 | Francis Beaumont |  |
Scene III.
—A prison.[Walter solus.]
Walter.
Oh! I deserve to die, but not for this!
My own too black offence was undiscover'd,
And I must perish for another's crime.
Such are the tricks of justice! Dare they hang
A dog upon such proof? Because my witness
Is bought or kept away, the law must clutch me
In its remorseless fangs. There's one means left—
I will tell all, and may obtain a respite;
For any crime but murder there is hope.
And Francis Beaumont—could I see him once,
I could unfold a tale whose startling truth
Should rouse him from his blind security,
And force him to the sure and only way
To save himself and me.
[The gaoler shews in Francis Beaumont, and then retires.]
34
Walter, you wish'd to see me.
Walter.
Yes, I wish it
For both our sakes. Come nearer, master Beaumont.
Francis.
If you have aught to say or to confess,
Proceed, unhappy man; mine ear is open.
Walter.
There's none outside the walls to listen, sir.
Play not the priest: 'tis not a time for shams.
Francis.
No, nor for idle parley. Time is precious.
Walter.
It is—to you not less so than to me.
Then hear: I must begin from the beginning.
Do you remember that eventful day,
When in a fit of wrath you struck your father?
Francis.
'Tis false: he rais'd his arm against my mother;
I interposed, he fell; I never struck him.
Walter.
Well, well; he said you did. That very day
He bade me write a will—
Francis.
The will that gave
His nephew all, and made his children beggars?
And you dissuaded not.
Walter.
I wrote it all
From his dictation: but a fortnight after
He became ill; he sent for me again,
And in my presence tore the will in pieces,
Telling me not to breathe a syllable—
Francis.
O heavens! and you—
35
The fragments were destroyed,
Save only one, where it was sign'd and witness'd,
Which, unperceiv'd by him, I took away.
Francis.
Oh! villain!
Walter.
Spare reproaches; they are useless:
And bear in mind, you never were my friend.
Your cousin—
Francis.
He and you—I see it all.
Walter.
I forged the will, and he the signatures.
Your father's tenants, who subscribed the first,
Ne'er doubted but that ours was genuine.
Francis.
Had you but told me this some months before!
Walter.
It had been well for more than one of us.
But mark how rogues are caught in their own snares!
Half of the crime was mine; and half the prize
I bargain'd for. Your cousin put me off
With vain excuses—he was deep in debt—
The land was cumbered—pretexts for delay.
I prest him; for I meant, when I had clutch'd
The promis'd gold, to quit the neighbourhood:
Ill-gotten wealth is best enjoy'd from home.
Francis.
Well, well; he paid you not the felon's hire.
Walter.
He paid me not, except with promises;
I threatened him—you are impatient—
I'm coming to the time.
Francis.
Go on, go on.
36
The night before the last, he sought my house,
Made me some offer of a paltry pension,
And, when I spurn'd it, in a wrathful mood
He left me. But the next night—ha! you tremble—
He came again, and long and angry talk
Ensued between us, till he drew a poniard
And plunged it with fell purpose in my side;
I grasp'd his arm, he dropt the steel and fled:
Scarce had he pass'd the garden twenty yards,
When from behind some trees a man rushed out
And with a weapon struck him to the earth,
From which he rose no more; the man stooped over,
And gave blow after blow; then up he sprang,
And vanished from my sight.
Francis.
You saw him not?
Walter.
I stood in horror, but on sudden thought
I gather'd up my strength, to follow him.
He dash'd into the copse that skirts the park,
And I toil'd after: when I clear'd the wood,
I spied him in a fallow, crossing slowly
To where it meets the road, for which direct
I made across the clover pasturage:
He stood beside the gate, and leant upon it,
And cast his eyes all round. Just then the moon
Shone full and bright; I saw him, and I knew him.
Francis.
'Tis false!
Walter.
I climbed the bank, and got a view.
You hurried on, and little guess'd that I
Was close upon your heels. Just as I turn'd
The milestone corner, I beheld a man,
Whom I remember'd as a haymaker
Some summers past, a noted poacher too,
That very Edwards—yes—'tis true! you pass'd him:
He knew your person, Master Francis.
37
Liar!
None—But go on.
Walter.
I set him on your track,
While, to alarm the people at the hall,
I measur'd back my way; and just reach'd home,
But, overcome with pain and loss of blood,
I sank upon the ground, and there remained
Till my accusers found me. What ensued
I need not tell; and what became of Edwards,
Perhaps none better knows than you yourself.
Francis.
Walter, you now have told three different tales:
Which is the true one?
Walter.
This. You know it is.
Oh, trifle not, but harken to my words—
Fly! save yourself!
Francis.
What mean you?
Walter.
Fly from England—
Across the sea—no matter where—but fly!
I shall confess the whole: a dying man
Will be believed.
Francis.
A triple-tongued liar
Will gain no credence.
Walter.
Yes! they will believe me.
Put off that smile: you cheat yourself alone.
Mark well the difference: my former tale
Had the appearance of a mystery,
Revealing much, but leaving more behind:
But this disguises nothing, nothing hides;
And, in that I shall criminate myself,
I put the stamp of truth on all the rest.
38
You could not so amend your story now,
But with the world 'twould pass for counterfeit
Walter.
Oh! I conjure you, ere it be too late!
Francis.
Yet harken, Walter. You are not past hope.
I shall exert my utmost influence
To get you a reprieve.
Walter.
Ha, master Beaumont!
I am too old to be deluded thus:
You shall have time for flight, but no delay.
Francis.
Vain man! Do nothing rash! The lawyers say,
You were condemn'd on insufficient proof;
And it is rumour'd, you will have a pardon.
Would you avow the crime of forgery?
Walter.
You play me false: I know it. But beware!
Francis.
I will do all I can in your behalf.
Walter.
Look to yourself! Three days, and all is told.
| Francis Beaumont | |