Car. To leave your bride so soon!

brother.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The Street.

Enter BIRON and BELFORD.

[Exit

Bir. The longest day will have an end; we are got home at last.

Bel. We have got our legs at liberty; and liberty is home, where'er we go; though mine lies most in England.

Bir. Pray let me call this yours: for what I can command in Brussels, you shall find your own. I have a father here who, perhaps, after seven years absence, and costing him nothing in my travels, may be glad to see me. You know my story- -How does my disguise become me?

Bel. Just as you would have it; 'tis natural, and will conceal you.

Bir. To-morrow you shall be sure to find me here, as early as you please. This is the house, you have observed the street.

Bel. I warrant you: your directions will carry me to my lodgings.

[Exit.

Bir. Good night, my friend. The long expected moment is arriv'd! And if all here is well, my past sorrows Will only heighten my excess of joy ; And nothing will remain to wish or hope for! [Knocks.

Enter SAMPSON.

Samp. Who's there? What would you have? Bir. Is your lady at home, friend? Samp. Why, truly, friend, 'tis my employment to answer impertinent questions: but, for my lady's being at home, or no, that's just as my lady pleases.

Bir. But how shall I know whether it pleases her or no?

Sump. Why, if you'll take my word for it, you may carry your errand back again; she

[ACT IV.

never pleases to see any body at this time of night, that she does not know; and by your dress and appearance, I am sure, you must be a stranger to her.

Bir. But I have business; and you don't know how that may please her.

Samp. Nay, if you have business, she is the best judge whether your business will please her or no: therefore I will proceed in my office, and know of my lady whether or no she is pleased to be at home or no— [Going.

Enter NURSE.

Nurse. Who's that you are so busy withal? Methinks you might have found an answer in yourself prate sometimes, as well as your betfewer words; but, Sampson, you love to hear him. Who would you speak with, stranger? ters, that I must say for you. Let me come to

me to speak to your lady. Bir. With you, mistress, if you could help

Nurse. Yes, Sir, I can help you in a civil lady? way; but can nobody do your business but my

Bir. Not so well; but, if you carry her this ring, she'll know my business better.

Nurse. There's no love-letter in it, I hope; you look like a civil gentleman. In an honest way, I may bring you an answer. [Exit.

Bir. My old nurse, only a little older! They say the tongue grows always: mercy on me! then hers is seven years longer, since I left her. Yet there is something in these servants' folly pleases me: the cautious conduct of the family appears, and speaks in their impertinence. Well, mistress

NURSE returns.

Nurse. I have delivered your ring, Sir; pray you! Heaven, you bring no bad news along with

Bir. Quite contrary, I hope.

very much surprised when I gave it her. Sir, Nurse. Nay, I hope so too; but my lady was I am but a servant, as a body may say; but if you'll walk in, that I may shut the doors, for we keep very orderly hours, I can show you into the parlour, and help you to an answer, perhaps, as soon as those that are wiser. [Exit. Bir. I'll follow you

Now all my spirits hurry to my heart,
At this approaching interview;
And every sense has taken the alarm
Heavens! how I tremble!

SCENE II-A Chamber.
Enter ISABELLA.

[Exit.

Isa. I've heard of witches, magic spells, and

charms,

That have made nature start from her old

course:

The sun has been eclips'd, the moon brought

down

Enter NURSE.

Nurse. Madam, the gentleman's below.

Isa. I had forgot, pray let me speak with him. [Exit NURSE. This ring was the first present of my love To Biron, my first husband: 1 must blush To think I have a second. Biron died (Still to my loss) at Candy; there's my hope. Oh, do I live to hope, that he died there? It must be so; he's dead, and this ring left, By his last breath, to some known faithful To bring me back again; That's all I have to trust to

[friend,

Enter BIRON. [ISABELLA looking at him.] My fears were woman's-I have view'd him And let me, let me say it to myself,

I live again, and rise but from his tomb.
Bir. Have you forgot me quite?

Isa. Forgot you!

[all;

I hear he's living still.

Isa. Well, both; both well;
And may be prove a father to your hopes,
Though we have found him none.

Bir. Come, no more tears.

Isa. Seven long years of sorrow for your Have mourn'd with me[loss

Bir. And all my days behind Shall be employ'd in a kind recompense For thy afflictions-Can't I see my boy? Isa. He's gone to-bed; I'll have him brought to you.

Bir. To-morrow I shall see him; I want rest Myself, after this weary pilgrimage.

Isa. Alas! what shall I get for you? Bir. Nothing but rest, my love! To-night I would not

Be known, if possible, to your family :

My Isabella!

[He goes to her; she shrieks, and faints. Isa. Ha!

Bir. Oh! come again!

Thy Biron summons thee to life and love;
Thy once lov'd, ever loving husband calls-
Thy Biron speaks to thee.

Isa. My husband! Biron!

Bir. Excess of love and joy, for my return, Has overpower'd her--I was to blame To take thy sex's softness unprepar'd: But sinking thus, thus dying in my arms, This ecstacy has made my welcome more Than words could say.

Isa. Where have I been? Why do you keep him from me?

I know his voice: my life, upon the wing, Hears the soft lute that brings me back again; "Tis he himself, my Biron !

If I must fall, death's welcome in these arms.
Bir. Live ever in these arms.
Isa. But pardon me,

[you,

Excuse the wild disorder of my soul;
The joy, the strange surprising joy, of seeing
Of seeing you again, distracted me--
What hand of Providence has brought you
To your own home again?

O, tell me all,

For every thought confounds me.

Bir. My best life! at leisure, all.

[back

Isa. We thought you dead; kill'd at the siege of Candy.

Bir. There I fell among the dead; But hopes of life reviving, from my wounds, I was preserv'd, but to be made a slave; I often writ to my hard father, but never had An answer; I writ to thee too-

Isa. What a world of woe

Had been prevented but in hearing from you!
Bir. Alas! thou couldst not help me.
Isa. You do not know how much I could
have done;

At least, I'm sure I could have suffer'd all;
I would have sold myself to slavery,
Without redemption; given up my child,
The dearest part of me to basest wants-
Bir. My little boy!

Isa. My life! but to have heard
You were alive-

Bir. No more, my love; complaining of the

past,

We lose the present joy. 'Tis over price
Of all my pains, that thus we meet again;
I have a thousand things to say to thee-
Isa. Would I were past the hearing! [Aside.
Bir. How does my child, my boy, my fa-
ther, too?

Would be tedious at this time;
To-morrow will do better.

Isa. I'll dispose of her, and order every thing

As you would have it.

[Exit. [mends;

Bir. Grant me but life, good Heaven! and give the means

To make this wondrous goodness some a-
And let me then forget her, if I can!
O! she deserves of me much more than I
Can lose for her, though I again could venture
A father, and his fortune, for her love!
You wretched fathers, blind as fortune all!
Not to perceive, that such a woman's worth
Weighs down the portions you provide your
[gold,

sons:

What is your trash, what all your heaps of
Compar'd to this, my heart-felt happiness?-
What has she, in my absence, undergone?
I must not think of that; it drives me back
Upon myself, the fatal cause of all.

Enter ISABELLA.

Isa. I have obey'd your pleasure; Every thing is ready for you.

Bir. I can want nothing here: possessing
All my desires are carried to their aim [thee,
Of happiness: there's no room for a wish,
But to continue still this blessing to me:
I know the way, my love. I shall sleep
sound.

Isa. Shall I attend you?
Bir. By no means:

I've been so long a slave to others' pride,
To learn, at least, to wait upon myself;
You'll make haste after-

Two husbands! yet not one! married to both,
And yet a wife to neither! Hold, my brain-
Ha! a lucky thought

Works the right way to rid me of them all;
All the reproaches, infamies, and scorns,
That every tongue and finger will find for me.
Let the just horror of my apprehensions
But keep me warm-no matter what can come.,
'Tis but a blow-yet will I see him first-
Have a last look, to heighten my despair,
And then to rest for ever.-

BIRON meets her.

Bir. Despair and rest for ever! Isabella, These words are far from thy condition; And be they ever so. I heard thy voice, And could not bear thy absence; come, my love! [sure, You have stay'd long, there's nothing, nothing Now to despair of in succeeding fate.

Isa. I am contented to be miserable, But not this way: I've been too long abus'd, And can believe no more.

Let me sleep on, to be deceiv'd no more.
Bir. Look up, my love, I never did deceive
thee,

Nor ever can; believe thyself, thy eyes
That first inflam'd and lit me to my love,
Those stars, that still must guide me to my
joys.

Isa. And me to my undoing: I look round,
And find no path but leading to the grave.
Bir. I cannot understand thee.
Isa. If marriages

Are made in Heaven, they should be happier : Why was I made this wretch?

Bir. Has marriage made thee wretched?
Isa. Miserable, beyond the reach of comfort.
Bir. Do I live to hear thee say so?
Isa. Why, what did I say?

Bir. That I have made thee miserable.
Isa. No: you are my only earthly happiness:
And my false tongue belied my honest heart,
If it said otherwise.

Bir. And yet you said,

Your marriage made you miserable.

Isa. I know not what I said:

I've said too much, unless I could speak all. Bir. Thy words are wild; my eyes, my ears, my heart,

Were all so full of thee, so much employ'd
In wonder of thy charms, I could not find it;
Now I perceive it plain-

Is. You'll tell no body
Bir. Thou art not well.

Isa. Indeed I am not; I knew that before; But where's the remedy?

Bir. Rest will relieve thy cares: come,

come, no more;

I'll banish sorrow from thee.

Isa. Banish first the cause.
Bir. Heaven knows how willingly.
Isa. You are the only cause.

Bir. Am I the cause? the cause of thy misfortunes?

Isa. The fatal innocent cause of all my woes. Bir. Is this my welcome home! This the

reward

Our meeting hearts, and thrusts them from their joys.

Bir. Nothing shall ever part us.

Isa. Oh! there's a fatal story to be told; Be deaf to that, as Heaven has been to me! When thou shalt hear how much thou hast becu wrong'd,

How wilt thou curse thy fond believing heart, Tear me from the warm bosom of thy love, And throw me like a poisonous weed away! When I am dead, forgive and pity me. [Exit. Bir. What can she mean? These doubtings will distract me:

Some hidden mischief soon will burst to light; I cannot bear it-I must be satisfied'Tis she, my wife, must clear this darkness to

SCENE I-A Chamber,

Enter BIRON and NURSE.

Of life or death, fearful to be resolv'd,
Bir. I know enough: th' important question
Is clear'd to me: I see where it must end:
And need inquire no more-Pray let me have
Pen, ink, and paper; I must write a while,
And then I'll try to rest-to rest for ever!
[Exit NURSE,
Poor Isabella! now I know the cause,
The cause of thy distress, and cannot wonder
That it has turn'd thy brain. If I look back
Upon thy loss, it will distract me too.
Oh, any curse but this might be remov'd!
But 'twas the rancorous malignity

Of all ill stars combin'd, of Heaven and fate-
Hold, hold my impious tongue-Alas! I rave:
Why do I tax the stars, or Heaven, or fate?
My father and my brother are my fates,
That drive me to my tuin. They knew well
I was alive. Too well they knew how dear
My Isabella-Oh! my wife no more!
How dear her love was to me-Yet they
stood,

With a malicious silent joy, stood by,
And saw her give up all my happiness,
The treasure of her beauty, to another;
Stood by, and saw her married to another:
Oh, cruel father, and unnatural brother!
I have but to accuse you of my wrongs,
And then to fall forgotten-Sleep or death
Sits heavy on me, and benumbs my pains:
Either is welcome; but the hand of death
Works always sure, and best can close my
eyes.
[Exit BIRON.

Enter NURSE and SAMPSON. Nurse. Here's strange things towards, Sampson: what will be the end of 'em, do you think?

Sump. Nay, marry, Nurse, I can't see so far; but the law, I believe, is on Biron, the first husband's side.

Nurse. Yes; no question, he has the law on his side.

Samp. For I have heard, the law says, a woman must be a widow, all out seven years, before she can marry again, according to law.

Nurse. Ay, so it does; and our lady has not been a widow altogether seven years.

Samp. Why, then, Nurse, mark my words, and say I told you so: the man must have his wife again, and all will do well,

peace.

If then to sleep be to be happy, he,
Who sleeps the longest, is the happiest;
Death is the longest sleep-Oh, have a care!
Mischief will thrive apace, Never wake more.
[To BIRON.
If ever thou didst love thy Isabel,
To-morrow must be the doomsday to thy
[self,
-The sight of him disarms even death it.
And pleasure grows again
With looking on him-Let me look my last-
But is a look enough for parting love?
Sure I may take a kiss Where am I going?
Help, help me, Villeroy!-Mountains and seas
Divide your love, never to meet my shame.
Hark!

What noise was that! A knocking at the gate!
It may be Villeroy-no matter who,

Bir. Come, Isabella, come,

Isa. Hark! I'm call'd!

Bir. You stay too long from me.

Isa. A man's voice! in my bed! How came

he there?

Nothing but villany in this bad world.
Here's physic for your fever.

[Draws a dagger, and goes backward to
the couch.

[thy

If husbands go to heaven, Where do they go that send them? This to [Going to stab him, he rises, she shrieks.

What do I see!

Bir. Isabella, arm'd!

Isa. Against my husband's life!
Bir. Thou didst not think it?

Isa. I cannot bear his sight; distraction,come, Possess me all.

Shake off my chains, and hasten to my aidThou art my only cure- [Running out.

Bir. Poor Isabella, she's not in a condition To give me any comfort, if she could; Lost to herself-as quickly I shall be [me; To all the world-Horrors come fast around My mind is overcast-the gath'ring clouds Darken the prospect-I approach the brink, And soon must leap the precipice! Oh! Heaven! [Kneels. While yet my senses are my own, thus, kneeling,

Let me implore thy mercies on my wife : Release her from her pangs; and if my reason, O'erwhelm'd with miseries, sink before the tempest, [me. Pardon those crimes despair may bring upon [Rises.

Enter CARLOS, PEDRO, and three Ruffians.
Car. A younger brother! I was one too
long
Not to prevent my being so again.
We must be sudden. Younger brothers are
But lawful bastards of another name,
Shall I be one of them?-Bow, and retire,
Thrust out of their nobility of birth
And family, tainted into trades.
To make more room for the unwieldy heir
To play the fool in? No-

But how shall I prevent it?-Biron comes
To take possession of my father's love-
Would that were all ! there is a birth-right too
That he will seize. Besides, if Biron lives,
Cannot well answer-therefore he shall die;
He will unfold some practices, which I
This night must be disposed of: I have
will not fail my purpose.-Here he

That

means

comes.

Enter BIRON.

Bir. Ha! am I beset? I live but to revenge

me.

[They surround him, fighting; VILLEROY enters with two Servants; they rescue him; CARLOS and his party fly. Vil. How are you, Sir? Mortally hurt, I fear. Take care and lead him in.

Bir. I thank you for this goodness, Sir; though 'tis

Bestow'd upon a very wretch; and death,
Though from a villain's hand, had been to me
An act of kindness, and the height of mercy-
But I thank you, Sir.
[He is led in.

SCENE IV.-A Chamber.
Enter ISABElla.

Isa. Murder my husband! Oh! I must not dare

To think of living on; my desperate hand,
In a mad rage, may offer it again;
Stab me any where but there. Here's room
In my own breast, to act the fury in, [enough
The proper scene of mischief.

[Going to stab herself, VILLEROY runs in and prevents her, by taking the dagger from her. Vil. Angels defend and save thee! Attempt thy precious life!

Lay violent hands upon thy innocent self!
İsa. Swear I am innocent, and I'll believe

you.

[go. What would you have with me? Pray, let me Are you there, Sir? You are the very man Have done all this.-You would have made Me believe you married me; but the fooi Was wiser.

Vil. Dost thou not know me, love? "Tis Villeroy, thy husband.

Isa. I have none; no husband- [Weeping.

Never had but one, and he died at Candy. Speak, did he not die there?

Vil. He did, my life.

Isa. But swear it, quickly swear,

Enter BIRON, bloody, leaning upon his sword. Before that screaming evidence appears, In bloody proof against me

[She, seeing BIRON, Swoons; VILLEROY helps her.

Vil. Help there! Nurse, where are you? Ha! I am distracted too! [Sees BIRON. Biron alive?

Bir. The only wretch on earth that must not live.

Vil. Biron or Villeroy must not, that's decreed.

Vengeance and murder!-bury us togetherDo any thing but part us.

Vil. Gently, gently raise her.

She must be forc'd away. [They carry her off.
Isa. Oh! they tear me! Cut off my hands-
Let me leave something with him-
They'll clasp him fast-

Oh, cruel, cruel men!

[NURSE follows her.

Bir. You've sav'd me from the hands of murderers: 'Would you had not, for life's my greatest And then, of all the world, you are the man I would not be oblig'd to-Isabella! I came to fall before thee: I had died Happy, not to have found your Villeroy here: A long farewell, and a last parting kiss.

[Kisses her. Vil. A kiss! confusion! it must be your last. Bir. I know it must-Here I give up that death

You but delay'd: since what is past has been The work of fate, thus we must finish it. Thrust home, be sure.

[Falls. Vil. Alas! he faints! some help there. Bir. "Tis all in vain, my sorrows soon will endOh, Villeroy! let a dying wretch intreat you To take this letter to my father. My Isabella! Couldst thou but hear me, my last words should bless thee.

I cannot, though in death, bequeath her to
thee.
[TO VILLEROY.
But could I hope my boy, my little one,
Might find a father in thee-Oh, I faint-
I can no more-Hear me, Heaven! Oh! sup-
port

My wife, my Isabella-Bless my child!
And take a poor unhappy-.

[Dies. Vil. He's gone-Let what will be the consequence,

I'll give it him. I have involv'd myself,
And would be clear'd; that must be thought

The brink of life,

But, still detain'd, I cannot pass the strait; Denied to live, and yet I must not die : Doom'd to come back, like a complaining ghost,

To my unburied body.-Here it lies[Throws herself by BIRON's body. My body, soul, and life! A little dust! To cover our cold limbs in the dark graveThere, there, we shall sleep safe and sound together.

Enter VILLEROY, with Servants.

Vil. Poor wretch! upon the ground! She's not herself:

Remove her from the body.

[Servants going to raise her. Isa. Never, never-You have divorc'd us once, but shall no moreHelp, help me, Biron!-Ha!-bloody and [deed

dead!

Oh, murder! murder! you have done this

Car. Where is my brother?

[They see him, and gather about the body. Vil. I hope, in heaven.

Car. Canst thou pity him!

Wish him in heaven, when thou hast done a That must for ever cut theefrom the hopes [deed Of ever coming there?

Vil. I do not blame you

You have a brother's right to be concern'd
For his untimely death.

Car. Untimely death, indeed!

Vil. But yet you must not say I was the

cause.

Car. Not you the cause! Why, who should murder him?

We do not ask you to accuse yourself;
But I must say, that you have murder'd him;
And will say nothing else, till justice draws
Upon our side, at the loud call of blood,
To execute so foul a murderer.

Bel. Poor Biron! is this thy welcome home?
Egm. Rise, Sir; there is a comfort in revenge,
Which is left you.
[To C. BALDWIN.

·Car. Take the body hence.

[BIRON is carried off.
C. Bald. What could provoke you?
Vil. Nothing could provoke me
To a base murder, which, I find, you think
Me guilty of. I know my innocence;
My servants too can witness that I drew
My sword in his defence, to rescue him.
Bel. Let the servants be called.
Egm. Let's hear what they can say.
Car. What they can say! why, what should
servants say?

They are his accomplices, his instruments,
And will not charge themselves.
No, no, he came

Unseasonably, (that was all his crime)
Unluckily, to interrupt your sport:

You were new married-married to his wife;
And therefore you, and she, and all of you,
(For all of you I must believe concern'd)
Combin'd to murder him out of the way.
Bel. If it be so-