University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Gardens of Beaufort's House.
Enter Richard and Isabel.
ISABEL.
Richard!
You must serve me in a matter of some trust;
There are some jewels I would sell—there's none
I would trust as I do you—will you?—

RICHARD.
Your jewels?
Sell them?

ISABEL.
(hesitating.)
They're old and useless, and—

RICHARD.
I'll do
As you would have me, madam; pardon me!
I was surprised.

ISABEL.
Yet must you know the truth,
And I dare trust you—my poor father's ruined.

RICHARD.
Ruined? Lord Beaufort! my kind benefactor!
And you, my kindest mistress.

ISABEL.
Your friend, Richard,
And one who'll grieve to part from you—perchance
We may scarce see each other more.

RICHARD.
If fortune
Doom me to sorrow, it but little matters
By how few it is shared; but should I thrive
I must return to those who are my home,
And claim their joy with mine—O, that I thus
Might greet you!

ISABEL.
Would you, Richard?

RICHARD.
Call you sister!

ISABEL.
Sister!

RICHARD.
I am too bold.

ISABEL.
No. Be it so. “Sister:”
You are henceforth my brother.

RICHARD.
A proud title
To urge me to desert.

ISABEL.
See, some one comes.
I'll hence and bring the jewels.

[Exit.
RICHARD.
Poor! poor girl!
Reared in the genial clime of soft indulgence
How wilt thou shrink before the nipping blast
That sweeps along the barren icy shore
To which thou'rt banished? Fortune is but cowardly
To wreak its wrath on thee.

Enter Edward.
EDWARD.
Why, how now, Richard?
Thou with a moody brow!

RICHARD.
Nay, nay; 'tis nothing.

EDWARD.
Is it that Spendall presses thee for money?
We're at our last: my father's purse is empty.
But what! cheer up! I have a plan shall save all.
There's the old miser, Scroope, hath a fair neice.

RICHARD.
Mariana!

EDWARD.
Ay, thou knowest her—I will wed her.
Titles may weigh with gold—I shall have riches;
She shall be called my lady—why, what ails thee?
Thou hast no hopes there?

RICHARD.
None; I fear me, none.

EDWARD.
Nay, if thou lovest her—and that cheek of thine
Gives me shrewd guesses—thou must yield her, Richard.
What could'st thou offer to her careful uncle
In barter for his gold?

RICHARD.
Nothing. Yet, mark me,
Thou must not rival me with Mariana.

EDWARD.
Rival thee?

RICHARD.
Ay; although I have no hope,
No fortune, title, name, or quality
Of mind or person, that should bid me hope,
Thou must not rival me with Mariana.

EDWARD.
Rival! Dost think thou art my equal?

RICHARD.
Ay;
In this more than thine equal. Boast thy rank—
Add to it wealth—aye, pile on pile of gold;
Estates unmeasured, gems 'bove price, and then,
Still will I brave thee. Psha! thou knowest her not.
Mariana hath a heart.

Scroope appears at the gate.
EDWARD.
And here is one
To whom your high pretensions may be spoken,
What, Master Scroope, good day! Please you walk in;
You have not seen the grounds here.

[Richard retires.
Enter Scroope at garden gate.
SCROOPE.
'Tis, indeed,
Some time since.

EDWARD.
When, man?

SCROOPE.
Oh! I had forgotten.
These grounds—

EDWARD.
Why, you were deep in other thought.

SCROOPE.
I was, indeed.

EDWARD.
Making a calculation
Of your last venture's profit, or the outlay
For your next merchandize.

SCROOPE.
My mind, sir, is not
Ever upon such trifles.

EDWARD.
Trifles!

SCROOPE.
Aye,
I have wealth enough now to afford to feel.
Pleasures, enjoyments, e'en domestic loves,
Are, with the poor, called idle; with the rich,
They are feelings, tastes, and generous sentiments.
I have earned the rights which I once idly thought
Were nature's.

EDWARD.
You've enjoyments in your wealth
That many envy you—altho' they'd use it
In a different kind—not contemplate, but spend it.

SCROOPE.
Yes, sir, I have enjoyments in my wealth;
And sometimes love to contemplate my riches.
Not that the chink of gold 'gainst gold can sound
A miser's music in my ears—or diamonds,
With care kept from the sun, dazzle my eyes
With an unholy lustre, when a lamp
Stealthily shines upon my hoards; my wealth
I think of for its use. What are the pleasures
Men covet most? I have the power of all.
What hath the world that I dare not call mine?
Show me the palace, the rich furniture,
The fair domain, the meiny of attendants
I cannot make mine own? this is mere pomp.
Show me the luxuries—the costly wines
The thousand pleasures that poor ingenuity
Starves to invent to pamper the dull rich,—
E'en with a word they're mine; but this is sensual.
Show me the knowledge I may not controul,
The learning that I cannot buy, the talents,
Nay, e'en the genius, that I cannot claim
To mine own use; but this, you'll say, is heartless.
Show me the friend would spurn my offered hand
'Tho I were baseness' self; show me the love,
'Tho e'en I were decrepitude, could ward
My golden shower from Danäe's lap.
They are, I own, but mercenary minds
That could be won thus—but my wealth, sir, gives me
A power o'er men's hearts as well as actions:
It can controul the proud, support the weak,
Confront mean greatness with an equal port,
And cheer with happy hope poor humble merit—
Strive with the bitterest foes that crush young hearts,
Relieve old age's cares, soothe pain and sickness,
And make the happiest lovers bless its power,
E'en mid the fervour of their holiest thoughts.
Yes, sir, I have enjoyments in my wealth,
And I do love to contemplate its might.

EDWARD.
You argue well for it.

SCROOPE.
There are other uses
Which time may prove for it—they may be felt,
Not spoken:—meanwhile I've an argument
Would win e'en you to praise it.

EDWARD.
Nay, I am bound
To rail—I'm poor enough to make common cause
'Gainst its possessors.

SCROOPE.
Say that I should lend you
What you may need or wish?

EDWARD.
I've no rich jewels,
Nor vast reversions to bind over to you:
My father hath left his heir not even that chance
To move the hearts of lenders.

SCROOPE.
Your own bond
Shall well suffice me for three hundred pounds.

EDWARD.
Nay, it shall ne'er be said I lost the money
Because I would not ask it. I confess
I'm a full convert to your argument.

SCROOPE.
In time you will be.

EDWARD.
There's a threat in that.

SCROOPE.
You fear yourself, not me, if you refuse it.

EDWARD.
Well, well, lend me the money.
Enter Richard.
Master Scroope
Lends me three hundred pounds, tho' for what reason
I'll not e'en strive to guess.

SCROOPE.
Another debtor!
Yes, though you wonder.

RICHARD.
How?

SCROOPE.
You know one Spendall?
He is a bankrupt; I'm his creditor—
His chief, almost his only creditor.
You owe him money: if you prove deserving,
And I'm no rigid censor of my friendship,
You shall owe me nought but gentle gratitude.

RICHARD.
I thank you frankly.

SCROOPE.
Give me then you hand on't.
Your's is a face recals to me some joys,
When I was young and buoyant, that would sparkle,
Thus in the eye. I'll not betray your friendship,
Stand you but true to mine. (To Edward)
Within this half hour
I shall expect you.

EDWARD.
'Tis a miracle,
Or his familiar fiend, the demon, gold,
Is leading him in quagmires. Parallel!

Enter Parallel.
PARALLEL.
I saw old Master Scroope here: hath he left you?

RICHARD.
Yes, Master Parallel, and left us merrier
That he hath been here.

PARALLEL.
Would that I had seen him.

RICHARD.
Why, master tutor, you look somewhat fearful:
What is the matter, sir?

PARALLEL.
Nay, nothing, nothing.
I must to Master Scroope's.

EDWARD.
And wherefore thither?

PARALLEL.
For money.

EDWARD.
Why, what pawn would'st offer him?

PARALLEL.
None; yet he'll lend me.

RICHARD.
Thee too? What need'st thou?

PARALLEL.
Ten marks to pay
A tailor for a suit I had at college.
I thought he had forgetten me—yet now
I saw his ominous visage o'er the shoulder
Of one o' the city's varlets, and I feared
Lest he should spy me: all my hopes were gone
Were I arrested now—first Mariana.

RICHARD.
Master Scroope's niece.

PARALLEL.
Ay, ay—Why, wherefore laugh ye?
He offered me this morning a large sum,
I warrant in his mind, full twenty marks.

EDWARD.
Well, take it Master Parallel, and all
Are then his debtors, Richard, 'gainst his will,
And I with mine: whate'er the merchant seeks
We shall have our venerable tutor here
In the same predicament. In half an hour,
Or less, you'll meet with Scroope at his own house.

[Exeunt Edward and Parallel into house.
Enter Isabel with a casket.
ISABEL.
I have watched till you were alone. You can dispose
Of these, and keep a hundred pounds, in which
I but pay my father's debts.

RICHARD.
Not so, dear lady.
Not so—by heaven! I would not take from him
To whom I owe my nurture, one poor doit
Now in his poverty. I am too much bound to him,
Too hopelessly. And you—it is not kind,
At parting thus, by deeds to call me selfish.
I will not touch those jewels.

ISABEL.
Yes, for me!
For I shall need your service—but for me!

RICHARD.
Ay, you will promise to receive the money—
All, or I touch them not.

ISABEL.
I promise it.

[Edward appears from the house.
RICHARD.
Then give me them and I will find a chapman,
A fair and honest one—and I thank heaven
He's known to me—and even from him I'll urge
The extremest value for your sake—farewell.

[Exit at gate.
ISABEL.
Noble and generous youth—I will not leave thee
In debt to some harsh creditor—he'll gladly
Receive the gold which thou refusest proudly.
Edward!

EDWARD.
Aye, Isabel, blush not—what was't
You gave to Richard? Girl, if you'd buy hearts,
'Twere well you chose a true one.

ISABEL.
You're sententious.
Have you done? There may be yet another venture
In which I would embark my little store,
One of pure friendship, brother:—it may be,
Richard refuses even that kindness from me.

EDWARD.
No anger, Isabel! Our time of pride
Is past, and had Fitz-Alan been your lover
You had removed a somewhat from my path,
An obstacle, it may be, or a rival;
But we shall see.—Farewell.

[Exit at gate.
ISABEL.
Why did I not
Reply with scorn to this imputed folly?
For it were folly now—once I had thought it
A generous sacrifice—perchance a happy one:
But he loves another—I am now his sister.
I have with care enquired of his debts
And thus, at least, against his will, I'll serve him.

[Exit.