 | Francis Beaumont |  |
Scene I.
—Mrs. Beaumont's garden.[Francis alone.]
Francis.
I threw the dagger in a heap of fern:
I've not been near the place: my steps are watched:
But when I take possession of my land,
I'll find the deadly steel, and bury it
In some unfathomable depth of sea.
Walter, with all his craft, imagines not
Of this my greatest fear. His tale of Edwards,
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A weak one too—I scorn it. For the rest,
Curse on his circumstantial memory!
Yet truth herself could not assist him now:
Heaven leaves him to his fate: the perjured traitor!
Assassin of our house! for is not he
The cause of all? Then be it on his head!
And shall a bugbear frighten me? Shall I
Have steep'd my hand in blood, my soul in crime,
And when the guerdon is within my grasp,
Resign it? Never. I have thrown the die,
And I'll await the hazard. Mother! Sister!
Th' advantage shall be yours, without the sin.
And Isabel! Oh! when I think of her,
My courage fails. How shall I meet her now?
My love hath lost its charm. Her smiles on me
Will fall like dew upon a barren rock:
The merry music of her silver tongue
Cau wake no echo in my tuneless heart.
Will she not read my soul? Can innocence
Abide with guilt, and not discover it?
Or can her spirit ever blend with mine?
It cannot be. Yet will I wed her still:
In pomp and state I'll lead her to the altar,
And plant a glorious garland on her brow:
And in my father's mansion I will hold
The nuptial feast with high solemnity;
And all our friends and kinsmen shall be there,
And pledge in flowing cups the bride and bridegroom;
And while the vine-juice circles thro' their veins,
There shall be such a peal of merriment,
Shall wake the spirits of my ancestors
Out of their graves; and they shall stand before me
And gratulate their true and rightful heir.
He shall not come: no, no: his ghost shall wander
Beneath the charnel-house. No thought of him
Shall break my rest. Away with doubt and dread!
Come what come will: fate for my guide I choose:
Nothing he ever won, who fear'd to lose.
[Exit Francis. Enter Mrs. Beaumont and Clara.]
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'Tis long since I have known so bright a day:
It seems as if the very skies above us
Beam'd with good wishes for our happiness.
But is there not a tear in Clara's eye?
Clara.
Mother, it is for joy to see you happy,
Mrs. Beaumont.
In all these changes what has pleas'd me most
Is the renewal of an ancient friendship.
Here comes your brother.
[Enter Francis.]
Francis, we are ask'd
To take our dinner at the Egertons';
And they expect us at an early hour.
Have I done well in saying you'll be there?
Francis.
You have. I'm in a cheerful mood to-day.
(Turning to Clara.)
Ah! what a lovely rose! a maiden blush!
Where was it gathered? But I need not ask:
The hue that mounting in your marble cheek
Vies with that delicate flower, betrays the giver.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Here is one, Frank, pluck'd by a lady's hand;
'Twas given to me, but meant (I think) for you.
Now guess the lady's name.
Francis.
And shall I guess
As I would hope?
Mrs. Beaumont.
You may.
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Then she is one
Whom you shall call your daughter, ere 'tis long.
I take the rose, and wear it next my heart.
Clara—what! all the colour gone already!
And such a solemn look! Nay, prithee, sister;
Your face must be array'd in other trim
By noontide: Philip's constancy deserves
That you should meet him with your choicest smiles.
Clara.
Francis, forbear to jest; it is not kind.
Francis.
In sooth, I jested not; I'm quite in earnest.
Clara.
But you forget your own admonishing,
To check ambitious views.
Francis.
It suited well
Our then forlorn estate: but humble thoughts
We may cast off with our necessities.
No painting now or scribbling for our bread:
You shall receive a noble dowry, sister.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Don't tease her, Frank.
Francis.
She oft has chidden me
Upon my gloomy and despondent looks.
Now 'tis my turn: I'll rally her, and chase
The melancholy humour from her brow.
Clara.
You're ever in extremes. Are we secure
Against the frowns of fortune?
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Let her frown
Hereafter as she lists. But while she's kind,
I'll bear me as becomes her favourite,
And hold my head as high as any man.
Clara.
Hold your head high, but not too high, my brother;
Nor let th' indulgence of an empty pride
Excite the world's ill-will.
Francis.
I'll use mankind
As they deserve. A plague upon their meanness!
Wealth makes them all your slaves. The spaniel race
Will lick the dust beneath the foot that spurns them.
Clara.
That wealth is safest, which offends no man.
Francis.
Who shuns offence, should live not in the world.
I scorn men's praise and I defy their censure.
Clara.
I will not blame your resolution,
So you do nothing to deserve their censure.
Mrs. Beaumont.
He has done nothing to deserve it, Clara.
It does me good to see him gay and cheerful.
Heaven keep him so, and bless you both, my children!
| Francis Beaumont | |