University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Somerset solus.
Som.
How have I wander'd thro' a maze of errors,
And labour'd for destruction!—Of mankind,
I had but one true friend, and him, alone,
Of all mankind, have wrong'd—Reproachful thought!
Oh! Peace of mind! thou bosom balm of nature!
Thou that canst make the labourer's misery sweet,
And cause e'en smiles amidst the pangs of death,
Where shall I find thee?
Enter Isabella.
Come not near me!
Let me not hear thee speak, lest I betray thee,
But fly me as a desp'rate, dangerous villain.

Isa.
I come, my lord, to reconcile your soul
To the sweet joys of peace—

Som.
Talk not of peace! 'tis gone! 'tis fled with honour!
Honour, once lost, can never be retriev'd!
My thoughts are furies all!—and turn upon me!
I feel their whips!—They lash me with remorse!
My brain grows hot!—Hell glows in my mad bosom!

Isa.
Your friend yet knows not how you were misled.

Som.
But there's a sense of shame that knows it all!
Tho' mountains shadow'd me, they cou'd not hide it!
My red'ning cheeks, and my moist eyes wou'd speak it!
Let me fly, far as the vast ocean rolls,
Rather than see the friend I've basely injur'd.

Isa.
Fly but to Overbury—tell him all!
And, once more met in the strict band of friendship,
United, rise the pillars of your country.

Som.
How must he scorn me, when he knows my treachery!
I cannot bear that thought!

Isa.
Yet the mild king—

Som.
For thy poor father's sufferings in his cause,
The royal ear will listen to thy pleadings:
Oh! fly, and swiftly save my friend from ruin!

Isa.
But look, my lord!—See where the countess comes!

Som.
What say'st thou? ha!—I cannot bear their presence!
Oh! for a whirlwind's rage to snatch her from me!
A hell of mischief kindles in her eyes,
And horrors blaze around her!—Let's avoid her!

[Exeunt.
Enter Northampton and Countess of Somerset.
Nor.
Now, haughty Somerset! I'm well reveng'd!
My sullen genius tow'rs, with scorn, above thee,
And smiles at disappointment.

Count.
My lord Northampton,
Tho' strongly urg'd, I feel a woman's softness!
Revenge, remorse, and love divide my soul,
Like three wild streams that rush against each other!

Nor.
Yet, still, be resolute,
Summon your reason to your passion's aid!
Think how you're treated by your angry lord,
Menac'd, cast off, and but revenge can save you.

Count.
Now you have urg'd the flint again to sparkle,
And flash'd up all the latent fire within me!
Die, Overbury!—Somerset!—die all!
Let the world burn to be my funeral pile,
And nature groan as I do!

Enter Elloways.
Nor.
What news, Elloways?

Ell.
The deed is done!
So deadly is the poison he has swallow'd,
There's not a nerve but has receiv'd its death:
Horror and madness shall infect his brain,
Till ev'ry struggling vital, torn with pangs,
Must burst at once, and tortur'd life forsake him.

Count.
Mean'st thou all this of Overbury?

Ell.
Of him—We brought the wine which you prepar'd,
As a sent pledge of friendship from your lord;
Straight, with an eager haste, he snatch'd the cup!—
Give me the draught, said he!—then swell'd the brim,
And, thro' his lips, he drain'd it to the last.
And now there's not a health-restoring herb,
Which the sun smiles on, can expel th' infection.

Count.
Was it the wine I sent?

Ell.
Madam, it was.

Count.
Then shall I never know a moment's peace!
Villain, be curst!—What have we done, Northampton?

Nor.
A deed, which is not now to be recall'd.

Count.
And dost think heav'n will conceal this murder?
No! we shall be pursu'd with hourly vengeance!
Dreams will disclose it; or, if night wants eyes,
Lightning will flash, and point us out to justice.

Nor.
Will you be mad?

Count.
I will—you have undone me!
Plung'd me for ever in the depth of misery!
Hark!—there's a tell-tale wind groans hollow under us,
And the earth heaves with wonder!

Nor.
Her grief distracts her!

Count.
'Tis false! Thy tongue shall never more delude me!
Ha!—Murder's shriek'd already in my ears!
Hark! Heav'n rings with murder!—the red clouds
Rain a whole sea of smoaking blood upon us!
Oh! I am stain'd all over!—Murder!—Murder!

[Runs off.
Ell.
My lord, this fit may prove a dangerous frenzy.

Nor.
Our lives are set upon this single cast.
Retire we to some safe retreat a while,
Where we may watch th' event.

[Exit.
Ell.
What shall I do?
Fly from my post I cannot—that pleads guilty!
Poor Overbury comes!
Enter Sir Thomas Overbury.
How fares my noble prisoner?

Over.
Why just as noble prisoners ever fare,
Like lambs encompass'd by devouring wolves,
Or harmless birds with kites and ravens round 'em.

Ell.
I cannot hear him speak—his presence pains me.

[Exit.
Over.
I know not why, but I am shock'd of late!
My dreams are dreadful—Be it as it may;
While virtue arms me, what have I to fear?
This cold clay cottage is but the soul's prison,
And death, at worst, is but a surly friend,
Who conquers to give liberty.
Enter Somerset.
'Tis well, my lord, you can at last remember me,
But had my Somerset been thus confin'd,
I had not learnt to shun him.

Som.
Oh, my friend!
I'm not the Somerset, whom once you knew;
I'm alter'd much of late.

Over.
Ay, thou art marry'd!

Som.
That was the fatal rock we both have split on!
You, like a skilful mariner, discern'd it—
But I, bewitch'd by the curst siren's voice,
Sail'd on, regardless, 'till we struck on ruin.

Over.
Why—dost thou repent it?

Som.
Repent it, said you?—
Oh! I cou'd rave!—but, 'tis too late a penitence,
For I have wrong'd thy friendship, and undone thee!

Over.
Nay, that I still believe thou cou'dst not do!

Som.
Thou dost not know how base thy friend has been!—
Oh! that fair devil has ensnar'd my soul,
And stain'd it o'er with falshood—I, led by her,
Accus'd thee to the king.

Over.
Forbid it, heav'n!
Lest I grow sick of life—and curse mankind!

Som.
Oh!—'tis too true! Wrought by my faithless wife,
And curst Northampton—I contriv'd thy ruin!

Over.
Why look'st thou, then, like man, who art a monster?

Som.
Yet by the memory of our dear friendship!—

Over.
How dares thy tongue profane the name of friendship?
Haste to the king!—clear up my sully'd fame,
Or, may'st thou always bear some mark of traitor,
That every one may know, despise, and shun thee.

Som.
Hear me but speak—

Over.
Why should'st thou grate my ear?
The bird of death's shrill scream—the hiss of serpents,
Are music to thy voice!—my sick'ning soul
Faints at thy presence—and thy stay wou'd kill me!

Som.
Yet I must stay—'till you forgive, or pity me.

Over.
Name not forgiveness—nor expect my pity.
Be gone! there's treachery couch'd in this delay!
Mean'st thou to bear more mischief to the king?

Som.
Rather than pierce me with such words as these,
Strike through my heart, that bleeds to 've done you wrong,
Here—take my sword—kill me—but, as I fall,
Reach me thy hand—say, but thou hast forgiv'n me!
And I shall die in peace.

Over.
Take back thy sword—I wou'd not use it basely,
Thou know'st, I wou'd not—Go, for ever from me!
And when I hear of an ungrateful wretch,
A fawning slave, who smiles, while he betrays—
Then will I think of Somerset.

Som.
Distraction!
Canst thou? but, peace—I have deserv'd it all!
Life's a disease, which I want strength to bear,
And wish for death to cure me—What was I born to?
Shame on the guilt that bids me bear these scorns,
And not dare think 'em injuries.

Over.
(After a long pause)
—Oh! Somerset!
[Both stand silent: Overbury observes the posture of Somerset.
Can all this grief be real?

Som.
What shall I say?

Over.
Had any other thus contriv'd my ruin,
I cou'd have borne it with a manly patience!
But from thy hand! my friend! my very self!—
Such unexpected wrongs have shook my soul!
But—I forgive thee all—

Som.
Oh! joy! Oh, friend—
Forgive my softness too! my tears will flow,
While I re-join thee, thus, to my glad breast.

Over.
I feel my heart bound high with throbbing transport!
And wou'd speak more, but the slow-rising words
Die in big, unborn accents on my tongue.
I feel, e'en now, a faintish damp all o'er me,
And I am sick at heart—But here comes one,
Whose heav'nly brightness can disperse all clouds!
My life! my Isabella!

Enter Isabella, running into his arms.
Isa.
Live—live, my Overbury!
Scarce can I speak my transport!—but the king!
The gracious king—

Over.
What of the king, my love?

Isa.
Has yielded to my suit in thy behalf,
And giv'n thee liberty!

Over.
I thank thy goodness!
And blessings croud about his royal head,
Who heard my Isabella's prayer with pity.
How my soul swells with ecstasy!—my friend!
My Isabella!—Why do you not rejoice?
Rejoice in love! in friendship! liberty!

Som.
Live long thus bless'd.

Over.
Here, in soft sighs, I'll pour my pleasures forth—
Gaze!—'till I e'en grow giddy with delight!
Now, heav'n, thou art too kind.

Isa.
Oh happy day!
So sweet a calm, as my late cares are hush'd in,
Ne'er yet succeeded such a threatning tempest?
But you, methinks, look pale!

Over.
No—say not so;
My heart is but oppress'd, and sick with transport!—
Another start!—that rapture was so strong,
It shot quite thro', and trembled to my soul!
Another yet!—nay, now I scarce support it—
My spirits sink, exhausted with delight,
And nature reels beneath it.

Isa.
Oh! help! he faints!

Som.
Heav'n! a cold dew,
Like that of death, o'erspreads his icy temples.
Help! who waits there?

[Enter Attendants.
Isa.
My love! my Overbury!
Return to life—'tis Isabella calls!

Over.
Where, where are now my joys?
All fled at once—Oh! Somerset! I'm poison'd!

Som.
Good heaven forbid!

Over.
The wine!—the wine you sent!

Som.
Say'st, thou, I sent?
Alas! you are impos'd on!

Over.
Then 'twas thy wife,
And she disguis'd it with thy powerful name.

Som.
Ten thousand plagues o'ertake her for the deed!
Oh! if she acted this unnatural guilt,
May all the woes of vengeance be her portion!
Haunt her, pale ghosts! Eternal anguish grind her!
Lash her, ye furies! Adders, twist around her!
And let despair and endless torment seize her!

Over.
Ha!—what a shoot was there!—my blood boils in me!
Flames wind about my breast—my brain burns red,
And my eyes swim in a blue sea of sulphur!
Stand off!—and let me breathe!—what's that grim form,
That stalks along! and creeps so pale upon me?
I know the meagre phantom now!—'tis death!
He's gone!—and now the heav'ns all open to me!
A flight of angels swoop upon my head,
And clap their wings about me!

Som.
What a slave is man, when passion masters him?
My want of reason is the cursed source
Of all their miseries: But I'm trebly curs'd!
I feel for him, for her, and for myself.
What place in hell is there reserv'd for me?
Sure that which holds the greatest share of pain!

Over.
There's death again!
What unmov'd! beamless! hollow! limy eyes
The bone-built monster stares with! there he struck me!
'Tis done!—I mount!—I rise above the clouds!
My brain grows giddy!—now 'tis wond'rous hot!
The rays scorch strong—the stars spout streaming fire!
I'll shade me in the moon's dark body!—Hold!
The sun's reflection's there—Oh! help!—defend me!

Som.
What can I do to ease thee?

Over.
Who touch'd me?—'twas a cold, and deadly hand!
It makes me shrink!—save me! where am I now?
I'm chain'd in the chill region of the north!
My blood's all frost!—and passing my hot veins,
It hisses in its motion!—The bleak winds
Dip their broad wings in seas of melted snow,
And sweep whole winter o'er me!—I shiver at it!
My teeth are turn'd to ice, and, as they chatter,
Break in their striking—Where's friendship now to warm me?

Som.
My friend!—my Overbury!

Over.
Oh, Somerset!
Where have I been?—my life is at a period!
Poor Isabella!—she's o'erwhelm'd with grief!
Let me conjure thee, by my dying friendship,
To comfort all her sorrows!

Som.
Wherefore do I not rave? But heav'n is just!
To lose my senses, is to lose my pain.
Oh! I resign me to th' impartial hand
Of justice, nor dare murmur at my fate.

Over.
Hark! the wind roars!—the seas begin to swell!
The billows roll!—now! now they drive upon me!
Oh! save me, or I'm lost!—what! must I perish?
Is there no hold?—not one kind, friendly plank!
Helpless indeed!—thus in the gulf, I sink—
Never to rise again.

[Dies.
Isa.
Hover a while, dear shade, and I'll o'ertake thee.
Oh! for a dagger now!—Death, give me ease!
He comes!—I feel him at my heart already!
He brings me all I wish!

Som.
Alas! she swoons!
Be quick, and bear ger gently from the body—
But, be sure, guard her with the tenderest care,
Lest her distraction shou'd commit self-violence.
[Isa. led off.
Now dear, departed friend—'twere just, that I,
The wretch, whose crimes have been the cause of all,
Shou'd, on these clay-cold lips, breathe out my last.

Enter Officer of the guards.
Off.
My lord, your pardon, but you're here a prisoner:
Your wife has, in a fit of raving frenzy,
Confess'd the murder on Sir Thomas Overbury.
Sir Gervas Ell'ways, and the rest impeach'd,
Are seiz'd—and say, the wine was sent from you.

Som.