In you, 'twas avarice, insolence, and pride. B. Will. Do! you must shew us the house, | In me, 'twas foolish guilt and disobedience; appoint the time and place, and lure your master thither-We'll take care of him, without trouble. your Mos. 'Twas love in me, and gratitude in you. Alic. 'Twas insolence in you, meanness in me, And madness in us both. My careful parents, In scorn of your presumption and my weakness, Gave me in marriage to a worthy gentleman, Of birth and fortune equal to my own. Three years I lived with him without reproach, And made him in that time the happy father Of two most lovely children. I too was happy; At least I lived in hopes I might be so: For time, and gratitude, and Arden's love, I hoped might quench my guilty flame for you, And make my heart a present worthy him. Mos. And dost thou glory in thy perjuries? In love, inconstancy alone is a crine. Think on the ardour of our youthful passion; Think how we played with love; nor thought it guilt, Till thy first falsehood; call it not obedience! Thy marriage with this Arden made me despe My promised faith! Mos. First, let the world dissolve. Alic. There is no joy, nor peace for you, or me: All our engagements cannot but be fatal. Till then, farewell.-[Aside.] Now, fortune, do wretched. I should have banished him my sight for ever. I'll bear my wrongs, for sure I have been wronged. Frank. To cast away, and on suspicion only, Unjust, and cruel to yourself. [Clock strikes ten.] The clock has strucken ten. Ard. I thought it more. Frank. I thought it not so much. Ard. Why, thus it is: Our happy hours are few, and fly so swift, Frank. Come, let us to rest. Impartial as the Ard. True, for time brings death, Is it life chequered with the sleep of death? But, if ye parley with the foe, you're lost. [Exit. Heaven send you good repose. SCENE III.-Another room in Arden's house. ARDEN and FRANKLIN sitting together on a couch: ARDEN thoughtful. Frank. Nay, wonder not. Though every cir [Gives Franklin a candle. [Exit Franklin. Michael attends his master And guard his life with hazard of my own, death. I've left the doors unbarred. Hark! 'twas the latch. 3 P Ard. To bed, Enter ARDEN and FRANKLIN, undressed at se- And, as you prize my favour, be more careful. veral doors. [Exit Michael. Frank. Tis very cold. Once more, my friendArd. Good night. [Exit Arden. SCENE IV.-Changes to the street before Arden's Enter BLACK WILL, and SHAKEBAG. ACT IV. SCENE I.-An Inn, the Flower-de-Luce. MOSBY and MICHAEL. Mich. Though I with oaths appealed to con- That Arden rose, and shut the doors himself, ed me. We must desist-Franklin and sweet Maria To interfere. Mos. Such ever be the employ Of him I hate! Mich. The mourning fair, all changed, Bid opportunity and fortune wait; Green. How strange a providence attends this 'Tis vain to strive with Heaven.-Let's give it o'er. Mos. No; when I do, may I be curst for ever, Hopeless to love, and hate without revenge! May I ne'er know an end of disappointment, But, prest with hard necessity, like thee, By me conjures you (and with tears she spake it), Live the contempt of my insulting foe! Not to involve yourself, and her, in ruin, By seeking to renew a correspondence, She has renounced for ever. Mos. How! confusion! Green. I scorn the abject thought. Had he a life Hung on each hair, he dies !—If we succeed, Mich. And hopes, as Heaven, in answer to her This very night Maria shall be thine. prayers, Hath reconciled her duty and affection, You will approve her resolution Mos. Doubtless! Mich. And learn, by her example, to subdue Your guilty passion. Mos. Ha, ha, ha! exquisite woman! So! rather than not change, she'll love her husband! But she will not persevere. Mich. Yes, sure she will. Mos. Have I, then, slighted her whole sighing sex, Mich. I am a man again. Mos. I've thought a way, [To Michael. That may be easy under friendship's mask, Mos. You know him not. You, with your ruffians, in the street shall seek I follow at some distance. They begin Mar. Never was anguish, never grief, like hers: Relenting Arden kindly soothe her sorrows, Frank. Their mutual peace, Maria! Ard. No, Franklin, no; your friendly cares are Were I but certain she had wronged my bed, Rumour has fewer tongues than she has ears; Ard. No more, no more: I know its plagues; but where's the remedy? Frank. She shall heal these wounds. Ard. She's my disease, and can she be my cure? My friends should rather teach me to abhor her, To tear her image from my bleeding heart! ous wrongs, I'll meet, with honourable confidence, Would seem impertinence. [Exeunt Franklin and Maria. Ard. Be still, my heart! ALICIA enters, not seeing ARDEN. Alic. How shall I bear my Arden's just reproaches! Or can a reconcilement long continue, self-condemned, With tearful eyes, and trembling limbs, she stands. Alic. Fain would I kiss his footsteps; but that look, Where indignation seems to strive with grief, Ard. Who would think, Ard. Those tears, methinks, even if her guilt were certain, Might wash away her pains. Alic. Support me, Heaven! Ard. Curse on the abject thought! I shall relapse To simple dotage. She steals on my heart, She conquers with her eyes. If I but hear her voice, Nor earth, nor Heaven, can save me from her snares! O! let me fly if I have yet the power. Alic. O Arden! do not, do not leave me thus! [Kneels, and holds him. [She falls to the ground. Ard. And canst thou, Can woman pity, whom she hath undone? Why dost thou grasp my knees? what wouldst thou say, If thou couldst find thy speech? Alic. O! mercy, mercy! Ard. Thou hast had none on me; let go my hand! Why dost thou press it to thy throbbing heart, Alic. Then may it ne'er beat more! Thou treasure of more worth than mines of gold! Alic. I am, I will. I ne'er knew joy till now. 'Till happy night, farewell! My best Alicia, How will our friends rejoice, our foes repine, To see us thus ! [Exit. Alic. Thus ever may they see us! Sighs are the language of a broken heart, SCENE III.-The street. People at a distance, as at a fair. Enter ARDEN on one side, and BLACK WILL and SHAKEBAG on the other, GREEN directing them. B. Will. Shakebag, you'll second me—S’blood, give the way. [Jostles Arden. Shakebag. May we not pass the streets? Ard. I saw you not. |