 | Riches : Or, The Wife And Brother |  |
24
ACT II.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in Sir John Traffic's House.Enter Sir John, Heartwell, and Edward Lacey.
Sir John.
This way, good gentlemen.—Who waits?
Enter Furbish.
Well, Furbish,
Where is your lady?
Furbish.
She is gone forth, Sir;
My lady Varnish call'd to give her notice
Of a great sale of Indian rarities,
Where all the quality will be assembled.
Sir John
(aside.)
Ever thus gadding, and consorting with
The vain and idle!—Tho' it may be better
Her interference should not interrupt us.
(To Furbish.)
Where are my daughters?
Furbish.
In their chamber, Sir.
Sir John.
Require them to come hither.
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(aside.)
As I live,
Two likely gentlemen—were they but lords—
Sir John.
Will you be pleas'd to call my daughters hither?
Furbish.
Yes, Sir.— (aside.)
Were I in my young ladies' place,
They should not ask me twice.
[Exit Furbish.
Sir John.
Well, gentlemen,
The absence of my lady will afford you
A freer opportunity to judge
How far my daughters merit your affections.
A father's fondness often may mislead him,
But I do think they are deserving of you.
Heartwell.
That's but a slender compliment, good Sir.
She, who can't merit praises far superior
To a comparison with my desert,
Were hardly worth the seeking,
E. Lacey.
Your fair daughters
Are treasures worthy of a king's ambition.
Sir John.
Why, they're good girls, and handsome too, I think;
A little spoilt, perhaps, by over fondness:
And as for fortune, you already know
What I can do for them.—But here they come.
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What think you now?
Heartwell.
That the reality
Surpasses all that expectation dar'd
To picture of perfection.
Sir John.
That is well.
Come hither, loves—these are the gentlemen
I told you of to-day.—Here, Master Heartwell,
And Master Lacey, pray ye know my daughters.
(To Maria and Eliza.)
Nay, draw not back—they are deserving of you.
Eliza.
Their presence, Sir, assures us they are so,
And in all courtesy they may expect
Such favour as becomes us to confer;
But, with observance of my lady's order,
They may not ask, nor can we grant them more.
E. Lacey.
Can such a sentence come from lips like those
Which Nature form'd so lovely?—Can disdain
Glance from those eyes where ambush'd cupids lurk?
Ah! kill not thus the rising hope which cheers
A heart already gone an age in love!
Eliza.
Were I to let you cherish idle hopes,
I might deserve reproach. My father knows
What I have said is true.
Sir John.
Aye, aye, I know it,
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My lady has ta'en up, that nought beneath
Nobility, shall aim at our alliance.
Heartwell.
I can respect nobility as much
As her good ladyship; but know no cause
Why a plain honest gentleman should scruple
To aim at a fair lady, tho' his 'scutcheon
Boast not a coronet.— (To Maria)
If I may trust
Th' intelligence of that sweet countenance,
You'll not confirm this tyrannous decree.
Maria.
I pray you spare me, Sir. My lady's will
Leaves us no choice. Our duty is obedience.
Sir John.
Come, say no more; this def'rence is mistim'd.
I find I have been wanting to myself
In giving thus the way to idle fancies.
'Tis time to curb them now.— (To Heartwell and Edward.)
Be of good courage:
I will stand by you.
Maria.
Ah, Sir! so you say;
But when my lady comes, perhaps—
Sir John.
What then?
Shall I be govern'd in a case like this?
These are two noble gentlemen, whose wealth
And character are known, and whose alliance
Does us all honour.—Nay, you'll find them so.
I sanction their pretensions. Master Heartwell,
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Speak for yourselves, and boldly urge your suit.
You've my full licence.
Maria.
Nay, Sir, since you please,
We must not disobey you. But remember,
'Tis your own doing; you must not desert us.
Sir John.
Well, well, depend on me. Here, gentlemen,
You'll have no interruption. Take their hands,
Plead well your cause, and Heaven prosper you.
I'm call'd away upon some urgent bus'ness;
But you can do without me.—So, that's well—
Gain but their hearts, and I'll secure the rest.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Sir John's Counting House.Enter Sir Maurice, Lacey and Luke.
Luke.
Here, in this chamber, if it please your honour,
You may conceal yourself, and overhear
What passes 'twixt my brother and those persons
Of whom I told you.
Sir Maurice.
Thanks, good Master Luke:
This care for his good name shews nobly in you.
I do respect you for it.
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'Tis no more
Than I am bound to do. But stay not thus;
Take heed he do not see you, Sir.—
[Sir Maurice retires.
Enter Sir John.
Kind brother!
To whose blest liberality I owe
My freedom, my support—
Sir John.
No more of this.
So thou prov'st worthy of my favour, Luke,
I never shall repent the good I've done thee:
But thou hast still a long account to settle,
A vast arrear of follies to bring up,
Ere I can hold thee in my confidence.
'Tis not a shew of sorrow, nor professions
Of deep regret for errors that undid thee,
That can efface their characters. I hope,
And would indeed believe, thou art sincere.
Luke.
Alas! what other means have I to prove
My true repentance and my change of life,
But those professions and that shew of sorrow,
Unless it be obedience to your will,
And zeal to serve you? For what else am I
But your poor creature, servant to your pleasure,
Most bound to you in ev'ry act of life,
And living only for your gracious service,
And that of your dear lady and fair daughters?
Sir John.
Prove this, but speak it not. I am come here
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Can urge to stay the process of the law.
Bid them approach.
Luke.
I do obey you, Sir.
[Exit Luke:
Sir John.
He may be what he seems: there are examples
Of thorough reformation brought about
By the correction of adversity;
But they are rare: the seeds by nature planted
Take a deep root i' th' soil, and tho' for a time
The trenchant share and tearing harrow may
Sweep all appearance of them from the surface,
Yet, with the first warm rains of spring, they'll shoot,
And with their rankness smother the good grain.
Heav'n grant it may'nt be so with him!
Enter Luke, Venture, Risk, and Penury.
Luke.
Here are
Your humble suitors, Sir, to wait upon you.
Sir John.
What would you have me do? (To Luke)
Give me a chair. (Sits.)
Risk.
Be pleas'd, Sir, to consider my hard case.
My land is mortgag'd for a third of it's value:
I had no more. Pray give me longer day.
Sir John.
I know no obligation lies on me,
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How much owes Penury?
Luke.
Six hundred pounds.
His bond too is grown forfeit.
Sir John.
Is it sued?
Luke.
Yes, Sir, and execution out against him.
Sir John.
See it serv'd.
Penury.
I am undone! My wife and family
Must starve for want of bread.
Sir John.
What's Venture's debt?
Luke.
Two thousand, Sir.
Sir John.
Two thousand? an estate
For a good man. You were the glorious trader,
Embrac'd all bargains, the main venturer
In ev'ry ship that launch'd forth. Tell me, Sir,
How was this sum employ'd?
Venture.
Insult me not
On my calamity; tho' being a debtor,
And slave to him that lends, I must endure it.
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Losses at sea, and those, Sir, great and many,
By storms and pirates, not domestic riot,
Have brought me to this low ebb.
Sir John.
Storms and pirates!
The cant of fraudulent insolvency!
Look you, I must and will, Sir, have my money.
Venture.
I'm in your power, and you must do your pleasure.
Luke.
Not as a brother, Sir, but with such duty
As I should use unto a father, since
Your charity is my parent, give me leave
To speak my thoughts.
Sir John.
What would you say?
Luke.
No word, Sir,
I hope shall give offence: nor let it relish
Of flattery, tho' I proclaim aloud,
I glory in the bravery of your mind,
To which your wealth's a servant. Not that riches
Are or should be contemn'd, they being a blessing
Deriv'd from Heav'n, and by your industry
Pull'd down upon you. But in this, dear Sir,
You have many equals: such a man's possessions
Extend as far as your's; a second hath
His bags as full; a third in credit flies
As high in the popular voice: but the distinction
And noble difference, by which you are
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Gentle in your abundance, good in plenty,
And that you feel compassion in your bowels
Of other's miseries, (I have found it, Sir,
Heav'n keep me thankful for't) while they are curs'd
As rigid and inexorable.
Sir John.
I delight not
To hear this spoken.
Luke.
That shall not aggrieve you.
Your affability and mildness, cloath'd
In the pure garment of your debtors' breath,
Shall ev'ry where, tho' you strive to conceal it,
Be seen and wonder'd at, and in the act
With prodigal hand rewarded: whereas such
As are born only for themselves, and live so,
Tho' prosperous in worldly understandings,
Are but like beasts of rapine, that, by odds
Of strength, usurp and tyrannize o'er others,
Brought under their subjection.
Sir Maurice,
(listening.)
That was well:
He puts it to him home.
Luke.
Can you think, Sir,
In your unquestion'd wisdom, I beseech you,
The goods of this poor man sold at an auction,
His wife turn'd out of doors, his children forc'd
To beg their bread—this gentleman's estate
Thus harshly taken, can advantage you?
Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant,
(For such he was esteem'd, tho' now decay'd)
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But you may urge—pray pardon me, my zeal
Makes me thus bold and vehement—in this
You satisfy your anger and revenge,
On those who wrong you. Grant this: it will not
Repair your loss; and there was never yet
But shame and scandal in a victory,
When passion, rebel unto reason, fought it.
Then for revenge: by great souls it was ever
Contemn'd, tho' offer'd, entertain'd by none
But cowards, base and abject spirits, strangers
To moral honesty, and never yet
Acquainted with religion.
Sir Maurice,
(listening.)
How he speaks!
He has won my heart for ever.
Sir John.
Shall I be talk'd
Out of my money?
Luke.
No, Sir, but intreated
To do yourself a benefit, and preserve
What you possess entire.
Sir John.
How, my good brother?
Luke.
By making these your beadsmen. When they eat,
Their thanks, next Heav'n, will be paid to your mercy;
When your ships are at sea, their pray'rs will swell
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Tempests and quicksands; keep your warehouses
From fire, or quench them with their tears—
Sir John.
No more.
Luke.
Write you a good man in the people's hearts,
Follow you ev'ry where—
Sir John.
If this could be—
Luke.
It must, or our devotions are but words.
I see a gentle promise in your eye;
Make it a blessed act, and poor me rich
In being the instrument.
Sir John
(rising.)
You have prevail'd.
Give them more time. But d'ye hear, no talk on't.
Should this arrive at noon on the Exchange,
I shall be laugh'd at for my foolish pity.
Take your own time; I'll not be hard upon you—
I know what you would say—there is no need—
Go—drink a cup, and thank your orator.
Luke.
I will attend upon you.
[Exeunt Luke, Venture, Risk, and Penury.
Sir Maurice advances.
Sir John.
What, Sir Maurice!
Whence come you thus o' th' sudden?
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I must crave
Forgiveness for the freedom I have taken
To overhear your conference with those,
Whose heavy hearts are lighten'd by your goodness.
Sir John.
You heard all then?
Sir Maurice.
I did; your kind forbearance,
And your good brother's eloquent appeal
To your best feelings.
Sir John.
His discourse was shrewd,
And mainly to the purpose.
Sir Maurice.
'Twas divine,
And breath'd a spirit so attun'd to mercy,
I wonder, good Sir John, his qualities
Are so pass'd over, that you keep him as
A parasite at your table, subject to
The scorn of your proud wife, an underling
To his own nieces.
Sir John.
Sir, I have good reason
For what I do. First, he had a fair estate,
Which his loose riots quickly brought to nothing.
This argues ill, you'll own. Next, I've done much
For him already; when for heavy debt
He was in prison, of all else forsaken,
And in his own hopes lost, I did redeem him.
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It was well done of you; exceeding well.
Sir John.
I hope it was; but I would first be sure
He does deserve it, ere I do more for him.
His nature was not always what it seems;
And virtue, suddenly assum'd, is oft
A cloak to cover much depratviy.
Sir Maurice.
You surely do him wrong.
Sir John.
Time may afford us
An opportunity to know the truth.
But we must to our suitors. To speak plainly,
I have my doubts of their reception.
Nothing, below nobility, can suit
My wife's ambition; and, when she is cross'd,
She's apt to give full rein to her displeasure.
Sir Maurice.
I marvel much, Sir John, you should give way
To female governance: methinks 'twere well
Were you to curb a petulance, that springs
From your too great indulgence.
Sir John.
'Tis more easy
To give good council, than to follow it.
Sir, there are secrets in all families,
Of which the least we say perhaps the better.
But now my mind is fixed upon these matches,
And you shall see I can be firm, Sir Maurice!
[Exeunt.
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SCENE III.
Another Apartment in Sir John's House.Enter Maria, Eliza, Heartwell, and Edward Lacey.
E. Lacey.
What can we say to move you to compliance?
Will you, like coy princesses in romance,
Treat us like errant knights, and send us forth
To seek adventures, and to bring home trophies
In honour of your beauty?
Eliza.
We have told you
The spell which is impos'd upon ourselves.
If you can break the talisman that guards us,
You may succeed; if not, your hopes are lost.
Heartwell.
Why what a strange Urganda is this lady,
Who throws up her intrenchments thus around you,
To keep off honest-hearted gentlemen,
Who would redeem you from such slavish thraldom,
And shew you as you are, Nature's perfection!
But, if I'm fated to encounter dragons,
Let me confront them speedily.
Maria.
Beware—
Your enterprize, perhaps, may not prove easy.
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I'm not so readily to be alarm'd.
Place danger on one hand, and you on th' other,
And see if I shall flinch.
Maria.
Give over—hush—
My mother is return'd, I hear her coming.
Enter Lady Traffic.
Lady Traffic.
So, you have got your gentlemen, I see.
Maria.
This, Ma'am, is Master Heartwell, and this other
Sir Maurice Lacy's eldest son and heir.
Lady Traffic.
Well, Sirs, instruct me what are your commands.
Heartwell.
With the respect it suits you to receive,
And us to pay you, I will speak our purpose.
As good Sir John hath told you who we are,
What are our means, and how we are dispos'd
To make a fitting settlement on her
Whom love and fortune may bestow on us,
We crave your gracious leave to urge our suit.
It were presumption to decide between them;
Both are alike so fair and so endow'd
With every charm to captivate and keep
Affection, that, like Paris, when he held
'Midst rival goddesses the prize of beauty,
My wand'ring eye scarce knows on which to fix.
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And here, so please you, Madam, I choose mine.—
(Takes Maria's hand.)
E. Lacey.
(to Eliza.)
When on this hand I bow , and sue for favour,
'Tis not because another has preferr'd
Your lovely sister. Had I felt for her
What I now feel for you, no power on earth
Had forc'd me to surrender her; but when
I gaze upon your beauties, hear your voice,
See that enchanting smile—Forgive me, fair one,
If my fond hopes mislead me—I profess
Myself your willing slave, and on your sentence
Rest all my future views of happiness.
What says my lovely judge?
Lady Traffic.
I'll answer for them:
They speak and act but as I please they should.
E. Lacey.
How well then, Madam, must they act and speak?
Lady Traffic.
That's not ill said; but truce with compliments:
You'll find that more than words are wanting.
E. Lacey.
Madam,
Methinks we have already giv'n you more.
What is't you'd have? We have profess'd ourselves
Ready to make substantial settlements,
Proportion'd to their fortunes.
Lady Traffic.
'Psha! a trifle!
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Our heirs, I fear me, will not find it so,
When they're oblig'd to pay it.
E. Lacey.
Come, good Madam,
Do not thus keep us in suspense.
Lady Traffic
(to E. Lacey.)
I think
Your father is a merchant.
E. Lacey.
Aye, a brave one,
Equal to any known on the Exchange.
Lady Traffic.
—(To Heartwell.)
And you, Sir, what do you call yourself?
Heartwell.
A man!
An honest man, a country gentleman.
Lady Traffic.
Stand forth, thou citizen! and farmer, thou!
(To E. Lacey.)
Think'st thou, because thy father in a bargain
Can circumvent a broker,
Thou art worthy
To match thee with my daughter?— (To Heartwell.)
Or think you,
Because you feed fat cattle in your marshes,
And know the price of corn, how much per bushel,
That all this qualifies you to aspire
To be my son-in-law.
Heartwell.
Aye, to be more,
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Ungracious lady! of your country's honour,
An English freeholder? I boast that title,
And would not for a foreign dukedom change it.
Lady Traffic.
Keep it, and welcome; but of this be sure,
'Till you can boast a rank more dignified
You are not for my daughter.
E. Lacey.
Nay, good Madam—
Lady Traffic.
You know my mind. What more have you to say?
Heartwell.
Faith! Madam, little, but that we came here
By the permission of Sir John himself,
Whose sanction is sufficient for our license.
Lady Traffiic.
You'll find it otherwise. Sir John', indeed
This is a case, Sir, give me leave to tell you,
Where I by special privilege may challenge
A casting voice; and I will have it too.
Heartwell.
As by Heav'n's grace, and this fair creature's favour,
I trust to call you lady mother shortly,
I'll not dispute that with you.— (To Maria.)
Say, my fair one,
Will you disdain an honest man's affection?
Lady Traffic.
I do command her silence.— (To Maria.)
Come here, girl.
(To Heartwell.)
Let go her hand.— (To Lacey.)
And you too, saucy Sir—
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Nay, Madam, this is wrong. Give us fair play—
Lady Traffic
(to Maria and Eliza.)
Come here, I tell you both—loosen their hands—
Enter Sir John and Sir Maurice.
Sir John.
Hey day! What's all this stir?
Lady Traffic.
Do you bring plebeians,
To mix their puddle with a stream like that
Which flows within these veins?
Sir John.
Patience, good Meg!
Why sure thou dost forget thyself, my love!
Thy father was a worthy fishmonger,
And liv'd in Lothbury—thy mother was—
Lady Traffic.
I'll not demean myself to answer you;
But, if you stir a step, Sir—
Sir John.
Come, my Molly,
And you too, Bess!—What say you?—Speak, my girls.
Maria.
I scarce can venture, Sir, to speak my mind,
Or I should say—
Lady Traffic.
I charge you to be silent.
Eliza.
Sir, with a maiden's diffidence, I may
Presume to tell you—
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You must talk too, must you?
Sir John.
Why, won't you let the girl's speak?
Lady Traffic.
No, I won't.
Sir John.
What's here to do? Is this becoming treatment
For gentlemen like these, my worthy friends,
Who honour us by seeking our alliance?
Lady Traffic.
They may be friends of your's, for ought I care,
But they are not fit suitors for your daughters.
And as for you, Sir John—
Sir John.
Nay, nay, no more—
Hear what I say—
Lady Traffic.
I will not hear a word.
I've heard too much already. You and they
May carry on your projects as you please,
But 'tis full time that I should have my way.
(To Maria and Eliza.)
Come here, both of you.—
(To Heartwell and Edward.)
You have had your answer.
And you, Sir, your's. We'll see who governs here!
(To Maria and Eliza.)
There, get you out. Sir John! if you presume
To take a single step without my license,
I'll make you know both who and what I am, Sir!
[Exeunt Lady Traffic, Maria, and Eliza.
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I'd rather stand upon the bleakest summit
Of our bare wolds in a December's night,
Wrapt in a wet sheet, than again encounter
Such a virago! Farewell, good Sir John!
Your daughter is an angel, but your wife—
I give you joy of her!
[Exit Heartwell.
E. Lacey.
I hop'd to find
In your alliance happiness and honor.
Your daughter, Sir, is all my fondest hope
Could picture of perfection; but her mother—
I spare you more reflections—on my soul
I pity you, Sir John! I do indeed;
Nay, all the world must pity you.—Farewell!
[Exit Edward Lacey.
(Sir John and Sir Maurice stand looking dolefully at each other. After a pause,)
Sir Maurice.
Sir John!
Sir John.
Sir Maurice!
Sir Maurice.
Our affairs, methinks,
Go bravely on. There's in your lady's manner
Something so soft, so mild, so captivating—
I'll warrant me, that your reflections too
Must be prodigiously amusing to you.
Sir John.
Spare me, my friend; the ulcer in my heart
Should not be prob'd so roughly. I'm asham'd
To think how far my weakness for that woman
Has led me to give up my rightful claim
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Which riots in our blood, and undermines
The source of life, oft brings on its own crisis,
So shall my very shame work its own cure.
Sir Maurice.
That's well resolv'd. But how?
Sir John.
Give me a moment—
You think my brother Luke a worthy man?
Sir Maurice.
I'm sure he's such.
Sir John.
Deserving confidence?
Sir Maurice.
Why ask you this?
Sir John.
I have my reasons for it.
Well, well; I'll think him so, and as such trust him.
Sir Maurice.
To what intent, I pray?
Sir John.
I'll tell you shortly.
Let's to the fields, and taste the air awhile.
I want a sedative, to calm the choler
Which clouds my better judgment. Good Sir Maurice,
The time is come, when my proud wife shall learn
A lesson, strong enough to teach her wisdom.
[Exeunt.
END OF ACT II.
| Riches : Or, The Wife And Brother | |