Biron. My little boy! Isa. My life, but to have heard You were alive-which now too late I find. [Aside. Biron. 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- [Aside. Biron. How does my child, my boy, my father too? I hear he's living still. Isa. Well both, both well; And may he prove a father to your hopes, Though we have found him none. Biron. Come, no more tears. Isa. Seven long years of sorrow for your loss, Have mourn'd with me Biron. And all my days to come Shall be employ'd in a kind recomp_nse For thy afflictions.-Can't I see my boy? Isa. He's gone to bed: I'll have him brought to you. Biron. To-morrow I shall see him; I want rest Myself, after this weary pilgrimage. Isa. Alas! what shall I get for you? Biron. Nothing but rest, my love! To-night I would not Be known, if possible, to your family. I see my nurse is with you; her welcome 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. Biron. Grant me but life, good heav'n, and give the means To make this wondrous goodness some amends: And let me then forget her, if I can! O! she deserves of me much more, than I Weighs down the portions you provide your sons: [Bursts into Tears. What has she, in my absence, undergone? Re-enter ISABELLA, Isa. I have obey'd your pleasure; Ev'ry thing is ready for you. Biron. I can want nothing here; possessing thee, Of happiness; there's no room for a wish, I know the way, my love; I shall sleep sound. Biron. By no means; I've been so long a slave to others' pride, [Goes in. Isa. I'll but say my pray'rs, and follow you My pray'rs! no, I must never pray again. What heav'n could give, I have enjoy'd; but now And what's to come is a long line of woe. I promis'd him to follow-him! Is he without a name? Biron, my husband, [Weeps. -What's to be done for something must be done. Works the right way to rid me of 'em all; Re-enter BIRON. Biron. Despair, and rest for ever! Isabella! Isa. I am contented to be miserable, Biron. Look up, my love, I never did deceive thee, Isa. If marriages Are made in heav'n, they should be happier: Biron. Has marriage made thee wretched? Biron. That I have made thee miserable. If it said otherwise. Biron. And yet you said Your marriage made you miserable. I've said too much, unless I could speak all. Biron. 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; Isa. You'll tell nobody- [Distractedly. 1sa. Indeed I am not; I knew that before; But where's the remedy? Biron. Rest will relieve thy cares: come, come, no more; I'll banish sorrow from thee. Isa. Banish first the cause. Biron. Heav'n knows how willingly. Isa. You are the only cause. Biron. Am I the cause? the cause of thy misfortunes? Isa. The fatal, innocent cause of all my woes. Biron. Is this my welcome home? This the reward Of all my miseries, long labours, pains, And pining wants of wretched slavery, Which I've out-liv'd, only in hopes of thee; Am I thus paid at last for deathless love, And call'd the cause of thy misfortunes now? Isa. Inquire no more; 'twill be explain'd too soon. Biron. What! canst thou leave me too? 1sa. Pray let me go: For both our sakes, permit me Biron. Rack me not with imaginations [Going off. [He stays her. Of things impossible-Thou canst not mean What thou hast said-Yet something she must mean. Twas madness all-Compose thyself, my love! The fit is past; all may be well again : Let us to bed. Isa. To bed! You've rais'd the storm Will sever us for ever. Biron. Nothing shall ever part us. Isa. Oh! there's a fatal story to be told; Be deaf to that, as heav'n has been to me! When thou shalt hear how much thou hast been wrong'd, And throw me like a pois'nous weed away: When I am dead, forgive and pity me. [Exit. 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 me. She shall-if the sad tale at last must come! She is my fate, and best can speak my doom. [Exit. |