University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Lord Transit alone.
LORD TRANSIT.
So heavily my sleepless hours have pass'd,
That though 'tis morning to the world, to me
It comes in darkness like another night.

Dogherty enters.
DOGHERTY.
My lord, my lord! I hope you'll not be angry,
If poor old Dogherty peeps in upon you
Just to say—What's your pleasure?—Can I serve you?

LORD TRANSIT.
Come in, come in! I'm glad to see you, Tim.

DOGHERTY.
That's mighty good and gracious in your lordship.
Forty long years of service in your family
Have made your house, as 'twere, my nat'ral home:
And though I serve a sweet and kindly lady,
(Ah, Heav'n be with her!) still, I know not why,
I feel myself a stranger at her father's;
And my old heart will cherish a fond hope
That we are not cut off, but I may live
To stand behind your lordship's chair once more,
And see your lovely lady grace your table.

LORD TRANSIT.
Is she in health? Does she support her spirits?

DOGHERTY.
In truth, my lord, her spirits want support;
But still an easy conscience can do much:
And now, but that I fear to give offence,
I should have ask'd your lordship the same question:
I'm cruelly afraid you are not well.

LORD TRANSIT.
I've had a restless night.

DOGHERTY.
Ah, there's the case.
I thought as much—Your looks betoken it;—
No rest at night!—This Town air does not suit you.

LORD TRANSIT.
I'm sick at heart, old man. Nothing can suit me;
Nor air, nor hours, nor any thing that throws
One gleam of comfort on the human heart,
Is now in store to cheer me.

DOGHERTY.
Ah! my lord,
Your castle stands exactly where it did.
The road is open.

LORD TRANSIT.
Yes, the road is open
That I must travel. It takes in creation:
All that have life must tread it.

Servant enters.
SERVANT.
Please your lordship,
An officer, who says his name is Trevor,
Desires to see your lordship.

LORD TRANSIT.
Show him up.
I shall be glad to see him.

[Exit Servant.
DOGHERTY.
And you'll see
As brave and bright a boy as walks the earth;
Ay, and a pretty swordsman, a neat hand.—
I took a thrust or two with him at foils,
In faith, I had it in my stomach quickly:
I was but as a child with him.

LORD TRANSIT.
He comes—
Leave us together.

[Exit Dogherty.
Trevor is introduced.
TREVOR.
As I've not the honour
To be known to your lordship, I must hope
My near alliance to the Lady Transit
Will plead in my excuse.

LORD TRANSIT.
I understand
You are her near relation, and am happy
To show you all respect on her account.

TREVOR.
It is on her account I wait upon you;
At her request, whose generous heart yet feels
An interest in your safety, I consent,
Ev'n at my honour's risk, to warn your lordship
What peril you are in.

LORD TRANSIT.
Do you allude
To any thing about Sir Charles Le Brun?

TREVOR.
I've no connection with Sir Charles Le Brun.

LORD TRANSIT.
Has Lady Transit seen him?

TREVOR.
Never, never.
But as I see to what your question leads,
I beg, my lord, you'll put none such to me,
As in the slightest manner tends t'impeach
The spotless purity of my relation.

LORD TRANSIT.
You're very quick, and I am not aware
That any thing I've said can give offence.

TREVOR.
If I am over zealous in this cause,
Your lordship hardly will complain of me,
Seeing I now by right of kindred fill
That honourable post which you have quitted.

LORD TRANSIT.
Sir, do you recollect to whom you're speaking?

TREVOR.
Yes, to Lord Transit, who, by happy choice,
When he had worthily bestow'd his hand
Upon a creature form'd to crown his days
With envied blessings, haughtily withdrew it,
And threw the slighted virtue from his arms
To beg protection at her father's door.

LORD TRANSIT.
Am I so lost to virtue? No; you wrong me.
Awe-struck, I mark how strong her pulses beat,
Ev'n in the arteries of a beardless boy;
How high in energy sublime she lifts
Your swelling spirit up, and tramples down
My coward conscience grov'ling in the dust.

Servant enters.
SERVANT.
My lord, Sir Charles Le Brun, and Mr. Pliant.
[Exit Servant.

Sir Charles Le Brun and Pliant enter.
SIR CHARLES.
Lord Transit, may we speak to our affair
Before this gentleman?

LORD TRANSIT.
He'll answer that.

TREVOR.
If there is no objection—

SIR CHARLES.
None whatever.
Your lordship has been pleas'd to treat my name
With undue liberty before my friends
Sir Harry Sumner and this gentleman,
Who has reported to me what you said,
And what no man of honour can put up with,
Unless by revocation most express,
And unequivocal, you shall recall it.

LORD TRANSIT.
Sir Charles Le Brun, our conference will be short;
For if that gentleman sits at my table,
And chooses, in defiance of the rights
Of hospitality, to recollect
Words utter'd in the heedlessness of talk,
I am not careful to correct my speech
Under the terror of his information,
Nor shall recall one syllable I spoke.

PLIANT.
Recall it! No, my lord, sooner than that
I'm ready to recall my recollection.

SIR CHARLES.
How, sir! do you equivocate? Take care.

PLIANT.
Yes; I am very careful to avoid
A quarrel any how, with any body.
When I am tipsy, 'tis another thing:
But soberly I think the words of man
Should not be weigh'd against the life of man.
Egad, for my part I would sooner eat them.

SIR CHARLES.
Then you must eat them.

PLIANT.
Well, and so I will,
Give me but wine enough to wash 'em down.
Lord love you both! two of my dearest friends!
What harm could I intend to either of you?
The wine was in my head; I met Sir Charles;
Went home with him, and told him our discourse,
As a good joke:—But he, brim-full of honour,
Took it in dudgeon, brew'd it in his mind,
Bottled it up in secrecy, and stor'd it
Where it fermented,—whilst I fell asleep,
Unconscious of the folly I committed.
Now, my good lord, and sir, shake hands, I pray you;
And don't let a poor devil hang himself,
For doing mischief which he never meant.

LORD TRANSIT.
Sir Charles, how say you? For my part, I think
Friend Pliant's plea is irresistible.

SIR CHARLES.
I think so too, my lord; but as I see
A gentleman of the army has been present
At the discussion of this point of honour,
Let us refer it to his arbitration.

LORD TRANSIT.
With all my heart.

PLIANT.
Now, dear good sir, for once,
Though I don't know your name, take to your heart
A little harmless wholesome recollection;
And as you are a fine young hopeful cub
Of the old British lion, copy him,
Whose honest gallant heart abounds in mercy:
I'm at your feet. He always spares the fallen.
Odslife! how eloquent it makes a man,
When he is pleading to the heart of man!

SIR CHARLES.
Now, sir, we wait your judgment.

TREVOR.
'Twou'd be rash,
And ill becoming me, to interpose
My feeble judgment, were it not a case
Too plain for a mere novice to mistake.
I think Lord Transit shou'd assure sir Charles
There was no malice in the words he spoke;
And I am very certain there is due
A full apology from Mr. Pliant
To the Lord Transit, for a breach of trust.—
This being done, I see no cause for quarrel.

SIR CHARLES.
Fairly decided! All is past, and over:
All words that have been said, are done away;
All that should still be said, I will suppose
Are said; and so, good morning to your lordship.

[Exit.
PLIANT.
Now, that's too brief for me—I rather like
To make my exit with a handsome speech.
My good Lord Transit, I've a shallow head,
And a fool's tongue; but I've an honest heart!
And honestly I ask your lordship's pardon.
[Lord Transit gives his hand.]
Sir, I pray Heav'n no bullet may annoy you,
But that your enemies will let you live
To be a blessing to your friends, and sit
Content with glory, and replete with years,
A fine old prosing grave gray-headed General,
And fight your battles in your easy-chair.

[Exit.
Heartright enters.
TREVOR.
Your lordship will allow me now to leave you.

[Exit.
HEARTRIGHT.
The merchant will accommodate your lordship
About the interest due upon the mortgage.

LORD TRANSIT.
I scarce expected it.

HEARTRIGHT.
You'd no great right
To expect it, give me leave to say,
Seeing that merchant is your lady's father.
The rich old Russian Gallishoff is dead,
And has bequeath'd his wealth, a boundless mass,
To a plain, honest, well-deserving man,
The father of your lady, who is now
One of the richest heiresses in England.

LORD TRANSIT.
Then Providence has made its work complete.
Nature had giv'n her charms, Heav'n had endow'd
Her heart with charity; and Fortune now,
Who had withheld her boon, at length relents,
And largely recompenses past unkindness.

HEARTRIGHT.
If you've occasion for a sum of money
In making up your balance with the world;
And a few thousands can accommodate,
I have them for you. I have found a person
That lends on easy interest—nothing more
Than a demand upon your heart at sight.

LORD TRANSIT.
She has my heart, she has my full contrition
Unpurchas'd and sincere.—So tell your sender;
So tell my injur'd wife; and say withal,
This self-accusing scroll, in which she'll read
The anguish of my heart, and trace my tears,
Was dictated by conscience, by remorse,
By zeal to vindicate her spotless fame:
In this, when ign'rant of what now has chanc'd,
To raise the humble state in which I found her,
I give her all that I have power to give.

HEARTRIGHT.
Well, I will take your olive-branch in charge;
And may it prove the emblem of a peace
At length concluded 'twixt your heart and Heaven!

LORD TRANSIT.
I have receiv'd much good instruction from you,
And paid you hitherto with little else
But disappointment, sorrow, and vexation.
Now, from this moment you shall blush no more
For pains mispent, and kindness ill-applied.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A chamber in Fairford's house.
Dogherty enters.
DOGHERTY.
So, there's no fight at last! Well, let it go.
Some folks, I see, can quarrel without fighting;
My countrymen can fight without quarrel.
'Tis mighty neat and natural for a gentleman,
Who makes a pastime in that kind of sport,
And loses nothing when his life is lost;
But not quite so commodious for a lord,
Who occupies a castle,—not like those
Which some of my good friends build in the air,
But solid brick and stone on the dry ground.

Ruth enters.
RUTH.
Ah, Mr. Dogherty, wou'd you believe it?
My lady is gone out.

DOGHERTY.
I believe that,
Because I saw it.

RUTH.
Nay, but hear me out—
As sure as can be, she will make it up
With her false lord.—Were I so fine a lady,
Aye, and so rich withal, wou'd I do that?
No: I wou'd bring him down upon his knees,
That's what I wou'd; and so I tell my lady,
And so I say to every one.

DOGHERTY.
Stop there!
I wish to breathe a secret in your ear,
Which, if you blab it, shall remain a secret;
For I will never tell it you again.

RUTH.
Oh, Mr. Timothy, I am so happy
To hear you talk!

DOGHERTY.
Then you must hold your tongue.
Observe me now—There are two kinds of silence:
One is a silence that don't talk at all;
That's not your method—T'other is a way
To keep all folks from talking but yourself:
Now in that sort of silence you are perfect.

RUTH.
Well! I have done; I've done.

DOGHERTY.
Recollect then,
That damsels of the bed-chamber like you,
Who are a virgin (if I'm wrong, correct me),
Shou'd never prate about their lords and ladies.
It is not seemly—Shut your lips, sweet Ruth,
And don't be cackling to betray your nest.
There, there; that's all. Here's Mr. Heartright coming—
Good b'ye, sweet Ruth!

RUTH.
Ah, you're a cunning creature;
You twist and turn me just which way you will.

[Exit.
Heartright enters, meeting and stopping Dogherty.
HEARTRIGHT.
Where is your lady?

DOGHERTY.
Not at home just now.

HEARTRIGHT.
Gone out?

DOGHERTY.
You've hit upon it, worthy sir:
She is gone out, and therefore not at home.

HEARTRIGHT.
Is Fairford in the house?

DOGHERTY.
Aye is he; close
With that old Codicil, driving the quill
To separate these poor creatures from each other;
Which you know may be law, but is not gospel.

HEARTRIGHT.
I think of it as you do.

DOGHERTY.
To be sure.
'Tis strangulation to my lord at once;
And under favour, I'm not rightly sure
'Twou'd be quite wholesome in my lady's case.
And where's the use of battering their brains
For slight-of-hand tricks now, to slip the knot
That blessed Mother Church had tied too tight
For all their botheration to undo?

HEARTRIGHT.
Fear nothing, my good fellow: I'm persuaded
I have a weapon to defeat their purpose.

DOGHERTY.
You have indeed, if you've a stout shelelah
To carry with you into consultation.
It splits a difference in no time at all,
And beats all heads into the same opinion.

HEARTRIGHT.
I bear the olive, Tim, and not the sword.

DOGHERTY.
If you take one without the other, sir,
Ev'n tie the olive branch about your neck,
And ask the next stray friend to tuck you up.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

—An apartment in Lady Le Brun's house.
Lady Le Brun speaking to a Servant.
LADY LE BRUN.
When Lady Transit comes, you will admit her.
Take notice, I'm at home to no one else.
[Exit Servant.
Well, I protest I am so greatly taken
With my new character, I really think
I shall lay by my old one.—Sir, you play—
Madam, you deal—My lady, you have lost.
Ah! that's a dull tune, and has tir'd my ears;
I'll e'en leave them to sing it out, that like it.
Gaming! good b'ye! you never was my friend—
Prudence! your servant—Pretty miss, how prim
And proper you are dress'd! you wear deep tuckers,
And keep good hours—Well! I won't promise either.
But come, sweet Pity! whom I always lov'd,
Celestial Charity, whom I adore,
Come, ye kind Virtues, I am all your own!

Servant enters.
SERVANT.
The Lady Transit, madam.
[Exit Servant.

Lady Transit enters.
LADY LE BRUN.
My dear lady,
I'm honour'd by this visit. You seem faint;
My tedious stairs have tir'd you—Will you sit?

LADY TRANSIT.
You're very kind.
I'm sensible I can't conceal my weakness;
But I persuade myself that you can pity it.

LADY LE BRUN.
A woman to a woman needs not blush
To own her weakness; and perhaps there needs
No great sagacity to guess the cause.
Ah, madam, I am not without experience
How little trust can be repos'd in husbands,
And cou'd, if needful, tell as bad a tale
Of my good man, as you can do of yours.
We, who are wives, shou'd make it common cause:
Therefore confide in me; I sha'n't betray you.

LADY TRANSIT.
I was a girl obscurely, humbly bred,
And little grac'd with those attractive powers,
Which you possess, to charm the hearts of men,
And draw them back again if they attempt
To escape from your allurements.

LADY LE BRUN.
My dear lady,
I see that you mistake me, and are seeking
To find a by-path to an open heart.
Do me more justice, and believe for once
A woman of the world can be sincere.
Had I those fascinating charms you speak of
(Which, by the way, my glass could never show me),
I might perchance have sent a random glance
At some pert heartless coxcomb for my sport,
And teas'd him with a little cat-like play;
But to alarm the wife, allure the husband,
And do unholy mischief with my eyes,—
Sooner than that, I'd rather be a mole,
Condemn'd to grope in darkness all my life.

LADY TRANSIT.
Ah, now I see how much I am undone;
For if I hear you talk a little longer,
And see you smile, I shall acquit my husband.

LADY LE BRUN.
Aye; but I do not smile upon your husband;
And when I talk, 'tis only with a view
To talk him out of his absurdity.
The silly man, because I lost my money,
Thought I must be a loser every way.

LADY TRANSIT.
Then you have seen him?—

LADY LE BRUN.
Oh, yes, I have seen him,
And, till he married, saw him every where,
Prowling from place to place, and making eyes
At each stray miss—myself amongst the many.
He call'd it love. It made no way with me;
For my sage mother bade me set my cap
At none but marrying men. He was not that;
And now he is that, be assur'd his lordship
Is further off than ever.

LADY TRANSIT.
You console me.

LADY LE BRUN.
Ah! you may draw that consolation, madam,
From nineteen fellow-sufferers out of twenty.
I laugh my cares away; for ridicule
Puts melancholy down as it does pride.
Your lord is gone, as those sage persons go
Who hunt for butterflies,—on a short tour,
To seek about for what he'll never find.
Nay, more; I know he's jaded, sicken'd, sham'd
Out of his freak already.—Come to me
This afternoon, you'll see him at your feet.

LADY TRANSIT.
How can that be expected?

LADY LE BRUN.
I'll secure it.
I will apprise him he shall meet you here
And seal a peace—I'll answer for his coming.

LADY TRANSIT.
At what hour shall I come?

LADY LE BRUN.
At eight precisely.

LADY TRANSIT.
Is there no chance that I shall meet Sir Charles?

LADY LE BRUN.
Sir Charles is off, and whirl'd away as fast
As four lean post-horses can scour the road.
Yet, you are right to guard against that chance.
Sir Charles is mischievous, I fairly tell you;
And if a man of his aspiring sort
Once sets his foot though on the lowest streak
Of sly seduction's ladder, let the virtue
Which he assails beware. I ask your pardon:
I know this caution don't apply to you.

LADY TRANSIT.
In truth, it does not.

LADY LE BRUN.
Then you'll come this evening?

LADY TRANSIT.
Yes, I will come—I cannot, will not doubt her.

(Lady Le Brun rings the bell.)
LADY LE BRUN.
Who waits? Call up the Lady Transit's coach.

LADY TRANSIT.
Lady Le Brun, my fate is in your hands;
And I must hope, that one by Heav'n endow'd
With such sweet graces, such persuasive powers,
Would not employ them but to those good ends
For which they were bestow'd.

LADY LE BRUN.
No; I can mix
With a bad world, and be the friend of virtue:
Of course your friend—At eight I shall expect you.
Now where is that provoking creature Pliant?

[Exit Lady Transit.
Pliant enters to Lady Le Brun.
PLIANT.
Oh! here I am.

LADY LE BRUN.
Aye; you're a dear good soul!
I've tir'd your patience out.

PLIANT.
No; I am us'd to't.
Nobody lets me in till they've let out
All others, and are weary of themselves.
My whole life through has been a waiting job:
I've waited for preferment; it don't come:
I've waited for the death of a rich aunt;
The old girl is immortal: I have waited
For promises, for friendships, for the favours
Of the fair sex.—

LADY LE BRUN.
Aye, there you wait in vain.

PLIANT.
Well, but I look'd to have snapt a dainty widow:
Seven years her husband was a dying man.
He died at last: I staid her mourning out;
So did not she:—She married in six months.
I wait for every one; no one waits for me,
Except my creditors.

LADY LE BRUN.
Now, stop your tongue,
And listen to th'instructions I shall give you.
Find out Lord Transit—find him, do you mind me,
Let him be where he will; take no denial—
Be sure of that.

PLIANT.
I will, I will be sure.
I have a way of dealing with denials;
They don't daunt me—I'm too well us'd to them.

LADY LE BRUN.
Now you must tell him I have had a visit
From his afflicted lady.

PLIANT.
What afflicts her?
She's a fine woman—I should like to comfort her.

LADY LE BRUN.
Oh, thou tormenting wretch! I'll trust no message
To such a windmill-headed thing as thou'rt.
I'll write a letter—you can carry that.
Come, follow me—I'm going to my closet.

PLIANT.
Aye, so am I—I'm very fond of closets.

[Exeunt.