University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Roderick, and a Servant in a travelling Habit.
Rod.
How say you, Sir, my Brother left the Camp,
And hither posting on the Spur for Brussels?

Ser.
My Lord, with weary Speed, by his Command
I but out-strip'd him on the neighb'ring Road,
To bear his Commendations to his Wife;
And be the Herald of his near Approach:
A short Hour's Ride will bring him to her Arms.

Rod.
Are any here inform'd of his Return?

Serv.
None but Yourself, my Lord.

Rod.
Be silent then.
Leave me to greet Luciana with your News;
And chear her widow'd Soul. Mean-while, expect
Reward and Wellcomes shall attend your Service:
In, and repose yourself.—But hear me, Friend,
Let no light Intimations scape your Lips,
To disappoint the Pleasure of my Tidings:
I shall find Merit in your Secrecy.—

Serv.
You may command me.
[Exit Servant.

Roderick
Solus.
Sebastian on Return!—His near Approach,
So unexpected too, alarms my Soul:
I stand ev'n on a Precipice of Fate,
Where one Step forward whirls me down to Ruin:
I must be steady then, and tread with Caution.
This Brother I could love, were he not so:
But, as he got the start of me in Birth,
And bars my Fortunes, he has earn'd my Hatred:
And Hatred marks him out for sure Destruction.
But first I must contrive to screen my Wiles;
He must not know my Practise on his Wife,
To win her Beauties to our Uncle's Bed.
For should he but suspect my bold Endeavours
To work Pollution on his dainty Bride,
Perhaps he would revenge;—or, which is worse,
I forfeit all Pretensions to his Trust;
On which I must install my future Hopes.
Enter Gonsalvo.
Let me consider:—Ay, it shall be so;
I'll instantly to her, e'er he arrive,
And with a formal, grave, repenting Face,
Sooth her to think, I meant not what I urg'd.

(Going.
Gons.
Stay, Rod'rick;

Rod.
Sir, your Pardon.—

Gons.
Gentle Nephew,
Does my Luciana yet consent to love?
Will she be kind, or is the froward Girl
So much a Woman as to slight my Vows,
And triumph in the Pangs her Beauty gives me?

Rod.
When first I told her of the Pains you suffer'd,
The anxious Nights you pass'd in restless Wishes,
Her glowing Cheeks were fir'd with Crimson Blushes;
And her fierce Eyes, in keen and angry Glances,
Like Lightning flash'd before th'approaching Thunder.
But when I came to urge your Cause more home,
Seas have less Rage, when hoarse tempestuous Winds
Swell up the foaming and uneven Deep,
Than she had at my Words.

Gons.
Then Hopes are lost!
Nor is there left one Mean to cure my Sorrows:
But I must droop in mournful Discontent,
And drag a joyless Life out in Despair.

Rod.
Forbid it, Heav'n!—I cannot bear to see
My dearest Uncle thus oppress'd with Anguish;
And bending with the load of slighted Love.
My Lord, rely on me:—Perish a Thousand
Of the fantastick, giddy, stubborn Sex,
E'er good Gonsalvo loose a Moment's Quiet!
Disdainful as she is, spight of her Virtue,
This lab'ring Brain shall form her to your Wish,
And melt her boasted Chastity to Love.

Gons.
Compleat it, and be Heir to all my Fortunes;
My spatious Lordships, all my Lands be thine;
There's not a foot of Earth in my Possession,
But, at my Death, shall strait descend to Rod'rick.
Now, by the Saints, I will not leave thy Brother
The Measure of a Grave to scant thy Portion.

Rod.
You are too good, too gracious to me, Sir;
Heav'n knows, it is not Int'rest that I covet:
But Love and Duty bind me to your Service.
And just Compassion of the Pains you feel
From this ungrateful Woman's peevish Coyness.
But I forget;—My Lord, we must not loiter;
A Moment lost could hardly be retriev'd,
For all my Projects, and your Love's Success
Hang on the Issue of this little Hour.
My Brother—

Gons.
What of him?

Rod.
Will strait be here:
A Messenger arriv'd to bring us Notice,
Just gives me time to play a saving Game.

Gons.
Curse on his Speed!—Thou must be wond'rous Artful,
Or all will stand disclos'd; and ev'ry Act
Of ours lay open to his hated View.

Rod.
Let not our Fears o'er-sway our safer Reason;
Or Conscience prompt us to betray a Guilt.
Be bold; and when Sebastian comes, receive him
With open Arms of Love, and seeming Friendship.
Let the whole House ring out to speak his Wellcome,
Perhaps, a little Cost thrown in to grace him,
Might make him think your Transports more sincere.
Commit the rest to me:—And for Luciana,
I'll put her under such a strict Restraint,
She shall not dare give Breath to our Offences.
But, good my Lord, retire; I see her coming,
And 'twere not well to have us found together.
[Exit Gonsalvo.
So:—Now must I disguise the subtle Pander,
And be a Saint in shew:—But she approaches.
Enter Luciana, who seeing him offers to retire.
Why am I shun'd as if I wore Infection,
Or were some Thing, which, but to cross, would blast you?
Rod'rick did never mean to wrong his Sister;
You were too quick, too nicely apprehensive,
And had you giv'n me time to clear my Purpose,
Your gentle Nature had not been incens'd.

Luc.
Could I be calm, and hear a Brother plead
In favour of an Uncle's lewd Embrace?
What hast thou seen so loose in all my Acts,
Might tempt thee to presume that I would fall
A Prey to Vice, and most detested Incest?

Rod.
'Twas distant from my Soul, and honest Nature,
To think ignobly of your matchless Worth;
Would your Impatience but have stay'd, to hear—

Luc.
Proposals that would startle blushing Virtue!
Now, by my injur'd Innocence I swear,
Did'st thou not claim a Kindred to the Blood
Of my most worthy, most belov'd Sebastian,
Thy Life should pay the Forfeit of thy Crime.
Nor yet presume too far upon that Tye,
Nor urge my Patience by a second Tryal,
For if thou dost, this Arm, this Woman's Arm,
Weak as it is, shall do its Mistress right.

Rod.
By Heav'n, I do admire your gallant Spirit!
Nor shall you e'er have Cause to doubt my Friendship;
And had you but vouchsaf'd a patient Ear,
I then had stood most fair in your Opinion.
Indeed, the Prologue to my better Purpose
Had but a Fiend-like Face to set it off:
Whate'er I urg'd, was only meant to try,
As Gold is touch'd, the Standard of your Worth;
Which I have found so pure, so free from Dross,
I set the highest Value on your Virtues;
And if to cross the Bent of his Designs,
You want Assistance, my whole Service waits you.

Luc.
Tho' all thou say'st were true, which yet I doubt,
Such is th'Affront of my suspected Honour,
That it proclaims Thee base, and mean of Soul:
For lightly to suspect another's Virtue,
And harbour Jealousies without a Cause,
Argues a vicious, and degen'rate Mind.

Rod.
Forgive the Rashness of my guilty Tongue,
Nor think my Heart consenting to its Folly;
With low Submission, I entreat your Pardon,
And vow, on this fair Hand, no more to wrong you.

Luc.
If you are real, if resolv'd no more
To varnish o'er Disgrace, be still my Brother.
But if thou wilt deserve my just Esteem,
Dissuade Gonsalvo from his foul Intent:
Shew him the Horror of such Monstrous Crimes;
The Judgments which pursue incestuous Fires;
Shew him, how much 'tis nobler to controul
Licentious Wishes, and be firm in Virtue.

Rod.
I will: Nay more, I'll prove your Honour's Guardian:
Charm down Detraction by your boasted Praise,
And stop the canker'd Tongue of busy Slander.

Luc.
It needs not, Rod'rick; I dare challenge Fame,
Or baser Envy, to report my Conduct:
My Actions are so clear, so much above
Opprobrious Censures, I would trust the World
To wrest them, as they could, with black Construction.

Rod.
Your Life, indeed, might stand the strictest Tryal;
But 'twere precarious to appeal to Fame:
For Calumny, that Catterpiller-like
Crawls o'er the fairest Fruit, still leaves behind it
A Tract of Slime, and glazes with Reproach.
Trust me, secure unguarded Innocence,
Like a weak Vessel in a stormy Sea,
Is dash'd by ev'ry Wave of saucy Rumour.
But see, Luciana—

Enter Gonsalvo, with Sebastian and Beaufort.
Gons.
Niece, I bring a Guest
Who recommends himself to your Embrace.

Sebast.
My Life! My Joy!

Luc.
My Lord! My best Sebastian!

Seb.
By Heav'n, She faints; and sinks into my Arms,
As if the Hand of Death were on her Beauties.
O my Luciana, lift again those Lids,
And dart forth all the Glories of thy Eyes:
Or I shall curse Myself for thus returning.
See, thy Sebastian calls Thee back to Life,
To bless him with the Musick of thy Tongue.

Beau.
Give her but Air, my Lord, and She'll revive;
Behold, already on her ashy Cheek
The Blood begins to glow; and gentle Sighs
That heave her Breast fore-run returning Life.

Luc.
Am I awake, and may believe my Sense,
Or did I dream, and is it all Delusion?
Did I not see Sebastian?

Seb.
O my Love!
'Tis not a Dream; Behold, thy happy Husband
Thus folds Thee in his glad and longing Arms;
Transported once again to gaze upon Thee.

Luc.
So great is my Surprize, so strong my Fears;
Still I should doubt my Senses play'd me false,
But that my beating Heart confirms my Soul,
That only Love and You could raise this Tumult,
This flood of Passion, Joy, and tender Transport.
Now thou art come, I'll bid adieu to Grief;
And lull each Care upon thy gen'rous Bosom.

Seb.
O! I could ever listen to thy Talk;
Such wondrous Charms there are in all thou utter'st.
But Love has made me trespass on Respect,
And in my Raptures I forgot a Brother.
Rod'rick, I owe thee much: My Heart speak for me,
I prize thy Friendship more than Words can witness.

Rod.
And when I cherish not your Love and Friendship,
Let all the Shame of Falshood light upon Me.

Seb.
Luciana, I present to Thee a Man
Whose Worth, and Honour, Praise would but disgrace.

Beau.
You make me Blush, Friendship should never flatter.

Seb.
Think not so meanly, Beaufort, of my Love:
My honest Soul disdains the servile Practise.
Brother, from Me receive this gallant Hand.

Rod.
Sir, I shall study to deserve the Favour;
And hope to claim a Place in your Esteem.

Beau.
The Brother of my Friend is near my Heart;
That Tye bespeaks a Place, and recommends You.

Gons.
I too demand an Int'rest in his Worth:
And claim an Uncle's Share.—

Seb.
Noble Gonsalvo!
I'm ev'ry way a Debtor to your Love:
And my whole Life must be employ'd to thank you.

Gons.
No more:—Such Words reproach my little Service.
But come, my Friends; you've travell'd hard to Day,
And Toil demands Refreshment. Let your Coming,
On such slight Warning, be my best Excuse
To reconcile you to our Unprovision,
And what a scanty Ev'ning Board can furnish.
I'll be your Guide:—

Seb.
My Lord, I strait will follow:
But Absence gives Me all a Bridegroom's Fondness;
Permit me, for a Moment, in my Arms
To clasp this Mass of Joy, and we'll attend you.

Gons.
We shall expect you soon.

[Exeunt.
Manent Sebastian, and Luciana.
Seb.
O my Luciana!
Now let me press thee to this faithful Bosom;
Closer, and listen how my busie Heart
Flutters, and pants with Joy to greet its Mistress.

Luc.
Thou dearest best belov'd of Humane kind!
Fain would I speak the Transports of my Soul,
But wanting Words, must murmur out my Pleasure.

Seb.
Was ever Man so blest in Love as I am!
Who would not bear the Toil, the Pains, I've suffer'd,
For this Reward? Thus to be crown'd with Bliss?
I'll now forget the Hardships of my Absence;
Forget the Dangers of Destructive War:
Nor bear in mind thy cruel Father's Usage:
Forget he turn'd Thee out for being mine,
To all the Scorn of an insulting World:
And gave thee nought but Curses for thy Portion.
But Love shall turn 'em ev'ry one to Joy;
And disappoint his Rage:—

Luc.
Alas! My Lord,
Your Absence did not mitigate his Anger;
He still continued Cruel to the last;
No kind Remorse, no Pity for his Child,
Found Entrance to his hard and stubborn Breast.
Since first, by loving you, I had offended
Against the Dictates of his steady Will,
Forgetting all the Love he bore my Mother,
He cast me off, and would not own me his:
When, in the Pangs of Death, I flew to see him,
And bath'd with Tears his cold and trembling Hands;
Imploring Pardon for that one Offence,
And begging Mercy from his fleeting Breath,
Deaf to my Cries, regardless of my Tears,
Inexorable ev'n in Death, he left me
Without a Parent's Blessing.—O my Grief!

Seb.
Weep not, my Love; nor waste those precious Drops
On the Reflection of his savage Nature.
Thy more than filial Duty, and Submission,
Has taken off the Edge of all his Curses.
Nor shalt thou longer live, poorly dependant
Upon the Curtesies of Old Gonsalvo:
No longer shalt thou need an Uncle's kindness,
To purchase Food and Rayment for thy Beauties.
My prosp'rous Sword has cut my Way to Fortune,
And I can raise thee now to all thy Wishes.
Again like Pedro's Daughter shalt thou shine,
And glitter at the Court in all the Pomp
From which thou didst descend to take Sebastian.

Luc.
My Lord, I would prefer the peaceful Pleasure
Of Rural Comfort to all gawdy Grandeur:
Then undisturb'd I might enjoy your Love,
Free from the Fears, and anxious State of Courts;
Where Years are spent in Equipage and Show,
And Life in fancied Bliss is dreamt away.
Where Pride broods on Ambition, hatching Ills,
Which waste the World far more than Plagues or War.
I fear that Greatness too would steal you from me;
And, many a tedious Hour, should I be left
A Widow'd Mourner by your painful Absence.

Seb.
Trust me my Love, I'd sooner spend with Thee
Each Hour of Life in never-ending Fondness,
Than be the Monarch of the Conquer'd Globe.
But yet it cannot be:—O cruel Honour!
My Prince involv'd in War, demands my Sword;
And when he calls, by Right he claims my Duty.
I've but this little Interval for Bliss,
And we will seize it all.

Luc.
And must I then
Again be left?—

Seb.
Some few Days past, Luciana,
I must again to fighting Fields return;
Where gen'rous Youths with Love of Glory burn.
Thence, when the fierce and dreadful God of Arms
Leaves the rough War for softer Beauty's Charms,
Like Him, to Thee, my Venus, will I fly;
Thus clasp Thee round, thus on thy Bosom lie:
Sit like the Miser o'er his glitt'ring Store;
Live in thy Looks, and ne'er forsake Thee more.

Exeunt.