The British Drama: Illustrated

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,
Thrust out of their nobility of birth
And family, and tainted into trades.
Shall I be one of them? bow, and retire,
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's a birthright, too,
That he will seize. Besides, if Biron lives,
He will unfold some practices, which I
Cannot well answer, therefore he shall die;
This night must be disposed of: I have means
That will not fail my purpose. Here he 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 mə
An act of kindness, and the height of mercy;
But I thank you, sir.

Vil. Take care, and lead him in.

SCENE IV.-A Chamber.

Enter ISABELLA.

(Falls.)

Vil. Alas! he faints! some help there!
Bir. 'Tis all in vain; my sorrows soon will end.
Oh, Villeroy! let a dying wretch entreat you
To take this letter to my father. My lsabella!
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;

My wife, my Isabella! Bless my child!
I can no more. Hear me, heav'n! Oh, support
And take a poor unhappy-

Vil. He's gone!

My care of her is lost in wild amaze.
Who waits there?

Isa. (Recovering.) Where have I been?
thinks I stand upon

(Dies.)

[Exit. Me

(He is led in.) The brink of life, ready to shoot the gulph
That lies between me and the realms of rest,
But still detain'd, I cannot pass the strait;
Deny'd to live, and yet I must not die;
Doom'd to come back, like a complaining ghost,

Isa. Murder my husband! Oh! I must not dare To my unbury'd body..Here it lies:
To think of living on; my desperate hand,

In a mad rage, may offer it again;

Stab me anywhere but there. Here's room enough
In my own breast to act the fury in,
The proper scene of mischief.

(Going to stab herself, Villeroy runs in
and prevents her, taking the dagger
from her.)

Vil. Angels defend and save thee!

Attempt thy precious life!

Lay violent hands upon thy innocent self!

Isa. Swear am innocent, and I'll believe you.
What would you have with me? Pray let me go.
Are you there, sir? You are the very man
Have done all this. You would have made

Me believe you married me; but the fool
Was wiser.

Vil. Dost thou not know me, love?

'Tis Villeroy, thy husband.

Isa. I have none; no husband;

(Throws herself on Biron's body.)

My body, soul, and life! A little dust,
To cover our cold limbs in the dark grave;
There, there we shall sleep safe and sound to-
gether.

Enter VILLEROY, with Servants.

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

Remove her from the body.

Isa. Never, never!

(Servants going to raise her.)

You have divorced us once, but shall no more.
Help! help me, Biron! Ha! bloody, and dead!
O, murder! murder! you have done this deed.
Vengeance and murder! Bury us together:
Do anything but part us.

Vil. Gently, gently raise her.

She must be forced 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!

Enter COUNT BALDWIN, CARLOS, BELFORD, MAURICE, EGMONT, with Servants.

C. Bald. O! do I live to this unhappy day? Where is my wretched son?

C'ar. Where is my brother?

(They see him, and gather about the body.)

Vil. I hope, in heav'n,

Car. Can'st thou pity him?

Wish him in heav'n, when thou hast done a deed, That must for ever cut thee from the hopes

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 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?
Maur. Rise, sir; there is a comfort in revenge,
Which is left you.
(To C. Baldwin.)

Car. Take the body hence.

(Biron carried off.) C. Bald. What could provoke you? Vil. Nothing could provoke me To a base murder, which, 1 find, you think Me guilty off. 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.

Cur. What they can say! Why, what should servants say?

They are his accomplices, his instruments,
And will not charge themselves.

If they could

Vil. Did you engage upon your private wrongs, Or were employ'd?

Ped. He rover did us wrong.

Vil. You were set on, then?

Ped. We were set on.

Vil. What do you know of me?

Ped. Nothing, nothing:

You saved his life, and have discover'd me.
Vil. He has acquitted me,

If you would be resolved of any thing,

He stands upon his answer.

Bel. Who set you on to act this horrid deed?

C. Bald I'll know the villain; give me quick his name,

Or I will tear it from thy bleeding heart.

Ped. I will confess.

C. Bald. Do, then.

Ped. It was my master; Carlos, your own son. C. Bald. Oh, monstrous! monstrous! most un

natural!

(Gires it to C. Baldwin.)

I dare deliver it. It speaks of me,

I pray to have it read.

C. Bald. You know the band?
Bel. I know 'tis Biron's hand.

C. Bald. Pray read it. (Bedford reads the letter.) Sir,-1 find I am come only to lay my death at your door. I am now going out of the world, but cannot forgive you, nor my brother Carlos for not hindering my poor wife, Isabella, from marrying with Villeroy; when you both knew, from so many letters, that I was alive. BIRON.

Vil. How did you know it, then?
C. Bald. Amazement all!

Enter CARLOS, wi'h Officers.

Oh, Carlos! are you come. Your brother here,
Here, in a wretched letter, lays his death
To you and me. Have you done anything
To hasten his sad end?

Car. Bless me, sir! I do anything? who, I?
C. Bald. He talks of letters that were sent to us.
Inever heard of any. Did you know

He was alive?

Car. Alive! Heaven knows, not I.

C. Bald. Had you no news of him, from a report, Or letter, never?

Car. Never, never, I.

Bel. That's strange, indeed: I know he often writ

To lay before you the condition

(To C. Baldwin.)

C. Bald. Why hast thou done all this? Car. Why, that which damns most men bas ruin'd me;

Biron stood

The making of my fortune.
Between me and your favour; while he lived,
I had not that; hard'y was thought a son,
And not at all akin to your estate.

1 could not bear a younger brother's lot,
To live depending upon courtesy.

Had you provided for me like a father,
I had been still a brother.

C. Bald. 'Tis too true;

I never loved thee as I should have done;
It was my sin, and I am punish'd for't.
Oh, never may distinction rise again
In families! let parents be the same

To all their children; comn.cn in their care,
And in their love of them. I am unhappy.
For loving one too well.

Vil. You knew your brother lived; why did you take

Such pains to marry me to Isabella?
Car. I had my reasons for't.

Vil. More than I thought you had.
Car. But one was this:

I knew my brother loved his wife so well,

That, if he ever should come home again,
He could not long outlive the loss of her.
Bel. If you rely'd on that, why did you kill him?
Car. To make all sure. Now you are answer'd
all.

Where must I go? I am tired of your questions.
C. Bald. I leave the judge to tell thee what thou

art;

A father cannot find a name for thee.
Take him away.
(Carlos led off.)
Grant me, sweet heav'n! the patience to go
through

The torment of my cure. Here, here begins
The operation. Alas! she's mad.

Enter ISABELLA, distracted; and her child running from her.

Vil. My Isabella, poor, unhappy wretch! What can I say to her?

Isa. Nothing, nothing; 'tis a babbling world; I'll hear no more on't. When does the court sit? I have a cause to try. Will you not hear it?

Then I must appeal

To the bright throne. Call down the heav'nly powers

To witness how you use me.

C. Bald. Pray, give her way. She'll hurt no

body.

Isa. What have you done with him? He was here but now;

I saw him here. Oh, Biron, Biron! where,
Where have they hid thee from me? He is gone.
But here's a little flaming cherubim-
Will nothing do? I did not hope to find
Justice on earth; 'tis not in heav'n neither.
Birou has watch'd his opportunity-
Softly; he steals it from the sleeping gods,
And sends it thus--Ha, ha, ha!
Now I laugh at you; I defy you all,
You tyrant murderers!

(Stabs herself.)

C. Bald. Oh, thou most injured innocence! Yot live,

Live but to witness for me to the world.
How much I do repent me of the wrongs,

The unnatural wrongs, which I have heap'd on thee,

And have puil'd down this judgment on us all. Vil. Oh, speak! speak but a word of comfort to me!

C. Bald. If the most tender father's care and love

Of thee, and thy poor child, can make amends,
Oh, yet look up and live!

Isa. Where is that little wretch?

AN OPERA, IN THREE ACTS.

ALTERED FROM GENERAL BURGOYNE, BY C. DIBDIN, JUN.

Moll F.-" AND I AM A WOMAN OF FASHION."-Act iii, scene 4.

Persons Represented.

АСТ І. SCENE I.

Ann.

Both.

At the close of the Overture, a peal of bells is heard at a distance, the curtain continuing down; when the peal is nearly finished, the curtain rises and discovers a magnificent Entrance to a Park, with a View of a Gothic Castle on an eminence at a dis tance. On the side scene, near the park-gate, the outside of a small neat Farm-house, with a bank of urf before the door, on which SOPHIA and ANNETTE are seated, and at work. Annette throws down her work, and runs to meet PEGGY, who enters immediately on the other side. Sophia continues to work pensively.

DUET.-PEGGY AND ANNETTE.
Peggy Hark! hark! the merry peal!

My spirits are all prancing;
Your looks declare the joy you feel.

(To Annette.)

My litle heart is dancing.

When the merry b lls go ding, ding,
My heart beats time as I trip along;
And my eyes impart

How light my heart;

While all the burden of my song,
Fal, fal la, ding, ding, dong.

Peggy. Keep it up, jolly ringers; ding, ding, dong! and away with it again; it puts my spirits quite in a heyday. I never hear a merry peal but my heart beats time to it.

Ann. Ay, and your tongue too, Peggy.

Peggy. To be sure 1 do rattle away; but when good nature sets a woman's tongue a-going, they must have very bad ears for music who wish to stop it. What say you, my little foreigner?

Ann. You know, Peggy. my spirits are generally in time and tune with yours. I was out of my wits for your coming back, to kuow what was going on. Is all this for the wake?

Peggy. Wake! a hundred wakes together wouldn't make such a day as this is like to be. Our new landlord, who has bought all this estate of Castle Manor, has arrived; and Rental, the steward, who went up to London upon the purchase, is with him, and is to be continued steward. He has been presenting him all the tenants, and they are still flocking up to the castle to get a sight of Sir John-Sir John

Ann. What is his name?

Peggy. I declare I had almost forgot it, though I've heard all about him-Sir John Contrast, knight and baronet, and as rich as Mexico. An ox is to be roasted whole, and all the country will be assembled; such feasting and dancing!

Ann. Oh, how I long to see it! I hope papa will let us go; don't you, sister? (To Sophia.)

Sophia. No, indeed, my hopes are just the reverse; I hate nothing so much as a crowd and a noise. Enjoy the gaiety for which your temper is so well fitted, Annette; but do not grudge me what 18 equally to mine, retirement.

Ann. I grudge it you only, Sophy, because it nourishes pain, which sprightly objects would convert to pleasure.

AIR-ANNETTE

A nightingale sung in a sycamore grove;
A lover he listen'd, with sighs, to the lay;
'Twas sweet, but all plaintive, like languishing love⚫
"Heigho!" cried the lorer, "ah, well-a-da"!"
The lover quite restless that night found his pillow,
Went to sleep in despair and still dreamt of the
willow.

The lorer he listen'd next morn to a lark,

Whose song better sooth'd him because it was gay; Ilis hope grew more strong, as his mind grew less dark:

Heigho!" he renounc'd, and “ah, well-a-day!"
The lover that night sweetly slept on his pillow,
And dreamt of gay garlands; ne'er once of the willow.

Peggy. Well said, ma'amselle; though I hate the French in my heart, as a true English woman ought, I'll be friends with their sunshine as long as 1 live, for making thy blood so lively in thy veins. Were it not for Annette and me, this house would be worse than a nunnery.

Sophia. Heigho!

Ann. Ay, that's the old tune; it's all night long, sigh, sigh! pine, pine! I can hardly get a wink of sleep.

Sophia. Consider my situation, Peggy. Peggy. To be sure I do, and that's why I want you to consider my advice. Helpless souls! you haven't a single faculty to make the pot boil between you. I should like to see you at work in a dairy; your little nice fingers may serve to rear an unfledged linnet, but would make sad work at cramming poultry for market.

Sophia. But you, my good Peggy, ought not to upbraid me; for you have helped to spoil me, by taking every care and trouble off my hands: the humility of our fortunes ought to have put us more upon a level.

Peggy. That's a notion I can't bear. I speak my mind familiarly to be sure, because I mean harm; but I never pretend to more than a servant, and you were born to be a lady: I'm sure on't; I see it, as sure as the gipsies, in every turn of your

countenance.

Sophia. Have done, Peggy, or you'll make me seriously angry: this is your particular day of non

sense.

Peggy. No nonsense, but a plain road to fortune. Our young landlord, Sir John Contrast's son, is expected ever hour; now, get but your silly passion for Trumore out of your head, and my life on't, 'twill do. I dreamt last night I saw you with a bunch of nettles instead of a nosegay, and that's a sure sign of a wedding: let us watch for him at the park gate, and take your aim; you eyes will carry further, and hit surer, than the best gun your father has.

Ann. Peggy, how odd you are.

Peggy. Yes, my whole life has been an oddity: all made up of chequers and chances; you don't know half of it; but Margery Heartease is always honest and gay, and has a joke for the best and worst of times.

Peggy. And how is it over to end? The two fathers, yours and your lover's, are specially circum-He's stanced to make a family alliance. A curate, with forty pounds a year, has endowed his son with two fine qualities to entail his poverty, learning and modesty; and my gentleman (my master, heaven bless him!) is possessed of this mansion, a farm of a hundred acres, a gun, and a brace of spaniels. I should have thought the example so long before your eyes, of living upon love, might have made you

Sophia. Charmed with it, Peggy; and so indeed Iam: it was the life of a mother I can never forget. I do not pass an hour without reflecting on the happiness she diffused and enjoyed.

Peggy. Then if you'd follow her example, put a little less sorrow in your sentiment, and a little more sunshine in your countenance, and never sacrifice the main chance for moonshine.

And we laugh'd when we had not a shilling. gone to the wars; heav'n send him a prize! For his pains he is welcome to spend it; example, I know, is more merry than wise, But, lord help me! I never shall mend it.

Ann. It would be a thousand pities you eve should

Peggy. But here comes your father and Rental, the steward; they seem in deep discourse. Sophia. Let us go in, then; it might displease my father to interrupt them.

[Exit into the house.

Peggy. Go thy ways, poor girl; thou art more afraid of being interrupted in discoursing with thy own simple heart.

Ann. Peggy, when do you think my sighing time will come?

« Назад Продовжити »

Книги

The British Drama: Illustrated, Том 1