University of Virginia Library

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.

Luke.
'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
To learn what Venture and his fellow debtors
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,
To lose my proper right. Your deed speaks for it.
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.
Yet hear me speak thus much in my defence:
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
Divided from them, is, that you are styl'd
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)
Will raise your reputation with good men?
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
Their sails with prosp'rous winds, and guard them from
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?

Sir Maurice.
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.

Sir Maurice.
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.