Chapter VI: 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._