 | The Fatal Extravagance |  |
SCENE X.
Bellmour, Courtney, Louisa,Court.
I have heard it all—
And had not this conceal'd, undream'd of, Dagger,
Prevented my near Vigilance, had sav'd
Unhappy Bellmour.—
Bell.
Not unhappy, now—
We slide, united, from the Woes of Life,
And Want's too slow to reach us.—
Court.
Mistaken Man!
The Hand of Heav'n, howe'er, from mortal Eyes,
Obscur'd in Clouds, still points direct at Justice!
Not thy three Children, nor thy guiltless Wife,
69
Drew down a single Vengeance!
Lou.
Alas! what mean you?—
Bel.
Thou little know'st the deadly Means I us'd,
If thou conceiv'st me frustrated—
Court.
Hear, then, with Wonder—
And, trembling, mark the mazy Paths of Providence.
And, trembling, mark the mazy Paths of Providence.
Seeking you on the Gallery's Garden Side,
I, in your Closet, spy'd a late fill'd Cup,
With a small Vial near it.—To the Neck
There hung a Label.—By the Name, inscrib'd,
I saw, with sad Surprize, it had held Poison.
I, in your Closet, spy'd a late fill'd Cup,
With a small Vial near it.—To the Neck
There hung a Label.—By the Name, inscrib'd,
I saw, with sad Surprize, it had held Poison.
Concluding, you had newly mingled it,
With that rich Draught it stood by—From a Window,
I threw it on the Garden—refill'd the Cup,
Without its deadly Mixture—and stood conceal'd,
To watch what happen'd—when Louisa came,
And snatch'd it thence, I follow'd her, unmark'd,
Pleas'd to have been a Means, to intercept
Her's, and her Children's Death.—The rest you know too well.
With that rich Draught it stood by—From a Window,
I threw it on the Garden—refill'd the Cup,
Without its deadly Mixture—and stood conceal'd,
To watch what happen'd—when Louisa came,
And snatch'd it thence, I follow'd her, unmark'd,
Pleas'd to have been a Means, to intercept
Her's, and her Children's Death.—The rest you know too well.
Bell.
Angels surround thee, with unceasing Vigilance,
And, for this Friendship, ward off every Evil.
Oh! I have err'd!—
Lou.
Oh! too, too, partial Blessing!
Faint Sweet, with more than poisonous Bitter, mix'd.
Faint Sweet, with more than poisonous Bitter, mix'd.
Now Bellmour, tell me, was it not a Crime,
To distrust Heav'n? else thou had'st liv'd—and then
We had All, perhaps, been blest—
To distrust Heav'n? else thou had'st liv'd—and then
We had All, perhaps, been blest—
Bell.
*My Guilt is dreadful!
Beneath its Burden, let me crawl from Life.
(Falling gently down.
Where are my Children.
| The Fatal Extravagance | |