Classic Poem

ACT III. SCENE I.

Beauford's Lodgings .

Enter BEAUFORD and captain LANDBY .

Capt. L. You amaze me, Beauford; Gratiana false?
I shall suspect the truth of my conception,
And think all women monsters: though I never
Lov'd with that nearness of affection
To marry any, yet I mourn they should
Fall from their virtue; why may not Marwood
Injure her goodness?
Beau. What, and damn his soul?
Shall I think any with his dying breath
Would shipwreck his last hope? He mix'd it with
His prayers, when in the stream of his own blood
His soul was launching forth.
Capt. L. That circumstance
Takes away all suspicion again:
Where left you Marwood?
Beau. I' the Park.
Capt. L. Quite dead?
Beau. Hopeless; his weapon might have prov'd so happy,
To have released me of a burden, too;
And, but that manhood, and the care of my
Eternity, forbids, I would force out
That which but wearies me to carry it,
Unwelcome life.
Capt. L. Would he were buried!
My fears perplex me for you; though none [saw]
You fight, the circumstance must needs betray you. — What's he?

Enter a Surgeon.

Sur. I would borrow your ear in private.
Beau. We are but one to hear; his love hath
Made him too great a part of my affliction:
Speak it.
Sur. The body is taken thence.
Beau. Ha!
Sur. I cannot be deceived, sir; I beheld
Too plain a demonstration of the place:
But he that suffered such a loss of blood,
Had not enough to maintain life till this time:
Which way soe'er his body was convey'd,
I must conclude it short-liv'd; I am sorry
I could not serve you.
Beau. Sir, I thank you, you
Deserve I should be grateful: — [ gives him money .] — It must be so. —
Capt. L. What fellow's this?
Beau. A surgeon.
Capt. L. Dare you trust him?
Beau. Yes, with my life.
Capt. L. You have done that already
In your discovery, pray heaven he prove your friend!
You must resolve for flight, you shall take ship.
Beau. Never
Capt. L. Will you ruin yourself? there's no security.
Beau. There is not, captain,
Therefore I'll not change my air.
Capt. L. How?
Beau. Unless thou canst instruct me how to fly from
Myself; for wheresoever else I wander,
I shall but carry my accuser with me.
Capt. L. Are you mad?
Beau. I have heard, in Afric is a tree, which tasted
By travellers, it breeds forgetfulness
Of their country; canst direct me thither?
Yet 'twere in vain, unless it can extinguish,
And drown the remembrance I am Beauford:
No — I'll not move; let those
Poor things that dare not die, obey their fears,
I will expect my fate here.
Capt. L. This is wildness;
A desperate folly; pray be sensible:
Who's this? 'tis Gratiana.

Enter GRATIANA with a cabinet of jewels .

Beau. Ha! farewell.
Capt. L. You shall stay now a little.
Beau. I will not hear an accent, I shall lose
My memory, be charm'd into belief.
That she is honest, with her voice, I dare
Not trust my frailty with her.
Capt. L. She speaks nothing;
Is all a weeping Niobe, a statue;
Or in this posture, doth she not present
A water-nymph placed in the midst of some
Fair garden, like a fountain, to dispense
Her chrystal streams upon the flowers; which cannot
But, so refresh'd, look up, and seem to smile
Upon the eyes that feed them: — —
Will she speak?
Gra. Though by the effusion of my tears, you may
Conclude I bring nothing but sorrow with me,
Yet hear me speak; I come not to disturb
Your thoughts, or with one bold and daring language
Say how unjust you make my sufferings:
I know not what
Hath rais'd this mighty storm to my destruction,
But I obey your doom; and after this,
Will never see you more. First, I release
And give you back your vows; with them, your heart,
Which I had lock'd up in my own, and cherish'd
Better; mine, I'm sure, does bleed to part with't;
All that is left of yours, this cabinet
Delivers back to your possession;
There's every jewel you bestow'd upon me,
The pledges once of love.
Beau. Pray keep them.
Gra. They are not mine, since I have lost the opinion
Of what I was; indeed I have nothing else:
I would not keep the kisses once you gave me,
If you would let me pay them back again.
Beau. All woman is a labyrinth; we can
Measure the height of any star, point out
All the dimensions of the earth, examine
The sea's large womb, and sound its subtle depth;
But art will ne'er be able to find out
A demonstration of a woman's heart:
Thou hast enough undone me, make me not
More miserable, to believe thou canst be virtuous:
Farewell; enjoy you this, I will find out
Another room to weep in.
Capt. L. Lady, I would ask you a rude question:
Are you a maid?
Gra. Do I appear so monstrous, no man will
Believe my injury? has heaven forgot
To protect innocence, that all this while
It hath vouchsafed no miracle, to confirm
A virgin's honour?
Capt. L. I am answered:
I do believe she's honest; Oh that I could
But speak with Marwood's ghost now! an thou beest
In hell, I'd meet thee half way, to converse
One quarter of an hour with thee, to know
The truth of all [these] things; thy devil jailor
May trust thee without a waiter; he has security
For [thy] damnation in this sin alone.
I'm full of pity now, and, 'spite of manhood,
Cannot forbear; — [ Aside .] — Come, lady, I am confident,
I know not which way — that you are virtuous —
Pray walk with me, I'll tell you the whole story,
For yet you know not your accuser.
Gra. I am an exile hence, and cannot walk
Out of my way. — Beauford, farewell, may angels
Dwell round about thee, live until thou find,
When I am dead, thou hast been too unkind.

SCENE II.

A Room in justice Landby's House .

Enter MILLISCENT and Jane .

Jane . May I believe thee, Milliscent, that my father,
Though he give such respect to him I hate,
Intends no marriage? thou hast releast
My heart of many fears, that I was destin'd
To be a sacrifice.
Mil. It had been sin
That Milliscent should suffer you perplex
Your noble soul, when it did consist in his
Discovery to give a freedom to
Your labouring thoughts; 'tis now no more a secret,
Your father makes a trial of your nature
By giving him such countenance.
Jane . What thanks shall I give?
Mil. Your virtue hath both unseal'd
My bosom, and rewarded me.
Jane . Oh, Milliscent!
Thou hast deserv'd my gratitude; and I cannot
But, in exchange of thy discovery,
Give to thy knowledge what I should tremble
To let another hear; but I dare trust thee with it.
Mil. If I have any skill
In my own nature, [I] shall ne'er deceive,
Your confidence; and think myself much honour'd,
So to be made your treasurer.
Jane . 'Tis a treasure.
And all the wealth I have, my life, the sum
Of all my joys on earth, and the expectation
Of future blessings too, depend upon it.
Mil. Can I be worthy of so great a trust?
Jane . Thou art, and shalt receive it; for my heart
Is willing to discharge itself into thee:
Oh, Milliscent! though my father would have been
So cruel to his own, to have wished me marry him,
It was not in the power of my obedience
To give consent to't, for my love already
Is dedicate to one, whose worth hath made
Me but his steward of it; and although
His present fortune doth eclipse his lustre
With seeming condition of a servant,
He has a mind derived from honour, and
May boast himself a gentleman? Is not
Thy understanding guilty of the person
I point at? sure thou canst not choose but know him.
Mil. Not I.

Enter HAVER .

Jane . Then look upon him, Milliscent.
Mil. Ha!
Hav. My master, mistress Jane, sent me before
To say, he comes to visit you.
Jane . But thou art
Before him in acceptance; nay, you stand
Discovered here; in Milliscent you may
Repose safe trust.
Hav. Her language makes me confident. —
You are a friend.

Mil. To both a servant.
Hav. I shall desire your love.
Jane . But where's this man of mortgages?
We shall be troubled now.
Hav. I left him chewing the cud; ruminating some speech or other, with which he means to arrest you.
Mil. He is entered.

Enter RAWBONE , with a scroll in his hand .

Hav. I have prepared her.
Raw. Fortune be my guide then.
Hav. And she is a blind one.
Raw. Mistress Jane, I would talk with you in private, I have fancied a business, I know you are witty, and love invention, it is my own, and nobody else must hear it. [reads.] — Be it known to all men by these presents. —
Hav. This is like to be a secret.
Raw. That I, Jasper Rawbone, citizen, and housekeeper of London —
Hav. A very poor one, I am sure.
Raw. Do owe to mistress Jane, lady of my thoughts, late of London, gentlewoman —
Hav. Is she not still a gentlewoman?
Raw. Still a gentlewoman, goodman coxcomb? Did I not say she was lady of my thoughts? where was I, now?
Hav. At goodman coxcomb, sir.
Raw. — Do owe to mistress Jane, lady of my thoughts, late of London, gentlewoman, my true and lawful heart of England, to be paid to his said mistress, her executors, or assigns —
Hav. To her executors? what, will you pay your heart, when she is dead?
Raw. 'Tis none of my fault, an she will die, who can help it? thou dost nothing but interrupt me; I say, to be paid to the said mistress, her executors, or assigns, whensoever she demand it, at the font-stone of the Temple. — —
Hav. Put it the top of Paul's and please you; your conceit will be the higher.
Raw. Which payment to be truly made and performed, I bind not my heirs, but my body and soul for ever .
Hav. How, your soul, sir?
Raw. Peace, fool! my soul will shift for itself; when I am dead, that will be sure enough. — In witness whereof I have hereunto put my hand and seal, which is a handsome spiny youth with a bag of money in one hand, a bond in the other, an indenture between his legs, the last day of the first merry month, and in the second year of the reign of king Cupid .
Hav. Excellent! but in my opinion you had better give her possession of your heart; I do not like this owing: faith, pluck it out, and deliver it in the presence of us.
Raw. Thou talk'st like a puisne; I can give her possession of it by delivery of two-pence wrapp'd up in the wax, 'twill hold in law, man. — And how, and how do you like it? I could have come over you with verse; but hang ballads, give me poetical prose, every mountebank can rhyme, and make his lines cry twang, though there be no reason in them.
Jane . What music have I heard?
Raw. Music? oh rare!
Jane . He has Medusa's noble countenance;
His hairs do curl like soft and gentle snakes:
Did ever puppy smile so? or the ass
Better become his ears? oh generous beast
Of sober carriage! sure he's valiant too;
Those blood-shot eyes betray him; but his nose
Fishes for commendation.
Raw . What does she mean, Jasper?
Hav. Do you not see her love, sir? why, she does doat upon you, which makes her talk so madly.
Raw. Forsooth, I know you are taken with me: alas! these things are natural with me; when shall we be married, forsooth?
Jane . With your license, sir. —
Hav. D' ye not observe her? you must first procure a license.
Raw. You shall hear more from me when I come again. — Jasper.
Hav. My heart doth breathe itself upon your hand.
Mil. Your father and master Lodam. —

Enter LODAM , justice LANDBY , and CAMELION .

Lod. Sir, I do love your daughter. — I thought it necessary to acquaint you first, because I would go about the business judicially.
Just. L. You oblige us both.
Lod. I'll promise you one thing.
Just. L. What's that?
Lod. I'll bring your daughter no wealth.
Just. L. Say you so? what, then you promise her nothing?
Lod. But I will bring her that which is greater than wealth,
Just. L. What's that?
Lod. Myself.
Just. L. A fair jointure!
Lod. Nay, I'll bring her more.
Just. L. It shall not need; no woman can desire more of a man.
Lod. I can bring her good qualities, if she want any: I have travelled for them.
Just. L. What are they?
Lod. The languages.
Just. L. You suspect she will want tongue: — let me see —
Parlez-vous Francois, monsieur?
Lod. Diggon a camrag .
Just. L. That's Welsh.
Lod. Pocas palabras .
Just. L. That's Spanish.
Lod. Troth, I have such a confusion of languages in my head, you must e'en take them as they come.
Just. L. You may speak that more exactly — Hablar spagnuol, senor ?
Lod. Serge-dubois, Calli-mancho, et Perpetuana .
Just. L. There's stuff, indeed; since you are so perfect, I'll trust you for the rest. I must refer you, sir, unto my daughter; if you can win her fair opinion, my consent may haply follow. — So, she is in presence.
Lod. Mercy, madam.
Just. L. This fellow looks like the principal in usury, and this rat follows him like a pitiful eight in the hundred. — Come hither, sirrah, your name is Camelion.
Cam. It is too true, sir.
Just. L. You did live with master Rawbone.
Cam. No, sir, I did starve with him, an't please you; I could not live with him.
Just. L. How do you like your change?
Cam. Never worse
Just. L. Master Lodam wants no flesh.
Cam. But I do. — I have no justice, sir; my lean master would eat no meat, and my fat master eats up all: — is your worship's house troubled with vermin?
Just. L. Something at this time.
Cam. Peace, and I'll catch a mouse then.

Enter captain LANDBY and GRATIANA .

Just. L. My nephew turn'd gentleman-usher.
Capt. L. Sir John Belfare's daughter.
Just. L. 'Las, poor gentlewoman, I compassionate her unkind destiny.
Capt. L. Let us intreat a word in private, sir.
Lod. I cannot tell how you stand affected, but if you can love a man, I know not what is wanting; greatness is a thing that your wisest ladies have an itch after: for my own part, I was never in love before, and if you have me not, never will be again. Think on't between this and after dinner; I will stay o' purpose for your answer.
Jane . You are very short.
Lod . I would not be kept in expectation above an hour, for love is worse than a Lent to me, and fasting is a thing my flesh abhors; if my doublet be not fill'd, I know who fares the worse for't. I would keep my flesh to swear by, and if you and I cannot agree upon the matter, I would lose nothing by you.
Jane . You are very resolute.
Lod. Ever while you live, a fat man, and a man of resolution go together; I do not commend myself, but there are no such fiery things in nature.
Jane . Fiery?
Lod. 'Tis prov'd, put them to any action, and see if they do not smoke it, they are men of mettle, and the greatest melters in the world; one hot service makes them roast, and they have enough in them to baste a hundred: you may take a lean man, marry yourself to famine, and beg for a great belly; you see what became of sir John's daughter. — Come, I would wish you be well advised; there are more commodities in me than you are aware of; if you and I couple, you shall fare like an empress.
Jane . That will be somewhat costly.
Lod. Not a token; I have a privilege. — I was at the tavern t' other day, in the next room I smelt hot venison; I sent but a drawer to tell the company, one in the house with a great belly longed for a corner, and I had half a pasty sent me immediately: I will hold intelligence with all the cooks in the town, and what dainty, but I have greatness enough to command?
Just. L. [ coming forward with Gratiana and captain L. ] — I like it well: be as welcome here as at your father's — Milliscent, make it your care to wait upon this gentlewoman, but conceal she is our guest. I should rejoice to see this storm blown over. — Nephew, attend her to her chamber.

Enter RAWBONE and HAVER , hastily .

Raw. I have been about it.
Lod. Next time you ride post, wind your horn, that one may get out o'the way.
Just. L. What's the matter, Jane?
Raw. 'Tis guts; if I durst, my teeth water to strike him.
Just. L. What have you done?
Lod. Let him take heed another time.
Hav. Take such an affront before your mistress!
Raw. I have a good stomach.
Hav. That's well said.
Raw. I could eat him.
Hav. Oh, is it that?
Lod. Let me alone, no body hold me.
Raw. I'll have an action of battery.
Lod. Whoreson mole-catcher! —
Come not near me, weazel.
Raw. Prithee, Jasper, do not thrust me upon him. —
I do not fear you, sir.
Lod. Again! shall I kick thee to pieces?
Hav. Let him baffle you? — to him! —
Raw. I do not fear you.
Just. L. Jane, remove yourself.
Jane. Master Rawbone, I am sorry for your hurt.
Hav. She jeers you.
Lod. For this time I am content with kicking of thee.
Hav. My master desires another [word] w'ye, sir. — You must fight with him. —
Raw. Who, I fight?
Lod. You spider-catcher, have you not enough? you see I do not draw.
Just. L. Very well.
Hav. By this hand you shall challenge him, then; if he dare accept it, I'll meet him in your clothes.
Raw. Will you? Hum! — I do not fear you — satisfaction!
Hav. [ aside to Rawbone .] — That's the word.
Raw. That's the word — you'll meet me, guts?
Lod. Meet thee! by this flesh, if thou dost but provoke me: — you do not challenge me — do not — d'ye long to be minced?
Hav. [ aside to Raw .] — At Finsbury.
Raw. At Finsbury.
Hav. [ aside .] — To-morrow morning.
Raw. To-morrow morning — you shall find I dare fight.
Lod. Say but such another word.
Raw. Finsbury, to-morrow morning; there 'tis again.
Just. L. I cannot contain my laughter; ha! ha! ha! ha!
Raw. So, let's be gone quickly, before he threaten me; you made me challenge him, look to't.
Hav. Fear not, I warrant you.
Lod. Sirrah Noverint, if I can but prove thou dost come within three furlongs of a windmill, I'll set one o' top of Paul's to watch thee — shalt forfeit thy soul, and I'll cancel thy body worse than any debtor of thine did his obligation. — He's gone — and, now I think upon the matter, I have somewhat the worst on't, for if I should kill him, I shall never be able to fly, and he has left a piece of his skull, I think, in my shoulder — Whether am I bound to meet him or no? I will consult some o' the swordmen, and know whether it be a competent challenge. — Camelion!
Cam. Sir!
Lod. Has the rat, your master that was, any spirit in him?
Cam. Spirit! the last time he was in the field, a boy of seven years old beat him with a trap-stick.
Lod. Say'st thou so? I will meet him then and hew him to pieces.
Cam. I have an humble suit; — if it be so that you kill him, let me beg his body for an anatomy; I have a great mind to eat a piece on him.
Lod. 'Tis granted, follow me; I'll cut him up, I warrant thee.

SCENE III.

Beauford's Lodgings .

Enter BEAUFORD and captain LANDBY .

Capt. L. I have a letter
Beau. From whom?
Capt. L. Gratiana.
Beau. I would forget that name; speak it no more.
Capt. L. She is abus'd; and if you had not been
Transported from us with your passion,
You would have changed opinion, to have heard
How well she pleaded.
Beau. For herself?
Capt. L. You might,
With little trouble, gather from her tears
How clear she was; which, more transparent than
The morning dew, or crystal, fell neglected
Upon the ground: some cunning jeweller,
To have seen them scatter'd, would have thought some princess
Dropp'd them, and, covetous to enrich himself,
Gathered them up for diamonds.
Beau. You are then converted?
Capt. L. Oh, you were too credulous.
Marwood has play'd the villain, and is damn'd for't:
Could but his soul be brought to hear her answer
The accusation, she would make that blush,
And force it to confess a treason to
Her honour, and your love.
Beau. You did believe her?
Capt. L. I did; and promis'd her to do this service;
She begg'd of me, at parting, if she sent
A letter, to convey it to your hand:
Pray read, you know not what this paper carries.
Beau. Has she acquainted you?
Capt. L. Not me; I guess
It is some secret was not fit for my
Relation; it may be worth your knowledge;
Do her that justice, since you would not hear
What she could say in person, to peruse
Her paper.
Beau. It can bring nothing to take off
Th' offence committed.
Capt. L. Sir, you know not
What satisfaction it contains; or what
She may confess in it; for my sake read.
Beau. [reads the superscription.] — To him that was, — what? confident of her virtue,
Once an admirer, now a mourner for
Her absent goodness: — She has made the change:
From her that was , would have become this paper.
Had she conserv'd her first immaculate whiteness,
It had been half profane, not to salute
Her letter with a kiss, and touch it with
More veneration than a Sybil's leaf:
But now all ceremony must be held
A superstition to the blotted scroll
Of a more stained writer. — I'll not read;
If, unprepar'd, she win with her discourse,
What must she do when she has time and study
To apparel her defence?
Capt. L. Deny her this?
Beau. Well, I will read it.

Enter Servant.

Ser. Here's sir John Belfare.
Beau. Say any thing t' excuse me; be't your care
That none approach the chambers.
Capt. L. So, so; now unrip the seal.

Enter sir John BELFARE , and ISAAC .

Bel. Not speak with him? he must have stronger guard
To keep me out: where's Beauford?
Beau. Here.
Bel. Then there's a villain.
Beau. That's coarse language.
Bel. I must not spin it finer, till you make me understand better, why my daughter, and, in her, my family, is abused.
Beau. She has not then accus'd herself — I'll tell you,
I did expect your daughter would have been
My virgin bride; but she reserv'd for me
The ruins of her honour: — I would not speak
I' the rude dialect, you may collect
Sooner in English.
Bel. Is she not honest? will you make her then A whore?
Beau. Not I, her own sin made her.
Bel. Thou liest; nor can my age make me appear
Unworthy a satisfaction from thy sword.
Isaac . Does he not call my young mistress whore?
Bel. Keep me not from him, captain; he has in this,
Given a fresh wound. I came t' expostulate
The reason of a former suffering,
Which unto this was charity. — As thou art
A gentleman, I dare thee to the combat;
Contemn not, Beauford, my gray hairs, if thou hast
A noble soul, keep not this distance; meet me. —
Thou art a soldier: [ to capt. L .] — for heaven's sake permit me
Chastise the most uncharitable slander
Of this bad man.
Beau. I never injured you.
Bel. Not injured me! what is there then in nature
Left to be called an injury? didst not mock
Me, and my poor fond girl, with marriage,
Till all things were design'd, the very day
When Hymen should have worn his saffron robe;
My friends invited, and prepar'd to call
Her bride? and yet, as if all this could not
(Summ'd up together) make an injury,
Does thy corrupted soul at last conspire
To take her white name from her? — Give me leave
To express a father in a tear or two,
For my wrong'd child. O Beauford! thou hast robb'd
A father and a daughter; — but I will not
Usurp heaven's justice, which shall punish thee
'Bove my weak arm; may'st thou live to have
Thy heart as ill rewarded, to be a father
At my years, have one daughter and no more,
Beloved as mine, so mock'd, and then call'd whore.
Capt. L. Alas, good old man!
Beau. My afflictions
Are not yet number'd in my fate, nor I
Held ripe for death.
Capt. L. Now read the letter.
Beau. Yes,
It cannot make me know more misery.
Beauford, I dare not call thee mine, though I could not hope, (while I was living,) thou wouldst believe my innocence, deny me not this favour after death, to say I once loved thee. — —
Ha! death? captain, is she dead?
Capt. L. I hope she employ'd not me to bring this news?
Beau. Yes, death — — Ha!
Prithee read the rest; there's something in my eyes; I cannot well distinguish her small characters.
Capt. L. My accuser, by this time, knows the reward of my injury. — Farewell, I am carrying my prayers for thee to another world. — Her own martyr, drown'd Gratiana .
Beau. Read all.
Capt. L. I have.
Beau. It cannot be; for when thou mak'st an end,
My heart should give a tragic period,
And with a loud sigh break; — drown' d! 'twas no sin
Above heaven's pardon, though thou hadst been false
To thy first vow and me; I'd not have had
Thee die so soon; or, if thou hadst affected
That death, I could have drown'd thee with my tears:
Now they shall never find thee, but be lost
Within thy watery sepulchre.
Capt. L. Take comfort.
Beau. Art dead?
Then here I'll coffin up myself, until
The law unbury me for Marwood's death?
I will not hope for life, mercy shall not save
Him, that hath now a patent for his grave.