University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Grove.
Enter Faucet.
Fau.
I've scaled a dubious venture, and yet won,
Turning the beam by throwing in mere sound,
By some unform'd, unsubstanced things call'd words,
Born of the passing air—Ay, but the air
That woos the heart and tongue of policy
Issues with matter in't, and sets the world
In bustle or in flame.
Enter Collier.
How does our general, brave Sir Anthony?
Does he hold calm—or is his mind unfix'd,
No more to square?

Col.
Heaven knows, Sir Barnard!
My heart misgives me grievously in this;
To see a noble mind so overpower'd
By machinations of such vile proportion
With honest truth.—Now he is reasonable—
Anon the current of his mind recedes
Back on a gloomy vale, and stagnates there.
Hard then the task to drain it to its channel,
In which it flows still with uncertainty.

Fau.
But is his hate and indignation fix'd?
For that's our first concern.

Col.
He shudders at the very name of Caroline,
And all that tends to Cecil.

Fau.
That's well, that's well—On that continued hate,
And that alone, rests our stabiliment.
All passions else must to our purpose yield.
And to secure our point beyond control,
He needs must wed another, and that shortly—
Ay, and more publicly than he did Caroline.

Col.
Ah! grief!—Where will this end?—Would I had had
No hand in it—farther I will not have.

Fau.
One single glance will shew thee how decisive
This stroke must be—Come, we will jointly go
And break the matter to him.

(Exeunt.)