 | The Merchant of London |  |
48
ACT III.
SCENE I.
—The Garden or Court-yard of Scroope's house. Before the house, R. H., a porch with seats in it. The entrance gate opening inwards, L. H.Scroope meeting Isabel.
ISABEL.
I would speak with Master Scroope.
SCROOPE.
He waits your pleasure.
ISABEL.
There is a debt due to you from Fitz-Alan,
My father's page—some fifty pounds—on his part
I come to pay it.
SCROOPE.
On your father's part?
His steward then—pardon me—yours is not
A face that I dare crimson, or a heart
That I dare pain; but this account of Richard's
Must not be settled thus.
ISABEL.
Why, what expect you
More than the payment?
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Not so much, perhaps,
Unless I am sure from whom that payment comes.
I am a cautious man, honest withal:
Should I rob the child who'd pay her father's debts,
His very kindnesses, out of the store,
The little store, his prodigality
Has left her?
ISABEL.
Nay, sir.
SCROOPE.
I have a right to praise you,
Nearer than you would think—a right to love you.
Richard is free on one condition only.
ISABEL.
Name it.
SCROOPE.
That you receive the jewels which
You sent by him this morning. He has not
Betray'd you—nor would I, even if I could
Read aught in you that is not just and noble.—
I'll bring the jewels.
ISABEL.
Nay—
SCROOPE.
If, ere the night fall
You think that you should not receive them from me
Give them again.
ISABEL.
I know not how to doubt you.
Stay, some one comes, I'd not be seen.
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Nor shall you.
'Tis Master Parallel with my niece, step in
And rest you in that chamber. I will sit
Here in the porch.
[Exit Isabel.
[Scroope sits in the porch. Mariana and Parallel enter at the gate.]
MARIANA.
Come in, grave sir!
PARALLEL.
Nay, not grave now, sweet mistress;
The subject I would treat of is a gay one,—
That is, it hath, when properly divided,
Both gaiety and gravity, being Love;
Which is a feeling, passion, or sensation,
To be handled logically, thus—
MARIANA.
Good, sir,
Is't thus you would be gay?
PARALLEL.
If you but wait
Until the thirteenth point you'll see how merrily
And wittily 'tis treated.
MARIANA.
Come! away sir
With all this musty logic! I'm unlearned
And fain would hear you in a simpler tongue.
(Enter Edward unperceived.)
EDWARD.
I'll listen how my pupil-tutor speeds
In the lesson I have taught him! ha! the porch there!
[Approaches the porch gradually during the dialogue.
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What news abroad, sir, or what scandal have you?
PARALLEL.
Scandal!
MARIANA.
Aye, scandal, that's our Latin, sir;
And if you are not learned in that tongue
You'll gain no honours in a female college.
PARALLEL.
Scandal,—why, no—yet yes; for, to speak plainly,
Scandal is not at all times scandalous.
MARIANA.
Oh, no.
PARALLEL.
And there are pleasing, light discourses,
In which we sift and analyse the feelings
Of friends, which savour strongly of humanity.
MARIANA.
Certainly.
PARALLEL.
For we know that human nature
Hath two sides at the least.
MARIANA.
To understand it,
We must turn it inside out.
PARALLEL.
Exactly so.
Now of yourself.
MARIANA.
Of me! Scandal of me!
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No, that might not amuse you; but of one
Who, being one, would of that one make twain,
Yet of the twain but one. One who would wed you.
MARIANA.
One of my lovers?
PARALLEL.
Ay, Richard Fitz-Alan.
[Richard appears at gate; hearing his name, stops; goes behind the door and listens.
There was some noise.
MARIANA.
Nay, nothing; pray, go on.
PARALLEL.
Ahem! hem!
[Edward has now gained the porch.
EDWARD
(sees SCROOPE.)
Ha!
SCROOPE.
Silence! Enter! Sit you down
PARALLEL.
There was a noise that way.
[Mariana and Scroope exchange signals.
MARIANA.
Nay; nothing, nothing.
What is it you would say of Richard?
PARALLEL.
Ah! you love him.
Nay, do not blush, there are none by to hear us.
Hem! To divide—
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Divide!
PARALLEL.
As one might say,
Cut up his character.
MARIANA.
Yes, that's the point—
Cut up his character.
PARALLEL.
We may consider it
Under five heads; as, first, his love to you,
Which branches into two considerations,
As, whether it be real or pretended.
MARIANA.
Good, sooth! I've sometimes doubted that.
[Looking at Richard
PARALLEL.
Ay, doubt
Is parent of all truth. But, to proceed:
Marry, now, treat the point Socratically.
How many doors or entrances hath love
Into the heart?
MARIANA.
As many as the senses.
All are love's portals; though, when the proudest comes,
He comes, as conqueror's use, by his own path,
And sympathy's that breach.
PARALLEL.
Ay, ay, that's well!
But, I know not how it is, to speak of love
No maid discusses it with logical propriety.
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But Richard—
PARALLEL.
You're impatient. I'll be brief,
And handle but these facts: that he hath seen
The lady Isabel Beaufort; then discuss
Her beauty, and its probable effects;
Thence turning to her poverty, the changes
Which that might work, proving that interest
Hath sometimes, too, its share in marriage, thence
Descanting on his change from her to you,
And touching, as a pleasant episode,
Upon some jewels which to-day she gave him.
RICHARD.
(Aside)
Malignant slanderer!
PARALLEL.
What noise was that?
MARIANA.
Nothing. You'd pledge your honour to the truth
Of such a strange narration?
PARALLEL.
Marry would I.
For if the premises be false, the argument
That might be built thereon, howe'er ingenious,
Were but a rope of sand.
RICHARD.
(Aside)
The unblushing rascal!
MARIANA.
Hush! as you love.
RICHARD.
I'd kill and eat the villain.
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'Twere better I should turn my thoughts from him
And fix them on a wiser, sadder man.
PARALLEL.
What! can it be! “a wiser, sadder man!”
(aside.)
MARIANA.
And yet I know but one.
PARALLEL.
(Aside)
She must mean me.
Oh happy Parallel! at length your studies
Will meet their due reward.
[Richard threatening in gesture.
MARIANA.
True, Edward Beaufort
Has offer'd me his hand.
PARALLEL.
(Aside)
I may supplant him.
I should like much to read a lecture to you
Of many various vices which are mingled
So curiously in him 'twould be delightful
To expatiate upon so fine a subject.
EDWARD.
How!
SCROOPE.
Listen! If 'tis false you may be patient.
PARALLEL.
First! his cold heart and selfishness—example,
A tale of him and an Italian girl,
A poor forsaken—
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Death! the peerless villain.
SCROOPE.
Silence! I say: hear out the sland'rous falsehood.
PARALLEL.
Of facts, thus—How he brought her from the Low Countries;
How, while he lov'd, he furnish'd her with gold;
But now—
EDWARD.
The slave (aside.)
PARALLEL.
I'm sure I heard a noise.
MARIANA.
Go on, go on.
PARALLEL.
Then taking fit occasion
To move the hearer's feelings by relation;
For feeling may sometimes be used to open
The ears to a discourse—
MARIANA.
It may, indeed!
PARALLEL.
By the relation how he abandoned her,
Poor, friendless, far from home, strange to our language,
With many other happy points.
MARIANA.
The heartless,
Unfeeling wretch! I'st true?
PARALLEL.
True!—do but offer
What solemn oath you please, and I will swear it.
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(restraining Edward.)
Nay, be not mov'd: whoever speaks a lie
Will, save from fear, as easily swear to it.
MARIANA.
Poor girl! base villain! Pardon, worthy sir,
I was thinking.—Mine's a most unhappy case:
Where shall I find a suitor true and honest?
PARALLEL.
Might I presume to speak to you of love?
MARIANA.
You!
PARALLEL.
Aye. I will not now speak of divisions
In which to handle the sweet subject, since
'Tis union not division that I seek—
By this fair hand— (kneeling.)
[Parallel, in some confusion, has kept his eyes averted during the previous speech. Mariana has beckoned on Richard and placed him between her and Parallel, who takes Richard's hand before he sees him.
RICHARD.
Well, sir, why don't you swear?
'Tis the first time that you have hesitated.
(Draws)
'Sblood but I'll end thee on the spot. I'll make thee
The martyr as th' apostle of all slander.
PARALLEL.
Oh! mercy, mercy!
RICHARD.
Straight confess thy sins!
Knowest thou one act of mine, one simple word,
To justify thy monstrous lies?
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Not one.
Save that—I've heard—the jewels—
RICHARD.
But their use—
By my honour, I am free (to Mariana.)
What know you of it?
PARALLEL.
Nothing.
RICHARD.
Nor why I took them?
PARALLEL.
No.
RICHARD.
These falsehoods—
What motive hadst thou to invent them? Speak!
PARALLEL.
Must I tell all?
RICHARD.
Or die, by my just wrath!
PARALLEL.
I was set on by Master Edward Beaufort.
RICHARD.
Rise, wretch, and—
MARIANA
(looking at Edward.)
Stay! hold yet your sword to him
For then he swears sincerely. Spoke you truth
In what you said of Beaufort?
PARALLEL.
Very nearly,
Not much embellished.
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Go.
EDWARD
(advancing as Parallel retreats.)
Scandalous liar!
I, too, have overheard thee!
SCROOPE.
Kill him not—
His fears at least have made us some amends:
We have learnt more from him than you intended.
PARALLEL.
I've but improved upon some hints you gave me,
Placing them, as a man of learning should do,
In apt and proper order and division.
SCROOPE.
So far, at least, he's stedfast. I'll protect thee
In this, thy just avowal. You have made, sirs,
A pretty hiding-place of my poor garden.
I wish you joy o' the sport.
EDWARD.
Do you believe, then,
Fair Mariana?—
MARIANA.
Can I doubt your tutor?
The witness you selected for my credence?
For your own sake, no more.
EDWARD.
Do they dare mock me?
Brave me in love and vengeance? Let them look to 't.
There's not the power in earth or hell I'd shrink from
To gain revenge. Farewell; you'll learn to know me
Better, I trust. I'll prove to you what I am.
[Exit.
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Do you not follow your employer, sir?
PARALLEL.
I pray you, is there no back way? for though
He spoke not, yet there are more indications
Of wrath, than speech—as first, just such a look
As he took leave with.
SCROOPE.
Step, sir, through the passage;
'Twill lead you to the water side.
PARALLEL.
I'll take it.
For various roads have their conveniences,
Which, at your leisure, of my gratitude
I will at full discuss to you; but now,
For many reasons which shall then and there
Be well expounded, I would save my throat
Which, one might argue, runs no little hazard
If I should tarry longer.—So, adieu, sir.
[Exit.
SCROOPE.
So, we are free of two of them;—and you, sir—
(to Richard.)
RICHARD.
I have been to blame to use so little ceremony.
Yet must I ask your ear awhile to swear to you,
Howe'er it seem against me,—there's no truth
In all the baseness he has taxed me with,
Though honour bids me to be silent.
SCROOPE.
Well,
If there be not, you've nought to fear.—I have
A certain means to know all.
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Mariana,
You'll not believe—
SCROOPE.
She will know all; and you,
If you are innocent, I pledge my word.
Your fame is clear with both.—Dare you abide this?
RICHARD.
I dare.
SCROOPE.
Enough—nay look not fearfully
I am bound t'ye for an honourable judgment.
[Exit Richard.
MARIANA.
He is slandered, I am sure on't.
SCROOPE.
Are you so?
Then I am sure—But here is one will tell us.
Enter Isabel.
You have heard all?
ISABEL.
I have.
SCROOPE.
It was a hearing
I would you had been spared.
ISABEL.
Ay, for myself
A brother's baseness is a sister's shame—
More, when my name's their theme;—but I have learnt
The necessity of endurance.—Mariana,
All they have said of Richard is a slander.
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Of what remained to me;—nor have I any,
The slightest claim, upon his faith, save this,
The friendship of a brother and a sister,
And, in that friendship, here before your uncle,
I tell you, I am sure you have his love,
And by mine honour he is worthy yours.
I would have you his—and happy.
SCROOPE.
Mariana!
MARIANA.
Uncle!
SCROOPE.
Ay, you're too happy to say more.
Lead in your sister, for she shall be so
If she is Richard's sister. I will follow you
And bring the jewels—all but one, which I
Have even a better claim to than yourself;
Go in my children.
[Exeunt Mariana and Isabel.
Is my heart so tender
After its rough and weather-beaten voyage?
That is a noble girl! I was all sternness,
And her face won me—'twas so like—oh! woman!
Man's tutelar to save him from himself,
Light of our joys and solace of our griefs,
Heaven's masterpiece of heaven's perfection—love!
Fierce anger and old hate flee from the spell
Of thy subduing voice and piteous eye,
And leave the heart to thine own charity.
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WILLIAM.
So please you, sir, Lord Beaufort would desire
Some speech with you, an hour hence.
SCROOPE.
He is happy
To choose his time thus—well?
WILLIAM.
And he would know
Where you would meet him? here or at his house?
SCROOPE.
His house! I'll spare his honour—I'll go to him
Within this half hour. (Exit William.)
Yes, at once I'll end this.
Shall my better thoughts be but as the false verdure
That clothes a fell volcano? I must quench
This Etna—I'll speak once more with his daughter.
[Exit into house.
SCENE II.
—A Room in a Tavern in Alsatia. Flaw, Bloodmore, Rivers, and Mouseheart, at a Table, drinking, others gaming, &c.FLAW.
So, they have turned off poor Will Paston to-day? od's
my life! he was a merry roystering rogue!
BLOODMORE.
Ay, sir, this morning we three stole out to pay our respects
at his carting.—As pretty a man as ever had his neck in a
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like a gentleman!
FLAW.
It's odd how one's friends drop off!
BLOODMORE.
The lawyers, sir! the villanous lawyers! that will not abide
by the old adage—“Live and let live.” No offence to you,
Master Flaw, for I never wish to quarrel but in the way of
business: I am too much of a regular, Heaven be praised! to
care for any amateur amusement that way.
FLAW.
Right, sir, right! I'm no lawyer now, you know:—my
uncle confined me once, to be sure, in a set of cobweb'd
chambers, with a loaf and a pitcher, like an immured nun;
so first I gamed, and lost the little cash I had, then I wrote
verses, but nobody would publish them; at last I learned a
trick or two on the cards—could cog a die or so; that brought
me acquainted with you, gentlemen, where I have found that
the shortest way for a man who makes too free with his own
money is to make free with other people's.
BLOODMORE.
Yes, you have passed through all the degrees of a cutter.—
But, how now, Rivers and Mouseheart, you are sad: I hope
the little accident this morning hasn't shaken your nerves.—
Death, you know, gentlemen, must happen to every body,
and I should think hanging as pleasant as any, if one hadn't
the trouble of getting up so early in the morning.
RIVERS.
I was thinking of the woe-struck girl, that stood
Beside me in the crowd,—so pale and thin,
With her large speaking eyes, first bent on th' earth,
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With such a deep, tearless anxiety,
Such breathless anguish, until that last moment;
And then she fell stone dead into the arms
Of the old man! His father and his sister.
'Twas the first time I ever feared to die.
FLAW.
Did you assist her?
RIVERS.
I scarce thought myself
Fit to console her; and I hope—I hope
She needed no more consolation here.
I hope she woke no more in this harsh world.
MOUSEHEART.
I thought he struggled hard and suffered much.
BLOODMORE.
Come, gentlemen! Is this conversation to entertain our
friend, Flaw, who so liberally imparteth to us? Is this encouragement
for a hopeful young gentleman, whose lamented
fate and gallant behaviour shall, I hope, be sung in as many
ballads as Robin Hood? Is it thus you train youth to glory?
Fie upon't! What, we are all born to live; we can't live
without means; and if we can't come by them honestly, there
is but one other way.
FLAW.
True, if my uncle, Goldlove, were no curmudgeon, I might
be content to be honest.
RIVERS.
And if—No matter! You're right, Bloodmore, we're in
for't; so another stoup! and let remorse go look after reflection.
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Ay, that's it! Drink, boys! if it gives you the head-ache,
it leaves no room for the heart-ache. Here's Master Flaw,
with his love-songs and his braveries, his mistresses and his
velvet cloaks, how shall he maintain 'em, sirs, if we instil
false principles into his untutored mind? More wine! mine
host.
FLAW.
Ay, to be sure. Wine's like the gout, it cures all other
disorders.
Enter Edward Beaufort, wrapped in a cloak.
EDWARD.
Well met, sirs. I am directed to one Bloodmore.
BLOODMORE.
The watchword, sir, and he may be discovered t'ye.
EDWARD.
I come from Captain Fang, and by the token
“A Tyburn collar squeezes.”
BLOODMORE.
You're all right, sir,
I am your man.
EDWARD.
Then I have business for you.
There is a female, over whom I've rights
Must be enforced, and the law's tardy hand
Will be too weak.
BLOODMORE.
I understand—a rape, sir.
We're not afraid to call things by their right names
Here in Alsatia; 'tis the land of truth, sir.
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Why—
BLOODMORE.
Never blink it, sir. You want stout fellows,
A close concealment, and a well-barred cage,
To hold your lady-bird. They're to be had, sir,
For money.
EDWARD.
You are frank.
BLOODMORE.
It saves us labour,
And you, I take it, spare some blushes by it.
You seemed ashamed o' th' business; never fear, sir,
Here are your men, my party:—Will you sit
And grow acquainted?
EDWARD.
Nay.
BLOODMORE.
You're too squeamish, sir,
They're honest gentlemen, and well brought up too,
Too well, indeed; their education 'as taught 'em
Nothing but wants. Let's see! Here are four of us—
The matter's perilous, four necks in question,
'Tis worth a hundred pounds, sir.
EDWARD.
You shall have it.
BLOODMORE.
And there's the dove-cot we must seek for you,
'Twill cost some twenty more—risk is run there, too.
EDWARD.
I'll pay it.
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One half down by way of priming.
EDWARD.
There's somewhat more.
BLOODMORE.
You're purse speaks well for you,
Though you are given to silence.
EDWARD.
Meet me, then,
To-night at dusk, east of the Temple Gardens;
I'll lead you to the spot, but be prepar'd
To silence any noise.
BLOODMORE.
We know our trade, sir;
Tut! we're no novices! a gag, a litter,
Cords, and a comrade dress'd like a mad doctor,
To prove the girl's insane.
EDWARD.
Tis excellent!
BLOODMORE.
Common, sir! common! when we are put to shifts
We've better tricks.—We will attend you, sir.
EDWARD.
Farewell then—Be you punctual and attentive:
I'll keep my promise fully.
BLOODMORE.
We've security
Enough for that—your life, sir. Fare you well.
(Retires to table.)
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Why do I pause? Why tremble? I am no coward—
But yon cold blooded villain! Let me think
On Mariana's charms—Richard's despair—
My triumph o'er their scorn—and the rich ransom
Old Scroope perchance may pay. I will not perish,
Like the poor sorcerer that rais'd the devil,
Through my own fears. Courage! The demon serves me.
[Exit.
BLOODMORE.
Then you object to our engaging in this business, Rivers?
Wherefore? Use any reasonable argument and we'll hear
you.
RIVERS.
Conscience!
BLOODMORE.
We've sworn against it. Conscience! The word is treason
to our constitution. Say too much risk, or too little profit, or
even any gentlemanly feeling of revenge, or—
RIVERS.
I've none of these.
FLAW.
Psha! conscience! I trust I'm above that by this time.
I couldn't see his face, but he pays well—and that's the first
virtue in our code of morality. I'll act the doctor.
BLOODMORE.
Ay, you need not join us till all is secure; the party
placed in the litter, and so forth. Your nerves are unpractised,
and must not be put to too severe a trial. But
for Rivers, I blush for him.
MOUSEHEART.
In the open street! 'twill be very dangerous.
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The pay is good. We must live, boys. Starve or win it.
MOUSEHEART.
Ay yet—
BLOODMORE.
If you prefer it, Rivers, silence and honour, and you
need'nt join us.
RIVERS.
I claim the cutter's law. I'm of your party.
BLOODMORE.
Then see you do not flinch, or—you know me.
RIVERS.
And you know me.—You never had cause to doubt me
honest to you; and, when your threats are all that bind me,
it will be safest to have done with me.
BLOODMORE.
Come, come, I'm peaceable; you know it. I scorn to
throw away an angry look out of the way of trade; and, if it
were necessary for our safety, you know I would cut your
throat without a word. So we're friends, and understand
one another.
RIVERS.
Perfectly.
FLAW.
Ay, nothing like a right understanding. Come, gentlemen,
I'll go to prepare my disguise. This is almost my first
venture; so I'll prime myself with a bottle or two, for I'm
not quite so steady as I should be.
BLOODMORE.
And I'll go sleep off what I have drank. This is a delicate
business, and whenever the gallows is in prospect I like to be
able to see my road clearly.
[Exeunt.
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SCENE III.
—A chamber at Lord Beaufort's.Richard Fitz-Alan and Parallel.
RICHARD.
Well, I forgive thee. Thou wert born a rascal
And bred a tutor: 'tis quite natural
That thou shouldst play the villain.
PARALLEL.
And the debt, too!
The fear of prison!
RICHARD.
True, you are a coward.
Another fair excuse. Well, I forgive you.
But here comes one with whom I must demand
A sterner parley.
PARALLEL.
Edward! Then I'll leave you.
RICHARD.
Stay! Stay!
PARALLEL.
Then you'll protect me?
RICHARD.
I'll ensure you
The chance to run for it.
PARALLEL.
I'll take courage, then;
But let me see that I've fair start of him.
Enter Edward.
EDWARD.
So Richard! you look gloomily upon me.
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Mine is a gloomy task: you've wronged my honour,
EDWARD.
Are not both suitors to fair Mariana?
Did you not challenge me to this encounter?
RICHARD.
I did not challenge you with poison'd weapons.
EDWARD.
Well, well, I was to blame—it was not just.
And yet, he far exceeded his instructions.
PARALLEL.
I pray you now, speak not of me, nor ask me;
For, though there be some several sorts of death,
It matters not to me if I be spitted
Upon his sword or yours, and that's the end on't,
Whatever you may force me speak.
EDWARD.
He hath
Foresworn his slanders: you are clear. The thought—
The base, degenerate thought Ill call it so—
Rose in my mind, and this fit instrument
Forcing himself upon my service in it.
PARALLEL.
Who? I?
RICHARD.
Well, he must be forgiven too.
EDWARD.
Frankly by me, if you can pardon him.
RICHARD.
I have already.
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Come, shake hands, then, Parallel!
Come, man!
[They shake hands: aside to him.
You villain! But for once you're safe!
You are forgiven freely! Come, let's have
A cup of wine. Be gay and jovial:
Sit, sit my worthy tutor, and regale.
PARALLEL.
Sooth! and I will.
EDWARD.
How fares it with the widow?
Richard! It were but just to pay her back
A little of the toilsome load she has laid
So heavily on your shoulders. Say you wrote
A fit reply to that same loving letter
She sent this morning an anonymous line
Requesting her attendance: she would swear
The hand was yours, and Master Parallel
Might profit by the opportunity
And win a rich wife. What head would this joke
Come under, Master Tutor?
PARALLEL.
If 'twere practicable,
The head “jokes advantageous.”
RICHARD.
Let him write
The letter, then.
EDWARD.
He write a love-letter?
Would you spoil all?
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You'll own the letter, Parallel?
'Tis done, you know, for your sake.
PARALLEL.
Own the letter?
Ay, truly would I, and for many reasons.
First, my own interest—
EDWARD.
That one suffices:
Here are pens, ink, and paper.
[Richard writes.
Is't not kind of me,
After your tricks, to find a wife for you?
PARALLEL.
Nay, don't talk of my tricks.
EDWARD.
I spoke of them
In mirth.
PARALLEL.
But your mirth's somewhat terrible,
Rather like grinning death upon a tombstone—
A gay “memento mori.”
EDWARD.
Psha! The widow—
Think of the brave rich widow, she's your mark, man!
RICHARD.
I've scrawled a line or two.
EDWARD.
Let Master Parallel
Hear how you speak for him, and frame his tongue to it.
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(reads.)
Mistress, one will wait to-night,
In the quiet evening light,
On the terrace near your dwelling:
When love's orb begins to reign,
Come and list to him who'd fain
Of his heart the tale be telling.
There's a good halting doggrel muse for you.
Stay, “To the Widow Lovel.”
EDWARD.
Hold! 'twere better
Not to direct it. Even if the hand
Be known, you then can say 'tis but a scrawl
Missent where 'twas not due.
RICHARD.
E'en as you please.
EDWARD.
Our stoup is out. Another flask?
RICHARD.
Nay, hold,—
No more to-day; here's Master Parallel
Must make him ready for his love encounter.
EDWARD.
I'll send his verses.
RICHARD.
Now, my worthy pupil,
Now for your master's honour go and prosper.
[Exit.
PARALLEL.
I will read Ovid to refresh my mind
With pleasing images, and cast an eye
O'er Horace for a little mirth—Anacreon
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Of learning. She shall have a specimen
Of the true classic wooing.
[Exit.
EDWARD.
When you find her.
This precious fragment is for higher uses,
Than to procure your meeting with the widow
'Tis Richard's hand, and known to Mariana;
A lure that sweet bird will full gladly stoop to.
[Isabel has entered during the speech, and taken up the paper.]
Ha, Isabel!
ISABEL.
Verses in Richard's hand!
What would you with them, brother?
EDWARD.
Tut! a toy,
A jest!
ISABEL.
You seldom jest, good Edward: now
Methinks 'tis no time for it.
EDWARD.
Give them me,
Or you will spoil the mirth I'd make with them.
ISABEL.
The mirth! I doubt you, brother. I have seen
But now a sorry token of your jesting.
You are a suitor, too, to Mariana;
And, foil'd, I know your temper; but I'll watch
To save them from your wiles, you from yourself.
[Exit.
77
SCENE IV.
—An Apartment at Beaufort's.Enter Lord Beaufort, followed by a Servant.
LORD BEAUFORT.
I'll see him here, and while we are together
Let no one interrupt us. (Exit Servant.)
For the first time,
To ask, and of a merchant! one to whom
Wealth is the all in all; whose trade's oppression,
By all the various means of craft and usury.
Who hath no passion but his gold; no sympathy
Save with the means of gain! Well, I must meet him.
Enter Scroope (he keeps his face averted.)
He stands with such a tradesman-like humility,
Hypocrisy so crawling, serpent-like;
I loathe it more than the imperious pride
That lurks beneath. You hold a mortgage, sir,
Over my house and lands here, which expires
Even as we speak, perhaps? Why are you silent?
You have it, have you not?
SCROOPE.
I have.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Methinks
I have heard that voice before. How's this? you tremble?
SCROOPE.
Do I indeed? (Aside.)
I do feel the bird
That looks upon the rattle-snake. What would you
Propose or offer?
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Nothing; my whole wealth
Is at your mercy, or indeed 'tis yours:
The wreck, by careful nursery, might yield
A slender pittance, such as would support
Mean life, and that I scarce can ask of you.
SCROOPE.
Why do you send for me? To ask compassion?
LORD BEAUFORT.
Sir, spare your insult and begone!
SCROOPE.
Why should I?
You say this house is mine. Why sent you to me
If not to ask compassion?
LORD BEAUFORT.
I might hope
My creditor might have so much of conscience,
To save all needless charges, and perchance
To pay me the small value of my lands,
Above the mortgage.
SCROOPE.
And from whom could you
Expect this favour?
LORD BEAUFORT.
Even from a stranger.
SCROOPE.
But I am not a stranger? You have heard
My voice before.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Yet cannot recollect
Where I have heard it; though some mournful thoughts
Rise in its accents.
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Look upon my face!
'Tis more than twenty years since you beheld it;
Ay, some years more than twenty—yet, methinks,
You should not have forgotten.—
LORD BEAUFORT.
It is he!
SCROOPE.
Ay; do you know me? Does Lord Beaufort send
To Francis Norton? Would you ask of him
Favour or friendship, or mere charity?
LORD BEAUFORT.
And am I in your power?
SCROOPE.
Ay: for years
I've wormed myself, by fine degrees, to the heart
Of your once proud fortunes: I have thrown the means
Of waste within your way: when you shot forth
Unhealthy branches of expenditure
I still supplied the sap: but there I dwelt,
Near to the core, eating and eating still
The strength of the trunk away, till my slow patience
At length hath felled it.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Fool! that I knew you not.
These five years you have lived here.
SCROOPE.
Aye! I came
To keep a steward's eye o'er my estate
And watch its heedless tenants. Now you know me
80
Out of your own mouth, with a stern denial?
Is there a common tie of man to man,
Such as the Arab of the desert owns
When e'en an enemy of his faith craves shelter,
You have not broke between us? Now, what ask you?
LORD BEAUFORT.
Nothing. Your fate has conquered, and I'm lost.
SCROOPE.
I came not here to triumph, but to judge.
I've lived to see you at my feet: deny't not!
For all your outward pride is but the symbol
Of your heart's quailing—I have lived to see this,
And I am satisfied. I've little cause
To spare you, but for her sake, whom you killed,
And for some others who are near to you,
You shall at least have justice. For the terms,
Within an hour send Richard to my house
Richard Fitz-Alan—I will hear no more.
Awaken not the deadly fiends that struggle
Yet into life within my breast. Send him,
And in my better mood, amid those thoughts
That cleanse the heart of vengeful will, perchance
Your fortunes may fare better—send him to me.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
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