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This digitised text is copyright © 2002-2004 by John W. Kennedy. No payment is required for individual or classroom use. If someone were ever to use this as the basis of a commercial printing, I'd appreciate a little cash thrown my way; I could use it. If someone were ever to use it as a performance text, I'd appreciate the credit. This file may be redistributed, provided that it is kept intact. However, it is still a work-in-progress, so I don't recommend it.
Transcription from the 2nd London edition of 1728, with notes on all variants in the 1st London edition of 1728 and major variants in the 3rd London edition of 1767.
There was no publicly available digitisation of this important and controversial text, so I decided that, if a proper scholar wasn't going to do it, I would.
Verbal correction is conservative, limited to obvious typographic errors. Line divisions in verse are corrected somewhat more freely. Punctuation is left alone, except for unmistakable errors. Needful additions are made to the Dramatis Personae. All corrections are labelled. Since Doctor Graham intended his text to be diplomatic, I regard all his discrepancies as errors.
Long s
and ligatures are silently normalised. The long
lines that in the printed text lead continued lines of verse are
silently converted to  's (but editorial changes to them are
noted). Other such lines are silently transcribed as m dashes. Spelling
is left as-is. Spacing within lines, and around punctuation in
particular, has been silently normalized; I do not have the training to
do otherwise. Ornaments other than rules are omitted, but
described.
Hard hyphens are retained; soft hyphens are suppressed except in right-aligned paragraphs.
Text has been analysed into speeches and lines of verse only.
Few efforts at interpretation has been made. Latin tags in the front matter are translated, one important issue in the Preface is remarked on, and a few interpretive problems are pointed out.
George
the Second, by the Grace of God, King of Great-Britain, France
and Ireland;a
Defender of the faith, etc.b
To all to whom these Presents shall come, Greeting. Whereas our Trusty,
and Well-beloved Lewis Theobald, of our City of London,
Gent. hath, by his Petition, humbly represented to Us, that He having,
at ac
considerable Expence, Purchased the Manuscript Copy of an Original Play
of William Shakespeare,
called, Double Falshood; or, the Distrest Lovers; and with
great Labour and Pains, Revised, and Adapted the same to the Stage; has
humbly besought Us, to grant him Our Royal Privilege, and Licence, for
the sole Printing and Publishing thereof, for the Term of Fourteen
Years: We, being willing to give all due Encouragement to this his
Undertaking, are graciously pleased to condescend to his Request: and
do therefore, by these Presents, so far as may be agreeable to the
Statute in that Behalf made and provided, for Us, Our Heirs, and
Successors, grant unto Him, the said Lewis Theobald, his
Executors, Administrators, and Assigns, Our Royal Licence, for the sole
Printing and Publishing the said Play, in such Size and Manner, as He
and They shall think fit, for the Term of Fourteen Years, to be
computed from the Date hereof; strictly forbidding all our Subjects
within our Kingdoms and Dominions, to Reprint the same, either in the
like, or in any other Size, or Manner whatsoever; or to Import, Buy,
Vend, Utter or Distribute any Copies thereof, Reprinted beyond the
Seas, during the aforesaid Term of Fourteen Years, without the Consent,
or Approbation of the said Lewis Theobald, his Heirs,
Executors, and Assigns, under his, or their Hands and Seals first had,
and obtained; as they will answer the contrary at their Peril: —
Whereof the Commissioners, and other Officers of our Customs, the
Master, Warden, and Company of Stationers, are to take Notice, that the
same may be entred in the Register of the said Company, and that due
Obedience be rendred thereunto.
Given at Our Court at St.
James’s, the Fifth Day of December, 1727; in the First Year
of Our Reign.
By His Majesty’s Command,
Holles Newcastle.
A
Play,
As it is Acted at the
Theatre-Royal
in
Drury-Lane.
Written Originally by W. Shakespeare;
And now Revised and Adapted to the Stage
By Mr. Theobald, the Author of Shakespeare Restor’d.
Quod optanti Divûm promittere nemo
Auderet, volvenda Dies, en! attulit ultrò.1 Virg.
The Second Edition
London:
Printed by J. Watts, at the Printing-Office in
Wild-Court near Lincolns-Inn Fields.
M DCC XXVIII
To the Right Honourable George Dodington, Esq;
Sir,
Nothing can more strongly second the Pleasure I feel, from the Universal Applause which crowns this Orphan Play, than this Other which I take in presuming to shelter it under Your Name. I bear so dear an Affection to the Writings and Memory of Shakespeare, that, as it is my good Fortune to retrieve this Remnant of his Pen from Obscurity, so it is my greatest Ambition that this Piece should be received into the Protection of such a Patron: And, I hope, Future Times, when they mean to pay Shakespeare the best Compliment, will remember to say, Mr. Dodington was that Friend to his Remains, which his own Southampton was to his living Merit.
It is from the fine Discernment of our Patrons, that we can generally best promise Ourselves the good Opinion of the Publick. You are not only, Sir,2 a distinguish’d Friend of the Muses, but most intimately allied to them: And from hence it is I flatter Myself, that if You shall think fit to pronounce this Piece genuine, it will silence the Censures of those Unbelievers, who think it impossible a Manuscript of Shakespeare could so long have lain dormant; and who are blindly paying Me a greater Compliment than either They design, or I can merit, while they cannot but confess Themselves pleased, yet would fain insinuate that they are imposed upon. I should esteem it some Sort of Virtue, were I able to commit so agreeable a Cheat.
But pardon Me, Sir, for a Digression that perverts the very Rule of Dedications. I own, I have my Reasons for it. As, Sir, your known Integrity, and Honour engages the warmest Wishes of all good Men for your Prosperity, so your known Distinction in polite Letters, and your generous Encouragement of Those who pretend to them, obliges us to consider your Advancement, as our own personal Interest, and as a good Omen, at least, if not as the surest Means of the future flourishing Condition of those Humane Arts amongst us, which We profess, and which You adorn. But neither Your Modesty, nor my Inability,3 will suffer me to enter upon that Subject. Permit me therefore, Sir, to convert Panegyrick into a most ardent Wish, that You would look with a Tender Eye on this dear Relick, and that you would believe me, with the most unfeigned Zeal and Respect,
Sir,
Your most Devoted and Obedient Humble Servant,
Great Russell-street
21st December,
1727.
Lew.Theobald
The Success, which this Play has met with from the Town in the Representation, (to say nothing of the Reception it found from those Great Judges, to whom I have had the Honour of communicating it in Manuscript;) has almost made the Purpose of a Preface unnecessary: And therefore what I have to say, is design’d rather to wipe out a flying Objection or4 two, than to labour at proving it the Production of Shakespeare.5
It has been alledg’d as incredible, that such a Curiosity should be stifled and lost to the World for above a Century. To This my Answer is short; that tho’ it never till now made its Appearance on the Stage, yet one of the Manuscript Copies, which I have, is of above Sixty Years Standing, in the Handwriting of Mr. Downes, the famous Old Prompter; and, as I am credibly inform’d, was early in the Possession of the celebrated Mr. Betterton, and by Him design’d to have been usher’d into the World. What Accident prevented This Purpose of his, I do not pretend to know: Or thro’ what hands it had successively pass’d before that Period of Time. There is a Tradition (which I have from the Noble Person, who supply’d me with One of my Copies) that this Play6 was given by our Author, as a Present of Value, to a Natural Daughter of his, for whose Sake he wrote it, in the Time of his Retirement from the Stage. Two other Copies I have, (one of which I was glad to purchase at a very good Rate,) which may not, perhaps, be quite so Old as the Former; but One of Them is much more perfect, and has fewer Flaws and Interruptions in the Sense.
Another Objection has been started, (which would carry much more Weight with it, were it Fact;) that the Tale of this Play, being built upon a Novel in Don Quixot, Chronology is against Us, and Shakespeare could not be the Author. But it happens, that the First Part of Don Quixot, which contains the Novel upon which the Tale of this Play seems to be built, was publish’d in the year 1605,7 and our Shakespeare did not dye till April 1616; an interval of no less than Eleven Years, and more than sufficient for All that we want granted.8
Others again, to depreciate the Affair, as they thought, have been pleased to urge, that tho’ the Play may have some Resemblances of Shakespeare, yet the Colouring, Diction,and Characters, come nearer to the Style and Manner of Fletcher. This,I think, is far from deserving any Answer; I submit it to the Determination of better Judgments; tho’ my Partiality for Shakespeare makes me wish, that Every Thing which is good, or pleasing, in that other great poet,9 had been owing to his10 Pen.11 I had once design’d a Dissertation to prove this Play to be of Shakespeare’s Writing, from some of its remarkable Peculiarities in the Language, and Nature of the Thoughts: but as I could not be sure that the Play might be attack’d, I found it adviseable, upon second Consideration, to reserve that part to my Defence. That Danger, I think, is now over; so I must look out for a better Occasion. I am honour’d with so many powerful Sollicitations, pressing Me to the Prosecution of an Attempt, which I have begun with some little Success, of restoring Shakespeare from the numerous Corruptions of his Text: that I can neither in Gratitude, nor good Manners, longer resist them. I therefore think it not amiss here to promise, that, tho’ private Property should so far stand in my Way, as to prevent me from putting out an Edition of Shakespeare, yet, some Way or other, if I live, the Publick shall receive from my Hand his whole Works corrected, with my best Care and Ability. This may furnish an Occasion for speaking more at large concerning the present Play: For which Reason I shall now drop it for another Subject.12
As to the Performance of the respective Actors concern’d in this Play, my applauding It here would be altogether superfluous. The Publick has distinguish’d and given them a Praise, much beyond Any that can flow from my Pen. But I have some particular Acknowledgments to make to the Managers of this Company, for which I am glad to embrace so fair an Opportunity.
I came to Them at this Juncture as an Editor, not an Author, and have met with so much Candour, and handsome Treatment from Them, that I am willing to believe, the Complaint, which has so commonly obtain’d, of their Disregard and ill Behaviour to Writers, has been more severely urg’d, than it is justly grounded. They must certainly be too good Judges of their own Interest, not to know that a Theatre cannot always subsist on old Stock, but that the Town requires Novelty at their Hands. On the other Hand, they must be so far Judges of their own Art and Profession, as to know that all the Compositions, which are offer’d them, would never go down with Audiences of so nice and delicate a Taste, as in this Age frequent the Theatres. It would be very hard upon such a Community, where so many Interests are concern’d, and so much Merit in their Business allow’d, if they had not a Priviledge of refusing some crude Pieces, too imperfect for the Entertainment of the Publick. I would not be thought to inferr, that they have never discourag’d what They might, perhaps, afterwards wish they had receiv’d. They do not, I believe, set up for such a Constant Infallibility. But if We do but fairly consider out of above Four Thousand Plays extant, how small a Number will now stand the Test;13 if We do but consider too, how often a raw Performance has been extoll’d by the Partiality of private Friendship; and what a Clamour of Injury has been rais’d from that Quarter, upon such Performance meeting a Repulse; we may pretty easily account for the Grounds upon which they proceeded in discountenancing some Plays, and the harsh Things that are thrown out upon their giving a Repulse to others.
But I should beg Pardon for interfering in this Question, in which I am properly neither Party, nor Judge. I am only throwing out a private Opinion, without Interest or Prejudice, and if I am right in the Notion, Valeat quantum valere potest.14
Written by Philip Frowde, Esq;
And spoken by Mr. Wilks.15
As in some Region, where indulgent Skies
Enrich the Soil, a thousand Plants arise
Frequent and bold; a thousand Landskips meet
Our ravisht View, irregularly sweet:
We gaze, divided, now on These, now Those;
While All one beauteous Wilderness compose.
Such Shakespeare’s Genius was: — Let Britons boast
The glorious Birth, and, eager, strive who most
Shall celebrate his Verse; for while we raise
Trophies of Fame to him, ourselves we praise:
Display the Talents of a British mind,
Where All is great, free, open, unconfin’d.
Be it our Pride, to reach his daring Flight;
And relish Beauties, he alone could write.
Most modern Authors, fearful to aspire,
With Imitation cramp their genial Fire;
The well-schemed Plan keep strict before their Eyes,16
Dwell on Proportions, trifling Decencies;
While noble Nature all neglected lies.
Nature, that claims Precedency of Place,
Perfection’s Basis, and essential Grace!
Nature so intimately Shakespeare knew,17
From her first Springs his Sentiments he drew;
Most greatly wild they flow; and, when most wild, yet true.
While These, secure in what the Criticks teach,
Of servile Laws still dread the dangerous Breach;
His vast, unbounded, Soul disdain’d their Rule,
Above the Precepts of the Pedant School!
Oh! could the Bard, revisiting our Light,
Receive these Honours done his Shade To-night,
How would he bless the Scene this Age displays,
Transcending his Eliza’s golden Days!
When great Augustus fills the British Throne,
And his lov’d Consort makes the Muse her own.
How would he joy, to see fair Merit’s Claim
Thus answer’d in his own reviving Fame!
How cry with Pride — Oblivion I forgive;
This my last Child to latest Times shall live:
Lost to the World, well for the Birth it stay’d
To this auspicious Æra well delay’d.
Written by a Friend.
Spoken by Mrs. Oldfield.
Well, Heaven defend us from these ancient Plays,
These Moral Bards of good Queen Bess’s Days!
They write from Virtue’s Laws, and think no further;
But draw a Rape as dreadful as a Murther.
You modern Wits, more deeply vers’d in Nature,18
Can tip the wink, to tell us, you know better;
As who shou’d say— ’Tis no such killing Matter.—
We’ve heard old Stories told, and yet ne’er wonder’d,
Of many a Prude, that has endur’d a Hundred:
And Violante grieves, or we’re mistaken,
Not, because ravisht; but because — forsaken.—
Had this been written to the modern Stage,
Her Manners had been copy’d from the Age.
Then, tho’ she had been once a little wrong,
She still had had the Grace to’ve held her Tongue;
And after all, with downcast Looks, been led
Like any Virgin to the Bridal Bed.
There, if the good Man question’d her Mis-doing,
She’d stop him short— Pray, who made you so knowing?
What, doubt my Virtue!— What’s your base Intention?
Sir, that’s a Point above your Comprehension.—
Well, Heav’n be prais’d, the Virtue of our Times
Secures us from our Gothick Grandsires’19 Crimes.
Rapes, Magick, new Opinions, which before
Have fill’d our Chronicles, are now no more:
And this reforming Age may justly boast,
That dreadful Sin Polygamy is lost.
So far from multiplying Wives, ’tis known
Our Husbands find, they’ve Work enough with one.—
Then, as for Rapes, those dangerous days are past;
Our Dapper Sparks are seldom in such haste.
In Shakespeare’s Age the English Youth inspir’d,
Lov’d, as they fought, by him and Beauty fir’d.
’Tis yours to crown the Bard, whose Magick Strain20
Cou’d charm the Heroes of that glorious Reign,
Which humbled to the Dust the Pride of Spain.
| Men.22 | |
|---|---|
| Duke Angelo. | Mr. Corey. |
| Roderick, his Elder Son. | Mr. Mills. |
| Henriquez, his Younger Son. | Mr. Wilks. |
| Don Bernard, Father to Leonora. | Mr. Harper. |
| Camillo, Father to Julio. | Mr. Griffin. |
| Julio, in Love with Leonora. | Mr. Booth. |
| Citizen. | Mr. Oates. |
| Master of the Flocks. | Mr. Bridgewater.23 |
| First Shepherd. | Mr. Norris. |
| Second Shepherd. | Mr. Ray. |
| [A Churchman.]24 | |
| [Fabian, a Clown.]25 | |
| [Lopez, another.]26 | |
| [Gerald, servant to Henriquez.]27 | |
| [Servant28 to Henriquez.]29 | |
| [Servant to Violante.]30 | |
| A Gentleman.31, 32 | |
| Women. | |
| Leonora. | Mrs. Porter. |
| Violante. | Mrs. Booth. |
| [Maid to Leonora.]33 | |
| [Maid to Violante.]34 | |
| Gentlemen, Servants, Musicians, Attendants to Leonora, etc.35 | |
Scene, the Province of Andalusia in Spain.
Duke Angelo, Roderick, and Courtiers.
Roderick.
My gracious Father, this unwonted Strain
Visits my heart with Sadness.
Duke. Why,
my Son?
Making my Death familiar to my Tongue
Digs not my Grave one Jot before the Date.
I’ve worn the Garland of my Honours long,
And would not leave it wither’d to thy Brow,
But flourishing and green; worthy the Man,
Who, with my Dukedoms, heirs my better Glories.
Roder. This Praise, which is my Pride, spreads me with Blushes.
Duke. Think not, that I can flatter thee, my Roderick;
Or let the Scale of Love o’er-poize my Judgment.
Like a fair Glass of Retrospection, Thou
Reflect’st the Virtues of my early Youth;
Making my old Blood mend its Pace with Transport:
While fond Henriquez, thy irregular Brother,
Sets the large Credit of his Name at Stake,
A Truant to my Wishes, and his Birth.
His Taints of Wildness hurt our nicer Honour,
And call for swift Reclaim.
Roder. I
trust, my Brother
Will, by the Vantage of his cooler Wisdom,
E’er-while36 redeem the hot Escapes of Youth,
And court Opinion with a golden Conduct.
Duke. Be Thou a Prophet in that kind Suggestion!
But I, by Fears weighing his unweigh’d Course,
Interpret for the Future from the Past.
And strange Misgivings, why he hath of late
By Importunity, and strain’d Petition,
Wrested our Leave of Absence from the Court,
Awake Suspicion. Thou art inward with him;
And, haply, from the bosom’d Trust can’st shape
Some formal Cause to qualify my Doubts.
Roder. Why he hath press’d this Absence, Sir, I know not;
But have his Letters of a modern Date,
Wherein by Julio, good Camillo’s Son,
(Who, as he says, shall follow hard upon;
And whom I with the growing Hour expect:)
He doth sollicit the Return of Gold
To purchase certain Horse, that like him well.
This Julio he encounter’d first in France,
And lovingly commends him to my Favour;
Wishing, I would detain him some few Days,
To know the Value of his well-placed Trust.
Duke. O, do it, Roderick; and assay to mould him37
An honest Spy upon thy Brother’s Riots.
Make us acquainted when the Youth arrives;
We’ll see this Julio, and he shall from Us
Receive the secret Loan his Friend requires.
Bring him to Court.
[Exeunt.
Enters Camillo with a Letter.
Cam. How comes the Duke to take such Notice of my Son, that he must needs have him in Court, and I must send him upon the View of his Letter? — Horsemanship! What Horsemanship has Julio? I think, he can no more but gallop a Hackney, unless he practised Riding in France. It may be, he did so; for he was there a good Continuance. But I have not heard him speak much of his Horsemanship. That’s no Matter: if he be not a good Horseman, all’s one in such a Case, he must bear. Princes are absolute; they may do what they will in any Thing, save what they cannot do.
Enters Julio.
O, come on, Sir; read this Paper: no more Ado, but read it: It must not be answer’d by my Hand, nor yours, but, in Gross, by your Person; your sole Person. Read aloud.
Jul. ’Please you, to let me first o’erlook it, Sir.
Cam. I was this other day in a Spleen against your new Suits: I do now think, some Fate was the Taylour that hath fitted them: for, this Hour, they are for the Palace of the Duke. — Your Father’s House is too dusty.
Jul. Hem!— to Court? Which is the better, to serve a Mistress, or a Duke? I am sued to be his Slave, and I sue to be Leonora’s. [ Aside.
Cam. You shall find your Horsemanship much praised there; Are you so good a Horseman?38
Jul. I have been,
E’er now, commended for my Seat, or mock’d.
Cam. Take one Commendation with another, every Third’s a Mock.— Affect not therefore to be praised. Here’s a deal of Command and Entreaty mixt; there’s no denying; you must go, peremptorily he inforces That.
Jul. What Fortune soever my Going shall encounter, cannot be good Fortune; What I part withal unseasons any other Goodness. [Aside.
Cam. You must needs go; he rather conjures, than importunes.
Jul. No moving of my Love-Suit to him now?—
[Aside.
Cam. Great Fortunes have grown out of less Grounds.
Jul. What may her Father think of me, who expects to be sollicited this very Night? [Aside.
Cam. Those scatter’d Pieces of Virtue, which are in him, the Court will solder together, varnish, and rectify.
Jul. He will surely think I deal too slightly, or unmannerly, or foolishly, indeed; nay, dishonestly; to bear him in hand with my Father’s Consent, who yet hath not been touch’d with so much as a Request to it. [Aside.
Cam. Well, Sir, have you read it over?
Jul. Yes, Sir.
Cam. And consider’d it?
Jul. As I can.
Cam. If you are courted by good Fortune, you must go.
Jul. So it please You, Sir.
Cam. By any Means, and to morrow: Is it not there the Limit of his Request?
Jul. It is, Sir.
Cam. I must bethink me of some Necessaries, without which you might be unfurnish’d: And my Supplies shall at all Convenience follow You. Come to my Closet by and by; I would there speak with You.
[Exit Camillo.
Manet Julio solus.
Jul. I do not see that Fervour in the Maid,
Which Youth and Love should kindle. She consents,
As ’twere to feed without an Appetite;
Tells me, She is content; and plays the Coy one,
Like Those that subtly make their Words their Ward,
Keeping Address at Distance. This Affection
Is such a feign’d One, as will break untouch’d;
Dye frosty, e’er it can be thaw’d; while mine,
Like to a Clime beneath Hyperion’s Eye,
Burns with one constant Heat. I’ll strait go to her;
Pray her to regard my Honour: but She greets me.—
Enter Leonora, and Maid.
See, how her Beauty doth inrich the Place!
O, add the Musick of thy charming Tongue,
Sweet as the Lark that wakens up the Morn,
And make me think it Paradise indeed.
I was about to seek thee, Leonora,
And chide thy Coldness, Love.
Leon. What says your Father?
Jul. I have not mov’d him yet.
Leon. Then do not, Julio.
Jul. Not move him? Was it not your own Command,
That his Consent should ratify our Loves?
Leon. Perhaps, it was: but now I’ve chang’d my Mind.
You purchase at too dear a Rate, that puts You
To wooe me and your Father too: Besides,
As He, perchance, may say, you shall not have me;
You, who are so obedient, must discharge me
Out of your Fancy: 40 Then, you know, ’twill prove
My Shame and Sorrow, meeting such Repulse,
To wear the Willow in my Prime of Youth.
Jul. Oh! do not rack me with these ill-placed Doubts;
Nor think, tho’ Age has in my Father’s Breast
Put out Love’s Flame, he therefore has not Eyes,
Or is in Judgment blind. You wrong your Beauties,
Venus will frown if you disprize her Gifts,
That have a Face would make a frozen Hermit
Leap from his Cell, and burn his Beads to kiss it;
Eyes, that are nothing but continual Births
Of new Desires in Those that view their Beams.
You cannot have a Cause to doubt.
Leon. Why,
Julio?
When you that dare not chuse without your Father,
And, where you love, you dare not vouch it; must not,
Though you have Eyes, see with ’em; — can I, think you,
Somewhat, perhaps, infected with your Suit,
Sit down content to say, You would, but dare not?
Jul. Urge not Suspicions of what cannot be;
You deal unkindly; mis-becomingly,
I’m loth to say: For All that waits on you,
Is graced, and graces. — No Impediment
Shall bar my Wishes, but such grave Delays
As Reason presses Patience with; which blunt not,
But rather whet our Loves. Be patient, Sweet.
Leon. Patient! What else? My Flames are in the Flint.
Haply, to lose a Husband I may weep;
Never, to get One: When I cry for Bondage,
Let Freedom quit me.
Jul. From
what a Spirit comes This?
I now perceive too plain, you care not for me.
Duke, I obey thy Summons, be its Tenour
Whate’er it will: If War, I come thy Souldier:
Or if to waste my silken Hours at Court,
The Slave of Fashion, I with willing Soul
Embrace the lazy Banishment for Life;
Since Leonora has pronounc’d my Doom.
Leon. What do you mean? Why talk you of the Duke?
Wherefore of War, or Court, or Banishment?
Jul. How this new Note is grown of me, I know not;
But the Duke writes for Me. Coming to move
My Father in our Bus’ness, I did find him
Reading this Letter; whose Contents require
My instant Service, and Repair to Court.
Leon. Now I perceive the Birth of these Delays;
Why Leonora was not worth your Suit.
Repair to Court? Ay, there you shall, perhaps,
(Rather, past Doubt;) behold some choicer Beauty,
Rich in her Charms, train’d to the Arts of Soothing,
Shall prompt you to a Spirit of Hardiness,
To say, So please you, Father, I have chosen
This Mistress for my own. —
Jul. Still
you mistake me:
Ever your Servant I profess my self;
And will not blot me with a Change, for all
That Sea and Land inherit.
Leon. But when go you?41
Jul. To morrow, Love; so runs the Duke’s Command;
Stinting our Farewell-kisses, cutting off
The Forms of Parting, and the Interchange
Of thousand precious Vows, with Haste too rude.
Lovers have Things of Moment to debate,
More than a Prince, or dreaming Statesman, know:
Such Ceremonies wait on Cupid’s Throne.
Why heav’d that Sigh?
Leon. O
Julio, let me whisper42
What, but for Parting, I should blush to tell thee:
My Heart beats thick with Fears, lest the gay Scene,
The Splendors of a Court, should from thy Breast
Banish my Image, kill my Int’rest in thee,
And I be left, the Scoff of Maids, to drop
A Widow’s Tear for thy departed Faith.
Jul. O let Assurance, strong as Words can bind,
Tell thy pleas’d Soul, I will be wond’rous faithful;
True, as the Sun is to his Race of Light,
As Shade to Darkness, as Desire to Beauty:
And when I swerve, let Wretchedness o’ertake me,
Great as e’er Falshood met, or Change can merit.
Leon. Enough; I’m satisfied: and will remain
Yours, with a firm and untir’d Constancy.
Make not your Absence long: Old Men are wav’ring;
And sway’d by Int’rest more than Promise giv’n.
Should some fresh Offer start, when you’re away,
I may be prest to Something, which must put
My Faith, or my Obedience, to the Rack.
Jul. Fear not, but I with swiftest Wing of Time
Will labour my Return. And in my Absence,
My noble Friend, and now our honour’d Guest,
The Lord Henriquez, will in my behalf
Hang at your Father’s Ear, and with kind Hints,
Pour’d from a friendly Tongue, secure my Claim;
And play the Lover for thy absent Julio.
Leon. Is there no Instance of a Friend turn’d false?
Take Heed of That: No Love by Proxy, Julio.
My Father—;
Enters Don Bernard.
D. Bern. What, Julio, in publick? This Wooeing is too urgent. Is your Father yet moved in the Suit, who must be the prime Unfolder of this Business?
Jul. I have not yet, indeed, at full possess’d
My Father, whom it is my Service follows;
But only that I have a Wife in Chase.
D. Bern. Chase! — Let Chase alone: No Matter for That.— You may halt after her, whom you profess to pursue, and catch her too; Marry, not unless your Father let you slip. — Briefly, I desire you, (for she tells me, my Instructions shall be both Eyes and Feet to her;) no farther to insist in your Requiring, ’till, as I have formerly said, Camillo make known to Me, that his good Liking goes along with Us; which but once breath’d, all is done; ’till when, the Business has no Life, and cannot find a Beginning.
Jul. Sir, I will know his Mind, e’er I taste Sleep:
At Morn, you shall be learn’d in his Desire.
I take my Leave. — O virtuous Leonora,
Repose, sweet as thy Beauties, seal thy Eyes;
Once more, adieu. I have thy Promise, Love;
Remember, and be faithful. [Ex. Julio.
D. Bern. His Father is as unsettled, as he is wayward, in his Disposition. If I thought young Julio’s Temper were not mended by the Mettal43 of his Mother, I should be something crazy in giving my Consent to this Match: And, to tell you true, if my Eyes might be the Directors to your Mind, I could in this Town look upon Twenty Men of more delicate Choice. I speak not This altogether to unbend your Affections to him: But the Meaning of what I say is, that you set such Price upon yourself to him, as Many, and much his Betters, would buy you at; (and reckon those Virtues in you at the rate of their Scarcity;) to which if he come not up, you remain for a better Mart.
Leon. My Obedience, Sir, is chain’d to your Advice.
D. Bern. ’Tis well said, and wisely. I fear, your Lover is a little Folly-tainted; which, shortly after it proves so, you will repent.
Leon. Sir, I confess, I approve him of all the Men I know; but that Approbation is nothing, ’till season’d by your Consent.
D. Bern. We shall hear soon what his Father will do, and so proceed accordingly. I have no great Heart to the Business, neither will I with any Violence oppose it: But leave it to that Power which rules in these Conjunctions, and there’s an End. Come; haste We homeward, Girl. [Exeunt.
Enter Henriquez, and Servants with Lights.
Henr. Bear the Lights close: — Where is the Musick, Sirs?
Serv. Coming, my Lord.
Henr. Let ’em not come too near. This Maid,
For whom my Sighs ride on the Night’s chill Vapour,
Is born most humbly, tho’ she be as fair
As Nature’s richest Mould and Skill can make her,
Mended with strong Imagination.
But what of That? Th’ Obscureness of her Birth
Cannot eclipse the Lustre of her Eyes,
Which make her all One Light.— Strike up, my Masters;
But touch the Strings with a religious Softness;
Teach Sound to languish thro’ the Night’s dull Ear,
’Till Melancholy start from her lazy Couch,
And Carelessness grow Convert to Attention.
[Musick plays.
She drives me into Wonder, when I sometimes
Hear her discourse; The Court, whereof Report,
And Guess alone inform her, she will rave at,
As if she there sev’n Reigns had slander’d Time.
Then, when she reasons on her Country State,
Health, Virtue, Plainness, and Simplicity,
On Beauties true in Title, scorning Art,
Freedom as well to do, as think, what’s good;
My Heart grows sick of Birth and empty Rank,
And I become a Villager in Wish.
Play on; — She sleeps too sound: — Be still, and vanish:
A Gleam of Day breaks sudden from her Window:
O Taper, graced by that midnight Hand!
Violante appears above at her Window.
Viol. Who is’t, that wooes at this late Hour? What are you?
Henr. One, who for your dear Sake —
Viol. Watches
the starless Night!
My Lord Henriquez, or my Ear deceives me.
You’ve had my Answer, and ’tis more than strange
You’ll combat these Repulses. Good my Lord,
Be Friend to your own Health; and give me Leave,
Securing my poor Fame, nothing to pity
What Pangs you swear you suffer. ’Tis impossible
To plant your choice Affections in my Shade,
At least, for them to grow there.
Henr. Why, Violante?
Viol. Alas! Sir, there are Reasons numberless
To bar your Aims. Be warn’d to Hours more wholesom;
For, These you watch in vain. I have read Stories,
(I fear, too true ones;) how young Lords, like you,
Have thus besung mean Windows, rhymed their Sufferings
Ev’n to th’Abuse of Things Divine, set up
Plain Girls, like me, the Idols of their Worship,
Then left them to bewail their easie Faith,
And stand the World’s Contempt.
Henr. Your
Memory,
Too faithful to the Wrongs of few lost Maids,
Makes Fear too general.
Viol. Let
us be homely,
And let us too be chast, doing you Lords no Wrong;
But crediting your Oaths with such a Spirit,
As you profess them: so no Party trusted
Shall make a losing Bargain. Home, my Lord,
What you can say, is most unseasonable; what sing,
Most absonant and harsh: Nay, your Perfume,
Which I smell hither, cheers44 not my Sense
Like our Field-violet’s Breath.
Henr. Why
this Dismission
Does more invite my Staying.
Viol. Men
of your Temper
Make ev’ry Thing their Bramble. But I wrong
That which I am preserving, my Maid’s Name,
To hold so long Discourse. Your Virtues guide you
T’effect some nobler Purpose! [Ex. Violante.
Henr. Stay,
bright Maid!45
Come back, and leave me with a fairer Hope.
She’s gone:— Who am I, that am thus contemn’d?46
The second Son to a Prince? — Yes; well; What then?
Why, your great Birth forbids you to descend
To a low Alliance: — Her’s47 is the self-same Stuff,
Whereof we Dukes are made; but Clay more pure!
And take away my Title, which is acquir’d
Not by my self, but thrown by Fortune on Me,
Or by the Merit of some Ancestour
Of singular Quality, She doth inherit
Deserts t’outweigh me. — I must stoop to gain her;
Throw all my gay Comparisons48 aside,
And turn my proud Additions out of Service,
Rather than keep them to become my Masters.
The Dignities we wear, are Gifts of Pride;
And laugh’d at by the Wise, as meer Outside.
[Exit.
End of the First Act.
Enter Fabian and Lopez; Henriquez on the Opposite Side.
Lop. Soft, soft you, Neighbour; who comes here? Pray you, slink aside.
Henr. Ha! Is it come to this? Oh the Devil, the Devil, the Devil!
Fab. Lo you now! for Want of the discreet Ladle of a cool Understanding, will this Fellow’s Brains boil over.
Henr. To have enjoy’d her, I would have given — What?
All that at present I could boast my own,
And the Reversion of the World to boot,
Had the Inheritance been mine: — And now,
(Just Doom of guilty Joys!) I grieve as much
That I have rifled all the Stores of Beauty,
Those Charms of Innocence and artless Love,
As just before I was devour’d with Sorrow,
That she refus’d my Vows, and shut the Door
Upon my ardent Longings.
Lop. Love! Love! — Downright Love! I see by the Foolishness of it.
Henr. Now then to Recollection — Was’t not so? A Promise first of Marriage — Not a Promise only, for ’twas bound with Surety of a thousand Oaths; — and those not light ones neither. — Yet I remember too, those Oaths could not prevail; th’ unpractis’d Maid trembled to meet my Love: By Force alone I snatch’d th’ imperfect Joy, which now torments my Memory. Not Love, but brutal Violence prevail’d; to which the Time, and Place, and Opportunity, were Accessaries most dishonourable. Shame, Shame upon it!
Fab. What a Heap of Stuff’s this — I fancy, this Fellow’s Head would make a good Pedlar’s Pack, Neighbour.
Henr. Hold, let me be severe to my
Self, but not unjust. — Was it a Rape then? No. Her Shrieks, her
Exclamations then had drove me from her. True, she did not consent; as
true, she did resist; but still in Silence all. — ’Twas but the
Coyness of a modest Bride, not the Resentment of a ravisht Maid. And is
the Man yet born, who would not risque the Guilt, to meet the Joy?
— The Guilt! that’s true — but then the Danger; the Tears,
the Clamours of the ruin’d Maid, pursuing me to Court. That, that, I
fear will (as it already does my Conscience) something shatter my
Honour. What’s to be done? But now I have no Choice. Fair
Leonora reigns confest the Tyrant Queen of my revolted Heart, and
Violante seems a short Usurper there. — Julio’s
already by my Arts remov’d.— O Friendship, how wilt thou answer
That? Oh, that a Man could reason down this Feaver of the Blood, or
sooth with Words the Tumult in his Heart! Then, Julio, I might
be, indeed, thy Friend. They, they only should condemn me, who born
devoid of Passion ne’er have prov’d the fierce Disputes ’twixt Virtue
and Desire. While they, who have, like me,
The loose Escapes of youthful Nature known,49
Must wink at mine, indulgent to their own.
[Exit Henriquez.
Lop. This Man is certainly mad, and may be mischievous. Pr’ythee, Neighbour, let’s follow him; but at some Distance, for fear of the worst.
[Exeunt, after Henr.
Enters Violante alone.
Viol. Whom shall I look upon without a Blush?
There’s not a Maid, whose Eye with Virgin Gaze
Pierces not to my Guilt. What will’t avail me,
To say I was not willing;
Nothing; but that I publish my Dishonour,
And wound my Fame anew. — O Misery,
To seem to all one’s Neighbours rich, yet know
One’s Self necessitous and wretched.
Enter Maid, and afterwards Gerald with a Letter.
Maid. Madam, here’s Gerald, Lord Henriquez’ Servant;
He brings a Letter to you.
Viol. A Letter to me! How I tremble now!
Your Lord’s for Court, good Gerald, is he not?
Ger. Not so, Lady.
Viol. O my presaging Heart! When goes he then?
Ger. His Business now steers him some other Course.
Viol. Whither, I pray you? — How my Fears torment me!
Ger. Some two Months Progress.
Viol. Whither,
whither, Sir,
I do beseech you? Good Heav’ns, I lose all Patience.
Did he deliberate this? or was the Business
But then conceiv’d, when it was born?
Ger. Lady, I know not That; nor is it in the Command I have to wait your Answer. For the perusing the Letter I commend you to your Leisure.
[Exit Gerald.
Viol. To Hearts like mine Suspence is Misery.
Wax, render up thy Trust: Be the Contents
Prosp’rous, or fatal, they are all my Due.
Reads.] Our Prudence should now teach us to forget,
what our Indiscretion has committed. I
have already made one Step towards this
Wisdom, by prevailing on Myself to bid you
Farewell.
O, Wretched and betray’d! Lost Violante!
Heart-wounded with a thousand perjur’d Vows,
Poison’d with studied Language, and bequeath’d
To Desperation. I am now become
The Tomb of my own Honour: a dark Mansion,
For Death alone to dwell in. I invite thee,
Consuming Desolation, to this Temple,
Now fit to be thy Spoil: the ruin’d Fabrick,
Which cannot be repair’d, at once o’er-throw.
What must I do? — But That’s not worth my Thought:
I will commend to Hazard all the Time
That I shall spend hereafter: Farewel, my Father,
Whom I’ll no more offend: and Men, adieu,
Whom I’ll no more believe: and Maids, adieu,
Whom I’ll no longer shame. The Way I go,
As yet I know not. — Sorrow be my Guide.
[Exit Violante.
Enters Henriquez.
Henr.
Where were the Eyes, the Voice, the various Charms,
Each beauteous Particle, each nameless Grace,
Parents of glowing Love? All These in Her,
It seems, were not: but a Disease in Me,
That fancied Graces in her. — Who ne’er beheld
More than a Hawthorne, shall have Cause to say
The Cedar’s a tall Tree; and scorn the Shade,
The lov’d Bush once had lent him. Soft! mine Honour
Begins to sicken in this black Reflection.
How can it be, that with my Honour safe
I should pursue Leonora for my Wife?
That were accumulating Injuries,
To Violante first, and now to Julio;
To her a perjur’d Wretch, to him perfidious;
And to myself in strongest Terms accus’d
Of murth’ring Honour wilfully, without which
My Dog’s the Creature of the nobler Kind. —
But Pleasure is too strong for Reason’s Curb;
And Conscience sinks o’er-power’d with Beauty’s Sweets.
Come, Leonora, Authress of my Crime,
Appear, and vindicate thy Empire here;
Aid me to drive this ling’ring Honour hence,
And I am wholly thine.
Enter to him, Don Bernard and Leonora.
D. Bern. Fye, my good Lord; why would you wait without?
If you suspect your Welcome, I have brought
My Leonora to assure you of it. [Henr. Salutes Leon.
Henr. O Kiss, sweet as the Odours of the Spring,
But cold as Dews that dwell on Morning Flow’rs!
Say, Leonora, has your Father conquer’d?
Shall Duty then at last obtain the Prize,
Which you refus’d to Love? And shall Henriquez
Owe all his Happiness to good Bernardo?
Ah! no; I read my Ruin in your Eyes:
That Sorrow, louder than a thousand Tongues,
Pronounces my Despair.
D. Bern. Come,
Leonora,
You are not now to learn, this noble Lord,
(Whom but to name, restores my failing Age,)
Has with a Lover’s Eye beheld your Beauty;
Thro’ which his Heart speaks more than Language can;
It offers Joy and Happiness to You,
And Honour to our House. Imagine then
The Birth and Qualities of him that loves you;
Which when you know, you cannot rate too dear.
Leon. My Father, on my Knees I do beseech you
To pause one Moment on your Daughter’s Ruin.
I vow, my Heart ev’n bleeds, that I must thank you
For your past Tenderness; and yet distrust
That which is yet behind. Consider, Sir,
Whoe’er’s th’ Occasion of another’s Fault,
Cannot himself be innocent. O, give not
The censuring World Occasion to reproach
Your harsh Commands; or to my Charge lay That
Which most I fear, the Fault of Disobedience.
D. Bern. Pr’ythee, fear neither the One, nor the Other: I tell thee, Girl, there’s more Fear than Danger. For my own part, as soon as Thou art married to this noble Lord, my Fears will be over.
Leon. Sir, I should be the vainest of my Sex,
Not to esteem myself unworthy far
Of this high Honour. Once there was a Time,
When to have heard my Lord Henriquez’ Vows,
Might have subdued my unexperienc’d Heart,
And made me wholly his. — But That’s now past:
And my firm-plighted Faith by your Consent
Was long since given to the injur’d Julio.
D. Bern. Why then, by my Consent e’en take it back again. Thou, like a simple Wench, hast given thy Affections to a Fellow, that does not care a Farthing for them. One, that has left thee for a Jaunt to Court; as who should say, I’ll get a Place now; ’tis Time enough to marry, when I’m turn’d out of it.
Henr. So, surely, it should seem, most lovely Maid;
Julio, alas, feels nothing of my Passion:
His Love is but th’ Amusement of an Hour,
A short Relief from Business, or Ambition,
The Sport of Youth, and Fashion of the Age.
O! had he known the Hopes, the Doubts, the Ardours,
Or half the fond Varieties of Passion,
That play the Tyrant with my tortur’d Soul;
He had not left Thee to pursue his Fortune:
To practise Cringes in a slavish Circle,
And barter real Bliss for unsure Honour.
Leon. Oh, the opposing Wind,
Should’ring the Tide, makes here a fearful Billow:
I needs must perish in it.— Oh, my Lord,
Is it then possible, you can forget
What’s due to your great Name, and princely Birth,
To Friendship’s holy Law, to Faith repos’d,
To Truth, to Honour, and poor injur’d Julio?
O think, my Lord, how much this Julio loves you;
Recall his Services, his well-try’d Faith;
Think too, this very Hour, where-e’er he be,
Your Favour is the Envy of the Court,
And secret Triumph of his grateful Heart.
Poor Julio, how securely thou depend’st
Upon the Faith and Honour of thy Master;
Mistaken Youth! this very Hour he robs thee
Of all thy Heart holds dear.— ’Tis so Henriquez
Repays the Merits of unhappy Julio. [Weeps.
Henr. My slumb’ring Honour catches the Alarm.51
I was to blame to parley with her thus:
Sh’as shown me to myself. It troubles me. [Aside.
D. Bern. Mad; Mad. Stark mad, by this Light.
Leon. I but begin to be so. — I conjure you,
By all the tender Interests of Nature,
By the chaste Love ’twixt you, and my dear Mother,
(O holy Heav’n, that she were living now!)
Forgive and pity me.— Oh, Sir, remember,
I’ve heard my Mother say a thousand Times,
Her Father would have forced her Virgin Choice;
But when the Conflict was ’twixt Love and Duty,
Which should be first obey’d, my Mother quickly
Paid up her Vows to Love, and married You.
You thought this well, and she was praised for This;
For this her Name was honour’d, Disobedience
Was ne’er imputed to her, her firm Love
Conquer’d whate’er oppos’d it, and she prosper’d
Long Time your Wife. My Case is now the same;
You are the Father, which You then condemn’d;
I, what my Mother was; but not so happy.—
D. Bern. Go to, you’re a Fool. No doubt, You have old Stories enough to undo you.— What, you can’t throw yourself away but by Precedent, ha?— You will needs be married to One, that will None of You? You will be happy no Body’s way but your own, forsooth.— But, d’ye mark me, spare your Tongue for the future; (and That’s using you hardly too, to bid you spare what you have a great deal too much of:) Go, go your ways, and d’ye hear, get ready within these Two days to be married to a Husband you don’t deserve; — Do it, or, by my dead Father’s Soul, you are no Acquaintance of mine.
Henr. She weeps: Be gentler to her, good Bernardo.
Leon. Then Woe the Day. — I’m circled round with Fire;
No Way for my Escape, but thro’ the Flames.
Oh, can I e’er resolve to live without
A Father’s Blessing, or abandon Julio?
With other Maids, the Choice were not so hard;
Int’rest, that rules the World, has made at last
A Merchandize of Hearts: and Virgins now
Chuse as they’re bid, and wed without Esteem.
By nobler Springs shall my Affections move;52
Nor own a Master, but the Man I love.
[Exit Leonora.
D. Bern. Go thy ways, Contradiction. — Follow her, my Lord; follow her, in the very Heat. This Obstinacy must be combated by Importunity as obstinate. [ Exit Henriquez after her.
The Girl says right; her Mother was just such Another. I remember, Two of Us courted her at the same Time. She lov’d neither of Us, but She chose me purely to spight that surly Old Blockhead my Father-in-Law. Who comes here, Camillo? Now the refusing Part will lie on my Side.—
Enters Camillo.
Cam. My worthy Neighbour, I am much in Fortune’s Favour to find You thus alone. I have a Suit to You.
D. Bern. Please to name it, Sir.
Cam. Sir, I have long held You in singular Esteem: and what I shall now say, will be a Proof of it. You know, Sir, I have but one Son.
D. Bern. Ay, Sir.
Cam. And the Fortune I am blest withal, You pretty well know what it is.
D. Bern. ’Tis a fair One, Sir.
Cam. Such as it is, the whole Reversion is my Son’s. He is now engaged in his Attendance on our Master, the Duke. But e’er he went, he left with me the Secret of his Heart, his Love for your fair Daughter. For your Consent, he said, ’twas ready: I took a Night, indeed, to think upon it, and now have brought you mine; and am come to bind the Contract with half my Fortune in present, the Whole some time hence, and, in the mean while, my hearty Blessing. Ha? What say You to’t, Don Bernard?
D. Bern. Why, really, Neighbour, — I must own, I have heard Something of this Matter.—
Cam. Heard Something of it? No doubt, you have.
D. Bern. Yes, now I recollect it well.
Cam. Was it so long ago then?
D. Bern. Very long ago, Neighbour.— On Tuesday last.
Cam. What, am I mock’d in this Business, Don Bernard?
D. Bern. Not mock’d, good Camillo, not mock’d: But in Love-matters, you know, there are Abundance of Changes in half an Hour. Time, Time, Neighbour, plays Tricks with all of us.
Cam. Time, Sir! What tell you me of Time? Come, I see how this goes. Can a little Time take a Man by the Shoulder, and shake off his Honour? Let me tell you, Neighbour, it must either be a strong Wind, or a very mellow Honesty that drops so easily. Time, quoth’a?
D. Bern. Look’ee, Camillo; will you please to put your Indignation in your Pocket for half a Moment, while I tell you the whole Truth of the Matter.53 My Daughter, you must know, is such a tender Soul, she cannot possibly see a Duke’s younger Son without falling desperately in Love with him. Now, you know, Neighbour, when Greatness rides Post after a Man of my Years, ’tis both Prudence, and good Breeding, to let one’s self be overtaken by it. And who can help all This? I profess, it was not my seeking, Neighbour.
Cam. I profess, a Fox might earth in the Hollowness of your Heart, Neighbour, and there’s an End. If I were to give a bad Conscience its true Likeness, it should be drawn after a very near Neighbour to a certain poor Neighbour of yours. — Neighbour! with a Pox.
D. Bern. Nay, you are so nimble with me, you will hear Nothing.
Cam. Sir, if I must speak Nothing, I will hear Nothing. As for what you have to say, if it comes from your Heart, ’tis a Lye before you speak it. — I’ll to Leonora; and if I find her in the same Story, why, I shall believe your Wife was true to You, and your Daughter is your own. Fare you well. [Exit, as into D. Bernard’s House.
D. Bern. Ay, but two Words must go to that Bargain. It happens, that I am at present of Opinion my Daughter shall receive no more Company to day;54, 55 at least, no such Visits as yours.
[Exit D. Bernard, following him.56
Leonora, above.
Leon. How tediously I’ve waited at the Window,
Yet know not One that passes.— Should I trust
My Letter to a Stranger, whom I think
To bear an honest Face, (in which sometimes
We fancy we are wond’rous skillful;) then
I might be much deceiv’d. This late Example
Of base Henriquez, bleeding in me now,
From each good Aspect takes away my Trust:
For his Face seem’d to promise Truth and Honour.
Since Nature’s Gifts in noblest Forms deceive,
Be happy You, that want ’em! — Here comes One;
I’ve seen him, tho’ I know him not; He has
An honest Face too— that’s no Matter.— Sir, —
Enters Citizen.
Citiz. To me?
Leon. As You were of a virtuous Matron born,
(There is no Doubt, you are:) I do conjure you
Grant me one Boon. Say, do you know me, Sir?
Citiz. Ay, Leonora, and your worthy Father.
Leon. I have not Time to press the Suit I’ve to you
With many Words; nay, I should want the Words,
Tho’ I had Leisure: but for Love of Justice,
And as you pity Misery— But I wander
Wide from my Subject. Know you Julio, Sir?
Citiz.Yes, very well; and love him too, as well.
Leon. Oh, there an Angel spake! Then I conjure you,
Convey this Paper to him: and believe me,
You do Heav’n Service in’t, and shall have Cause
Not to repent your Pains. — I know not what
Your Fortune is; — Pardon me, gentle Sir,
That I am bold to offer This.58
[Throws down a Purse with Money.59
D. Bern. within.] Leonora. —
Leon. I trust to you; Heav’n put it in your Heart
To work me some Relief.
Citiz. Doubt it not, Lady. You have mov’d me so,
That tho’ a thousand Dangers barr’d my way,
I’d dare ’em all to serve you. [Exit Citizen.
Leon. Thanks from a richer Hand than mine requite you!
D. Bern. within.] Why, Daughter —
Leon. I come: — Oh, Julio, feel but half my Grief,60
And Thou wilt outfly Time to bring Relief.
[Exit Leonora from the Window.
End of the Second Act.
Enter Julio with a Letter, and Citizen.
Citiz. When from the Window she did bow and call,
Her Passions shook her Voice; and from her Eyes
Mistemper and Distraction, with strange Wildness
Bespoke Concern above a common Sorrow.
Jul. Poor Leonora! Treacherous, damn’d Henriquez!
She bids me fill my Memory with her Danger;
I do, my Leonora; yes, I fill
The Region of my Thought with nothing else;
Lower, she tells me here, that this Affair
Shall yield a Testimony of her Love:
And prays, her Letter may come safe and sudden.
This Pray’r the Heav’ns have heard, and I beseech ’em,
To hear all Pray’rs she makes.
Citiz. Have Patience, Sir.
Jul. O my good Friend, methinks, I am too patient.
Is there a Treachery, like This in Baseness,
Recorded any where? It is the deepest:
None but Itself can be its Parallel:
And from a Friend, profess’d! — Friendship? Why, ’tis
A Word for ever maim’d; in human Nature
It was a Thing the noblest; and ’mong Beasts,
It stood not in mean Place: Things of fierce Nature
Hold Amity and Concordance. — Such a Villany
A Writer could not put down in his Scene,
Without Taxation of his Auditory
For Fiction most enormous.
Citiz. These
Upbraidings
Cool Time, while they are vented.
Jul. I
am counsel’d.
For you, evermore, Thanks. You’ve done much for Us;
So gently press’d to ’t, that I may perswade me
You’ll do a little more.
Citiz. Put
me t’Employment
That’s honest, tho’ not safe, with my best Spirits
I’ll give’t Accomplishment.
Jul. No
more but This;62
For I must see Leonora: And to appear
Like Julio, as I am, might haply spoil
Some good Event ensuing. Let me crave
Th’ Exchange of Habit with you: some Disguise,
May bear Me to my Love, unmark’d, and secret.
Citiz. You shall not want. Yonder’s the House before us:
Make Haste to reach it.
Jul. Still
I thank you, Sir.
O Leonora! stand but this rude Shock;
Hold out thy Faith against the dread Assault
Of this base Lord, the Service of my Life
Shall be devoted to repay thy Constancy. [Exeunt.
Enters Leonora.
Leon. I’ve hoped to th’ latest Minute Hope can give:
63He will not come: H’as not receiv’d my Letter:
’May64 be, some other View has from our Home
Repeal’d his chang’d Eye: for what Business can
Excuse a Tardiness thus willfull? None.
Well then, it is not Business. — Oh! that Letter, —
I say, is not deliver’d; or He’s sick;
Or, O Suggestion, wherefore wilt Thou fright me?
Julio does to Henriquez on meer Purpose,
On plotted Purpose, yield me up; and He
Hath chose another Mistress. All Presumptions
Make pow’rful to this Point: His own Protraction,
Henriquez left behind; — That Strain lack’d Jealousie,
Therefore lack’d Love. — So sure as Life shall empty
It self in Death, this new Surmise of mine
Is a bold Certainty. ’Tis plain, and obvious,
Henriquez would not, durst not, thus infringe
The Law of Friendship; thus provoke a Man,
That bears a Sword, and wears his Flag of Youth
As fresh as He: He durst not: ’Tis Contrivance,
Gross-dawbing65 ’twixt them Both. — But I’m o’erheard. [Going.
Enters Julio, disguised.
Jul. Stay, Leonora; Has this outward Veil
Quite lost me to thy Knowledge?
Leon. O
my Julio!
Thy Presence ends the stern Debate of Doubt,
And cures me of a thousand heartsick Fears,
Sprung from thy Absence: yet awakes a Train
Of other sleeping Terrors. Do you weep?
Jul. No, Leonora; when I weep, it must be
The Substance of mine Eye. ’Would66 I could weep;
For then mine Eye would drop upon my Heart,
And swage the Fire there.
Leon. You
are full possess’d
How things go here. First, welcome heartily;
Welcome to th’Ending of my last good Hour:
Now Summer Bliss and gawdy Days are gone,
My Lease in ’em ’s expir’d.
Jul. Not so, Leonora.
Leon. Yes, Julio, yes; an everlasting Storm
Is come upon me, which I can’t bear out.
I cannot stay much Talk; we have lost Leisure;
And thus it is: Your Absence hath giv’n Breeding
To what my Letter hath declar’d, and is
This Instant on th’effecting, Hark! the Musick
[Flourish within.
Is now on tuning, which must celebrate
This Bus’ness so discordant. — Tell me then,
What you will do.
Jul. I
know not what: Advise me:
I’ll kill the Traytor.
Leon. O! take Heed: his Death
Betters our Cause no whit. No killing, Julio.
Jul. My Blood stands still; and all my Faculties
Are by Enchantment dull’d. You gracious Pow’rs,
The Guardians of sworn Faith, and suff’ring Virtue,
Inspire Prevention of this dreaded Mischief!
This Moment is our own; Let’s use it, Love,
And fly o’th’ Instant from this House of Woe.
Leon. Alas! Impossible: My steps are watch’d;
There’s no Escape for Me. You must stay too.
Jul. What! stay, and see thee ravish’d from my Arms?
I’ll force thy Passage. Wear I not a Sword?
Ne’er on Man’s Thigh rode better. — If I suffer
The Traytor play his Part; if I not do
Manhood and Justice, Honour; let me be deem’d
A tame, pale, Coward, whom the Night-Owl’s Hoot
May turn to Aspen-leaf: Some Man take This,
Give Me a Distaff for it.
Leon. Patience,
Julio;
And trust to Me: I have fore-thought the Means
To disappoint these Nuptials. — Hark! again;
[Musick within.
These are the Bells knoll for Us.— See, the Lights
Move this Way, Julio. Quick, behind yon Arras,
And take thy secret Stand. — Dispute it not;
I have my Reasons, you anon shall know them: —
There you may mark the Passages of the Night.
Yet, more: — I charge you by the dearest Tyes,
What-e’er you see, or hear, what-e’er shall hap,
In your Concealment rest a silent Statue.
Nay, hide thee strait, — or, — see, I’m arm’d
and vow [Shews a Dagger.
To fall a bleeding Sacrifice before Thee.
[Thrusts him out, to the Arras.
I dare not tell thee of my Purpose, Julio,
Lest it should wrap thee in such Agonies,
Which my Love could not look on. —
Scene opens to a large Hall: An Altar prepared with Tapers. Enter at one Door Servants with Lights, Henriquez, Don Bernard, and Churchman. At another, Attendants to Leonora. Henriquez runs to her.
Henr. Why, Leonora, wilt Thou with this Gloom
Darken my Triumph; suff’ring Discontent,
And wan Displeasure, to subdue that Cheek
Where Love should sit inthron’d? Behold your Slave;
Nay, frown not; for each Hour of growing Time
Shall task me to thy Service, ’till by Merit
Of dearest Love I blot the low-born Julio
From thy fair Mind.
Leon. So
I shall make it foul;
This Counsel is corrupt.
Henr. Come, you will change.—
Leon. Why would you make a Wife of such a One,
That is so apt to change? This foul Proceeding
Still speaks against itself, and vilifies
The purest of your Judgment. — For your Birth’s Sake
I will not dart my hoarded Curses at you,
Nor give my Meanings Language: For the Love
Of all good Things together, yet take heed,
And spurn the Tempter back.
D. Bern. I think, you’re mad. — Perverse, and foolish,68 Wretch!
Leon. How may I be obedient, and wise too?
Of my Obedience, Sir, I cannot strip me;
Nor can I then be wise: Grace against Grace!
Ungracious, if I not obey a Father;
Most perjur’d, if I do. — Yet, Lord, consider,
Or e’er too late, or e’er that Knot be ty’d,
Which may with Violence damnable be broken,
No other way dissever’d: Yet consider,
You wed my Body, not my Heart, my Lord;
No Part of my Affection. Sounds it well,
That Julio’s Love is Lord Henriquez’ Wife;
Have you an Ear for this harsh Sound?
Henr. No Shot of Reason can come near the Place,
Where my Love’s fortified. The Day shall come,
Wherein you’ll chide this Backwardness, and bless
Our Fervour in this Course.
Leon. No,
no, Henriquez,
When you shall find what Prophet you are prov’d,
You’ll prophesie no more.
D. Bern. Have
done this Talking,
If you will cleave to your Obedience, do’t;
If not, unbolt the Portal, and be gone;
My Blessing stay behind you.
Leon. Sir,
your Pardon:
I will not swerve a Hair’s Breadth from my Duty;
It shall first cost me dear.
D. Bern. Well
then, to th’ Point:
Give me your Hand. — My honour’d Lord, receive
My Daughter of Me, — (nay, no dragging back,
But with my Curses;) — whom I frankly give you,
And wish you Joy and Honour.
[As Don Bernard goes to give Leonora to Henriquez, Julio advances from the Arras, and steps between.
Jul. Hold,
Don Bernard,
Mine is the elder Claim.
D. Bern. What are you, Sir?
Jul. A Wretch, that’s almost lost to his own Knowledge,
Struck thro’ with Injuries. —
Henr. Ha!
Julio? — Hear you,
Were you not sent on our Commands to Court?
Order’d to wait your fair Dismission thence?
And have you dared, knowing you are our Vassal,
To steal away unpriviledg’d, and leave
My Business and your Duty unaccomplish’d?
Jul. Ungen’rous Lord! The Circumstance of Things
Should stop the Tongue of Question. — You have wrong’d me;
Wrong’d me so basely, in so dear a Point,
As stains the Cheek of Honour with a Blush;
Cancells the Bonds of Service; bids Allegiance
Throw to the Wind all high Respects of Birth,
Title, and Eminence; and, in their Stead,
Fills up the panting Heart with just Defiance.
If you have Sense of Shame, or Justice, Lord,
Forego this bad Intent; or with your Sword
Answer me like a Man, and I shall thank you.
Julio once dead, Leonora may be thine;
But, living, She’s a Prize too rich to part with.
Henr. Vain Man! the present Hour is fraught with Business
Of richer Moment. Love shall first be serv’d:
Then, if your Courage hold to claim it of me,
I may have Leisure to chastise this Boldness.
Jul. Nay, then I’ll seize my Right.
Henr. What,
here, a Brawl?
My Servants, — Turn this boist’rous Sworder forth;
And see he come not to disturb our Joys.
Jul. Hold, Dogs! — Leonora, — Coward, base, Henriquez!
[Julio is seiz’d, and drag’d out by the Servants.
Henr. She dies upon Me; help!
[Leonora swoons; as they endeavour to recover her, a Paper drops from her.
D. Bern. Throng
not about her;
But give her Air.
Henr. What Paper’s That? let’s see it.
It is her own Hand-Writing.
D. Bern. Bow
her Head:
’Tis but her Fright; she will recover soon.
What learn you by that Paper, good my Lord?
Henr. That she would do the Violence to herself,
Which Nature hath anticipated on her.
What Dagger means she? Search her well, I pray you.
D. Bern. Here is the Dagger. — Oh, the stubborn Sex,
Rash ev’n to Madness! —
Henr. Bear
her to her Chamber:
Life flows in her again. — Pray, bear her hence:
And tend her, as you would the World’s best Treasure.
[Women carry Leonora off.
Don Bernard, this wild Tumult soon will cease,
The Cause remov’d; and all return to Calmness.
Passions in Women are as short in Working,
As strong in their Effect. Let the Priest wait:
Come, go we in: My Soul is all on Fire;
And burns impatient of this forc’d Delay.
[Exeunt; and the Scene closes.
Enters Roderick.
Rod. Julio’s Departure thus in secret from Me,
With the long doubtful Absence of my Brother,
(Who cannot suffer, but my Father feels it;)
Have trusted me with strong Suspicions,
And Dreams, that will not let me sleep, nor eat,
Nor taste those Recreations Health demands:
But, like a Whirlwind, hither have they snatch’d me,
Perforce, to be resolv’d. I know my Brother
Had Julio’s Father for his Host: from him
Enquiry may befriend me.
Enters Camillo.
Old
Sir, I’m glad69
To ’ve met you thus: What ails the Man? Camillo, —
Cam. Ha?
Rod. Is’t possible, you should forget your Friends?
Cam. Friends! What are Those?
Rod. Why, Those that love you, Sir.
Cam. You’re None of Those, sure, if you be Lord Roderick.
Rod. Yes, I am that Lord Roderick, and I lie not,
If I protest, I love you passing well.
Cam. You lov’d my Son too passing well, I take it:
One, that believ’d too suddenly his Court-Creed.
Rod. All is not well. [aside.] — Good old Man, do not rail.
Cam. My Lord, my Lord, you’ve dealt dishonourably.
Rod. Good Sir, I am so far from doing Wrongs
Of that base Strain, I understand you not.
Cam. Indeed! — You know not neither, o’ my Conscience,
How your most virtuous Brother, noble Henriquez,
(You look so like him, Lord, you are the worse for’t;
Rots upon such Dissemblers!) under colour
Of buying Coursers, and I know not what,
Bought my poor Boy out of Possession
Ev’n of his plighted Faith. — Was not this Honour?
And This a constant Friend?
Rod. I dare not say so.
Cam. Now you have robb’d him of his Love, take all;
Make up your Malice, and dispatch his Life too.
Rod. If you would hear me, Sir, —
Cam. Your
brave old Father
Would have been torn in Pieces with wild Horses,
E’er he had done this Treachery. On my Conscience,
Had he but dreamt you Two durst have committed
This base, unmanly Crime, —
Rod. Why, this is Madness. —70
Cam. I’ve done; I’ve eas’d my Heart; now you may talk.
Rod. Then as I am a Gentleman, believe me,
(For I will lie for no Man;) I’m so far
From being guilty of the least Suspicion
Of Sin that way, that fearing the long Absence
Of Julio and my Brother might beget
Something to start at, hither have I travell’d
To know the Truth of you.
Enters Violante behind.
Viol. My Servant loiters; sure, he means me well.
Camillo, and a Stranger? These may give me
Some Comfort from their Talk. I’ll step aside:
And hear what Fame is stirring. [Violante retires.
Rod. Why this Wond’ring?
Cam. Can there be one so near in Blood as you are
To that Henriquez, and an honest Man?
Rod. While he was good, I do confess my Nearness;
But, since his Fall from Honour, he’s to me
As a strange Face I saw but Yesterday,
And as soon lost.
Cam. I ask your Pardon, Lord;
I was too rash and bold.
Rod. No Harm done, Sir.
Cam. But is it possible, you should not hear
The Passage ’twixt Leonora and your Brother?
Rod. None of All This.
Enters Citizen.
How now?
Citiz. I bear you Tidings, Sir, which I could wish
Some other Tongue deliver’d.
Cam. Whence, I pray you?
Citiz. From your Son, Sir.
Cam. Pr’ythee, where is he?
Citiz. That’s more than I know now, Sir.
But This I can assure you, he has left
The City raging mad; Heav’n comfort him!
He came to that curst Marriage — The Fiends take it! —
Cam. Pr’ythee, be gone, and bid the Bell knoll for me:
I have had one Foot in the Grave some Time.
Nay, go, good Friend; thy News deserve no Thanks.
How does your Lordship? [Exit Citizen.
Rod. That’s
well said, Old Man.
I hope, all shall be well yet.
Cam. It
had need;
For ’tis a crooked World. Farewell, poor Boy! —
Enters Don Bernard.
D. Bern. This comes of forcing Women where they hate:
It was my own Sin; and I am rewarded.
Now I am like an aged Oak, alone,
Left for all Tempests. — I would cry, but cannot:
I’m dry’d to Death almost with these Vexations.
Lord! what a heavy Load I have within me!
My Heart, — my Heart, — my Heart —
Cam. Has
this ill Weather
Met with Thee too?
D. Bern. O Wench, that I were with thee!
Cam. You do not come to mock at me now?
D. Bern. Ha? —71
Cam. Do not dissemble; Thou may’st find a Knave
As bad as thou art, to undo thee too:
I hope to see that Day before I dye yet.
D. Bern. It needeth not, Camillo; I am Knave
Sufficient to my self. If thou wilt rail,
Do it as bitterly as thou canst think of;
For I deserve it. Draw thy Sword, and strike me;
And I will thank thee for’t. — I’ve lost my Daughter;
She’s stol’n away; and whither gone, I know not.
Cam. She has a fair Blessing in being from you, Sir.
I was too poor a Brother for your Greatness;
You must be grafted into noble Stocks,
And have your Titles rais’d. My State was laugh’d at:
And my Alliance scorn’d. I’ve lost a Son too;
Which must not be put up so. [Offers to draw.
Rod. Hold;
be counsel’d.
You’ve equal Losses; urge no farther Anger.
Heav’n, pleas’d now at your Love, may bring again,
And, no Doubt, will, your Children to your Comforts:
In which Adventure my Foot shall be foremost.
And One more will I add, my Honour’d Father;
Who has a Son to grieve for too, tho’ tainted.
Let your joint Sorrow be as Balm to heal
These Wounds of adverse Fortune.
D. Bern. Come,
Camillo,72
Do not deny your Love, for Charity;
I ask it of you. Let this noble Lord
Make Brothers of Us, whom our own cross Fates
Could never join. What I have been, forget;
What I intend to be, believe and nourish:
I do confess my Wrongs; give me your Hand.
Cam. Heav’n make thee honest; — there.
Rod. ’Tis
done like good Men.
Now there rests Nought, but that we part, and each
Take sev’ral Ways in Quest of our lost Friends:
Some of my Train o’er the wild Rocks shall wait you.
Our best Search ended, here we’ll meet again,
And tell the Fortunes of our separate Travels. [Exeunt.
Violante comes forward.
Viol. I would, your Brother had but half your Virtue!
Yet there remains a little Spark of Hope
That lights me to some Comfort. The Match is cross’d;
The Parties separate; and I again
May come to see this Man that has betray’d me;
And wound his Conscience for it: Home again
I will not go, whatever Fortune guides me;
Tho’ ev’ry Step I went, I trod upon
Dangers as fearful and as pale as Death.
No, no, Henriquez; I will follow thee
Where there is Day. Time may beget a Wonder.
Enters Servant.
O, are you come? What News?
Serv. None, but the worst.73 Your Father makes mighty Offers yonder by a Cryer, to any One can bring you home again.
Viol. Art Thou corrupted?74
Serv. No.
Viol. Wilt thou be honest?
Serv. I hope, yo