University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room.
Caroline—To her enter Esther.
Est.
Hah! what's th'ado to-day, that I am teazed
And call'd thus early from my grateful rest?
Where sits the wind o'th'morning? Have you read
The beagle of the air, and noted me
Where points his nose, and bends his golden eye?

Car.
Still at thy old conceits!—though now I should
Be right well versant in quaint similies,
I know not what you mean. What must I read?

Est.
O what a slow-paced intellect!—If thou
Had'st been as apt in mental energies,
And the fine semblances that fancy draws,
As thou art in thy pleasures, thou had'st been
A very phœnix, Caroline—What read!
Go read the vane, dame Light-head, read the vane—
Dost understand me now? and note thou well
The very point to a hairs-breadth which his comb
Patiently points at.

Car.
Pray out with it, Esther;
Or troth your jest will hang so long i'th'wind
'Twill lose its relish—What imports the vane,
Or from what point the breeze o'the morning blows?

Est.
Much it imports to thee, and all the fair
Fond fluttering things that sigh beneath the load
Of maiden fears, tremors, and jealousies.
'Tis to the very home of love he points.
For, trust me, whencesoe'er the wind o'ernight
Has blown on thee, it has been from the land
Where love holds revelry, and keeps his wake
Mid thorns and roses—Nay, his very breath
Hath fann'd thy cheek and flush'd it to a glow.
Thy humid lip, the lustre of thine eye—
That living lustre from the soul that flows,
And turns the dews of heaven to sprinkled dust,
All blab the burning secret ere thy tongue
Has power to utter it.

Car.
Thou guessest shrewdly!

Est.
Ah, my Caroline!
Nor precept nor example will thee stay
From rushing headlong on those flowery toils;
But thou may'st vainly struggle to get free
Once thou art meshed.

Car.
Thou art so pleasant, Esther,
And yet so kind withal, thy accents seem
The very soul's own elixir—I'm indeed
Love's bondmaid—yea, his very slave I am;
And for his sake have done a deed which—

Est.
Caroline!—What hast thou done?
If thou hast done the veriest trifling levity,
Or given up even the least proportion
Of aught distinguishable that becomes
Thy maiden honour, name, and noble lineage,
Give it not utterance, but let me slumber
In happy ignorance, or hopeful doubt.

Car.
Done?—What have I done! Ah, Esther,
Although the time's not long, since I last saw you
Love has done much, but not the thousandth part
Which he has yet to do!—O, I look onwards
To such long years of bliss—of generous rapture,
So pure and unalloy'd, that every sense
Seems framed to feelings all sublimed and new!
You say, if I have given up aught unmeet—
Sooth, Esther, I have given up all that love
Can give or ask—for I have given myself—
I'm wedded.

Est.
May the great God of Heaven forefend!

Car.
Esther!—What mean'st thou? Say not so again.

Est.
Did I hear rightly?—Said'st thou wedded?

Car.
As truly and as solemnly as union
On earth was ever seal'd.

Est.
The die's then cast!
O rash, rash, frantic girl, what hast thou done?
Thou'st struck me to the heart!

Car.
Pray do not plain, nor grieve thyself and me,
For now 'tis past and cannot be undone.
I dreaded to apprize thee, for I knew
Thy anxious fear of all that me concerns;
But now I know thou wilt conform thy love
And care to my most nice and perilous state.

Est.
Yes, thou wert predetermined, and durst not
Trust my remonstrances—thou wert resolved
To have thy lover—Ah! the prospect chills me!
It will not—nay, it cannot come to good.

Car.
'Tis done—'Tis done—Be that your first regard—
Your comments after—Why look you so sad?
'Tis done, I say, and I exult in it.
Would that my case had been a thousand times
More critical. Then had I manifested
Some shadow of the love I bear my husband.
My husband! that's a new and thrilling term!
O, my old Esther, if you knew the half
Of that high love I feel for him, you would not
Thus blame me.

Est.
Ah, too generous Caroline!
Thou art all love and easy tenderness;
But, O fond girl, thou hast done far amiss!
I scarce know what I dread, but the impression
That thy discovery on my mind has made
Is so mishapen and repulsive all,
That I am sure of woeful consequence.
Our day of bliss is past!

Car.
(weeping.)
I see you do not love me;
There is but one in all my father's house
That I dare trust, and she upbraids and blames me.
It is not well.

Est.
The hate, the deadly feud
Between your sires, can never be cancell'd.
No, all the world will never reconcile
The haughty Cecil to Sir Anthony.
O I am sick at heart!—Pardon me, love;
Indeed, I'd not have seen you wed another,
Nor for a nobler husband wish'd, for I
Hold Moore unequall'd—

Car.
Is he not, Esther?—Ha!
Say, is he not unequall'd?—O that was
A word that my ear loved!—Say it again.
Say't often, Esther, for indeed there is
No detriment of truth in't—If I wist
That ever women loved with half the love
I bear Sir Anthony, I would take blame
For that I've done; but all the love e'er sway'd
The female soul must come far short of mine!
O had I more to give, and more to risk!
And more!—and more!—I've read of dames who wept,
And pined, and some who died too for their lords;
But I hold light of these, for I would do them
All every day for brave Sir Anthony.
Speak sometimes of him to me, Esther,
And O let it be kindly—Speak his worth,
And then my ears shall drink the welcome sounds,
And hang upon them with such grateful pause,
As pilgrim on the distant melody,
That wanders from his long and far-sought shrine.

Est.
Think'st thou he will prove true?

Car.
Ah! can you ask
That with a serious eye? Please you refrain
From such insulting question.

Est.
He's noted for a fickle changeful mind.

Car.
But not in love!—O no! they know him not
That would insinuate such sickly stuff.

Est.
You're crazed with love, poor girl, most wofully;
But I'll be plain with you—With all his bravery,
Honour, and virtue, still he somewhat lacks
To make him great—He's easy in th'extreme,
And credulous as a child—he's rather one
To cast a sudden and a dazzling beam,
Than to sit burning with a steady light
I'll lecture you on this.

Car.
Pray not just now,
Or if you lecture, let it be on love.

Est.
It shall—but list, thy brothers are astir.
Come to my chamber, for thou hast much need
Of a sound lesson—I will show thee truly
What love is—and what thou art.
My sweet Cecil!—
Pride of the land! what art thou
More than a tender flower of form and hue
Too delicate and lovely to maintain
It's blossom all unsullied? 'Tis a world
Where every blight hankers round purity!
The dust may fall upon the hyacinth,
The sullied eves-drop on the wall-flower crust,
The stain may fester on the violet,
Yet none of these be mark'd—they blossom on.
But when such light upon the lily's breast,
Or the soft foldings of the virgin rose,
By every eye the blemish is beheld,
And that alone—Thou art such flower,
Which suns have warm'd, and southern breezes fann'd,
Till all the glowing tints of nature burn
Both in thy mind and mein. O, my loved child!
I fear the blossoms of the virgin gem
Are fallen and blighted in untimely day!—
Come with me, my love-blinded Caroline.