but servants, you know: we must have no likings, but our lord's, and must do as we are ordered. But what is the business, nurse? You have been in the family before I came into the world: what's the reason, pray, that this daughter-in-law, who has so good a report in everybody's mouth, is so little set by by my lord? Nurse. Why, I tell you, Sampson, more or less; I'll tell the truth, that's my way, you know, without adding or diminishing. Samp. Ay, marry, nurse! Nurse. My lord's eldest son, Biron by name, the son of his bosom, and the son that he would have loved best, if he had as many as king Pyramus of Troy this Biron, as I was saying, was a lovely sweet gentleman; and, indeed, nobody could blame his father for loving him; he was a son for the king of Spain, heaven bless him! for I was his nurse. But now I come to the point, Sampson; this Biron, without asking the advice of his friends, hand over head, as young men will have their vagaries, not having the fear of his father before his eyes, as I may say, wilfully marries this Isabella. Samp. How, wilfully! he should have had her consent, methinks. Nurse. No, wilfully marries her; and, which was worse, after she had settled all her fortune upon a nunnery, which she broke out of to run away with him. They say they had the church's forgiveness, but I had rather it had been his father's. Samp. Why, in good truth, I think our young master was not in the wrong, but in marrying without a portion. Nurse. That was the quarrel, I believe, Sampson; upon this, my old lord would never see him; disinherited him: took his younger brother, Carlos, into favour, whom he never cared for before; and, at last, forced Biron to go to the siege of Candy, where he was killed. Samp. Alack-a-day, poor gentleman! Nurse. For which my old lord hates her, as if she had been the cause of his going there. Samp. Alas, poor lady! she has suffered for it; she has lived a great while a widow. Nurse. A great while, indeed, for a young woman, Sampson. Samp. Gad so! here they come: I won't venture to be seen. (They retire.) Enter COUNT BALDWIN, followed by ISABELLA, and her child. C. Bald. Whoever of your friends directed you, Misguided and abused you-there's your way: What could you expect from me? Isa. Oh! I have nothing to expect on earth! But misery is very apt to talk: I thought I might be heard. C. Bald. What can you say? Is there in eloquence, can there be in words A reparation of the injuries, The great calamities, that you have brought On me and mine? You have destroyed those hopes I fondly raised, through my declining life, To rest my age upon; and most undone me. Isa. I have undone myself too. C. Bald. Speak it again; Say still you are undone; and I will hear you, With pleasure hear you. Isa. Would my ruin please you? C. Bald. Beyond all other pleasures. Isa. Then you are pleased, for I am most undone. C. Bald. I pray'd but for revenge, and heav'n has heard, And sent it to my wishes: these grey hairs I lost with Biron all the joys of life: Your perjured vows; your plighted, broken faith Isa. There, there began my woes. C. Bald. Your own inconstancy Isa. Not for myself, for I am past the hopes C. Bald. I almost pity the unhappy child: Isa. Look on him as your son's; And let his part in him answer for mine. Oh, save, defend him, save him from the wrongs, That fall upon the poor! C. Bald. It touches me, And I will save him. But to keep him safe, Isa. What! take him from me? No, we must never part; 'tis the last hold | No, let me pray in vain, and beg my bread C. Bald. Then have your child, and feed him with your prayers. Away! Isa. Then heaven have mercy on me! [Exit, with Child. C. Bald. You rascal slave, what do I keep you for? How came this woman in? Samp. Why, indeed, my lord, I did as good as tell her before, my thoughts upon the matter. C. Bald. Did you so, sir? Now, then, tell her mine: tell her I sent you to her. There's one more to provide for. Begone, go all together. Take any road but this to beg or starve in, but never, never see me more. [He drives them off before him. ACT II. SCENE I.-The Street. Enter VILLEROY and CARLOS, meeting. Vil. My friend, I fear to ask-but IsabellaThe lovely widow's tears, her orphan's cries, Thy father must feel for them? No; I read, I read their cold reception in thine eyes. Thou pitiest them, though Baldwin-but I spare him For Carlos' sake; thou art no son of his. There needs not this to endear thee more to me. (Embrace.) Car. My Villeroy, the fatherless, the widow, Vil. Advantage! think not I intend to raise In her undoing; but my heart has none; Car. Why, so I mean. These hardships, that my father lays upon her. But he will have his way. Since there's no hope Vil. She is above her fortune. Car Try her again. Women commonly love No, though I live but in the hopes of her, Of what I wish, than have the blessing mine, I could betray her coldly to comply: When a clear, gen'rous choice bestows her on me, I know to value the unequall'd gift: I would not have it, but to value it. SCENE II-A House. ISABELLA and Nurse discovered. Isabella's son at play. Isa. Sooner or later, all things pass away, Nurse. Good madam, be comforted. (Weeping.) Isa. Do I deserve to be this outcast wretch, Abandon'd thus, and lost? But 'tis my lot, The will of heav'n, and I must not complain: I will not for myself; let me bear all The violence of your wrath; but spare my child; They are; they must; a general ruin falls Nurse. I can work, or beg, to do you service. What I have been, I might the better bear Enter SAMPSON. Samp. Why, truly, very little to the purpose: like a Jew as he is, he says you have had more already than the jewels are worth; he wishes you would rather think of redeeming them, than expect any more money upon them. [Exit. Isa. So: poverty at home, and debts abroad! This ring is all I have left of value now; Manage it as the last remaining friend That would relieve us. [Exit Nurse.] Heav'n can only tell Where we shall find another. My dear boy! Car. Take your own way; remember, what I Thinking will make me mad; why must I thir offer'd Came from a friend. Vil. I understand it so. I'll serve her for herself, without the thought [Exit. Of a reward. Cor. Agree that point between you. If you marry her any way, you do my business. I know him: what his generous soul intends Ripens my plots. I'll first to Isabella. I must keep up appearances with her too. [Exit. When no thought brings me comfort? Enter Nurse. Nurse. Oh, madam! you are utterly ruined and undone; your creditors of all kinds are come in upon you; they have mustered up a regiment of rogues, that are come to plunder your house, and seize upon all you have in the world; they are below. What will you do, madam? Isa. Do nothing! no, for I am born to suffer. Enter CARLOS. Car. Oh, sister! can I call you by that name, And be the son of this inhuman man, Inveterate to your ruin? Do not think I am akin to his barbarity. Of any way that I may serve you in? Isa. I thank your pity; my poor husband fell Determine for me: I shall be prepared: Hark, they are coming: let the torrent roar: [Exit. [Exeunt, the Nurse leading the Child. SCENE III.-Ante-chamber in Isabella's house. CARLOS and VILLEROY, with Officers. Vil. No farther violence The debt in all is but four thousand crowns; You have my word for this: I'll see you paid. And now my sister comes to crown the work. (Aside.) Isa. (Within.) Where are those rav'ning bloodhounds, that pursue In a full cry, gaping to swallow me? Enter ISABELLA, Nurse, and Chill. I meet your rage, and come to be devour'd: Car. Have patience. Isa. Patience! I have no further ends than to redeem you Forgive what I have done, and in amends (Aside.) (Going.) Isa. This generosity will ruin me. Vil. Could Isabella speak Those few short words, I should be rooted here, Though now you have a friend, the time must come That you will want one; him you may secure Car. You have discharged your duty to the dead And to the living: 'tis a wilfulness Not to give way to your necessities, That force you to this marriage. Nurse. What must become of this poor innocence? (To the Child.) Car. He wants a father to protect his youth, Isa. Do not think I need Your reasons to confirm my gratitude. Vil. Oh, easily possible! (To Villeroy.) Isa. It cannot be your way: my pleasures are Buried, and cold in my dead husband's grave; And I should wrong the truth, myself, and you, To say that I can ever love again. I owe this declaration to myself; But as a proof that I owe all to you, If, after what I have said, you can resolve To think me worth your love-Where am I going? You cannot think it; 'tis impossible. Vil. Impossible! Isa. You should not ask me now, nor should I Isa. I give you all, My hand: and would I had a heart to give: But if it ever can return again, "Tis wholly yours. Vil. Oh, ecstacy of joy! Leave that to me. If all my services, If all that man can fondly say or do, Isa. On your word, Never to press me to put off these weeds, Which best become my melancholy thoughts, You shall command me. Vil. Witness, heaven and earth, Against my soul, when I do any thing To give you disquiet. Car. I long to wish you joy, Vil. You'll be a witness of my happiness? Car. For once I'll be my sister's father, And give her to you. Vil. Next my Isabella, Be near my heart: I am for ever yours. ACT III. SCENE I-Count Baldwin's House. [Exeunt. Enter COUNT BALDWIN and CARLOS. C. Bald. Married to Villeroy, say'st thou? Last night the priest perform'd his holy office. C. Bald. Misfortune join them! Car. Soon he'll hate her; Though warm and violent in his raptures now, ller cold constrain'd acceptance of his hand Will gall his pride, which (though of late o'erpower'd By stronger passions) will, as they grow weak, ber, C. Bald. Now, Carlos, take example to thy aid; Let Biron's disobedience, and the curse Car. May those rankling wounds, C. Bald. With tears I thank thee, Carlos; (Whose name brings tears) when wedded to this woman, I will be sure my interest will not suffer Is man! My father here, who boasts his honour, Methinks I am but half myself without him. Maur. This is wonderful! married, and yet in raptures. Vil. Oh, when you all get wives, and such as (If such another woman can be found) Enter ISABELLA and Child. My Isabella! Oh, the joy of my heart, I durst not ask, but it was kind to grant, Just at this time: Dispensing with your dress I would not bring ill luck along with me. With shifting of your dress-Time has done cures Incredible this way, and may again. Isa. I could have wish'd, if you had thought it fit Our marriage had not been so public. Vil. Do not you grudge me my excess of love; I have of my good fortune, having you; My Carlos, too, who came in to the support SCENE III-A Room. Enter SAMPSON and Nurse. Samp. Ay, marry, nurse, here's a master, indeed! He'll double our wages for us. If he comes on as fast with my lady, as he does with his servants, we are all in the way to be well pleased. Nurse. He's in a rare humour; if she be in as good a one Samp. If she be? marry, we may e'en say, they have begot it upon one another. Nurse. Well; why don't you go back again to your old Count? You thought your throat cut, I warrant you, to be turned out of a nobleman's service. Samp. For the future, I will never serve in a house where the master or mistress of it lie single; they are out of humour with everybody when they are not pleased themselves. Now, this matrimony makes everything go well. There's mirth and money stirring about when those matters go as they should do. Nurse. Indeed, this matrimony, Sampson--Samp. Ah, nurse! this matrimony is a very good thing; but what, now my lady is married, I hope Car. I come to claim that right, to share your we shall have company come to the house: there's joy; To wish you joy; and find it in myself; For a friend's happiness reflects a warmth, something always coming from one gentleman or other upon those occasions, if my lady loves company. This feasting looks well, nurse. |