv'n the Wound. I did but seem to yield,
Only to gain some Time, in Hope you'd change
Your fatal Purpose, and prevent this Guilt.

Bell.
Ha! did but seem to yield, then I was rash.
Alas! I did but try thy Virtues. When
Thou said'st thou wou'dst consent to Bargrave's Terms,
I thought thee lost, a Strumpet in thy Heart,
And fear'd that soon thou wou'dst make good thy Words.
Forgive me, Sister—O forgive, and live
A little longer. Passion hath betray'd thee
To this dire Wound. Yet know I not, if I
Shou'd most rejoyce, or mourn, since thou art virtuous.
Thou'rt ripe to be translated from the Earth,
To make a Cherub.

Bel.
Heav'n forgive my Brother.

SCENE IX.

Bellmour, Courtney, Belinda.
Court.
What bloody Chance is this? Belinda, speak—
How came this Wound?

Bel.
I drew the Weapon to it:
Heav'n knows my Brother lov'd me. Now, I hope,
The cruel Bargrave will not vex me more.

Court.
O Death, be not so hasty.—Bargrave waits
Impatient for you, Bellmour—

Bell.
And for her
To be his Whore—I'll meet him with my Fury,
And send the Tarquin to his destin'd Hell.
Mean while, good Courtney, as you love me, join
Your Help, in what I now propose to do.
See dear Belinda in her Bed be laid—
Bargrave will follow soon—Ask me no Questions.
Sister, farewel. Thy feign'd Consent hath brought
Thy Happiness more early, than it might
Have else arriv'd, and sav'd some Guilt to me.

Bel.
Farewel.

Court.
O gracious Heav'n, what new Distress
Rises each Hour, in this unhappy House?

Bell.
Courtney, I've much to tell thee. Lead her hence.
Pray for me Sister. When thou'rt dead, I'll kiss,
I'll worship thee.

SCENE X.

Bellmour.
Now, keen Revenge, inspire me.
My Soul's on Fire. I shall consume to Ashes,
If I not cool my Fury with the Blood
Of that unrival'd Villain. This poor Roof
He'd, last of all, dishonour with his Lust,
Shall be his Tomb. The Reasons of his Death
Will justify the Deed to future Times.
Murder is not so horrid as his Crimes.