Chapter V: 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._