I suppose. Stay, let me listen. I don't know that voice. Who can it be? Some of his libertine company, I suppose. Rob. My lady, if you will believe meLady Rest. Hold your tongue, man: let me hear. You want to hinder me, do you? Rob. Indeed, madam Lady Rest. Hold your tongue, I say; won't you hold your tongue? Go about your business, sir, go about your business. What does he say? [Listening.] I can't hear a word. Who is below there? Enter TATTLE, with a capuchin on. Lady Rest. So, Mrs Tattle, who is that at the door? Tat. A gentleman, madam, speaking to William. Lady Rest. And where have you been, mistress? How dare you go out, without my leave? Tat. Dear my lady, don't be angry with me. I was so terrified about what happened in the morning, and your ladyship was in such a perilous taking about it, that I went to desire Mrs Marmalet would justify herself and me. Lady Rest. Oh very well, Mrs Busy-Body. You have been there, have you? You have been to frame a story among yourselves, have you, and to hinder me from discovering? But I'll go to my lady Conquest myself. I have had no answer to my letter, and 'tis you have occasioned it. Thanks to your meddling! Tat. Dear my lady, if you will but give me leave: I have been doing you the greatest piece of service. I believe, in my conscience, there is something in what you suspect about sir John. Lady Rest. Do you? why? how? Tut. I have seen Mrs Marmalet, and I have made such a discovery! Lady Rest. Have you, Tattle? Well! What? speak, tell me; what is it? Tat. Robert has been there, madam, with a message from sir John, who wants to see her in the evening; and he has desired the base man! what has he desired? Now he is discovered. What has he desired? Tat. He has desired, madam-the poor gi does not know what to make of it-She is very sober and discreet, I assure you, madam-he has desired, madam, in the dusk of the evening, that Mrs Marmalet will come, and Lady Rest. How unlucky this is? The gentleman is coming. I have a mind not to see him : and yet I will, too. Tattle, do you step to my room; as soon as he goes, I will come to you, and hear all in private. [Exit TATTLE.] In the dusk of the evening he desires to see her: abandoned wretch! Enter BEVERLEY. Ber. Madam- [Bows. [Curtsies. Bev. I wanted a word with sir John Restless, madam. Lady Rest. About a picture? Bev. Yes, madam, a picture I had given to a lady; and, however insignificant in itself, it is to me of the highest consequence, as it may conduce to the explanation of an affair, in which the happiness of my life is concerned. Lady Rest. The lady is young? Bev. She is. Lady Rest. And handsome? Bev. In the highest degree; my heart is devoted to her; and I have reason to suspect, that a present from me is not of so much value as I could wish. To be plain, madam, I imagine she has given the picture away. Lady Rest. As I guessed: my suspicions are just. Bev. Your suspicions, madam! Did you suspect it was given to sir John Restless? Lady Rest. What I know of the matter shall be no secret to you. Pray, sir, have you spoke to the lady on this subject? Bev. I have, but she knows nothing of the matter; she has lost it, she has mislaid it, she Lady Rest. Blessings on you, Tattle: well; can give no account of it. go on: tell me all. Enter a Servant. What do you want, sir? Who called you? Go about your business. Ser. Madam, there is a gentleman wants to speak with sir John about a picture. Lady Rest. She has given it to sir John, sir, to shew him how little she regards it. Bev. Given it to him? Lady Rest. Given it to him, sir! Bev. Madam, I would not hurt your peace of Lady Rest. I had forgot me. It was he rap-mind; I would not give you an impression of sir ped at the door, I suppose? Ser. Yes, madam! Lady Rest. About a picture! This may lead to some further discovery. Desire the gentleman to step up stairs. [Erit Servant.] And so, Tattle, Robert has been there? Tat. Yes, madam. Lady Rest. And sir John wants to speak with Marmalet in the evening, and has desired-Oh! John, that may affect his character. Ludy Rest. Oh! sir, stand upon no ceremony with him; an injurious, false, licentious man! Bev. Is that his character? Lady Rest. Notoriously: he has made me miserable; false to his marriage vows, and warni in the pursuit of his pleasures abroad! I have not deserved it of him. Oh! sir John! sir John! [Cries. Bev. She weeps; the case is plain, and I am undone. Lady Rest. Pray, sir, what is the lady's name Bev. Belinda Blandford. Lady Rest. Belinda Blandford! So far I have discovered. Aside. Bev. Pray, madam, have you ever seen her? Lady Rest. Seen her, sir! yes, I have seen too much of her. Bev. You alarm me, madam! You have seen nothing improper, I hope? Lady Rest. I don't know what you call improper. But, pray, what ought one to think of a young lady thrown familiarly into a gentleman's arms? Bev. In his arms, madam! sir John's arms! Lady Rest. In sir John's! in open day; in the Park; under my very window; most familiarly, wantonly reclining in his very arms. Bev. Oh, Heavens ! Sir John. Yes, yes; he told me his name honestly enough. Beverley is his name; and my lady Restless, now your gallant, your paramour Lady Rest. He clasping her with equal free-is dom round the waist! Bev. False, false Belinda! Lady Rest. Both interchanging fond, mutual glances. Bev. Oh, madam! the whole is come to light, and I thank you for the discovery, though I am ruined by it. But give me leave: is all this certain ? Lady Rest. There can be no doubt, sir; these eyes beheld their amorous meeting. Bev. Saw it yourself? Lady Rest. Yes, all, all, sir. Sir John, I know, is capable of any thing, and you know what to think of Belinda, as you call her. Bev. I now know what to think: I have long had reason to suspect. Lady Rest. You have, sir? Then, the whole affair is plain enough. Bev. It is so. I meant an honourable connection with her;- -but Lady Rest. But you see, sir! Bev. Yes, I see, madamsir John has the picture? -you are sure Lady Rest. Sure, sir! it is your own picture. I had it in my hands but a moment, and he flew with ardour, with impetuosity, like a fury flew to it, and recovered it from me. What could be the meaning of all that violence? Bev. The meaning is too plain. Lady Rest. And, then, sir, when charged and pressed home with his guilt, most hypocritically, he pretended to believe it the portrait of some favourite of mine. But you know, sir, how false that insinuation is. Bev. Oh, madam! I can justify you-Ha, ha! that is but a poor evasion, and confirms me the more in my opinion. I return you many thanks, madam, and humbly take my leave. Lady Rest. Sir, I am glad you thought it prudent to speak to me about this affair. If any VOL. II. known. What do I see? By all my wrongs, the very man again, coming out of iny house before my face! BEVERLEY and ROBERT come out of the house. Bev. There, friend, there is something for your trouble. Rob. I thank your honour. Sir John. He bribes my servant, too; and the fellow takes it! Both in their trade-both in their trade! Bev. Could I have suspected her of such treachery? As I could wish: I take that to be sir John Restless. Sir John. This is he to whom I have so many obligations. [Aside. Bev. Well encountered: your servant, sir. Sir John. My servant, sir! 1 rather take it you are my lady's servant. 1 Bev. You, if I don't mistake, sir John, are a pretty general servant of the ladies. Pray, sir, have not you a picture of mine in your pocket? Sir John. That, I suppose, you have heard from my good lady within there? Bev. Yes, sir; and I have heard a great deal more from my lady. Sir John. I don't in the least doubt it. Bev. Sir, I do not mean to work myself up into any choler about such a trifling bauble. Since the lady has thought proper to give it you Sir John. Do her justice, pray; she did not give it; so far she was true to you. I took it from her, sir. Bev. Took it from her! That shews he is upon easy terms. [Aside.] It is of no consequence to me; I despise it, and you are welcome to make what use you will of it. This I will only say, that you have made me miserable. Sir John. What, I have interrupted your happiness? Ber. You have. 5 D Sir John. And, no doubt, you think it cruel of me so to do? Bev. Call it by what name you will: you have ruined me with the woman I doted on to distraction. Sir John. A candid declaration! And so, sir, you doted on her, and never reflected that you were doing me the least injury? Bev. Injury!-I promise you, sir, I will never injure you again, and so you may set your mind at peace. I here declare, I never will hold farther intercourse with her. Sir John. Oh! that is too late for me. I have now done with her myself. You are very welcome to the lady, sir! you may take her home with you as soon as you please. I forswear her; and so I shall tell my lady this moment. [Going. Bev. That will make her ladyship happy, no doubt. Sir John. Yes, I dare say you know it will. Sir John. She did !—why, then, you may depend I shall keep my word, and my lady may depend upon it, too. And that, I suppose, will make you both happy, sir? Bev. My happiness is past recalling: I disdain all further connection with the lady. Sir John. Ay, you are tired of her? Bev. I loath her, detest her, hate her, as much as I ever loved her. Sir John. And so do I, too, I assure you. And so I shall tell my lady this very instant. Your servant, sir. If I can find proof sufficient, you shall hear of me, I promise you. [Exit SIR JOHN. Bev. I see how it is: she has been connected with him, till she has palled his very appetite. Sdeath, I'll seek her this moment, upbraid her with her falsehood, and then-by heavens! I shall do it with regret. I feel a tug at my heartstring but, were I to be torn piece-meal, this shall be our last interview! : Enter BELINDA, CLARISSA, and Bellmont. Cla. My dear Belinda, I know you. Come, we will do the good-natured thing by you, and leave you to yourselves. Success attend you. Come, Mr Bellmont. [Exeunt. Belin. Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train, Fair Sacharissa loved, but loved in vain. Bev. Po! po! [Looking peevishly at her. Belin. Won't you know me, sir? Bev. Yes, madam, I know you: it is but too true, that I know you. Belin. Still gloomy and discontented! Come, come, under pain of my displeasure, brighten up this moment. Bev. Silly, idle, ridiculous! Belin. Take care of what you are about. When I proclaim a pardon, you had better embrace it, than reduce yourself to the necessity of sighing, vowing, protesting, writing to me, following me up and down, kneeling at my feet, imploring forgiveness Bev. Madain, you will never again see me humbled to that low degree. Belin. Upon my word! ha, ha, ha! Bev. Oh! you may laugh, madam: you have too long imposed upon my fond, easy credulity. But the witchery of your charms is over. Belin. Very well, sir! and you are your own man again? Bev. I am, madam; and you may be your own woman again, or any body's woman, or every body's. Belin. You grow rude, sir! Bev. It is time to wave all ceremony, and to tell you plainly, that your falsehoodBelin. My falsehood, sir! Bev. Your falsehood!- -I know the whole story. I loved you once, Belinda; tenderly loved you, and, by Heaven, I swear it, it is with sorrow, that I can no longer adore you. It is with anguish, that I now bid you an everlasting farewell! [Going. Belin. Explain, sir: what action of my life? Bev. Your prudence forsook you at last. It was too glaring; too manifest in open day. Belin. Too manifest in open day! Mr Bever Belin. Alas-a-day! poor soul! see where he takes his melancholy walk! Did not I tell you, Clarissa, that the stricken deer could not quit thisley, I shall hate you. place? Cla. And did not I tell you, Belinda, that you could not keep away from the pursuit? Bel Pray, madam, do you want to be in at the death, or do you mean to bring the poor thing to life again? Belin. I what do you mean? You brought me this way. Cla. Well! if that is the case, we had as good go home, for I want my tea. Belin. Po! not yet it is not six o'clock. Belin. What do ye laugh at? Cla. At you, my dear: why, 'tis past seven. Oh! Belinda, you are the stricken deer, I find, Belin. Who, I? Not I, truly; I Bev. All circumstances inform against you: my picture given away! Belin. Insolent, provoking, wrong-headed man! -I'll confirm him in his error, to torment him as he deserves. [Aside.] Well, sir, what if I chose to give it away? I am mistress of my own actions, am I not? Bev. I know that, madam: I know that; and I am not uneasy, madam. Belin. So it seems poor man? s—ha, ha !—why do you sigh, Bev. Sigh, madam! I disdain it. Belin. I am glad of it; now, that is so manly! but pray, watch yourself well, hold a guard upon all your passions, otherwise they will make a fool of you again. Belin. Ha, ha! poor Mr Beverley! why should you be in a piteous taking, because I, in the gaiety of my heart, give away a picture I set no value on, or walk with a gentleman I do set a value on, or lean on his arm, or make the man happy, by letting him draw on my glove? Bev. Or draw off your glove, madam? Bev. Yes, or-or-or take any other liberties? Bev. You may make light of it, madam, but Belin. Why, yes, a generous temper always makes light of the favours it confers. Bev. And some generous tempers will make light of any thing to gratify their inclinations. Madam, I have done: I abjure you, eternally abjure you. [Going. Belin. Bon voyage! Bev. Don't imagine that you will see me again. Belin. Adieu.- -Well, what, coming again? Why do you linger so? [Repeats affectedly, Thus, o'er the dying lamp, th' unsteady flame Bev. With what an air she carries it! I have but this one thing more to tell you by Heaven I loved you, to excess I loved you! such is my weakness, I shall never quite forget you. I shall be glad, if, hereafter, I hear of your happiness, and, if I can, no dishonour shall befall you. Belin. Ha, ha!-Well, my obliging, generous Don Quixotte, go and fight windmills, and castles in the air, and a thousand phantoms of your own creation, for your Dulcinea's sake! ha, ha, ha! Bev. Confusion! Take notice, madam, that this is the last time of my troubling you. Belin. I shall expect you to-morrow morning. Bev. No, never; by Heaven, never! Belin. Exactly at ten; your usual hour. Bev. May I perish at your feet, if ever again— Belin. Oh, brave! but remember ten; kaeeling, beseeching, imploring, your hand upon your | heart—“ Belinda, won't you forgive me? Bev. Daination!- I have done : I here bid you an eternal adieu !-farewell for ever! [Exit BEV. Belin. I shall wait breakfast for you. Ha, ha! poor Beverley! he cannot command his temper. But, in spite of all his faults, I love him still. What the poet says of great wits, may be applied to all jealous lovers: -To madness sure they're near allied; And thin partitions do their bounds divide. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.-An apartment in BEVERLEY'S house. Enter BEVERLEY. Bev. So, Belinda, I have escaped your snares: I have recovered my freedom. And yet, if she had not proved false, what a treasure of love and happiness had I in store! her beauty—po !—no more of her beauty: it is external, superficial, the mere result of features and complexion. A deceitful syren, to draw the unwary into a dream of happiness, and then wake him into wonder at the storms and tempests that gather round him! I have done with her; I'll think no more of her. Oh, Belinda, Belinda! Enter BRUSH. Brush. Please your honour Bev. She, that in every part of life seemed so amiable. Brush. Sir ever. [Hums a tune.]—I swear for ever—[Sings.] Are you there, Brush? Brush. Yes, your hot our: here is a letter. Bev. So unforescen, so unexpected a discovery !-Well, well, well!——What did you say, Brush? Brush. A letter for your honour, sir. Bev. Give it to me another time. [Walks about.] I'll not make myself uneasy about her. Brush. I fancy your honour will be glad to have it now? Bev. What did you say? Brush. It is a letter from Madam Belinda, sir. Bev. Belinda! I won't read it: take it away. Brush. Hey, which way is the wind now! Some quarrel, I suppose: but the falling out of lovers-Must I take it away, sir? Bev. I have done with her for ever. Brush. Have done with Madam Belinda, sir? Bev. Oh, Brush, she is— -but I will not proclaim her shame. No; let me still be tender of Bev. Under so fair a mask to wear such loose her. I will see her no more, Brush, that is all; designs! Brush. What is he musing upon?-Sir hear from her no more: she will not wind herself about my heart again. I'll go out of town Bev. I have done with her for ever; ay, for directly: order my chaise to the door. Brush. Had not you better defer it, till tomorrow morning, sir? Perhaps, then Ber. No, no; directly; do as I bid you. Brush. Consider, sir, if your mind should change, the trouble of coming back post-haste— Ber. No, never, I say never: what! to her, who could smile on me, on him, on a thousand? No; she shall know that I am a man, and no longer the dupe of her artifice. Brush. But, sir, you know, that one solitary tear, which, after miserably chaffing for it half an hour together, she will painfully distil from the corner of her eye, will extinguish all this rage, and then ter. Bev. Po, po! You know nothing of the matGo and order the chaise directly. Brush. Yes, sir. I suppose a couple of shirts will be sufficient, sir? You will hardly stay them out. Bev. Pack up all, sir. I shall stay in the country a whole month, if it be necessary. Brush. An entire month, sir? Bev. I am resolved, fixed, and determined; and so do as I have ordered you.-[Exit BRUSH.] -So shall I disentangle myself froin her entirely, so shall I forget the fondness my foolish heart had conceived for her. I hate her, loath her, pity her, am sorry for her, and love her still. Í must expel this weakness: I will think no more of her and yet-Brush, Brush! I may as well see her letter, too: only to try what her cunning can suggest. Enter BRUSH. You may as well leave the letter, Brush. Brush. Yes, sir; I thought as much. [Exit. Bev. Now, what varnish will she put upon the matter?----[ Reads.] The false gaiety of my heart, through which my dear Beverley might have read my real auguish, at our last meeting, 'has now subsided. If you will come to me, I 'will not laugh at your inquietude of temper, but will clear all your doubts, and shew you how much I am, my dearest Beverley, unalter'ably yours. 6 " BELINDA BLANDFORD.' Pshaw! Po! Satisfy my doubts! I have no doubts; I am convinced. These arts prevail no more. Ha, ha!--[Laughs peevishly.]— My dear Beverly,[Reads, and tears the letter by degrees. Real anguish'-ha, ha!-[Tears another piece. Inquietude of temper-[Another piece.] clear all your doubts'-Po, po, po! ha, ha, ha! damnation! I'll think no more of her[Tears another bit.]—Ha, ha !—' Dearest Bererley-ha, ha! artful woman!-' unalterably 6 yours' false, false, false !--[Tears another piece. I'll not make myself uneasy about her. Perfidy, treachery, and ingratitude!-[Fixes his eye, looks uneasy, and tears the letter in a vio lent passion.] Enter CLARISSA and BELLMONT. Cla. So, brother. Bel. Beverley! Bev. Sister, your servant; Mr Bellmont, yours. Cla. You seem melancholy, brother? Bev. No, not I. I am in very good spirits. Cla. Ha, ha! My dear brother, that is seen through: you are now upon the rack. Bev. What, about a woman, a false, ungrateful woman! Bel. Whom you still admire. Cla. To whom you'll be upon your knees in five minutes. Bev. You are mistaken: I am going out of town. Bel. But you will take your leave? Bev. She has; and there-there you see the effect of her letter. You will see, that I shall maintain a proper firmness on the occasion. Bel. My dear Beverley, have done with this mockery: you but deceive yourself. Bev. You want to deceive me, sir: but it is in vain. What! plead for treachery, for falsehood, for deceit ! Cla. No, sir; but for my friend, my lovely friend; for Belinda, for truth, for innocence. Ber. You don't know all the circumstances. Cla. But we do know all the circumstances; and, my dear brother, you have behaved very ill. Bev. Heaven knows, I have not; and yet, Heaven knows, I should be glad to be convinced I have. Cla. I will be your friend, and give you a hint. We women are soft and compassionate in our nature; go to her without delay, fall at her feet, beg her pardon, drop a tear or two, and all will be well again. Bev. Do you come to make sport of me? may contempt and beggary attend me; may all the calamities of life befall me; may shame, confusion, and disquiet of heart for ever sting me, if I hold further intercourse with her; if I do not put her from my thoughts for ever! Did you leave her at home? Cla. We did. Bev. Well, let her stay there: it is of no consequence to ine. How did she bear what passed between us? Cla. Like a sweet girl, as she is: she behaved like an angel: I shall love her better than ever for her good humour. Bev. Oh! I don't doubt her good humour.She has smiles at command, Let her smile, or not smile, 'tis all alike to me. Did she say any thing? Cla. She told us the whole story, and told it in tears, too. |