 | Lucretia |  |
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ACT I.
Scene—An Antichamber in Orlando's Castle.Enter Mark and Servants.
Mark.
What! will not he who weds my daughter see me?
It cannot be that he hath trick'd me thus.
Wedded!—ye saints!—the ceremony past!—
Oh haste thee, Robert, haste thee to my Lord—
Kneeling I pray thee bring me to his presence.
Nay if thou wilt not, I will call so loud
That Magdeline herself shall come to fetch me.
1st Ser.
Raise no disturbance now, good Mark: rest here.
Though I gain anger for it, I'll in and strive
To have fresh orders: for, in my opinion,
'Tis very sinful, reverend man, 'gainst thee
This day to bar the Castle gates.
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The day Orlando weds should sure be festive.
Mark.
But what if Magdeline be not content,
Wilt thou keep festival while she doth sorrow?
2d Serv.
Fair Magdeline! I'd fast the whole week thro'
Did she but grieve, and I that grief could cure.
But she is Fortune's fav'rite, justly so,
And her rare qualities have met reward.
Mark.
She doth not think like thee. I have observ'd
Her smiles, and they are feign'd; while very oft
Nature and Truth break forth in heavy sighs.
2d Serv.
That's very true: and I myself have thought
That ever since this marriage was propos'd
Her face hath ta'en a melancholy cast.
Yet, can it be that she should not rejoice,
When, though the child of thee and Beatrice,
Poor cottagers and vassals of our Lord,
She's rais'd to share his fortune and his honours?
And though 'tis true he hath the start in years,
Yet is he strong and healthful, seeming young.
Mark.
Go! there's a parity of mind that mingles
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And there's a dissonance of mind in man
That the same hour of birth could never blend.
My child is humble as her father's lot,
Nor through ambition weds, and less through love.
2d Serv.
Why then bestow her hand against her will?
Mark.
A mind less noble, William, less enlarg'd,
Had past unhurt the shallows she hath struck.
'Twas Gratitude Orlando rais'd before her;
Heaven's mark, remov'd upon a rocky shore,
Which she but follows to her own destruction.
My mind is ill at ease—I prithee leave me—
See if Orlando deigns to meet me here.
(Exit Servant.
Mark alone.
A pious end by impious means pursued
Can ne'er be well attain'd. The noble mind,
Proposing to itself some noble end,
Rejects with horror what can only spring
From fountains so impure and so accurst
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As perjury!—I shudder at the thought—
Perjury!—to invoke the Omniscient
To look on falshood!—To call down Heaven
To witness vows, which some untoward act,
Some worldly accident hath pow'r to break!
Oh! 'tis a deed that shocks my soul to think on.
Let me reflect—there still are hopes—my oath,
That oath I swore 'fore Heaven to lost Lucretia;
That fatal oath, so big with ruin now,
If Heaven so will, may yet remain unbroken.
The least the tyrant now can grant is time
To speak in private with my confessor,
And he shall guide me through this labyrinth.
Enter Orlando.
Orl.
Give me thy hand: thou art my father now.
Mark.
Out, out upon't—thy heart's corrupt, Orlando,
Is rotten to the very core.
Orl.
How's this?
Mark.
Hast thou not broke thy faith? didst thou not promise,
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That for awhile thou would'st defer these nuptials?
Orl.
Why do I lose my time? I'll hear no more—
But know, I was resolv'd to wed thy daughter.
Thy stubborn and unruly spirit crost
My bliss, that sought the honour of thy race.
At length that stubborn spirit I have marr'd,
And plac'd my joys beyond my Vassal's pow'r.
Yet hast thou forc'd me to a crafty part.
I told thy daughter that thou hadst consented;
And, that my words might bear the seal of truth,
I did confirm them with an artful letter,
So well devis'd that even thou might'st doubt
The writing to be thine, did not the substance
Prove the reverse of thy rebellious will;
A tale so suited to her tender heart,
That gain'd at once her credit and consent.
Mark.
Feel'st thou no flushing of the cheek, Orlando?
And doth thy tongue not stammer forth the avowal
Of the base forgery?
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A pious fraud,
To pass the bar of mad authority,
Which thy parental obstinancy rais'd.
I know my actions meet not thy applause:
Nor should I wonder if, as sure I might,
I had forc'd the Beauty to my longing arms,
And sated thrown her to thy humble lot:
But there's an awful charm in Magdeline
Controuls licentiousness:—e'en I avow it.
What would'st thou more than raise her humble state
To title, wealth, and pleasure?
Mark.
These are mere sounds to humble ears like hers—
Hear me, my Lord!
Pleasure is vague and hath no fixt criterion:
Each diff'rent mind its diff'rent pleasure hath.
The abandon'd man, who lies in wait for ruin,
Makes guilt his pleasure: but there is a pleasure
Permitted to Mortality conjoint
With higher beings, e'en with the Highest;
The great, the God-like joy of doing good!
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If thro' these veins luxuriant Nature sped
Her genial glow with more than common sire,
'Tis Nature's deed. Am I the abandon'd man?
Yes, once—ah poor Lucretia!—Is it not so?
Mark.
Who, my Lord, did aught mention of Lucretia?
Conscience! Conscience! how prevalent art thou!
Orl.
I said I'd hear no more: yet I would fain,
For Magdeline's dear sake, prevail with thee
To give thy presence and concurring voice
To our felicity.—Anger away!
Come, turn and be Orlando's friend, his father.
Thou know'st, while yet she smil'd in infancy,
I rais'd her from the vale of poverty,
Gave her the fairest shelter of my castle,
Supplied the want of wealth to her and thee,
And snatch'd her from the gulf of ignorance:
Then give her to my arms, my lawful wife.
Mark.
Pardon, my Lord! you rais'd my daughter, true!
But not from poverty: a costlier robe
Mayhap she wears, and feeds on prouder banquets;
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Can, by comparison, make competence
Less competent; and he's ill-learn'd indeed,
That deemeth poverty comparative:
Poor is he that ragged goes, who not hath
The wherewithal to satisfy plain Nature,
And lacketh spirit to endure his poorness:
But he that o'er his furnish'd limbs can spread
Unbroken garments, who hath wholesome food,
And above all possesses spirit pure
To praise his God, compare him as thou wilt
With lords or kings, thou can'st not call him poor.
Orl.
Excellent Philosopher!—Excellent!
Mark.
For ignorance, my Lord! I do deny
That Magdeline had liv'd unknown of wisdom,
E'en though she ne'er had pass'd a greater threshold
Than the low threshold of her father's cottage.
'Tis true I'm born beneath thy dignity;
But I was early notic'd by my Lord,
Thy father, my lov'd, my lamented Lord;
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Nor was I sluggard to the noble boon.
I could have taught my daughter: Could! Oh Heaven!
Who but myself has sown her mind with virtues,
And every knowledge that becomes her sex?
And am I now refus'd, unhappy wretch!
The solace of conferring with my child?
Oh, my Lord! I'll call thee my dear, dear Lord!
Crop not, untimely thus, my lovely flower:—
Thus on my knees I beg thee to refrain.
Orl.
Rise, Mark! there's something moves thy troubled soul:
But I will not be disappointed: look to't.
Mark.
What shall I do? indeed it must not be.
Dost know, my Lord, but thy Lucretia lives?
At least thou can'st not say that she is dead.
Orl.
Not dead! poor Lucretia! I lov'd thee once!
That I did love her, witness my espousing,
E'en after I had revell'd on her charms,
That never sated: ill-fortun'd fair one!
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Now sixteen years are past since forth she went,
Resolv'd upon her tender soles alone,
To reach Jerusalem: full sixteen years;
And of her fate no tidings have we had:
We all have mourn'd her dead, nor e'er till now
Hast even thou once doubted of her death.
Mark.
A daughter's honour and eternal welfare,
Have pow'r to raise more groundless doubt than this.
Orl.
Now, Mark, it joys me much to find the cause
Of thy repugnance, and to find it too
Of weight so trivial, that thy own good sense
Shall aid thee soon to throw it off. Enter—
My bride will wonder at so long an absence.
Enter—but at thy peril check my joys.
(Going.
Mark catching his Garment—he turns.
Mark.
The Devil hath rais'd a Fairy edifice
Of happiness before thee, and through the door
Presents a pleasing view: but, oh beware!
'Tis mock'ry and decoy.
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Thou turbulent! I'll have thee made secure.
Mark.
Yet one word more, Orlando! Oh my Lord!
I leave thee for awhile, grant me but this,
Grant it, my Lord! for thy soul's sake and mine;
Forbear, till I return; nay swear thou wilt.
Orl.
And thou, with spirit of the Grecian Sage,
Wilt fly thy native shore, an exile die,
And give thy corpse a grave beneath the sea;
Left here thy bones be brought to free my oath:
Thine may the blood of a Lycurgus be,
But then remember, Mark! that I'm no Spartan.
Mark.
I wrong'd thee not with such unapt suspicion.—
Orlando! hear me Orlando! there is
'Tween thee and Magdeline a fiery bar,
Blaz'd by the hand of Nature and of Heav'n;
And no caprice of mad authority.
I could remove the film that blinds thine eye;
But, oh! I've sworn an awful oath to Heav'n.—
Grant me a little time t' advise once more
With Jeremy, my feeble soul's director.
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The day is waning fast, yet thou hast time:
Then cast off age, and come with youthful speed.
Mark.
Wilt thou then give me time? bless thee! my Lord!
Promise me, swear thou wilt.
Orl.
If thou return'st
To night, I will: but then remember this,
That no feign'd tale of Lucrece living still,
Shall sway with me to quit my Magdeline.
Mark.
Thou wilt not again break faith! oh Lucretia!
(Exit.
Orlando
alone.
Lucretia! ay, he hath heard that she's alive—
I know that she esteem'd him, much—perhaps—
'Tis so, and he is sworn to secrecy.—
If he return commission'd to reveal,
Away fly all my hopes of Magdeline.—
But for this superstitious piety
I now had known it, and had now been lost.
Oh thanks to virtue for this obligation!
Claudio!—now this requires some art—ho! Claudio!
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Orl.
Haste to the Convent, boy, make quick dispatch,
Send hither friar Jeremy; but heed
Thou dost instruct him take the narrow path,
That westward measures round the Castle wall.
Be sure to keep him from the open road,
For there would he meet Mark, gone hence to seek him,
And that's thy errand to prevent.—Away!
Claud.
Most willingly I fly to serve my Lord.
(Exit.
Orlando
alone.
See! what a pother keeps this blood of ours!
Subjecting man to its despotic sway,
And drowning Reason as it pours along!
Why, what a thing am I! borne headlong down
The stream of Passion, with my own free will:
Toss'd by the muddy current to and fro,
Fretting and boiling through a fev'rish life,
And ev'ry straw that meets me rubs me sore.—
Who is this slave that tops me to my face,
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Who sets me on to plot and to contrive?
The sire of Magdeline, if he oppose
The welfare of his child, is not her sire:
To cherish and promote bespeak the parent.—
But I will bear it still, and act with craft:—
The man who would secure success, must find
With Eagle eye each avenue that opens
To disappointment; these well watch'd and barr'd,
Wisdom may rest in full security.
(Exit.
Scene.—An interior Apartment of the Castle.
Enter Magdeline and Constance.
Mag.
Go, seek my Lord, and say we wait his presence.
(Exit Constance.
Magdeline alone.
Why do I sigh? It is a foolish sorrow—
Teach me, my Father, to support my duty.
(Takes out a letter and reads.
“Child of my bosom! to whose grateful mind,
And lovely virtues of the soul, I owe
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Continue still as good as thou art beauteous.
How I have lov'd thee, lacks not testimony:
That I still love thee, thou may'st well believe.
Oh Magdeline! my joy, my comfort here!
Join to repay thy Father's gratitude.
Too long have we withstood Orlando's suit:
A fresh and noble instance of his bounty
Awakes our virtue, and demands return.
My child! thy Father's little farm is sold,
And his cot challeng'd o'er his dying head.
The base Ejector of my humble roof
Reposes on the count'nance of my Lord,
Enrag'd that we refuse his great alliance.
But nobly tow'ring o'er a mind so base,
My Lord has giv'n me warning of the deed;
His gen'rous purse is open to my wants,
And he hath vouch'd my right in noble letters
Sent to the Steward of the Court. Thy Mother,
Thy aged Mother too, is call'd away.
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And scarcely shall we be in time to meet
The saucy foe who summons us to answer.
We can no longer our consent withhold,
To make Orlando happy. Oh! reward him!
Fly to his arms without delay, and make
Oh! make our thanks substantial gratitude:
In time we will return to bless you both.”—
These are his words. Ah! fatal words to me.
Enter Orlando.
Mag.
My noble Lord, your friends propose to while
The time in walking through the Forest grounds,
And wait but your consent to join the band.
Orl.
It is my joy to yield me to thy wish:
But what, my Magdeline, with so much haste,
Dost thou conceal from thy Orlando's eye?
Mag.
My Father's letter, good my Lord—no more—
Wherein with grateful words he well records
Your noble bounty and beneficence.
How little able to repay is he!
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Though poor of value in my own account,
He deems his treasure, and bestows it freely.
Come, shall we join our friends?
Orl.
Go on, my love;—
Triumphant Pleasure round thee plants his spell,
And where thou lead'st Delight and Love attend.
(Exeunt
| Lucretia | |