BEAUFORD

Sir John, I hope you make no stranger of me, To morrow, I shall change my title for Your son, soon as the holy rites shall make me The happy husband to your daughter, in the mean time It will become me wait on her. You prepare me for some wonder. Teach my soul the way. Would? Must not? though as I Am mortal I may be compelled within A pair of minutes to turn ashes, yet My soul already Bridegroom to her virtue, Shall laugh at Death that would unmarry us, And call her mine eternally. Can there be reason for a sin so great, As changing my affection from Gratiana? Namen, and reach me how to be a monster, For I must lose humanity o Marwood, Thou leadest me into a Wilderness, she is — If what thou hast affirmed be true, why should We fight, be cruel oh our selves, endanger Our e ernity, for the enou of One frail woman let our swords exp ct A nobler cause. What man hath such assurance In any woman's faith, that he should run A desperate hazard of his soul? I know Women are not born angels, but created With passion and temper Like to us, And men are apt to err, and louse themselves Caught with the soul of wanton beauty, fettered Even ith their missed sses hair He has a handsome presence and discourse, Two subtle charms to tempt a woman's frailty, Who must be governed by their eye or ear To love, beside my kinsman hath been taxed. F r being oo prompt in wantonness, this confirms it Then farwe l woman kind. Gratiana. Wertenberg thou defen ed with circular fire, more Subtle then the lightning, that I knew would ravish My heart, and marrow from me, yet I should Neglect the danger, and but singly armed, Fly to revenge thy calumny: a whore—come on sir. Th'art wounded: would? Fight. O stay a while, or thou wilt lose us both, Thy wound I cannot call back, now there is No dallying with heaven, but thou pulst on thee Double confusion, leave a truth behind thee, As thou wouldst hope rest to thy parting soul, Hast thou not wronged Gratiana? I cannot long survive,— Is there no hope thou mayest recover? Farewell for ever then, with thy short breath M y all thy ills conclude, mine but begin To muster, life and I shall quickly partly, I feel a sorrow will break Beaufords heart. Exit. What, and dam his soul? Shall I think any with his dying breath Would shipwreck his last hope? he mixed it with His prayers, when in the stream of his own blood, His soul was launching forth. Hopeless, his weapon might have proved so happy, To have released me of a burden too; And but that manhood, and the care of my Eternity forbids, I would force out That which but wearies me to carry it, Unwelcome life? We are but one to hear, his love hath Made him? to great a partly of my affliction: Speak it. Would. Sir,—I thank you, You deserve I should be grateful: gives him money. It must be so— Exit Surgeon. A Surgeon. Yes, with my life. Never. There is not Captain, Therefore I'll not change my air. Unless thou canst instruct me how to fly from My self, for wheresoever else I wander, I shall but carry my accuser with me. I have herd in Afric , is a tree, which tasted By travellers, it breeds forgetfulness Of their Country, canst direct me thither? Yet 'twere in vain, unless it can extinguish, And drown the remembrance I am Beauford: No — I'll not move, let those poor things that dare not Die, obey their fears, I will expect my fate here. All women is a labyrinth, we can, Measure the height of any star, point out All the dimensions of the earth, examine The Seas large womb, and sounds its subtle depth, But art will never be able to find out, A demonstration of a woman's heart, Thou hast enough undone me, make me not More miserable, to believe thou canst be virtuous: Farewell, enjoy you this, I shall find out Another room to weep in. Exit. From whom? You are then converted. You did believe her. Has she acquainted you? To him that was — what? Confident of her Virtue Once and admirer, now a maurner for Her absent goodness: she has made the change. From her that was, would become this paper Had she conserved her first immaculate whiteness, It had been half profane, not to salute Her letter with a kiss, and touch it, with More veneration then a Sybil leaf But now all Ceremony must be held A superstition, to the blotted scroll, Oh a more stained writer — I'll not read: If unprepared, she win with her Discourse, What must she do, when she has time, and study, To apparel her defence? Well, I will read it. Say any thing excuse me, beet your care That none approach the Chamber. Here. That's course language. She has not then accused her self—I'll tell you, I did expect your daughter would have been My Virgin bride; but she reserved for me The ruins of her honour, I wood not speak I'the rude dialect, you may sooner collect, And English. No I, her own sin made her. I never injured you. Yes, it cannot make me know more misery. Reads. Beauford, I dare not call thoe mine, though I could not hope, (while I was living,) thou wouldst believe my innocence, deny me no this favour after Death, to say I once loved thee — H death? Captain is she dead? Yes, Death — would? Prithee read the rest: there's something In my eyes, I cannot well distinguish Her small Characters. Read all. It cannot be, for when thou makest and end, My heart should give a tragic perjod, And with a loud sighs break: drowned It no sin above heavens pardon Though thou hadst been false, To thy first vow, and me, I wood not had Thee died so soon or if thou hadst affected That death, I could would drowned thee with my tears, Now they shall never find thee, but be lost Within thy watery Sepulcher. Art dead? Then here isle Coffin up my self, until The Law unbury me for Marwoods death, I woe to hope for life, mercy shall not save Him, that hath now a patent for his Grave. Exeunt. Are these the herbs you strow at Funerals. 'Tis well, I commend your care, And thank ye; ye have expressed more duty Im not inquiring wherefore I command This strange employment, there in the very Act of your obedience: my chamber Looks Like the Spring now? ha'yee not art enough To make this Ewe ee grow here, or this Baize? The emblem of our victory in Death? But they present that best when they are withered: Have you been careful that no day break in At any Window, I would dwell in night, And have no other starlight but these tapers: No, to all do inquire with busy faces Pale or disturbed, give free access. Exit sir. What do I differ from the dead? would not Some fearful man or woman seeing me, Call this a Churchyard, and imagine me Some wakeful apparition among the graves; That for some treasures buried in my life, Walk up and down thus? buried? no it drowned, I cannot therefore say, it was a chest, Gratiana had never a Coffin, I have one Spacious enough for both on's, but the waves Will never yield too't, for it may be they Soon as the northern Wind blows cold upon em, Will freeze themselves to marble over her, Least she should want a tomb: Thy business. I have left direction, that it cannot miss me: And hadst thou come to apprehend me for't? With as much ease thou mightest; I am no statesman Officious, servants makes no suitors wait My doors unguarded; 'tis no labyrinth I dwell in; but I thank thy love, there's something To reward it: justice cannot put on A shape to fright me. What can life bring to me, that I should court it: There is a perjod in nature, is't not Better to die and not be sick; worn in Our bodies, which in imitation Of ghosts, grow lean, as if they wooed at last Be immaterial too; our blood turn jelly And freeze in their cold channel, let me expire While I have heat and strength to tug with death For Victory. Here. 'Tis a Bridal chamber. Would you anything To say to me? Proceed. You are not welcome then. Would? Young man be not Too rash without the knowledge how our quarrel Rise to procure thy self a danger. When my soul Throws off this upper Garment, I shall know all. Would? Would Cardona ! Heaven continue her among the living, But half and hour. Thou dost direct well. Come nearer, I hear say You are Baud; tell me how go Virgins I'th sinful market; nay I must know hell-ca What was the price you took for Gratiana S : Did Marwood come off roundly with his wages Tell me the truth, or by my father's soul I'll dig thy heart out. Let me not hear A syllable that has not reference To my question—or— So. Would. What d'ee study— Then was Gratiana S honour saved. No I would found my horror—has the chased And innocent Gratiana drowned her self? What satisfaction can I pay thy ghost? She's gone for ever, And can the earth still dwell a quiet neighbour To the rough Sea, and not it self be thawed Into a river; let it melt to waves From henceforth, that beside inhabitants, The very Genius of the World may drown, And not accuse me for her: O Gratiana. How shall I punish my unjust suspicion? Death is too poor a thing to suffer for her Some spirit guide me where her body lies Within her watery urn, although feal'd up With frost, my tears are warm and can dissolve it, To let in me, and my repentance to her. I would kiss her cold face into life again Renew her breath with mine, on her pale lip I do not think, but if some artery Of mine were opened, and the c im oh flood Conveyed in oh her v ines, it would agree And with a gentle gliding steal it self Into her heart, in li no her dead faculties, And with a flat ery, tice her soul again, To dwell in her fair tenement. I am lost indeed, With fruitless passion: I remember thee And thy design again; I must account For Marwoods death is't not? alas thou art Too young, and canst not fight, I wish thou Wertenberg A man of tough and active sinews, for Thy own revenge sake, I would praise thee for My death, so I might fallen but nobly by thee: For I am burdened with a weight of life— Stay, didst not tell me thou hadst brought hither The body of young Marwood — Since a mistake, not malice did procure His ill fate, I will but drop one funeral Tear upon his wound, and soon finish To do thee right. Does this enclose his corpses? how little room Do we take up in death, that living, know No bounds? here without murmuring we can Be circumscribed, it is the soul, that makes us Affect such wanton, and irregular paths; When that's gone, we are quiet as the earth, And think no more of wandering: o Marwood Forgive my anger, thy confession did Invite thy ruin from me, yet upon— Open S. My memory forsake me, 'tis Gratiana's Spirit, hast thou left thy Heavenly dwelling To call me hence? I was now coming to thee: Or but command more hast, and I will count it No sin to strike my self, and in the stream Of my own blood to imitate how thou Didst drown thy self. I know thou art immortal. Good angels do not mock mortality. To call me to my answer how I durst Suspect thy chastity, isle accuse my self And to thy injured innocence give me up A willing sacrifice. Art thou not dead indeed, May I believe? her hands is warm,—she breathes Again—and kisses as she wont to do Her Beauford, art Gratiana? Heaven Let me dwell here until my soul exhale. Within there— Bid the young man return, and quickly, least My joy above the strength of nature's sufferance, Kill me before I can express my gratitude: Would ye brought him? Have I still my essence would? I had a joy was able to make man Forget he could be miserable. If ere extremities did kill, we hath Shall die this very minute. Leave me Gratiana. What can we say unto our misery, Saved in a tempest that did threaten most, Arrived the harbour, ship, and all are lost. You will repent your courtesy, I am Presented and offender to you. Urge it no farther, I'll save the trouble of examination, And yield my self up guilty. O Gratiana, I call heaven to witness, Though my misfortune made me think before, My life a tedious and painful trouble, My very soul a luggage, and too heavy For me to carry, now I wish to live, To live for thy sake, till my hair were silvered With age; to live till thou wodst would me die, And were a weary of me: For I never Could by the service of one life, reward Enough thy love, nor by the suffering The punishment of age and time, do penance Sufficient for my injury, but my fate Hurries me from thee, then accept my death A satisfaction for that sin, I could not Redeem alive, I cannot but confess The accusation. O G ati if I m y not live To thee here, Ill would thou hadst been dead Indeed so in a little time, we shued each other in a better World? But since I go before thee, I will carry Thy along, and if my soul forget not, What it hath , when it conversed with men, I will so talk of thee among the blessed. That they shall be in love with thee, and descend In holy shapes, to woe thee to come thither, And be of their society do not thy beauty With such a shower, keep this soft rain, To water some more lost, and ba ren garden, Least thou destroy the spring, which nam ure made To be a wonder in thy cheek Friendship and we have found thy error— Thou woe to a ke her now so giuene , she's all chastity. This she continued fist to me, though I concealed From thee the error, Marwood dead, their shame Would not would given my life advantage, now We have overcome the malice of our fate: I hope you'll call me son. Leave off to wonder Captain. Come Gratiana, My soul best half, lets tie the sacred knot, So long deferred, never did two lovers, Meet in so little time so many changes; Our Wedding day is come, the S rrowes passed Shall give our present joy more heavenly taste. Exeunt. You were my happy prospect from the window, Coose you are a most welcome guest. Pray follow. How? Good Captain, Excuse my absence to our friends within, I have affairs concerns me with my kinsman, Which done, we both return to wait on they. Now proceed. More we are friends. What needs this circumstance? We were not wont to talk at such a distance, You appear wild. Confessed? I am no Ghostly father. If thou hast any discontentments prithee take other time For their discourse, I am in expectation of Marriage, I would not interrupt my joys. Would ! what is it? Ime your servant. Exeunt. Thou hast a hell about thee, and thy language Speaks thee a Devil, that to blast her innocence Dost belch these vapours: to say thou liest, Were to admit, thou hast but made in this A humane error, when thy sin hath aimed The fallen of goodness. Gratiana false? The snow shall turn a Salamander first And dwell in fire; the air retreat, and leave And emptiness in nature, angels be Corrupt, and bribed by mortals fell their charity Her innocence is such, that Wertenberg thou Marwood For this offence condemned to lodge in flames, It would for ever cure thy burning fever, If with thy sorrow thou procure her shed One tear upon thee, now, thou art lost for ever, And armed thus, though with thousand furies guarded, I reach thy heart. Draws: What horror! Be more particular: You torture me, be brief. Stay, I am too hasty for the knowledge Of something thou preparest for my destruction, May I not think what 'tis, and kill my self? Or at least by degrees, with apprehending Some strange thing done, infect my fancy with Opinion first, and so dispose my self To death? I cannot, when I think of Gratiana I enterrayne a heaven: the worst, I'll hear it. Whom? Would? th'ast kept thy word thou Can st so poison all My comfort Was ever woman good, and Gratiana Vicious? lost to honour? at the instant When I expected all my Harvest ripe. The golden Summer tempting me to reap The well grown ears, comes and impetuous storm Destroys and ages hope in a short minute, And lets me live, the copy of men frailty: Surely, some one of all the female sex, Engrossed the virtues, and fled hence to Heaven, Left womankind dissemblers. Enjoyed Gratiana sinfully, 'tis a found Able to kill with horror; it infects The very air, I see it Like a missed Dwell round about, that I could uncreate My self, or be forgotten, no remembrance That ever I loved woman: I have no Genius left to instruct me—it grows late: Within— Wait o'my kinsman to his Chamber, I shall desire your rest, pray give me leave To think a little— And why may not a kinsman be a Vilaine? Perhaps he loves Gratiana, and envying My happiness, does now traduce her chastity To find this out, time will allow but narrow Limits: His last words bade me be a man. A man? yes I have my soul, does not become A manly resolution to be tame thus, And give up the opinion of his mistress For one men accusat on; —would: ith'morning? Proper. Y S Marwood I will be a man: His worser, shall either make passed the sense Of this affliction. or mine en orce A true h f on him, if thou be st wronged Gratiana I'll you that Mar yr, but if false, in this I gain to you, not hue a sacrifice. Exit. Draw, imagine all These trees were Cypress, the companions of Our funeral, for one or both must go To a dark habitation, methinks We two, are Like to some unguided men, That having wandered all the day in a Wild unknown path, at night walk down into A hollow grot, a cave which never Star Durst look into, made in contempt of light By nature, which the Moon did never yet Befriend with and melancholy beam: O Cousin thou hastled me, where I neue Shall see day more e. That name Awakes my resolution, consume not Thy breath oo idly, th'ast but a small time For use om't, either employ it in the unsaying Thy wrong to Gratiana, or thou hastens Thy last minute. Thou hast repeated, but the same in Substance touching Gratiana. Why should we fight, our letting blood wo'no Cure her, and make her honour white again: We are friends, epen thy sin, and marry her. Why canst though add to it another crime, By a refusing to repair the ruins Of that chased temple, thou hadst violated? Her Virgin tapers are by thee extinct, No odour of her chastity, which once Gave a perfume to Heaven, and and did refresh Her innocent soul, they that have spoiled virginity, Do half restore the treasures they took thence By sacred marriage. Gratiana. Thou liest, and with a gilded upon thy soul, Able to sink thee to damnation, draws again. I'll send thee hence; a whore? what woman Was ever bade enough to deserve that name? Salute some native fury, or a wretch Condemned already to hells tortures by it, Not Gratiana ; th'ast awakened justice, And given it eyes to see thy treachery, The depth of thy malicious heart, that word, hath Dis-inchanted me. How have I fined in my credulity against virtue, all this while? what charm bound up My understanding partly, I should admit A possibility, for her to carry So black a soul; though all her sex beside Had fallen from their creation? thou hast Not life enough to forfeit, what and advantage To fame and goodness had been lost. O Gratiana. I have a trouble at my heart: pardon The trespass of your patience Gentlemen, He publish the occasion of my absence, So first, you give me leave, to unladen it here; But with your favour, I desire I may Exempt all ears, but Gratiana's, till A short time ripen it for your knowledge. I have not time to dwell on circumstance, I come to take my last leave, you and I Must never meet again. This day, I had designed for marriage, but I must Pronounce we are eternally divorced: O Gratiana, thou hast made a wound Beyond the cure of Surgery, why did nature Empty her treasure in thy face, and leave thee A black prodiglous soul? Call upon darkness, to obscure thee rather, That never more thou mayest be seen by mortal, Get thee some dwelling in a missed, or in A wild forsaken earth, a Wilderness, Where thou mayest hide thy self, and die forgotten. Be joust, and tell thy conscience, th'ast abused it False woman, why dost thou increase thy horror? By the obscuring a misdeed, which wo'd Were all thy other sins forgiven, undo thee O Gratiana, thou art. — A thing I would not name, it found so fearfully, 'Twould make a Devil blush, to be saluted By that, which thou must answer to. That fear betrays thy gilded, tell me Gratiana What didst thou see in me to make thee think I was not worthy of thee, at thy best And richest valve, when thou were as white In soul, as beauty? for sure, once thou were so: Hadst thou so cheap opinion of my birth, My breeding, or my Fortune's, that none else Could serve for property of your lust, but I? A common father to thy sinne-got issue, A patron of thy ifled, unchaste womb? O though Wertenberg cruel, to reward so ill The heart that truly honoured thee: thy name Which sweetened once the breath of him that spoke it, And musically charmed the gentle ear; Shall found hereafter Like a Screech-owls note, And fright the hea er; Virgins shall lament That thou hast shamed their chased society, And oft as Himen lights his tapers up, At the remembrance of thy name, shed tears, And blush for thy dishonour: from this minute, Thy friends shall count thee desperately si ke, And whensoere thou goest abroad, that day The maids and matrons, thinking thou art dead, And going to the graven, shall all come forth And wait Like mourners on thee. No, By heaven I have not, I have too much knowledge To suspect thee sinful, but in the assurance Of it, I must disclaim thy heart for ever: Gratiana my opinion of thy whiteness Hath made my soul, as black as thine already; Weep till thou wash away thy stain, and then, I h'other world, we two, may meet again. Exit. I'the Park. Would, farewell. I will not hear and accent, I shall lose My memory, be charmed into belief That she is honest with her voice, I dare not Trust my frailty with her. Pray keep em. I would forget that name, speak it no more. For herself. My afflictions Are not yet numbered in my fate, nor I Held ripe for Death. Thou didst promise To inform me of Gratiana. I am all wonder. Milisent bring in Cardona. Where am I lost: this story is more killing Then all my jealousy's: O Cardona Go safe from hence, but when thou comest at home, Lock thy self up and languish, till thou die Thou shalt meet Marwood, in a gloomy shade, Give back this salary, Exit Cardona. O my joy ravished soul, but where's the youth Brought me this blessing? vanished Gratiana Where is he? I would hang about his neck And kiss his cheek, he we not leave me so: Gone? sure it was some angel, was he not, Or do I dream this happiness, wot not thou Forsake me to? Did I hope thou couldst Give me a reason, I would ask one. This place of all the Park affords most privacy. Nature has placed the trees to imitate A Roman Amphitheater.