 | The Merchant of London |  |
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ACT V.
SCENE I.
—Street.Enter Richard.
Nor him—nor her! and my short respite passes
Like the last hour of a poor culprit's life,
That waits the executioner. Yet 'tis not
Myself I heed; let me wear out my life
The tenant of a prison—I deserve it!
But she, the beautiful! the innocent!
She who placed all her trust, her love, on me,
To be the victim of my folly!—Ha!
Who passes there? 'Tis he! I'll rush—No, no;
Patience—a moment's patience—lest he 'scape me.
[Enter Edward; he is passing quickly.
[Richard comes close to him.
'Tis he!
EDWARD.
Ah, Richard! I have business—
RICHARD.
Stay!
I've sought you—
EDWARD.
Then be brief. Had not my father
Commanded my attendance, I'd not spar'd
One instant from the affair that calls on me.
RICHARD.
It is an earnest one. Where is she?
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Who?
RICHARD.
Mariana!—Speak!
EDWARD.
You rave.
RICHARD.
Tear from the wolf
Her young and strive to parley; but dare not
Trifle with me. Where is she?
EDWARD.
You are jesting!
Farewell!
RICHARD.
To stir a step is death!
EDWARD.
Ha! ha!
Go! order thine inferior, if thou hast one,
To search her out; for me, I am no lacquey
To obey a foundling page, or watch the steps
Of a base usurer's niece.
RICHARD.
We are man to man now!
And well thou know'st thy life is at my will,
If thou durst meet my sword in manly conflict—
Brave heaven's fierce lightnings with thy pride of birth!
Wert thou a king, and I thy meanest slave
My wrath would spurn thy rank.—Where is my bride?
She should have been so—thou, and none but thou,
Hast torn her—nay, hast basely stolen her from me.
Thy life, or mine, or both, are on the stake.
EDWARD.
If I had known—
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Coward! speak not the lie,
Lest I should strangle it in thy foul throat!
The letter that thou urged'st me to write—
Thy base equivocations—all proclaim it.
Yield her, or meet thy death!
EDWARD.
From thee?
RICHARD.
From me!
Yield her—but yield her to her father's arms,
And I will cast me at thy feet and bless thee:
I'll beg of him forgiveness for thee—nay,
I'll yield her to thee, win her father's blessing
Upon your union, doom myself to banishment;
Let me but wipe the foul stain from my soul,
That I've dishonour'd her who trusted me!
EDWARD.
I am a fool to listen to thy ravings.
Stand from before me—I will pass—
RICHARD.
Then be it so! (draws.)
Here let me perish if I slay thee not!
Draw!—traitor to thy friend!—poor, paltry villain!
Draw!—or I will not spare thee!—
[Edward draws. They fight. Richard attacking Edward with uncontrolled and wild fury. Edward defends himself coolly, and at length disarms and wounds Richard.
EDWARD.
So, my brave sworder!—you are in my power—
I'd slay thee, with as small remorse as crush
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Ere you again brave noblemen, and learn
To fight with temper, or your fencer's skill,
With all its boast, may meet its match.—Your sword
Is there, if your arm hath strength to wield it still.—
Now, on thy life, dare not to dog my steps!
But that I think thou can'st not, or I'll end
Thy folly and presumption at a blow!
[Exit.
RICHARD
(supporting himself against a pillar).
I have no strength to follow him. Is life
Ebbing, or is't but weakness? She is lost!
He hath confined her in some hellish den
To accomplish his damn'd purpose! Oh! for bu
One hour of strength, and then to die! Ho! friends,
Help, for heaven's charity! help! help!
Enter two Officers.
FIRST OFFICER.
You're hurt, sir.
Let us convey him straight into a house,
For we have urgent business. Edward Beaufort.
RICHARD.
What of him?
FIRST OFFICER.
We must straight attach his person.
RICHARD.
Leave me! he's yonder! fly! leave me! I'm strong.
If thou wouldst save my life, my very soul
Lose not a moment; leave me, if to perish!
But fly! secure him and I'll bless you! Ah!
I've scarce the power to speak it—Mariana!
(Falls in their arms.)
[Exeunt.
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SCENE II.
—A Hall at Lord Beaufort's.Lord Beaufort and a Servant.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Not come yet!
SERVANT.
No, my lord!
LORD BEAUFORT.
Edward, you say,
Hath left the house again? Where is my daughter?
SERVANT.
She, too, is gone, my lord.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Do all desert me?
At such a time, methinks, my children's place
Should be their father's side. Who is't comes yonder?
SERVANT.
I think, my lord, 'tis Scroope.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Then leave me with him.
[Exit Servant.
I feel him with the instinct which the sparrow
Hath of the hawk. I feel that it is he.
Yet not the Scroope I met this morning here,
'Tis liker Francis Norton
Twenty-five years ago; his step so hasty,
His eye so quick and proud.
SCROOPE
(without.)
Away, sir! hence!
I'm master here, and, in my house, I need not
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I say I am master here.
(Enters.)
LORD BEAUFORT.
What means this, sir?
SCROOPE.
Must I be heralded into a den
Of wolves? It means that you are in my power
And you shall feel you are so. Wrong on wrong
You and your house have heap'd upon me. A nest
Of serpents! race of fiends! whose very sport
Is the heart's torture!
LORD BEAUFORT.
What passion's this?
SCROOPE.
What passion? Say the eagle's for his mate,
Whom you have slain, and from whose nest you've stolen
His young; 'twill poorly paint my anguish'd wrath
Or my swift vengeance. Ye shall feel me, proud ones!
LORD BEAUFORT.
Hear me!
SCROOPE.
Ay, groaning with remorse and hunger
When you and all are cast forth from your dwelling,
To feel—there is no keener fate, and you
Have practis'd it on me—the hard world's scorn,
Its arrogant, proud pity, its advice
For what is past. Even I cannot desire
Bitterer mocks, more biting, poignant taunts,
More mean and abject, heart-corroding sorrows,
Than shall attend your fall'n nobility.
Daily I'll come—nay hourly, to the prison
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Of his proud kindred in their squalid rags,
Whose greatness hath no more to yield him. Then,
Then I may smile once more, for you have left me
No other joy but in your misery.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Yet let me know what new offence? I'm innocent—
SCROOPE.
You are his father. 'Tis enough from you
He hath inherited the accursed nature
To feel but for himself: and he shall feel!
To dwell with Beaufort is to learn to murder,
Wantonly murder! There's a pestilence
Among ye, and you should be all pent up
In a foul lazar-house: your breath is poison;
Even your page, Fitz-Alan, whom I loved,
Is made an instrument of wrong to me:
And for your son—
Enter an Officer.
How now, sir! Have you search'd?
Say, are they here?
OFFICER.
Neither, sir.
SCROOPE.
Mariana!
Where shall I seek her! Oh, my peerless child!
Yet I'll avenge!
You have doom'd yourselves. Hence from my house! my house!
And beg ere nightfall for a beggar's shelter.
[Edward is brought on guarded by the two Officers.]
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Tell me! Where is she?
EDWARD.
I'm a prisoner, sir,
But not your slave. Ask those will answer you.
SCROOPE.
Thou wilt not tell me? I could seize thee, villain,
And rend thee as the lion doth his prey;
But thou'rt too far beneath me, thou'rt too firmly,
Too surely in my power. I will make
An art of torturing thee. Fool! thou art here
Within my grasp, and at my will I crush thee.
One word decides thy fate. Where's Mariana?
EDWARD.
Had I my freedom, I would answer thee.
My sword should tell thee, as it told Fitz-Alan,
How little I regard thee or thy threats.
LORD BEAUFORT.
What! is he slain? By thee! Indeed, all's lost.
SCROOPE.
Thy spirit's pamper'd now. Answer me thus
When a slow year of prison hath consum'd it.
EDWARD.
Lead me to prison, sirs. Why have you brought me
Before this self-appointed judge, to plead
To what concerns not me? You shall well answer
For making me the sport of his wild fancies.
How dare ye treat me as a criminal
On his false accusation?
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See! the writing
Which thou didst gain from him thou call'dst thy friend!
Let that confound thee! Let that bar all hope!
Thou art my debtor! Ah, my wealth, I praise thee!
And for a sum that will, I think, detain thee
Until I forge for thee a felon's fetters
And lead thee to the gibbet! Aye, the gibbet!
Let thy birth render that illustrious!
Enter Richard, pale and breathless, his arm bound.
RICHARD.
Though with my last breath, let me pay my debt,
The debt of vengeance; I am come to yield
Myself your prisoner, sir.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Doth he yet live?
Then is there left a hope.
SCROOPE.
Poor heart-struck victim!
I almost pity thee.
EDWARD.
Lead me away.
SCROOPE.
Let him remain! I'll answer to the law
For what I do. That felon shall remain.
For the Lord Beaufort and his household, hence!
Away with them! To beg! to starve! to die!
LORD BEAUFORT.
One moment! I may yet awake one chord
Of mercy in thy breast.
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Ha! ha! my breast!
'Tis flint! 'tis adamant! a tower of rock,
Where hate and vengeance keep their citadel.
LORD BEAUFORT.
My sister!—thine own wife—
SCROOPE.
I tremble, but
With deeper rage.
LORD BEAUFORT.
If it be so, despair
Is brave. Thy wife, I say, my sister, ere
She died, became a mother, and there lives
One who may call thee “Father.” I alone
Can tell thee of thy offspring, 'tis a claim
I have acknowledged yet to none, for pride
Bade me first keep it secret; and this day,
In the same pride, I hop'd I might repay
All thou could'st show of mercy. Tell me, sir,
Who is the master now?
SCROOPE.
I am at thy feet.
Oh! tell me! does my heart?—Am I deceived?
Is he not here? Speak! All that thou canst ask
Is thine. I swear it.
LORD BEAUFORT.
Richard is thy son!
SCROOPE.
He swoons within my arms! Oh my lost boy!
Dear relic of thy mother! my poor child!
Do I embrace thee but to lose thee! Ha!
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Look to his wound!
RICHARD.
My father! Fear not for me!
'Tis but a moment's weakness. It was bound
By a hand of kindest ministry! Fear not!
But when I felt I liv'd, I could but live
For you and Mariana, and no power
Had held me hence.
SCROOPE.
I ever lov'd thee, Richard;
But now what joy to trace thy mother's smile
Beam on thy face.
RICHARD.
Oh! were this joy but shar'd
With Mariana!
Enter Flaw.
FLAW.
Good master Scroope! huzza! Throw up your cap, sir!
I'm the deliverer! huzza! shout all!
I am the hero, sir, the valiant hero,
Who hath run faster than e'er hero ran.
To bring the tidings—
SCROOPE.
What, man?
FLAW.
Look you here!
Your niece, sir!
Enter Mariana and Rivers.
SCROOPE.
Safe! art safe? art safe, my child?
Unstain'd? unharm'd?
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Safe and unharm'd, dear uncle!
SCROOPE.
Who hath preserved thee? Who was it hath wronged thee?
Yet that I know—I'm sure. Oh my full heart!
Behold my son! thy husband, Mariana!
Richard, thy lover! All is joy and wonder,
And I have only tears to tell the story;
Oh, my dear children!
MARIANA.
'Tis one dream of rapture!
Yet true, I feel it.
RICHARD.
Mariana! mine!
My restor'd bride!
SCROOPE.
Ay, fold her in your arms,
My heart yearns as 'twould burst to hold you in it.
My son and daughter! Look you here, proud sir! (to Edward.)
Yet I'm so happy that I would not triumph
Over the guiltiest.
MARIANA.
Know, sir, my preservers;
These gentlemen, whose faults you must forgive,
And recompense their virtues.
RIVERS.
I am recompensed;
I have not breath'd for many years so freely.
SCROOPE.
And you too, Master Flaw?
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Ay, even I, sir;
I've pepper'd some of my associates,
Bled Master Bloodmore, frighted valiant Mouseheart:
To do him justice though, my brave ally,
Good Master Rivers here, unbound me first,
And now, to emulate Scipio Africanus,
I freely yield my conquest to my rival.
RICHARD.
And he's as grateful as was Scipio's client.
FLAW.
Yet there was one, a figure in a cloak,
Who, with two valiant fellows, watch'd to aid us;
And, though he drew no sword himself, his followers
Help'd us to beat the rascals that opposed us,
And sure that's like him—only that's a woman.
Enter Isabel.
ISABEL.
Yes, 'tis a woman! Richard! 'tis thy sister!
Say, have I acted still a sister's part?
I promis'd ne'er to speak of what I fear'd,
But 'twere no womanhood to know thy bride
In such base toils, and strive not to release her.
RICHARD.
How shall I thank thee?
MARIANA.
I?
SCROOPE.
That task is mine.
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I only know your wishes to prevent them.
SCROOPE.
Now, sir, though (to Edward)
You're in your father's treaty pardon'd, yet
I would befriend you better than your vices,
If you would quit them for a juster counsel.
EDWARD.
Sir, I ask nothing. I am still your captive.
SCROOPE.
No, you are free, release him.
(Exeunt Officers.)
EDWARD.
There are regions
Yet unexplor'd on earth; there I'll essay
To regain a fame I've forfeited. Farewell, sir,
(To Lord Beaufort.)
If you again should hear of Edward Beaufort,
It may be that he has perish'd, or done that
May merit kinder thoughts. Seek not to stay me.
[Exit.
SCROOPE.
He shall be aided in his enterprise.
Give me your hand, my brother, will you not?
Is not all enmity at rest between us?
LORD BEAUFORT.
With me most truly.
SCROOPE.
Take your house and lands,
They are Richard's gift unto his noble uncle,
And Mariana's offering to her sister.
What says my son? What joy to call thee so!
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You grant me favours ere I ask them, sir.
SCROOPE.
You will be rich enough, and Mariana
Will yet lose no part of her dowry, you
Sharing it with her.
MARIANA.
Every way increas'd, sir,
In love and dear content.
SCROOPE.
Bless you, my children;
And you (to Isabel)
a new-adopted daughter to me.
Now may I well rejoice in my wealth's power.
My gold, again I thank thee. May such fortune
Still crown the just thrift of The London Merchant.
THE END.
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