 | The Patrician's Daughter |  |
SCENE I.
Library in Lynterne Castle.The Earl and Lady Mabel discovered.
Mab.
[With a book.]
Yes, my dear lord;
But have you read this scene?
Earl.
[Who is seated by table.]
I have not.
But the point in hand, dear Mabel.
Mab.
'Tis full of mirth and sprightly incident,
And keen, bright satire, through all which the heart
Breathes truth and sympathy! Oh, how I love
To track a noble soul in masquerade!
Earl.
If it so please you, Mabel, that I wait
Until your raptures shall expend themselves,
I am content.
[He arranges papers. Mabel, after a pause, rises and gives the book to the Earl, standing by his side.
Mab.
You think, dear father, that I trifle. No!
You question of a lover; I reply
By comment on a book—themes separate,
As it may seem to you, but in my mind
Blended together; for the qualities
This book discloses I would have inspire
The man to whom my tributary soul
Should render its allegiance.
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Poor child! the author of the book you laud,
This limner of the mind's fastastic dreams,
Long ere old age found his art profitless,
Foreswore his troth to fancy,—and died rich.
[Returns the book.
Mab.
His book is henceforth sealed to eyes of mine.
Oh, how degraded is the venal soul
Chartered by its Creator to be free,
Yet putting on the dull world's livery,
Not the less menial for its golden fringe!
[Laying the volume on table.
Earl.
You are enthusiastic, my fair girl!
I blame you not; those who aspire too high
Rest nearer heaven than those who ne'er aspired.
I love you, Mabel.
For me you sum up every human tie
Save those which link me to my country's weal.
Your mother lives in you, and in some sort
You are my age's bride as well as daughter;
To lose you were a second widowhood.
My only child! sole tenant of the heart
Your brothers, did they live, would share with you!
Mab.
[Embracing him.]
O my dear lord and father, well I know
Your love, your patient and forgiving love,
To your oft wayward Mabel! Your desire
Shall guide me in this matter! But command,
And I will wed Sir Everard.
Earl.
At no command unsanctioned by your heart
Would I require you wed! Yet would I speak
Of poor Sir Everard a word or two,
And leave to time and your own heart the judgment.
He loves you well, is generous and kind.
Mab.
He is most kind; he is most generous.
Earl.
And though he be no genius, has fine taste
In arts that charm a woman's eye and ear;
Has an accomplished mind and graceful bearing.
Mab.
That all who know Sir Everard will confess.
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Is rich.
Mab.
He has the broadest lands in Warwickshire.
Earl.
And has the one great requisite—high birth.
Mab.
Most true; and yet I hope, possessing these,
He has no more than I; for generous,
I trust, I am, and riches and descent
I know we have, surpassing even his own.
Earl.
And do you hold these things of light account?
Methinks they should be potent arguments.
Mab.
True; but the heart ne'er guides its choice by logic.
There is nought rational in love; it has,
Above all reason, high prerogative.
Who is there that hath loved because he ought?
The meet, the proper, and the dutiful
Belong to the head's lore; above all rule
Is the heart's passion, gushing like a stream,
In its exuberant nature finding law
For all it doth, and pouring oft, alas!
Its unblessed course along the wilderness
Which reason would have taught it to avoid.
Earl.
Then Mabel is in love; for never, sure,
Was one who valued reason less than she.
Mab.
Not so; for, although reason makes not love,
Love may consist with reason; am I right?
Now, if you grant me audience, I will
Possess you of my secret thoughts, till now
Nursed in the solitude of my own heart.
He whom my will shall for its king elect
Must bring me something more than that I have;
Women who marry seldom act but once;
Their lot is, ere they wed, obedience
Unto a father; thenceforth to a husband;
But in the one election which they make,
Choice of a mate for life and death, and heaven,
They may be said to act. The man they wed
Is as the living record of their deed,
Their one momentous deed. If he be base,
It veils their deed with shame; if he be great,
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Haloes it with religion. Would you know
Whom I would have to be my husband? Listen,
In brief terms I will sketch him. He shall be
High born, handsome, I'd rather; but at least
With features lit up by the sacred light
Which marks the elect band of noble men
Whose history is the world's, and whose high names,
Linked close with empires, sound their synonymes:
With eye that quails not in the war; with voice
That thrills the popular ear, and o'erawes senates;
And of a wide, ceaseless benevolence,
Bounded but by the walls of the great world;
And, oh! whene'er affection breathed his name,
Or mind did homage to it, should my heart
Rush back to the bright hour when first I chose him,
Saying it was my act
Earl.
Well, well, my sweet one! all I would require
Is, that the proffered love you cannot take,
You should put back with thoughtful gentleness.
I censure not your nature. Some there be,
Of a romantic spirit like your own,
Have thought all decencies chimerical,
And linked their fate with that of men obscure,
That they might thereby show contempt of station
And all that wisdom holds inviolate:
But this from you I fear not; you have been
Nurtured too well; you are too much my daughter.
Mab.
You do me justice, sir; think not that I
Will e'er disgrace our lineage; whom I wed
High in descent, noble in mind, shall be.
Earl.
Thou art my best beloved; but leave me now—
[As Mabel is retiring.]
Stay, Mabel; one word more with you! To-morrow
A visitor named Mordaunt tarries here;
Perhaps a week or two as it may be.
Show him all kindness; though of humble birth,
He is no common man;—may serve me much.
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Mean you the Mordaunt?
Earl.
I did not know his fame had risen so high
As to make him the Mordaunt; but I think
We mean the same man; he whose eloquence
Has stirred the Commons so.
Mab.
My Mordaunt is a poet.
Earl.
True! he has
That failing, I believe, and 'tis a great one
In public men; but time will cure him of it.
Mab.
Fie, fie, my lord! Do we not mourn when time
Plants wrinkles on the brow? and shall we joy
When his touch chills the freshness of the heart?
For such is poetry.
Earl.
Be it so, chit!
I'll not contest the point; as to this stranger,
Let his reception be most courteous.
I would we could persuade Aunt Lydia
To doff her stateliness for some few days;
It must be looked to; let us seek her, sweet.
Mab.
With all my heart; [Thoughtfully.]
the Mordaunt! [Rousing herself, and giving her hand to Earl.]
O, I'm ready.
[They go out.
| The Patrician's Daughter | |