University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene. Marg'rite's Apartment.
Enter Duke of Britain, and Du Croy.
Brit.
You're certain he'll be here?

Du Croy.
Unmark'd I hear'd,
The Duke of Austria agree to meet him
At his Sisters; Lorrain but stay'd to leave
Some Orders, as he told the Duke, with one
Of his Attendance whom he cou'd confide in,
T'inform him here, if ought of moment happen'd.

Brit.
They seem upon some secret of importance,
I must not slip this opportunity,
One Night's delay might frustrate my design.
You've done your part Du Croy, the Writing's
Undistinguishable from the King's;
And fortune too assists me, Lorrain's intending
To be here, was luckily discover'd,
For meeting me in Marg'rite's Apartment,
Will with more probability impose
On his belief, the Letter was for her.

Du Croy.
Sir, I see him coming,

Brit.
You retire—
[Enter Lorrain
(aloud)
Observe my Orders; I wait the Princess Marg'rite's
Leisure to be spoke with, on business which
This Night must be effected.

Lor.
With Marg'rite, such pressing business! Britannie.

Brit.
To serve a Friend, swift time it self's too slow.

Lor.
What Service do you intend her?

Brit.
For you my Friend,
I am thus diligent, nay, for you both.
The King you know sent by Du Croy this Morning
To speak with me in private, he told me
He was fix'd on (terms we then agreed on)
T'espouse my Daughter, but Margarite having writ
T'upbraid his change, he was oblig'd t'excuse
Himself to her—

Lor.
He saw her since she writ.

Brit.
Not alone?

Lor.
No, many of his Court
Attended him.

Brit.
Therefore it seems, he had not
Opportunity of speaking freely,
But writes the reasons of his leaving her.

Lor.
Since the Visit?

Brit.
Now, by me, he ask'd
If any of my Train might be rely'd on,
To give the Letter safely to her self,
For 'twas of consequence none else shou'd see it,
And his own Subjects were not to be trusted,
Being all her Enemies; I offer'd him
And wou'd my self deliver it, earnest
To bring her liberty, which alone
I knew was wanting, to secure her yours.

Lor.
'Tis strange!—are you sure it brings her liberty?
Did the King shew you what he writ?

Brit.
He expresly told me the whole purpose of it,
But engag'd me, on my Faith, and Honour,
How e'er my curiosity might tempt me.
To Search no farther the Particulars.

Lor.
There's Mistery in this! 'Tis but few hours
Since he profess'd fidelity to her,
And claim'd her for his Wife.

Brit.
Ha!—a publick Gallantry, a form
Due to a Lady's Honour; they must not be forsaken.

Lor.
I rather think the King abuses you,
And for some Ends of Policy, keeps both
In hopes; he had not fear'd to trust his Subjects,
But with such pretences to this Princess,
As they oppose.

Brit.
That seems probable.

Lor.
And for what reason else shou'd he so strictly
Engage you not to enquire what it contains?

Brit.
And I may be drawn into injure you,
By my officious zeal t'advance your happiness.

Lor.
If you'd oblige me, Britannie, trust me
To give the Letter.

Brit.
Then I betray the King.

Lor.
If he deceives you, 'tis but justice; if not,
It will be safe with me.

Brit.
But if he—
Or what if—I wou'd willingly—but yet—

Lor.
I cou'd give you reasons were it fit
That wou'd convince you I ought to see it
Before Marg'rite does.

Brit.
I believe you,
But then I gave my Honour not to pry
Into the secret.

Lor.
You need not.

Brit.
You'll let me know, If he dissembles with me.

Lor.
Certainly.

Brit.
But methinks—

Lor.
What? It concerns only one
Who conceals nothing from me.

Brit.
And you'll give it her?

Lor.
Faithfully.

Brit.
Yet—

Lor.
Nay,

Brit.
Well, take it.
To keep my word, I'll leave you whilst you read it.
How eagerly he snatches at the Poison
[Ex. Britannie.

Lor.
If he persists to urge his right in her,
Tho' now too late, I am so tender of her quiet,
I wou'd not she shou'd see it, or mingle with
Our Bridal joys, the least uneasy thought.
[Opens the Letter, and reads it to himself.
Deceive Lorrain—sure my Eyes deceive me,
Or the Lights are false—'Tis the King's Hand,
And here he owns his Infidelity,
Excuses it, but what of me—(reads)
necessity—
To break—my Kingdoms good—'tis lower, here,
But if you carefully deceive Lorrain,
What cause have you to grieve at your past kindness,
Which we our selves alone, are conscious of—what means he
Nor fear I e'er will trust it from my thoughts,
But those you grudge me, small pleasure I shall have
In the remembring, I once was happy.
By the dear possession of all those Charms
Which now must be anothers—Damnation!
Kings are but splendid Slaves of Sate,
As such consider, and forgive me, Charles.
'Tis sure some artifice! But whose? Or wherefore?
The Duke of Britannie's my Friend, nor is't
His Interest to design a breach 'twixt me,
And Marg'rite, had the King aim'd at that,
He wou'd not have entrusted him, who's injur'd by it!
But might he not employ him without trusting?
Perhaps—no, how cou'd he then secure th'effect,
It's falling in my hands was accidental,
At my own request—but hold—how this
Agrees with his refusing to release her
Not three hours since?—he's strangely variable
In his designs—'twas but this very Morning
He confess'd to her Brother he wou'd leave her—
Ha! That proves more than all the rest against her,
A change so sudden is improbable;
She must have feign'd it—perhaps to raise the value
Of her gift to me by such a Sacrifice.
These are the Arts of faithless, worthless Women,
But Truth and Innocence, rich in it self,
Not needing labours, not for Foreign Wealth
O she is false, dissembling, prostituted,
The Words are plain th'authority unquestionable,
And I have marri'd her—
She has, she has, indeed, deceiv'd me well,
How artfully she work'd me to distraction!
Shou'd she know how I have found her falshood,
So cunningly she wou'd evade the proofs,
And look so lovely true, I shou'd renounce
My reason, and only trust my ravish'd Senses!
O why ye Powers have you giv'n that Sex
Insinuating Charms to gain belief,
And yet so little truth! damn'd, damn'd, Dissembler!

Enter Mag'rite.
Mar.
Why, my unkind Lorrain, have you thus long
Stay'd from me when so near? I cou'd not bear it
Longer, nor shou'd you leave me to my thoughts,
When you but look on me, you justify
All I have done, or all I can do for you;
But in your absence, such reflections rise
As much disturb me, and for both our quiets
I wou'd for ever stifle.

Lor.
What Power has Conscience!

Mar.
You seem disorder'd, something troubles you.

Lor.
I shall not discompose you with it, Madam.

(going.
Mar.
My Lord, you'll break my heart, if thus you leave me;
What e'er disturbs you, why to me this coldness?
Have I deserv'd it of you?

Lor.
Ask your self that.

Mar.
I need not, my Love's so nice, had I a thought
That cou'd displease you, 'twou'd upbraid me with it.
Why do you talk thus? Whither are you going?

Lor.
I care not, but from you for ever.

Mar.
O wherefore? You shall not leave me
Till I know whence this unkindness springs.

Lor.
Look into your Soul, and if you find a guilt.
Tho' ne'er so closely hid, think that the cause,
And blame your self.

Mar.
Heav'n witness, I have none to you.

Lor.
Perjur'd Woman! The King, the King.

Mar.
I have sin'd to him, indeed,—but how can you
Reproach me that?

Lor.
Shou'd not I reproach you,
That you have drawn me in, to share your Shame?

Mar.
Was not I drawn in by all the art
And force of Love? The Shew of faithful, violent
Affection! That, I confess, prevaill'd on my weak heart,
Unapprehensive of so quick a change;
O how was I deceiv'd!

Lor.
She confesses it—Madam, you've learn'd
Of your deceiver well, cou'd I have doubted
That you but yielded to my importunity,
What the King claim'd his Right in? Cou'd I suspect
'Twas counterfeited all, where so much grief,
And tenderness appear'd?

Mar.
Lorrain, you wrong me,
'Twas but too real; what cause have you to doubt it?

Lor.
I know it, from himself.

Mar.
What is't you know?

Lor.
That he refuss'd to Marry you.

Mar.
From himself?

Lor.
From whom else cou'd I know the guilty Secret,
Which none else was privy to?

Mar.
Amazing!
What said the King?

Lor.
I wou'd spare your blushes,
Think what he cou'd say.

Mar.
I dare hear it,—
And can clear my self;—at least to you.

Lor.
O Shameless! To me clear your self! To me
Whom you've abus'd! He says, you need not grudge him
The remembrance, how happy he was once
In your Embraces.

Mar.
Unhear'd of baseness! Is this
The noble use he promis'd of the generous
Confidence I made him of my Love;

Lor.
You have been generous indeed, to him;
But on me, revenge his falshood; or rather
'Tis the punishment of Heav'n for Idolizing thee,
The guilty folly of cent'ring all my hopes
Of happiness on a Woman;
The worst, and weakest part of the Creation;
O I had fix'd my Soul on thy possession!
Had's thou had vertue, I had sought no farther;
Nor thought a Heav'n beyond; So Blind, so impiously
I doted on this delusive mischief! Forgive me,
And I here forswear the faithless Sex,
Forswear thy Bed, thy Sight.

Mar.
Wou'd you be calm, and hear me.

Lor.
Never, never, let me hear more from thee, of thee,
'T awaken in my memory the Dishonour,
The wrong thou has't done me;
For thy own Safety, and my Peace,
Let me forget thee, 'tis not enough to hate thee,
To despise thee, that will be my torment,
Whilst I retain the Image of thy wondrous charms,
To think how false thou art! For my quiet
I must banish thee from my remembrance,
Not know thou ever were't—Let me lose all thought
Rather than still love on, when I despise
This vile bewitching—O I dare look no longer
On the lovely treacherous Destruction!
Be curst, be wretched, as thou ha'st made Lorrain.
Ex. Lor.

Mar.
O I am curst enough! Lorrain, my Lord,
He will not hear me, rage possesses all his Senses!
Thus to lose him's worse, is more afflicting
Than the loss, had I parted with him
When my pressing Duty requir'd it of me,
The very cause of our unhappiness
Had rais'd his value for me, and I had still
Preserv'd the noblest, dearest, part of him;
But to be thrown from his Esteem! To think
That he depises me; laments that he
No sooner knew me, e'er he had ty'd himself
To a vile Prostitute! O insupportable!
But why do I bear thus?
Not fly t'upbraid the King his treachery,
To rouze his guilty Soul with torturing Visions
Of his future Hell, for that must be
The Doom of such a Devil!

[going the Duke of Britain enters.
Brit.
I've heard enough to know I'm unsuspected,
(unseen)
And must prevent what might discover me.
O Madam, I am come on such a purpose
As I abhor to speak! And yet I must,
Or you, and your Lorrain, my Friend, are lost!

Mar.
Where is Lorrain?

Brit.
I left him with the King,
And Duke of Austria.

Mar.
My Brother with 'em!

Brit.
He met Lorrain, with various passions tost,
Reading a Paper that seem'd to raise the tempest,
And by the power of Friendship, forc'd from him
The Secret it contain'd; which the King
(Whom I was with) perceiving, with fury said,
Brittannie, as you value your Friend's safety,
Hasten to Marg'rite, tell her from me
If she deny to Austria, what I've said,
When he reproaches her, if she but offer
To vindicate her self, she Sacrifices
To her honour, her belov'd Lorrain.

Mar.
What means the Tyrant? Does he think I can
Be frighten'd from defending my injur'd Honour?

Brit.
I refus'd the office, urg'd it's baseness,
Threatned to prevent his barbarous vengeance;
Nay, take your choice, he cry'd if you oppose,
Or offer to disccover what I've purpos'd,
You see he's in my power, he dyes this moment.
Forc'd by the imminent danger I consented.

Mar.
Own such a shameful Falshood! I'll dye first.

Brit.
As he left me to join the Dukes; he added,
Hope not to delude me, I'll have a Spy
Upon her Looks, her Whispers, the first that tends
To accuse me, or clear her self, by Hell,
I swear, gives certain death to her Lorrain.

Mar.
Hell reward him for it!

Brit.
What's to be done? My Soul is so divided
By my concern for you, and fears for him,
I know not what t'advise.

Mar.
How then shou'd I resolve! I who must bear
The Shame! Or if I sacrifice Lorrain,
All the unhappiness!

Brit.
I fear you must
At present, yield to the hard necessity.

Mar.
How? Confess my self a thing, that 'tis so shameful
But to be nam'd to by another!

Brit.
Not deny it, till Lorrain's secur'd
From the King's cruelty; he may to morrow
Set out from hence for Naples, then as I know
Your Innocence, fear not I shall find means
To justify you, both to him, and Austria,
But whilst he stays in France, you cannot clear
Your Honour, at a less price than his dear Life,
For whom I know, you chiefly wou'd preserve it.

Mar.
Barbarous imposition!
Then keep my Brother from me, I cannot see him.

Brit.
'Twere best indeed, if possible, to avoid it.

Enter Austria.
Mar.
O he's here! His Looks dash such confusion,
How shall I bear his stinging Words!
O whither shall I fly!

Aus.
Beyond the bounds of being, if thou'd'st escape
Thy Infamy, if to search for Peace,
Where thy own vile thoughts, may ne'er persue thee.

Mar.
O that I cou'd become a thoughtless nothing!
In pity, Brother, spare me your reproaches,
Think I, perhaps, may not so much deserve 'em
As you imagine.

Brit.
O be careful, Madam.

Aus.
Not deserve 'em! Is there an excuse?
For thou do'st not dare deny thy baseness.

Mar.
Indeed, I dare not.

Aus.
And did you, cou'd you hope,
The King wou'd condescend to Marry you?
By Heav'n I forgive him from my Soul;
Nay, Honour him for scorning thee, thou blot
Of Majesty! Shame of thy Noble Birth,
Our Family's reproach, and Curse! O what
Inglorious Nation first made so light of Honour,
To let in the least depend upon
A Woman's Conduct! To put so great a Trust,
Into the hands of such frail things as these!

Mar.
And we in vain may guard, if Fate condemn it,
A cruel Fate, like mine, inevitable!
O, I shall not hold—urge me not further,
Least it produce a Tragick consequence,
'Twill grieve you to have caus'd.

Aus.
Thou ar't so vile,
Thou can'st not have the courage to design
Revenge upon thy self, else wou'd I urge thee
To rid our House of it's Disgrace, thy self
To let out thy hot Blood that first enflam'd thee
To consenting; consent, thou must have woo'd him,
He durst not have attempted the Dishonour
Of one as greatly born as he, of Ancestors
In Fame Superiour, had'st thou not allur'd him
To thy loose desires—Shame of thy Sex!

Mar.
I am!—Tho' I did never—I did—I do—
I know not what I do—
All that the King wou'd have me, I've giv'n up
My Honour to his base.

Aus.
Curse! Curses on thee for it.

Mar.
O what do I say!
And yet 'tis true, my Shame's too real! Betray'd,
Confounded with Disgrace!—I must not speak,—
I cannot look on any honest Face,
Here will I fix my Eyes to Earth, lye level
[throws her self on the Ground.
With the vilest Dirt, scorn'd, trampled on;
Now, now the King may Triumph in my ruin—
He shall not, O he knows; he knows I am—
I dare not name it!

Aus.
For Shame thou wou'd'st not.

Mar.
I cannot suffer this, I'll—O I must,
Lorrain's the cause, and can I bear too much!

Aus.
Never for thy guilt to him, whom thou
Ha'st most abus'd! How cou'd he withold
From killing thee? Or do I deserve
The name of Friend, or my descent from Burgundy,
And suffer the Dishonourer of both
To live! Dye wretch to expiate thy foul Sin.

Brit.
Hold Austria, hold your desperate hand, you shall not—

Mar.
Hear me Heav'n, that know'st my Misery,
I wish to live but till this Stain's wash'd off;
Grant that, and I resign my wretched Life.

Aus.
Live then to clear thy Soul, but live recluse,
In Fasting, Discipline, and sharpest Pennance;
Pass thy days, be Tears and Prayers thy Food;
Bury'd from the World, forgotten by Mankind,
Forget thy name, thy self, all but thy guilt;
Which tho' I'll ne'er forgive, Heav'n may at last;
But all thy wretched Life in Mourning wast,
What e'er's to come, lament, and curse the past.
[Ex. Austria

Mar.
Enough, enough, just Heav'n, my Miseries
Are full, for human nature can support no more;
And only Love cou'd make it bear so much.

Brit.
Dear Madam, your Afflictions grieve me to the Soul:
Sure when the King's inform'd of 'em he must
Relent, I'll try what can be done to move him,
Or secure my Friend; and till I wait on you,
I beg your patience; least your just resentment
Prove fatal to your self.

Mar.
I must relye on you
Good Britannie, a poor weak Woman; can
But ineffectually lament, or rail;
And thus to grieve is the more descent weakness.

Brit.
Your Sorrow shall be short, I go to serve you.
(aside)
Her rage against the King, was most my fear,
Now to remove Lorrain, and all's secure.
[Ex. Brit.

Mar.
There is not sure on Earth a Wretch forlorn like me?
Those whom malicious Tongues have most aspers'd;
Find still some Friends t'assert their Innocence,
Or in whose Esteem they rest content,
The Witnesses of their most artless actions,
Hid from the World in privacy, and silence;
Vertue's best evidence, and noblest Provence;
O 'tis sufficient comfort; the only valu'd
Approbation of these few dear intimates;
But by them abandon'd, curst, despis'd,
Mankind's Applause cou'd make no recompence.
Another Friend t'upbraid my real guilt!

Enter Ann of Britain.
Ann.
A Tyranny unparrellel'd!
I've learnt my Friend, your strange inhuman Usage,
Meeting my Father when he came from hence;
He told me as in hast he cou'd; a baseness
Of the King scarce credible! With pain
I cou'd restrain my impatient Indignation
For a moment; to give my Friend some comfort.

Mar.
You cannot, O you will not pity me,
When you know the justice of my Sufferings.

Ann.
The justice of 'em!

Mar.
I have deserv'd it all!
Lorrain's my crime, and 'tis but equal punishment
To be depriv'd of that for which I sin'd;
I see the hand of Heav'n in it, and submit.
Yet don't insult, leave me as all that's dear
On Earth have done, a lonely, wretched,
An abandon'd Wife.

Ann.
Marry'd! Then there's no certain worth,
On which to found a firm, exalted Frindship;
I saw in you, a stock that promis'd much,
Adopted you my charge, thought it my business,
And my Glory, to support, to cherish,
And improve your blooming Vertue;
Nor ever had desisted from my care,
How e'er ungrateful you had prov'd to me,
Had you not been unfaithful to your self,
Corrupted by deceitful, ruinous Passions.

Mar.
Ruinous indeed! For it has lost me
All I had of worth, my Love, my Fame,
My Friend! I have assisted to my wretched Fate,
But was inevitably doom'd unhappy.

Ann.
No Madam, had you chose to bear th'uneasyness.
—Your Duty pointed to, Heav'n had been
Engag'd to your protection, that can extract
Good, from extreamest Ills, and ever from
Such Sacrifices, draws some unforeseen
Event, that makes it prove ev'n here a Blessing;
But when indulgent to our vicious Passions,
In defiance of Heav'n it self, we will be happy,
Break through all restraints to our desires;
Some sudden Disappointment dashes th'enjoyment,
Shews us how vain our Hopes, how false our Judgment,
And leaves us desolate, without a refuge,
But in a sad Repentance.

Mar.
O! I have felt that Truth,
And dare not in my miseries ask assistance
From that Sacred Power I have offended;
But if a penitent may be accepted,
Hear my Petition, and this Solemn Vow;
(kneels
If thou art pleas'd to clear my Innocence
From this unjust Reproach, in acknowledgment,
And to attone my other Faults, I here protest,
To sacrifice my dearest Inclination,
And Dedicating my whole Life to Heav'n,
Deprive my self for ever of Lorrain:
My fond, my doting Love for whom, betray'd me
To that guilt, for which I am thus rigorously
Punish'd Grant my request, and if I fail
In what I've vow'd, with heavyer plagues, (if there
Are any such) avenge my Perjury.

Ann.
O we are all fair promisers in Affliction;
You see not now Lorrain, raving, desparing
At your Resolution, pleading with all
Those charms, that tenderness, that once prevaill'd;
They've still their force, and you have the same Weakness,
So mov'd again, you'll think no punishment
So great as losing him, and with him any,
All are to be born.

Mar.
No, I at once have prov'd 'em both, and find
Experimentally, no Torments equal
To remorse of guilt, it incapacitates
For all enjoyments; but in the depth of wretchedness,
The calm of Innocence gives sweet refreshments
By it's own delights, and future promises;
O I have lost it! And with it the best aid
To my weak virtue, since I'm now unworthy
Of your Friendship

Ann.
Your quick return regains your Title to it,
Your sufferings to my pitty, and assistance;
By power undaunted I'll proclaim your Wrongs,
And through this thickning Mist shew the King's Malice,
The black obstructing Cloud, from which it fell,
Whilst your bright Honour kept it's purest luster;
This be my care to clear, your Task is more,
Unstain'd preserve, the Glory I restore.

Mar.
So prosper your design, but O beware,
Lorrain's dear Life, be your first greatest care,
Tho' lost to me—what must be now my State,
When my best Wish, is such a wretched fate!

[Exeunt severally