 | Riches : Or, The Wife And Brother |  |
47
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The Garden of Sir Maurice Lacey.Enter Sir John and Sir Maurice.
Sir John.
Now we are private, give me leave, my friend,
To unburthen my sad heart. The scene you have witness'd
Is but a sample of the violence
That robs me of all peace and happiness.
I find that I have held too lax a rein,
And by indulgence foster'd a proud spirit,
Which now disdains all governance.
Sir Maurice.
'Tis well
You think so. Knowledge of an evil
Oft helps one to it's cure.
Sir John.
Give me your patience.
This evil now is grown exorbitant,
And calls for instant remedy. I've thought
Of one, which haply may succeed.
Sir Maurice.
Go on.
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Why this, in short, it is. As by indulgence
This insolence has risen to it's height,
So, by experience of adversity,
It may be curb'd. Now, Sir, I have conceiv'd
The means of doing this.
Sir Maurice.
I long to hear it.
Sir John.
Wealth, and the authority which follows it,
Have wrought upon my stubborn lady's pride,
'Till she forgets herself, and what she owes
Both to herself and me. My purpose is,
By a strong unexpected stroke to cast her
From the high pinnacle of vanity,
Into apparent ruin and dependence.
Sir Maurice.
But how may this be done?
Sir John.
I mean to tell you.
Your good opinion of my brother Luke
Hath led him to make him mine instrument,
I shall require your succour too, Sir Maurice.
Sir Maurice.
'Tis at your service in so good a cause.
Sir John.
I must remain secreted in your house.
While you report to my ungracious wife
The unexpected tidings of my death.
Sir Maurice.
Are you in earnest?
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Not to die, believe me,
But to be thought dead. You must bear my will,
Whereby I give the total of my substance
To Luke—
Sir Maurice.
I see it all—'tis excellent.
Sir John.
Remember,
You must put on a melancholy air.
And, as you tell of my disastrous fate,
Sigh dismally, and if you can, squeeze out
A tear or two—
Sir Maurice.
Leave me to act my part:
I'll do it to the life.—Odso! your will—
Where is't?
Sir John.
It shall be drawn for you forthwith;
And here's my secret key o' the counting-house.
When you produce them, see you mark th' effect
They have upon my brother and my wife.
I only fear it may o'erpower her!
There is a tenderness in woman's nature—
Sir Maurice.
I warrant her; her feelings may be trusted.
You ought to know her better. Her proud spirit
Wants a corrective, and she'll have one now.
Some sudden strong revulsion is requir'd
To moderate her hot temperament.
Trust me, my friend, both she and you hereafter
Will be the better for it.
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Turn as it will,
One of my purposes must be fulfill'd.
If Luke be such as you conceive he is,
If he can bear prosperity as well
As he hath stood the shock of adverse fortune,
I gain a treasure in him: if he fail,
And change of circumstances only serve
To bring his evil nature into action,
A short dependence on his tyranny
Will prove a lesson, not to be forgotten
When the delusion's past.
Sir Maurice.
Howe'er that prove,
I feel assur'd your brother will be found
Such as I think he is.
Sir John.
Heav'n grant he may!
I loath suspicion: 'tis a fiend that preys
Upon the nobler virtues of the heart,
And by it's morbid touch converts them all
To gall and mortal poison. Prove him well,
I pray you; mark his change of countenance
When first he hears your tidings—probe his soul—
Sir Maurice.
Enough—leave it to me. But come—time presses—
I must set out upon mine embassy.
See you keep close; let no one know you're here.
Sir John.
Away then! may success attend upon you!
My happiness depends on your report.
[Exeunt.
51
SCENE II.
Sir John's Counting-house.Enter Invoice, Ledger, and Holdfast.
Holdfast.
The like was never seen!
Invoice.
Why in this rage, man?
Holdfast.
You may talk of country christmasses, or treats
Giv'n at elections, where the tables groan
With haunches of fat ven'son, beef and pudding,
And gluttons, cramm'd to surfeit, with their teeth
Dig their own graves; or you may tell, an you will
Of Roman luxury, or modern French,
Yet what were they, compar'd with this of our's?
Ledger.
What's all this noise about?
Holdfast.
Would'st thou believe?
I tell thee, Master Ledger—s'life! it maddens me
To think on such excess—some hungry devil
Has whisper'd in my rampant lady's ear,
And taught her how to squander! Such profusion,
As in the bill of fare she has deliver'd
For one day's meal!
Invoice.
What is all this to thee?
Thou'rt not to pay for it.
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What's worst of all,
When I objected to th' expence, my lady
Call'd me penurious rascal, and advis'd me
To mind my own concerns.
Invoice.
She counsell'd rightly.
Holdfast.
Well, let her take her swing: I care not for't.
Three dinners such would break an alderman.
I'll have no hand in't. I'll make up my accounts,
And, since my master longs to be undone,
'Tis his concern, not mine.
[Exit Holdfast.
Ledger.
That is a maxim,
To which I don't subscribe; for, if my master
Is in the way to ruin, 'tis the part
Of a true servant to promote his wishes.
The work is soonest done, when many join.
Invoice.
That's true. Suppose we lend a helping hand?
Could we contrive to compass without danger
Such a small trifle as a thousand pounds—
Ledger.
'Twould set us up again.
Invoice.
It would do so.
But how? there lies the point—oh! Master Luke.
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Luke.
So, still at work; ever intent upon
Your master's interest.
Ledger.
True, most noble Luke;
Like trusty servitors, we were reflecting
On the connection that subsists between
His int'rests and our own.
Invoice.
We were debating
A case of conscience. Honest Master Luke,
Since my return, I've heard of your reverses,
The drudgery they put you to, the scorn
Wherewith they treat you. I remember, once
You were a knowing one, could take the odds,
And at a few cool hundreds aims so surely,
You seldom miss'd your mark.
Luke.
Talk not of that:
I'm now an alter'd man.
Ledger.
Alter'd? In what?
Your means indeed are less, but you are still
The same kind-natur'd, noble soul.—What think you?
Were a good friend to put you in the road
To be reveng'd of fortune—What would'st say?
Luke.
I'm poor, and therefore I would not object
Once more to make experiment of wealth.
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Ledger.
Well, Sir—to put a case—were such a friend
To shew that you might gain, not only wealth,
But independence, would you thank him for it?
Luke.
I should account him a good friend indeed.
Ledger.
I guess'd you'd say so.—Well, such friend am I.
Luke.
You are passing kind.
Ledger.
I am. Give me your hand.
I do compassionate your fallen state,
And, were I sure I could confide in thee,
I could impart a secret.
Luke
(aside).
What means this?
I must know more. (To Ledger)
Confide in me, do'st say?
I would not wish to worm your secret from you,
But as for confidence—
Invoice,
(to Ledger).
Tell him at once.
I know him well of old. He'll do for us.
Ledger.
Well, Master Luke, I'll tell thee. We were thinking,
Wert thou consenting, how we might devise
Means to replenish our exhausted pockets.
We all are poor; our master hath abundance;
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What say'st thou to it? Could'st thou not suggest
Some efficacious plan?
Luke.
Has't thou not serv'd
Almost thy stated term? (To Invoice)
And hast thou traded
To farther India, thus to ask me counsel?
Go to some other, more expert to treat
These subtle practices! I've met with those
Can do it well; nay, I have heard them speak
Such marvels, as would put Autolycus
And Mercury his father to the blush,
So far did they outdo them in contrivance.
Invoice.
What was't they said?
Luke.
I'll tell you that anon.
First I would know if you've no means o' your own
To compass this brave enterprize: I warrant
You have not liv'd so long without a trial.
Ledger.
Why, now and then we have made free a little.
I'll tell you how we do. We cash-keepers
Hold correspondence, and supply each other
Whene'er we want. I borrow for a week
Two hundred pounds of one, as much of a second,
A third lays down the rest; and, when they want,
As my master's cash comes in, I do repay it.
Luke.
You do! that is an excellent device.
When you have this, why should you wish for others?
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The pitcher may too oft—you know the proverb
There's an arrear of near five hundred pounds
Stares me i' th' face. I needs must wipe it out
By some bold stroke.
Invoice.
And I too must replace
Some cash I borrow'd from my master's stock,
For a curs'd speculation that deceiv'd me.
He will be settling my account ere long.
Ledger.
Besides all this, we want some present monies,
For our occasions: if you'll join with us,
You shall have share—
Furbish
(without).
Why Luke! Where are you, Luke!
Luke.
I'm called for.
Furbish
(without).
Luke! I say, my lady wants you!
Luke.
I must begone.
Ledger.
When shall we meet again?
Luke.
Immediately. (aside)
A precious couple truly!
[Exeunt.
57
SCENE III.
Lady Traffic's Apartment.Luke and Furbish meet.
Furbish.
So! You are come at last. Do you suppose
I've nought to do, but follow, and wait on
Your leisure, Sirrah?
Luke.
Truly I made haste.
Furbish.
Yes, as a snail does; but, I warrant me,
You can run fast enough, when dinner calls you.
You're never tardy then. Were I my lady
I'd keep no sturdy varlet to indulge
In sloth and idleness, when he might work,
Were he ten times my husband's brother.
Luke.
Nay,
I pray your patience, gentle Mrs. Furbish,
I mean not to offend. What is't you want?
Furbish.
It is my lady wants you. See you stir not
'Till she come here.
[Exit Furbish.
Luke.
I know my duty better.
Heav'ns! can I bear to be thus trampled on,
To meet with greater contumely than
The beggar, who implores the paltry dole
Of the way-faring traveller, or sues
For offals to appease his rav'ning hunger?
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All that their bitter'st scorn can load me with.
Those, who thro' accident or weakness fall,
May merit men's compassion; but that I,
Who knew profuseness of expence the parent
Of wretched poverty, that I should waste
My substance, and reduce myself to live on
The alms of others, steering on a rock
I might have shunn'd!
Enter Lady Traffic.
Lady Traffic.
So, Sir, where is Sir John?
Luke.
Alas! I know not, madam.
Lady Traffic.
'Twould become you
T' attend him, Sir, and not to linger thus
Idling about the house, eating and drinking—
Luke.
I would have done so, but, when he went hence,
He did forbid me.
Lady Traffic.
Who comes here? Sir Maurice!
Enter Sir Maurice.
Luke.
Know you, Sir, where Sir John—
Lady Traffic.
Stand farther off!
You're no companion for him, and his bus'ness
Aims not at you, I think.
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I'm silenc'd, Madam!
(aside)
Must I bear this too!
Sir Maurice.
What I have to say
This gentleman may very fitly hear.
Stand forward, Master Luke!
Lady Traffic.
What mean you, Sir?
Know you not who he is? Begone, I say!
Sir Maurice.
Stay, Sir—I know both who and what he is,
Which you as yet are ignorant of. Nay, Madam,
Frown not, nor let your angry bosom swell
With insolent contempt. I have a tale,
Which I am griev'd it falls to me to tell,
Will make you change your tone. Would I were spar'd
The dreadful task I now must execute!
Poor Sir John, Madam!
Lady Traffic.
What of him?
Sir Maurice.
Is gone!
Lady Traffic.
Gone? Where?—so suddenly—without a notice—
Sir Maurice.
Aye, Madam, gone to where we all must follow.
'Tis indeed dreadful—but the truth must out—
He's—
Lady Traffic.
Speak, nor keep me in suspence—
60
He's dead!
Lady Traffic.
Dead, say you, Sir! oh!
Sir Maurice.
Be compos'd, I pray,
And give me your attention. 'Twill behove you.
Your conduct, Madam—I must speak strong truths,
Work'd on him so, as to o'ercome his reason,
And drove him to the doing of an act,
Which, when once done, can never be recall'd.
This morning—but I spare you the recital—
This morn they bore his body to my house,
Where, as he went upon his desp'rate errand,
He left this instrument. It is his will.
Lady Traffic.
Oh, worthy Sir! your words have pierced my heart.
My conduct caused this fatal act! alas!
To what hath it reduc'd me.
Sir Maurice.
What indeed!
'Tis too late now to remedy your faults,
Or for him to forgive them. This small paper
Contains your doom. By it, his whole estate
In lands, and leases, debts, and present monies,
With all the moveables he stood possess'd of,
Are pass'd o'er to his brother.
[Gives the will to Luke.
Luke.
How! to me?
Sir Maurice.
Aye, Sir, to you alone. You're now the owner
Of this fair mansion, and of all the wealth
61
The key of 's counting-house.
Lady Traffic.
Have I no part?
I and my daughters, are we quite cut off?
Is nothing left for our provision?
Sir Maurice.
Nothing—
Save what this gentleman, in his free bounty,
And from his gen'rous nature, may bestow.
Luke
(aside).
Humph!
Sir Maurice.
He, I know, is pitiful. Humility
From him may gain remission, and perhaps
Forgiveness of your former usage.
Luke
(aside).
So!
Sir Maurice.
Enjoy your own, good Sir; you'll find it ample.
But use it with due rev'rence. I once heard you
Speak most divinely in the opposition
Of a revengeful humour: shew it to her,
And those who then depended on the mercy
Of your late brother, now at your devotion;
And thus confirm the opinion I held of you,
Of which I am most confident.
Luke.
I pray you
Give me some time. This sudden change of fortune
Might overturn a sounder judgment.
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Sir,
I do confess my conduct has been such,
As scarcely I can justify, or you
Perhaps forgive. Nay, turn not from me, Sir;
I do confess my errors, and thus lowly
Bend for your pardon.
Luke.
Madam, pray you rise,
And rise with this assurance, if I'm chang'd
In any thing, 'tis only in my power.
This heap of wealth, Sir, which you bring to me
I feel a weighty burthen.
Lady Traffic.
You shall have
My best assistance, if you please to use it,
To help you to support it.
Luke.
By no means:
The weight of it shall rather sink me, than you part
With one short minute from those lawful pleasures
Which you've a right to, in your care to aid me.
Whate'er the penalty, I must endure it,
But as to it's exercise—
Sir Maurice.
Yet take good heed, Sir,
You suffer not your generosity
To ruin what he rais'd—
Lady Traffic.
And we fall from
That height we have maintain'd.
Luke.
You little guess
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'Till now an abject creature, and apportion'd
Your treatment to my baseness: now, since fortune
Hath rais'd me to this station, you shall find
You judg'd not rightly of me. It shall be
My study, nay my pride, to approve myself
Such as I am.
Lady Traffic.
Your words speak comfort to me;
You are the only stay, the sole support,
I now have upon earth. Tho' I was rude,
I own it, Sir, with shame, and often us'd you
Too roughly for your virtues, yet I knew
You had them; but, if I had doubted them,
Your present noble conduct would convince me
With what profusion they're bestowed on you.
Luke.
If thus you speak before you've made assay
Of my intent, what words will tell your feeling,
When I shall give you proof on't? I rejoice
Most in my sudden riches, as they afford me
The means of shewing how I estimate
Your signal claims upon my gratitude.
I will invent new fashions to adorn you,
To shew your shape and graces to perfection.
You have been brave, but shall be now much braver:
You hitherto have borne the port of ladies,
Fine courtly ladies; but you now shall shew
A dignity more fitting your desert.
Go to, the world shall see it, and admire.
I'll make it the first fruits of my preferment.
What garb is this you wear? Doth this become you?
Cast off these rags, indulge in splendid dreams
Of future greatness, which, when you awake,
I'll make conspicuous. But I must be
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Requiring haste, I kiss your hands, and leave you.
[Exit Luke.
Sir Maurice.
Are we both turned to statues? Have his words
Charm'd us to silence?
Lady Traffic.
I could ne'er have thought
He had this in him.
Sir Maurice.
He's a noble fellow.
I knew he'd prove so.
Lady Traffic.
To forget so soon
Our former treatment of him, so unworthy
Of his rare qualities! Sir John himself
Was never half so gen'rous or so kind.
Sir Maurice.
Aye, there indeed! poor man! what loss was his!
Lady Traffic.
Why certainly, when we reflect upon it,
He was a worthy man, and I am sure
I feel his loss, and I've a right to do so,
And so have his poor daughters.
Sir Maurice.
Aye, in truth—
Good worthy gentleman! ah! we may live
Long ere we see his like!
Lady Traffic.
To leave us thus
Mere destitutes—out of his boundless wealth
65
I'm sure it is enough to break one's heart—
Sir Maurice.
Come, come, take courage; things are not so bad.
You hear what Luke, your gen'rous brother, says.
Lady Traffic.
Aye, he indeed is of a different sort;
I see he'll treat us in a nobler way
Than Sir John chose to do. He never shew'd
Such liberality; his utmost bounty,
And that too hardly drawn from him by pray'rs,
Was parsimony, when compar'd with this.
But I must go, and hasten to his daughters.
Poor things! I'm sure they'll want some consolation!
[Exit.
Sir Maurice.
Well, go thy ways, thou art a rare one truly!
This will I to Sir John forthwith convey.
Our plot goes forward. He will find my judgment
In either case confirm'd: his wife, the vain,
Imperious fickle thing I thought her ever,
And his degraded brother, honest Luke,
Unchang'd by wealth, and undebauch'd by power.
[Exit.
END OF ACT III.
| Riches : Or, The Wife And Brother | |