Charlotte is sometimes absent. The seeds of jealousy are sown already. If I mistake not, they have taken root too. Now is the time to ripen them, and reap the harvest. The softest of her sex, if wronged in love, or thinking that she's wronged, becomes a tigress in revenge. I'll instantly to Beverley's-No matter for the danger. When beauty leads us on, 'tis indiscretion to reflect, and cowardice to doubt. [Exit. SCENE IV.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings. Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and Lucy. Mrs. B. Did Charlotte tell you any thing? Lucy. No, Madam. Mrs. B. She looked confused, methought; said she had business with her Lewson; which, when I pressed to know, tears were her only answer. Lucy. She seemed in haste too-Yet her return may bring you comfort. Mrs. B. No, my kind girl!-I was not born for't. But why do I distress thee? Thy sympathizing heart bleeds for the ills of others. What pity that thy mistress can't reward thee! But there's a power above, that sees, and will remember all. [Knocking.] Hark! there's some one entering. Lucy. Perhaps 'tis my master, Madam. Re-enter LUCY, with STUKELY. [Exit. Lucy. Mr. Stukely, Madam. [Exit. Stuke. To meet you thus alone, Madam, was what I wished. Unseasonable visits, when friendship warrants them, need no excusetherefore I make none. Mrs. B. What mean you, Sir? and where's your friend? Stuke. Men may have secrets, Madam, which their best friends are not admitted to. We parted in the morning, not soon to meet again. Mrs. B. You mean to leave us, then?-to leave your country, too? I am no stranger to your reasons, and pity your misfortunes. Stuke. Your pity has undone you. Could Beverley do this? That letter was a false one; a mean contrivance to rob you of your jewels. I wrote it not. Mrs. B. Impossible! whence came it then? Stuke. Wronged as I am, Madam, I must speak plainly Mrs. B. Do so, and ease me. Your hints have troubled me. Reports, you say, are stirring-Reports, of whom? You wished me not to credit them. What, Sir, are these reports? Stuke. I thought them slander, Madam; and cautioned you in friendship, lest from officious tongues the tale had reached you with double aggravations. Mrs. B. Proceed, Sir. Mrs. B. I gave them to a husband. Stuke. Who gave them to a Mrs. B. What? whom did he give them to? Mrs. B. No; on my life, he did not. Stuke. Himself confessed it, with curses on her avarice. Mrs. B. I'll not believe it.-He has no mistress; or, if he has, why is it told to me? Stuke. To guard you against insults. He told me that, to move you to a compliance, he forged that letter, pretending I was ruined, ruined by him too. The fraud succeeded; and what a trusting wife bestowed on pity, was lavished on a wanton. Mrs. B. Then I am lost indeed! and my afflictions are too powerful for me.-His follies the approach of poverty without a tear. My I have borne without upbraiding, and saw affections, my strong affections, supported me through every trial. Stuke. Be patient, Madam. Mrs. B. Patient! the barbarous, ungrateful man! And does he think that the tenderness of my heart is his best security for wounding it? But he shall find that injuries such as these can arm my weakness for vengeance and redress. Stuke. Ha! then may succeed. [Aside.] Redress is in your power. Mrs. B. What redress? Stuke. Forgive me, Madam, if, in my zeal to serve you, I hazard your displeasure. Think of your wretched state. Already, want surrounds you. Is it in patience to bear that? To see your helpless little one robbed of his birthright! A sister too, with unavai ing tears, lamenting her lost fortune? No comfort left you, but ineffectual pity from the few, outweighed by insults from the many. Mrs. B. Am I so lost a creature? Well, Sir, my redress? Stuke. To be resolved is to secure it. The marriage vow, once violated, is in the sight of Heaven dissolved;-start not, but hear me. 'Tis now the summer of your youth; time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed 'em-Then use your beauty wisely; and, freed by injuries, fly from the cruellest of men, for shelter with the kindest. Mrs. B. And who is he? Stuke. A friend to the unfortunate; a bold one, too; who, while the storm is bursting on your brow, and lightning flashing from your eyes, dares tell you that he loves you. Mrs. B.'Would that these eyes had Heaven's own lightning, that with a look thus I might blast thee! Am I then fallen so low? Has poverty so humbled me, that I should listen to a hellish offer and sell my soul for bread? O villain! villain! But now I know thee, and thank thee for the knowledge. Stuke. If you are wise, you shall have cause to thank me. Mrs. B. An injured husband, too, shall thank thee. Stuke. Yet know, proud woman, I have a heart as stubborn as your own; as haughty and imperious; and as it loves, so it can hate. Mrs. B. Mean, despicable villain! I scorn thee and thy threats. Was it for this that Beverley was false! that his too credulous wife should in despair and vengeance give up her honour to a wretch? But he shall know it, and vengeance shall be his. Stuke. Why, send him for defiance then. Tell him, I love his wife; but that a worth- Enter LUCY. Your absence, Sir, will please me. Mrs. B. Why opens not the earth to swal- ACT IV. SCENE I.-STUKELY's Lodgings. Stuke. Fooling my time away-Playing my tricks, like a tame monkey, to entertain a woman- -No matter where-I have been vexed and disappointed. Tell me of Beverley-How bore he his last shock? Bates. Like one (so Dawson says) whose senses had been numbed with misery. When all was lost, he fixed his eyes upon the ground, and stood some time with folded arms, stupid and motionless.-Then, snatching his sword, that hung against the wainscot, he sat him down, and, with a look of fixed attention, drew figures on the floor.-At last he started up, looked wild, and trembled; and like a woman, seized with her sex's fits, laughed out aloud, while the tears trickled down his face -so left the room. Stuke. Why this was madness. Bates. The madness of despair. Stuke. We must confine him then. A prison would do well. [A knocking at the door.] Hark! that knocking may be his. down. [Exit BATES.] Who's there? Go that way Enter LEWSON. Lew. An enemy, an open and avowed one. Stuke. Why am I thus broke in upon? This house is mine, Sir, and should protect me from insult and ill manners. Lew. Guilt has no place of sanctuary: wherever found, 'tis virtue's lawful game. The fox's hole and tiger's den are no security against the hunter. Stuke. Your business, Sir? Lew. To tell you that I know you. Why this confusion? that look of guilt and terror? -Is Beverley awake? Or has his wife told tales? The man that dares like you, should have a soul to justify his deeds, and courage to confront accusers,-not with a coward's fear to shrink beneath reproof. Stuke. Who waits there? Lew. By Heaven! he dies that interrupts [Aloud und in confusion. us. [Shutting the door.] You should have weighed your strength, Sir: and then, instead of climbing to high fortune, the world had marked you for what you are, a little paltry villain. Stuke. You think I fear you. Lew. I know you fear me. it. [Pulls him by the sleeve.] You wanted priThis is to prove vacy! A lady's presence took up your atten [ACT IV. tion! Now we are alone, Sir. Why, what a wretch! [Flings him from him.] The vilest inyet has this thing undone a man! by cunning sect in creation will turn when trampled on; and mean arts undone him! But we have found you, Sir; traced you through all your labyrinths. If you would save yourself, fall to confession. No mercy will be shown else. Stuke. First prove me what you think me. -Till then your threatenings are in vain,and for this insult, vengeance may yet be mine. then.-[Draws, and STUKELY retires.] Alas! Lew. Infamous coward! why, take it now, pity thee.-Yet that a wretch like this should overcome a Beverley! It fills me with astonishment!-A wretch, so mean of soul, that even desperation cannot animate him to look upon his enemy. You should not have thus soared, Sir, unless, like others of your black profession, you had a sword to keep the fools in awe your villany has ruined. Stuke. Villany! "Twere best to curb this there are laws, this outrage on my reputation license of your tongue; for know, Sir, while will not be borne with. the laws? those laws, which thou and thy inLew. Laws! dar'st thou seek shelter from Talk'st thou of reputation, too? when, under fernal crew live in the constant violation of? friendship's sacred name, thou hast betrayed, robbed, and destroyed? and affords noble declamation. Go preach Stuke. Ay, rail at gaming; 'tis a rich topic, against it in the city; you'll find a congregation in every tavern.. If they should laugh at you, fly to my lord, and sermonize it there. He'll thank you, and reform. wretch! the custom of my lord, or of the cit Lew. And will example sanctify a vice? no, that apes him, cannot excuse a breach of law, or make the Gamester's calling reputable. beggared Beverley? Is it for him that I am Stuke. Rail on, I say.-But is this zeal for treated thus? No! he and his wife might both have groaned in prison, had but the sister's fortune escaped the wreck, to have rewarded the disinterested love of honest Mr. Lewson. Lew. How do I detest thee for the thought! let me tell thee, and may it wring thy heart, But thou art lost to every human feeling. Yet that, though my friend is ruined by thy snares, thou hast unknowingly been kind to me. ingly. Lew. Thou hast assisted me in love; given Stuke. Thank me, and take her then. Stuke. Then know, imprudent man, he is indeed to be a villain! But I shall reach thee [Exit. Stuke. [Pausing.] Then ruin has inclosed me. Curse on my coward heart! I would be bravely villanous; but 'tis my nature to | Loaded with every curse that drives the soul shrink at danger, and he has found me. Yet to desperation! The midnight robber, as he fear brings caution, and that security-More walks his rounds, sees, by the glimmering mischief must be done to hide the past. Look lamp, my frantic looks, and dreads to meet Whither am I going? My home lies to yourself, officious Lewson-there may be me." there; all that is dear on earth it holds too; danger stirring. How now, Bates? yet are the gates of death more welcome to me-I'll enter it no more-Who passes there? 'Tis Lewson.-He meets me in a gloomy hour; and memory tells me he has been meddling with my fame. Enter BATES. Bates. What is the matter? "Twas Lewson, and not Beverley, that left you-I heard him loud-You seem alarmed too. Stuke. Ay, and with reason-we are discovered. Bates. I feared as much, and therefore cautioned you-but you were peremptory. Stuke. Thus fools talk ever; spending their idle breath on what is past, and trembling at the future. We must be active. Beverley, at worst, is but suspicious; but Lewson's genius, and his hate to me, will lay all open. Means must be found to stop him. Bates. What means? Stuke. Dispatch him. Nay, start not; desperate occasions call for desperate deeds. We live but by his death. Bates. You cannot mean it? [Going. Stuke. Stay-I must be heard, then answered. Perhaps the motion was too sudden, and human weakness starts at murder, though strong necessity compels it. I have thought long of this, and my first feelings were like yours; a foolish conscience awed me, which soon I conquered. The man that would undo me, nature cries out, undo. Brutes know their foes by instinct; and where superior force is given, they use it for destruction. Shall man do less? Lewson pursues us to our ruin; and shall we, with the means to crush him, fly from our hunter, or turn and tear him? "Tis folly even to hesitate. Bates. He has obliged me, and I dare not. Stuke. Why, live to shame, then, to beggary and punishment. You would be privy to the deed, yet want the soul to act it. Nay more, had my designs been levelled at his fortune, you had stept in the foremost.-And what is life without its comforts? Those you would rob him of; and, by a lingering death, add cruelty to murder. Henceforth, adieu to halfmade villains-there's danger in them. What you have got is yours; keep it, and hide with it-I'll deal my future bounty to those that merit it. Bates. What's the reward? Stuke. Equal division of our gains. I swear it, and will be just. Bates. Think of the means then. Stuke. He's gone to Beverley's-Wait for him in the street-"Tis a dark night, and fit for mischief. A dagger would be useful. Bates. He sleeps no more. Stuke. Consider the reward! when the deed's done, I have other business with you. Send Dawson to me. Bates. Think it already done-and so, fare- SCENE II.-The Street.-Stage darkened. Bev. How like an outcast do I wander! Enter LEWSON. Lew. Beverley! well met. I have been busy in your affairs. Bev. So I have heard, Sir; and now I must thank you as I ought. Lew. To-morrow I may deserve your thanks. Late as it is, I go to Bates. Discoveries are making that an arch villain trembles at. Bev. Discoveries are made, Sir, that you shall tremble at. Where is this boasted spirit, this high demeanour, that was to call me to account? You say, I have wronged my sister. -Now say as much. But, first be ready for defence, as I am for resentment. [Draws. Lew. What mean you? I understand you not. Bev. The coward's stale acquaintance! who, when he spreads foul calumny abroad, and dreads just vengeance on him, cries out, What mean you? I understand you not." Lew. Coward and calumny! Whence are those words? But I forgive and pity you. Bev. Your pity had been kinder to my fame: but you have traduced it; told a vile story to the public ear, that I have wronged my sister. Lew. "Tis false! Show me the man that dares accuse me. Bev. I thought you brave, and of a soul superior to low malice; but I have found you, and will have vengeance. This is no place for argument. Lew. Nor shall it be for violence. Imprudent man! who, in revenge for fancied injuries, would pierce the heart that loves him! But honest friendship acts from itself, unmoved by slander or ingratitude: the life you thirst for shall be employed to serve you.― You know me not. Bev. Yes; for the slanderer of my famewho, under show of friendship, arraigns me of injustice; buzzing in every ear foul breach of trust, and family dishonour. Lew. Have I done this? Who told you so? It pleased you to add threats too--You were to call me to account-Why, do it now then; I should be proud of such an arbiter. Lew. Put up your sword, and know me better. I never injured you. The base suggestion comes from Stukely; I see him and his aims. Bev. What aims? I'll not conceal it; 'twas Stukely that accused you. Lew. To rid him of an enemy-Perhaps of two-He fears discovery, and frames a tale of falsehood, to ground revenge and murder on. Bev. I must have proof of this. Lew. Wait till to-morrow then. Bev. I will. Lew. Good night-I go to serve you-Forget what's past, as I do; and cheer your family with smiles-To-morrow may confirm them. and make all happy. [Exit. Bev. [Pausing.] How vile and how absurd is man! His boasted honour is but another name for pride, which easier bears the consciousness of guilt, than the world's just reproofs! But 'tis the fashion of the times; and in defence of falsehood and false honour, men die martyrs. I knew not that my nature was so bad.[Stands musing. Enter BATES and JARVIS. Jur. This way the noise was; and yonder's my poor master. Butes. I heard him at high words with Lew son. Jar. I heard him too. Misfortunes vex him, Bates. Go to him, and lead him home.-I'll not be seen by him. [Exit. Bev. Starting.] What fellow's that? [Seeing JARVIS. Art thou a murderer, friend? Come, lead the way-I have a hand as mischievous as thine; a heart as desperate too.-Jarvis ! To bed, old man; the cold will chill thee. Jar. Why are you wandering at this late hour?-Your sword drawn too! For Heaven's sake, sheath it, Sir: the sight distracts me. Bev. Whose voice is that? [Wildly. Jar. "Twas mine, Sir: let me entreat you to give the sword to me. Bev. Ay, take it; quickly take it. Perhaps I am not so cursed, but Heaven may have sent thee at this moment to snatch me from perdi tion. Jar. Then I am blessed. Bev. Continue so, and leave me ; my sorrows are contagious. No one is blessed that's near me. Jar. I came to seek you, Sir. Bev. And now thou hast found me, leave me. My thoughts are wild, and will not be disturbed. Jar. Such thoughts are best disturbed. Jar. My weeping mistress.-Alas, forget your griefs, and let me lead you to her. The streets are dangerous. Bev. Be wise, and leave me then. The night's black horrors are suited to my thoughts. These stones shall be my resting-place. [Throws himself on the ground.] Here shall my soul brood o'er its miseries; till, with the fiends of hell and guilty of the earth, 1 start and tremble at the morning's light. Jar. Let patience, not despair, possess you. -Rise, I beseech you.-There's not a moment of your absence that my poor mistress does not mourn for. Bev. Have I undone her, and is she still so kind? [Starting up.] It is too much-My brain can't hold it. Oh, Jarvis! how desperate is that wretch's state, which only death or madness can relieve! Jar. Appease his mind, good Heaven, and give him resignation! Alas, Sir, could beings in the other world perceive the events of this, how would your parents' blessed spirits grieve for you, even in heaven!-Let me conjure you, by their honoured memories-by the sweet innocence of your yet helpless child, and by the ceaseless sorrows of my poor mistress, to rouse your manhood, and struggle with these griefs! Ber. Thou virtuous, good, old man! Thy tears and thy entreaties have reached my heart, through all its miseries. Jar. Be but resigned, Sir, and happiness may yet be yours. Hark! I hear voices.Come this way: we may reach home unnoticed. Bev. Unnoticed, didst thou say? Alas! I dread no looks but of those wretches I have made at home. Oh, had I listened to thy honest warnings, no earthly blessing had been wanting to me; but I have warred against the power that blessed me, and now am sentenced to the hell i merit. [Exeunt. SCENE III-STUKELY's Lodgings. Enter STUKELY and DAWSON. Stuke. Come hither, Dawson; my limbs are on the rack, and my soul shivers in me, till this night's business be complete.-Tell me thy thoughts; is Bates determined, or does he waver? Daw. At first, he seemed irresolute; wished the employment had been mine, and muttered curses on his coward hand, that trembled at the deed. Stuke. And did he leave you so? Daw. No; we walked together; and, sheltered by the darkness, saw Beverley and Lewson in warm debate: but soon they cooled; and then I left them to hasten hither; but not till 'twas resolved Lewson should die. Stuke. Thy words have given me life.-That quarrel, too, was fortunate; for, if my hopes deceive me not, it promises a rave to Beverley. Duw. You misconceive me. Lewson and he were friends. Stuke. But my prolific brain shall make them enemies. If Lewson falls, he falls by Beverley. Ask me no question, but do as I direct. This writ [Takes out a pocket-book.] for some days past I have treasured here, till a convenient time called for its use. That time is come: take it, and give it to an officer. It must be served this instant. [Gires a paper. Daw. On Beverley? Stuke. Look at it. It is for the sums that I have lent him. Daw. Must he to prison then? Stuke. I ask obedience, not replies. This night a gaol must be his lodging. 'Tis probable he is not gone home yet. Wait at his door, and see it executed. Daw. Upon a beggar? He has no means of payment. Stuke. Dull and insensible! If Lewson dies, who was it killed him? Why, he that was seen quarrelling with him; and I, that knew of Beverley's intents, arrested him in friendship.— A little late, perhaps; but it was a virtuous act, and men will thank me for it.-Now, Sir, you understand me. Daw. Most perfectly; and will about it. Stuke. Haste, then; and when it is done, come back and tell me. Bates. By his own door; he was leading me to his house. I pretended business with him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he was reaching at the bell. Stuke. And did he fall so suddenly? Bates. The repetition pleases you, I see.-I told you he fell without a groan. Char. None. He went out early, and knows not what has happened. Mrs. B. The clock strikes eight; I'll wait no longer. Oh, what a night was last night! I would not pass another such to purchase worlds by it.-My poor Beverley too! What must he have felt? The very thought distracts me!-To have him torn at midnight from me! A loathsome prison his habitation! A cold damp room his lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to lull him to his rest! and no reflections but to wound and tear him!-'Tis too horrible! to-I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me.-They should have parted soul and body first.-I was too tame. All that we Stuke. What heard you of him this morning? Bates. That the watch found him in their rounds, and alarmed the servants. I mingled with the crowd just now, and saw him dead in his own house. The sight terrified me. Stuke. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise and accuse us. We have no living enemy fear unless 'tis Beverley; and him we have lodged safe in prison. Butes. Must he be murdered too? Stuke. No; I have a scheme to make the law his murderer.-At what hour did Lewson fall? Bates. The clock struck twelve as I turned to leave him. 'Twas a melancholy bell, I thought tolling for his death. Stuke. The time was lucky for us.-Beverley was arrested at one, you say? [TO DAWSON. Daw. Exactly. Stuke. Good! We'll talk of this presently. The women were with him, I think. Daw. And old Jarvis. I would have told you of them last night, but your thoughts were too busy. "Tis well you have a heart of stone, the tale would melt it else. Stuke. Out with it, then. Daw. I traced him to his lodgings; and, pretending pity for his misfortunes, kept the door open while the officers seized him. "Twas a damned deed-but no matter-I followed my instructions. Stuke. And what said he? Daw. He upbraided me with treachery; called you a villain; acknowledged the sums you had lent him; and submitted to his fortune. Stuke. And the women? Daw. For a few moments astonishment kept them silent. They looked wildly at one another, while the tears streamed down their cheeks. But rage and fury soon gave them words; and then, in the very bitterness of despair, they cursed me, and the monster that had employed me. Stuke. And you bore it with philosophy? Duw. Till the scene changed, and then 1 melted. I ordered the officers to take away their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would have followed him; but we forbade them. "Twas then they fell upon their knees, the wife fainted, the sister raving, and both, with all the eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften us. I never felt compassion till that moment; and, had the officers been moved like me, we had left the business undone, and fled with curses on ourselves. But their hearts were steeled by custom. The sighs of beauty, and the pangs of affection, were beneath their pity. They tore him from their arms, and fodged him in prison, with only Jarvis to com fort him. Stuke. There let him lie, till we have further business with him.-But how to proceed will require time and thought.-Come along with me; the room within is fitted for privacy.-But no compassion, Sir. [To DAWSON.] We want leisure for't.-This way. [Exeunt. SCENE 11.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings. Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Mrs. B. No news of Lewson yet? Char. You must not talk so. could we did; and Jarvis did the rest. The faithful creature will give him comfort. See where he comes! His looks are cheerful too! Enter JARVIS. Mrs. B. Are tears then cheerful? Alas, he weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte. Char. How does your master, Jarvis? Jar. I am old and foolish, Madam; and tears will come before my words. But don't you weep; [To MRS. BEVERLEY.] I have a tale of joy for you. Mrs. B. Say but he's well, and I have joy enough. Jar. All shall be well.-I have news for him, that will make his poor heart bound again. Fie upon old age! How childish it makes me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it. Mrs. B. What is it, Jarvis ? Jur. Your uncle, Madam, died yesterday. Mrs. B. My uncle!-Oh, Heavens! Char. How heard you of his death? Jur. His steward came express, Madam; I met him in the street, inquiring for your lodgings. I should not rejoice, perhaps but he was old, and my poor master a prisoner. Now he shall live again. Oh, 'tis a brave fortune! and 'twas death to me to see him a pri soner. Char. How did he pass the night, Jarvis? Jar. Like a man dreaming of death and horrors. When they led him to his cell, he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and lay speechless till day-break. I spoke to him, but he would not hear me; and when I persisted, he raised his hand at me, and knit his brow soI thought he would have struck me. him be of comfort.-Be gone, old wretch, says he. My wife! my child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no comfort! Then, falling upon his knees, he imprecated curses upon himself. I bid Mrs. B. This is too horrible! But we have staid too long. Let us haste to comfort him, [Exeunt. or die with him. SCENE III-A Prison. Bev. Why there's an end then; I have judg ed deliberately, and the result is death! How the self-murderer's account may stand I know not, but this I know-the load of hateful life oppresses me too much-The horrors of my soul are more than I can bear-[Offers to kneel.] Father of mercy!-I cannot prayDespair has laid his iron hand upon me, and sealed me for perdition-Conscience! con. science! thy clamours are too loud!-Here's 3 P |