University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE.
A Gallery.
Enter Bellmour (pensive.)
Bellmour.
Why should I pause? nothing can be a crime
Which puts a stop to evil. A thousand men
May have been poor as I,—and yet liv'd happy!
Miseries we make ourselves, are borne with ease;
But he who beggars his posterity,
Begets a race to curse him!—every scorn,
Which wrings the soul of any future Bellmour,
Whom want shall pinch the bones of, ages hence,
Will mark, with shame, my unforgotten grave,
And reach my guilty soul, where e'er it wanders!
If to give misery to those, to whom
We once gave life, is an inhuman crime,
How can it be a sin to take life back,
And put an end to undeserved woe?
Oh!—did I feel no misery but my own,
How easy were it for this Sword to free me
From all that anguish, which embitters life?
But, when the Grave has given my sorrows rest,
Where shall my Wife and tender Babes find comfort?
Not all the virtues of Louisa's mind,
Nor e'en my pretty Prattlers' innocence,
Will shield them from unpitying Want's bleak storm!
Better, a thousand times, to lead them with me
Unto the peaceful mansion of cold death!
It shall be done!—but how? that asks some thought.—
From those dear, destin'd breasts, the pointed steel
Must draw no blood, to stain my blushing hand;
Left my soul start, and that seem cruelty,
Which I wou'd fain think pity.—Hark! Time presses.
[Loud knocking without.
What if I use th' unwounding aid of Poison?
I have at hand a sovereign remedy
For all diseases, want, and woe, can plague with;
'Twill blunt the edge of death, and, in sweet slumber,
Swim, soft and shadowy, o'er the misty eye-ball.

Enter Louisa.
Louisa.
Will you forgive me, if officious love,
That anxious pain I feel till you are safe,
Obtrude my zeal, perhaps a few short moments,
Before you would have wish'd to be disturb'd?
Yon Villains grow impatient for admission,
And scarce your Servants guard the gates against them;
Storms of bold oaths, and horrid imprecations,
Mix'd with loud thunderings, and the threats of Law,
Make my heart tremble, and have forc'd me hither:
Forc'd me to urge you, by all ties of love,
Of interest, honour, hope, and future bliss,
To fly this dangerous roof, and save us all.

Bellmour.
I thank thy gentle care.—It is resolv'd.
[Aside.
I have bethought me of the means to evade
The malice of my fortune.—'Twill be a journey,
A little longer than thy love could wish it;
Yet, not so far but we shall meet again.

Louisa.
Oh! be the distance wide as Pole from Pole,
Let me but follow thee, and I am blest.

Bellmour.
It shall be so, Louisa.

Louisa.
A thousand Angels
Spread their wings o'er thee, and protect thy steps.
Now thou art kind!—But, the dear little ones,
Shall they go too?

Bellmour.
All! all shall go!

Louisa.
Haste, then;
Let us begone: my bounding heart leaps joyful,
And I shall smile again.—But, ah me, Bellmour!
They are so young! so tender! is it possible
That they should travel with us?

Bellmour.
Moving innocence!
My strong heart bleeds within me at her accents.
[Aside.
A few short steps will lodge us in a place
[To her.
Of rest and safety.—We shall have leisure there
To weigh our future hopes, and seek fit means
To our wish'd end.—Courtney will soon return;
Said he not so?

Louisa.
He did, and we'll inform him
Of our new purpose, and begin our flight.
I'll make provision, such as best befits
Our haste, and our distresses.—

[Going.
Bellmour.
Stay, Louisa!
Those precious cordials, I so lately purchas'd,
Gave I to thee, or no?

Louisa.
You spoke of such,
But still forgot to give them to me; now
They're not worth memory.

Bellmour.
Nay, now most useful!
Their virtue is reported sovereign,
Against the body's toil, or mind's disturbance.

Louisa.
I would my Uncle were return'd to counsel us!
What can so long detain him? sure he's safe!

Bellmour.
Seek him, my love! whilst I the cordials find.
Now, King of Terrors! to prepare thy banquet! (aside.)


[Exit.
Louisa.
Oh, what a world of ruin has one vice,
Detested gaming! brought upon us all!
Bellmour, so honest, tender, mild, by nature;
Has that propensity made almost wicked!
Stripp'd of the means to satisfy just claims,
His harrow'd heart starts not at homicide;
And may destroy himself, his babes, and me!
All-gracious Heav'n! how will these mis'ries end?
I dare not hope! but thou art all-sufficient!
If more of evil yet o'er-hang this roof,
O, for my children's sake, just God! avert it!

[Exit.
Re-enter Bellmour.
Bellmour.
My baleful hand has mix'd the deadly draught!
To give it as a cordial—Give it! whom?
Start from thy burning orb, thou conscious Sun,
And chill thyself to ice at my black purpose.
Am I a Parent? a Protector! Lover!
Or has this Devil, that heaves about my heart,
Transform'd me to a fiend?—he has! he has!
Chain him, some angel, millions of fathoms, down;
Heap him with mountains, lest he rise again,
And in a husband's, and a father's breast,
Brew horrid murders!—I am myself once more.—
Now let cool Reason's undistracted search
Answer my bleeding soul, which dreadful ill
May best be borne by Nature? To leave our friends
To grinding sorrow, poverty, and scorn,
With sense of his not feeling any pain,
Who gave them all;—or, to quit life together,
And, wanting power to bless, make it some merit,
Not to leave curses to surviving innocence!
I'm mad again! Reason herself betrays me,
And whispers, that this last is tenderest,
And murder grows a mercy.—

Re-enter Louisa.
Louisa.
Found you the cordial?
Your little wanderers are ready dress'd
To act the pilgrim with us; perhaps 'twill aid
Their fainting spirits, yet untried in hardships:
Haste, love! and let's be gone.

Bellmour.
Oh! if one moment,
One short thought longer, she oppress me thus,
With melting, innocent talk, I shall grow soft,
Yield her to want, and live to be a beggar.

Louisa.
Still you are doubtful—

Bellmour.
No, I'm fix'd—Oh! Nature!
[Aside.
I left my closet open;—on a table,
In that gold cup, which was thy father's present,
On the last birth-day of our eldest boy,
Thoul't find the cordial.—I have tried 'em all,
And what seem'd fittest for the boys and thee,
Waits, in that cup, thy tasting.

Louisa.
Courtney stays long.—
All things are ready, and I wish him here.
Now for this boasted cordial.—

[Exit.
Bellmour.
Be firm, my heart!
Stop thy big beat! thaw! thaw this curdling blood,
That thro' my icy veins creeps cold as death,
And freezes in its passage!—Where is Louisa?
But a few moments, and she is no more!
Now! now the unsuspecting innocent
Lifts that last cup;—Now! now she tastes a draught,
That snatches her for ever from my sight,
And robs me of all comfort! Never more
Shall her sweet voice enchant me! Never more
Shall her soft eyes look fondly into mine,
And shine with swimming languor!
Open, engulph me, and conceal my shame,
Befriending Earth!—or, from thy yawning depth
Stream up a petrifying blast, to blot out memory,
Congeal my blood, and fix me here a statue!

Louisa
(without.)
My life! my Bellmour!

Bellmour.
Ha! 'tis her voice that calls me.
It sounded not reproachful.

Louisa
(without.)
Look, my Bellmour!
These little strugglers will not quit the cordial,
But sip it to the bottom.

Bellmour.
Torturing horror!

Enter Louisa, with an empty cup.
Louisa.
Why did'st not come, my Bellmour! and partake,
When twice I call'd you? 'Twould have been a scene
Of pleasure, to observe with how much eagerness
The little wranglers quarrell'd for the cup;
Which, having drunk of first, I brought to them.
I bid them taste it only; and told the prattlers
It was their father's present: but that word
Transported them to lift their pretty hands,
In love and duty; and to drain each drop.

Bellmour.
Furies tear me!—

Louisa.
Have I done aught amiss?
Did you not give permission they should taste it,
Ere they began the journey?

Bellmour.
Alas! Louisa!
A long, long journey is, indeed, begun;
But endless as eternity!—Thyself,
And those dear infants, are—poison'd by that cordial!

Louisa.
Poison'd, by thee! Thou say'st it but to try me!
If 'twere thy wish that I should die, thy love,
At least thy pity, would have giv'n some warning.
Death is a dreadful journey, and requires
Much length of preparation.

Bellmour.
By those charms,
Which I no more must gaze on, and be bless'd,
Thou can'st not live an hour!—a last, long sleep
Will steal, in cold advances, o'er thy beauties;
And those two beamy suns, whose rays dart thro' me,
Shall set in endless night!—Ev'n while we talk,
Th' eternal shade will rise at once between us,
And sever us for ever!

Louisa.
Dreadful contraction
Of that short span, which, at its longest stretch,
Was much too narrow to allow me scope,
To speak, or look, or think my love for thee!
What shall I say? a thousand tender thoughts
Struggle, at once, for vent.—I cannot speak—
Death is too hasty!—I have yet undone,
Unspoke, unthought, a thousand weighty things!
O, heaven! my little ones!—let me fly to them!
Have I so short a time to gaze upon them,
Yet ne'er must see them more! I cannot leave thee!
What shall I do?—O, bring my children hither;
Fly with them to my arms!—Dear, dying innocents!
O, Bellmour! Bellmour! why has this been done?

Bllmour.
That we might baffle woe, here die together,
And leave no beggars of our race behind us!
See! my Louisa! I have a faithful guide,
[Draws a dagger.
That will not let me lose thee.

[Attempts to stab himself.
Enter Courtney.
Courtney.
Hold thy rash hand!
[Wresting the dagger from him.
Nor to thy other crimes add Suicide!
He, thou thought'st slain by thy revengeful arm,
Accursed Bargrave! is borne hence alive,
But slightly wounded; tho' awhile he seem'd,
Through craft or cowardice, bereft of life.

Bellmour.
Has that dire villain 'scap'd! and shall my wife,
And tender innocents, O, God! be made
A sacrifice for all my load of guilt!

Courtney.
Nor are your wife and children sacrificed.
The hand of Heaven (howe'er, from mortal eyes
Obscur'd in clouds, it seems severe) is merciful!
Not thy three children, and thy wife, are fallen;
Nor shalt ev'n thou, whose meditated crimes
Deserve a signal vengeance, now be punish'd!

Louisa.
What mean you, Sir?

Bellmour.
Thou little know'st, alas! the certain means
I us'd for their destruction!

Courtney.
Then, trembling, mark the mazy paths of Providence!
Fearing, from late events, some dire mishap,
I trac'd your footsteps, as you sadly rang'd
The lonely Gallery; spied a late-fill'd Cup
Of deadly poison, (known by the vessel left,
Which had contain'd it) mingled with a rich draught,
For present use: I took it, secret, thence;
Refill'd the Cup with Cordials that remain'd,
Without the baneful mixture; stood conceal'd
To view what then might hap: Louisa came,
And snatch'd it thence; I follow'd her, unmark'd,
O'erjoy'd to have been the means to intercept
Her and her children's death.

Louisa.
Merciful Heaven!

[Louisa and Bellmour kneel, in adoration of, and gratitude to Heaven; then embrace their Uncle, and each other.]
Bellmour.
Angels surround thee, with unceasing vigilance;
[To Courtney.
And, for this friendship, ward off every evil!
Oh! I have err'd! but, henceforth, I am chang'd!

Courtney.
Now hear the rest; and Heav'n pronounce thee worthy of't!
By a young Kinsman, landed from a Ship,
That left her Consort scarce a day behind,
Woodly has heard, tho' mournful, happy news.
Your absent Brother, many years thought dead,
Returning, rich, from the remotest East,
Died but in sight of land; and has bequeath'd
His whole heap'd wealth to thee.

Bellmour.