DOUBLE FALSHOOD; OR, The DISTREST LOVERS.
[]ACT I. SCENE I.
SCENE, A Royal Palace.
Duke Angelo, Roderick, and Courtiers.
RODERICK.
MY gracious Father, this unwonted Strain
Viſits my Heart with Sadneſs.
Duke.
—Why, my Son?
Making my Death familiar to my Tongue
Digs not my Grave one Jot before the Date.
I've worn the Garland of my Honours long,
And would not leave it wither'd to thy Brow,
But flouriſhing and green; worthy the Man, [13] [...] [14] [...] [15] [...] [16] [...] [2] Who, with my Dukedoms, heirs my better Glories.
Roder.
This Praiſe, which is my Pride, ſpreads me with Bluſhes.
Duke.
Think not, that I can flatter thee, my Roderick;
Or let the Scale of Love o'er-poize my Judgment.
Like a fair Glaſs of Retroſpection, Thou
Reflect'ſt the Virtues of my early Youth;
Making my old Blood mend its Pace with Tranſport:
While fond Henriquez, thy irregular Brother,
Sets the large Credit of his Name at Stake,
A Truant to my Wiſhes, and his Birth.
His Taints of Wildneſs hurt our nicer Honour,
And call for ſwift Reclaim.
Roder.
—I truſt, my Brother
Will, by the Vantage of his cooler Wiſdom,
E'er-while redeem the hot Eſcapes of Youth,
And court Opinion with a golden Conduct.
Duke.
Be Thou a Prophet in that kind Suggeſtion!
But I, by Fears weighing his unweigh'd Courſe,
Interpret for the Future from the Paſt.
And ſtrange Miſgivings, why he hath of late
By Importunity, and ſtrain'd Petition,
Wreſted our Leave of Abſence from the Court,
Awake Suſpicion. Thou art inward with him;
And, haply, from the boſom'd Truſt can'ſt ſhape
Some formal Cauſe to qualify my Doubts.
Roder.
Why he hath preſs'd this Abſence, Sir, I know not;
But have his Letters of a modern Date,
Wherein by Julio, good Camillo's Son,
(Who, as he ſays, ſhall follow hard upon;
And whom I with the growing Hour expect:)
He doth ſollicit the Return of Gold
To purchaſe certain Horſe, that like him well.
This Julio he encounter'd firſt in France,
And lovingly commends him to my Favour;
Wiſhing, I would detain him ſome few Days,
To know the Value of his well-placed Truſt.
Duke.
[3]O, do it, Roderick; and aſſay to mould him
An honeſt Spy upon thy Brother's Riots.
Make us acquainted when the Youth arrives;
We'll ſee this Julio, and he ſhall from Us
Receive the ſecret Loan his Friend requires.
Bring him to Court.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. Proſpect of a Village at a Diſtance.
Enters Camillo with a Letter.
Cam.
How comes the Duke to take ſuch Notice of my Son, that he muſt needs have him in Court, and I muſt ſend him upon the View of his Letter?—Horſemanſhip! What Horſemanſhip has Julio? I think, he can no more but gallop a Hackney, unleſs he practiſed Riding in France. It may be, he did ſo; for he was there a good Continuance. But I have not heard him ſpeak much of his Horſemanſhip. That's no Mat⯑ter: if he be not a good Horſeman, all's one in ſuch a Caſe, he muſt bear. Princes are abſolute; they may do what they will in any Thing, ſave what they cannot do.
Enters Julio.
O, come on, Sir; read this Paper: no more Ado, but read it: It muſt not be anſwer'd by my Hand, nor yours, but, in Groſs, by your Perſon; your ſole Per⯑ſon. Read aloud.
Jul.
'Pleaſe you, to let me firſt o'erlook it, Sir.
Cam.
I was this other day in a Spleen againſt your new Suits: I do now think, ſome Fate was the Taylour that hath fitted them: for, this Hour, they are for the Palace of the Duke.—Your Father's Houſe is too duſty.
Jul.
[4]Hem!—to Court? Which is the better, to ſerve a Miſtreſs, or a Duke? I am ſued to be his Slave, and I ſue to be Leonora's.
[Aſide.
Cam.
You ſhall find your Horſemanſhip much praiſed there; Are you ſo good a Horſeman?
Jul.
I have been,
E'er now, commended for my Seat, or mock'd.
Cam.
Take one Commendation with another, every Third's a Mock.—Affect not therefore to be praiſed. Here's a deal of Command and Entreaty mixt; there's no denying; you muſt go, peremptorily he inforces That.
Jul.
What Fortune ſoever my Going ſhall encoun⯑ter, cannot be good Fortune; What I part withal unſeaſons any other Goodneſs.
[Aſide.
Cam.
You muſt needs go; he rather conjures, than importunes.
Jul.
No moving of my Love-Suit to him now?—
[Aſide.
Cam.
Great Fortunes have grown out of leſs Grounds.
Jul.
What may her Father think of me, who ex⯑pects to be ſollicited this very Night?
[Aſide.
Cam.
Thoſe ſcatter'd Pieces of Virtue, which are in him, the Court will ſolder together, varniſh, and rectify.
Jul.
He will ſurely think I deal too ſlightly, or un⯑mannerly, or fooliſhly, indeed; nay, diſhoneſtly; to bear him in hand with my Father's Conſent, who yet hath not been touch'd with ſo much as a Requeſt to it.
[Aſide.
Cam.
Well, Sir, have you read it over?
Jul.
Yes, Sir.
Cam.
And conſider'd it?
Jul.
As I can.
Cam.
If you are courted by good Fortune, you muſt go.
Jul.
So it pleaſe You, Sir.
Cam.
[5]By any Means, and to morrow: Is it not there the Limit of his Requeſt?
Jul.
It is, Sir.
Cam.
I muſt bethink me of ſome Neceſſaries, with⯑out which you might be unfurniſh'd: And my Sup⯑plies ſhall at all Convenience follow You. Come to my Cloſet by and by; I would there ſpeak with You.
[Exit Camillo.
Manet Julio ſolus.
Jul.
I do not ſee that Fervour in the Maid,
Which Youth and Love ſhould kindle. She conſents,
As 'twere to feed without an Appetite;
Tells me, She is content; and plays the Coy one,
Like Thoſe that ſubtly make their Words their Ward,
Keeping Addreſs at Diſtance. This Affection
Is ſuch a feign'd One, as will break untouch'd;
Dye froſty, e'er it can be thaw'd; while mine,
Like to a Clime beneath Hyperion's Eye,
Burns with one conſtant Heat. I'll ſtrait go to her;
Pray her to regard my Honour: but She greets me.—
Enter Leonora, and Maid.
See, how her Beauty doth inrich the Place!
O, add the Muſick of thy charming Tongue,
Sweet as the Lark that wakens up the Morn,
And make me think it Paradiſe indeed.
I was about to ſeek thee, Leonora,
And chide thy Coldneſs, Love.
Leon.
—What ſays your Father?
Jul.
I have not mov'd him yet.
Leon.
—Then do not, Julio.
Jul.
Not move him? Was it not your own Command,
That his Conſent ſhould ratify our Loves?
Leon.
Perhaps, it was: but now I've chang'd my Mind.
You purchaſe at too dear a Rate, that puts You
To wooe me and your Father too: Beſides,
As He, perchance, may ſay, you ſhall not have me;
[6] You, who are ſo obedient, muſt diſcharge me
Out of your Fancy: Then, you know, 'twill prove
My Shame and Sorrow, meeting ſuch Repulſe,
To wear the Willow in my Prime of Youth.
Jul.
Oh! do not rack me with theſe ill-placed Doubts;
Nor think, tho' Age has in my Father's Breaſt
Put out Love's Flame, he therefore has not Eyes,
Or is in Judgment blind. You wrong your Beauties,
Venus will frown if you diſprize her Gifts,
That have a Face would make a frozen Hermit
Leap from his Cell, and burn his Beads to kiſs it;
Eyes, that are nothing but continual Births
Of new Deſires in Thoſe that view their Beams.
You cannot have a Cauſe to doubt.
Leon.
—Why, Julio?
When you that dare not chuſe without your Father,
And, where you love, you dare not vouch it; muſt not,
Though you have Eyes, ſee with 'em;—can I, think you,
Somewhat, perhaps, infected with your Suit,
Sit down content to ſay, You would, but dare not?
Jul.
Urge not Suſpicions of what cannot be;
You deal unkindly; mis-becomingly,
I'm loth to ſay: For All that waits on you,
Is graced, and graces.—No Impediment
Shall bar my Wiſhes, but ſuch grave Delays
As Reaſon preſſes Patience with; which blunt not,
But rather whet our Loves. Be patient, Sweet.
Leon
Patient! What elſe? My Flames are in the Flint.
Haply, to loſe a Husband I may weep;
Never, to get One: When I cry for Bondage,
Let Freedom quit me.
Jul.
—From what a Spirit comes This?
I now perceive too plain, you care not for me.
Duke, I obey thy Summons, be its Tenour
Whate'er it will: If War, I come thy Souldier:
Or if to waſte my ſilken Hours at Court,
[7] The Slave of Faſhion, I with willing Soul
Embrace the lazy Baniſhment for Life;
Since Leonora has pronounc'd my Doom.
Leon.
What do you mean? Why talk you of the Duke?
Wherefore of War, or Court, or Baniſhment?
Jul.
How this new Note is grown of me, I know not;
But the Duke writes for Me. Coming to move
My Father in our Bus'neſs, I did find him
Reading this Letter; whoſe Contents require
My inſtant Service, and Repair to Court.
Leon.
Now I perceive the Birth of theſe Delays;
Why Leonora was not worth your Suit.
Repair to Court? Ay, there you ſhall, perhaps,
(Rather, paſt Doubt;) behold ſome choicer Beauty,
Rich in her Charms, train'd to the Arts of Soothing,
Shall prompt you to a Spirit of Hardineſs,
To ſay, So pleaſe you, Father, I have choſen
This Miſtreſs for my own.—
Jul.
—Still you miſtake me:
Ever your Servant I profeſs my ſelf;
And will not blot me with a Change, for all
That Sea and Land inherit.
Leon.
But when go you?
Jul.
To morrow, Love; ſo runs the Duke's Com⯑mand;
Stinting our Farewell-kiſſes, cutting off
The Forms of Parting, and the Interchange
Of thouſand precious Vows, with Haſte too rude.
Lovers have Things of Moment to debate,
More than a Prince, or dreaming Stateſman, know:
Such Ceremonies wait on Cupid's Throne.
Why heav'd that Sigh?
Leon.
O Julio, let me whiſper
What, but for Parting, I ſhould bluſh to tell thee:
My Heart beats thick with Fears, leſt the gay Scene,
The Splendors of a Court, ſhould from thy Breaſt
[8] Baniſh my Image, kill my Int'reſt in thee,
And I be left, the Scoff of Maids, to drop
A Widow's Tear for thy departed Faith.
Jul.
O let Aſſurance, ſtrong as Words can bind,
Tell thy pleas'd Soul, I will be wond'rous faithful;
True, as the Sun is to his Race of Light,
As Shade to Darkneſs, as Deſire to Beauty:
And when I ſwerve, let Wretchedneſs o'ertake me,
Great as e'er Falſhood met, or Change can merit.
Leon.
Enough; I'm ſatisfied: and will remain
Yours, with a firm and untir'd Conſtancy.
Make not your Abſence long: Old Men are wav'ring;
And ſway'd by Int'reſt more than Promiſe giv'n.
Should ſome freſh Offer ſtart, when you're away,
I may be preſt to Something, which muſt put
My Faith, or my Obedience, to the Rack.
Jul.
Fear not, but I with ſwifteſt Wing of Time
Will labour my Return. And in my Abſence,
My noble Friend, and now our honour'd Gueſt,
The Lord Henriquez, will in my behalf
Hang at your Father's Ear, and with kind Hints,
Pour'd from a friendly Tongue, ſecure my Claim;
And play the Lover for thy abſent Julio.
Leon.
Is there no Inſtance of a Friend turn'd falſe?
Take Heed of That: No Love by Proxy, Julio.
My Father—
Enters Don Bernard.
D. Bern.
What, Julio, in publick? This Wooeing is too urgent. Is your Father yet moved in the Suit, who muſt be the prime Unfolder of this Buſineſs?
Jul.
I have not yet, indeed, at full poſſeſs'd
My Father, whom it is my Service follows;
But only that I have a Wife in Chaſe.
D. Bern.
Chaſe!—Let Chaſe alone: No Mat⯑ter for That.—You may halt after her, whom you profeſs to purſue, and catch her too; Marry, not [9] unleſs your Father let you ſlip.—Briefly, I deſire you, (for ſhe tells me, my Inſtructions ſhall be both Eyes and Feet to her;) no farther to inſiſt in your Re⯑quiring, 'till, as I have formerly ſaid, Camillo make known to Me, that his good Liking goes along with Us; which but once breath'd, all is done; 'till when, the Buſineſs has no Life, and cannot find a Begin⯑ning.
Jul.
Sir, I will know his Mind, e'er I taſte Sleep:
At Morn, you ſhall be learn'd in his Deſire.
I take my Leave.—O virtuous Leonora,
Repoſe, ſweet as thy Beauties, ſeal thy Eyes;
Once more, adieu. I have thy Promiſe, Love;
Remember, and be faithful.
[Ex. Julio.
D. Bern.
His Father is as unſettled, as he is way⯑ward, in his Diſpoſition. If I thought young Julio's Temper were not mended by the Mettal of his Mo⯑ther, I ſhould be ſomething crazy in giving my Con⯑ſent to this Match: And, to tell you true, if my Eyes might be the Directors to your Mind, I could in this Town look upon Twenty Men of more delicate Choice. I ſpeak not This altogether to unbend your Affections to him: But the Meaning of what I ſay is, that you ſet ſuch Price upon yourſelf to him, as Many, and much his Betters, would buy you at; (and reckon thoſe Vir⯑tues in you at the rate of their Scarcity;) to which if he come not up, you remain for a better Mart.
Leon.
My Obedience, Sir, is chain'd to your Ad⯑vice.
D. Bern.
'Tis well ſaid, and wiſely. I fear, your Lover is a little Folly-tainted; which, ſhortly after it proves ſo, you will repent.
Leon.
Sir, I confeſs, I approve him of all the Men I know; but that Approbation is nothing, 'till ſeaſon'd by your Conſent.
D. Bern.
We ſhall hear ſoon what his Father will do, and ſo proceed accordingly. I have no great Heart to the Buſineſs, neither will I with any Violence oppoſe [10] it: But leave it to that Power which rules in theſe Conjunctions, and there's an End. Come; haſte We homeward, Girl.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Henriquez, and Servants with Lights.
Henr.
Bear the Lights cloſe:—Where is the Muſick, Sirs?
Serv.
Coming, my Lord.
Henr.
Let 'em not come too near. This Maid,
For whom my Sighs ride on the Night's chill Vapour,
Is born moſt humbly, tho' ſhe be as fair
As Nature's richeſt Mould and Skill can make her,
Mended with ſtrong Imagination.
But what of That? Th' Obſcureneſs of her Birth
Cannot eclipſe the Luſtre of her Eyes,
Which make her all One Light.—Strike up, my Maſters;
But touch the Strings with a religious Softneſs;
Teach Sound to languiſh thro' the Night's dull Ear,
'Till Melancholy ſtart from her lazy Couch,
And Careleſsneſs grow Convert to Attention.
[Muſick plays.
She drives me into Wonder, when I ſometimes
Hear her diſcourſe; The Court, whereof Report,
And Gueſs alone inform her, ſhe will rave at,
As if ſhe there ſev'n Reigns had ſl [...]der'd Time.
Then, when ſhe reaſons on her Country State,
Health, Virtue, Plainneſs, and Simplicity,
On Beauties true in Title, ſcorning Art,
Freedom as well to do, as think, what's good;
My Heart grows ſick of Birth and empty Rank,
And I become a Villager in Wiſh.
Play on;—She ſleeps too ſound:—Be ſtill, and vaniſh:
[11] A Gleam of Day breaks ſudden from her Window:
O Taper, graced by that midnight Hand!
Violante appears above at her Window.
Viol.
Who is't, that wooes at this late Hour? What are you?
Henr.
One, who for your dear Sake—
Viol.
Watches the ſtarleſs Night!
My Lord Henriquez, or my Ear deceives me.
You've had my Anſwer, and 'tis more than ſtrange
You'll combat theſe Repulſes. Good my Lord,
Be Friend to your own Health; and give me Leave,
Securing my poor Fame, nothing to pity
What Pangs you ſwear you ſuffer. 'Tis impoſſible
To plant your choice Affections in my Shade,
At leaſt, for them to grow there.
Henr.
—Why, Violante?
Viol.
Alas! Sir, there are Reaſons numberleſs
To bar your Aims. Be warn'd to Hours more wholeſom;
For, Theſe you watch in vain. I have read Stories,
(I fear, too true ones;) how young Lords, like you,
Have thus beſung mean Windows, rhymed their Suf⯑ferings
Ev'n to th'Abuſe of Things Divine, ſet up
Plain Girls, like me, the Idols of their Worſhip,
Then left them to bewail their eaſie Faith,
And ſtand the World's Contempt.
Henr.
—Your Memory,
Too faithful to the Wrongs of few loſt Maids,
Makes Fear too general.
Viol.
—Let us be homely,
And let us too be chaſt, doing you Lords no Wrong;
But crediting your Oaths with ſuch a Spirit,
As you profeſs them: ſo no Party truſted
Shall make a loſing Bargain. Home, my Lord,
What you can ſay, is moſt unſeaſonable; what ſing,
Moſt abſonant and harſh: Nay, your Perfume,
Which I ſmell hither, cheers not my Senſe
Like our Field-violet's Breath.
Henr.
[12]—Why, this Diſmiſſion
Does more invite my Staying.
Viol.
—Men of your Temper
Make ev'ry Thing their Bramble. But I wrong
That which I am preſerving, my Maid's Name,
To hold ſo long Diſcourſe. Your Virtues guide you
T'effect ſome nobler Purpoſe!
[Ex. Violante.
Henr.
Stay, bright Maid!
Come back, and leave me with a fairer Hope.
She's gone:—Who am I, that am thus contemn'd?
The ſecond Son to a Prince?—Yes; well; What then?
Why, your great Birth forbids you to deſcend
To a low Alliance:—Her's is the ſelf-ſame Stuff,
Whereof we Dukes are made; but Clay more pure! And take away my Title, which is acquir'd Not by my ſelf, but thrown by Fortune on Me,
Or by the Merit of ſome Anceſtour
Of ſingular Quality, She doth inherit
Deſerts t'outweigh me.—I muſt ſtoop to gain her;
Throw all my gay Compariſons aſide,
And turn my proud Additions out of Service,
Rather than keep them to become my Maſters.
The Dignities we wear, are Gifts of Pride;
And laugh'd at by the Wiſe, as meer Outſide.
[Exit.
End of the Firſt Act.
[13]ACT II. SCENE I.
ACT II. SCENE I.
SCENE, The Proſpect of a Village.
Enter Fabian and Lopez; Henriquez on the Oppoſite Side.
Lop.
SOFT, ſoft you, Neighbour; who comes here? Pray you, ſlink aſide.
Henr.
Ha! Is it come to this? Oh the Devil, the Devil, the Devil!
Fab.
Lo you now! for Want of the diſcreet Ladle of a cool Underſtanding, will this Fellow's Brains boil over.
Henr.
To have enjoy'd her, I would have given—What?
All that at preſent I could boaſt my own,
And the Reverſion of the World to boot,
Had the Inheritance been mine:—And now,
(Juſt Doom of guilty Joys!) I grieve as much
That I have rifled all the Stores of Beauty,
Thoſe Charms of Innocence and artleſs Love,
As juſt before I was devour'd with Sorrow,
That ſhe refus'd my Vows, and ſhut the Door
Upon my ardent Longings.
Lop.
Love! Love!—Downright Love! I ſee by the Fooliſhneſs of it.
Henr.
Now then to Recollection—Was't not ſo? A Promiſe firſt of Marriage—Not a Promiſe only, for 'twas bound with Surety of a thouſand Oaths;—and thoſe not light ones neither.—Yet I remember too, thoſe Oaths could not prevail; th' unpractis'd Maid trembled to meet my Love: By Force alone I [14] ſnatch'd th' imperfect Joy, which now torments my Memory. Not Love, but brutal Violence prevail'd; to which the Time, and Place, and Opportunity, were Acceſſaries moſt diſhonourable. Shame, Shame upon it!
Fab.
What a Heap of Stuff's this—I fancy, this Fellow's Head would make a good Pedlar's Pack, Neigh⯑bour.
Henr.
Hold, let me be ſevere to my Self, but not unjuſt.—Was it a Rape then? No. Her Shrieks, her Exclamations then had drove me from her. True, ſhe did not conſent; as true, ſhe did reſiſt; but ſtill in Silence all.—'Twas but the Coyneſs of a mo⯑deſt Bride, not the Reſentment of a raviſht Maid. And is the Man yet born, who would not riſque the Guilt, to meet the Joy?—The Guilt! that's true—but then the Danger; the Tears, the Clamours of the ruin'd Maid, purſuing me to Court. That, that, I fear will (as it already does my Conſcience) ſome⯑thing ſhatter my Honour. What's to be done? But now I have no Choice. Fair Leonora reigns confeſt the Tyrant Queen of my revolted Heart, and Violante ſeems a ſhort Uſurper there.—Julio's already by my Arts remov'd.—O Friendſhip, how wilt thou an⯑ſwer That? Oh, that a Man could reaſon down this Feaver of the Blood, or ſooth with Words the Tu⯑mult in his Heart! Then, Julio, I might be, indeed, thy Friend. They, they only ſhould condemn me, who born devoid of Paſſion ne'er have prov'd the fierce Diſputes 'twixt Virtue and Deſire. While they, who have, like me,
The looſe Eſcapes of youthful Nature known.
Muſt wink at mine, indulgent to their own.
[Exit Henriquez.
Lop.
This Man is certainly mad, and may be miſ⯑chievous. Pr'ythee, Neighbour, let's follow him; but at ſome Diſtance, for fear of the worſt.
[Exeunt, after Henr.
SCENE II. An Apartment.
[15]Enters Violante alone.
Viol.
Whom ſhall I look upon without a Bluſh?
There's not a Maid, whoſe Eye with Virgin Gaze
Pierces not to my Guilt. What will't avail me,
To ſay I was not willing;
Nothing; but that I publiſh my Diſhonour,
And wound my Fame anew.—O Miſery,
To ſeem to all one's Neighbours rich, yet know
One's Self neceſſitous and wretched.
Enter Maid, and afterwards Gerald with a Letter.
Maid.
Madam, here's Gerald, Lord Henriquez' Ser⯑vant;
He brings a Letter to you.
Viol.
A Letter to me! How I tremble now!
Your Lord's for Court, good Gerald, is he not?
Ger.
Not ſo, Lady.
Viol.
O my preſaging Heart! When goes he then?
Ger.
His Buſineſs now ſteers him ſome other Courſe.
Viol.
Whither, I pray you?—How my Fears tor⯑ment me!
Ger.
Some two Months Progreſs.
Viol.
—Whither, whither, Sir,
I do beſeech you? Good Heav'ns, I loſe all Patience.
Did he deliberate this? or was the Buſineſs
But then conceiv'd, when it was born?
Ger.
Lady, I know not That; nor is it in the Com⯑mand I have to wait your Anſwer. For the peruſing the Letter I commend you to your Leiſure.
[Exit Gerald.
Viol.
To Hearts like mine Suſpence is Miſery.
Wax, render up thy Truſt: Be the Contents
Proſp'rous, or fatal, they are all my Due.
‘[16] Reads.] Our Prudence ſhould now teach us to forget, what our Indiſcretion has committed. I have already made one Step towards this Wiſdom, by prevailing on Myſelf to bid you Farewell.’O, Wretched and betray'd! Loſt Violante!
Heart-wounded with a thouſand perjur'd Vows,
Poiſon'd with ſtudied Language, and bequeath'd
To Deſperation. I am now become
The Tomb of my own Honour: a dark Manſion,
For Death alone to dwell in. I invite thee,
Conſuming Deſolation, to this Temple,
Now fit to be thy Spoil: the ruin'd Fabrick,
Which cannot be repair'd, at once o'er-throw.
What muſt I do?—But That's not worth my Thought:
I will commend to Hazard all the Time
That I ſhall ſpend hereafter: Farewel, my Father,
Whom I'll no more offend: and Men, adieu,
Whom I'll no more believe: and Maids, adieu,
Whom I'll no longer ſhame. The Way I go,
As yet I know not.—Sorrow be my Guide.
[Exit Violante.
SCENE III. Proſpect of a Village, before Don Bernard's Houſe.
Enters Henriquez.
Henr.
Where were the Eyes, the Voice, the va⯑rious Charms,
Each beauteous Particle, each nameleſs Grace,
Parents of glowing Love? All Theſe in Her,
It ſeems, were not: but a Diſeaſe in Me,
That fancied Graces in her.—Who ne'er beheld
More than a Hawthorne, ſhall have Cauſe to ſay
The Cedar's a tall Tree; and ſcorn the Shade,
[17] The lov'd Buſh once had lent him. Soft! mine Ho⯑nour
Begins to ſicken in this black Reflection.
How can it be, that with my Honour ſafe
I ſhould purſue Leonora for my Wife?
That were accumulating Injuries,
To Violante firſt, and now to Julio;
To her a perjur'd Wretch, to him perfidious;
And to myſelf in ſtrongeſt Terms accus'd
Of murth'ring Honour wilfully, without which
My Dog's the Creature of the nobler Kind.—
But Pleaſure is too ſtrong for Reaſon's Curb;
And Conſcience ſinks o'er-power'd with Beauty's Sweets.
Come, Leonora, Authreſs of my Crime,
Appear, and vindicate thy Empire here;
Aid me to drive this ling'ring Honour hence,
And I am wholly thine.
Enter to him, Don Bernard and Leonora.
D. Bern.
Fye, my good Lord; why would you wait without?
If you ſuſpect your Welcome, I have brought
My Leonora to aſſure you of it.
[Henr. ſalutes Leon.
Henr.
O Kiſs, ſweet as the Odours of the Spring,
But cold as Dews that dwell on Morning Flow'rs!
Say, Leonora, has your Father conquer'd?
Shall Duty then at laſt obtain the Prize,
Which you refus'd to Love? And ſhall Henriquez
Owe all his Happineſs to good Bernardo?
Ah! no; I read my Ruin in your Eyes:
That Sorrow, louder than a thouſand Tongues,
Pronounces my Deſpair.
D. Bern.
—Come, Leonora,
You are not now to learn, this noble Lord,
(Whom but to name, reſtores my failing Age,)
Has with a Lover's Eye beheld your Beauty;
[18] Thro' which his Heart ſpeaks more than Language can;
It offers Joy and Happineſs to You,
And Honour to our Houſe. Imagine then
The Birth and Qualities of him that loves you;
Which when you know, you cannot rate too dear.
Leon.
My Father, on my Knees I do beſeech you
To pauſe one Moment on your Daughter's Ruin.
I vow, my Heart ev'n bleeds, that I muſt thank you
For your paſt Tenderneſs; and yet diſtruſt
That which is yet behind. Conſider, Sir,
Whoe'er's th' Occaſion of another's Fault,
Cannot himſelf be innocent. O, give not
The cenſuring World Occaſion to reproach
Your harſh Commands; or to my Charge lay That
Which moſt I fear, the Fault of Diſobedience.
D. Bern.
Pr'ythee, fear neither the One, nor the O⯑ther: I tell thee, Girl, there's more Fear than Dan⯑ger. For my own part, as ſoon as Thou art married to this noble Lord, my Fears will be over.
Leon.
Sir, I ſhould be the vaineſt of my Sex,
Not to eſteem myſelf unworthy far
Of this high Honour. Once there was a Time,
When to have heard my Lord Henriquez' Vows,
Might have ſubdued my unexperienc'd Heart,
And made me wholly his.—But That's now paſt:
And my firm-plighted Faith by your Conſent
Was long ſince given to the injur'd Julio.
D. Bern.
Why then, by my Conſent e'en take it back again. Thou, like a ſimple Wench, haſt given thy Affections to a Fellow, that does not care a Farthing for them. One, that has left thee for a Jaunt to Court; as who ſhould ſay, I'll get a Place now; 'tis Time enough to marry, when I'm turn'd out of it.
Henr.
So, ſurely, it ſhould ſeem, moſt lovely Maid;
Julio, alas, feels nothing of my Paſſion:
His Love is but th' Amuſement of an Hour,
A ſhort Relief from Buſineſs, or Ambition,
[19] The Sport of Youth, and Faſhion of the Age.
O! had he known the Hopes, the Doubts, the Ar⯑dours,
Or half the fond Varieties of Paſſion,
That play the Tyrant with my tortur'd Soul;
He had not left Thee to purſue his Fortune:
To practiſe Cringes in a ſlaviſh Circle,
And barter real Bliſs for unſure Honour.
Leon.
Oh, the oppoſing Wind,
Should'ring the Tide, makes here a fearful Billow:
I needs muſt periſh in it.—Oh, my Lord,
Is it then poſſible, you can forget
What's due to your great Name, and princely Birth,
To Friendſhip's holy Law, to Faith repos'd,
To Truth, to Honour, and poor injur'd Julio?
O think, my Lord, how much this Julio loves you;
Recall his Services, his well-try'd Faith;
Think too, this very Hour, where-e'er he be,
Your Favour is the Envy of the Court,
And ſecret Triumph of his grateful Heart.
Poor Julio, how ſecurely thou depend'ſt
Upon the Faith and Honour of thy Maſter;
Miſtaken Youth! this very Hour he robs thee
Of all thy Heart holds dear.—'Tis ſo Henriquez
Repays the Merits of unhappy Julio.
[Weeps.
Henr.
My ſlumb'ring Honour catches the Alarm.
I was to blame to parley with her thus:
Sh'as ſhown me to myſelf. It troubles me.
[Aſide.
D. Bern.
Mad; Mad. Stark mad, by this Light.
Leon.
I but begin to be ſo.—I conjure you,
By all the tender Intereſts of Nature,
By the chaſte Love 'twixt you, and my dear Mother▪
(O holy Heav'n, that ſhe were living now!)
Forgive and pity me.—Oh, Sir, remember,
I've heard my Mother ſay a thouſand Times,
Her Father would have forced her Virgin Choice;
But when the Conflict was 'twixt Love and Duty,
Which ſhould be firſt obey'd, my Mother quickly
[20] Paid up her Vows to Love, and married You.
You thought this well, and ſhe was praiſed for This;
For this her Name was honour'd, Diſobedience
Was ne'er imputed to her, her firm Love
Conquer'd whate'er oppos'd it, and ſhe proſper'd
Long Time your Wife. My Caſe is now the ſame;
You are the Father, which You then condemn'd;
I, what my Mother was; but not ſo happy.—
D. Bern.
Go to, you're a Fool. No doubt, You have old Stories enough to undo you.—What, you can't throw yourſelf away but by Precedent, ha?—You will needs be married to One, that will None of You? You will be happy no Body's way but your own, forſooth.—But, d'ye mark me, ſpare your Tongue for the future; (and That's uſing you hardly too, to bid you ſpare what you have a great deal too much of:) Go, go your ways, and d'ye hear, get ready within theſe Two days to be married to a Huſ⯑band you don't deſerve;—Do it, or, by my dead Fa⯑ther's Soul, you are no Acquaintance of mine.
Henr.
She weeps: Be gentler to her, good Bernardo.
Leon.
Then Woe the Day.—I'm circled round with Fire;
No Way for my Eſcape, but thro' the Flames.
Oh, can I e'er reſolve to live without
A Father's Bleſſing, or abandon Julio?
With other Maids, the Choice were not ſo hard;
Int'reſt, that rules the World, has made at laſt
A Merchandize of Hearts: and Virgins now
Chuſe as they're bid, and wed without Eſteem.
By nobler Springs ſhall my Affections move;
Nor own a Maſter, but the Man I love.
[Exit Leonora.
D. Bern.
Go thy ways, Contradiction.—Follow her, my Lord; follow her, in the very Heat. This Obſtinacy muſt be combated by Importunity as obſti⯑nate.
[Exit Henriquez after her.
[21] The Girl ſays right; her Mother was juſt ſuch A⯑nother. I remember, Two of Us courted her at the ſame Time. She lov'd neither of Us, but She choſe me purely to ſpight that ſurly Old Blockhead my Fa⯑ther-in-Law. Who comes here, Camillo? Now the refuſing Part will lie on my Side.—
Enters Camillo.
Cam.
My worthy Neighbour, I am much in For⯑tune's Favour to find You thus alone. I have a Suit to You.
D. Bern.
Pleaſe to name it, Sir.
Cam.
Sir, I have long held You in ſingular Eſteem: and what I ſhall now ſay, will be a Proof of it. You know, Sir, I have but one Son.
D. Bern.
Ay, Sir.
Cam.
And the Fortune I am bleſt withal, You pret⯑ty well know what it is.
D. Bern.
'Tis a fair One, Sir.
Cam.
Such as it is, the whole Reverſion is my Son's. He is now engaged in his Attendance on our Maſter, the Duke. But e'er he went, he left with me the Secret of his Heart, his Love for your fair Daughter. For your Conſent, he ſaid, 'twas ready: I took a Night, indeed, to think upon it, and now have brought you mine; and am come to bind the Contract with half my Fortune in preſent, the Whole ſome time hence, and, in the mean while, my hearty Bleſſing. Ha? What ſay You to't, Don Bernard?
D. Bern.
Why, really, Neighbour,—I muſt own, I have heard Something of this Matter.—
Cam.
Heard Something of it? No doubt, you have.
D. Bern.
Yes, now I recollect it well.
Cam.
Was it ſo long ago then?
D. Bern.
Very long ago, Neighbour.—On Tueſ⯑day laſt.
Cam.
[22]What, am I mock'd in this Buſineſs, Don Bernard?
D. Bern.
Not mock'd, good Camillo, not mock'd: But in Love-matters, you know, there are Abundance of Changes in half an Hour. Time, Time, Neigh⯑bour, plays Tricks with all of us.
Cam.
Time, Sir! What tell you me of Time? Come, I ſee how this goes. Can a little Time take a Man by the Shoulder, and ſhake off his Honour? Let me tell you, Neighbour, it muſt either be a ſtrong Wind, or a very mellow Honeſty that drops ſo eaſily. Time, quoth'a?
D. Bern.
Look'ee, Camillo; will you pleaſe to put your Indignation in your Pocket for half a Moment, while I tell you the whole Truth of the Matter. My Daugh⯑ter, you muſt know, is ſuch a tender Soul, ſhe can⯑not poſſibly ſee a Duke's younger Son without falling deſperately in Love with him. Now, you know, Neighbour, when Greatneſs rides Poſt after a Man of my Years, 'tis both Prudence, and good Breeding, to let one's ſelf be overtaken by it. And who can help all This? I profeſs, it was not my ſeeking, Neigh⯑bour.
Cam.
I profeſs, a Fox might earth in the Hollow⯑neſs of your Heart, Neighbour, and there's an End. If I were to give a bad Conſcience its true Likeneſs, it ſhould be drawn after a very near Neighbour to a certain poor Neighbour of yours.—Neighbour! with a Pox.
D. Bern.
Nay, you are ſo nimble with me, you will hear Nothing.
Cam.
Sir, if I muſt ſpeak Nothing, I will hear Nothing. As for what you have to ſay, if it comes from your Heart, 'tis a Lye before you ſpeak it.—I'll to Leonora; and if I find her in the ſame Story, why, I ſhall believe your Wife was true to You, and your Daughter is your own. Fare you well.
[Exit, as into D. Bernard's Houſe.
D. Bern.
[23]Ay, but two Words muſt go to that Bar⯑gain. It happens, that I am at preſent of Opinion my Daughter ſhall receive no more Company to day at leaſt, no ſuch Viſits as yours.
[Exit D. Bernard, following him
SCENE IV. Changes to another Proſpect of Don Bernard's Houſe.
Leonora, above.
Leon.
How tediouſly I've waited at the Window,
Yet know not One that paſſes.—Should I truſt
My Letter to a Stranger, whom I think
To bear an honeſt Face, (in which ſometimes
We fancy we are wond'rous skilful;) then
I might be much deceiv'd. This late Example
Of baſe Henriquez, bleeding in me now,
From each good Aſpect takes away my Truſt:
For his Face ſeem'd to promiſe Truth and Honour.
Since Nature's Gifts in nobleſt Forms deceive,
Be happy You, that want 'em!—Here comes One;
I've ſeen him, tho' I know him not; He has
An honeſt Face too—that's no Matter.—Sir,—
Enters Citizen.
Citiz.
To me?
Leon.
As You were of a virtuous Matron born,
(There is no Doubt, you are:) I do conjure you
Grant me one Boon. Say, do you know me, Sir?
Citiz.
Ay, Leonora, and your worthy Father.
Leon.
I have not Time to preſs the Suit I've to you
With many Words; nay, I ſhould want the Words,
Tho' I had Leiſure: but for Love of Juſtice,
And as you pity Miſery—But I wander
Wide from my Subject. Know you Julio, Sir?
Citiz.
[24]Yes, very well; and love him too, as well.
Leon.
Oh, there an Angel ſpake! Then I conjure you,
Convey this Paper to him: and believe me,
You do Heav'n Service in't, and ſhall have Cauſe
Not to repent your Pains.—I know not what
Your Fortune is;—Pardon me, gentle Sir,
That I am bold to offer This.
[Throws down a Purſe with Money.
D. Bern. within.]
Leonora.—
Leon.
I truſt to you; Heav'n put it in your Heart
To work me ſome Relief.
Citiz.
Doubt it not, Lady. You have mov'd me ſo,
That tho' a thouſand Dangers barr'd my way,
I'd dare 'em all to ſerve you.
[Exit Citizen.
Leon.
Thanks from a richer Hand than mine requite you!
D. Bern. within.]
Why, Daughter—
Leon.
I come:—Oh, Julio, feel but half my Grief,
And Thou wilt outfly Time to bring Relief.
[Exit Leonora from the Window.
End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I.
SCENE, The Proſpect of a Village.
[25]Enter Julio with a Letter, and Citizen.
Citiz.
WHEN from the Window ſhe did bow and call,
Her Paſſions ſhook her Voice; and from her Eyes
Miſtemper and Diſtraction, with ſtrange Wildneſs
Beſpoke Concern above a common Sorrow.
Jul.
Poor Leonora! Treacherous, damn'd Henriquez!
She bids me fill my Memory with her Danger;
I do, my Leonora; yes, I fill
The Region of my Thought with nothing elſe;
Lower, ſhe tells me here, that this Affair
Shall yield a Teſtimony of her Love:
And prays, her Letter may come ſafe and ſudden.
This Pray'r the Heav'ns have heard, and I beſeech 'em,
To hear all Pray'rs ſhe makes.
Citiz.
—Have Patience, Sir.
Jul.
O my good Friend, methinks, I am too patient.
Is there a Treachery, like This in Baſeneſs,
Recorded any where? It is the deepeſt:
None but Itſelf can be its Parallel:
And from a Friend, profeſs'd!—Friendſhip? Why, 'tis
A Word for ever maim'd; in human Nature
It was a Thing the nobleſt; and 'mong Beaſts,
It ſtood not in mean Place: Things of fierce Nature
[26] Hold Amity and Concordance.—Such a Villany
A Writer could not put down in his Scene,
Without Taxation of his Auditory
For Fiction moſt enormous.
Citiz.
—Theſe Upbraidings
Cool Time, while they are vented.
Jul.
—I am counſel'd.
For you, evermore, Thanks. You've done much for Us;
So gently preſs'd to 't, that I may perſwade me
You'll do a little more.
Citiz.
—Put me t'Employment
That's honeſt, tho' not ſafe, with my beſt Spirits
I'll give 't Accompliſhment.
Jul.
No more but This;
For I muſt ſee Leonora: And to appear
Like Julio, as I am, might haply ſpoil
Some good Event enſuing. Let me crave
Th' Exchange of Habit with you: ſome Diſguiſe,
May bear Me to my Love, unmark'd, and ſecret.
Citiz.
You ſhall not want. Yonder's the Houſe be⯑fore us:
Make Haſte to reach it.
Jul.
—Still I thank you, Sir.
O Leonora! ſtand but this rude Shock;
Hold out thy Faith againſt the dread Aſſault
Of this baſe Lord, the Service of my Life
Shall be devoted to repay thy Conſtancy.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. Don Bernard's Houſe.
Enters Leonora.
Leon.
I've hoped to th' lateſt Minute Hope can give:
'He will not come: H'as not receiv'd my Letter:
'May be, ſome other View has from our Home
Repeal'd his chang'd Eye: for what Buſineſs can
Excuſe a Tardineſs thus willfull? None.
Well then, it is not Buſineſs.—Oh! that Let⯑ter,—
I ſay, is not deliver'd; or He's ſick;
[27] Or, O Suggeſtion, wherefore wilt Thou fright me?
Julio does to Henriquez on meer Purpoſe,
On plotted Purpoſe, yield me up; and He
Hath choſe another Miſtreſs. All Preſumptions
Make pow'rful to this Point: His own Protraction,
Henriquez left behind;—That Strain lack'd Jea⯑louſie,
Therefore lack'd Love.—So ſure as Life ſhall empty
It ſelf in Death, this new Surmiſe of mine
Is a bold Certainty. 'Tis plain, and obvious,
Henriquez would not, durſt not, thus infringe
The Law of Friendſhip; thus provoke a Man,
That bears a Sword, and wears his Flag of Youth
As freſh as He: He durſt not: 'Tis Contrivance,
Groſs-dawbing 'twixt them Both.—But I'm o'er⯑heard.
[Going.
Enters Julio, diſguiſed.
Jul.
Stay, Leonora; Has this outward Veil
Quite loſt me to thy Knowledge?
Leon.
—O my Julio!
Thy Preſence ends the ſtern Debate of Doubt,
And cures me of a thouſand heartſick Fears,
Sprung from thy Abſence: yet awakes a Train
Of other ſleeping Terrors. Do you weep?
Jul.
No, Leonora; when I weep, it muſt be
The Subſtance of mine Eye. 'Would I could weep;
For then mine Eye would drop upon my Heart,
And ſwage the Fire there.
Leon.
—You are full poſſeſs'd
How things go here. Firſt, welcome heartily;
Welcome to th'Ending of my laſt good Hour:
Now Summer Bliſs and gawdy Days are gone,
My Leaſe in 'em 's expir'd.
Jul.
—Not ſo, Leonora.
Leon.
Yes, Julio, yes; an everlaſting Storm
Is come upon me, which I can't bear out.
I cannot ſtay much Talk; we have loſt Leiſure;
[28] And thus it is: Your Abſence hath giv'n Breeding
To what my Letter hath declar'd, and is
This Inſtant on th'effecting, Hark! the Muſick
[Flouriſh within.
Is now on tuning, which muſt celebrate
This Bus'neſs ſo diſcordant.—Tell me then,
What you will do.
Jul.
—I know not what: Adviſe me:
I'll kill the Traytor.
Leon.
—O! take Heed: his Death
Betters our Cauſe no whit. No killing, Julio.
Jul.
My Blood ſtands ſtill; and all my Faculties
Are by Enchantment dull'd. You gracious Pow'rs,
The Guardians of ſworn Faith, and ſuff'ring Virtue,
Inſpire Prevention of this dreaded Miſchief!
This Moment is our own; Let's uſe it, Love,
And fly o'th' Inſtant from this Houſe of Woe.
Leon.
Alas! Impoſſible: My Steps are watch'd;
There's no Eſcape for Me. You muſt ſtay too.
Jul.
What! ſtay, and ſee thee raviſh'd from my Arms?
I'll force thy Paſſage. Wear I not a Sword?
Ne'er on Man's Thigh rode better.—If I ſuffer
The Traytor play his Part; if I not do
Manhood and Juſtice, Honour; let me be deem'd
A tame, pale, Coward, whom the Night-Owl's Hoot
May turn to Aſpen-leaf: Some Man take This,
Give Me a Diſtaff for it.
Leon.
—Patience, Julio;
And truſt to Me: I have fore-thought the Means
To diſappoint theſe Nuptials.—Hark! again;
[Muſick within.
Theſe are the Bells knoll for Us.—See, the Lights
Move this Way, Julio. Quick, behind yon Arras,
And take thy ſecret Stand.—Diſpute it not;
I have my Reaſons, you anon ſhall know them:—
There you may mark the Paſſages of the Night.
Yet, more:—I charge you by the deareſt Tyes,
What-e'er you ſee, or hear, what-e'er ſhall hap,
[29] In your Concealment reſt a ſilent Statue.
Nay, hide thee ſtrait,—or,—ſee, I'm arm'd, and vow
[Shews a Dagger.
To fall a bleeding Sacrifice before Thee.
[Thruſts him out, to the Arras.
I dare not tell thee of my Purpoſe, Julio,
Leſt it ſhould wrap thee in ſuch Agonies,
Which my Love could not look on.—
SCENE opens to a large Hall: An Altar pre⯑pared with Tapers. Enter at one Door Ser⯑vants with Lights, Henriquez, Don Bernard, and Churchman. At another, Attendants to Leonora. Henriquez runs to her.
Henr.
Why, Leonora, wilt Thou with this Gloom
Darken my Triumph; ſuff'ring Diſcontent,
And wan Diſpleaſure, to ſubdue that Check
Where Love ſhould ſit inthron'd? Behold your Slave;
Nay, frown not; for each Hour of growing Time
Shall task me to thy Service, 'till by Merit
Of deareſt Love I blot the low-born Julio
From thy fair Mind.
Leon.
—So I ſhall make it foul;
This Counſel is corrupt.
Henr.
—Come, you will change.—
Leon.
Why would you make a Wife of ſuch a One,
That is ſo apt to change? This foul Proceeding
Still ſpeaks againſt itſelf, and vilifies
The pureſt of your Judgment.—For your Birth's Sake
I will not dart my hoarded Curſes at you,
Nor give my Meanings Language: For the Love
Of all good Things together, yet take heed,
And ſpurn the Tempter back.
D. Bern.
I think, you're mad.—Perverſe, and fooliſh, Wretch!
Leon.
[30]How may I be obedient, and wiſe too?
Of my Obedience, Sir, I cannot ſtrip me;
Nor can I then be wiſe: Grace againſt Grace!
Ungracious, if I not obey a Father;
Moſt perjur'd, if I do.—Yet, Lord, conſider,
Or e'er too late, or e'er that Knot be ty'd,
Which may with Violence damnable be broken,
No other way diſſever'd: Yet conſider,
You wed my Body, not my Heart, my Lord;
No Part of my Affection. Sounds it well,
That Julio's Love is Lord Henriquez' Wife;
Have you an Ear for this harſh Sound?
Henr.
No Shot of Reaſon can come near the Place,
Where my Love's fortified. The Day ſhall come,
Wherein you'll chide this Backwardneſs, and bleſs
Our Fervour in this Courſe.
Leon.
—No, no, Henriquez,
When you ſhall find what Prophet you are prov'd,
You'll propheſie no more.
D. Bern.
—Have done this Talking,
If you will cleave to your Obedience, do't;
If not, unbolt the Portal, and be gone;
My Bleſſing ſtay behind you.
Leon.
—Sir, your Pardon:
I will not ſwerve a Hair's Breadth from my Duty;
It ſhall firſt coſt me dear.
D. Bern.
—Well then, to th' Point:
Give me your Hand.—My honour'd Lord, re⯑ceive
My Daughter of Me,—(nay, no dragging back,
But with my Curſes;)—whom I frankly give you,
And wiſh you Joy and Honour.
[As Don Bernard goes to give Leonora to Henriquez, Julio advances from the Arras, and ſteps between.
Jul.
—Hold, Don Bernard,
Mine is the elder Claim.
D. Bern.
—What are you, Sir?
Jul.
[31]A Wretch, that's almoſt loſt to his own Know⯑ledge,
Struck thro' with Injuries.—
Henr.
—Ha! Julio?—Hear you,
Were you not ſent on our Commands to Court?
Order'd to wait your fair Diſmiſſion thence?
And have you dared, knowing you are our Vaſſal,
To ſteal away unpriviledg'd, and leave
My Buſineſs and your Duty unaccompliſh'd?
Jul.
Ungen'rous Lord! The Circumſtance of Things
Should ſtop the Tongue of Queſtion.—You have wrong'd me;
Wrong'd me ſo baſely, in ſo dear a Point,
As ſtains the Cheek of Honour with a Bluſh;
Cancells the Bonds of Service; bids Allegiance
Throw to the Wind all high Reſpects of Birth,
Title, and Eminence; and, in their Stead,
Fills up the panting Heart with juſt Defiance.
If you have Senſe of Shame, or Juſtice, Lord,
Forego this bad Intent; or with your Sword
Anſwer me like a Man, and I ſhall thank you.
Julio once dead, Leonora may be thine;
But, living, She's a Prize too rich to part with.
Henr.
Vain Man! the preſent Hour is fraught with Buſineſs
Of richer Moment. Love ſhall firſt be ſerv'd:
Then, if your Courage hold to claim it of me,
I may have Leiſure to chaſtiſe this Boldneſs.
Jul.
Nay, then I'll ſeize my Right.
Henr.
—What, here, a Brawl?
My Servants,—Turn this boiſt'rous Sworder forth;
And ſee he come not to diſturb our Joys.
Jul.
Hold, Dogs!—Leonora,—Coward, baſe, Henriquez!
[Julio is ſeiz'd, and drag'd out by the Servants.
Henr.
She dies upon Me; help!
[Leonora ſwoons; as they endeavour to recover her, a Paper drops from her.
D. Bern.
[32]—Throng not about her;
But give her Air.
Henr.
—What Paper's That? let's ſee it.
It is her own Hand-Writing.
D. Bern.
—Bow her Head:
'Tis but her Fright; ſhe will recover ſoon.
What learn you by that Paper, good my Lord?
Henr.
That ſhe would do the Violence to herſelf,
Which Nature hath anticipated on her.
What Dagger means ſhe? Search her well, I pray you.
D. Bern.
Here is the Dagger.—Oh, the ſtub⯑born Sex,
Raſh ev'n to Madneſs!—
Henr.
—Bear her to her Chamber:
Life flows in her again.—Pray, bear her hence:
And tend her, as you would the World's beſt Treaſure.
[Women carry Leonora off.
Don Bernard, this wild Tumult ſoon will ceaſe,
The Cauſe remov'd; and all return to Calmneſs.
Paſſions in Women are as ſhort in Working,
As ſtrong in their Effect. Let the Prieſt wait:
Come, go we in: My Soul is all on Fire;
And burns impatient of this forc'd Delay.
[Exeunt; and the Scene cloſes.
SCENE III. Proſpect of a Village at a Diſtance.
Enters Roderick.
Rod.
Julio's Departure thus in ſecret from Me,
With the long doubtful Abſence of my Brother,
(Who cannot ſuffer, but my Father feels it;)
Have truſted me with ſtrong Suſpicions,
And Dreams, that will not let me ſleep, nor eat,
Nor taſte thoſe Recreations Health demands:
[33] But, like a Whirlwind, hither have they ſnatch'd me,
Perforce, to be reſolv'd. I know my Brother
Had Julio's Father for his Hoſt: from him
Enquiry may befriend me.
Enters Camillo.
Old Sir, I'm glad
To 've met you thus: What ails the Man? Camillo,—
Cam.
Ha?
Rod.
Is't poſſible, you ſhould forget your Friends?
Cam.
Friends! What are Thoſe?
Rod.
—Why, Thoſe that love you, Sir.
Cam.
You're None of Thoſe, ſure, if you be Lord Roderick.
Rod.
Yes, I am that Lord Roderick, and I lie not,
If I proteſt, I love you paſſing well.
Cam.
You lov'd my Son too paſſing well, I take it:
One, that believ'd too ſuddenly his Court-Creed.
Rod.
All is not well.
[aſide.]
—Good old Man, do not rail.Cam.
My Lord, my Lord, you've dealt diſho⯑nourably.
Rod.
Good Sir, I am ſo far from doing Wrongs
Of that baſe Strain, I underſtand you not.
Cam.
Indeed!—You know not neither, o' my Conſcience,
How your moſt virtuous Brother, noble Henriquez,
(You look ſo like him, Lord, you are the worſe for't;
Rots upon ſuch Diſſemblers!) under colour
Of buying Courſers, and I know not what,
Bought my poor Boy out of Poſſeſſion
Ev'n of his plighted Faith.—Was not this Ho⯑nour?
And This a conſtant Friend?
Rod.
—I dare not ſay ſo.
Cam.
Now you have robb'd him of his Love, take all;
[34] Make up your Malice, and diſpatch his Life too.
Rod.
If you would hear me, Sir,—
Cam.
—Your brave old Father
Would have been torn in Pieces with wild Horſes,
E'er he had done this Treachery. On my Conſcience,
Had he but dreamt you Two durſt have committed
This baſe, unmanly Crime,—
Rod.
Why, this is Madneſs.—
Cam.
I've done; I've eas'd my Heart; now you may talk.
Rod.
Then as I am a Gentleman, believe me,
(For I will lie for no Man;) I'm ſo far
From being guilty of the leaſt Suſpicion
Of Sin that way, that fearing the long Abſence
Of Julio and my Brother might beget
Something to ſtart at, hither have I travell'd
To know the Truth of you.
Enters Violante behind.
Viol.
My Servant loiters; ſure, he means me well.
Camillo, and a Stranger? Theſe may give me
Some Comfort from their Talk. I'll ſtep aſide:
And hear what Fame is ſtirring.
[Violante retires.
Rod.
—Why this Wond'ring?
Cam.
Can there be one ſo near in Blood as you are
To that Henriquez, and an honeſt Man?
Rod.
While he was good, I do confeſs my Near⯑neſs;
But, ſince his Fall from Honour, he's to me
As a ſtrange Face I ſaw but Yeſterday,
And as ſoon loſt.
Cam.
—I ask your Pardon, Lord;
I was too raſh and bold.
Rod.
—No Harm done, Sir.
Cam.
But is it poſſible, you ſhould not hear
The Paſſage 'twixt Leonora and your Brother?
Rod.
None of All This.
[35] Enters Citizen.
Cam.
How now?
Citiz.
I bear you Tidings, Sir, which I could wiſh
Some other Tongue deliver'd.
Cam.
—Whence, I pray you?
Citiz.
From your Son, Sir.
Cam.
Pr'ythee, where is he?
Citiz.
That's more than I know now, Sir.
But This I can aſſure you, he has left
The City raging mad; Heav'n comfort him!
He came to that curſt Marriage—The Fiends take it!—
Cam.
Pr'ythee, be gone, and bid the Bell knoll for me:
I have had one Foot in the Grave ſome Time.
Nay, go, good Friend; thy News deſerve no Thanks.
How does your Lordſhip?
[Exit Citizen.
Rod.
—That's well ſaid, Old Man.
I hope, all ſhall be well yet.
Cam.
—It had need;
For 'tis a crooked World. Farewell, poor Boy!—
Enters Don Bernard.
D. Bern.
This comes of forcing Women where they hate:
It was my own Sin; and I am rewarded.
Now I am like an aged Oak, alone,
Left for all Tempeſts.—I would cry, but cannot:
I'm dry'd to Death almoſt with theſe Vexations.
Lord! what a heavy Load I have within me!
My Heart,—my Heart,—my Heart—
Cam.
—Has this ill Weather Met with Thee too?
D. Bern.
—O Wench, that I were with thee!
Cam.
You do not come to mock at me now?
D. Bern.
[36]Ha?—
Cam.
Do not diſſemble; Thou may'ſt find a Knave
As bad as thou art, to undo thee too:
I hope to ſee that Day before I dye yet.
D. Bern.
It needeth not, Camillo; I am Knave
Sufficient to my ſelf. If thou wilt rail,
Do it as bitterly as thou canſt think of;
For I deſerve it. Draw thy Sword, and ſtrike me;
And I will thank thee for't.—I've loſt my Daughter;
She's ſtol'n away; and whither gone, I know not.
Cam.
She has a fair Bleſſing in being from you, Sir.
I was too poor a Brother for your Greatneſs;
You muſt be grafted into noble Stocks,
And have your Titles rais'd. My State was laugh'd at:
And my Alliance ſcorn'd. I've loſt a Son too;
Which muſt not be put up ſo.
[Offers to draw.
Rod.
—Hold; be counſel'd.
You've equal Loſſes; urge no farther Anger.
Heav'n, pleas'd now at your Love, may bring again,
And, no Doubt, will, your Children to your Com⯑forts:
In which Adventure my Foot ſhall be foremoſt.
And One more will I add, my Honour'd Father;
Who has a Son to grieve for too, tho' tainted.
Let your joint Sorrow be as Balm to heal
Theſe Wounds of adverſe Fortune.
D. Bern.
Come, Camillo,
Do not deny your Love, for Charity;
I ask it of you. Let this noble Lord
Make Brothers of Us, whom our own croſs Fates
Could never join. What I have been, forget;
What I intend to be, believe and nouriſh:
I do confeſs my Wrongs; give me your Hand.
Cam.
Heav'n make thee honeſt;—there.
Rod.
—'Tis done like good Men.
Now there reſts Nought, but that we part, and each
[37] Take ſev'ral Ways in Queſt of our loſt Friends:
Some of my Train o'er the wild Rocks ſhall wait you.
Our beſt Search ended, here we'll meet again,
And tell the Fortunes of our ſeparate Travels.
[Exeunt.
Violante comes forward.
Viol.
I would, your Brother had but half your Virtue!
Yet there remains a little Spark of Hope
That lights me to ſome Comfort.
The Match is croſs'd; The Parties ſeparate; and I again
May come to ſee this Man that has betray'd me;
And wound his Conſcience for it: Home again
I will not go, whatever Fortune guides me;
Tho' ev'ry Step I went, I trod upon
Dangers as fearful and as pale as Death.
No, no, Henriquez; I will follow thee
Where there is Day. Time may beget a Wonder.
Enters Servant.
O, are you come? What News?
Serv.
None, but the worſt. Your Father makes mighty Offers yonder by a Cryer, to any One can bring you home again.
Viol.
Art Thou corrupted?
Serv.
No.
Viol.
Wilt thou be honeſt?
Serv.
I hope, you do not fear me.
Viol.
Indeed, I do not. Thou haſt an honeſt Face;
And ſuch a Face, when it deceives, take heed,
Is curſt of all Heav'n's Creatures.
Serv.
I'll hang firſt.
Viol.
Heav'n bleſs thee from that End!—I've heard a Man
[38] Say more than This; and yet that Man was falſe.
Thou [...] not be ſo, I hope.
Serv.
By my Life, Miſtreſs,—
Viol.
Swear not; I credit Thee. But pry'thee tho',
Take Heed, thou doſt not fail: I do not doubt Thee:
Yet I have truſted ſuch a ſerious Face,
And been abuſed too.
Serv.
If I fail your Truſt,—
Viol.
I do thee Wrong to hold thy Honeſty
At Diſtance thus: Thou ſhalt know all my Fortunes.
Get me a Shepherd's Habit.
Serv.
Well; what elſe?
Viol.
And wait me in the Evening, where I told thee;
There Thou ſhalt know my farther Ends. Take Heed—
Serv.
D'ye fear me ſtill?
Viol.
—No; This is only Counſel:
My Life and Death I have put equally
Into thy Hand: Let not Rewards, nor Hopes,
Be caſt into the Scale to turn thy Faith.
Be honeſt but for Virtue's ſake, that's all;
He, that has ſuch a Treaſure, cannot fall.
[Exeunt.
The End of the Third Act.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
SCENE, A Wide Plain, with a Proſpect of Mountains at a Diſtance.
[39]Enter Maſter of the Flocks, three or four Shepherds, and Violante in Boy's Cloaths.
1 Shep.
WELL, he's as ſweet a Man, Heav'n com⯑fort him! as ever theſe Eyes look'd on.
2 Shep.
If he have a Mother, I believe, Neigh⯑bours, ſhe's a Woe-woman for him at this Hour.
Maſt.
Why ſhould he haunt theſe wild unpeopled Mountains, Where nothing dwells but Hunger, and ſharp Winds?
1 Shep.
His Melancholy, Sir, that's the main De⯑vil does it. Go to, I fear he has had too much foul Play offer'd him.
Maſt.
How gets he Meat?
2 Shep.
Why, now and then he takes our Victuals from us, tho' we deſire him to eat; and inſtead of a ſhort Grace, beats us well and ſoundly, and then falls to.
Maſt.
Where lies He?
1 Shep.
Ev'n where the Night o'ertakes him.
2 Shep.
Now will I be hang'd, an'ſome fair-ſnout⯑ed skittiſh Woman, or other, be not at the End of this Madneſs.
1 Shep.
Well, if he lodg'd within the Sound of us, I knew our Muſick would allure him. How atten⯑tively he ſtood, and how he fix'd his Eyes, when your Boy ſung his Love-Ditty. Oh, here he comes again.
Maſt.
Let him alone; he wonders ſtrangely at us.
1 Shep.
[40]Not a Word, Sirs, to croſs him, as you love your Shoulders.
2 Shep.
He ſeems much diſturb'd: I believe the mad Fit is upon him.
Enters Julio.
Jul.
Horſemanſhip!—Hell—Riding ſhall be abo⯑liſh'd:
Turn the barb'd Steed looſe to his native Wildneſs;
It is a Beaſt too noble to be made
The Property of Man's Baſeneſs.—What a Letter
Wrote he to's Brother? What a Man was I?
Why, Perſeus did not know his Seat like me;
The Parthian, that rides ſwift without the Rein,
Match'd not my Grace and Firmneſs.—Shall this Lord
Dye, when Men pray for him? Think you 'tis meet?
1 Shep.
I don't know what to ſay: Neither I, nor all the Confeſſors in Spain, can unriddle this wild Stuff.
Jul.
I muſt to Court! be uſher'd into Grace,
By a large Liſt of Praiſes ready penn'd!
O Devil! What a venomous World is this,
When Commendations are the Baits to Ruin!
All theſe good Words were Gyves and Fetters, Sir,
To keep me bolted there: while the falſe Sender
Play'd out the Game of Treach'ry.—Hold; come hi⯑ther;
You have an Aſpect, Sir, of wond'rous Wiſdom,
And, as it ſeems, are travell'd deep in Knowledge;
Have you e'er ſeen the Phaenix of the Earth,
The Bird of Paradiſe?
2 Shep.
—In Troth, not I, Sir.
Jul.
I have; and known her Haunts, and where ſhe built
Her ſpicy Neſt: 'till, like a credulous Fool,
I ſhew'd the Treaſure to a Friend in Truſt,
And he hath robb'd me of her.—Truſt no Friend:
Keep thy Heart's Counſels cloſe.—Haſt thou a Miſtreſs?
Give her not out in Words; nor let thy Pride
Be wanton to diſplay her Charms to View;
[41] Love is contagious: and a Breath of Praiſe,
Or a ſlight Glance, has kindled up its Flame,
And turn'd a Friend a Traytor.—'Tis in Proof;
And it has hurt my Brain.
1 Shep.
Marry, now there is ſome Moral in his Madneſs, and we may profit by it.
Maſt.
See, he grows cool, and penſive.
Go towards him, Boy, but do not look that way.
Viol.
Alas! I tremble—
Jul.
—Oh, my pretty Youth!
Come hither, Child; Did not your Song imply
Something of Love?
1 Shep.
Ha—ha—goes it there? Now if the Boy be witty, we ſhall trace ſomething.
Viol.
Yes, Sir, it was the Subject.
Jul.
Sit here then: Come, ſhake not, good pretty Soul,
Nor do not fear me; I'll not do thee Wrong.
Viol.
Why do you look ſo on me?
Jul.
—I have Reaſons.
It puzzles my Philoſophy, to think
That the rude Blaſt, hot Sun, and daſhing Rains
Have made no fiercer War upon thy Youth;
Nor hurt the Bloom of that Vermilion Cheek.
You weep too, do you not?
Viol.
—Sometimes, I do.
Jul.
I weep ſometimes too. You're extremely young.
Viol.
Indeed, I've ſeen more Sorrows far than Years.
Jul.
Yet all theſe have not broken your Complexion.
You have a ſtrong Heart, and you are the happier.
I warrant, you're a very loving Woman.
Viol.
A Woman, Sir?—I fear, h'as found me out.
[Aſide.
2 Shep.
He takes the Boy for a Woman.—Mad, again!
Jul.
You've met ſome Diſappointment; ſome foul Play
Has croſs'd your Love.—I read it in your Face.
Viol.
You read a Truth then.
Jul.
—Where can lie the Fault?
Is't in the Man, or ſome diſſembling Knave,
He put in Truſt? Ho! have I hit the Cauſe?
Viol.
You're not far off.
Jul.
[42]This World is full of Coz'ners, very full;
Young Virgins muſt be wary in their Ways.
I've known a Duke's Son do as great a Knavery.
Will you be rul'd by me?
Viol.
—Yes.
Jul.
—Kill Yourſelf.
'Twill be a Terror to the Villain's Conſcience,
The longeſt Day he lives.
Viol.
—By no Means. What?
Commit Self-murther!
Jul.
—Yes; I'll have it ſo.
1 Shep.
I fear, his Fit is returning. Take heed of all hands.—Sir,—do you want any thing?
Jul.
Thouly'ſt; thou can'ſt not hurt me: I am proof
'Gainſt farther Wrongs.—Steal cloſe behind me, Lady.
I will avenge Thee.
Viol.
—Thank the Heav'ns, I'm free.
Jul.
O treach'rous, baſe Henriquez! have I caught thee?
2 Shep.
Help! help! good Neighbours; he will kill me elſe.
[Julio ſeizes on the Shepherd; Violante runs out.
Jul.
Here Thou ſhalt pay thy Heart-blood for the Wrongs
Thou'ſt heap'd upon this Head. Faith-breaker! Villain!
I'll ſuck thy Life-blood.
1 Shep.
Good Sir, have Patience; this is no Hen⯑riquez.
[They reſcue the Shepherd.
Jul.
Well; let him ſlink to Court, and hide a Co⯑ward;
Not all his Father's Guards ſhall ſhield him there.
Or if he prove too ſtrong for Mortal Arm,
I will ſollicit ev'ry Saint in Heav'n
To lend me Vengeance.—I'll about it ſtrait.—
The wrathful Elements ſhall wage this War;
Furies ſhall haunt him; Vultures gnaw his Heart;
And Nature pour forth all her Stores of Plagues,
To join in Puniſhment of Truſt betray'd.
[Exit Julio.
2 Shep.
Go thy Ways, and a Vengeance go with [43] Thee!—Pray, feel my Noſe; is it faſt, Neighbours?
1 Shep.
'Tis as well as may be.
2 Shep.
He pull'd at it, as he would have drag'd a Bullock backward by the Tail.—An't had been ſome Men's Noſe that I know, Neighbours, who knows where it had been now? He has given me ſuch a de⯑viliſh Daſh o'er the Mouth, that I feel, I ſhall never whiſtle to my Sheep again: Then they'll make Holy-day.
1 Shep.
Come, ſhall we go? for, I fear, if the Youth return, our ſecond Courſe will be much more againſt our Stomachs.
Maſt.
Walk you afore; I will but give my Boy
Some ſhort Inſtructions, and I'll follow ſtrait.
We'll craſh a Cup together.
1 Shep.
Pray, do not linger.
Maſt.
I will not, Sirs;—This muſt not be a Boy;
His Voice, Mein, Geſture, ev'ry Thing he does,
Savour of ſoft and female Delicacy.
He but puts on this Seeming, and his Garb
Speaks him of ſuch a Rank, as well perſwades me,
He plays the Swain, rather to cloak ſome Purpoſe,
Than forced to't by a Need: I've waited long
To mark the End he has in his Diſguiſe;
But am not perfect in't. The Madman's Coil
Has driv'n him ſhaking hence. Theſe Fears betray him.
If he prove right, I'm happy. O, he's here.
Enters Violante.
Come hither, Boy; where did you leave the Flock, Child?
Viol.
Grazing below, Sir.—What does he mean, to ſtroke One o'the Cheek ſo? I hope, I'm not betray'd.
Maſt.
Have you learnt the Whiſtle yet, and when to Fold?
And how to make the Dog bring in the Strayers?
Viol.
Time, Sir, will furniſh me with all theſe Rules;
My Will is able, but my Knowledge weak, Sir.
Maſt.
That's a good Child: Why doſt thou bluſh, my Boy?
[44] 'Tis certainly a Woman.
[Aſide.]
Speak, my Boy.Viol.
Heav'n! how I tremble.—'Tis unuſual to me
To find ſuch Kindneſs at a Maſter's Hand,
That am a poor Boy, ev'ry way unable,
Unleſs it be in Pray'rs, to merit it.
Beſides, I've often heard old People ſay,
Too much Indulgence makes Boys rude and ſawcy.
Maſt.
Are you ſo cunning!—
Viol.
—How his Eyesſhake Fire,
And meaſure ev'ry Piece of Youth about me!
[Aſide.
The Ewes want Water, Sir: Shall I go drive 'em
Down to the Ciſterns? Shall I make haſte, Sir?
'Would I were five Miles from him—How he gripes me!
[Aſide.
Maſt.
Come, come, all this is not ſufficient, Child,
To make a Fool of me.—This is a fine Hand,
A delicate fine Hand,—Never change Colour;
You underſtand me,—and a Woman's Hand.
Viol.
You're ſtrangely out: Yet if I were a Woman,
I know, you are ſo honeſt and ſo good,
That tho' I wore Diſguiſes for ſome Ends,
You would not wrong me.—
Maſt.
—Come, you're made for Love;
Will you comply? I'm madder with this Talk.
There's Nothing you can ſay, can take my Edge off.
Viol.
Oh, do but quench theſe foul Affections in you,
That, like baſe Thieves, have rob'd you of your Reaſon,
And I will be a Woman; and begin
So ſad a Story, that if there be aught
Of humane in you, or a Soul that's gentle,
You cannot chuſe but pity my loſt Youth.
Maſt.
No Stories now.—
Viol.
—Kill me directly, Sir;
As you have any Goodneſs, take my Life.
Rod.
within.
Hoa! Shepherd, will you hear, Sir?Maſt.
What bawling Rogue is that, i'th' Devil's Name?
Viol.
Bleſſings upon him, whatſoe'er he be!
[Runs out.
[45] Enters Roderick.
Rod.
Good Even, my Friend; I thought, you all had been aſleep in this Country.
Maſt.
You had lied then; for you were waking, when you thought ſo.
Rod.
I thank you, Sir.
Maſt.
I pray, be cover'd; 'tis not ſo much worth, Sir.
Rod.
Was that thy Boy ran crying?
Maſt.
Yes; what then?
Rod.
Why doſt thou beat him ſo?
Maſt.
To make him grow.
Rod.
A pretty Med'cine! Thou can'ſt not tell me the Way to the next Nunnery?—
Maſt.
How do you know That?—Yes, I can tell you; but the Queſtion is, whether I will or no; and, indeed, I will not. Fare you well.
[Exit Maſter.
Rod.
What a brute Fellow's this! Are they all thus?
My Brother Henriquez tells me by his Letters,
The Miſtreſs of his Soul not far from hence
Hath taken Sanctuary: from which he prays
My Aid to bring her back.—From what Camillo
Hinted, I wear ſome Doubts.—Here 'tis appointed
That we ſhould meet; it muſt be here; 'tis ſo.
He comes.
Enters Henriquez.
Now, Brother, what's this poſt-haſte Buſineſs
You hurry me about?—Some wenching Matter—
Henr.
My Letter told you, Sir.
Rod.
'Tis true, it tells me, that you've loſt a Miſtreſs
Whom your Heart bleeds for; but the Means to win her
From her cloſe Life, I take it, is not mention'd.
You're ever in theſe Troubles.—
Henr.
—Noble Brother,
[...]own, I have too freely giv'n a Scope
[46] To Youth's intemp'rate Heat, and raſh Deſires:
But think not, that I would engage your Virtues
To any Cauſe, wherein my conſtant Heart
Attended not my Eye. 'Till now my Paſſions
Reign'd in my Blood; ne'er pierc'd into my Mind;
But I'm a Convert grown to pureſt Thoughts:
And muſt in Anguiſh ſpend my Days to come,
If I poſſeſs not her: So much I love.
Rod.
The Means?—She's in a Cloyſter, is ſhe not?
Within whoſe Walls to enter as We are,
Will never be: Few Men, but Fryars, come there;
Which We ſhall never make.
Henr.
—If That would do it,
I would make Any thing.
Rod.
—Are you ſo hot?
I'll ſerve him, be it but to ſave his Honour.
[Aſide.
To feign a Corpſe—By th' Maſs, it ſhall be ſo.
We muſt pretend, we do tranſport a Body
As 'twere to's Funeral: and coming late by,
Crave a Night's Leave to reſt the Herſe i'th' Convent
That be our Courſe; for to ſuch Charity
Strict Zeal and Cuſtom of the Houſe give Way.
Henr.
And, opportune, a vacant Herſe paſs'd by
From Rites but new perform'd: This for a Price
We'll hire, to put our Scheme in Act. Ho! Gerald—
[Enter Gerald, whom Henriquez whiſpers; then Ge⯑rald goes out.
Rod.
When we're once lodg'd, the Means of [...] Conveyance,
By ſafe and ſecret Force, with Eaſe we'll compaſs▪
But, Brother, know my Terms.—If that your Miſtres
Will to the World come back, and ſhe appear
An Object worthy in our Father's Eye,
Wooe her, and win her; but if his Conſent
Keep not Pace with your Purpoſe—
Henr.
Doubt it not.
I've look'd not with a common Eye; but choſe
A noble Virgin, who to make her ſo,
[47] Has all the Gifts of Heav'n and Earth upon her.
If ever Woman yet could be an Angel,
She is the neareſt.
Rhod.
—Well; a Lover's Praiſe
Feaſts not a Common Ear.—Now to our Plot;
We ſhall bring Night in with Us.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Julio, and Two Gentlemen.
Gent.
Good Sir, compoſe yourſelf.
Jul.
—O Leonora,
That Heav'n had made Thee ſtronger than a Woman,
How happy had I been!
Gent.
—He's calm again:
I'll take this Interval to work upon Him.
Theſe wild and ſolitary Places, Sir,
But feed your Pain; let better Reaſon guide you;
And quit this forlorne State, that yields no Comfort.
[Lute ſounds within.
Jul.
Ha! hark, a Sound from Heav'n! Do you hear Nothing?
Gent.
Yes, Sir; the Touch of ſome ſweet Inſtrument:
Here's no Inhabitant.
Jul.
—No, no, the better.
Gent.
This is a ſtrange Place to hear Muſick in.
Jul.
I'm often viſited with theſe ſweet Airs.
The Spirit of ſome hapleſs Man that dy'd,
And left his Love hid in a faithleſs Woman,
Sure haunts theſe Mountains.
[Violante ſings within.
Fond Echo! forego thy light Strain,
And heedfully hear a laſt Maid;
Go, tell the falſe Ear of the Swain
How deeply his Vows have betray'd.
Go, tell him, what Sorrows I bear;
See, yet if his Heart feel my Woe:
'Tis now he muſt heal my Deſpair,
Or Death will make Pity too ſlow.
Gent.
[48]See, how his Soul ſtrives in him! This ſad Strain
Has ſearch'd him to the Heart.
Jul.
Excellent Sorrow!
You never lov'd?
Gent.
No.
Jul.
—Peace; and learn to grieve then.
[Violante ſings within.
Go, tell him, what Sorrows I bear;
See, yet if his Heart feel my Woe:
'Tis now he muſt heal my Deſpair,
Or Death will make Pity too ſlow.
Is not this heav'nly?
Gent.
I never heard the Like, Sir.
Jul.
I'll tell you, my good Friends; but pray, ſay Nothing;
I'm ſtrangely touch'd with This. The heav'nly Sound
Diffuſes a ſweet Peace thro' all my Soul.
But yet I wonder, what new, ſad, Companion
Grief has brought hither to out-bid my Sorrows.
Stand off, ſtand off, ſtand off—Friends, it appears.
Enters Violante.
Viol.
How much more grateful are theſe craggy Mountains,
And theſe wild Trees, than things of nobler Natures;
For Theſe receive my Plaints, and mourn again
In many Echoes to Me. All good People
Are faln aſleep for ever. None are left,
That have the Senſe, and Touch of Tenderneſs
For Virtue's ſake: No, ſcarce their Memory:
From whom I may expect Counſel in Fears,
Eaſe to Complainings, or Redreſs of Wrongs.
Jul.
This is a moving Sorrow, but ſay nothing.
Viol.
What Dangers have I run, and to what Inſults
Expos'd this Ruin of my ſelf? Oh! Miſchief
On that Soul-ſpotted Hind, my vicious Maſter!
[49] Who would have thought, that ſuch poor Worms as They,
(Whoſe beſt Feed is coarſe Bread; whoſe Bev'rage, Water;)
Should have ſo much rank Blood? I ſhake all over,
And bluſh to think what had become of me,
If that good Man had not reliev'd me from him.
Jul.
Since ſhe is not Leonora, ſhe is heav'nly.
When ſhe ſpeaks next, liſten as ſeriouſly,
As Women do that have their Loves at Sea,
What Wind blows ev'ry Morning.—
Viol.
I cannot get this falſe Man's Memory
Out of my Mind. You Maidens, that ſhall live
To hear my mournful Tale, when I am Aſhes,
Be wiſe; and to an Oath no more give Credit,
To Tears, to Vows, (falſe Both!) or any Thing
A Man ſhall promiſe, than to Clouds, that now
Bear ſuch a pleaſing Shape, and now are nothing.
For they will cozen, (if They may be cozen'd,)
The very Gods they worſhip.—Valour, Juſtice,
Diſcretion, Honeſty, and all they covet,
To make them ſeeming Saints, are but the Wiles
By which theſe Syrens lure us to Deſtruction.
Jul.
Do not you weep now? I could drop myſelf
Into a Fountain for her.
Gent.
She weeps extremely.
Jul.
—Let her weep; 'tis well:
Her Heart will break elſe. Great Sorrows live in Tears.
Viol.
O falſe Henriquez!—
Jul.
—Ha!
Viol.
—And Oh, thou Fool,
Forſ [...]ken Violante! whoſe Belief
And childiſh Love have made Thee ſo—go, dye;
[...]or there is nothing left Thee now to look for,
That can bring Comfort, but a quiet Grave.
There all the Miſeries I long have felt,
[...] Th ſe to come, ſhall ſweetly ſleep together.
[...] may guide that falſe Henriquez hither,
[...] weep Repentance o'er my pale, dead Coarſe,
[50] And cheer my wand'ring Spirit with thoſe lov'd Obſe⯑quies.
[Going.
Jul.
Stay, Lady, ſtay: Can it be poſſible,
That you are Violante?
Viol.
—That loſt Name,
Spoken by One, that needs muſt know my Fortunes,
Has taken much Fear from me. Who are you, Sir?
For, ſure, I am that hopeleſs Violante.
Jul.
And I, as far from any earthly Comfort
That I know yet, the much-wrong'd Julio!
Viol.
—Julio!
Jul.
I once was thought ſo.—If the curſt Henriquez
Had Pow'r to change you to a Boy, why, Lady,
Should not that Miſchief make me any thing,
That have an equal Share in all the Miſeries
His Crimes have flung upon Us?
Viol.
—Well I know it:
And pardon Me, I could not know your Virtues,
Before your Griefs. Methought, when laſt we met,
The Accent of your Voice ſtruck on my Ear
Like ſomething I had known, but Floods of Sorrow
Drown'd the Remembrance. If you'll pleaſe to ſit,
(Since I have found a ſuff'ring true Companion,)
And give me Hearing, I will tell you ſomething
Of Leonora, that may comfort you.
Jul.
Bleſſing upon Thee! Henceforth, I proteſt
Never to leave Thee, if Heav'n ſay Amen.
But, ſoft! let's ſhift our Ground, guide our ſad Steps
To ſome remoter Gloom, where, undiſturb'd,
We may compare our Woes; dwell on the Tale
Of mutual Injuries, 'till our Eyes run o'er,
And we infect each other, with freſh Sorrows.—
Talk'd you of Comfort? 'Tis the Food of Fools,
And We will None on't; but indulge Deſpair:
So, worn with Griefs, ſteal to the Cave of Death,
And in a Sigh give up our lateſt Breath.
[Exeunt.
The End of the Fourth Act.
[51]ACT V. SCENE I.
ACT V. SCENE I.
SCENE, The Proſpect of the Moun⯑tains continued.
Enter Roderick, Leonora veil'd, Henriquez, Atten⯑dants as Mourners.
Rod.
REST certain, Lady, Nothing ſhall betide you,
But fair, and noble Uſage. Pardon me,
That hitherto a Courſe of Violence
Has ſnatch'd you from that Seat of Contemplation
To which you gave your After-Life.
Leon.
Where am I?
Rod.
Not in the Nunnery; never bluſh, nor trem⯑ble;
Your Honour has as fair a Guard, as when
Within a Cloyſter. Know then, what is done,
(Which, I preſume, you underſtand not truly,)
Has this Uſe, to preſerve the Life of One
Dying for Love of You: my Brother, and your Friend:
Under which Colour we deſir'd to reſt
Our Herſe one Night within your hallow'd Walls,
Where we ſurpriz'd you.
Leon.
—Are you that Lord Roderick,
So ſpoken of for Virtue, and fair Life,
And dare you loſe theſe to be Advocate
For ſuch a Brother, ſuch a ſinful Brother,
[52] Such an unfaithful, treacherous, brutal Brother?
Rod.
This is a fearful Charge.—
[Looks at Henriquez.
Leon.
—If you would have me
Think, you ſtill bear Reſpect for Virtue's Name;
As you would wiſh, your Daughters, thus diſtreſs'd,
Might find a Guard, protect me from Henriquez;
And I am happy.
Rod.
—Come, Sir, make your Anſwer;
For as I have a Soul, I am aſham'd on't.
Henr.
O Leonora, ſee! thus ſelf-condemn'd,
I throw me at your Feet, and ſue for Mercy.
If I have err'd, impute it to my Love;
The Tyrant God that bows us to his Sway,
Rebellious to the Laws of reas'ning Men;
That will not have his Votaries Actions ſcann'd,
But calls it Juſtice, when we moſt obey him.
He but commanded, what your Eyes inſpir'd;
Whoſe ſacred Beams, darted into my Soul,
Have purg'd the Manſion from impure Deſires,
And kindled in my Heart a Veſtal's Flame.
Leon.
Riſe, riſe, my Lord; this well-diſſembled Paſſion
Has gain'd you nothing but a deeper Hate.
Should I imagine, he can truly love me,
That, like a Villain, murthers my Deſires?
Or ſhould I drink that Wine, and think it Cordial,
When I ſee Poyſon in't?
Rod.
—Draw this way, Lady;
I am not perfect in your Story yet;
But ſee you've had ſome Wrongs, that want Redreſs.
Only you muſt have Patience to go with us
To yon ſmall Lodge, which meets the Sight from hence,
Where your Diſtreſs ſhall find the due Reſpect:
'Till when, your Griefs ſhall govern me as much,
As Nearneſs and Affection to my Brother.
Call my Attendants yours; and uſe them freely;
[53] For as I am a Gentleman, no Pow'r,
Above your own Will, ſhall come near your Perſon.
[As they are going out, Violante enters, and plucks Roderick by the Sleeve; the reſt go out.]
Viol.
Your Ear a Moment: Scorn not my tender Youth.
Roder.
Look to the Lady there.—I follow ſtrait.
What ails this Boy? Why doſt thou ſingle me?
Viol.
The due Obſervance of your noble Virtue,
Vow'd to this mourning Virgin, makes me bold
To give it more Employment.
Rod.
—Art not Thou
The ſurly Shepherd's Boy, that, when I call'd
To know the Way, ran crying by me?
Viol.
Yes, Sir.
And I thank Heav'n and you for helping me.
Rod.
How did I help thee, Boy?
Viol.
I do but ſeem ſo, Sir; and am indeed
A Woman; one your Brother once has lov'd;
Or, Heav'n forgive him elſe, he ly'd extremely.
Rod.
Weep not, good Maid; O this licentious Brother!
But how came you a Wand'rer on theſe Mountains?
Viol.
That, as we paſs, an't pleaſe you, I'll diſcover.
I will aſſure you, Sir, theſe barren Mountains
Hold many Wonders of your Brother's making.
Here wanders hapleſs Julio, worthy Man!
Beſides himſelf with Wrongs—
Rod.
That once again.—
Viol.
Sir, I ſaid, Julio.—Sleep weigh'd down his Eyelids,
Oppreſs'd with Watching, juſt as you approach'd us.
Rod.
O Brother! We ſhall ſound the Depths of Falſhood.
If this be true, no more but guide me to him:
I hope, a fair End will ſucceed all yet.
If it be He, by your Leave, gentle Brother,
I'll ſee him ſerv'd firſt.—Maid, you have o'erjoy'd me.
[54] Thou ſhalt have Right too: Make thy fair Appeal
To the good Duke, and doubt not but thy Tears
Shall be repaid with Intereſt from his Juſtice.
Lead me to Julio.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. An Apartment in the Lodge.
Enter Duke, Don Bernard, and Camillo.
Cam.
Ay, then your Grace had had a Son more; He, a Daughter; and I, an Heir: But let it be as 'tis, I cannot mend it; one way or other, I ſhall [...] it o⯑ver, with rubbing to my Grave, and there's an End on't.
Duke.
Our Sorrows cannot help us, Gentlemen.
Cam.
Hang me, Sir, if I ſhed one Tear more. By Jove, I've wept ſo long, I'm as blind as Juſtice. When I come to ſee my Hawks (which I held a Toy next to my Son;) if they be but Houſe-high, I muſt ſtand aiming at them like a Gunner.
Duke.
Why, he mourns like a Man. Don Bernard, you
Are ſtill like April, full of Show'rs and Dews:
And yet I blame you not: for I myſelf
Feel the ſelf-ſame Affections.—Let them go;
They're diſobedient Children.
D. Bern.
—Ay, my Lord;
Yet they may turn again.
Cam.
Let them e'en have their Swing: they're young and wanton; the next Storm we ſhall have them gal⯑lop homeward, whining as Pigs do in the Wind.
D. Bern
Would I had my Daughter any way.
Cam.
Would'ſt thou have her with Bearn, Man, tell me that?
D. Bern.
I care not, if an honeſt Father got it.
Cam.
You might have had her ſo in this good Time,
Had my Son had her: Now you may go ſeek
Your Fool to ſtop a Gap with.
Duke.
[55]You ſay, that Rod'rick charg'd you here ſhould wait him:
He has o'erſlip'd the Time, at which his Letters
Of Speed requeſt that I ſhould alſo meet him.
I fear, ſome bad Event is uſher'd in
By this Delay:—How now?
Enters Gentleman.
Gent.
—So pleaſe your Grace,
Lord Rod'rick makes Approach.
Duke.
—I thank thee, Fellow,
For thy ſo timely News: Comes he alone?
Gent.
No, Sir, attended well: and in his Train
Follows a Herſe with all due Rites of Mourning.
[Exit Gent.
Duke.
Heav'n ſend, Henriquez live!
Cam.
—'Tis my poor Julio.—
Enters Roderick, haſtily.
Duke.
O welcome, welcome,
Welcome, good Rod'rick! Say, what News?
Cam.
Do you bring Joy or Grief, my Lord? For me,
Come what can come, I'll live a Month or two
If the Gout pleaſe; curſe my Phyſician once more,
And then,—
Under this Stone
Lies Sev'nty One.
Rod.
Signior, you do expreſs a manly Patience.
My noble Father, ſomething I have brought
To eaſe your Sorrows: My Endeavours have not
Been altogether barren in my Journey.
Duke.
It comes at need, Boy; but I hop'd it from thee.
[56] Enter Leonora veil'd, Henriquez behind, and At⯑tendants.
Rod.
The Company I bring, will bear me Witneſs
The buſieſt of my Time has been employ'd
On this good Task. Don Bernard finds beneath
This Veil his Daughter: You, my Royal Father,
Behind that Lady find a wand'ring Son.
How I met with them, and how brought them hither,
More Leiſure muſt unfold.
Henr.
—My Father here!
And Julio's! O Confuſion!—Low as Earth
I bow me for your Pardon.
[To the Duke.
D. Bern.
O my Girl!
Thou bring'ſt new Life.—
[Embraces Leonora.
Duke.
And you, my Son, reſtore me
[To Roderick.
One Comfort here that has been miſſing long.
I hope, thy Follies thou haſt left abroad.
[To Henriq.
Cam.
Ay, ay; you've all Comforts but I; you have ruin'd me, kill'd my poor Boy; cheated and ruin'd him; and I have no Comfort.
Rod.
Be patient, Signior; Time may guide my Hand
To work you Comfort too.
Cam.
I thank your Lordſhip;
'Would Grandſire Time had been ſo kind to 've done it;
We might have joy'd together like good Fellows.
But he's ſo full of Buſineſs, good Old Man,
'Tis Wonder, he could do the Good he has done.
D. Bern.
Nay, Child, be comforted. Theſe Tears diſtract me.
Duke.
Hear your good Father, Lady.
Leon.
—Willingly.
Duke.
The Voice of Parents is the Voice of Gods:
For to their Children they are Heav'n's Lieutenants:
Made Fathers, not for common Uſes meerly
Of Procreation; (Beaſts and Birds would be
[57] As noble then as we are) but to ſteer
The wanton Freight of Youth thro' Storms and Dan⯑gers,
Which with full Sails they bear upon: and ſtreighten
The moral Line of Life, they bend ſo often.
For Theſe are We made Fathers; and for Theſe,
May challenge Duty on our Children's Part.
Obedience is the Sacrifice of Angels,
Whoſe Form you carry.
D. Bern.
Hear the Duke, good Wench.
Leon.
I do moſt heedfully. My gracious Lord,
[To the Duke.
Let me be ſo unmanner'd to requeſt,
He would not farther preſs me with Perſuaſions
O'th' inſtant Hour: but have the gentle Patience
To bury this keen Suit, 'till I ſhake Hands
With my old Sorrows,—
Cam.
—Why doſt look at me?
Alas! I cannot help thee.
Leon.
—And but weep
A Farewell to my murther'd Julio,—
Cam.
Bleſſing be with thy Soul, whene'er it leaves Thee!
Leon.
For ſuch ſad Rites muſt be perform'd, my Lord,
E'er I can love again. Maids, that have lov'd,
If they be worth that noble Teſtimony,
Wear their Loves here, my Lord; here, in their Hearts;
Deep, deep within; not in their Eyes, or Accents;
[...]uch may be ſlip'd away; or with two Tears
Waſh'd out of all Remembrance: Mine, no Phyſick,
[...]ut Time, or Death, can cure.
Henr.
You make your own Conditions, and I ſeal them
Thus on your virtuous Hand.
[Aſide.
Cam.
Well, Wench, thy Equal
[...]all not be found in haſte; I give thee That:
[58] Thou art a right one, ev'ry Inch.—Thy Father
(For, without Doubt, that Snuff never begot Thee,)
Was ſome choice Fellow, ſome true Gentleman;
I give thy Mother Thanks for't—there's no Harm done.—
Would I were young again, and had but thee,
A good Horſe under me, and a good Sword,
And thus much for Inheritance.—
[Violante offers, once or twice, to ſhew herſelf, but goes back.
Duke.
What Boy's That,
Has offer'd twice or thrice to break upon us?
I've noted him, and ſtill he falls back fearful.
Rod.
A little Boy, Sir, like a Shepherd?
Duke.
Yes.
Rod.
'Tis your Page, Brother;—One that was ſo, late.
Henr.
My Page! What Page?
Rod.
—Ev'n ſo he ſays, your Page;
And more, and worſe, you ſtole him from his Friends,
And promis'd him Preferment.
Henr.
I, Preferment!
Rod.
And on ſome ſlight Occaſion let him ſlip
Here on theſe Mountains, where he had been ſtarv'd,
Had not my People found him, as we travell'd.
This was not handſome, Brother.
Henr.
—You are merry.
Rod.
You'll find it ſober Truth.
Duke.
—If ſo, 'tis ill.
Henr.
'Tis Fiction all, Sir;—Brother, you [...] pleaſe
To look ſome other Fool to put theſe Tricks on;
They are too obvious:—Pleaſe your Grace, gi [...] Leave
T' admit the Boy; If he know me, and ſay,
I ſtole him from his Friends, and caſt him off,
Know me no more.—Brother, pray do not wr [...] me.
[59] Enters Violante.
Rod.
Here is the Boy. If he deny this to you,
Then I have wrong'd you.
Duke.
—Hear me; What's thy Name, Boy?
Viol.
Florio, an't like your Grace.
Duke.
—A pretty Child.
Where waſt thou born?
Viol.
—On t'other Side the Mountains.
Duke.
What are thy Friends?
Viol.
—A Father, Sir; but poor.
Duke.
How cameſt thou hither? how, to leave thy Father?
Viol.
That noble Gentleman pleas'd once to like me,
[Pointing to Henriquez.
And, not to lye, ſo much to doat upon me,
That with his Promiſes he won my Youth,
[...]nd Duty, from my Father: Him I follow'd.
Rod.
How ſay you now, Brother?
Cam.
—Ay, my Lord, how ſay You?
Hen.
As I have Life and Soul, 'tis all a Trick, Sir.
[...] never ſaw the Boy before.
Viol.
—O Sir,
[...]all not your Soul to witneſs in a Wrong:
[...]nd 'tis not noble in you, to deſpiſe
What you have made thus. If I lye, let Juſtice
[...]urn all her Rods upon me.
Duke.
—Fye, Henriquez;
[...]here is no Trace of Cunning in this Boy.
Cam.
A good Boy!—Be not fearful: Speak thy Mind, Child.
[...]ature, ſure, meant thou ſhould'ſt have been a Wench;
[...]nd then't had been no Marvel he had bobb'd thee.
Duke.
Why did he put thee from him?
Viol.
—That to me
[...] yet unknown, Sir; for my Faith, he could not;
[...] never did deceive him: for my Service,
[60] He had no juſt Cauſe; what my Youth was able,
My Will ſtill put in Act, to pleaſe my Maſter:
I cannot ſteal; therefore that can be nothing
To my Undoing: no, nor lye; my Breeding,
Tho' it be plain, is honeſt.
Duke.
—Weep not, Child.
Cam.
This Lord has abuſed Men, Women, [...] Children already: What farther Plot he has, the D [...] knows.
Duke.
If thou can'ſt bring a Witneſs of thy Wro [...]
(Elſe it would be Injuſtice to believe thee,
He having ſworn againſt it;) thou ſhalt have,
I bind it with my Honour, Satisfaction
To thine own Wiſhes.
Viol.
—I deſire no more, Sir.
I have a Witneſs, and a noble one,
For Truth and Honeſty.
Rod.
—Go, bring him hither.
[Exit Violante
Henr.
This lying Boy will take him to his Heels,
And leave me ſlander'd.
Rod.
—No; I'll be his Voucher.
Henr.
Nay then 'tis plain, this is Confederacy.
Rod.
That he has been an Agent in your Service,
Appears from this. Here is a Letter, Brother,
(Produc'd, perforce, to give him Credit with me;)
The Writing, yours; the Matter, Love; for ſo,
He ſays, he can explain it.
Cam.
—Then, belike,
A young He-bawd.
Henr.
—This Forgery confounds me!
Duke.
Read it, Roderick.
Rod.
Reads.]
Our Prudence ſhould now teach us [...] forget, what our Indiſcretion has [...] ⯑mitted. I have already made one [...] towards this Wiſdom—
Henr.
Hold, Sir.—My very Words to Violante.
[Aſi [...]
Duke.
Go on.
Henr.
[61]—My gracious Father, give me Pardon;
I do confeſs, I ſome ſuch Letter wrote
(The Purport all too trivial for your Ear,)
But how it reach'd this young Diſſembler's Hands,
Is what I cannot ſolve. For on my Soul,
And by the Honours of my Birth and Houſe,
The Minion's Face 'till now I never ſaw.
Rod.
Run not too far in Debt on Proteſtation.—
Why ſhould you do a Child this Wrong?
Henr.
—Go to;
Your Friendſhips paſt warrant not this Abuſe:
If you provoke me thus, I ſhall forget
What you are to me. This is a meer Practice,
And Villany to draw me into Scandal.
Rod.
No more; you are a Boy.—Here comes a Witneſs,
[...]all prove you ſo: No more.—
Enter Julio, diſguis'd; Violante, as a Woman.
Henr.
—Another Raſcal!
Duke.
Hold:—
Henr.
Ha!
[Seeing Violante.
Duke.
What's here?
Henr.
By all my Sins, the injur'd Violante.
[Aſide.
Rod.
Now, Sir, whoſe Practice breaks?
Cam
—Is this a Page?
[To Henr.
Rod.
One that has done him Service,
[...] he has paid her for't; but broke his Covenant.
Viol.
My Lord, I come not now to wound your Spirit.
[...] pure Affection dead, which firſt betray'd me,
[...] Claim dye with it! Only let me not
[...] to the Grave with Infamy upon me:
[...]ect my Virtue, tho' it hurt your Faith;
[...] my laſt Breath ſhall ſpeak Henriquez noble.
[...]nr.
What a fierce Conflict Shame, and wounded Honour,
[62] Raiſe in my Breaſt!—but Honour ſhall o'ercome.—
She looks as beauteous, and as innocent,
As when I wrong'd her.—Virtuous Violante!
Too good for me! dare you ſtill love a Man,
So faithleſs as I am?—I know you love me.
Thus, thus, and thus, I print my vow'd Repentance:
Let all Men read it here.—My gracious Father,
Forgive, and make me rich with your Conſent,
This is my Wife; no other would I chuſe,
Were ſhe a Queen.
Cam.
Here's a new Change. Bernard looks dull upon't.
Henr.
And fair Leonora, from whoſe Virgin Arms
I forc'd my wrong'd Friend Julio, O forgive me.
Take home your holy Vows, and let him have 'em
That has deſerv'd them. O that he were here!
That I might own the Baſeneſs of my Wrong,
And purpos'd Recompence. My Violante,
You muſt again be widow'd: for I vow
A ceaſeleſs Pilgrimage, ne'er to know Joy,
'Till I can give it to the injur'd Julio.
Cam.
This almoſt melts me:—But my poor [...] Boy—
Rod.
I'll ſtop that Voyage, Brother.—Gentle Lady▪
What think you of this honeſt Man?
Leon.
Alas!
My Thoughts, my Lord, were all employ'd within▪
He has a Face makes me remember ſomething
I have thought well of; how he looks upon me!
Poor Man, he weeps.—Ha! ſtay; it cannot be—
He has his Eye, his Features, Shape, and Geſture.—
'Would, he would ſpeak.
Jul.
—Leonora,—
[Throws off his Diſg [...]
Leon.
—Yes, 'tis He.
O Ecſtacy of Joy!—
[They embra [...]
Cam.
Now, what's the Matter?
Rod
Let 'em alone; they're almoſt ſtarv'd [...] Kiſſes.
Cam.
Stand forty Foot off; no Man trouble 'em.
[63] Much Good may't do your Hearts!—What is he, Lord,
What is he?
Rod.
A certain Son of yours.
Cam.
—The Devil he is.
Rod.
If he be the Devil, that Devil muſt call you Father.
Cam.
By your Leave a little, ho,—Are you my Julio?
Jul.
My Duty tells me ſo, Sir,
Still on my Knees.—But Love engroſs'd me all;
O Leonora, do I once more hold thee?
Cam.
Nay, to't again: I will not hinder you a Kiſs,
'Tis he—
[Leaps.
Leon.
The righteous Pow'rs at length have crown'd our Loves.
Think, Julio, from the Storm that's now o'erblown,
Tho' ſour Affliction combat Hope awhile,
When Lovers ſwear true Faith, the liſt'ning Angels
Stand on the golden Battlemen's of Heav'n,
And waft their Vows to the Eternal Throne.
Such were our Vows, and ſo are they repaid.
Duke.
E'en as you are, we'll join your Hands to⯑gether.
A Providence above our Pow'r rules all.
Ask him Forgiveneſs, Boy.
[To Henriquez.
Jul.
—He has it, Sir:
The Fault was Love's, not his.
Henr.
—Brave, gen'rous Julio!
I knew thy Nobleneſs of old, and priz'd it,
'Till Paſſiom made me blind—Once more, my Friend,
Share in a Heart, that ne'er ſhall wrong thee more.
And, Brother,—
Rod.
—This Embrace cuts off Excuſes.
Duke.
I muſt, in part, repair my Son's Offence:
At your beſt Leiſure, Julio, know our Court.
And, Violante, (for I know you now;)
[...] have a Debt to pay: Your good old Father,
Once, when I chas'd the Boar, preſerv'd my Life:
For that good Deed, and for your Virtue's Sake,
[64] Tho' your Deſcent be low, call me your Father.
A Match drawn out of Honeſty, and Goodneſs,
Is Pedigree enough.—Are you all pleas'd?
[Gives her to Henriquez
Camil.
All.
Henr.
D. Bern.
D. Bern.
—All, Sir,
Jul.
All.
Duke.
And I not leaſt. We'll now return to Cou [...]
(And that ſhort Travel, and your Loves compleated
Shall, as I truſt, for Life reſtrain theſe Wand'rings)
There, the Solemnity, and Grace▪ I'll do
Your ſev'ral Nuptials, ſhall approve my Joy;
And make griev'd Lovers, that your Story read,
Wi [...], true Love's Wand'rings may like yours ſuc [...]
[Curtain fa [...]
FINIS