CHARLEMONT

Good morrow Uncle. My inclination did intend it so. Yes my Lord; Had not my Father contradicted it. My Lord; my duty would not let me go, Without receiving your commandments. Oh pardon me! my doubtful heart was slow To credit that which I did fear to know. What? married to a man unable too? Oh strange incontinence! Why? was thy blood Increased to such a pleurisy of lust, That of necessity, there must a vein Be opened; though by one that had no skill To doe't? Have at thee. Revenge to thee I'll dedicate this work. You torture me between the passion of my blood, and the religion of my soul, Sir; for the present I am much unfit For conversation or society. With pardon I will rudely take my leave. Sir, tax not me for his unwillingness. By the command of his authority, My disposition's forced against it self. You need not urge my spirit by disgrace T'is free enough. My Father hinders it. To curb me, he denies me maintenance To put me in the habit of my ranque. Unbind me from that strong necessity, And call me Coward if I stay behind. My worthy uncle; in exchange for this, I leave my bound. So I am doubly bound; By that for the repayment of this gold, And by this gold to satisfy your love. If intreaty fail, The force of reputation shall prevail. My noble Father. The weakest sighs you breath, hath power to turn My strongest purpose; and your softest tear To melt my resolution to as soft Obedience. But my affection to the war, Is as hereditary as my blood, To every life of all my ancestry. Your predecessors were your presidents; And you are my example. Shall I serve For nothing but a vain Parenthesis, I'th'honour'd story of your Family? Or hang but Like and empty Scutcheon, Between the trophy's of my predecessors. And the rich Arms of my posterity? There's not a Frenchman of good blood and youth' But either out of spirit or example, Is turned a Soldier. Only Charlemont Must be reputed that same heartless thing, That Cowards will be bold to play upon. Good morrow Uncle. My noble Mistress! this accomplement Is Like and elegant and moving speech, Composed of many sweet persuasive points, Which second one onother, with a fluent Increase, and confirmation of their force, Reserving still the best until the last, To crown the strong impulsion of the rest With a full conquest of the hearers sense: Because th'impression of the last we speak Does always longest and most constantly Possess the entertainment of remembrance. So all that now salute my taking leave, Have added numerously to the love, Wherewith I did receive their courtesy. But you (deer Mistress) being the last and best That speaks my farewell; Like th'imperious close Of a most sweet Oration, wholly have Possessed my liking, and shall ever live Within the soul of my true memory. So (Mistress) with this kiss I take my leave. My Castabella! for my self to stay, Or you to go, would either tax my youth With a dishonourable weakness, or Your loving purpose with immodesty. And for the satisfaction of your love, Here comes a man whose knowledge I have made A witness to the contract of our vows, Which my return by marriage shall confirm. Fie, superstitious? is it bade to kiss? Madame, there is no cause you should mistrust The kiss I gave, was but a parting one. My Lord! I humbl take my leave—Madame! I kiss your hand.—And your sweet lip.—Farewell. Her power to speak is perished in her tears. Something within me would persuade my stay, But Reputation will not yield unto it. Dear Sir, you are the man whose honest trust My confidence hath chosen for my friend. I fear my absence will discomfort her. You have the power and opportunity To moderate her passion. Let her grief Receive that friendship from you; and your Love Shall not repent it self of courtesy. Sir, I will take your friendship up at use. And fear not that your profit shall be small; Your interest shall exceed your principal. Sergeant! what hour o'the night is't. I would you would relieve me; for I am So heavy, that I shall ha'much ado; To stand out my perdu. I know not why I should be thus inclined to sleep, I feel my disposition pressed with a necessity of heaviness. Soul dier! if thou hast any better eyes, I prithee wake me when the Sergeant comes. I cannot orce my self to wake.— Oh my affrighted soul! what fearful dream Was this that waked me? Dreams are but the raised Impressions of premeditated things, By serious apprehension left upon Our minds, or else th'imaginary shapes Of objects proper to the complexion, or The dispositions of our bodies. These Can neither of them be the cause, why I Should dream thus; for my mind has not been moved With any one conception of a thought To such a purpose; nor my nature wont To trouble me with fantasies of terror. It must be something that my Genius would Inform me of. Now gracious heaven forbid! Oh! let my Spirit be deprived of all Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand That vision acted; or divine that act To come. Why should I think so? Left I not My worthy Father i'the kind regard Of a most loving Uncle? Soldier! sawest No apparition of a man? Tush. These idle dreams Are fabulous. Our boiling fantasies Like troubled waters falsify the shapes Of things retained in them; and make' em seem Confounded, when they are distinguished, So My actions daily conversant with war; (The argument of blood and death) had left (Perhaps) th'imaginary presence of Some bloody accident upon my mind: Which mixed confusedly with other thoughts, (Whereof remembrance of my Father, might Be one) presented all together, seem Incorporate; as if his body were The owner of that blood, the subject of That death; when he's at Paris, and that blood Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave The war, for reputatio'ns sake, upon And idle apprehension; a vain dream. Go see my Trunks disposed of, I'll but walk A turn or two i'th Church and follow you. Oh! here's the fatal monument of my Dead Father first presented to mine eye. What's here? in memory of Charlemont? Some false relation has abused belief. I am deluded. But I thank thee Heaven. For ever let me be deluded thus. My Castabella mourning over my Hearse? Sweet Castab lla rise, I am not dead. I Beshrew my rash And inconsiderate passion.— Castabella! That could not think—my Castabella! —that My sudden presence might affright her sense.— I prithee (my affection) pardon me. Reduce thy understanding to thine eye. Within this habit which thy misinformed Conceit takes only for a shape; live both The soul and body of thy Charlemont. Which Spirits are not; for their essence is Above the nature and the order of Those Elements whereof our senses are Created. Touch my lip. Why turnest thou from me? Can Castabella think it cause of grief That the relation of my death proves false? Why not enjoy? has absence changed thee? Art married? Married had not my mother been a woman, I should protest against the chastity Of all thy sex. How can the Merchant, or The Mariner absent whole years (from wives Exper enc'd in the satisfaction of Desire) promise themselves to find their sheets Unspotted with adultery, at their Return? when you that never had the sense Of actual temptation; could not stay A few short months. But thou Wertenberg wise; and didst consider that A Soldier might be maimed, and so (perhaps) Loose his hability to please thee. Speak. Why? were't thou forced to doe't? What villain did it? Disinherited? wherein have I deserved To be deprived of my deer Father's love? Of all men's griefs must mine be singular? Without example? Here I met my graven. And all men's woes are buried in their graves But mine. In mine my Misery's are born. I pr'ithee sorrow leave a little room, In my confounded and tormented mind; For understanding to deliberate The cause or author of this accident.— A close advantage of my absence made, To dispossess me both of land and wife: And all the profit does arise to him, By whom my absence was first moved and urged. These circumstances (Uncle) tell me, you Are the suspected author of those wrongs. Whereof the lightest, is more heavy then The strongest patience can endure to bear. The spirit of Charlemont. Th'art a villain; and the Son of a villain. No. I'll turn Conjurer. Devil! within this Circle, in the amid of all thy force and malice I conjure thee do thy worst. I grant the Heaven. Thy goodness does command Our punishments: but yet no further then The measure of our sins. How should they else Be joust? Or how should that good purpose of Thy Justice take effect, by bounding men Within the confines of humanity, When our afflictions do exceed our crimes? Then they do rather teach the barbarous world Examples that extend her cruelties Beyond their own dimensions; and instruct Our actions to be more, more barbarous. Oh my afflicted soul! How torment swells Thy apprehension with profane conceit, Against the sacred justice of my God? Our own constructions are the authors of Our misery. We never measure our Conditions but with Men above us in Estate. So while our Spirits labour to Be higher then our Fortune's th'are more base. Since all those attributes which make men seem Superior to us; are Man's Subjects; and Were made to serve him. The repining Man Is of a servile spirit to deject The value of himself below their estimation. No Sir. I have a heart above the reach Of thy most violent maliciousness. A fortitude in scorn of thy contempt; (Since Fate is pleased to have me suffer it) That can bear more then thou hast power t'inflict. I was a Baron That thy Father has Deprived me off. In stead of that, I am Created King. I've lost a Signiory, That was confined within a piece of earth; A Wart upon the body of the world. But now I am and Emperor of a world. This little world of Man. My passion are My Subjects; and I can command them laugh; While thou dost tickle'em to death with misery. No. Since I must submit my self to Fate; I never will neglect the offer of one benefit; but entertain them as her favours; and inductions to some end of better fortune. As whose instrument; I thank thy courtesy. Uncle, I thank you. That shows your good works are directed to No other end then goodness. I was rash, I must confess. But— Sir, I embrance your ge 'rous promises. And I accept it. Yet not joyfully Because you're sick. Thy Sexes wonder. Unhappy Charlemont. Twelve. How fit a place for contemplation is this dead of night, among the dwellings of the dead.—This graven.— Perhaps th'inhabitant was in his life time the possessor of his own desires. Yet in the midst of all his greatness and his wealth; he was less rich and less contented, then in this poor piece of earth, lower and lesser then a Cottage. For here he neither wants nor cares. Now that his body favours of corruption; He enjoys a sweeter rest then ever he did a amongst the sweetest pleasures of this life. For here, there's nothing troubles him.—And there.—In that graven lies another. He (perhaps) was in his life as full of misery as this of happiness. And here's and end of both. Now both their states are equal. Oh that Man, with so much labour should a spire to wordly height; when in the humble earth, the world's condition's at the best! Or scorn inferior men; since to be lower then a worm, is to be higher then a King! What villains hand was that? save thee or thou shalt perish. What? Have I killed him? whatsoever thou be'st I would thy hand had prospered. For I was unfit to live, and well prepared to die. What shall I do? accuse my self. Submit me to the law, and that will quickly end this violent increase of misery. But t'is a murder to be accessary to mine own death. I will not. I will take this opportunity to escape. It may be Heaven reserves me to some better end. What have we here? a Sheet? a hair? a beard? What end was this disguise intended for? No matter what. I'll not expostulate the purpose of a friendly accident. Perhaps it may accommodate my escape.—I fear I am pursued. For more assurance, I'll hide me here i'th Charnel house; this conuccation-house of dead men's skulls.— To get into the Charnel house, he takes hold of a Death's head; it slips and staggers him. Death's head! deceivest my hold? Such is the trust to all mor talitic.— The Devil. For all my wrongs I thank thee gracious Heaven; th'ast made me satisfaction; to reserve me for this blessed pur pose. Now sweet Death, I'll bid thee welcome. Come. I'll guard thee home; and then I'll cast my self into the arms of apprehension, that the law may make this worthy work, the crown of all my actions being the best and last. Why, I have killed a man; not murdered him, my Castabella; He would ha'murder'd me. My life he seeks. I would he had it since he has de prived me of those blessings that should make me love it; Come; I'll give it him. Thou canst not satisfy me better, then to be the instrument of my release from misery. My soul is heavy. Come; lie down to rest; These are the pillows whereon men sleep best. You're welcome Uncle. Had you sooner come, You had been sooner welcome. I'm the Man, You seek. You sha'not need examine me. You know Sir, she's as clear as Chastity. Guilty of killing him; but not of murder. My Lords; I have no purpose to desire Remission for my self.—D'amville descends to Charl. D'amville! to show thee with what light respect, I valve Death and thy insulting pride; Thus Like a warlike Navy on the Sea, Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land, Passed through the stormic troubles of this life, And now arrived upon the armed coast; In expectation of the victory, Whose honour lies beyond this exigent; Through mortal danger with and active spirit, Thus I aspire to undergo my death. The peace of conscience rises in it self. My resolution's made. But ere I die; before this honoured bench; With the free voice of a departing soul, I here protest this Gentlewoman clear, Of all offence the law condemns her for. Uncle; for all the wealthy benefits; My death advances you, grant me but this. Your mediation for the guiltless life Of Castabella; whom your conscience knows As justly clear as harmless innocence. Give me a glass of water. Is this water? Come thou clear emblem of cool temperance. Be thou my witness, that I use no art To force my courage; nor have need of helps, To raise my Spirits Like those weaker men; Who mix their blood with wine, and out of that Adulterate conjunction do beget A bastard valour. Native courage, thanks. Thou leadest me soberly to undertake This great hard work of magnanimity. The office fits him; hinder not his hand. But let him crown my resolution, with And unexampled dignity of death. Strike home. Thus I submit me. I claim the joust advantage of his words. Only to Heaven I attribute the work. Whose gracious motives made me still forbear To be mine own Revenger. Now I see, That, Patience is the honest men revenge. The crown of all my blessings!—I will tempt My Stars no longer; nor protract my time Of marriage. When those Nuptial rites are done; I will perform my kinsmen's funerals. Thus by the work of Heaven, the men that thought To follow our dead bodies without tears, Are dead themselves, and now we follow theirs.