University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Counting-house.
Enter Luke, hastily.
Luke.
'Twas no phantastic object, but a truth,
A real truth, no dream! I did not slumber,
And could wake ever with a brooding eye
To gaze upon't! It did endure the touch;
I saw and felt it: yet what I beheld,
And handled oft, did so transcend belief,
I faintly could give credit to my senses.
What art thou—shall I call thee Chance or Fortune?
Thou dumb magician, that without a charm
Did'st make mine entrance easy, to possess
What wise men wish, and toil their lives in vain for?
The Sybil's golden bough, the great elixir,
Imagin'd only by the alchemist,
Compar'd with thee are shadows, thou the substance
And guardian of felicity! No marvel
My brother priz'd thee: thou'st an owner now,
Who can still better estimate thy worth.
In every corner of that sacred room
Silver is heap'd in bags, as if unworthy
To hold an equal rank with the bright gold
That boasts pre-eminence: but when mine eyes
Had made discovery of the caskets, kept
Under a double safety, and they open'd,
Each sparkling diamond from itself shot forth
A pyramid of flames; sapphires and rubies,
And ropes of oriental pearl—These seen, I could not
But hold cheap gold itself.—Then, in a coffer,
Lay deeds of gift, bonds, and securities,
And, above all, what gladden'd me to see,
A manor, fast bound in a skin of parchment,
The wax continuing hard, the acres melting,
Pawn'd to my brother. There is scarce a shire
In Wales or England, where my monies are not
Lent out at usury; the certain hook
To draw in more.—I am sublim'd! gross earth
Supports me not!—I walk on air!—Who's that?
Enter Holdfast.
Keep off!—you shall not touch it!—Oh, 'tis you!
I knew you not at first.—Well, honest Holdfast!
What is't you want with me?

Holdfast.
There are some here
Who do enquire for you; your needy debtors,
Risk, Venture, Penury.

Luke.
What brings them here?

Holdfast.
I do suppose they've heard of what has happen'd,
And come to practice on your lib'ral temper.

Luke.
How well they guess me! Shew them straightway in.

Holdfast
(aside).
Plague on such gen'rous doings! I see beggary
Already knocking at the door.—You may enter—
But use a conscience; do not work upon
A tender-hearted gentleman too much:
'Twill shew like charity in you.
[Exit Holdfast.

Enter Venture, Risk and Penury.
Luke.
Welcome, friends:
I know your hearts and wishes; you are glad
You've chang'd your creditor.

Venture.
Heav'n bless you, Sir.

Luke.
What is your bus'ness?

Venture.
Were your brother living,
I ne'er had hazarded to speak it, Sir;
But now the pow'r is in your worship's hand,
I am assur'd as soon as ask'd 'tis granted.

Luke.
I see you know me.—Well?

Venture.
The kind forbearance
Of my great debt, by your means, worthy Sir,
Hath rais'd my sunk estate. I have two ships,
Which I long since thought lost, above my hopes
Return'd from Portugal, and richly laden.

Luke.
Where are they?

Venture.
At Gravesend.

Luke.
And what their names?

Venture.
Happy Return and Plenty.

Luke.
Good names both.
At Gravesend, say you?

Venture.
Aye, at Gravesend, Sir.

Luke.
I'm glad to hear on't.

Venture.
Heav'n reward your worship!
Now might I have your license, as I know
With willingness I shall, to make the best
Of the commodities, tho' you have execution
'Gainst me and all I have, I shall be able
To pay off what I owe to all the world,
And leave myself a competence.

Luke.
Enough—
I'll take good care of you. I am right glad
Your ships are safe arrived.—Well, Master Risk?

Risk.
You know my mortgage is foreclos'd; you may
By law seize on my lands and ruin me.
Sir John had done it, Sir, had you not sway'd him
Now, Sir, I crave of you but three weeks patience:
By an uncle's death I have means left to pay all.

Luke.
That's fortunate; for, if I recollect,
Your land's not mortgag'd for a third of it's value.

Risk.
No more, good Sir.

Luke.
Leave it to me, I'm not,
As well you know, a creditor like my brother.
Well, Master Penury, what is your state?

Penury.
Just as it was, good Sir; the worse my luck!
What I ow'd I owe, but can pay nothing to you
Yet the great kindness you've already shewn me,
And your sweet nature, Sir, embolden me
To crave a favour from you.

Luke.
What is it?

Penury.
That you'd be pleas'd in charity to intrust me
With another hundred pounds.

Luke.
How would you use it?

Penury.
There is a sailor, Sir, arriv'd from India,
Who brings a certain rare commodity,
Of which, for ready money, I could make.
Such gain, as would rebuild my shatter'd fortune.
This way, Sir, if you please—There is his name,
And the particulars I wish to deal for.

[Gives Luke a paper, which he reads, and puts in his pocket.
Luke.
I'm glad you spoke of it. The thing is done.
Make no more words on't.—Well, my worthy friends,
I take it kind of you you came to me.
Pray ye have some refreshment now you're here.
I am call'd out for some half-hour or so;
When I return, we'll settle every thing.
[Exit Luke.

Risk.
Blessings go with you!

Penury.
Heav'n preserve you, Sir!

Venture.
Happy were London, if there were but three such!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Sir Maurice's House.
Enter Sir John and Sir Maurice, meeting.
Sir John.
Welcome, Sir Maurice! Well, what news do you bring?
Say, doth my brother, still maintain th' opinion
You form'd of him.

Sir Maurice.
In truth I never saw
A nobler gentleman, or one whose spirit
Seems better moulded to prosperity.
No change appears in him, unless it be
He now is humbler than he was, more kind,
And more attentive to promote the good
Of all around him. 'Tis methinks a pity
His splendid fortune is so visionary:
Were he in fact possessor of such means,
Thro' a wide sphere his bounty would extend,
And this our iron age, sublim'd by him,
Would beat the poet's boasted age of gold.

Sir John.
Is he such truly?

Sir Maurice.
Can I doubt my senses?
It was but now, as hither I repair'd,
I call'd in at his house. He had gone forth,
But I beheld a scene, which might have touch'd
The most obdurate heart. Those ruin'd men,
Whom, at your worthy brother's intercession,
You had shewn favour to, were there assembled,
Partaking of his hospitality,
And praying for a blessing on the hand,
The charitable hand, that had redeem'd them
From poverty and ruin. Oh, 'twas sweet
To hear how gratefully they spoke his praise!

Sir John.
My doubts are vanish'd. When your dream of wealth
Is over, my good brother, you shall wake
To better fortune than of late you've known.

Sir Maurice.
All will commend you for't.

Sir John.
There's but one thing
Which takes from my full pleasure—my proud wife.
Had she, instead of new indulgences,
Been taught a lesson of adversity,
She might have been reform'd: as 'tis, I fear
Her wayward nature will but gain fresh strength,
And she herself grow irreclaimable.

Sir Maurice.
Why there, indeed, I fear your project fails.
If nothing but severity can cure her,
Your hopes are small from him. Such tenderness,
Such earnestness to meet her utmost wishes
I never witness'd.—But, we do forget—
Our suitors, Ned and Heartwell, are below,
Waiting your presence.

Sir John.
Let us hasten to them,
And ascertain, should our device succeed,
How their affections yet stand tow'rds my daughters.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Counting-House.
Enter Luke.
Luke.
'Tis strange how soon a change of circumstance
Alters men's minds and manners. Yesterday
I was poor Luke, a mere despis'd dependent
Upon another's charity; but now
I'm grown right worshipful, become a patron,
And, wheresoe'er I deign to turn my glance,
Your purse-proud citizens, with cap in hand,
And bended knee, strive who shall pay me homage.
One, who 'till now ne'er deign'd to look on me,
Congratulated me upon the wealth
Thus fallen on me. I could scarce refrain
From laughter, when, with apt humility,
I answer'd him—“Good Sir, a trifle merely;
“The substance you conceive so great no way
“Answers it's rumour'd magnitude; alas!
“With a great charge I'm left but a poor man.”
“Poor!”—quoth my citizen, with feign'd surprize.
Now came my answer—“Poor, compar'd with what
“'Tis thought I do possess: some little land,
“Fair household furniture, a few good debts,
“But empty bags I find; yet I will be
“A faithful steward.”—Thus I talk'd to them,
While they, the more I strove to underrate
My affluence, conceited me more rich.
Enter Holdfast.
Well, Sirrah Holdfast!—have you ta'en good care
Of those I trusted to your charge?

Holdfast.
Aye, marry,
If giving them enough be taking care.
There they're all sitting, with your hopeful clerks,
Eating and drinking, gayly quaffing bumpers
To their kind patron's health.—You begin well—
Keep open house—let who will live upon you—
'Tis your true way—I never knew it fail.

Luke.
Why, Holdfast! what is't moves your choler thus?

Holdfast.
Nay, I'm a fool; 'tis no concern of mine;
Your riches are your own; do as you please;
However deep a well it has a bottom,
And may be drain'd.—

Luke.
You speak like oracles;
But we'll discourse of this when we've more leisure.
Meantime, bring here my brother's wife and daughters.
[Exit Holdfast.
If riches are a burthen, they're a light one.
Methinks I'm like a captive, from whose limbs
The shackles that confin'd him are remov'd.
My heart is light, my spirits brisk and light—
Enter Lady Traffic, Maria, Eliza and Holdfast.
So, you are here—Why, how now? What means this?
Is't thus, I am obey'd? Where are the habits
I order'd for these women?

Holdfast.
Not come home.

Luke.
And wherefore not?

Holdfast.
It is the tailor's fault.
He says he has some other work in hand,
Which must be finish'd ere he set about them.

Luke.
Plague on his tardiness! Go to him, sirrah!
And bid him hasten.

[Exit Holdfast.
Lady Traffic.
Nay, my kind brother,
I pray you don't distress yourself about us.
The garments we already have will suit us.

Luke.
No, they will not. You shall have others soon,
More corresponding with your state and merits.
You shall lay by this flimsy garniture,
These vain appendages of senseless folly,
And have your outsides as disrob'd of pomp
As are your fallen fortunes.—Russet—dowlas—
The lowliest raiment of the humblest she,
Who seeks her scanty maintenance by labour,
Will suit you better than these tinsel trappings.

Lady Traffic.
Why what is this, Sir? You are not in earnest—
You cannot mean—I do protest at first
You frighten'd me—Had I not known you better,
I should have thought you meditated things
Most foreign to your kind and gen'rous heart.

Luke.
You'll find I mean what I have said.

Lady Traffic.
Alas!
Do you thus preserve your protestation to me?

Maria.
Is this fit treatment for us, Sir?

Eliza.
Are those
Becoming habits for your brother's daughters?

Luke.
'Twould suit you more to thank my weak indulgence,
Which gives you licence to appear in them,
Than to be thus exceptious. I'm the judge
Of what befits your station. Would you ape
The fashions of court-ladies, whose high titles
And pedigrees of long descent give warrant
For their superfluous brav'ry?

Lady Traffic.
Will you break
Your promise to us then?

Luke.
No! I'll make good
My promise, and will shew you like yourselves,
In your own natural shapes, and stand resolv'd
You shall continue so.

Lady Traffic.
Most worthy Sir—

Luke.
Sir? Sirrah! That's your term. Use your old phrase.
You know I'm us'd to bear it.

Lady Traffic.
I implore you
Hold not remembrance of it. I acknowledge
I have deserv'd ill of you, yet despair not,
Tho' we are at your disposure, you'll maintain us
As suits our just pretensions.

Luke.
'Tis my purpose—

Lady Traffic.
Nor make us thus ridiculous.

Luke.
It was
Your insolence that made you so, your pride,
Your strange forgetfulness of what ye were,
And your contempt of those, whose purses could not
Hold equal rate with your extravagance.
What right had you to arrogate a rank,
To which you'd no pretensions? Who were you,
To claim precedence, and to hold a state,
To scorn your equals, and to treat your brother
As he were meaner than the dust you trod on?
Who rais'd you to the pow'r you thus abus'd?
Your husband—brother of that humble Luke,
Your quondam servant, now your master, lady!

Lady Traffic.
Alas! alas! (weeping.)


Luke.
Aye, bring your spirit down
To a level with your fortune. I'll cut off
Whatever is exorbitant in you,
Or in those Madams, and reduce you to
Your natural form and habits. You shall now
Learn to employ your time to better purpose
Than you were wont; those taper fingers now
Shall grow industrious; I'll have spinning-wheels
And distaffs for you; you shall learn to dress
And serve each other; for I'll have no drones,
No waiting women to attend upon you.
You know my pleasure!

Lady Traffic.
Oh my pride and scorn!
How justly am I punish'd!

Maria.
Now we pay
A heavy price for past indulgences.
Had you but treated Heartwell with more favour—

Eliza.
Had you not shewn young Lacey such disdain,
We had not thus been subjected to him.

Lady Traffic.
Heap not fresh causes of regret upon me;
I feel enough already.

Luke.
Do you so?
I'm right glad on't. 'Tis as it should be.
Away! set to your tasks!
(Exeunt Lady Traffic, Maria and Eliza.
So! that's well done.
This act of justice o'er, now for my clients.
Their business will be shortly settled. Holdfast!
Enter Holdfast.
Send in the gay companions you have yonder.

Holdfast.
Here! please you to come up! They'll talk you now
Into whate'er they please. They know your temper,
And how to take advantage of your softness.
Aye, aye, I hear you! Marry, 'tis no wonder
You're in high spirits.—

Enter Venture, Risk, Penury, Ledger, and Invoice.
Luke.
Holdfast, leave us.
[Exit Holdfast.
Well,
You see I've not delay'd you. All is ready
For finishing your business.

Venture.
Worthy Sir,
We are your servants.

Risk.
Our best thanks are weak.

Penury.
We're bound to pray for you.

Luke.
Not bound as yet.

(Stamps with his foot.)
Enter Bailiffs.
First Bailiff.
You Invoice, and you Ledger, I arrest you
Each for a thousand pounds.

Second Bailiff.
Risk, Venture, Penury,
I do arrest you.

Venture.
Me, Sir? at whose suit?

Second Bailiff.
There's our employer—you had better ask him.

Venture.
At your's, good Sir?

Penury.
It is impossible.

Ledger.
Nay, Sir, this passes jest.

Luke.
(to the Bailiffs.)
Are you not more
Acquainted with the dangers of a rescue,
Than to stand parleying with them thus? The Compter
Is their fit place.

Invoice.
And can you be in earnest?

Luke.
Aye, marry, Sir, and you shall find it so.

Ledger.
What have we done that you should treat us thus?

Luke.
Poor innocent! you know the tricks of trade,
Hold correspondence with your fellow cashiers—
There's a small trifle of five hundred pounds,
For all of which you'll please to account. You might
Defraud my brother; if you can, evade me.

Penury.
Your worship will not be so hard with us?

Luke.
Pay to the uttermost farthing what you owe,
Or lie in prison.

Venture.
Can a gentleman
Of your soft feeling temper speak such language?

Penury.
So honest, so religious—

Risk.
One that preach'd
So much of charity for us to your brother?

Luke.
Yes, when I was in poverty it shew'd well;
But I inherit with his state his mind
And his more stubborn nature. I then might,
For weighty purposes, discourse of pity,
The poor man's orisons, and such like nothings;
But what I thought you now shall feel, and home too.
Kind master Luke hath said it—off with them!

Venture.
Hear me but one word! let me make the best
Of my two ships!

Penury.
Lend me the sum you promised!

Risk.
A few weeks patience to redeem my mortgage!
You shall be satisfied!

Venture.
To the last farthing!
We do most humbly beg for your compassion!

Luke.
I'll shew some mercy, which is, that I will not
Torture with idle hopes, but make you know
What you shall trust to. Your ships to my own use
Are seiz'd on. I have got into my hands
Your bargain from the sailor; 'twas a good one
For such a petty sum. I likewise take
Th' extremity of your mortgage.

Risk.
Mercy!

Venture.
Have pity!

Penury.
Spare us, worthy Sir!

Luke.
Move mountains with your breath! It shakes not me!
Here! do your duty! Carry them away!

(Exeunt severally.)