University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—SIR GEORGE HALLERTON'S HOUSE IN LONDON.
Sir George Hallerton, Temple, Osborne and Thornton (at wine).
TEMPLE.
Thanks! Comrades! Thanks!

OSBORNE.
One brave libation's poured
In honour of his matchless lady—Laura!
Fill one to Temple! Come! Of Bacchus' car
The wheels should roll more glibly. Wine, George!

SIR GEORGE.
Nay;
In my dear sister's weal we pledge his own.

TEMPLE.
Out sorry host! Defraud'st me thus?

SIR GEORGE.
(aside).
I fear
Some evil issue to this mirth.

THORNTON.
I swear
Thou'st barter'd souls with Temple.

OSBORNE.
No; he feels
A brother's interest for our Vivian—mourns
That fickle Fortune frowned on him last night.
Take heart!

TEMPLE.
To-night I challenge her again.
How say you? A brave venture!

OSBORNE.
As you will.

TEMPLE.
Nay, I would stake against ye—star by star,
And beggar Heaven of all its shining wealth,
So ye dare match me!

SIR GEORGE.
Patience, Sir, be ruled.
How sits this humour with those graver ends
You late aspired to? You would serve, methought,
Your country's cause.

TEMPLE.
Pah! All men serve themselves.
King, country, friendship—coins of hypocrites!
We're selfish all.

SIR GEORGE.
Yet there's a selfish prudence
Which who neglects, forgets his very self.

TEMPLE.
A paradox! He who forgets his woe
Profits himself; and if himself be woe,
By self forgetting, doth advantage self!
Then hail oblivious wisdom! let me drain thee.

(He drinks.)
THORNTON.
A very sage!

OSBORNE
(to Sir George).
What canst thou answer, cynic?
Who's jilted thee? Why, say her heart's a maze.
Thornton shall teach thee how to thread it.

THORNTON.
Hold;
You bear too hardly on me.

OSBORNE.
Come! A toast.
Fair Florence Delmar! (To Thornton.)
Thou shalt speak her thanks
Whose lavish favours make thee deputy.

THORNTON
(smiling).
Oh base insinuator!

OSBORNE.
Nay, he knows
She did capitulate—yea, struck her flag,
Ere well he had laid siege.

SIR GEORGE.
Peace, Sir!

OSBORNE.
Tis true,
If vouchers given 'neath her own hand can prove it.

THORNTON
(affectedly).
They went not to that length.

TEMPLE.
What, Florence Delmar!
Go on—well?

SIR GEORGE.
Madman! Peace!

TEMPLE.
Go on! You say
That Florence Delmar—Oh, I choke! (aside)
You say—

THORNTON
(pointing to Osborne).
He says it, Sir!

TEMPLE.
Say it thyself.

THORNTON.
Not I.

TEMPLE
(starting up, and with sudden vehemence).
Unsay it, then! Or by the all-piercing ken
That sees the shudder of thy slanderous heart,
I'll strike thee, liar!

OSBORNE.
Friend, methinks your jest
Is hotly season'd!

TEMPLE.
Jest!—Take heed! I bid thee
Now—without pause, or moment's subterfuge,
Give thy black lie—the lie; that ere it breathe
To taint the air, it perish. Do it, lest
Confession lose its grace—compell'd, not given! (To Thornton).


THORNTON.
Rude man? I breathed no slander. How recal
The words I did not speak?

TEMPLE.
You did not speak!
Most true. Your mischief masks and walks o'nights!
Thou crawling slave! that spread'st for Virtue's feet
The net, but shunn'st her eye.

SIR GEORGE
(aside).
I dreaded this.
(Aloud.)
These are discourteous words.

TEMPLE.
They're honest words.
Dost thou rebuke them—thou, a brother; thou
Arrest the arm should shield thy Sister? Shame!

SIR GEORGE.
She needs no shield—He dares not—

TEMPLE.
Right! He dares not.
His shaft is aimed where fortune's flew before,
At one who hath no father, brother, friend!
Wrong'd, lonely, desolate! Ay, cringe!

OSBORNE
(to Thornton).
Thy blood
Is cool to brook this!

THORNTON.
Cringe to thee!

TEMPLE.
No, Sir!
To the pure excellence thy lips blaspheme—
The virgin loveliness that Providence—
Because it knew it holy—left defenceless,
But its white robes for armour! Gaze on that,
And, dazzled by its radiance, to the sense
Of thine own darkness, cringe, though not to me!

OSBORNE.
Hold, Sir! I make my own the indignity
You do my friend.

TEMPLE.
I do it not. I name it.
It is his own. The shame—the only shame—
We bear, is that we make. Hence, from my sight!
I do not lay thee prostrate, lest my hand
Should take contagion from an infamy
It cannot add to! (To Thornton.)


THORNTON.
You shall answer this.

OSBORNE.
No words, good Thornton, now! Your injury asks
A weightier chastisement. Your servant! Yet,
Reflect ere next you champion lady's fame,
You give not scandal pretext by desertion!

THORNTON.
A reckoning waits.

[Go out Thornton and Osborne.
SIR GEORGE.
I'll follow and appease them! (He follows them out.)


TEMPLE.
Truth! Truth! where was my title to redress
The virtue that I pierced? How dared I rage,
And ape the knightly frown?—I, from whose heel
Honour hath struck her spur!—Forsworn at heart!
Florence, thou art avenged! Her bonds are iron—
Iron that cankers—for whose sake I burst
Thy floral links of love. The fatal charm
Dissolves too late. The beauty which from far
Shone like a diamond crown—its summit won—
Proves but an ice-peak glittering in the sun!

[He goes out.