ACT III.
SCENE, I.
[1st Grooves.]
An apartment in Cromwell's house.
Enter CROMWELL, ARTHUR, the LADY ELIZABETH, L.
Crom. To have a home, that is no fitting home,
Is worse than the sad orphan's part, who gathers
His lean crumbs from the world's wide eager table,
And pares the flint-stones borne in stranger breasts,
To eke him out against the cruel winds—
[Crosses to his daughter.]
Thou say'st she was thy playmate—
Come, thou hast
Mov'd the stern soldier to thy woman's will.
Go, sir! [To Arthur.] and fetch this Florence from her roof.
There should be no such scandal done in England,
As the loud insult of a marriage forc'd
Before God's altar.
Arth. If they do oppose?
Crom. Thy brother is a worker in my hands,
Leave him to me; the old man loves his wealth
Too well. I say, go quickly, and return
With speed direct—I'd have thee near me, [Aside.] for
Thy noble confidence that dares to speak
The first-fruits of thy mind,—
I have regard [Aloud.]
For thee, young man, see that you keep it warm
As now—but mind, no swords, as ye are brothers—
Not e'en reproach.—Sweet heart, when foolish mercy
[To his daughter.]
Doth beg an idle tale from thy dear lips,
Perchance thou'lt seek thy father—until then,
All good be with thee! [Crosses to R.]
Sir! I will direct [To Arthur.]
A present escort for you.
[Exit CROMWELL, R.]
Arth. Lady! deem My heart coin'd into words to thank you nothing For payment of this service.
Eliz. Sympathy
Is just as often born of happiness,
As bitter suffering of the world's contempt.
Within the magic circle of a home,
Happy and loved as mine is,
The heart is touched with pity's gentle wand
To do her lightest bidding—
But in this,
There is no kind emotion worth the name;
For I would see my school-fellow and friend
To talk old nothings, something still to us,
And look beneath the lashes of her eyes,
To learn her plaint against the selfish world,
And read her trust in Heaven—
Is she fair
As childhood promised ?—[Looking archly at Arthur.]
Do you know, I think
You love her more than cousinship demands?
Arth. Nay! she is worthy of all love.
Eliz. Well, well, sir! I shall know when I see you both together.
Exeunt ELIZABETH, R., ARTHUR, L.
SCENE II.
[1st Cut.] [2nd Grooves.]
A Hall in a Manor House.—Discovered SIR SIMON, in an easy chair, supported by servants, BASIL and FLORENCE attending.
Sir Sim. I am thy father. Would'st kill me, girl? O dear! I saw Master Stacker, the court physician that was, to-day. [Coughs.] Oh, I am very ill.
Flor. Dear father! what said he?
Sir Sim. That I have a disease of the heart. Now I don't agree with him. There he is mistaken. Why I might die instantly with a disease of the heart. He is a clever man, but quite mistaken there. You see, my heart never beats fast, but when I am agitated, and I was out of breath this morning with the stairs—O dear! [Places his hand to his heart.] Thou dost agitate me, girl—but there is no disease here—no! no! I am very ill—but I shall not die yet!
Flor. Dear father! pray be careful.
Sir Sim. Now, had he said 'twas asthma—'tis a long-lived complaint. I have known very old men with asthma. Our chirurgeon, Master Gilead Stubbs, said I was asthmatic, and we have been much together. Many a good flagon of claret have we drank, and should he not know my constitution?
Basil. Uncle!
Sir Sim. Yes, yes, I know. [To Florence.] Come, thou must marry him. Curse on this physician. I never felt so before. [Places his hand to his heart.]
Flor. Oh, father; do not urge this suit!
Sir Sim. Girl! I will leave thee nought if thou dost not—save my curse!
Flor. No, no!
Sir Sim. All my hopes——'Tis very odd. Stop, stop! I have a pain here, here! Wilt thou promise?
Basil. Murderess!
Flor. I will do all. O God!
Enter ARTHUR, L.
Sir Sim. Who is this? 'Tis their father! I promised him that Arthur should wed my daughter. He is come to claim her, and see, he beckons me—
[Falls back and dies in the chair, servants bear him off, R.]
Basil. Dead, dead! I am frustrated.
Flor. Oh, Arthur! look to my father.
Arth. [Returning and supporting her.] Thou hast no father, Florence! I have a home for thee, with one that's young and gentle like thyself. [She faints.]
Basil. Mark, thou art my brother! I swear [Aside.]
I will have vengeance! At the moment too
She yielded. Beggar, thus to thwart me—Oh,
If I dar'd, I could smite him, as he smiles
On that unconscious, pretty piece of goods.
[Retires, L., surly, looking at ARTHUR. Servants come in with BARBARA.]
Arth. Take her unto her chamber 'till we leave.
[Servants take FLORENCE off, exeunt, R., all but BASIL.]
Enter WYCKOFF stealthily to BASIL, L.
Wyck. As for your brother, in these troublesome times, as I said, it were less trouble to put him out of the way in a broil. Colour it with the affectation of party spirit, and, as you are on both sides, in a manner, it matters not on which you disagree. You might draw swords yourselves, and have me and one or two stout fellows near, who would rush in and stab him, as it were, to prevent mischief between you.
Basil. I tell you, it will not do. He is a favourite with Cromwell. How often am I to tell you that I would not break with Noll. There are secrets! You see one does not know yet which side will prevail.
Wyck. Well, I cannot help you. If, now, it were to circumvent a woman, to betray a saucy piece of virtue—then I would go great lengths in deception; remind me that I tell thee a story will make thee laugh. 'Twas ere my trip to America. I would have sold her to the plantations. 'Sblood, will not that do for him?—
Basil. I tell there is better.
Wyck. Doth he know that by your father's disposition of the property, his relinquishment of it in your favour is void! I say, the old fellow knew thee well, eh? [Laughs.]
Basil. Curse on thy ribald jests; keep them for the girls thou betrayest. No, no, he knows nothing.
Wyck. Let me tell thee of the girl. She loved a mean fellow that was her father's apprentice, and perspired in good behaving. A tremulous young man; with hissing red cheeks and a clump hand that looked through his fingers during evening prayers at the maid-servants, as they knelt; yet cried "Amen" with a reverence, and had the gift to find his own bedchamber afterward. It was a mercy to pave her from him, for they had surely procreated fools. Yet she liked not the sea, and one night she fell overboard in a calm, and the sharks had a white morsel. She walked in her sleep. I wish, though, she had left her ear-rings behind.
Basil. Hush! hush!
Wyck. Thus it is to be such a fellow as you. You pretend to be so tender-hearted. Well, I never wished to kill my brother. If I had one I could love him, unless he were a damned scrupulous sinner, that makes faces at doing what he is always wishing. Why, hark you, with your peccadilloes, you resemble a monkey over a hot dish of roasted chestnuts; you keep grinning round with your mouth watering, till they get cold, before you taste.
Basil. I tell thee that I hate him and fear him not. Would that his blood might freeze upon my door-step on a December night! If he were here now, I would stab him before thee.
Wyck. Ay, in the back.
Basil. But I have a plan that shall undo him most securely. Come in here, and I will tell thee over a stoup of right claret.
Wyck. Now you speak reason; for I am but a dry rogue, and am never fit for much early in the morning, without I sit up all night. [Exeunt, L.]