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Title: The Gamester (1753)
Author: Moore, Edward, 1712-1757
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Gamester (1753)" ***
Series Five:
_Drama_
No. 1
Edward Moore, _The Gamester_ (1753)
With an Introduction by
Charles H. Peake
and
a Bibliographical Note by
Philip R. Wikelund
The Augustan Reprint Society
July, 1948
_Price: 75 cents_
* * * * *
_GENERAL EDITORS_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
H. T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_
_ASSISTANT EDITOR_
W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_
_ADVISORY EDITORS_
EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_
LOUIS I. BREDVOLD _University of Michigan_
CLEANTH BROOKS, _Yale University_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
ERNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_
Lithoprinted from copy supplied by author
by
Edwards Brothers, Inc.
Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A.
1948
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
This reprint of Edward Moore's _The Gamester_ makes available to
students of eighteenth century literature a play which, whatever its
intrinsic merits, is historically important both as a vehicle for a
century of great actors and as a contribution to the development of
middle-class tragedy which had considerable influence on the Continent.
_The Gamester_ was first presented at the Drury Lane Theatre February 7,
1753 with Garrick in the leading role, and ran for ten successive
nights. Up to the middle of the nineteenth century it remained a popular
stock piece--John Philip Kemble, Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Barry, the Keans,
Macready, and others having distinguished themselves in it--and in
America from 1754 to 1875 it enjoyed even more performances than in
England. (J.H. Caskey, _The Life and Works of Edward Moore_, 96-99).
Moore's middle-class tragedy is the only really successful attempt
to follow Lillo's decisive break with tradition in England in the
eighteenth century. His background, like Lillo's, was humble, religious,
and mercantile. The son of a dissenting pastor, Moore received his early
education in dissenters' academies, and then served an apprenticeship to
a London linen-draper. After a few years in Ireland as an agent for a
merchant, Moore returned to London to join a partnership in the linen
trade. The partnership was soon dissolved, and Moore turned to letters
for a livelihood. Among his works are _Fables for the Female Sex_ (1744)
which went through three editions, _The Foundling_ (1748), a successful
comedy, and _Gil Blas_ (1751), an unsuccessful comedy. In 1753, with
encouragement and some assistance from Garrick, he produced _The
Gamester_, upon which his reputation as a writer depends.
It is impossible, of course, to review here all the factors involved in
the development of middle-class tragedy in England in the eighteenth
century. However, certain aspects of that movement which concern Moore's
immediate predecessors and which have not been adequately recognized
might be mentioned briefly. Aside from Elizabethan and Jacobean attempts
to give tragic expression to everyday human experience, historians have
noted the efforts of Otway, Southerne, and Rowe to lower the social
level of tragedy; but in this period middle-class problems and
sentiments and domestic situations appear in numerous tragedies,
long-since forgotten, which in form, setting, and social level present
no startling deviations from traditional standards. Little or no
attention has been given to some of these obscure dramatists who in the
midst of the Collier controversy attempted to illustrate in tragedy the
arguments advanced in the third part of John Dennis's _The Usefulness of
the Stage, to the Happiness of Mankind, to Government, and to Religion_
(1698). Striving to demonstrate the usefulness of the stage, these
avowed reformers produced essentially domestic tragedies, by treating
such problems as filial obedience and marital fidelity in terms of
orthodox theology. The argument that the stage can be an adjunct of
the pulpit is widespread, and appears most explicitly in Hill's preface
to his _Fatal Extravagance_ (1721), sometimes regarded as the first
middle-class tragedy in the eighteenth century, and in Lillo's
dedication to _George Barnwell_ (1731). The line from these obscure
dramatists at the turn of the century to Lillo is direct and clear. Of
these forgotten plays we can note here only _Fatal Friendship_ (1698)
by Mrs. Catherine Trotter whom John Hughes hailed as "the first of
stage-reformers"
(_To the Author of Fatal Friendship, a Tragedy_), an unquestionably
domestic tragedy inculcating a theological "lesson". To this play,
which was acted with "great applause" (_Biographica Dramatica_,
107), Aaron Hill was, I am convinced, considerably indebted for his
_Fatal Extravagance_, which is, in turn, one of the sources of _The
Gamester_.
In the early eighteenth century, then, there is clearly discernible a
two-fold tendency toward middle-class tragedy which reaches its fullest
expression in Lillo: the desire to lower the social level of the
characters in order to make the tragedy more moving; and the desire to
defend the stage by demonstrating its religious and moral utility. In
his prologue to _The Fair Penitent_ (l703), Rowe gave expression to the
first: the "fate of kings and empires", he argues, is too remote to
engage our feelings, for "we ne'er can pity that we ne'er can share";
therefore he offers "a melancholy tale of private woes". In his
prologue, Lillo repeats this idea, but in his dedication he shows
himself primarily concerned with the second tendency. Specifically
challenging those "who deny the lawfulness of the stage", he argues
that "the more extensively useful the moral of any tragedy is, the more
excellent that piece must be of its kind"; the generality of mankind is
more liable to vice than are kings; therefore "plays founded on moral
tales in private life may be of admirable use... by stifling vice in its
first principles". Dramatists who were concerned only or primarily with
the first of these tendencies (the emotional effect), produced domestic
or pseudo-domestic tragedies in the manner of Otway and Rowe. But those
who stressed the second (moral and religious utility), seeking practical
themes of widespread applicability, quite logically moved toward genuine
middle-class tragedy. Thus Hill's _Fatal Extravagance_ is concerned with
the "vice" of gambling; while Charles Johnson's _Caelia, or The Perjur'd
Lover_ (1732) attacks fashionable libertinism of the day, telling the
story which Richardson was later to retell in seven ponderous volumes.
In _Caelia_ the religious rationalization of the tragic action is
subdued, Johnson apparently preferring to stress the social and moral
aspects of his subject, and to this end he resolutely refused to
expunge or modify the boldly realistic brothel scenes, against which
a fastidious audience had protested.
A comparison of _The Gamester_ with its predecessor, _Fatal
Extravagance_, reflects certain developments in the intellectual
background of the first half of the eighteenth century. Hill anticipated
Lillo in repeating Rowe's argument for lowering the social level of
tragedy and in stating vigorously his desire to defend the stage by
demonstrating its religious and moral utility. An admirer of Dennis's
critical writings, Hill repeats Dennis's argument that the stage can
affect those whom the pulpit falls to reach, and he offers his play
as proof that "sound and useful instruction may be drawn from the
_Theatre_", challenging the enemies of the stage to test his play "by
the rules of religion and virtue" (Preface). Taking a "hint", as he
says, from _A Yorkshire Tragedy_, Hill endeavored to show the "private
sorrows" that result from gaming.
At the opening of the play, the hero, having gambled away his fortune,
faces poverty. His friend who signed his bond is in jail and a kindly
uncle has failed to secure the needed relief. In a fit of passion
growing out of despair, the hero kills the villainous creditor, and
decides to poison his (the hero's) wife and children, and then stab
himself. In his dying moments he learns that the uncle has substituted
a harmless cordial for the poison and that a long-lost brother has died
leaving him a fortune. This bare outline gives no indication of Hill's
careful theological rationalization of character and plot which he
promised in his preface. Hill incorporated in his play the teachings of
orthodox divines; there is nothing 'revolutionary' in his analytical
presentation of human nature. The theological significance of Hill's
play has not, to my knowledge, been recognized; thematic passages tend
to be dismissed as tiresome and gratuitous moralizing and the plot
is often regarded as empty melodrama or the representation of some
ambiguous 'fate'. It is in this deliberate theological rationalization
of his materials that Hill owes most to Mrs. Trotter's domestic tragedy
and that he differs significantly from Moore.
As with Hill and Lillo, Moore's desire to write a play with an
extensively useful 'moral' led him to middle-class realism and prose.
To attack the widespread fashion of gaming which he regarded as a "vice",
Moore attempted to present "a natural picture" in language adapted "to
the capacities and feelings of every part of the audience" (Preface,
1756). That he should have treated this social problem tragically is to
be explained, perhaps, by his sources and by his religious background.
He justified the "horror of its catastrophe" on the grounds that "so
prevailing and destructive a vice as Gaming" warranted it. _The
Gamester_ has been justly credited with superior dramatic qualities in
comparison with Hill's _Fatal Extravagance,_, but we might perhaps note
briefly certain aspects of the two plays which reflect changes in the
intellectual background. In both plays theological ideas are involved
in the treatment of the fall of the hero, partially in Moore's play,
completely In Hill's. Not recognizing ideas common to early eighteenth
century sermons, the modern reader may perhaps puzzle over the steadily
increasing moral paralysis and despondency in Moore's hero, Beverly.
Vice, preached the divines, beclouds the reason, leaving it
progressively incapable of controlling the passions:
Follies, if uncontroul'd, of every kind,
Grow into passions, and subdue the mind. (V, 4)
Further each commission of sin causes progressive loss of grace, without
which man cannot act rightly. In prison Beverly is incapable of prayer
("I cannot pray--Despair has laid his iron hand upon me, and seal'd me
for perdition..."). However, a benevolent deity touches him with the
finger of grace, enabling him to repent ("I wish'd for ease, a moment's
ease, that cool repentance and contrition might soften vengeance"). He
can now pray for mercy and in his dying moments is vouchsafed assurance
of forgiveness ("Yet Heaven is gracious--I ask'd for hope, as the bright
presage of forgiveness, and like a light, blazing thro' darkness, it
came and chear'd me...").
In this aspect Moore is working along the lines laid down by Hill, but
there is a significant difference, attributable perhaps to the weakening
of orthodox theology and the spreading influence of the Shaftesburian
school of ethical theorists. In the older theology, man's progressive
loss of grace correspondingly releases his natural propensity for evil,
and working in these concepts neither Hill nor Lillo hesitated to show
his hero descending to murder. Moore, influenced perhaps by the ethical
sentiments of the day, compromised his theological concepts and
permitted his hero no really evil act (excluding of course his suicide),
and stressed instead Beverly's mistaken trust in Stukely, who is, as
Elton has pointed out, a "Mandevillian man" (_Survey of English
Literature: 1730-1760_, I, 329-30).
There is another significant difference between the two plays which
reflects the development of religious thought in the first half of the
eighteenth century. Commenting on the too-late arrival of the news of
the uncle's death, Elton remarks that "this _too-lateness_... which
is in the nature of an accident, is a common and mechanical device of
Georgian tragedy" (I, 330). Hill employed the device, the good news
coming as a complete surprise, but he made it part of a carefully
ordered plot designed to reveal the direct intervention and mysterious
workings of a particular Providence, making characterization and action
consistent, and giving his play a precise theological significance. In
Moore's day, however, under the impact of deism and the developing
rationalism, the concept of a particular Providence in orthodox theology
had become so subtilized that the older idea of direct and striking
intervention in human affairs all but disappeared. By mid-eighteenth
century, deity, as Leslie Stephen points out, "appears under the
colourless shape of Providence--a word which may be taken to imply
a remote divine superintendence, without admitting an actual divine
interference" (_History of English Thought In the Eighteenth Century_,
II, 336). The references to Providence in Moore's play are of this type,
pious labels on prudential morality. Moore carefully avoids the various
devices employed by Hill to indicate direct divine intervention;
consequently the late arrival of the news of the uncle's death (which
was expected throughout the play) is without special meaning, and serves
only as a theatrical device intended to heighten the emotional effect.
_The Gamester_, then, is a clear reflection of the state of English
thought in the middle of the eighteenth century, in which a declining
theology becomes suffused with the ideas and sentiments of the moralists
of the age.
Despite the popularity of their plays, neither Lillo nor Moore inspired
any significant followers in England. On the Continent, however, their
influence was considerable. In his introduction to his edition of _The
London Merchant_, A.W. Ward traces Lillo's influence on the Continent,
and Caskey gives a detailed account of Moore's (119-134). _The Gamester_
was translated into German, French, Dutch, Spanish, and Italian. It was
first acted at Breslau in 1754 and retained its stage popularity for
more than two decades. A German translation appeared in 1754, and for
more than twenty years numerous editions and translations continued to
appear. In France, Diderot admired the play and translated it in 1760
(not published until 1819); Saurin's translation and adaptation (1767)
proved popular on the French stage (he later provided an alternate happy
ending which was frequently played).
_The Gamester_ is reproduced, with permission, from a copy owned by the
University of Michigan.
Charles H. Peake
University of Michigan
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The first edition of Moore's _The Gamester_ appeared in 1753 shortly
after the opening of Garrick's performance of the play on February 7.
This edition is in many respects a good text; it has seemed desirable
for several reasons, however, to reprint this work from the 1756 edition
of _Poems, Fables, and Plays_ (often referred to as the "Collected
Works"). The 1756 text often corrects that of 1753 and is generally
superior to later printings; it contains passages and improved readings
not present in other editions; it aims at formal correctness, employing
classical scene division; as a "Works" edition it exhibits excellent
editorial and typographical treatment; it enjoys a superior general
readability advantageous to classroom use; and, finally, it contains
Moore's vindicatory preface, which, as far as an examination of
available copies shows, does not appear in other editions. Inasmuch
as the 1756 printing is somewhat late, standing between the fourth and
fifth editions of the play, a brief bibliographical account of _The
Gamester_ is offered.
The play was printed separately many times in the eighteenth century.
The first edition, in the University of Michigan copy, bears the title:
THE / GAMESTER. / A / TRAGEDY. / As it is Acted at the / _Theatre-Royal_
in _Drury-Lane_. / [rule] / ornament / [rule] / _LONDON_: / Printed for
R. FRANCKLIN, in _Russel-Street_, / _Covent-Garden_; and Sold by
R. DODSLEY, / in _Pall-Mall_. M.DCC.LIII. / The anonymity of the
titlepage is half-hearted, for the dedication to Henry Pelham is
signed "Edw. Moore." A prologue written by Garrick, an epilogue,
and the cast of the original performance precede the eighty-four page
text. Francklin and Dodsley brought out a second edition in the same
year and a fourth edition in 1755; presumably a third edition had
been issued in the interim. In 1771 a fifth and a sixth edition
appeared, and in 1776 another London edition came out. In 1784 two
more editions made an appearance, the first printed for R. Butters
(John H. Caskey, _The Life and Works of Edward Moore_, Yale Studies
in English, LXXV [New Haven, 1927], p. 174), the second printed for
a group of four booksellers--Thomas Davies, W. Nicoll, Samuel Bladon,
and John Bew. The same combination of booksellers, with W. Lowndes
taking the place of Davies, issued in 1789 an inferior reprinting of
their 1784 text. The editions of 1784 and 1789 are interesting because
they identify by inverted commas the cuts made in contemporary stage
versions. Before the end of the century three editions were printed
outside London: two Dublin imprints of 1763 and 1783, and an American
imprint of 1791 by Henry Taylor in Philadelphia.
In addition to these separate publications, _The Gamester_ was included
in two collections of Moore's works. The 1756 edition has already been
noticed. THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF Mr. Edward Moore, as the 1788 titlepage
describes the volume, was issued by the Lowndes-Nicoll-Bladon-Bew group
and was actually an assembled text made up of the 1784 printing of _The
Gamester_, the 1786 _The Foundling_, and the 1788 _Gil Blas_.
The play was a favorite in many popular dramatic collections of the
late eighteenth and early nineteenth century; it appeared in Bell's
_British Theatre_ in 1776 and thereafter, in Mrs. Inchbald's _The
British Theatre_ in 1808, in Dibdin's _London Theatre_ in 1815, and in
Cumberland's _British Theatre_ in 1826. According to Caskey and other
sources the play was thus reprinted more than a dozen times by the
middle of the nineteenth century. Since then it has declined in favor
and has seldom been reprinted, even in textbook anthologies covering
representative literature of the period.
The 1756 text of the play and the plates from the Davies-Nicoll-
Bladon-Bew 1784 edition have been reproduced through the cooperation of
the University of Michigan Library from copies of these editions in its
possession. Because of its lack of significance, the dedication to
Henry Pelham has not been reprinted.
Philip R. Wikelund
University of Michigan
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
THE
GAMESTER.
A
TRAGEDY.
As it is Acted at the
Theatre-Royal
in
Drury-Lane.
[Illustration: MRS SIDDONS and MR KEMBLE as
_Mr. & Mrs. Beverley Act 5. Sc. 4_.
Bev. _O! for a few short Moments to tell you
how my Heart bleeds for you._]
PREFACE.
It having been objected to this tragedy, that its language is prose, and
its catastrophe too horrible, I shall entreat the reader's patience for
a minute, that I may say a word or two to these objections.
The play of the GAMESTER was intended to be a natural picture of that
kind of life, of which all men are judges; and as it struck at a vice so
universally prevailing, it was thought proper to adapt its language to
the capacities and feelings of every part of the audience: that as some
of its characters were of no higher rank than _Sharpers_, it was
imagined that (whatever good company they may find admittance to in the
world) their speaking blank verse upon the stage would be unnatural,
if not ridiculous. But though the more elevated characters also speak
prose, the judicious reader will observe, that it is a species of prose
which differs very little from verse: in many of the most animated
scenes, I can truly say, that I often found it a much greater difficulty
to avoid, than to write, _measure_. I shall only add, in answer to this
objection, that I hoped to be more interesting, by being more natural;
and the event, as far as I have been a witness of it, has more than
answered my expectations.
As to the other objection, the horror of its catastrophe, if it be
considered simply what that catastrophe is, and compared with those of
other tragedies, I should humbly presume that the working it up to any
uncommon degree of horror, is the _merit_ of the play, and not its
_reproach_. Nor should so prevailing and destructive a vice as GAMING be
attacked upon the theatre, without impressing upon the imagination all
the horrors that may attend it.
I shall detain the reader no longer than to inform him, that I am
indebted for many of the most popular passages in this play to the
inimitable performer, who, in the character of the_ Gamester, _exceeded
every idea I had conceived of it in the writing.
PROLOGUE.
Written and spoken by Mr. GARRICK.
Like fam'd La Mancha's knight, who launce in hand,
Mounted his steed to free th' enchanted land,
Our Quixote bard sets forth a monster-taming,
Arm'd at all points, to fight that hydra--GAMING.
Aloft on Pegasus he waves his pen,
And hurls defiance at the caitiff's den.
The _First_ on fancy'd giants spent his rage,
But _This_ has more than windmills to engage:
He combats passion, rooted in the soul,
Whose pow'rs, at once delight ye, and controul;
Whose magic bondage each lost slave enjoys,
Nor wishes freedom, though the spell destroys.
To save our land from this MAGICIAN's charms,
And rescue maids and matrons from his arms,
Our knight poetic comes. And Oh! ye fair!
This black ENCHANTER's wicked arts beware!
His subtle poison dims the brightest eyes,
And at his touch, each grace and beauty dies:
Love, gentleness and joy to rage give way,
And the soft dove becomes a bird of prey.
May this our bold advent'rer break the spell,
And drive the _demon_ to his native hell.
Ye slaves of passion, and ye dupes of chance,
Wake all your pow'rs from this destructive trance!
Shake off the shackles of this tyrant vice:
Hear other calls than those of cards and dice:
Be learn'd in nobler arts, than arts of _play_,
And other debts, than those of _honour_ pay:
No longer live insensible to shame,
Lost to your country, families and fame.
Could our romantic muse this work atchieve,
Would there one honest heart in _Britain_ grieve?
Th' attempt, though wild, would not in vain be made,
If every honest hand would lend its aid.
Dramatis Personae.
MEN.
Beverley, Mr. GARRICK.
Lewson, Mr. MOSSOP.
Stukely, Mr. DAVIES.
Jarvis, Mr. BERRY.
Bates, Mr. BURTON.
Dawson, Mr. BLAKES.
Waiter, Mr. ACKMAN.
WOMEN
Mrs. Beverley, Mrs. PRITCHARD.
Charlotte, Miss. HAUGHTON.
Lucy, Mrs. PRICE.
SCENE, LONDON.
THE
GAMESTER.
A
TRAGEDY.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE._
_Mrs. Beverley._ Be comforted, my dear; all may be well yet.
And now, methinks, the lodgings begin to look with another face.
O sister! sister! if these were all my hardships; if all I had
to complain of were no more than quitting my house, servants,
equipage and show, your pity would be weakness.
_Char._ Is poverty nothing then?
_Mrs. Bev._ Nothing in the world, if it affected only Me. While we
had a fortune, I was the happiest of the rich: and now 'tis gone,
give me but a bare subsistance, and my husband's smiles, and I'll be
the happiest of the poor. To Me now these lodgings want nothing but
their master. Why d'you look so at me?
_Char._ That I may hate my brother.
_Mrs. Bev._ Don't talk so, Charlotte.
_Char._ Has he not undone you? Oh! this pernicious vice of gaming!
But methinks his usual hours of four or five in the morning might
have contented him; 'twas misery enough to wake for him till then:
need he have staid out all night? I shall learn to detest him.
_Mrs. Bev._ Not for the first fault. He never slept from me
before.
_Char._ Slept from you! No, no; his nights have nothing to do with
sleep. How has this one vice driven him from every virtue! nay, from
his affections too!--The time _was_, sister--
_Mrs. Bev._ And _is_. I have no fear of his affections. Would I knew
that he were safe!
_Char._ From ruin and his companions. But that's impossible. His
poor little boy too! What must become of Him?
_Mrs. Bev._ Why, want shall teach him industry. From his father's
mistakes he shall learn prudence, and from his mother's resignation,
patience. Poverty has no such terrors in it as you imagine. There's
no condition of life, sickness and pain excepted, where happiness is
excluded. The needy peasant, who rises early to his labour, enjoys
more welcome rest at night for't. His bread is sweeter to him; his
home happier; his family dearer; his enjoyments surer. The sun that
rouses him in the morning, sets in the evening to release him. All
situations have their comforts, if sweet contentment dwell in the
heart. But my poor Beverley has none. The thought of having ruined
those he loves, is misery for ever to him. Would I could ease his
mind of That!
_Char._ If He alone were ruined, 'twere just he should be punished.
He is my brother, 'tis true; but when I think of what he has done;
of the fortune You brought him; of his own large estate too,
squandered away upon this vilest of passions, and among the vilest
of wretches! O! I have no patience! My own little fortune is
untouched, he says: would I were sure on't!
_Mrs. Bev._ And so you may; 'twould be a sin to doubt it.
_Char._ I will be sure on't. 'Twas madness in me to give it to his
management. But I'll demand it from him this morning. I have a
melancholy occasion for't.
_Mrs. Bev._ What occasion?
_Char._ To support a sister.
_Mrs. Bev._ No; I have no need on't. Take it, and reward a lover
with it. The generous Lewson deserves much more. Why won't you make
him happy?
_Char._ Because my sister's miserable.
_Mrs. Bev._ You must not think so. I have my jewels left yet. I'll
sell them to supply our wants; and when all's gone these hands shall
toil for our support. The poor should be industrious--Why those
tears, Charlotte?
_Char._ They flow in pity for you.
_Mrs. Bev._ All may be well yet. When he has nothing to lose,
I shall fetter him in these arms again; and then what is it to be
poor?
_Char._ Cure him but of this destructive passion, and my uncle's
death may retrieve all yet.
_Mrs. Bev._ Ay, Charlotte, _could_ we cure him. But the disease of
play admits no cure but poverty; and the loss of another fortune
would but encrease his shame and his affliction. Will Mr. Lewson
call this morning?
_Char._ He said so last night. He gave me hints too, that he had
suspicions of our friend Stukely.
_Mrs. Bev._ Not of treachery to your Brother? That he loves play I
know; but surely he is honest.
_Char._ He would fain be thought so; therefore I doubt him. Honesty
needs no pains to set itself off.
_Mrs. Bev._ What now, Lucy?
SCENE II.
_Enter LUCY._
_Lucy_. Your old steward, madam. I had not the heart to deny him
admittance, the good old man begged so hard for it.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Enter JARVIS._
_Mrs. Bev._ Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you to avoid me.
_Jar._ Did you, madam? I am an old man, and had forgot. Perhaps too
you forbad my tears; but I am old, madam, and age will be forgetful.
_Mrs. Bev._ The faithful creature! how he moves me!
[_To Charlotte._
_Char._ Not to have seen him had been cruelty.
_Jar._ I have forgot these apartments too. I remember none such in
my young master's house; and yet I have lived in't these five and
twenty years. His good father would not have dismissed me.
_Mrs. Bev._ He had no reason, Jarvis.
_Jar._ I was faithful to him while he lived, and when he died, he
bequeathed me to his son. I have been faithful to Him too.
_Mrs. Bev._ I know it, I know it, Jarvis.
_Char._ We both know it.
_Jar._ I am an old man, madam, and have not a long time to live.
I asked but to have died with him, and he dismissed me.
_Mrs. Bev._ Prithee no more of this! 'Twas his poverty that
dismissed you.
_Jar._ Is he indeed so poor then? Oh! he was the joy of my old
heart. But must his creditors have all? And have they sold his house
too? His father built it when He was but a prating boy. The times I
have carried him in these arms! And, Jarvis, says he, when a beggar
has asked charity of me, why should people be poor? You shan't be
poor, Jarvis; if I was a king, nobody should be poor. Yet He is
poor. And then he was so brave!--O, he was a brave little boy! And
yet so merciful, he'd not have killed the gnat that stung him.
_Mrs. Bev._ Speak to him, Charlotte; for I cannot.
_Char._ When I have wiped my eyes.
_Jar._ I have a little money, madam; it might have been more, but I
have loved the poor. All that I have is yours.
_Mrs. Bev._ No, Jarvis; we have enough yet. I thank you though, and
will deserve your goodness.
_Jar._ But shall I see my master? And will he let me attend him in
his distresses? I'll be no expence to him: and 'twill kill me to be
refused. Where is he, madam?
_Mrs. Bev._ Not at home, Jarvis. You shall see him another
time.
_Char._ To-morrow, or the next day. O, Jarvis! what a change is here!
_Jar._ A change indeed, madam! My old heart akes at it. And yet
methinks--But here's somebody coming.
SCENE IV.
_Enter LUCY with STUKELY._
_Lucy._ Mr. Stukely, Madam.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ Good morning to you, Ladies. Mr. Jarvis, your servant.
Where's my friend, madam?
[_To Mrs. Beverley._
_Mrs. Bev._ I should have asked that question of You. Have not you
seen him to-day?
_Stu._ No, madam.
_Char._ Nor last night?
_Stu._ Last night! Did not he come home then?
_Mrs. Bev._ No. Were not you together?
_Stu._ At the beginning of the evening; but not since. Where can he
have staid?
_Char._ You call yourself his friend, Sir; why do you encourage him
in this madness of gaming?
_Stu._ You have asked me that question before, madam; and I told you
my concern was that I could not save him. Mr. Beverley is a man,
madam; and if the most friendly entreaties have no effect upon him,
I have no other means. My purse has been his, even to the injury of
my fortune. If That has been encouragement, I deserve censure; but I
meant it to retrieve him.
_Mrs. Bev._ I don't doubt it, Sir; and I thank you. But where did
you leave him last night?
_Stu._ At Wilson's, madam, if I ought to tell; in company I did not
like. Possibly he may be there still. Mr. Jarvis knows the house,
I believe.
_Jar._ Shall I go, madam?
_Mrs. Bev._ No; he may take it ill.
_Char._ He may go as from himself.
_Stu._ And if he pleases, madam, without naming Me. I am faulty
myself, and should conceal the errors of a friend. But I can refuse
nothing here.
[_Bowing to the ladies._
_Jar._ I would fain see him, methinks.
_Mrs. Bev._ Do so then. But take care how you upbraid him. I have
never upbraided him.
_Jar._ Would I could bring him comfort!
[_Exit._
_Stu._ Don't be too much alarmed, madam. All men have their errors,
and their times of seeing them. Perhaps my friend's time is not come
yet. But he has an uncle; and old men don't live for ever. You
should look forward, madam: we are taught how to value a second
fortune by the loss of a first.
[_A knocking at the door._
_Mrs. Bev._ Hark!--No; that knocking was too rude for Mr. Beverley.
Pray heaven he be well!
_Stu._ Never doubt it, madam. You shall be well too: every thing
shall be well.
[_Knocking again._
_Mrs. Bev._ The knocking is a little loud though. Who waits there?
Will none of you answer?--None of you, did I say? Alas! I thought
myself in my own house, surrounded with servants.
_Char._ I'll go, sister--But don't be alarmed so.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ What extraordinary accident have you to fear, madam?
_Mrs. Bev._ I beg your pardon; but 'tis ever thus with me in Mr.
Beverley's absence. No one knocks at the door, but I fancy 'tis a
messenger of ill news.
_Stu._ You are too fearful, madam; 'twas but one night of absence;
and if ill thoughts intrude (as love is always doubtful) think of
your worth and beauty, and drive them from your breast.
_Mrs. Bev._ What thoughts? I have no thoughts that wrong my
husband.
_Stu._ Such thoughts indeed would wrong him. The world is full of
slander; and every wretch that knows himself unjust, charges his
neighbour with like passions; and by the general frailty, hides his
own. If you are wise, and would be happy, turn a deaf ear to such
reports: 'tis ruin to believe them.
_Mrs. Bev._ Ay, worse than ruin. 'Twould be to sin against
conviction. Why was it mentioned?
_Stu._ To guard you against rumour. The sport of half mankind is
mischief; and for a single error they make men devils. If their
tales reach you, disbelieve them.
_Mrs. Bev._ What tales? By whom? Why told? I have heard nothing; or
if I had, with all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits no
doubt. It is my safety; my seat of rest and joy, while the storm
threatens round me. I'll not forsake it. (_Stukely sighs, and looks
down_) Why turn you from me? And why that sigh?
_Stu._ I was attentive, madam; and sighs will come we know not why.
Perhaps I have been too busy. If it should seem so, impute my zeal
to friendship, that meant to guard you against evil tongues. Your
Beverley is wronged; slandered most vilely. My life upon his truth.
_Mrs. Bev._ And mine too. Who is't that doubts it? But no matter--I
am prepared, Sir.--Yet why this caution?--You are my husband's
friend; I think you mine too; the common friend of both. (_Pauses_)
I had been unconcerned else.
_Stu._ For heaven's sake, madam, be so still! I meant to guard you
_against_ suspicion, not to alarm it.
_Mrs. Bev._ Nor have you, Sir. Who told you of suspicion? I have a
heart it cannot reach.
_Stu._ Then I am happy--I would say more, but am prevented.
SCENE V.
_Re-enter CHARLOTTE._
_Mrs. Bev._ Who was it, Charlotte?
_Char._ What a heart has that Jarvis!--A creditor, sister. But the
good old man has taken him away. Don't distress his wife! Don't
distress his sister! I could hear him say. 'Tis cruel to distress
the afflicted. And when he saw me at the door, he begged pardon that
his friend had knocked so loud.
_Stu._ I wish I had known of this. Was it a large demand, madam?
_Char._ I heard not that; but visits such as these, we must expect
often. Why so distressed, sister? This is no new affliction.
_Mrs. Bev._ No, Charlotte; but I am faint with watching;
quite sunk and spiritless. Will you excuse me, Sir? I'll to my
chamber, and try to rest a little.
_Stu._ Good thoughts go with you, madam.
[_Exit Mrs. Beverley._
My bait is taken then. (_Aside._) Poor Mrs. Beverley! How my heart
grieves to see her thus!
_Char._ Cure her, and be a friend then.
_Stu._ How cure her, madam?
_Char._ Reclaim my brother.
_Stu._ Ay; give him a new creation; or breathe another soul into
him. I'll think on't, madam. Advice, I see, is thankless.
_Char._ Useless I am sure it is, if through mistaken friendship, or
other motives, you feed his passion with your purse, and sooth it by
example. Physicians, to cure fevers, keep from the patient's thirsty
lip the cup that would inflame him; You give it to his hands. (_A
knocking._) Hark, Sir! These are my brother's desperate symptoms.
Another creditor.
_Stu._ One not so easily got rid of--What, Lewson!
SCENE VI.
_Enter LEWSON._
_Lew._ Madam, your servant. Yours, Sir. I was enquiring for you at
your lodgings.
_Stu._ This morning? You had business then?
_Lew._ You'll call it by another name, perhaps. Where's Mr.
Beverley, madam?
_Char._ We have sent to enquire for him.
_Lew._ Is he abroad then? He did not use to go out so early.
_Char._ No; nor to stay out so late.
_Lew._ Is that the case? I am sorry for it. But Mr. Stukely,
perhaps, may direct you to him.
_Stu._ I have already, Sir. But what was your business with
Me?
_Lew._ To congratulate you upon your late successes at play. Poor
Beverley! But You are his friend; and there's a comfort in having
successful friends.
_Stu._ And what am I to understand by this?
_Lew._ That Beverley's a poor man, with a rich friend; that's all.
_Stu._ Your words would mean something, I suppose. Another time,
Sir, I shall desire an explanation.
_Lew._ And why not now? I am no dealer in long sentences. A minute
or two will do for me.
_Stu._ But not for Me, Sir. I am slow of apprehension, and must have
time and privacy. A lady's presence engages my attention. Another
morning I may be found at home.
_Lew._ Another morning then, I'll wait upon you.
_Stu._ I shall expect you, Sir. Madam, your servant.
[_Exit._
_Char._ What mean you by this?
_Lew._ To hint to him that I know him.
_Char._ How know him? Mere doubt and supposition!
_Lew._ I shall have proof soon.
_Char._ And what then? Would you risk your life to be his punisher?
_Lew._ My life, madam! Don't be afraid. And yet I am happy in your
concern for me. But let it content you that I know this Stukely.
'Twould be as easy to make him honest as brave.
_Char._ And what d'you intend to do?
_Lew._ Nothing, till I have proof. Yet my suspicions are well-grounded.
But methinks, madam, I am acting here without authority. Could I
have leave to call Mr. Beverley brother, his concerns would be my
own. Why will you make my services appear officious?
_Char._ You know my reasons, and should not press me. But I am cold,
you say: and cold I will be, while a poor sister's destitute. My
heart bleeds for her! and till I see her sorrows moderated, love has
no joys for me. _Lew._ Can I be less a friend by being a brother?
I would not say an unkind thing; but the pillar of your house is
shaken. Prop it with another, and it shall stand firm again. You
must comply.
_Char._ And will, when I have peace within myself. But let us change
the subject. Your business here this morning is with my sister.
Misfortunes press too hard upon her: yet till to day she has borne
them nobly.
_Lew._ Where is she?
_Char._ Gone to her chamber. Her spirits failed her.
_Lew._ I hear her coming. Let what has passed with Stukely be a
secret. She has already too much to trouble her.
SCENE VII.
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY._
_Mrs. Bev._ Good morning, Sir. I heard your voice, and, as I
thought, enquiring for me. Where's Mr. Stukely, Charlotte?
_Char._ This moment gone. You have been in tears, sister; but here's
a friend shall comfort you.
_Lew._ Or if I add to your distresses, I'll beg your pardon, madam.
The sale of your house and furniture was finished yesterday.
_Mrs. Bev._ I know it, Sir. I know too your generous reason for
putting me in mind of it. But you have obliged me too much
already.
_Lew._ There are trifles, madam, which you have set a value on:
those I have purchased, and will deliver. I have a friend too that
esteems you; he has bought largely, and will call nothing his, till
he has seen you. If a visit to him would not be painful, he has
begged it may be this morning.
_Mrs. Bev._ Not painful in the least. My pain is from the kindness
of my friends. Why am I to be obliged beyond the power of return?
_Lew._ You shall repay us at your own time. I have a coach waiting
at the door. Shall we have Your company, madam?
[_To Charlotte._
_Char._ No. My brother may return soon; I'll stay and receive him.
_Mrs. Bev._ He may want a comforter, perhaps. But don't upbraid him,
Charlotte. We shan't be absent long. Come, Sir, since I _must_ be so
obliged.
_Lew._ 'Tis I that am obliged. An hour or less will be sufficient
for us. We shall find you at home, madam? (_To Charlotte._)
[_Exit with Mrs. Beverley._
_Char._ Certainly. I have but little inclination to appear abroad.
O! this brother! this brother! to what wretchedness has he reduced
us!
[_Exit._
SCENE VIII. _Changes to _STUKELY'S_ lodgings._
_Enter STUKELY._
_Stu._ That Lewson suspects me, 'tis too plain. Yet why should he
suspect me? I appear the friend of Beverley as well as he. But I am
rich it seems: and so I am; thanks to another's folly and my own
wisdom. To what use is wisdom, but to take advantage of the weak?
This Beverley's my fool: I cheat him, and he calls me friend. But
more business must be done yet. His wife's jewels are unsold;
so is the reversion of his uncle's estate. I must have these too.
And then there's a treasure above all. I love his wife. Before she
knew this Beverley, I loved her; but like a cringing fool, bowed at
a distance, while He stept in and won her. Never, never will I
forgive him for it. My pride, as well as love, is wounded by this
conquest. I must have vengeance. Those hints, this morning, were
well thrown in. Already they have fastened on her. If jealousy
should weaken her affections, want may corrupt her virtue. My hate
rejoyces in the hope. These jewels may do much. He shall demand them
of her; which, when mine, shall be converted to special purposes.--What
now, Bates?
SCENE IX.
_Enter BATES._
_Bates._ Is it a wonder then to see me? The forces are in readiness,
and only wait for orders. Where's Beverley?
_Stu._ At last night's rendezvous, waiting for Me. Is Dawson with you?
_Bates._ Dressed like a nobleman; with money in his pocket, and a
set of dice that shall deceive the devil.
_Stu._ That fellow has a head to undo a nation. But for the rest,
they are such low-mannered, ill-looking dogs, I wonder Beverley has
not suspected them.
_Bates._ No matter for manners and looks: do You supply them with
money, and they are gentlemen by profession. The passion of gaming
casts such a mist before the eyes, that the nobleman shall be
surrounded with sharpers, and imagine himself in the best company.
_Stu._ There's that Williams too: it was He, I suppose, that called
at Beverley's with the note this morning. What directions did you
give him?
_Bates._ To knock loud, and be clamorous. Did not you see him?
_Stu._ No. The fool sneaked off with Jarvis. Had he appeared
within-doors, as directed, the note had been discharged. I waited
there on purpose. I want the women to think well of me; for Lewson's
grown suspicious; he told me so himself.
_Bates._ What answer did you make him?
_Stu._ A short one. That I would see him soon, for farther
explanation.
_Bates._ We must take care of him. But what have we to do with
Beverley? Dawson and the rest are wondering at you.
_Stu._ Why let them wonder. I have designs above Their narrow reach.
They see me lend him money; and they stare at me. But they are
fools. I want him to believe me beggared by him.
_Bates._ And what then?
_Stu._ Ay, there's the question; but no matter. At night you may
know more. He waits for me at Wilson's. I told the women where to
find him.
_Bates._ To what purpose?
_Stu._ To save suspicion. It looked friendly; and they thanked me.
Old Jarvis was dispatched to him.
_Bates._ And may intreat him home.
_Stu._ No; he experts money from me: but I'll have none. His wife's
jewels must go. Women are easy creatures, and refuse nothing where
they love. Follow me to Wilson's; but besure he sees you not. You
are a man of character, you know; of prudence and discretion. Wait
for me in an outer room; I shall have business for you presently.
Come, Sir.
Let drudging fools by honesty grow great;
The shorter road to riches is deceit.
[_Exeunt._
ACT II.
_SCENE a gaming house, with a table, box, dice, &c._
_BEVERLEY is discovered sitting._
_Beverley_. Why, what a world is this! The slave that digs for gold,
receives his daily pittance, and sleeps contented; while those, for
whom he labours, convert their good to mischief; making abundance
the means of want. O shame! shame! Had fortune given me but a
little, that little had been still my own. But plenty leads to
waste; and shallow streams maintain their currents, while swelling
rivers beat down their banks, and leave their channels empty. What
had I to do with play? I wanted nothing. My wishes and my means were
equal. The poor followed me with blessings; love scattered roses on
my pillow, and morning waked me to delight.--O, bitter thought! that
leads to what I was, by what I am! I would forget both--Who's there?
SCENE II.
_Enter a WAITER._
_Wait._ A gentleman, Sir, enquires for you.
_Bev._ He might have used less ceremony. Stukely I suppose?
_Wait._ No, Sir; a stranger.
_Bev._ Well, shew him in. (_Exit Waiter._) A messenger from Stukely
then. From Him that has undone me! Yet all in friendship; and now he
lends me from his little, to bring back fortune to me.
SCENE III.
_Enter JARVIS._
Jarvis! Why this intrusion?--Your absence had been kinder.
_Jar._ I came in duty, Sir. If it be troublesome--
_Bev._ It is. I would be private; hid even from myself. Who sent you
hither?
_Jar._ One that would persuade you home again. My mistress is not
well; her tears told me so.
_Bev._ Go with thy duty there then. But does she weep? I am to blame
to let her weep. Prithee begone; I have no business for thee.
_Jar._ Yes, Sir; to lead you from this place. I am your servant
still. Your prosperous fortune blessed my old age. If That has left
you, I must not leave you.
_Bev._ Not leave me! Recall past time then; or through this sea of
storms and darkness, shew me a star to guide me. But what can'st
Thou?
_Jar._ The little that I can, I will. You have been generous to me.
I would not offend you, Sir--but--
_Bev._ No. Think'st thou I'd ruin Thee too? I have enough of shame
already. My wife! my wife! Would'st thou believe it, Jarvis? I have
not seen her all this long night; I, who have loved her so, that
every hour of abscence seemed as a gap in life. But other bonds have
held me. O! I have played the boy; dropping my counters in the
stream, and reaching to redeem them, have lost Myself. Why wilt Thou
follow misery? Or if thou wilt, go to thy mistress--She has no guilt
to sting her, and therefore may be comforted.
_Jar._ For pity's sake, Sir! I have no heart to see this change.
_Bev._ Nor I to bear it. How speaks the world of me, Jarvis?
_Jar._ As of a good man dead. Of one, who walking in a dream, fell
down a precipice. The world is sorry for you.
_Bev._ Ay, and pities me. Says it not so? But I was born to infamy.
I'll tell thee what it says. It calls me villain; a treacherous
husband; a cruel father; a false brother; one lost to nature and her
charities--Or to say all in one short word, it calls me--Gamester.
Go to thy mistress; I'll see her presently.
_Jar._ And why not now? Rude people press upon her; loud, bawling
creditors; wretches, who know no pity. I met one at the door; he
would have seen my mistress--I wanted means of present payment, so
promised it to-morrow. But others may be pressing; and she has grief
enough already. Your absence hangs too heavy on her.
_Bev._ Tell her I'll come then. I have a moment's business. But what
hast Thou to do with My distresses? Thy honesty has left thee poor;
and age wants comfort. Keep what thou hast for cordials; left
between thee and the grave, misery steal in. I have a friend shall
counsel me--This is that friend.
SCENE IV.
_Enter STUKELY._
_Stu._ How fares it, Beverley? Honest Mr. Jarvis, well met; I hoped
to find you here. That viper Williams! Was it not He that troubled
you this morning?
_Jar._ My mistress heard him then? I am sorry that she heard him.
_Bev._ And Jarvis promised payment.
_Stu._ That must not be. Tell him I'll satisfy him.
_Jar._ Will you, Sir? Heaven will reward you for't.
_Bev._ Generous Stukely! Friendship like yours, had it ability like
will, would more than ballance the wrongs of fortune.
_Stu._ You think too kindly of me. Make haste to Williams; his
clamours may be rude else.
[_To Jarvis._
_Jar._ And my master will go home again. Alas! Sir, we know of
hearts there breaking for his absence.
[_Exit._
_Bev._ Would I were dead!
_Stu._ Or turned hermit; counting a string of beads in a dark cave;
or under a weeping willow, praying for mercy on the wicked. Ha! ha!
ha! Prithee be a man, and leave dying to disease and old age.
Fortune may be ours again; at least, we'll try for't.
_Bev._ No, it has fooled us on too far.
_Stu._ Ay, ruined us; and therefore we'll sit down contented. These
are the despondings of men without money; but let the shining ore
chink in the pocket, and folly turns to wisdom. We are fortune's
children. True, she's a fickle mother; but shall We droop because
She's peevish? No; she has smiles in store. And these her frowns are
meant to brighten them.
_Bev._ Is this a time for levity? But You are single in the ruin,
and therefore may talk lightly of it. With Me 'tis complicated misery.
_Stu._ You censure me unjustly. I but assumed these spirits to chear
my friend. Heaven knows he wants a comforter.
_Bev._ What new misfortune?
_Stu._ I would have brought you money; but lenders want securities.
What's to be done? All that was mine is yours already.
_Bev._ And there's the weight that sinks me. I have undone my friend
too; one, who to save a drowning wretch, reached out his hand, and
perished with him.
_Stu._ Have better thoughts.
_Bev._ Whence are they to proceed? I have nothing left.
_Stu. (Sighing) _Then we're indeed undone. What, nothing? No
moveables? nor useless trinkets? Bawbles, locked up in caskets, to
starve their owners? I have ventured deeply for you.
_Bev._ Therefore this heart-ake; for I am lost beyond all hope.
_Stu._ No : means may be found to save us. Jarvis is rich. Who made
him so? This is no time for ceremony.
_Bev._ And is it for dishonesty? The good old man! Shall I rob Him
too? My friend would grieve for't. No; let the little that he has,
buy food and cloathing for him.
_Stu._ Good morning then.
[_Going._
_Bev._ So hasty! Why, then good morning.
_Stu._ And when we meet again, upbraid me. Say it was I that tempted
you. Tell Lewson so; and tell him I have wronged you: he has
suspicions of me, and will thank you.
_Bev_, No; we have been companions in a rash voyage, and the same
storm has wrecked us both. Mine shall be self-upbraidings.
_Stu._ And will they feed us? You deal unkindly by me. I have sold
and borrowed for you, while land or credit lasted; and now, when
fortune should be tried, and my heart whispers me success, I am
deserted; turned loose to beggary, while You have hoards.
_Bev._ What hoards? Name them, and take them.
_Stu._ Jewels.
_Bev._ And shall this thriftless hand seize Them too? My poor, poor
wife! Must she lose all? I would not wound her so.
_Stu._ Nor I, but from necessity. One effort more, and fortune may
grow kind. I have unusual hopes.
_Bev._ Think of some other means then.
_Stu._ I have; and you rejected them.
_Bev._ Prithee let me be a man.
_Stu._ Ay, and your friend a poor one. But I have done. And for
these trinkets of a woman, why, let her keep them to deck out pride
with, and shew a laughing world that she has finery to starve
in.
_Bev._ No; she shall yield up all. My friend demands it. But need he
have talked lightly of her? The jewels that She values are truth and
innocence: those will adorn her ever; and for the rest, she wore
them for a husband's pride, and to his wants will give them. Alas!
you know her not. Where shall we meet?
_Stu._ No matter. I have changed my mind. Leave me to a prison; 'tis
the reward of friendship.
_Bev._ Perish mankind first! Leave you to a prison! No: fallen as
you see me, I'm not that wretch. Nor would I change this heart,
overcharged as 'tis with folly and misfortune, for one most prudent
and most happy, if callous to a friend's distresses.
_Stu._ You are too warm.
_Bev._ In such a cause, not to be warm is to be frozen. Farewell.
I'll meet you at your lodgings.
_Stu._ Reflect a little. The jewels may be lost. Better not hazard
them. I was too pressing.
_Bev._ And I ungrateful. Reflection takes up time. I have no leisure
for't. Within an hour expect me.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ The thoughtless, shallow prodigal! We shall have sport at
night then--But hold--the jewels are not ours yet. The lady may
refuse them. The husband may relent too. 'Tis more than probable--I'll
write a note to Beverley, and the contents shall spur him to demand
them. But am I grown this rogue through avarice? No; I have warmer
motives: love and revenge. Ruin the husband, and the wife's virtue
may be bid for. 'Tis of uncertain value, and sinks, or rises in the
purchase, as want, or wealth, or passion governs. The poor part
cheaply with it; rich dames, though pleased with selling, will have
high prices for't; your love-sick girls give it for oaths and lying;
but wives, who boast of honour and affections, keep it against a
famine. Why, let the famine come then; I am in haste to purchase.
SCENE V.
_Enter BATES._
Look to your men, Bates; there's money stirring. We meet to-night
upon this spot. Hasten and tell them so. Beverley calls upon me at
my lodgings, and we return together. Hasten, I say; the rogues will
scatter else.
_Bates._ Not till their leader bids them.
_Stu._ Come on then. Give them the word, and follow me; I must
advise with you. This is a day of business.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VI. _changes to _BEVERLEY'S_ lodgings_.
_Enter BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE._
_Char._ Your looks are changed too; there's wildness in them. My
wretched sister! how will it grieve her to see you thus!
_Bev._ No, no; a little rest will ease me. And for your Lewson's
kindness to her, it has my thanks: I have no more to give him.
_Char._ Yes; a sister and her fortune. I trifle with him; and he
complains. My looks, he says, are cold upon him. He thinks
too--
_Bev._ That I have _lost_ your fortune--He dares not think
so.
_Char._ Nor does he--You are too quick at guessing. He cares not if
you had. That care is mine. I lent it you to husband; and now I
claim it.
_Bev._ You have suspicions then?
_Char._ Cure them, and give it me.
_Bev._ To stop a sister's chiding.
_Char._ To vindicate her brother.
_Bev._ How if he needs it not?
_Char._ I would fain hope so.
_Bev._ Ay, would and cannot. Leave it to time then; 'twill satisfy
all doubts.
_Char._ Mine are already satisfied.
_Bev._ 'Tis well. And when the subject is renewed, speak to me like
a sister, and I will answer like a brother.
_Char._ To tell me I'm a beggar. Why, tell it now. I that can bear
the ruin of those dearer to me, the ruin of a sister and her infant,
can bear that too.
_Bev._ No more of this--You wring my heart.
_Char._ Would that the misery were all your own! But innocence must
suffer. Unthinking rioter! whose home was heaven to him: an angel
dwelt there, and a little cherub, that crowned his days with
blessings--How has he lost this heaven, to league with devils!
_Bev._ Forbear, I say; reproaches come too late; they search, but
cure not. And for the fortune you demand, we'll talk to-morrow on't;
our tempers may be milder.
_Char._ Or if 'tis gone, why, farewel all. I claimed it for a
sister. She holds my heart in hers; and every pang She feels, tears
it in pieces--But I'll upbraid no more. What heaven permits, it may
ordain; and sorrow then is sinful. Yet that the husband! father!
brother! should be its instrument of vengeance!--'Tis grievous to
know that.
_Bev._ If you're my sister, spare the remembrance--It wounds too
deeply. To-morrow shall clear all; and when the worst is known, it
may be better than your fears. Comfort my wife; and for the pains of
absence, I'll make atonement. The world may yet go well with
us.
_Char._ See where she comes!--Look chearfully upon her. Affections,
such as hers, are prying; and lend those eyes that read the
soul.
SCENE VII.
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and LEWSON._
_Mrs. Bev._ My life!
_Bev._ My love! How fares it? I have been a truant husband.
_Mrs. Bev._ But we meet now, and that heals all. Doubts and alarms I
have had; but in this dear embrace I bury and forget them. My friend
here (_pointing to Lewson_) has been indeed a friend. Charlotte,
'tis You must thank him: your brother's thanks and mine are of too
little value.
_Bev._ Yet what we have, we'll pay. I thank, you, Sir, and am
obliged. I would say more, but that your goodness to the wife,
upbraids the husband's follies. Had I been wise, She had not
trespassed on your bounty.
_Lew._ Nor has she trespassed. The little I have done, acceptance
over-pays.
_Char._ So friendship thinks--
_Mrs. Bev._ And doubles obligations, by striving to conceal
them--We'll talk another time on't. You are too thoughtful,
love.
_Bev._ No; I have reason for these thoughts.
_Char._ And hatred for the cause. Would you had that too!
_Bev._ I have. The cause was avarice.
_Char._ And who the tempter?
_Bev._ A ruined friend. Ruined by too much kindness,
_Lew._ Ay, worse than ruined; stabbed in his fame; mortally stabbed.
Riches can't cure him.
_Bev._ Or if they could, those I have drained him of. Something of
this he hinted in the morning--that Lewson had suspicions of
him--Why these suspicions?
[_Angrily._
_Lew._ At school we knew this Stukely. A cunning plodding boy he
was, sordid and cruel. Slow at his talk, but quick at shifts and
tricking. He schemed out mischief, that others might be punished;
and would tell his tale with so much art, that for the lash he
merited, rewards and praise were given him. Shew me a boy with such
a mind, and time that ripens manhood in him, shall ripen vice too.
I'll prove him, and lay him open t'you. Till then be warned. I know
him, and therefore shun him.
_Bev._ As I would those that wrong him. You are too busy, Sir.
_Mrs. Bev._ No, not too busy--Mistaken perhaps--That had been milder.
_Lew._ No matter, madam. I can bear this, and praise the heart that
prompts it. Pity such friendship should be so placed!
_Bev._ Again, Sir!--But I'll bear too. You wrong him, Lewson, and
will be sorry for't.
_Char._ Ay, when 'tis proved he wrongs him. The world is full of
hypocrites.
_Bev._ And Stukely one--So you'd infer, I think. I'll hear no more
of this--My heart akes for him--I have undone him.
_Lew._ The world says otherwise.
_Bev._ The world is false then. I have business with you, love. (_To
Mrs. Beverley._) We'll leave them to their rancour.
[_Going._
_Char._ No. We shall find room within for't. Come this way,
Sir.
[_To Lewson._
_Lew._ Another time my friend will thank me; that time is hastening
too.
[_Exit with Charlotte._
_Bev._ They hurt me beyond bearing. Is Stukely false? Then honesty
has left us!
'Twere sinning against heaven to think so.
_Mrs. Bev._ I never doubted him.
_Bev._ No; You are charity. Meekness and ever-during patience live
in that heart, and love that knows no change--Why did I ruin you?
_Mrs. Bev._ You have not ruined me. I have no wants when You are
present, nor wishes in your absence, but to be blest with your
return. Be but resigned to what has happened, and I am rich beyond
the dreams of avarice.
_Bev._ My generous girl!--But memory will be busy; still crowding on
my thoughts, to sour the present by the past. I have another pang too.
_Mrs. Bev._ Tell it, and let me cure it.
_Bev._ That friend, that generous friend, whose fame they have
traduced--I have undone Him too. While he had means, he lent me
largely; and now a prison must be his portion.
_Mrs. Bev._ No; I hope otherwise.
_Bev._ To hope must be to act. The charitable wish feeds not the
hungry. Something must be done.
_Mrs. Bev._ What?
_Bev._ In bitterness of heart he told me, just now he told me, I had
undone him. Could I hear that, and think of happiness? No; I have
disclaimed it, while He is miserable.
_Mrs. Bev._ The world may mend with us, and then we may be grateful.
There's comfort in that hope.
_Bev._ Ay; 'tis the sick man's cordial, his promised cure; while in
preparing it, the patient dies.--What now?
SCENE VIII.
_Enter LUCY._
_Lucy._ A letter, Sir.
[_Delivers it, and exit._
_Bev._ The hand is Stukely's.
[_Opens, and reads it to himself._
_Mrs. Bev._ And brings good news--at least I'll hope so--What says
he, love?
_Bev._ Why, this--too much for patience. Yet he directs me to
conceal it from you.
[_Reads._
Let your haste to see me be the only proof of your esteem for
me. I have determined, since we parted, to bid adieu to England;
chusing rather to forsake my country, than to owe my freedom in
it to the means we talked of. Keep this a secret at home, and
hasten to the ruined
R. STUKELY
Ruined by friendship! I must relieve, or follow him.
_Mrs. Bev._ Follow him, did you say? Then I am lost indeed!
_Bev._ O this infernal vice! how has it sunk me! A vice, whose
highest joy was poor to my domestic happiness. Yet how have I
pursued it! Turned all my comforts to bitterest pangs! and all Thy
smiles to tears. Damned, damned infatuation!
_Mrs. Bev._ Be cool, my life! What are the means the letter talks
of? Have You, have I those means? Tell me, and ease me. I have no
life while You are wretched.
_Bev._ No, no; it must not be. 'Tis I alone have sinned; 'tis I
alone must suffer. You shall reserve those means, to keep my child
and his wronged mother from want and wretchedness.
_Mrs. Bev._ What means?
_Bev._ I came to rob you of them; but cannot--dare not; those jewels
are your sole support--I should be more than monster to request them.
_Mrs. Bev._ My jewels! Trifles, not worth the speaking of, if
weighed against a husband's peace; but let them purchase That, and
the world's wealth is of less value.
_Bev._ Amazing goodness! How little do I seem before such virtues!
_Mrs. Bev._ No more, my love. I kept them till occasion called to
use them; now is the occasion, and I'll resign them chearfully.
_Bev._ Why, we'll be rich in love then--But this excess of kindness
melts me. Yet for a friend one would do much. He has denied Me
nothing.
_Mrs. Bev._ Come to my closet--But let him manage wisely. We have no
more to give him.
_Bev._ Where learnt my love this excellence? 'Tis heaven's own
teaching; that heaven, which to an angel's form, has given a mind
more lovely. I am unworthy of you, but will deserve you better.
Henceforth my follies and neglects shall cease,
And all to come be penitence and peace;
Vice shall no more attract me with her charms,
Nor pleasure reach me, but in these dear arms.
[_Exeunt._
ACT III.
SCENE I. _STUKELY'S lodgings_.
_Enter STUKELY, and BATES._
_Stukely_. So runs the world, Bates. Fools are the natural prey of
knaves; nature designed them so, when she made lambs for wolves. The
laws that fear and policy have framed, nature disclaims: she knows
but two; and those are force and cunning. The nobler law is force;
but then there's danger in't; while cunning, like a skilful miner,
works safely and unseen.
_Bat._ And therefore wisely. Force must have nerves and sinews;
cunning wants neither. The dwarf that has it, shall trip the giant's
heels up.
_Stu._ And bind him to the ground. Why, we'll erect a shrine for
nature, and be her oracles. Conscience is weakness; fear made, and
fear maintains it. The dread of shame, inward reproaches, and
fictitious burnings, swell out the phantom. Nature knows none of
this; Her laws are freedom.
_Bat._ Sound doctrine, and well delivered!
_Stu._ We are sincere too, and practice what we teach. Let the grave
pedant say as much--But now to business. The jewels are disposed of;
and Beverley again worth money. He waits to count his gold out, and
then comes hither. If my design succeeds, this night we finish with
him. Go to your lodgings, and be busy. You understand conveyances,
and can make ruin sure.
_Bat._ Better stop here. The sale of this reversion may be talked
of; there's danger in't.
_Stu._ No; 'tis the mark I aim at. We'll thrive, and laugh. You are
the purchaser, and there's the payment. (_Giving a pocket book._) He
thinks you rich; and so you shall be. Enquire for titles, and deal
hardly; 'twill look like honesty.
_Bat._ How if he suspects us?
_Stu._ Leave it to Me. I study hearts, and when to work upon them.
Go to your lodgings; and if we come, be busy over papers. Talk of a
thoughtless age, of gaming and extravagance, you have a face
for't.
_Bat._ A feeling too that would avoid it. We push too far; but I
have cautioned you. If it ends ill, you'll think of me; and so adieu.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ This fellow sins by halves; his fears are conscience
to him. I'll turn these fears to use. Rogues that dread shame, will
still be greater rogues to hide their guilt--This shall be thought
of. Lewson grows troublesome--we must get rid of him--he knows too
much. I have a tale for Beverley; part of it truth too. He shall
call Lewson to account. If it succeeds, 'tis well; if not, we must
try other means--But here he comes--I must dissemble.
SCENE II.
_Enter BEVERLEY._
Look to the door there! (_In a seeming fright._)--My friend!--I
thought of other visitors.
_Bev._ No: these shall guard you from them. (_Offering notes_) Take
them, and use them cautiously. The world deals hardly by us.
_Stu._ And shall I leave you destitute? No: Your wants are greatest.
Another climate may treat me kinder. The shelter of to-night takes
me from this.
_Bev._ Let these be your support then. Yet is there need of parting?
I may have means again; we'll share them, and live wisely.
_Stu._ No. I should tempt you on. Habit is nature in me; ruin can't
cure it. Even now I would be gaming. Taught by experience as I am,
and knowing this poor sum is all that's left us, I am for venturing
still. And say I am to blame; yet will this little supply our wants?
No; we must put it out to usury. Whether 'tis madness in me, or some
resistless impulse of good fortune, I yet am ignorant; but--
_Bev._ Take it, and succeed then. I'll try no more.
_Stu._ 'Tis surely impulse; it pleads so strongly--But You are
cold--we'll e'en part here then. And for this last reserve, keep it
for better uses; I'll have none on't. I thank you though, and will
seek fortune singly--One thing I had forgot--
_Bev._ What is it?
_Stu._ Perhaps, 'twere best forgotten. But I am open in my nature,
and zealous for the honour of my friend--Lewson speaks freely of you.
_Bev._ Of You I know he does.
_Stu._ I can forgive him for't; but for my friend I'm angry.
_Bev._ What says he of me?
_Stu._ That Charlotte's fortune is embezzled. He talks on't
loudly.
_Bev._ He shall be silenced then--How heard you of it?
_Stu._ From many. He questioned Bates about it. You must account
with him, he says.
_Bev._ Or He with Me--and soon too.
_Stu._ Speak mildly to him. Cautions are best.
_Bev._ I'll think on't--But whither go you?
_Stu._ From poverty and prisons--No matter whither. If fortune
changes you may hear from me.
_Bev._ May these be prosperous then. (_Offering the notes, which he
refuses_) Nay, they are yours; I have sworn it, and will have
nothing. Take them and use them.
_Stu._ Singly I will not. My cares are for my friend; for his lost
fortune, and ruined family. All separate interests I disclaim.
Together we have fallen; together we must rise. My heart, my honour,
both will have it so.
_Bev._ I am weary of being fooled.
_Stu._ And so am I. Here let us part then. These bodings of
good-fortune shall be stifled; I'll call them folly, and forget
them. This one embrace, and then farewel.
[_Offering to embrace._
_Bev._ No; stay a moment--How my poor heart's distracted! I have
these bodings too; but whether caught from You, or prompted by my
good or evil genius, I know not--The trial shall determine--And yet,
my wife--
_Stu._ Ay, ay, she'll chide.
_Bev._ No; My chidings are all here.
[_Pointing to his heart._
_Stu._ I'll not persuade you.
_Bev._ I _am_ persuaded; by reason too; the strongest reason--necessity.
Oh! could I once regain the height I have fallen from, heaven should
forsake me in my latest hour, if I again mixed in these scenes, or
sacrificed the husband's peace, his joy and best affections to
avarice and infamy!
_Stu._ I have resolved like You; and since our motives are so
honest, why should we fear success?
_Bev._ Come on then. Where shall we meet?
_Stu_, At Wilson's--Yet if it hurts you, leave me: I have misled you
often.
_Bev._ We have misled each other--But come! Fortune is fickle, and
may be tired with plaguing us. There let us rest our hopes.
_Stu._ Yet think a little.
_Bev._ I cannot--Thinking but distracts me.
_When desperation leads, all thoughts are vain;_
_Reason would lose, what rashness may obtain._
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III. __BEVERLEY'S_ lodgings.
Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE._
_Char._ 'Twas all a scheme, a mean one; unworthy of my brother.
_Mrs. Bev._ No, I am sure it was not. Stukely is honest too; I know
he is. This madness has undone them both.
_Char._ My brother irrecoverably. You are too spiritless a wife--A
mournful tale, mixt with a few kind words, will steal away your
soul. The world's too subtle for such goodness. Had I been by, he
should have asked your life sooner than those jewels.
_Mrs. Bev._ He should have had it then. (_Warmly_) I live but to
oblige him. She who can love, and is beloved like Me, will do as
much. Men have done more for mistresses, and women for a base
deluder. And shall a wife do less? Your chidings hurt me, Charlotte.
_Char._ And come too late; they might have saved you else. How could
he use you so?
_Mrs. Bev._ 'Twas friendship did it. His heart was breaking for a
friend.
_Char._ The friend that has betrayed him.
_Mrs. Bev._ Prithee don't think so.
_Char._ To-morrow he accounts with Me.
_Mrs. Bev._ And fairly: I will not doubt it.
_Char._ Unless a friend has wanted--I have no patience--Sister!
sister! we are bound to curse this friend.
_Mrs. Bev._ My Beverley speaks nobly of him.
_Char._ And Lewson truly--But I displease you with this talk--To-morrow
will instruct us.
_Mrs. Bev._ Stay till it comes then. I would not think so hardly.
_Char._ Nor I, but from conviction. Yet we have hope of better days.
My uncle is infirm, and of an age that threatens hourly. Or if he
lives, You never have offended him; and for distresses so unmerited,
he will have pity.
_Mrs. Bev._ I know it, and am chearful. We have no more to lose; and
for what's gone, if it brings prudence home, the purchase is well
made.
_Char._ My Lewson will be kind too. While he and I have life and
means, You shall divide with us--And see, he's here.
SCENE IV.
_Enter LEWSON._
We were just speaking of you.
_Lew._ 'Tis best to interrupt you then. Few characters will bear a
scrutiny; and where the bad out-weighs the good, he's safest that's
least talked of. What say you, madam?
[_To Charlotte._
_Char._ That I hate scandal, though a woman; therefore talk seldom
of you.
_Mrs. Bev._ Or, with more truth, that, though a woman, she loves to
praise; therefore talks always of you. I'll leave you to decide
it.
[_Exit._
_Lew._ How good and amiable! I came to talk in private with you; of
matters that concern you.
_Char._ What matters?
_Lew._ First answer me sincerely to what I ask.
_Char._ I will--But you alarm me.
_Lew._ I am too grave, perhaps; but be assured of this, I have no
news that troubles Me, and therefore should not You.
_Char._ I am easy then. Propose your question.
_Lew._ 'Tis now a tedious twelve-month, since with an open and kind
heart, you said you loved me.
_Char._ So tedious, did you say?
_Lew._ And when in consequence of such sweet words, I pressed for
marriage, you gave a voluntary promise, that you would live for
Me.
_Char._ You think me changed then?
[_Angrily._
_Lew._ I did not say so. A thousand times I have pressed for the
performance of this promise; but private cares, a brother's and a
sister's ruin, were reasons for delaying it.
_Char._ I had no other reasons--Where will this end?
_Lew._ It shall end presently.
_Char._ Go on, Sir.
_Lew._ A promise, such as this, given freely, not extorted, the
world thinks binding; but I think otherwise.
_Char._ And would release me from it?
_Lew._ You are too impatient, madam.
_Char._ Cool, Sir--quite cool--Pray go on.
_Lew._ Time, and a near acquaintance with my faults, may have
brought change: if it be so; or, for a moment, if you have wished
this promise were unmade, here I acquit you of it. This is my
question then; and with such plainness as I ask it, I shall entreat
an answer. Have you repented of this promise?
_Char._ Stay, Sir. The man that can _suspect_ me, shall _find_ me
changed. Why am I doubted?
_Lew._ My doubts are of myself. I have my faults, and You have
observation. If from my temper, my words or actions, you have
conceived a thought against me, or even a wish for separation, all
that has passed is nothing.
_Char._ You startle me--But tell me--I must be answered first. Is it
from honour you speak this? or do you wish me changed?
_Lew._ Heaven knows I do not. Life and my Charlotte are so
connected, that to lose one, were loss of both. Yet for a promise,
though given in love, and meant for binding; if time, or accident,
or reason should change opinion, with Me that promise has no force.
_Char._ Why, now I'll answer you. Your doubts are prophecies--I am
really changed.
_Lew._ Indeed!
_Char._ I could torment You now, as You have Me; but 'tis not in my
nature. That I am changed I own; for what at first was inclination,
is now grown reason in me; and from that reason, had I the
world--nay, were I poorer than the poorest, and You too wanting
bread; with but a hovel to invite me to--I would be yours, and happy.
_Lew._ My kindest Charlotte! (_Seizing her hand_) Thanks are too
poor for this, and words too weak! But if we love so, why should our
union be delayed?
_Char._ For happier times. The present are too wretched.
_Lew._ I may have reasons, that press it now.
_Char._ What reasons?
_Lew._ The strongest reasons; unanswerable ones.
_Char._ Be quick and name them.
_Lew._ No, madam; I am bound in honour to make conditions first;
I am bound by inclination too. This sweet profusion of kind words
pains while it pleases. I dread the losing you.
_Char._ Astonishment! What mean you?
_Lew._ First promise, that to-morrow, or the next day, you will be
mine for ever.
_Char._ I do--though misery should succeed.
_Lew._ Thus then I seize you! and with you every joy on this side
heaven!
[_Embracing her._
_Char._ And thus I seal my promise. (_Returning his embrace._) Now,
Sir, your secret?
_Lew._ Your fortune's lost.
_Char._ My fortune lost!--I'll study to be humble then. But was my
promise claimed for this? How nobly generous! Where learnt you this
sad news?
_Lew._ From Bates, Stukely's prime agent. I have obliged him, and
he's grateful. He told it me in friendship, to warn me from my
Charlotte.
_Char._ 'Twas honest in him; and I'll esteem him for't.
_Lew._ He knows much more than he has told.
_Char._ For Me it is enough. And for your generous love, I thank you
from my soul. If you'd oblige me more, give me a little time.
_Lew._ Why time? It robs us of our happiness.
_Char._ I have a task to learn first. The little pride this fortune
gave me, must be subdued. Once we were equal; and might have met
obliging and obliged. But now 'tis otherwise; and for a life of
obligations, I have not learnt to bear it.
_Lew._ Mine is that life. You are too noble.
_Char._ Leave me to think on't.
_Lew._ To-morrow then you'll fix my happiness?
_Char._ All that I can, I will.
_Lew._ It must be so; we live but for each other. Keep what you know
a secret; and when we meet to-morrow, more may be known. Farewell.
[_Exit._
_Char._ My poor, poor sister! how would this wound her! But I'll
conceal it, and speak comfort to her. _Exit_.
SCENE V. _changes to a room in the gaming-house._
_Enter BEVERLEY, and STUKELY._
_Bev._ Whither would you lead me?
[_Angrily._
_Stu._ Where we may vent our curses.
_Bev._ Ay, on yourself, and those damned counsels that have
destroyed me. A thousand fiends were in that bosom, and all let
loose to tempt me--I had resisted else.
_Stu._ Go on, Sir. I have deserved this from you.
_Bev._ And curses everlasting. Time is too scanty for them.
_Stu._ What have I done?
_Bev._ What the arch-devil of old did--soothed with false hopes, for
certain ruin.
_Stu._ Myself unhurt; nay, pleased at your destruction--So your
words mean. Why, tell it to the world: I am too poor to find a
friend in't.
_Bev._ A friend! What's he? I had a friend.
_Stu._ And have one still.
_Bev._ Ay; I'll tell you of this friend. He found me happiest of the
happy; fortune and honour crowned me; and love and peace lived in my
heart. One spark of folly lurked there; That too he found; and by
deceitful breath, blew it to flames that have consumed me. This
friend were You to Me.
_Stu._ A little more perhaps--The friend who gave his all to save
you; and not succeeding, chose ruin with you. But no matter--I have
undone you, and am a villain.
_Bev._ No; I think not. The villains are within.
_Stu._ What villains?
_Bev._ Dawson and the rest--We have been dupes to sharpers.
_Stu._ How know you this? I have had doubts, as well as You; yet
still as fortune changed, I blushed at my own thoughts. But You have
proofs, perhaps?
_Bev._ Ay, damned ones. Repeated losses: night after night, and no
reverse. Chance has no hand in this.
_Stu._ I think more charitably; yet I am peevish in my nature, and
apt to doubt. The world speaks fairly of this Dawson; so does it of
the rest. We have watched them closely too. But 'tis a right usurped
by losers, to think the winners knaves. We'll have more manhood in
us.
_Bev._ I know not what to think. This night has stung me to the
quick--blasted my reputation too. I have bound my honour to these
vipers; played meanly upon credit, till I tired them; and now they
shun me, to rifle one another. What's to be done?
_Stu._ Nothing. My counsels have been fatal.
_Bev._ By heaven! I'll not survive this shame--Traitor! 'tis You
have brought it on me. (_Taking hold of him._) Shew me the means to
save me, or I'll commit a murder here, and next upon myself.
_Stu._ Why, do it then, and rid me of ingratitude.
_Bev._ Prithee, forgive this language--I speak I know not what. Rage
and despair are in my heart, and hurry me to madness. My home is
horror to me--I'll not return to't. Speak quickly; tell me, if in
this wreck of fortune, one hope remains? Name it, and be my
oracle.
_Stu._ To vent your curses on--You have bestowed them liberally.
Take your own counsel: and should a desperate hope present itself,
'twill suit your desperate fortune. I'll not advise you.
_Bev._ What hope? By heaven! I'll catch at it, however desperate.
I am so sunk in misery, it cannot lay me lower.
_Stu._ You have an uncle.
_Bev._ Ay. What of Him?
_Stu._ Old men live long by temperance; while their heirs starve on
expectation.
_Bev._ What mean you?
_Stu._ That the reversion's yours; and will bring money to pay debts
with--nay, more; it may retrieve what's past.
_Bev._ Or leave my child a beggar.
_Stu._ And what's his father? A dishonourable one; engaged for sums,
he cannot pay. That should be thought of.
_Bev._ It is my shame; the poison that inflames me. Where shall we
go? To whom? I am impatient till all's lost.
_Stu._ All may be yours again. Your man is Bates. He has large funds
at his command, and will deal justly by you.
_Bev._ I am resolved--Tell them, within, we'll meet them presently;
and with full purses too--Come, follow me.
_Stu._ No. I'll have no hand in this; nor do I counsel it. Use your
discretion, and act from that. You'll find me at my lodgings.
_Bev._
Succeed what will, this night I'll dare the worst--
'Tis loss of fear, to be compleatly curs'd.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ Why, lose it then for ever. Fear is the mind's worst evil;
and 'tis a friendly office to drive it from the bosom. Thus far has
fortune crowned me--Yet Beverley is rich; rich in his wife's best
treasure; her honour and affections. I would supplant him there too.
But 'tis the curse of thinking minds, to raise up difficulties.
Fools only conquer women: fearless of dangers which they see not,
they press on boldly, and by persisting, prosper. Yet may a tale of
art do much. Charlotte is sometimes absent. The seeds of jealousy
are sown already: If I mistake not, they have taken root too. Now is
the time to ripen them, and reap the harvest. The softest of her
sex, if wronged in love, or thinking that she's wronged, becomes a
tygress in revenge. I'll instantly to Beverley's--No matter for the
danger--When beauty leads us on, 'tis indiscretion to reflect, and
cowardice to doubt.
[_Exit_.
SCENE VI. _changes to _BEVERLEY'S_ lodgings._
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and _Lucy_._
_Mrs. Bev._ Did Charlotte tell you any thing?
_Lucy_. No, madam.
_Mrs. Bev._ She looked confused methought; said she had business
with her Lewson; which, when I pressed to know, tears only were her
answer.
_Lucy._ She seemed in haste too: yet her return may bring you comfort.
_Mrs. Bev._ No, my kind girl; I was not born for't. But why do I
distress thee? Thy sympathizing heart bleeds for the ills of others.
What pity that thy mistress can't reward thee! But there's a power
above, that sees, and will remember all. Prithee, sooth me with the
song thou sung'st last night: it suits this change of fortune; and
there's a melancholy in't that pleases me.
_Lucy_. I fear it hurts you, madam. Your goodness too draws tears
from me: but I'll dry them, and obey you.
SONG.
When Damon languish'd at my feet,
And I believ'd him true,
The moments of delight how sweet!
But ah! how swift they flew!
The sunny hill, the flow'ry vale,
The garden and the grove,
Have echoed to his ardent tale,
And vows of endless love.
II.
The conquest gain'd, he left his prize,
He left her to complain;
To talk of joy with weeping eyes,
And measure time by pain.
But heav'n will take the mourner's part,
In pity to despair;
And the last sigh that rends the heart,
Shall waft the spirit there.
_Mrs. Bev._ I thank thee, Lucy; I thank heaven too my griefs are
none of these. Yet Stukely deals in hints--He talks of rumours--I'll
urge him to speak plainly--Hark?--There's some one entering.
_Lucy._ Perhaps my master, madam.
[_Exit._
_Mrs. Bev._ Let him be well too, and I am satisfied. (_Goes to the
door, and listens._) No; 'tis another's voice; his had been music to
me. Who is it, Lucy?
SCENE VII.
_Re-enter LUCY with STUKELY._
_Lucy._ Mr. Stukely, madam.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ To meet you thus alone, madam, was what I wished. Unseasonable
visits, when friendship warrants them, need no excuse; therefore I
make none.
_Mrs. Bev._ What mean you, Sir? And where's your friend?
_Stu._ Men may have secrets, madam, which their best friends are not
admitted to. We parted in the morning, not soon to meet again.
_Mrs. Bev._ You mean to leave us then? To leave your country too?
I am no stranger to your reasons, and pity your misfortunes.
_Stu._ Your pity has undone you. Could Beverley do this? That letter
was a false one; a mean contrivance, to rob you of your jewels.
I wrote it not.
_Mrs. Bev._ Impossible! Whence came it then?
_Stu._ Wronged as I am, madam, I must speak plainly--
_Mrs. Bev._ Do so, and ease me. Your hints have troubled me.
Reports, you say, are stirring--Reports of whom? You wished me not
to credit them. What, Sir, are these reports?
_Stu._ I thought them slander, madam; and cautioned you in
friendship; left from officious tongues the tale had reached you,
with double aggravation.
_Mrs. Bev._ Proceed, Sir.
_Stu._ It is a debt due to my fame, due to an injured wife too--We
both are injured.
_Mrs. Bev._ How injured? and who has injured us?
_Stu._ My friend, your husband.
_Mrs. Bev._ You would resent for both then? But know, Sir, My
injuries are my own, and do not need a champion.
_Stu._ Be not too hasty, madam. I come not in resentment, but for
acquittance. You thought me poor; and to the feigned distresses of a
friend gave up your jewels.
_Mrs. Bev._ I gave them to a husband.
_Stu._ Who gave them to a--
_Mrs. Bev._ What? Whom did he give them to?
_Stu._ A mistress.
_Mrs. Bev._ No; on my life he did not.
_Stu._ Himself confessed it, with curses on her avarice.
_Mrs. Bev._ I'll not believe it. He has no mistress--or if he has,
why is it told to Me?
_Stu._ To guard you against insults. He told me, that to move you to
compliance, he forged that letter, pretending I was ruined; ruined
by Him too. The fraud succeeded; and what a trusting wife bestowed
in pity, was lavished on a wanton.
_Mrs. Bev._ Then I am lost indeed; and my afflictions are too
powerful for me. His follies I have borne without upbraiding, and
saw the approach of poverty without a tear. My affections, my strong
affections supported me through every trial.
_Stu._ Be patient, madam.
_Mrs. Bev._ Patient! The barbarous man! And does he think my
tenderness of heart is his security for wounding it? But he shall
find that injuries such as these, can arm my weakness for vengeance
and redress.
_Stu._ Ha! then I may succeed. (_Aside._) Redress is in your power.
_Mrs. Bev._ What redress?
_Stu._ Forgive me, madam, if in my zeal to serve you, I hazard your
displeasure. Think of your wretched state. Already want surrounds
you. Is it in patience to bear That? To see your helpless little one
robbed of his birth-right? A sister too, with unavailing tears,
lamenting her lost fortune? No comfort left you, but ineffectual
pity from the Few, out-weighed by insults from the Many?
_Mrs. Bev._ Am I so lost a creature? Well, Sir, my redress?
_Stu._ To be resolved is to secure it. The marriage vow, once
violated, is in the sight of heaven dissolved--Start not, but hear
me! 'Tis now the summer of your youth; time has not cropt the roses
from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them. Then use your
beauty wisely; and, freed by injuries, fly from the cruellest of
men, for shelter with the kindest.
_Mrs. Bev._ And who is He?
_Stu._ A friend to the unfortunate; a bold one too; who while the
storm is bursting on your brow, and lightening flashing from your
eyes, dares tell you that he loves you.
_Mrs. Bev._ Would that these eyes had heaven's own lightening! that
with a look, thus I might blast thee! Am I then fallen so low? Has
poverty so humbled me, that I should listen to a hellish offer, and
sell my soul for bread? O, villain! villain!--But now I know thee,
and thank thee for the knowledge.
_Stu._ If you are wife, you shall have cause to thank me.
_Mrs. Bev._ An injured husband too shall thank thee.
_Stu._ Yet know, proud woman, I have a heart as stubborn as your
own; as haughty and imperious: and as it loves, so can it hate.
_Mrs. Bev._ Mean, despicable villain! I scorn thee, and thy threats.
Was it for this that Beverley was false? That his too credulous wife
should in despair and vengeance give up her honour to a wretch? But
he shall know it, and vengeance shall be his.
_Stu._ Why send him for defiance then. Tell him I love his wife; but
that a worthless husband forbids our union. I'll make a widow of
you, and court you honourably.
_Mrs. Bev._ O, coward! coward! thy soul will shrink at him. Yet in
the thought of what may happen, I feel a woman's fears. Keep thy own
secret, and begone. Who's there?
SCENE VIII.
_Enter LUCY._
Your absence, Sir, would please me.
_Stu._ I'll not offend you, madam.
[_Exit with Lucy._
_Mrs. Bev._ Why opens not the earth to swallow such a monster? Be
conscience then his punisher, till heaven in mercy gives him
penitence, or dooms him in its justice.
SCENE IX.
_Re-enter LUCY._
Come to my chamber, Lucy; I have a tale to tell thee, shall make
thee weep for thy poor mistress.
Yet heav'n the guiltless sufferer regards,
And whom it most afflicts, it most rewards.
[_Exeunt._
ACT IV.
SCENE, __BEVERLEY'S_ lodgings._
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, CHARLOTTE, and LEWSON._
_Charlotte._ The smooth-tongued hypocrite!
_Lew._ But we have found him, and will requite him. Be chearful,
madam; (_To Mrs. Beverley_) and for the insults of this ruffian, you
shall have ample retribution.
_Mrs. Bev._ But not by violence--Remember you have sworn it: I had
been silent else.
_Lew._ You need not doubt me; I shall be cool as patience.
_Mrs. Bev._ See him to-morrow then.
_Lew._ And why not now? By heaven, the veriest worm that crawls is
made of braver spirit than this Stukely. Yet for my promise, I'll
deal gently with him. I mean to watch his looks: from those, and
from his answers to my charge, much may be learnt. Next I'll to
Bates, and sift him to the bottom. If I fail there, the gang is
numerous, and for a bribe will each betray the other. Good night;
I'll lose no time.
[_Exit._
_Mrs. Bev._ These boisterous spirits! how they wound me! But
reasoning is in vain. Come, Charlotte; we'll to our usual watch. The
night grows late.
_Char._ I am fearful of events; yet pleased--To-morrow may relieve
us.
[_Going._
SCENE II.
_Enter JARVIS._
_Char._ How now, good Jarvis?
_Jar._ I have heard ill news, madam.
_Mrs. Bev._ What news? Speak quickly.
_Jar._ Men are not what they seem. I fear me, Mr. Stukely is
dishonest.
_Char._ We know it, Jarvis. But what's your news?
_Jar._ That there's an action against my master, at his friend's
suit.
_Mrs. Bev._ O, villain! villain! 'twas this he threatened then. Run
to that den of robbers, Wilson's--Your master may be there. Entreat
him home, good Jarvis. Say I have business with him--But tell him
not of Stukely--It may provoke him to revenge--Haste! haste! good
Jarvis.
[_Exit Jarvis._
_Char._ This minister of hell! O, I could tear him piece-meal!
_Mrs. Bev._ I am sick of such a world. Yet heaven is just; and in
its own good time, will hurl destruction on such monsters.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III. _changes to _STUKELY'S_ lodgings._
_Enter STUKELY, and BATES, meeting_.
_Bates._ Where have you been?
_Stu._ Fooling my time away: playing my tricks, like a tame monkey,
to entertain a woman--No matter where-- I have been vext and
disappointed. Tell me of Beverley. How bore he his last shock?
_Bates._ Like one (so Dawson says) whose senses had been numbed by
misery. When all was lost, he fixed his eyes upon the ground, and
stood some time, with folded arms, stupid and motionless. Then
snatching his sword, that hung against the wainscot, he sat him
down; and with a look of fixt attention, drew figures on the floor.
At last he started up, looked wild, and trembled; and like a woman,
seized with her sex's fits, laughed out aloud, while the tears
trickled down his face--so left the room.
_Stu._ Why, this was madness.
_Bates._ The madness of despair.
_Stu._ We must confine him then. A prison would do well. (_A
knocking at the door._) Hark! that knocking may be his. Go that way
down. (_Exit Bates._) Who's there?
SCENE IV.
_Enter LEWSON._
_Lew._ An enemy. An open and avowed one.
_Stu._ Why am I thus broke in upon? This house is mine, Sir; and
should protect me from insult and ill-manners.
_Lew._ Guilt has no place of sanctuary; wherever found, 'tis
virtue's lawful game. The fox's hold, and tyger's den, are no
security against the hunter.
_Stu._ Your business, Sir?
_Lew._ To tell you that I know you--Why this confusion? That look of
guilt and terror? Is Beverley awake? Or has his wife told tales? The
man that dares like You, should have a soul to justify his deeds,
and courage to confront accusers. Not with a coward's fear to shrink
beneath reproof.
_Stu._ Who waits there?
[_Aloud, and in confusion._
_Lew._ By heaven, he dies that interrupts us. (_Shutting the door._)
You should have weighed your strength, Sir; and then, instead of
climbing to high fortune, the world had marked you for what you are,
a little paultry villain.
_Stu._ You think I fear you.
_Lew._ I know you fear me. This is to prove it. (_Pulls him by the
sleeve._) You wanted privacy! A lady's presence took up your
attention! Now we are alone, Sir.--Why, what a wretch! (_Flings him
from him._) The vilest insect in creation will turn when trampled
on; yet has this Thing undone a man--by cunning and mean arts undone
him. But we have found you, Sir; traced you through all your
labyrinths. If you would save yourself, fall to confession: no mercy
will be shewn else.
_Stu._ First prove me what you think me. Till then, your threatenings
are in vain. And for this insult, vengeance may yet be mine.
_Lew._ Infamous coward! Why, take it now then-- (_Draws, and Stukely
retires._) Alas! I pity thee. Yet that a wretch like this should
overcome a Beverley! it fills me with astonishment! A wretch, so
mean of soul, that even desperation cannot animate him to look upon
an enemy. You should not thus have soared, Sir, unless, like others
of your black profession, you had a sword to keep the fools in awe,
your villainy has ruined.
_Stu._ Villainy! 'Twere best to curb this licence of your tongue;
for know, Sir, while there are laws, this outrage on my reputation
will not be borne with.
_Lew._ Laws! Dar'st Thou seek shelter from the laws? those laws,
which thou and thy infernal crew live in the constant violation of?
Talk'st thou of reputation too? when under friendship's sacred name,
thou hast betrayed, robbed, and destroyed?
_Stu._ Ay, rail at gaming; 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble
declamation. Go, preach against it in the city: you'll find a
congregation in every tavern. If they should laugh at you, fly to my
lord, and sermonize it there: he'll thank you and reform.
_Lew._ And will example sanctify a vice? No, wretch; the custom of
my lord, or of the Cit that apes him, cannot excuse a breach of law,
or make the gamester's calling reputable.
_Stu._ Rail on, I say. But is this zeal for beggared Beverley? Is it
for Him that I am treated thus? No; He and His might all have
groaned in prison, had but the sister's fortune escaped the wreck,
to have rewarded the disinterested love of honest Mr. Lewson.
_Lew._ How I detest thee for the thought! But thou art lost to every
human feeling. Yet let me tell thee, and may it wring thy heart!
that though my friend is ruined by thy snares, thou hast unknowingly
been kind to Me.
_Stu._ Have I? It was indeed unknowingly.
_Lew._ Thou hast assisted me in love; given me the merit that I
wanted; since but for Thee, my Charlotte had not known 'twas her
dear self I sighed for, and not her fortune.
_Stu._ Thank me, and take her then.
_Lew._ And as a brother to poor Beverley, I will pursue the robber
that has seized him, and snatch him from his gripe.
_Stu._ Then know, imprudent man, he _is_ within my gripe; and should
my friendship for him be slandered once again, the hand that has
supplied him, shall fall and crush him.
_Lew._ Why, now there's spirit in thee! This is indeed to be a
villain! But I shall reach thee yet. Fly where thou wilt, my
vengeance shall pursue thee--and Beverley shall yet be saved, be
saved from thee, thou monster; nor owe his rescue to his wife's
dishonour.
[_Exit_.
_Stu._ (_Pausing_) Then ruin has enclosed me. Curse on my coward
heart! I would be bravely villainous; but 'tis my nature to shrink
at danger, and he has found me. Yet fear brings caution, and That
security. More mischief must be done, to hide the past. Look to
yourself, officious Lewson--there may be danger stirring--How now,
Bates?
SCENE V.
_Enter BATES._
_Bates._ What is the matter? 'Twas Lewson, and not Beverley, that
left you. I heard him loud: you seem alarmed too.
_Stu._ Ay, and with reason. We are discovered.
_Bates._ I feared as much, and therefore cautioned you; but You were
peremptory.
_Stu._ Thus fools talk ever; spending their idle breath on what is
past; and trembling at the future. We must be active. Beverley, at
worst, is but suspicious; but Lewson's genius, and his hate to Me,
will lay all open. Means must be found to stop him.
_Bates._ What means?
_Stu._ Dispatch him--Nay, start not--Desperate occasions call for
desperate deeds. We live but by his death.
_Bates._ You cannot mean it?
_Stu._ I do, by heaven.
_Bates._ Good night then.
[_Going._
_Stu._ Stay. I must be heard, then answered. Perhaps the motion was
too sudden; and human nature starts at murder, though strong
necessity compels it. I have thought long of this; and my first
feelings were like yours; a foolish conscience awed me, which soon I
conquered. The man that would undo me, nature cries out, undo.
Brutes know their foes by instinct; and where superior force is
given, they use it for destruction. Shall man do less? Lewson
pursues us to our ruin; and shall we, with the means to crush him,
fly from our hunter, or turn and tear him? 'Tis folly even to
hesitate.
_Bates._ He has obliged me, and I dare not.
_Stu._ Why, live to shame then, to beggary and punishment. You would
be privy to the deed, yet want the soul to act it. Nay more; had my
designs been levelled at his fortune, you had stept in the foremost.
And what is life without its comforts? Those you would rob him of;
and by a lingering death, add cruelty to murder. Henceforth adieu to
half-made villains--there's danger in them. What you have got is
your's; keep it, and hide with it: I'll deal my future bounty to
those who merit it.
_Bates._ What's the reward?
_Stu._ Equal division of our gains. I swear it, and will be
just.
_Bates._ Think of the means then.
_Stu._ He's gone to Beverley's-- Wait for him in the street--'tis a
dark night, and fit for mischief. A dagger would be useful.
_Bates._ He sleeps no more.
_Stu._ Consider the reward! When the deed's done, I have farther
business with you. Send Dawson to me.
_Bates._ Think it already done--and so farewel.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ Why, farewel Lewson then; and farewel to my fears. This night
secures me. I'll wait the event within.
[_Exit._
SCENE VI. _changes to the street. Stage darkened._
_Enter BEVERLEY._
_Bev._ How like an out-cast do I wander! Loaded with every curse,
that drives the soul to desperation! The midnight robber, as he
walks his rounds, sees by the glimmering lamp my frantic looks, and
dreads to meet me. Whither am I going? My home lies there; all that
is dear on earth it holds too; yet are the gates of death more
welcome to me. I'll enter it no more--Who passes there? Tis Lewson.
He meets me in a gloomy hour; and memory tells me, he has been
meddling with my fame.
SCENE VII.
_Enter LEWSON._
_Lew._ Beverley! Well met. I have been busy in your affairs.
_Bev._ So I have heard, Sir; and now must thank you for't.
_Lew._ To-morrow I may deserve your thanks. Late as it is, I go to
Bates. Discoveries are making that an arch villain trembles
at.
_Bev._ Discoveries are made, Sir, that You shall tremble at. Where
is this boasted spirit? this high demeanour, that was to call me to
account? You say I have wronged my sister--Now say as much. But
first be ready for defence, as I am for resentment.
[_Draws._
_Lew._ What mean you? I understand you not.
_Bev._ The coward's stale acquittance. Who, when he spreads foul
calumny abroad, and dreads just vengeance on him, cries out, what
mean you, I understand you not.
_Lew._ Coward, and calumny! Whence are these words? But I forgive,
and pity you.
_Bev._ Your pity had been kinder to my fame. But you have traduced
it; told a vile story to the public ear, that I have wronged my
sister.
_Lew._ 'Tis false. Shew me the man that dares accuse me.
_Bev._ I thought you brave, and of a soul superior to low malice;
but I have found you, and will have vengeance. This is no place for
argument.
_Lew._ Nor shall it be for violence. Imprudent man! who in
revenge for fancied injuries, would pierce the heart that loves
him! But honest friendship acts from itself, unmoved by slander, or
ingratitude. The life you thirst for, shall be employed to serve you.
_Bev._ 'Tis thus you would compound then! First do a wrong beyond
forgiveness; and to redress it, load me with kindness unsolicited.
I'll not receive it. Your zeal is troublesbme.
_Lew._ No matter. It shall be useful.
_Bev._ It will not be accepted.
_Lew._ It must. You know me not.
_Bev._ Yes; for the slanderer of my fame: who under shew of
friendship, arraigns me of injustice; buzzing in every ear foul
breach of trust, and family dishonour.
_Lew._ Have I done this? Who told you so?
_Bev._ The world. 'Tis talked of everywhere. It pleased you to add
threats too: you were to call me to account --Why, do it now then;
I shall be proud of such an arbiter.
_Lew._ Put up your sword, and know me better. I never injured you.
The base suggestion comes from Stukely: I see him and his aims.
_Bev._ What aims? I'll not conceal it; _'twas_ Stukely that accused
you.
_Lew._ To rid him of an enemy: perhaps of two. He fears discovery,
and frames a tale of falsehood, to ground revenge and murder
on.
_Bev._ I must have proof of this.
_Lew._ Wait till to-morrow then.
_Bev._ I will.
_Lew._ Good night. I go to serve you. Forget what's past, as I do;
and chear your family with smiles. To-morrow may confirm them, and
make all happy.
[_Exit._
_Bev._ (_Pausing_) How vile, and how absurd is man! His boasted
honour is but another name for pride; which easier bears the
consciousness of guilt, than the world's just reproofs. But 'tis the
fashion of the times; and in defence of falsehood and false honour,
men die martyrs. I knew not that my nature was so bad.
[_Stands musing._
SCENE VIII.
_Enter BATES, and JARVIS._
_Jar._ This way the noise was--and yonder's my poor master.
_Bates._ I heard him at high words with Lewson. The cause I know not.
_Jar._ I heard him too. Misfortunes vex him.
_Bates._ Go to him, and lead him home--But he comes this way--I'll
not be seen by him.
[_Exit._
_Bev._ (_Starting._) What fellow's that? (_Seeing Jarvis_). Art thou
a murderer, friend? Come, lead the way; I have a hand as mischievous
as thine; a heart as desperate too--Jarvis!--To bed, old man, the
cold will chill thee.
_Jar._ Why are you wandering at this late hour?--Your sword drawn
too!--For heav'n's sake sheath it, Sir; the sight distracts
Me.
_Bev._ Whose voice was that?
[_Wildly_.
_Jar._ 'Twas mine, Sir. Let me intreat you to give the sword to
me.
_Bev._ Ay, take it; quickly take it--Perhaps I am not so curst, but
heav'n may have sent thee at this moment to snatch me from
perdition.
_Jar._ Then I am blest.
_Bev._ Continue so, and leave me. My sorrows are contagious. No one
is blest that's near me.
_Jar._ I came to seek you, Sir.
_Bev._ And now thou hast found me, leave me. My thoughts are wild,
and will not be disturbed.
_Jar._ Such thoughts are best disturbed.
_Bev._ I tell thee that they will not. Who sent thee hither?
_Jar._ My weeping mistress.
_Bev._ Am I so meek a husband then? that a commanding wife
prescribes my hours, and sends to chide me for my absence?
Tell her, I'll not return.
_Jar._ Those words would kill her.
_Bev._ Kill her! Would they not be kind then? But she shall live to
curse me--I have deserved it of her. Does she not hate me,
Jarvis?
_Jar._ Alas, Sir! Forget your griefs, and let me lead you to her.
The streets are dangerous.
_Bev._ Be wise, and leave me then. The night's black horrors are
suited to my thoughts. These stones shall be my resting-place.
(_Lies down._) Here shall my soul brood o'er its miseries; till with
the fiends of hell, and guilty of the earth, I start and tremble at
the morning's light.
_Jar._ For pity's sake, Sir!--Upon my knees I beg you to quit this
place, and these sad thoughts. Let patience, not despair, possess
you. Rise, I beseech you. There's not a moment of your absence, that
my poor mistress does not groan for.
_Bev._ Have I undone her, and is she still so kind? (_Starting up_)
It is too much--My brain can't hold it--O, Jarvis! Jarvis! how
desperate is that wretch's state, which only death or madness can
relieve!
_Jar._ Appease his mind, good heaven! and give him resignation!
Alas, Sir, could beings in the other world perceive the events of
this, how would your parents' blessed spirits grieve for you, even
in heaven! Let me conjure you by Their honoured memories; by the
sweet innocence of your yet helpless child, and by the ceaseless
sorrows of my poor mistress, to rouze your manhood, and struggle
with these griefs.
_Bev._ Thou virtuous, good old man! thy tears and thy entreaties
have reached my heart, through all its miseries. O! had I listened
to Thy honest warnings, no earthly blessing had been wanting to me!
I was so happy, that even a wish for more than I possessed, was
arrogant presumption. But I have warred against the power that blest
me, and now am sentenced to the hell I merit.
_Jar._ Be but resigned, Sir, and happiness may yet be yours.
_Bev._ Prithee be honest, and do not flatter misery.
_Jar._ I do not, Sir--Hark! I hear voices--Come this way; we may
reach home un-noticed.
_Bev._ Well, lead me then--Un-noticed did'st thou say? Alas! I dread
no looks, but of those wretches I have made at home.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IX. _changes to _STUKELY'S_._
_Enter STUKELY, and DAWSON._
_Stu._ Come hither, Dawson. My limbs are on the rack, and my soul
shivers in me, till this night's business be complete. Tell me thy
thoughts: is Bates determined? or does he waver?
_Daw._ At first he seemed irresolute; wished the employment had been
mine; and muttered curses on his coward hand, that trembled at the
deed.
_Stu._ And did he leave you so?
_Daw._ No. We walked together; and sheltered by the darkness, saw
Beverley and Lewson in warm debate. But soon they cooled; and then
I left them, to hasten hither; but not till 'twas resolved Lewson
should die.
_Stu._ Thy words have given me life. That quarrel too was fortunate;
for if my hopes deceive me not, it promises a grave to Beverley.
_Daw._ You misconceive me. Lewson and he were friends.
_Stu._ But My prolific brain shall make them enemies. If Lewson
falls, he falls by Beverley: an upright jury shall decree it. Ask me
no questions, but do as I direct. This writ (_Takes out a pocket
book_) for some days past, I have treasured here, till a convenient
time called for its use. That time is come. Take it, and give it to
an officer. It must be served this instant.
[_Gives a paper._
_Daw._ On Beverley?
_Stu._ Look at it. 'Tis for the sums that I have lent him.
_Daw._ Must he to prison then?
_Stu._ I asked obedience; not replies. This night a jail must be his
lodging. 'Tis probable he's not gone home yet. Wait at his door, and
see it executed.
_Daw._ Upon a beggar? He has no means of payment.
_Stu._ Dull and insensible! If Lewson dies, who was it killed him?
Why, he that was seen quarrelling with him; and I that knew of
Beverley's intents, arrested him in friendship--A little late,
perhaps; but 'twas a virtuous act, and men will thank me for it.
Now, Sir, you understand me?
_Daw._ Most perfectly; and will about it.
_Stu._ Haste then; and when 'tis done, come back and tell me.
_Daw._ 'Till then farewel.
[_Exit._
_Stu._ Now tell thy tale, fond wife! And, Lewson, if again thou
can'st insult me, I'll kneel and own thee for my master.
_Not av'rice now, but vengeance fires my breast
And one short hour must make me curst, or blest._
[_Exit._
ACT V.
SCENE I. _Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON._
_Bates._ Poor Lewson! But I told you enough last night. The thoughts
of him are horrible to me.
_Stu._ In the street, did you say? And no one near him?
_Bates._ By his own door; he was leading me to his house.
I pretended business with him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he
was reaching at the bell.
_Stu._ And did he fall so suddenly?
_Bates._ The repetition pleases you, I see. I told you, he fell
without a groan.
_Stu._ What heard you of him this morning?
_Bates._ That the watch found him in their rounds, and alarmed the
servants. I mingled with the crowd just now, and saw him dead in his
own house. The sight terrified me.
_Stu._ Away with terrors, till his ghost rise and accuse us. We have
no living enemy to fear--unless 'tis Beverley; and him we have
lodged safe in prison.
_Bates._ Must He be murdered too?
_Stu._ No; I have a scheme to make the law his murderer. At what
hour did Lewson fall?
_Bates._ The clock struck twelve, just as I turned to leave him.
'Twas a melancholy bell, I thought, tolling for his death.
_Stu._ The time was lucky for us. Beverley was arrested at one, you
say?
[_To Dawson._
_Daw._ Exactly.
_Stu._ Good. We'll talk of this presently. The women were with him,
I think?
_Daw._ And old Jarvis. I would have told you of them last night, but
your thoughts were too busy. 'Tis well you have a heart of stone,
the tale would melt it else.
_Stu._ Out with it then.
_Daw._ I traced him to his lodgings; and pretending pity for his
misfortunes, kept the door open, while the officers seized him.
'Twas a damned deed--but no matter--I followed my instructions.
_Stu._ And what said he?
_Daw._ He upbraided me with treachery, called You a villain,
acknowledged the sums you had lent him, and submitted to his fortune.
_Stu._ And the women--
_Daw._ For a few minutes astonishment kept them silent. They looked
wildly at one another, while the tears streamed down their cheeks.
But rage and fury soon gave them words; and then, in the very
bitterness of despair, they cursed me, and the monster that had
employed me.
_Stu._ And you bore it with philosophy?
_Daw._ Till the scene changed, and then I melted. I ordered the
officers to take away their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would
have followed him; but We forbad them. 'Twas then they fell upon
their knees, the wife fainting, the sister raving, and both, with
all the eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften us. I never felt
compassion till that moment; and had the officers been moved like
Me, we had left the business undone, and fled with curses on
ourselves. But their hearts were steeled by custom: the tears of
beauty, and the pangs of affection, were beneath their pity. They
tore him from their arms, and lodged him in prison, with only Jarvis
to comfort him.
_Stu._ There let him lie, till we have farther business with him.
And for You, Sir, let me hear no more of your compassion. A fellow
nursed in villainy, and employed from childhood in the business of
hell, should have no dealings with compassion.
_Daw._ Say you so, Sir? You should have named the devil that tempted
me.
_Stu._ 'Tis false. I found you a villain; therefore employed
you--But no more of this--We have embarked too far in mischief to
recede. Lewson is dead; and we are all principals in his murder.
Think of that. There's time enough for pity, when ourselves are out
of danger. Beverley still lives, though in a jail. His ruin will sit
heavy on him; and discoveries may be made to undo us all. Something
must be done, and speedily. You saw him quarrelling with Lewson in
the street last night?
[_To Bates._
_Bates._ I did; his steward, Jarvis, saw him too.
_Stu._ And shall attest it. Here's matter to work upon. An unwilling
evidence carries weight with him. Something of my design I have
hinted t'you before. Beverley must be the author of this murder; and
We the parties to convict him. But how to proceed, will require time
and thought--Come along with Me; the room within is fitter for
privacy. But no compassion, Sir--(_To Dawson_) We want leisure
for't--This way.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II. _changes to _BEVERLEY'S_ lodgings_.
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE._
_Mrs. Bev._ No news of Lewson yet?
_Char._ None. He went out early, and knows not what has happened.
_Mrs. Bev._ The clock strikes eight--I'll wait no longer.
_Char._ Stay but till Jarvis comes. He has sent twice to stop us
till we see him.
_Mrs. Bev._ I have no life in this separation. O! what a night was
last night! I would not pass another such, to purchase worlds by it.
My poor Beverley too! What must He have felt!--The very thought
distracts me! To have him torn at midnight from me! A loathsome
prison his habitation! A cold damp room his lodging! The bleak
winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to lull him to
his rest! and no reflections but to wound and tear him!--'Tis too
horrible! I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me.
They should have parted soul and body first. I was too tame.
_Char._ You must not talk so. All that we could we did; and Jarvis
did the rest. The faithful creature will give him comfort. Why does
he delay coming?
_Mrs. Bev._ And there's another fear. His poor master may be
claiming the last kind office from him--His heart perhaps is breaking.
_Char._ See where he comes!--His looks are chearful too.
SCENE III.
_Enter JARVIS._
_Mrs. Bev._ Are tears then chearful? Alas, he weeps! Speak to him
Charlotte: I have no tongue to ask him questions.
_Char._ How does your master, Jarvis?
_Jar._ I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my
words--But don't You weep. (_To Mrs. Beverley._) I have a tale of
joy for you.
_Mrs. Bev._ What tale? Say but he's well, and I have joy enough.
_Jar._ His mind too shall be well; all shalt be well--I have news
for him that shall make his poor heart bound again!--Fie upon old
age! how childish it makes me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my
tears drown it.
_Char._ Shed them in showers then, and make haste to tell it.
_Mrs. Bev._ What is it, Jarvis?
_Jar._ Yet why should I rejoice when a good man dies? Your uncle,
madam, died yesterday.
_Mrs. Bev._ My uncle!--O heavens!
_Char._ How heard you of his death?
_Jar._ His steward came express, madam: I met him in the street,
enquiring for your lodgings. I should not rejoice, perhaps; but he
was old, and my poor master a prisoner--Now he shall live again--O,
'tis a brave fortune! and 'twas death to me to see him a prisoner.
_Char._ Where left you the steward?
_Jar._ I would not bring him hither, to be a witness of your
distresses--and besides, I wanted once before I die, to be the
messenger of joy t'you. My good master will be a man again.
_Mrs. Bev._ Haste, haste then; and let us fly to him!--We are
delaying our own happiness.
_Jar._ I had forgot a coach, madam; and Lucy has ordered one.
_Mrs. Bev._ Where was the need of that? The news has given me wings.
_Char._ I have no joy, till my poor brother shares it with me. How
did he pass the night, Jarvis?
_Jar._ Why now, madam, I can tell you. Like a man dreaming of death
and horrors. When they led him to his cell--for 'twas a poor
apartment for my master--he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and
lay speechless till day-break. A sigh now and then, and a few tears
that followed those sighs, were all that told me he was alive.
I spoke to him, but he would not hear me; and when I persisted, he
raised his hand at me, and knit his brow so--I thought he would have
struck me.
_Mrs. Bev._ O miserable! But what said he, Jarvis? Or was he silent
all night?
_Jar._ At day-break he started from the bed, and looking wildly at
me, asked who I was. I told him, and bid him be of comfort--Begone,
old wretch, says he--I have sworn never to know comfort--My wife! my
child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no
comfort--Then letting go his hold, and falling upon his knees, he
imprecated curses on himself.
_Mrs. Bev._ This is too horrible!--But you did not leave him
so?
_Char._ No, I am sure he did not.
_Jar._ I had not the heart, madam. By degrees I brought him to
himself. A shower of tears came to his relief; and then he called me
his kindest friend, and begged forgiveness of me like a child--I was
a child too, when he begged forgiveness of me; my heart throbbed so,
I could not speak to him. He turned from me for a minute or two, and
suppressing a few bitter sighs, enquired after his wretched
family--Wretched was his word, madam--Asked how you bore the misery
of last night--If you had goodness enough to see him in prison--And
then begged me to hasten to you. I told him he must be more himself
first--He promised me he would; and, bating a few sullen intervals,
he became composed and easy. And then I left him; but not without an
attendant; a servant in the prison, whom I hired to wait upon him.
'Tis an hour since we parted: I was prevented in my haste, to be the
messenger of joy t'you.
_Mrs. Bev._ What a tale is this?--But we have staid too long--A
coach is needless.
_Char._ Hark! I hear one at the door.
_Jar._ And Lucy comes to tell us--We'll away this moment.
_Mrs. Bev._ To comfort him, or die with him.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV. _changes to STUKELY's lodgings_.
_Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON._
_Stu._ Here's presumptive evidence at least: or if we want more,
why, we must swear more. But all unwillingly: we gain credit by
reluctance. I have told you how to proceed. Beverley must die. We
hunt him in view now, and must not slacken in the chace. 'Tis either
death for Him, or shame and punishment for Us. Think of that, and
remember your instructions. You, Bates, must to the prison
immediately: I would be there but a few minutes before you. And you,
Dawson, must follow in a few minutes after. So here we divide--But
answer me; are you resolved upon this business like men?
_Bates._ Like villains rather--But you may depend upon us.
_Stu._ Like what we are then--You make no answer, Dawson--Compassion,
I suppose, has seized you.
_Daw._ No; I have disclaimed it. My answer is Bates's--You may
depend upon me.
_Stu._ Consider the reward! Riches and security! I have sworn to
divide with you to the last shilling. So here we separate, till we
meet in prison. Remember your instructions, and be men.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V. _changes to a prison._
_BEVERLEY is discovered sitting. After a short pause, he starts up,
and comes forward._
_Bev._ Why, there's an end then. I have judged deliberately, and the
result is death. How the self-murderer's account may stand, I know
not. But this I know; the load of hateful life oppresses me too
much. The horrors of my soul are more than I can bear--(_Offers to
kneel_) Father of mercy!--I cannot pray--Despair has laid his iron
hand upon me, and sealed me for perdition--Conscience! conscience!
thy clamours are too loud--Here's that shall silence them. (_Takes a
vial out of his pocket, and looks at it._) Thou art most friendly to
the miserable. Come then, thou cordial for sick minds! come to my
heart! (_Drinks_) O, that the grave would bury memory as well as
body! For if the soul sees and feels the sufferings of those dear
ones it leaves behind, the EVERLASTING has no vengeance to torment
it deeper--I'll think no more on't--Reflection comes too late. Once
there was a time for't--but now 'tis past--Who's there?
SCENE VI.
_Enter JARVIS._
_Jar._ One that hoped to see you with better looks. Why do you turn
so from me? I have brought comfort with me--And see who comes to
give it welcome!
_Bev._ My wife and sister! Why, 'tis but one pang more then, and
farewel world.
[_Aside._
SCENE VII.
_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE._
_Mrs. Bev._ Where is he? (_Runs and embraces him_) O, I have him!
I have him! And now they shall never part us more! I have news, love,
to make you happy for ever--but don't look coldly on me.
_Char._ How is it, brother?
_Mrs. Bev._ Alas! he hears us not. Speak to me, love. I have no
heart to see you thus.
_Bev._ Nor I to bear the sense of so much shame. This is a sad place.
_Mrs. Bev._ We come to take you from it; to tell you that the world
goes well again; that providence has seen our sorrows, and sent the
means to heal them--Your uncle died yesterday.
_Bev._ My uncle!--No, do not say so--O! I am sick at heart!
_Mrs. Bev._ Indeed!--I meant to bring you comfort. _Bev._ Tell me he
lives then--If you would give me comfort, tell me he lives.
_Mrs. Bev._ And if I did, I have no power to raise the dead. He died
yesterday.
_Bev._ And I am heir to him?
_Jar._ To his whole estate, Sir--But bear it patiently.
_Bev._ Well, well--(_Pausing_) Why, fame says I am rich then?
_Mrs. Bev._ And truly so--Why do you look so wildly?
_Bev._ Do I? The news was unexpected. But has he left me all?
_Jar._ All, all, Sir--He could not leave it from you.
_Bev._ I'm sorry for it.
_Char._ Sorry! Why sorry?
_Bev._ Your uncle's dead, Charlotte.
_Char._ Peace be with his soul then. Is it so terrible that an old
man should die?
_Bev._ He should have been immortal.
_Mrs. Bev._ Heaven knows I wished not for his death. 'Twas the will
of providence that he should die. Why are you disturbed so?
_Bev._ Has death no terrors in it?
_Mrs. Bev._ Not an old man's death. Yet if it troubles you, I wish
him living.
_Bev._ And I, with all my heart.
_Char._ Why, what's the matter?
_Bev._ Nothing. How heard you of his death?
_Mrs. Bev._ His steward came express. Would I had never known
it!
_Bev._ Or had heard it one day sooner--For I have a tale to tell,
shall turn you into stone; or if the power of speech, remain, you
shall kneel down and curse me.
_Mrs. Bev._ Alas! what tale is this? And why are we to curse you?
I'll bless you for ever.
_Bev._ No; I have deserved no blessings. The world holds not such
another wretch. All this large fortune, this second bounty of
heaven, that might have healed our sorrows, and satisfied our utmost
hopes, in a curst hour I sold last night.
_Char._ Sold! How sold?
_Mrs. Bev._ Impossible! It cannot be!
_Bev._ That devil Stukely, with all hell to aid him, tempted me to
the deed. To pay false debts of honour, and to redeem past errors,
I sold the reversion--sold it for a scanty sum, and lost it among
villains.
_Char._ Why, farewel all then.
_Bev._ Liberty and life. Come, kneel and curse me.
_Mrs. Bev._ Then hear me heaven! (_Kneels_) Look down with mercy on
his sorrows! Give softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart!
Take from his memory the sense of what is past, and cure him of
despair! On Me, on Me, if misery must be the lot of either, multiply
misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so He is happy! These hands
shall toil for his support! These eyes be lifted up for hourly
blessings on him! And every duty of a fond and faithful wife, be
doubly done to chear and comfort him!--So hear me! so reward
me!
[_Rises_.
_Bev._ I would kneel too, but that offended heaven would turn my
prayers to curses. What have I to ask for? I, who have shook hands
with hope? Is it for length of days that I should kneel? No; My time
is limited. Or is it for this world's blessings upon You and Yours?
To pour out my heart in wishes for a ruined wife, a child and
sister? O! no! For I have done a deed to make you miserable.
_Mrs. Bev._ Why miserable? Is poverty so miserable?--The real wants
of life are few: a little industry will supply them all; and
chearfulness will follow. It is the privilege of honest industry;
and we'll enjoy it fully.
_Bev._ Never, never! O, I have told you but in part. The irrevocable
deed is done.
_Mrs. Bev._ What deed? And why do you look so at me?
_Bev._ A deed, that dooms my soul to vengeance; that seals Your
misery here, and Mine hereafter.
_Mrs. Bev._ No, no; You have a heart too good for't-- Alas! he
raves, Charlotte--his looks too terrify me--Speak comfort to him--He
can have done no deed of wickedness.
_Char._ And yet I fear the worst. What is it, brother?
_Bev._ A deed of horror.
_Jar._ Ask him no questions, madam. This last misfortune has hurt
his brain. A little time will give him patience.
SCENE VIII.
_Enter STUKELY._
_Bev._ Why is this villain here?
_Stu._ To give You liberty and safety. There's his discharge, madam.
(_Giving a paper to Mrs. Beverley_) Let him begone this moment. The
arrest last night was meant in friendship; but came too late.
_Char._ What mean you, Sir?
_Stu._ The arrest was too late, I say. I would have kept his hands
from blood, but was too late.
_Mrs. Bev._ His hands from blood! Whose blood?--O, wretch!
wretch!
_Stu._ From Lewson's blood.
_Char._ No, villain! Yet what of Lewson? Speak quickly!
_Stu._ You are ignorant then! I thought I heard the murderer at
confession.
_Char._ What murderer? And who is murdered? Not Lewson? Say he
lives, and I'll kneel down and worship you.
_Stu._ In pity, so I would; but that the tongues of all cry murder.
I came in pity, not in malice; to save the brother, not kill the
sister. Your Lewson's dead.
_Char._ O horrible! Why, who has killed him?--And yet it cannot be.
What crime had He committed that he should die? Villain! he lives!
he lives! and shall revenge these pangs.
_Mrs. Bev._ Patience, sweet Charlotte!
_Char._ O, 'tis too much for patience!
_Mrs. Bev._ He comes in pity, he says. O! execrable villain! The
friend is killed then, and this the murderer?
_Bev._ Silence, I charge you. Proceed, Sir.
_Stu._ No. Justice may stop the tale--and here's an evidence.
SCENE IX.
_Enter BATES._
_Bates._ The news, I see, has reached you. But take comfort, madam.
(_To Charlotte_) There's one without, enquiring for you. Go to him,
and lose no time.
_Char._ O misery! misery!
[_Exit_.
_Mrs. Bev._ Follow her, Jarvis. If it be true that Lewson's dead,
her grief may kill her.
_Bates._ Jarvis must stay here, madam: I have some questions for him.
_Stu._ Rather let him fly. His evidence may crush his master.
_Bev._ Why, ay; this looks like management.
_Bates._ He found you quarrelling with Lewson in the street last
night.
[_To Beverley._
_Mrs. Bev._ No; I am sure he did not.
_Jar._ Or if I did--
_Mrs. Bev._ 'Tis false, old man--They had no quarrel; there was no
cause for quarrel.
_Bev._ Let him proceed, I say--O! I am sick! sick! Reach me a chair.
[_He sits down._
_Mrs. Bev._ You droop, and tremble, love--Your eyes are fixt
too--Yet You are innocent. If Lewson's dead, You killed him
not.
SCENE X.
_Enter DAWSON._
_Stu._ Who sent for Dawson?
_Bates._ 'Twas I. We have a witness too, you little think of.
Without there!
_Stu._ What witness?
_Bates._ A right one. Look at him.
SCENE XI.
_Re-enter CHARLOTTE, with LEWSON._
_Stu._ Lewson! O--villains! villains!
[_To Bates and Dawson._
_Mrs. Bev._ Risen from the dead! Why, this is unexpected happiness!
_Char._ Or is't his ghost? (_To Stukely_) That sight would please
you, Sir.
_Jar._ What riddle's this?
_Bev._ Be quick and tell it--My minutes are but few.
_Mrs. Bev._ Alas! why so? You shall live long and happily.
_Lew._ While shame and punishment shall rack that viper. (_Pointing
to Stukely_) The tale is short. I was too busy in his secrets, and
therefore doomed to die. Bates, to prevent the murder, undertook it.
I kept aloof to give it credit--
_Char._ And gave Me pangs unutterable.
_Lew._ I felt them all, and would have told you; but vengeance
wanted ripening. The villain's scheme was but half executed. The
arrest by Dawson followed the supposed murder: and now, depending on
his once wicked associates, he comes to fix the guilt on Beverley.
_Mrs. Bev._ O! execrable wretch!
_Bates._ Dawson and I are witnesses of this.
_Lew._ And of a thousand frauds. His friend undone by sharpers and
false dice; and Stukely sole contriver, and possessor of all.
_Daw._ Had he but stopt on this side murder, we had been villains
still.
_Mrs. Bev._ Thus heaven turns evil into good; and by permitting sin,
warns men to virtue.
_Lew._ Yet punishes the instrument. So shall our laws; though not
with death. But death were mercy. Shame, beggary, and imprisonment,
unpitied misery, the stings of conscience, and the curses of mankind
shall make life hateful to him--till at last, his own hand end him.
How does my friend?
[_To Beverley_.
_Bev._ Why, well. Who's he that asks me?
_Mrs. Bev._ Tis Lewson, love. Why do you look so at him?
_Bev._ They told me he was murdered.
[_Wildly._
_Mrs. Bev._ Ay; but he lives to save us.
_Bev._ Lend me your hand--The room turns round.
_Mrs. Bev._ O heaven!
_Lew._ This villain here, disturbs him. Remove him from his sight:
and for your lives, see that you guard him. (_Stukely is taken off
by Dawson and Bates_) How is it, Sir?
_Bev._ 'Tis here--and here--(_Pointing to his head and heart._) And
now it tears me!
_Mrs. Bev._ You feel convulsed too--What is't disturbs you?
_Lew._ This sudden turn of joy perhaps. He wants rest too. Last
night was dreadful to him. His brain is giddy.
_Char._ Ay, never to be cured. Why, brother!--O! I fear!
I fear!
_Mrs. Bev._ Preserve him, heaven!--My love! my life! look at
me!--How his eyes flame!
_Bev._ A furnace rages in this heart--I have been too hasty.
_Mrs. Bev._ Indeed!--O me! O me!--Help, Jarvis! Fly, fly for help!
Your master dies else--Weep not, but fly! (_Exit Jarvis_) What is
this hasty deed?--Yet do not answer me--My fears have guessed
it.
_Bev._ Call back the messenger. 'Tis not in medicine's power to help
me.
_Mrs. Bev._ Is it then so?
_Bev._ Down, restless flames!--(_Laying his hand on his heart_) down
to your native hell!-- there you shall rack me--O! for a pause from
pain!
_Mrs. Bev._ Help, Charlotte! Support him, Sir! (_To Lewson_)
_Bev._ What river's this? I'll plunge, and cool me! (_Flings himself
upon the ground._) O! 'tis a sea of fire!--Lift me! lift me!
[_They raise him to his chair._
_Mrs. Bev._ This is a killing fight!
_Bev._ (_Starting_) That pang was well. It has numbed my senses.
Where's my wife? Can you forgive me, love?
_Mrs. Bev._ Alas! for what?
_Bev._ (_Starting again_) And there's another pang--Now all is
quiet. Will you forgive me?
_Mrs. Bev._ I will. Tell me for what?
_Bev._ For meanly dying.
_Mrs. Bev._ No--do not say it.
_Bev._ As truly as my soul must answer it. Had Jarvis staid this
morning, all had been well. But pressed by shame; pent in a prison;
tormented with my pangs for You; driven to despair and madness;
I took the advantage of his absence, corrupted the poor wretch he
left to guard me, and--swallowed poison.
_Mrs. Bev._ O! fatal deed!
_Char._ Dreadful and cruel!
_Bev._ Ay, most accursed--And now I go to my account. This rest from
pain brings death; yet 'tis heaven's kindness to me. I wished for
ease, a moment's ease, that cool repentance and contrition might
soften vengeance. Bend me, and let me kneel. (_They lift him from
his chair, and support him on his knees_) I'll pray for You too.
Thou Power that mad'st me, hear me! If for a life of frailty, and
this too hasty deed of death, thy justice dooms me, here I acquit
the sentence. But if, enthroned in mercy where thou sitt'st, thy
pity has beheld me, send me a gleam of hope; that in these last and
bitter moments, my soul may taste of comfort! And for these mourners
here, O! let their lives be peaceful, and their deaths happy! Now
raise me.
[_They lift him to the chair._
_Mrs. Bev._ Restore him, heaven! Stretch forth thy arm omnipotent,
and snatch him from the grave! O save him! save him!
_Bev._ Alas! that prayer is fruitless: already death has seized me.
Yet heaven is gracious. I asked for hope, as the bright presage of
forgiveness, and like a light, blazing through darkness, it came and
cheared me. 'Twas all I lived for, and now I die.
_Mrs. Bev._ Not yet!--Not yet!--Stay but a little, and I'll die too.
_Bev._ No; live, I charge you. We have a little one: though I have
left him, You will not leave him. To Lewson's kindness I bequeath
him--Is not this Charlotte? We have lived in love, though I have
wronged you--Can you forgive me, Charlotte?
_Char._ Forgive you!--O, my poor brother!
_Bev._ Lend me your hand, love. So--raise me--No--'twill not be--my
life is finished--O! for a few short moments to tell you how my
heart bleeds for you!--That even now, thus dying as I am, dubious
and fearful of hereafter, my bosom pang is for Your miseries!--Support
her heaven!--And now I go--O, mercy! mercy!
[_Dies._
_Lew._ Then all is over--How is it, madam? (_To Mrs. Beverley._) My
poor Charlotte too!
SCENE the last.
_Enter JARVIS._
_Jar._ How does my master, madam? Here's help at hand--Am I too late
then?
[_Seeing Beverley._
_Char._ Tears! tears! why fall you not? O wretched sister!--Speak to
her, Lewson--her grief is speechless.
_Lew._ Remove her from this sight. Go to her, Jarvis; lead and
support her. Sorrow like hers forbids complaint. Words are for
lighter griefs. Some ministring angel bring her peace! (_Jarvis and
Charlotte lead her off._) And Thou, poor breathless corps, may thy
departed soul have found the rest it prayed for! Save but one error,
and this last fatal deed, thy life was lovely. Let frailer minds
take warning; and from example learn, that want of prudence is want
of virtue.
Follies, if uncontroul'd, of every kind,
Grow into passions, and subdue the mind;
With sense and reason hold superior strife,
And conquer honour, nature, fame and life.
EPILOGUE.
Written by a FRIEND,
And Spoken by Mrs. PRITCHARD.
On every GAMESTER in th' Arabian nation,
'Tis said, that Mahomet denounc'd damnation;
But in return for wicked cards and dice,
He gave them black-ey'd girls in paradise.
Should he thus preach, good countrymen, to You,
His converts would, I fear, be mighty few:
So much your hearts are set on sordid gain,
The brightest eyes around you shine in vain:
Should the most heav'nly beauty bid you take her,
You'd rather hold--_two aces and a maker._
By your example, our poor sex drawn in,
Is guilty of the same unnat'ral sin:
The study now of every girl of parts
Is how to win your money, not your hearts.
O! in what sweet, what ravishing delights,
Our beaux and belles together pass their nights!
By ardent perturbations kept awake,
Each views with longing eyes the other's--stake.
The _smiles_ and _graces_ are from Britain flown,
Our_ Cupid _is an errant sharper grown,
And _Fortune_ sits on _Cytherea_'s throne.
In all these things, though women may be blam'd,
Sure men, the wiser men, should be asham'd!
And 'tis a horrid scandal, I declare,
That four strange queens should rival all the fair;
Four jilts, with neither beauty, wit nor parts,
O shame! have got possession of their hearts;
And those bold sluts, for all their queenly pride,
Have play'd loose tricks, or else they're much bely'd.
Cards were at first for benefits design'd,
Sent to amuse, and not enslave the mind:
From good to bad how easy the transition!
For what was pleasure once, is now perdition.
Fair ladies, then these wicked GAMESTERS shun,
Whoever weds one, is, you see, undone.
FINIS.
[Illustration: Act 5. The Gamester. Sc. 4.
Mr. REDDISH as BEVERLEY.
Bev.--_Thou art most friendly to the miserable._
_Published Octo. 19, 1776, by T. Lowndes & Partners_]
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
_THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY_
Announces Its
_Publications for the Third Year (1948-1949)_
[Transcriber's Note:
Many of the listed titles are or will be available from Project
Gutenberg. Where possible, the e-text number is given in brackets.]
_At least two_ items will be printed from each of the _three_ following
groups:
Series IV: Men, Manners, and Critics
Sir John Falstaff (pseud.), _The Theatre _(1720).
Aaron Hill, Preface to _The Creation_; and Thomas Brereton, Preface to
_Esther_. [#15870]
Ned Ward, Selected Tracts.
Series V: Drama
Edward Moore, _The Gamester _(1753).
Nevil Payne, _Fatal Jealousy _(1673).
Mrs. Centlivre, _The Busie Body _(1709).
Charles Macklin, _Man of the World _(1781).
Series VI: Poetry and Language
John Oldmixon, _Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley _(1712); and
Arthur Mainwaring, _The British Academy _(1712).
Pierre Nicole, _De Epigrammate_.
Andre Dacier, Essay on Lyric Poetry.
_THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY_
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English Literature of the
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The Augustan Reprint Society is a non-profit, scholarly organization,
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During the first two years the publications are issued in three series:
I. Essays on Wit; II. Essays on Poetry and Language; and III. Essays on
the Stage.
PUBLICATIONS FOR THE FIRST YEAR (1946-1947)
MAY, 1946:
Series I, No. 1--Richard Blackmore's _Essay upon Wit_ (1716), and
Addison's _Freeholder_ No. 45 (1716). [#13484]
JULY, 1946:
Series II, No. 1--Samuel Cobb's _Of Poetry_ and _Discourse on Criticism_
(1707). [#14528]
SEPT., 1946:
Series III, No. l--Anon., _Letter to A.H. Esq.; concerning the Stage_
(1698) and Richard Willis' _Occasional Paper_ No. IX (1698).
NOV., 1946:
Series I, No. 2--Anon., _Essay on Wit_ (1748), together with Characters
by Flecknoe, and Joseph Warton's _Adventurer_ Nos. 127 and 133. [#14973]
JAN., 1947:
Series II, No. 2--Samuel Wesley's _Epistle to a Friend Concerning
Poetry_ (1700) and _Essay on Heroic Poetry_ (1693).
MARCH, 1947:
Series III, No. 2--Anon., _Representation of the Impiety and Immorality
of the Stage_ (1704) and anon., _Some Thoughts Concerning the Stage_
(1704). [#15656]
PUBLICATIONS FOR THE SECOND YEAR (1947-1948)
MAY, 1947:
Series I, No. 3--John Gay's _The Present State of Wit_; and a section on
Wit from _The English Theophrastus_. With an Introduction by Donald Bond.
[#14800]
JULY, 1947:
Series II., No. 3--Rapin's _De Carmine Pastorali_, translated by Creech.
With an Introduction by J.E. Congleton. [#14495]
SEPT., 1947:
Series III, No. 3--T. Hanmer's (?), _Some Remarks on the Tragedy of
Hamlet_. With an Introduction by Clarence D. Thorpe. [#14899]
NOV., 1947:
Series I, No. 4--Corbyn Morris' _Essay towards Fixing the True Standards
of Wit_, etc. With an Introduction by James L. Clifford. [#16233]
JAN., 1948:
Series II, No. 4--Thomas Purney's _Discourse on the Pastoral_. With an
Introduction by Earl Wasserman.
MARCH, 1948:
Series III, No. 4--Essays on the Stage, selected, with an Introduction
by Joseph Wood Krutch.
The list of publications is subject to modification in response to
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_GENERAL EDITORS_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_
_ADVISORY EDITORS_
EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_
CLEANTH BROOKS, _Louisiana State University_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_
[Errata Noted by Transcriber:
Editor's Introduction and _Gamester_ text:
The main character's name is spelled "Beverly" in the Introduction,
"Beverley" in the play as originally printed. This has been left
unchanged.
ACT III, SCENE I: opening
_STUKELY'S lodgings_.
_text reads_ STUKELEY'S...
ACT V, SCENE VIII: opening
_Enter STUKELY._
_text reads_ STUKLEY. ]
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Gamester (1753)" ***
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