University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Scroope's Counting-house.
Scroope and William.
SCROOPE.
Place this bond of young Beaufort's in the chest,
The iron safe—I have him there securely.
[Exit William.
The hour approaches for my forfeit mortgage,
How shall I deal with him? If ever vengeance
Were holy—but it is not—there's a peace,
A calm content of conscience, will not dwell
With wrath, however seeming just.—Who feels
That he is frail, dares not revenge, but trusts
To mercy for the showing it. I'll be calm,
I will do even justice—more, show mercy,
Lest I should be unjust.
Enter Richard with the casket
How now, my friend!
A moment—I was thinking—Well, what would you?

RICHARD.
I come to trade, sir, with you

SCROOPE.
Aye, have with you!
In what?

RICHARD.
These jewels: I would sell them.

SCROOPE.
How!
These are a woman's gear.

RICHARD.
Pray ask no questions.
If you would show me friendship, I would have
The utmost value for them.

SCROOPE.
That's strange trading.

RICHARD.
Well. then—

SCROOPE.
But you said “friendship,” I allow it.
You shall have their utmost value: let me see them.
Why, what is this?

[Takes up a ring.
RICHARD.
A ring—a little ring.
There are richer jewels.

SCROOPE.
Yes, this ring was hers.
There is the cipher which I marked myself,
And gave it her.

RICHARD.
You're moved!

SCROOPE.
Aye, there are memories
Between me and the house of Beaufort, which
This ring, as 'twere a talisman, calls up
In clear and distinct vision. Methinks I see her,
And by this token, this, the holiest token,
She calls for vengeance. You have seen me moved
At a strange cause—at least to you. We are,
You have said it, friends.

RICHARD.
I have—how can I prove—?

SCROOPE.
You will be silent, as you had not known it,
Of this my strange emotion.

RICHARD.
You've my word.

SCROOPE.
Enough, now leave me.—Ah, the jewels!—yes,
I recked not of them; I will send their value,
Their full and ample value, to you straight,
And something, too, for this—this priceless ring!
Go, wonder, but be silent.

RICHARD.
Fear me not, sir.

[Exit
SCROOPE.
My poor, poor wife! and this was thine, the pledge—
The first pledge of my love. What mystery
Is there in providence to send me this,
Now, in the very tide of my strong power?
Thou bauble, would thou wert intelligent
Of the future as the past—for so much love,
And so much bitter wrong, thou speak'st to me
To shake my very nature to its centre.
As the final trumpet-call shall rend the earth
Changing the laws of being.

MARIANA
(without.)
William! William!

SCROOPE.
Mariana's voice! Ay, let me think of her,
No pain can share with that thought—Mariana!
Yet lie thou near my heart, for thou'rt a symbol
Of love, which grief could but grave deeper there—
Of love, which Death could only make immortal.