 | The Fatal Extravagance |  |
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.
40
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!
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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.
| The Fatal Extravagance | |