University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Francisco's house.
Enter Francisco and Dorothea.
Dor.
Francisco, stay! unkind Francisco, stay!
Nor let thy Dorothea plead in vain:
Consider, love, thy swaddled legs, thy gout, and all thy pains.

Fran.
Cease, Dorothea, to perplex my breast
With idle fears: Whene'er my duty calls,
Thou know'st, nor gout, nor rheumatism can stop me:
Cease then to ask for what I must deny.

Dor.
True, I'm a woman; therefore full of fear;
But, tho' my body's weak, my mind is noble,
For that is full of thee: On thee I gaze,
Watch every virtue, catch the kindling flame!
Cease then to tax thy Dorothea's heart
With idle fears; those fears are all for thee!
Oh, but this night absent thyself from council,
And Dorothea then will ask no more!

Fran.
It cannot, must not be.

Dor.
Cannot? must not?

Fran.
Ah, no!

Dor.
And yet there was a time, my Franky,
When Dolly might obtain a greater suit:
If she but look'd as if she had a want,
Thy penetrating eyes, and generous heart,
Watch'd every look, prevented every wish:
There was a time, when in the afternoon,
As you prepar'd to take your usual nap,
No pillow pleas'd but Dorothea's breast;
When to the last your eyes would gaze on her,
'Till poppy sleep oppress'd them; she with joy
Strok'd thy lank cheeks, and lull'd thy soul to rest:
But, ah! that time (I know not why) is past.

Fran.
Oh, peace! thou fair upbraider, chide no more!
Thou know'st my heart still glows with fondness for thee;
But, go I must: The fate of all the trade
Depends on this night's council; 'tis decisive.
Campbello, the great father of the trade,
With his own hand hath summon'd: Absence now
Would cast reproach on all my former fame!

Dor.
Oh, didst thou know but all, thou wouldst not go.

Fran.
What means my love?

Dor.
Alas, I fear to tell!

Fran.
Keep me not on the rack!—Perplex no more,
But tell me all!

Dor.
Wilt thou not chide me then?

Fran.
Chide thee, my love?

Dor.
Oh, smooth that angry brow,
I'll tell thee all.—Last night, I had a dream!

Fran.
A dream! a dream!

Dor.
Nay, hear me, ere you blame!—
Methought you took me in a one-horse chaise,
Unto the Star and Garter, Richmond-Hill.
Placid and pleas'd, we had a charming ride:
But, while we gaz'd on the rich prospect round,
Sudden, methought, I stumbled; anxious fear
Urg'd me to catch at thee—at thee, my love,
My best support—but thou, alas! wert gone:
When, lo! far off, the bottom of the Hill,
I saw thee rising from the watry Thames,
All dripping wet! with eager haste I ran:
As I drew nigh, what words can paint my fears,
When I beheld blood trickling down thy face:
At that sad sight, I wak'd with horror!

Fran.
Wet?

Dor.
Dripping wet!

Fran.
And bloody too?

Dor.
All a gore blood! and from that hour to this,
Remembrance chills me with the very thought!

Fran.
Trust me, my love, my heart recoils with fear!

Dor.
Oh, seize the happy omen! stay at home!
I'll send a message, that you're sick in bed.

Fran.
What, for a dream? no; it shall ne'er be said,
A dream could awe a Master-Tailor's soul!—
Besides, inform me, what's this dream to me,
More than the world in general?

Dor.
Gallant man!
[Fran. going.
Yet, stay, Francisco, stay!

Fran.
Thou plead'st in vain!
How would St. Clement's sons, renown'd in art,
And their proud dames, (whose mantuas sweep the ground,
With heads made up of wool, and rumps of cork)
Attaint the lustre of Francisco's name,
Should it be known, a dream could e'er deter
Him from his duty! no; come what come may,
I'm fix'd to go; for 'tis our council-day.

Dor.
Oh, rigid virtue! more than stoick pride!
Since then thou wilt go, leave not thy cloak behind:
Screen thy lov'd self, thy Dolly's dearer half,
From the dank dew, and each unkindly fog:
Sure rigid honour does not that forbid.

Fran.
In that, and every thing that's free from shame,
Francisco lives but to oblige his Dolly.

Dor.
'Tis kindly said!—Who waits without? come in!
Enter Mopperella.
Forth from the cloaths-press, fetch the red roqueleau.
[Mopperella goes out, and returns with a roqueleau.
And now, one parting kiss! one more! farewell!
Remember well—Hold, hold, my boding heart!—
Whate'er Francisco's fate, his Dolly suffers!
Oh, my Francisco!

Fran.
Oh, my Dorothea!

[Exeunt severally.