University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The Town and Port of Penryn.
Enter Young Wilmot and Eustace in Indian Habits.
Y. Wilm.
Welcome, my friend, to Penryn! Here we're safe.

Eust.
Then we're deliver'd twice: first from the sea,
And then from men, who, more remorseless, prey
On shipwreck'd wretches, and who spoil and murder
Those whom fell tempests and devouring waves,
In all their fury, spar'd.

Y. Wilm.
It is a scandal,
(Tho' malice must acquit the better sort),
The rude unpolish'd people here in Cornwall
Have long lain under, and with too much justice:
For 'tis an evil grown almost invet'rate,
And asks a bold and skilful hand to cure.

Eust.
Your treasure's safe, I hope.

Y. Wilm.
'Tis here, thank Heaven!
Being in jewels, when I saw our danger,
I hid it in my bosom.

Eust.
I observed you,
And wonder how you could command your thoughts,
In such a time of terror and confusion.

Y. Wilm.
My thoughts were then at home. O England! England!
Thou seat of plenty, liberty, and health,
With transport I behold thy verdant fields,
Thy lofty mountains rich with useful ore,
Thy num'rous herds, thy flocks, and winding streams.
After a long and tedious absence, Eustace!
With what delight we breathe our native air,
And tread the genial soil that bore us first!
'Tis said, the world is ev'ry wise man's country;
Yet after having view'd its various nations,
I'm weak enough still to prefer my own,
To all I've seen beside—You smile, my friend!
And think, perhaps, 'tis instinct more than reason.
Why be it so: Instinct preceded reason
Ev'n in the wisest men, and may sometimes
Be much the better guide. But be it either,
I must confess, that even death itself
Appear'd to me with twice its native horrors,
When apprehended in a foreign land.
Death is, no doubt, in ev'ry place the same;
Yet nature casts a look towards home, and most
Who have it in their power, chuse to expire
Where they first drew their breath.

Eust.
Believe me, Wilmot!
Your grave reflections were not what I smil'd at:
I own the truth. That we're return'd to England
Affords me all the pleasure you can feel.
Yet I must think a warmer passion moves you:
Thinking of that I smil'd.

Y. Wilm.
O Eustace! Eustace!
Thou know'st, for I've consest to thee, I love;
But having never seen the charming maid,
Thou can'st not know the fierceness of my flame.
My hopes and fears, like the tempestuous seas
That we have past, now mount me to the skies,
Now hurl me down from that stupendous height,
And drive me to the center. Did you know
How much depends on this important hour,
You wou'd not be surpriz'd to see me thus.
The sinking fortune of our ancient house,
Compell'd me young to leave my native country,
My weeping parents, and my lovely Charlot,
Who rul'd, and must for ever rule my fate.
—O! shou'd my Charlot! doubtful of my truth,
Or in despair ever to see me more,
Have given herself to some more happy lover!—
Distraction's in the thought!—Or shou'd my parents,
Griev'd for my absence, and opprest with want,
Have sunk beneath their burden and expir'd,
While I too late was flying to relieve them;
The end of all my long and weary travels,
The hope that made success itself a blessing,
Being defeated and for ever lost;
What were the riches of the world to me?

Eust.
The wretch who fears all that is possible,
Must suffer more than he, who feels the worst
A man can feel, yet lives exempt from fear.
A woman may be false, and friends are mortal;
And yet your aged parents may be living,
And your fair mistress constant.

Y. Wilm.
True, they may;
I doubt, but I despair not. No, my friend!
My hopes are strong and lively as my fears;
They tell me, Charlot is as true as fair;
That we shall meet never to part again;
That I shall see my parents, kiss the tears
From their pale hollow cheeks, chear their sad hearts,
And drive that gaping phantom, meagre want,
For ever from their board; their days to come
Crown all with peace, with pleasure, and abundance;
Receive their fond embraces and their blessings,
And be a blessing to 'em.

Eust.
'Tis our weakness:
Blind to events we reason in the dark,
And fondly apprehend what none e'er found,
Or ever shall, pleasure and pain unmixt;
And flatter and torment ourselves by turns,
With what shall never be.

Y. Wilm.
I'll go this instant
To seek my Charlot, and explore my fate.

Eust.
What in that foreign habit!

Y. Wilm.
That's a trifle,
Not worth my thoughts.

Eust.
The hardships you've endur'd,
And your long stay beneath the burning zone,
Where one eternal sultry summer reigns,
Have marr'd the native hue of your complexion:
Methinks you look more like a sun-burnt Indian,
Than a Briton.

Y. Wilm.
Well, 'tis no matter, Eustace!
I hope my mind's not altered for the worse,
And for my outside—But inform me, friend!
When I may hope to see you.

Eust.
When you please:
You'll find me at the inn.

Y. Wilm.
When I have learn'd my doom, expect me there.
'Till then, farewel!

Eust.
Farewel! Success attend you!

[Exeunt severally.