University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The Palace of Felix.
Felix and Castor
Castor.
I hop'd this Day with Gratulations, Sir,
To hail you, not Condolence.—A mutual Loss
We weep in Edmund, but my mournful Cup
Is doubly bitter'd by a Mother's Fate.

Felix.
Most sad indeed. To thine, my Loss is light;
Tho' I am robb'd of much fore-fancy'd Bliss.
Through what variety of pleasing Views,
Had that projected Match conducted Thought!
'Tis true indeed,—As Mortals e'er will prove,—
Our hopeful Plans are all but waking Dreams!
I stand corrected for too daring Schemes
For Satisfactions to my waning Life:
The Father's Fondness, and the Pride of Blood
Have led me to usurp my Maker's Rights,
And snatch at Joys 'tis only his to give:
But Heav'n asserts its Sway! and those fond Steps
On which ambitious Hope presum'd to mount,
Have tumbled me and all my Toils to Earth,
To fear, and grovel in my native Dust.

Castor.
Descant in softer Terms on real Worth;
Your're too severe a Censor on yourself.—
Heav'n sure confers its Blessings for our Joy,
And must, of course, approve our Wish to keep them.
The Honours of a Name 'tis just to guard:
They are a Trust but lent us, which we take,
And should, in Rev'rence to the Donor's Fame,
With Care transmit them down to other Hands.
The Parent's partial Fondness for a Child,
An only Child, can surely be no Crime!
'Twere breaking all the tender Strings of Nature
Which tune our Souls to Harmony and Love!
'Twere bidding us to act against ourselves,
To disregard our Childrens Safety here!
No: Care's a Father's Right;—a pleasing Right,
In which he labours with a home-felt Joy!—
Oh, think not Heav'n condemns a Duty paid,
But still exert your love.

Felix.
Too prone we are
To stifle Reason at a Passion's Call,
And lend a willing Ear to Words that sooth
Our darling Errors: Oh, frail Nature, thou!
To point us out the Goal of Truth, of Bliss!
Yet turn us from its course for ev'ry Bait
Of tinsel Happiness, of gaudy Hope!
Where's now my Stoic Principle of Peace?
Where's now my Christian Fortitude of Mind?
Where's now my Resignation to Heav'n's Will?
Oh, all you Heroes, whose proud Blood I feel!
Oh, Edmund, on whose Worth I built my Hopes!
Oh, Ariana, Object of my Care!
Yes, yes, you have me all: I am a Man;
A vain, frail, tender, foolish, wretched Man.

Castor.
Had Heav'n been pleas'd to spare my Brother's Life,
Your Love, your Honour had been safe in him;
And I had been a sad, but silent Mourner
At his deserv'd Success. But still, howe'er
Below his proud Deserts my humble Merit stands!
My Love for Ariana soars as high
As ever Edmund's could. Those potent Charms,
And all those Virtues that a World admires!
I do not want the Worth to wish my own.
Perhaps this Courtship on a Brother's Grave,
And to his Mistress, Sir, may look unseemly!—
But what, alas, is empty Mode and Form?—
He's now at Peace, and safe from farther Claim:
And sure it cannot be a Guilt in me,
Tho' Tears are trickling o'er a Mother's Coarse,
Whose recent Wound yet stains the pliant Clay,
To point one Look, whence only I can hope
To beam with Comfort this imbitter'd Life!
Who blames the Merchant that secures his Wealth,
While Nature's Ties exact his kind Concern?—
Here, Sir, you see the last surviving Shoot
From that fam'd Trunk, on which you chose to hang
The relique Honours of your noble House:
Nor shall for me the Father's Fondness suffer;
I love your Ariana, doat to Death:
My Joys on Earth, if not my Peace hereafter,
Depend upon her Smiles: Without her Love,
Life will be worse than Death! and Earth an Hell.

Felix,
'Twere, Castor, too severe, to blame in you
A human Frailty, while I mourn my own:
To plead your Passion take a Father's leave,
And rest assur'd my Voice shall second thine
In all your fond Requests. To Edmund's Love,
Sure none more worthy to succeed than you:
And better Fate attend you.

Castor.
Heav'n repay
This gen'rous Kindness, Sir, with Years of Joy:
And hence be sure, in Castor's faithful Heart,
That next my Care for Ariana's Bliss,
Shall ever rise my Gratitude to you.
I go, my Lord, to ponder on this Theme,
And study to deserve your Daughter's Love!
If Opportunity should time the Task
Vouchsafe, a Father's Int'rest in my Favour:
Let Ariana know how just my Suit,
How strong my Wishes, and how fierce my Flame!
So shall the gentle Maid, if e'er she deigns
To crown my Ardours and compleat my Hopes,
Bless that good Providence which turn'd your Thoughts
To favour One, whose only good is hers:
Who lives but to promote her Weal on Earth,
To court her Smiles, and blessing to be blest.