University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Room.
Maddervan and Marian.
Marian.
Excuse me, sir, if I again intrude.

Mad.
Well, what new nonsense have you got to talk?

Marian.
You cannot say that I am now mistaken.

Mad.
If 'tis not what you have already said.

Marian.
I would speak only, sir, of what concerns
My own affair; and, as a faithful servant,
Humbly expect that when my marriage happens,
You will not think me undeserving favor.

Mad.
You wait not for your mistress' marriage then?

Marian.
No, sir, but—

Mad.
What?

Marian.
If it take place to-day,
Mine, with your leave, may be perform'd to-morrow.

Mad.
Is this not nonsense?

Marian.
Sir, I still must think—

Mad.
In verity you have great need to think.

Marian.
Do you still say my mistress is not—

Mad.
Stuff.
Go get you gone, and hatch some other fancies.

Marian.
You soon shall see, sir, who is the deceiv'd.
Did I not hear the Captain speak with Miss?
Hear them resolve to marry out of hand?
And saw not I, with these my looking eyes,
The purse of gold you gave, part of her dower?

Mad.
Part of her dower!

Marian.
I saw the purse, I did.

Mad.
Go to, go to, thou art beside thyself.

Marian.
Are these hands mine that I do look upon?

Mad.
They are indeed a pair of ugly paws.

Marian.
Then as I see these hands, I saw the purse.

Mad.
(aside)
Monsieur was wrong to risk discovery thus.

Marian.
You slur my honesty, by not believing.

Mad.
Go, hear the truth, and understanding ill,
Come brim-full back to me, and tattle nonsense.

Marian.
I know, sir, what I know, and that is truth.

Mad.
Go, get you gone; speak not so pertly, minx,
Or I may make you sing your oldest song.

Mar.
Allow me, sir, to ask one simple question.

Mad.
Now you are rational, you act discreetly;
To ask is to obtain, and wisdom comes
By sober questioning.

Marian.
Where is my mistress?

Mad.
Where should she be?

Marian.
Is she not with the captain
Gone to her aunt's—to your own sister gone?

Mad.
Ha! who comes here?—all's well enough, but Monsieur
Has not been prudent, that he must allow—
My sister lives not far from Constance' aunt,
And Beatrice is doubtless waiting there.

[Enter Gascogne.]
Gas.
Your servant, sir.

Mad.
Good morning, friend, what news?

Gas.
My master sends his compliments, and says
That this will tell you all. (Gives a letter.)


Mad.
Let's see, let's see—
How does he?—where is he?—How goes it, friend?—
Ha, here's another letter—from my daughter:
But let me see first what poor Monsieur says:
“Sir, your advice gave me the heart to do—”
There he says right; 'twas I that gave him heart.
“What all the force of love had never done.
“I have conducted, as you bade, the daughter,—”
He has met Constance in the street, ay, ay!
“And here we are. The aunt, moved by her tears,
“At last consented, and our hands were join'd.”
As good as could be—All my doing this
“I can add nothing but implore your kindness.”
What would he farther, he is married now,
And wants no help of me.—Now Beatrice:
“Dear father,”—What a pretty hand she writes!
A clever girl—thank Heav'n!—but let me see:
“I ask permission to fall at your feet,—
“Implore your pardon. It was only the advice
“You gave yourself that”—Slut! Slut! traitors! traitors!

Marian.
Sir, what has chanced—

Mad.
Help! help! support me, friends!

Marian.
Heavens! what is this?

Mad.
Undone, undone, undone!
Friends, quit me not!

Marian.
Who was mistaken, sir?

Mad.
Hold out your fingers at me, laugh and sneer,
Spit in my face, and call me old curmugeon!—
Hiss at me, call the rabble in to shout!—
I merit all—I give you liberty.

Marian.
No, sir, no, no, we pity your distress.

Mad.
I won't be pitied; I do not deserve it.

Gas.
My master, sir, is worthy of his choice.

Mad.
He has undone my daughter, ruin'd me!

Marian.
Sir, you may soon put all to rights again.

Gas.
Appease yourself with what you would have said
To Vanderclufe.

Mad.
Do you upbraid me, scoundrel?

Marian.
Sir, he speaks well—you merit his upbraiding.

Mad.
And you too, gipsy—but ye serve me right.

Marian.
Indeed, indeed, we pity you sincerely.

Gas.
You prove the punishment of bad advice.

Mad.
But they deceiv'd me, told me lies, all lies.

Marian.
Love, sir, is cunning, and will find the way
To filch the happiness it is denied.

Mad.
Had Vanderclufe consented to my wish,
O what a thing should I have been to look at?

Gas.
Were you employ'd to ask for his consent?

Mad.
They knew of all I did, and stopp'd me not.

Gas.
Say rather, sir, you understood amiss.

Mad.
They have betray'd me—they have cheated me—
My daughter is a good-for-nothing toad,
And Monsieur is—

Gas.
Be cautious what you say;
Soldiers have swords, and know, sir, how to use them.

Mad.
A proper finish it will be to kill me.

Gas.
No, sir, my master will do no such things.
He'll ask your pardon, sir, I'm sure he will.

Mad.
I will not see him.

Gas.
He will bring his lady.

Mad.
Lady! what lady?—Beatrice my daughter—
Oh Beatrice! and have I now no daughter!—
Perfidious girl! she was my pride and joy.

Gas.
There is no remedy.

Mad.
Peace, peace, I know't.

Gas.
If you grow angry, sir, I must depart.

Marian.
Oh, pity him, Gascogne—My poor dear master!
I hop'd my mistress would have liv'd with him,
Spent all her days in comforting his age,
And breeding little babes for him to dandle.
But dear, good soul, now he must mope alone.

Mad.
I'm lost to happiness, to hope, and all.

Gas.
How! think you, sir, my master can't provide
His wife with little ones for you to dandle?

Marian.
Would they but stay, before a year goes round,
O what a pretty grandson you might see!

Mad.
I hate the father, and would hate the child.

Marian.
But blood is blood, sir, your own flesh and blood.

Mad.
My heart is breaking!

Marian.
Gascogne, now's the time.

Mad.
What do you whisper—

Marian.
I discard Gascogne—
Yes, he may go with his ungrateful master.

Mad.
Go where?

Marian.
To France.

Mad.
To France!—my Beatrice!—

Gas.
Sir, fare you well.

Mad.
Ah me! when will they go?

Gas.
They told me if I brought no happy answer,
To order horses; and I must obey.

Mad.
And will they go so soon?

Marian.
Alack, alack!—
Sad news, sad news for such a good, kind father—
Never to see his lovely, lovely daughter!—

Mad.
Is not your master, sir, a savage born?—
A wolf—a wolf that robs me of my lamb.

Gas.
No, sir, he'll bring her here if you permit.

Mad.
How! what! does he expect my thanks for this?
Does he expect reward for his deceit?—
Go, tell him from me—tell him he's a wolf!

Gas.
I understand you, sir; I take my leave.

Mad.
And tell my daughter that I hate her name:
I will not see them, I will shut my eyes—
But stop, no:—go—yes, I will shut my eyes.
[Exit Gascogne.
Ah, Marian, how well I merit all!

Marian.
Suppose, for pastime, just to keep you calm,
We talk a little more of my affair.

Mad.
What! speak of marriage! I detest the word;
I'll ever listen to it while I live.

Marian.
Alas! the world must then be near its end.

Mad.
To me it is.

Marian.
And who shall be your heir?

Mad.
The devil!

Marian.
What! not your own darling daughter!—
Your sweet, sweet daughter—your own looking child—
The very mind and picture of yourself—
Must she, O must she live in poverty?

Mad.
Ah poor unfortunate—My Beatrice!

Marian.
O will you die and not be reconciled?

[Enter Constance.]
Cons.
This is a pretty trick, I needs must say.

Mad.
I wanted only this—O I shall sink.

Cons.
Did you not send me to my aunt's, and say
That I should find the captain waiting there?—
I waited till my very heart grew sick.—

Marian.
Let me explain, and I will tell you all:
He told the captain to go to the aunt's;
And to the aunt's the gallant captain went
To meet his love, and his true-love he met;
And they are married—What a shocking thing!
The bride's not Constance call'd, but Beatrice!

Cons.
How! is this true? Have I been so deceived—
Speak, sir, and tell me if she tells the truth?

Mad.
If I endure it, surely you may.

Cons.
Sir!

Mad.
For you, for you, O I have lost my daughter!

Cons.
What! how! for me?

Mad.
Yes, yes, for you, for you,
I plann'd the fabric that has crush'd myself.

Cons.
I understand you not; what is't you mean?

Mad.
Be calm, Miss Constance, I will tell you all.—
Who have we here?—Would I were in my grave
Close covered up and underneath a stone!

[Enter Vanderclufe.]
Van.
What do you here? Home, instantly home, home!

Cons.
You never, sir, forbade my visits here.

Van.
But I do now—I know for what you come.

Mad.
Sir, you know nothing: O if you but knew
What I have met with, you would chide her not.

Van.
I know but only what you said yourself;
Enough 'tis surely to make me resolve
That she shall cease to visit at your house.

Marian.
Think you that she may marry without leave?

Van.
Perhaps I do.

Marian.
Unless my master there
Take her himself, she'll find no husband here.

Van.
Where is the Frenchman?

Mad.
Ah, he knows not yet!

Marian.
Why, sir, the captain has my mistress married.

Van.
Eh!

Mad.
Oh!

Van.
How now!—married—married, did you say?

Cons.
Revenge the wrong and insult done to me.
They flatter'd, lied, deceived; indeed they did.

Van.
O yes, your wrong and insult shall be punish'd
As close as four stone walls can keep you in.
And my good neighbour, for his hasty speech,
Shall do me justice with his shame and blushes.

Mad.
I know, I feel, how much I did you wrong.
Alas! my dear friend, I have lost my child!

Van.
Lost! if but married, sir, she is not lost.

Mad.
I doubt, I doubt, I ne'er shall see her more.
Who knows but she is on the road to France!

[Enter Beatrice, La Gloire, &c. &c.]
Beat.
O my dear father,—

Mad.
You deceitful baggage!

Beat.
Forgive, forgive, in charity forgive me.

Mad.
You merit nothing, cunning, cheating baggage!

Beat.
I must confess your anger justly rous'd.

Cons.
Were I her father I would not forgive her.

Mad.
Rise, Beatrice.

Beat.
O not without your pardon.

Mad.
Daughter, daughter, you have been my death.

Beat.
Alas! you know it was your own advice.

Mad.
Hush, hush! for mercy's sake, speak not of that!
Be silence the condition of forgiveness.

Beat.
But, my dear father, without farther grace,—

Mad.
Monsieur! not Monsieur, mention not his name.

Beat.
Forgive him too, or we have met to part.

Mad.
Perfidious hussy! can you tell me so!

Beat.
My hand is his, and he may lead me hence.

Van.
The deed is done, and cannot be undone—
Come, come, forget, forgive, be friends again,
And make all up before the story spreads.

Beat.
Here, husband, kneel, entreat my father's blessing.
Here, father, here is Monsieur, take his hand—
Be quick, be quick, and nothing shall be known.

Mad.
Well then, God bless thee, son—Alack! my son.

Cons.
I cannot bear to look at that French knave.

Beat.
Thanks, thanks, dear father, blessings crown your goodness.