University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—Sir William Sutton's House.—An Ante-room leading to a Ball-room.—Music as of a Ball.—Dancers seen in the further Apartment.—Visitors passing in and out.
Enter from the Ball-room, Walsingham and Bradford.
Wal.
Fair revels these, Sir William Sutton holds,
And all in honour of the city maid!
Sure the whole town is here, such swarms pass in
And out. Is it a match, as they report,
Betwixt the maid and brave Sir Valentine?

Brad.
In prospect, sir; but, yet, I question much,
If in a year hence, nearer than to-day.
She with the lust for conquest is possess'd
Incontinently. Victory with her
Must follow victory. 'Tis strange so long
It pleased her that Lord Athunree should wear
The chains, Sir Valentine aspires to now.
Pity a maid with treasure past compare
Of gorgeous beauty, and with lands so broad,
Should use her riches with such huswifery,
As makes one pity her possession of them!

Wal.
Lo you, she dances, and, for partner, takes
Lord Athunree, and not Sir Valentine.
A novel measure that! know you its name?

Brad.
No!—Ay!—a liberal measure!—See!—his hand
Retains possession of her waist; while hers,
Nothing repelling, on his shoulder rests,
Permitting neighbourhood so close, embrace
Were scarce in privilege a jot beyond it!

Wal.
You know Lord Athunree?—his character?—
The limits of my acquaintance.

Brad.
No, sir.

Wal.
Sir,
He is a libertine. He hath been much
Abroad. That dance, I will be bound, is ware
Of his importing. Yes; a libertine!
A man of pleasure—in the animal
Ignoble sense of the term—that owns no curb
Of honour, generosity, or ruth;
Nor hath a single grace, except the nerve—
A contradiction which would make one question
That valour is, of itself, a thing to boast of—
To vouch the wrong he does, and stand by it!

Brad.
You say this feelingly.

Wal.
Because I feel it.
I had a friend, whose heart could scarce lodge weal
Or woe, without the privity of mine—
A friend of quick affections—and a villain
Compass'd the ruin of the maid he loved.
That villain was the lord, who dances there!
They fought—Through odds in skill, the honest arm
Was master'd by the foul; but vengeance, though
'Tis baffled, is not lost! Good morning; for
More than an hour or twain, 'tis past the turn
Of night.—Free thanks for your free converse with
A stranger.

Brad.
Sir, the like I render you:
But will you not delay some moments more?
In spirit, yet the revels are but young!

Wal.
Sir, I am pall'd with them—and were I not,
That lord approaches, and the sight of him
Would put out keenest zest of joyance.

Brad.
Have with you, then; far as our road is one,
We'll go together.

Wal.
Sir, right willingly!

[They go out.
Enter Lord Athunree and Felton.
Ath.
'Tis not for him, by sheer effrontery,
For two years I have held the foremost place
'Mongst swarms of lovers close besieging her!
Made one and all to stand aloof, whene'er
I thought they press'd too near!

Fel.
I have marvell'd oft
At your success.

Ath.
Of blood-letting, you know,
In the high mode, I have as little fear,
As need of it; and would they come to that,
I soon convinced them, that I knew their art
Better than they did.

Fel.
To say the truth, the foil
Has stood you much in stead, when you required
Weapon of graver practice.—Found you ever
Your equal in the fence?

Ath.
Ay; and my master!
And therein do I tax my lucky stars,
That watch not o'er me now. He is here in the house,
That gentleman from travel late arrived,
Who, with the gloss of the fair countries which
He has been seeing, shines, and quite puts out
All light of homely worth.

Fel.
Sir Valentine?

Ath.
The same;
That knight of France, though son of England. Ay,
And would-be captain too, to Venus, sir!
Would take the fortress, all who would carry which,
I at impracticable distance still
Have kept; yet come no nearer than I was
To winning it, when first set down before it.

Fel.
Fear'st thou surrender then to him?

Ath.
Humph! Fear?
That “fear” 's an ugly word! “Do I fear?” He is quick!
His point and eye together go! He marks
And hits, at once! His sword is part of him,
Part of his hand, sir, as his hand, of his wrist;
The very moment that your weapons touch,
He is here, and there, and in!—his lounge, a shot
You see not till 'tis home! We quarrell'd once,
And twice I felt him, ere a man could say
That he was well en garde—but touches, yet
Forerunners sure of heavier payment—so
I gave the battle up!—Yes, I do fear—
Save I have hit him, as I think I have,
Apart from lounge or parry!

Fel.
Hit him! How?

Ath.
I' the brain and heart, sir, without damage of
The skin! Through the eyes, sir, that take hit and hit,
And ne'er the worse, howe'er the practice tells
Within! He is a man of sentiment!
Sentiment, mark you!—that is, flesh and blood,
I' the summer cool as spring—or water, sir,
At the boiling point without a bubble—or wood
Without ignition in the heart of fire!
An ample span of forehead!—Mark!—a full
And liquid eye—free nostrils—crimson lips,
Cushioning one another without stint
Of the velvet—and a chin could show a copse
Of beard—a man, sir, with all these, and yet
With wishes innocent as thoughts of babes!
A lie, sir, on the face of it!—yet such
He passes for unto himself—believes
Indeed he is, and so of others judges
Through the false colour of this self-delusion—
Particularly women. He would have them
Earth to himself—to all else, things of heaven!
Impassive to impression, as the air
Which man ne'er yet gave form or colour to!

Fel.
Well?

Ath.
Saw you not I danced with her just now?

Fel.
Fair Hero?

Ath.
Yes; I did dance with her a free
And liberal dance—the dance of contact, else
Forbid—abandoning to the free hand
The sacred waist! while face to face, till breath
Kisses with breath, and eye embraces eye.
Your trancéd coil relaxing, straightening, round
And round in wavy measure, you entwine
Circle with circle, till the swimming brain
And panting heart in swoony lapse give o'er!

Fel.
I know; that foreign dance thou, late, brought'st home.

Ath.
The very same; I taught it her, and first
Danced with her, to-night.

Fel.
I had admired
To see you.

Ath.
Had you not, I had admired!
The card-room kept you. Give you joy—You won!
But to the dance. The evening half was out,
And still he held her ear.

Fel.
Sir Valentine?

Ath.
Who else? who else that seat pre-eminent
By her fair side had held in spite of me.
I watch'd for my occasion, and it came.
Some friend besought a moment's audience. Ere
'Twas done, her waist was in my custody;
Her white arm hanging from my shoulder, where
Her hand, confiding, couch'd. “Your game goes well!”
I whisper'd her; “Play boldly, and 'tis yours!
The measure this, to set the outline off!
Give sway to thy rich figure! Abandon thee
To the spirit of the dance! Let it possess thee!
Float thee, as air were footing for thee! stud
Thy cheeks with smiles of fire, and give thine eye
The lightning's dazzling play! fix them on mine,
That each may feed the other's, like to tongues
With converse, thick'ning converse!”

Fel.
Well?—I see
Thy drift!

Ath.
Thou shouldst have seen the issue on't;—
While, like a pupil at a task he loves,
Whose aptitude with eager will outstrips
His master's bidding, she was twenty times
The thing I wish'd her! How she rose and sank
With springy instep; while her yielding waist—
Well as her waving neck, her beauteous head—
Her falling shoulders, and round bust, show'd off!
A world she look'd and moved of passionate
Quick sense—of loveliness and joyousness—
Of which, be sure, I pass'd the reigning lord!
Nor with the dance did my dominion cease;
But when her drooping lids, relaxéd steps,
Disparted lips, and colour vanishing,
Gave note she must give o'er—her languid form,
Close girdled by my arm, her hand in mine,
Her cheek for pillow on my shoulder laid,
I led her to a couch, where courtesy
Of course admitted tendance!

Fel.
What of him?

Ath.
He is mad, sir! When he turn'd, and noted us,
He look'd as one who question'd his own eyes;
Then stood awhile—no doubt admiring how
Step did keep loving time, and how we moved
In closest neighbourhood, disparting but
To meet—her arm, a link, ne'er letting go!
Then with a start of sudden fury went,
And cast him on a seat with folded arms,
And knitted brows scanning us, as he wish'd
His eyes could do the office of the lightning.
I cared to mark no more—I saw the storm
I wish'd would come, was on; and knew 'twould hold!

Fel.
And does it?

Ath.
Yes; thrice she advances made—
As women know to make them, unobserved,
Except to practised eyes—to draw his notice.
Dropp'd her glove near him—wish'd she had a chair,
And one at his hand—complain'd of thirst, and just
A salver brought to him with wine—but all
In vain—right in his eyes display'd her form
In attitude of tender languishment—
And to no more account than offerings
Of gems before an idol made of stone!
But see; we have danced out the night, and day
With fresh and flushy vigour fast comes on;
You hear the rout breaks up. Attend him home;
Obtain his ear; know nothing, but be sure
Of slightest opportunity he gives
For her disparagement, to take advantage.
Here comes the Queen of the night, and all forlorn,
As she had lost her throne!

Enter Hero, leaning upon Emily.
Emily.
What miss you, Hero,
That thus you pause and turn; go on again,
And pause and turn again? Fear'st anything,
Thou hast forgot?

Hero.
No! I have danced too much
To-night. The night before it was the same!
No rest—All revels!—Madness, with a frame
That is anything but iron.

[Turns to look back.
Emily.
There again!
I'm sure there's something that you miss—What is it?

Hero.
My spirits only! Are not yours nigh wasted?

[Turns again.
Ath.
[Aside to Felton.]
She waits for him!—He saw her home last night.
My life on't she must look for other squire.

Emily.
Come.

Hero.
Are they dancing yet?

Emily.
What do you hear,
To make you ask? You're dreaming! Saw you not
That the musicians left the room before us,
And scarce a dozen laggards then remain'd,
Besides ourselves?

Hero.
I know not what I saw,
I am tired—heart-tired—too tired to move or rest—
A weariness, won't let me go or stay!

Ath.
He comes—accost him—ask him of the ball.

[Aside to Felton.
Enter Sir Valentine.
Fel.
See I Sir Valentine, the last of all
The revellers?

Sir Val.
You see him, sir! 'Tis e'en
Sir Valentine.

Fel.
Liked you the ball to-night?

Sir Val.
Yes!—No!

Fel.
What! Liked it, and disliked it?

Sir Val.
Yes!

Fel.
It was a very handsome ball.

Sir Val.
It was.

Fel.
What was amiss, then? Was the music bad?

Sir Val.
The music far from bad!—most excellent!
Incomparably good—It were in place
In a concert-room,—I found no fault with the music.

Fel.
Are you not fond of dancing, then?

Sir Val.
I am—
Innocent pastime taken innocently
In honest mood!—But there are natures, sir,
That should eschew it—which 'tis pernicious to—
As wine, that's mirth to some, to some is madness!
I find no fault with dancing! 'Tis an act
Sets beauty off, proportion, grace—when these
Are too set off by modesty. For men—
And women more especially—of the vein
That's opposite, I'd have them lookers on—
For their own sakes first—next for the sake of those,
Who what they'd blush to do, lament to see
Enacted.

Fel.
Was there any dance to-night
Offended you?

Sir Val.
N—o, sir—I cannot say—
Perhaps there is no harm in any dance,
I am not sure—Some may give too much license—
Yet not so much, but e'en in such a case
By delicacy 'twill be carried off
Becomingly. I might perhaps object—
Yet where's the thing that can defy objection?
But this I say, sir, and to this I'll stand,
That modesty being to woman more
Than beauty—for, without it, beauty's cheap—
That woman, who can show her beauty off
Before her modesty, forgets herself,
And merits forfeit of that high respect,
Which noble minds would bear her!

Hero.
[To Emily.]
What lady, can you tell me, danced to-night
As lady should not dance?

Emily.
I do not know.

Hero.
[To Felton.]
Do you, sir?

Fel.
No!

Hero.
[To Lord Athunree.]
My lord, do you?

Ath.
No, lady.

Hero.
Perhaps some lady whom the gentleman
Danced with himself, and none, beside him, noted!

Sir Val.
No lady, madam, 'twas that danced with me,
Who yields to me her hand shall never risk
Herself—at least by my o'erstepping. She
Shall find I know the honour that she does me;
See, in the freedom of the frolic measure,
My reverence for her sex attending her;
And then be handed to her seat again,
For mine own credit sake, if not for hers,
By all approved, as gracefully come off
In partnery of honest joyance!
No lady, madam, 'twas that danced with me.

Ath.
The plague repay him for the lesson he
So freely reads me—in her presence too!

Hero.
Wilt please you name the fair that gave offence?

Sir Val.
'Twere a presumptuous act for my poor tongue.
But if you know her, you must know her beauty;
Wherein I ne'er met fair to liken to her,
And that more fittingly shall name her for me.
A noble stature stopping there, where sex
Would have it reach, and bid it go no farther;
A head of antique mould, magnificent,
As may consist with softness and with sweetness;
Features, advertisement of thoughts and moods,
Wishes and fancies, such as it beseems
To lodge with chastity and tenderness
In sumptuous palace of rich loveliness;
And limbs of mould and act therewith consorting,
Making a paragon of symmetry!—
Gods, to such homeliness of use perverted,
As properties, to them were homeliness,
Should spurn to be applied to!

Emily.
Are you ill,
That you turn pale?

Hero.
Ill!—What should make me ill?
I could be angry, were it worth my while
At such disparagement of one, it seems
That's known to me,—but calumny is a thing
That blurs itself, and I should be despised,
Did I pay heed to!

Sir Val.
Lady, you are right;
It shall be calumny—it should be so!
Vouchers so fair, should never be forsworn.
Alas for him, who is incredulous,
Yet would believe them rather far than doubt them!

[Sir Valentine goes out, followed by Felton.
Hero.
A most strange gentleman!—An oddity!
I took him for a man of sense!—Didn't you?
A fanciful and churlish gentleman!
Looks sour because another man looks pleased!
Lord Athunree, wilt see my carriage brought
Close to the door before I venture out,
If not to tax your gallantry too much?

Ath.
I fly to do it.

[Goes out.
Hero.
Let me weep a moment
Upon your neck—There! I am better now.
Are my eyes red?

Emily.
Not much.

Hero.
I will appear
To have been laughing! Laughter will bring tears.
Most excellent!—You should have kept it, though,
For another time! I have not strength to laugh!
As 'tis, I am so weak, I laugh and cry.
Re-enter Athunree.
Lord Athunree, your courtesy has lost you
A most facetious story!

Ath.
Tell it me.

Hero.
Tell it you! Tell it! I am dead already
With hearing it, and must not hear't again,
Would I go home to-night! A little plague,
To make me laugh, and know that I should cry,
For lack of very strength.—Come, let us go!
A charming ball! Fair night—most happy night!
I'll find a time to make you cry with laughing.
[To Emily.
A charming night—a very charming night.

[They go out.