ACT II., SCENE 1.
Enter Nevill, like a parson.
Nev. Thus for my friend's sake have I taken orders,
And with my reason and some hire beside
Won the known priest, that was to celebrate
This marriage, to let me assume his place;
And here's the character of his face and beard.
By this means, when my friend confronts the maid
At the church-door (where I appointed him
To meet him like myself; for this strange shape
He altogether is unwitting of),
If she (as one vice in that sex alone
Were a great virtue) to inconstancy past
Join impudency, and slight him to his face,
Showing a resolution to this match,
By this attempt it will be frustrate,
And so we have more time, though but 'till night,
To work, to speak with her, or use violence;
For both my blood and means are at his service.
The reason, too, I do this past his knowledge
Is, that his joy may be the more complete;
When being resolv'd she's married and gone,
I can resolve him otherwise. Thus I know
Good deeds show double that are timely done,
And joy that comes past expectation.
Enter Scudmore in tawny.
Yonder he comes, dead in his melancholy.
I'll question him, and see if I can raise
His spirit from that it restless rests upon:
He cannot know me. Ho! good morrow, sir.
Scud. Good morrow to no living thing but one,
And that is Nevill. O, the vows, the vows,
The protestations and becoming oaths,
Which she has utter'd to me!—so sweet, so many,—
As if she had been covetous not to leave
One word for other lovers, which I pitied:
She said indeed I did deserve 'em all.
Her lips made swearings sound of piety,
So sweet and prettily they came from her;
And yet this morn she's married to a lord.
Lord! lord! how often has she kiss'd this hand,
Lost herself in my eyes, play'd with my hair,
And made me (a sin I am not subject to)
Go away proud, improved by her favours;
And yet this morn she's married to a lord—
The bells were ringing as I came along.
Nev. Yes, sir; 'tis for the great marriage 'twixt——
Scud. Pray, hold there; I know it too-too well.
The tokens and the letters I have still.
The dangers I have pass'd for her dear sake
By day and night, to satisfy her wishes!
That letter I so lately did receive,
And yet this morn she's married to a lord!
O memory, thou blessing to all men,
Thou art my curse and cause of misery,
That tell'st me what I have been in her eyes,
And what I am! As it is impossible
To find one good in the whole world of women—
But how I lose myself and the remembrance
Of my dear friend who said he would meet me here.
What is this priest, that walks before the church?
Why walk you here so early, sir?