University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Courtney, Louisa.
+Court.
The pointed Sword, that by a slender Hair
Hung o'er the Head of Damocles, was Shadow
To Bellmour's solid Danger.

*Lou.
O, good Uncle!
Now, say, what shall we do? what Method take?
Belinda dead, now Bellmour is distracted
With Anger, Grief, Revenge; and, in his Madness,
Utters such horrible, outragious Words,
As none but evil Dæmons cou'd inspire.

Court.
Is he not gone to Rest in his Apartment?

Lou.
He is: But, Oh! he cannot there be safe.
Bargrave, enrag'd, vows he'll break up the Door;
Nor, shou'd he spare him, is my Bellmour safe
From his own self.

Court.
Let us then force him hence—
Steal him from Ruin, tho' against his Will.
I fear for him, for you, for all the House,
Some common Mischief will involve us all,
Such unremitting Madness has possess'd him.

Lou.
Or if, by Chance, it ceases, still he feels
New Cares return with his returning Sense;
For to behold with Tears domestick Ills,
Ourselves the only Authors of our Miseries,
Is sure a Torture worse than being mad.
When Bellmour raves, and Frenzy rules his Brain,
Senseless of Ill, he joys for what we mourn.
But when his wandering Reason is return'd,
And with it Melancholy, Grief, and Pain,
Doubly distress'd, he gives us double Sorrow.
His Groans, his Words, declare some brooding Ill
Sits deep at Heart, and heavy on his Brow.
O Uncle, visit him, and by your Wisdom,
Try to appease, or give him Comfort.

Court.
Time
Is precious now. What Groan was there?

Bell.
Oh!

(From within.
Lou.
'Twas his wailing Voice.

Bell.
Oh! Oh!

Court.
Again! how wretched is his Grief!

Bell.
My Wife! my Boys! Oh!

Lou.
Let me fly to meet him.

Court.
He comes. Poor Bellmour!

SCENE II.

Bellmour, Courtney, Louisa.
Bell.
Poor indeed! alike
In Soul and Fortune poor! a very Wretch!
—Courtney, my only now remaining Friend,
(For Woodly's sunk) wou'd but your Arm oblige me—

Court.
How?

Bell.
Stretch it forth and let poor Bellmour die.

Court.
O, Sir, compose your Spirit, and consider.
You wou'd not have me murder—

Lou.
O my Bellmour!
For Heav'ns Sake, do not thus add Grief to Grief,
And multiply our Sorrows. O submit
Your Passion to your Reason.

Bell.
It is lost,
Bankrupt and beggar'd!—O pernicious Bargrave!
O Serpentine in Subtlety and Sting! who first
Misled me, and now triumphs in my Woes.
—Let me destroy him—Why d'ye hide him from me?

Court.
Provoke not Heav'n, by bringing more Guilt here,
And be advis'd to reason with him calmly.
I've talk'd with him, and find some Ground to hope
He may prove merciful, and free your Friend.

Bell.
Think you he'll free my Friend; Then all were well.
I yet cou'd love him. 'Tis my Friend's Distress
O'erpowers me—not my own! I'd not from him,
Beg Favour for myself; my Soul disdains it.
Mean is the Wretch, who begs for Life with Pain,
And lengthens out uninterrupting Woe.
To him each Day is joyless, as the former,
Adds a poor Space to Life, and keeps off Death.

Lou.
Yet, my Bellmour, think of us, of your three Children—
O, I beseech you, by our first Embraces,
By all you love, O leave us not unfriended.
Remember me, if ever thou wert pleas'd
With me, or with my Diligence to please,
If I had ought of Charms, or thou of Love.

Lou.
Dear, dear Louisa.

Court.
Shall I bring him to you?

Bell.
Do.
+I will instruct my swelling Indignation
To cool, and settle, like a Courtier's Passions.
What cannot Interest teach us?

SCENE III.

Bellmour, Louisa.
Bell.
Leave me, Louisa!
I wou'd not have thee blast thy innocent Eyes,
With Sight of such a Monster—Nor brook I well,
That thou, who hast been taught to love Sincerity,
Shou'dst hear me flatter Infamy!

Lou.
Do but think
'Tis for their Sakes, whom most you wish to succour,
And you will find it easy. Farewel! he comes.

SCENE IV.

Bellmour, Bargrave.
Bar.
So, Sir! I find, you make your House your Garrison!
Bold sowr-fac'd Centinels admit, with Caution,
Whom you vouchsafe your Pass to—'Tis great indeed!
Girt, Sovereign-like, within your Palace Walls,
The Law must beg Admission! *And, when enter'd,
People must wait for Audience. +But the Pride,
With which your State o'erlook'd me, will instruct me,
Till I find Means to reach you.—

Bell.
I sent not for you
Thus to revive old Hatred. 'Twas my Meaning,
To set before your Eyes the spreading Misery,
From whence a Week's short Respite may, perhaps,
Free Woodly, and my self, nor do you Wrong.

Bar.
Oh, Sir! no doubt, 'tis likely, that Seven Days
Will pay a Bond, which twice Seven Months, and more,
Has drawn no Interest from you!—Woodly may claim
Some little Pity—He's a suffering Tool,
Who fasts to feed your Riots. But for you,
No Plea bears Influence. What a Mass of Wealth
Loaded your Youth! the Toil of careful Ancestors!
And, how it is consumed, let Thousands tell,
Whose lifted Eyes and Hands proclaim their Wonder.
I dare not whisper it—Men wou'd think me mad:
And laugh to think, that the once liberal Bellmour
Is grown a Niggard, now; and, like a Miser,
Whines for a Day of Grace.—And swears 'twill ruin him
To pay his Creditors—Name it no more—
Should it get Wind, 'twou'd lower your towering Top-Sails,
And lose you many a Cap, and Country Shout,
As you ride thro' the Villages.

Bell.
Insulting Wretch!
It grates my inmost Soul, to suffer this,
But my Friend's Fate depends on't—You seem'd to speak,
As if you pity'd Woodly.—Give him Liberty:
And let me fill the Place, to which you've sent him;
I ask no more—For my own Miseries,
Perhaps they merit not.—I'm sure, they scorn,
What Pity thou can'st give them.—

Bar.
Oft, I remember,
Woodly, with Zeal for holy Texts, transported,
Wou'd preach, and cite Divinity.—Dull! Dull!
How cou'd he miss that Caution, which forbad him
To be another's Surety? What comes after,
He now, perhaps, has learnt.—And will remember
When, next he talks, to edify.—*Besides,
The Scorn I've met with from yourself and Sister,
Forbids my Mercy to a Friend of yours;
Nor Wife, nor Whore, you'd grant me!

Bell.
+Now, break my Rage—
Off, mean Hypocrisy!—I'll make thee hear me,
In Words, which match thy Malice. Think, low Traytor
How I, first learn'd that Guilt, with which but now,
Thy Tongue reproach'd me! Who, but the Villain Bargrave?

Bar.
Ha! Villain! said you?

(Offering to draw.
Bell.
Yes, the Villain Bargrave.—
Touch not thy Sword—Should'st thou unsheath it, here,
Thy Guardian Devil, too weak to save his Minister,
Should rise, in vain, betwixt us!

Bar.
I'll hear thee out—

Bell.
Who, but thy self, spread all those Snares about me,
Which, first, entangling, next o'erthrew my Virtue?
Who stain'd the native Whiteness of my Soul,
And spotted it with Follies? Think, how this Bond,
Was fraudulently, and, by shameful Arts,
Won from my clouded Reason, when the Fumes,
Of madding Wine had warm'd my yielding Fancy,
Fit for a Knave's Impression!—Hast thou Humanity?
And dost not feel a Ruin thou hast caus'd?
Hast thou Reflection? and can'st thou sleep, unstung,
By guilty Startings, and remorseful Dreams?
Or have the Fiends, that haunt thy gloomy Bosom,
Unhumaniz'd thy Heart? sear'd up thy Conscience?
And left all Devil within thee?—

Bar.
Now take Breath:
And hear me tell the Effect of this fine Pleading.
I find my self, with all these black Endowments,
Your Master, and your Scourge. But that I scorn thee,
I could be angry.—Mark this silent Witness:
Look on this Bond.—And curse the woeful Hour,
That gave thy Friend, and thee, to my Disposal.
I'll leave our Wives, to scold the Quarrel out,
While I seek Vengeance, not from Words, but Action.

[He attempts to go out.
Bell.
By Action! didst thou say? I thank thee, Bargrave!
Thou hast instucted me.—That fatal Bond
Shall never rise, in Judgment, against Woodly.
(Drawing his Sword, and putting himself before the Door.
Just Heav'n, that hates Oppression, points a Way,
To ease my Wretchedness of half its Load,
By cutting thro' that Chain, that binds my Friend.
Now, if thou dar'st defend thy Villanies,
Unsheath thy Sword, and to this gaurded Door,
Force thy wish'd Passage, thro' Breast of Bellmour.

(They fight, and Bargrave falls.
Bar.
Curses consume that all destroying Hand,
'Spite of my wish'd Revenge, thou wilt escape me:
No Heir survives to put the Bond in Proof,
And Woodly, and thy self, are free again.

(He dies.

SCENE V.

Bellmour, Courtney, Louisa.
Court.
What have you done? I fear'd this rash Effect,
Of Rage, but half suppress'd—and waited near:
But an Attempt yon Bloodhounds made without,
To force an Entrance, call'd me off too fatally!

Lou.
Was this, my Bellmour! Speak, was this the Way,
To ease our Wretchedness? Oh! this black Chance
Sinks us still deeper, cuts us off from Comfort,
And we can never, now, be happy more!

Bell.
Courtney! 'twere vain to wish this Act undone—
Scarce can it claim Repentance.—Secret and sudden,
Let me intreat thee, to convey this Parchment
(Taking the Bond from Bargrave's Pocket.
Into my Woodly's Hand.—Say how it happen'd:
Tell him, whatever Fate may do with me,
I'm bless'd to give him Freedom.

Court.
Guard the Doors well.—There's Danger near:
And I'll not leave you long.

SCENE VI.

Bellmour, Louisa.
Lou.
Fly; for Heaven's Sake, be gone.
One Hour's Delay prevents Escape for ever.

Bell.
What wou'dst thou have me do?

Lou.
Let me disguise thee—
Then thro' the Grove, haste; and, in some poor Cottage
Entreat a short Concealment.—There, I'll find thee
And we'll consult Relief from all our Woes.

Bell.
Fix'd as my Fate, I stand, unmov'd, to expect it
I'll not stir hence, by Heav'n.

Lou.
Oh! do not swear!
Think, how my Peace of Mind, my Hope, my Misery.
Depends on thine.—Thus, on my Knees, I urge it.
Thou, being free, may'st find a thousand Ways,
To succour us; but if thou fall'st, a Family,
A lost! a friendless Family! falls with thee.
Oh! if I ever was belov'd by Bellmour,
If all my Pray'rs, my Vows, my Tears, can move him,
Let him but grant me this.—Let him but leave me,
Rain then a World of Woes upon my Head!
Let Want, Reproach, Contempt, and all Life's Agonies,
In ceaseless Bitterness of Soul, afflict me,
While thou art safe, if I but let one Sigh,
One Breath of Discontent escape my Lips,
Curse me thy self, and make me lost, indeed.

Bell.
Excellent Woman!—rise.—To see thee thus,
Is Torture beyond bearing!

Lou.
I will not leave thee.—
Here, at my Feet, thus humbled, as that Dust,
Which I shall shortly be, when I have lost thee,
Here will I grow for ever, till thou grant'st
This only Pray'r I make thee.—

Bell.
Thou bid'st me fly:
What would'st thou I should fly from?

Lou.
Danger and Misery.

Bell.
With whom then must I leave that Misery?
Must not thy self, and those Three friendless Wretches,
Whose Being I was Cause of, and expect
Aid and Protection from a Parent's Hand;
While I escape, must you not all be left?
Hell glows in that hot Thought! be left, expos'd
To all the Miseries, which thou would'st have me
Fly, like a Coward from, and leave for Innocents,
Who owe 'em to my Baseness! no—My Louisa,
Wretch, as I have been, I'm not fall'n so low!

Lou.
(rising.)
Lost, Lost, for ever!

Bell.
No, there's a Judge on high,
Who sees, and loves thy Goodness.—Let me entreat thee,
To give my Sorrows way, for a few Moments.
A solitary Thought! a Turn or two,
Uninterrupted, in the Gallery,
Will teach me to resolve, and then I'll call thee.

Lou.
Angels assist and guide thy silent Reasonings,
And, from this Labyrinth of Woes, unwind thee!
Dismal our Prospect! yet all may be well!
Heav'n cannot err—oft guides us in the Dark—
And, when we least expect, affords Relief.
As thro' black Storms of Wind, and driving Rain,
Short, Sunny Beamings streak the harrass'd Main,
So thro' deep Sorrows, Gleams of Comfort rise,
And spread smooth Heavens before the Sufferers' Eyes.