Enter one of his CLERKS.

I near despair'd of seeing you: 'tis almost light. What has delay'd you so?

CLERK. It was your wife.

ANDREWS. My wife!

CLERK. Yes, sir, she's but at home some moments.

ANDREWS. Was she attended?

CLERK. One went in before her.

ANDREWS. What, into my house?

CLERK. Yes, sir.

ANDREWS. Man, or woman?

CLERK. A man, sir.

ANDREWS. Hah!—And know you who he is?

CLERK. Lord Belmour, sir.

ANDREWS. Are you sure?

CLERK. As I exist— For waiting, as 'twas your desire I should, 'Till I could warn you of your wife's return, And walking 'twixt the dwelling and the warehouse, I by a light, which glimmer'd from the moon, Then almost waned, descry'd a man and woman Close standing at the wicket of the gate, That leads into the lane. I stood conceal'd, Until lord Belmour and Maria pass'd me Towards the house.

ANDREWS. Can I now pass that way?

CLERK. You may; I lock'd the doors, and have the keys.

ANDREWS. Come, deep and sweet revenge! 'twere virtue here. [Aside] It must be near the dawn. Go on, I'll follow. Life's now a curse; death then my only wish.



SCENE III.

Mr. ANDREWS's house.

THOMAS and MARIA.

MARIA. Who releas'd you?

THOMAS. Our unhappy master.

MARIA. Is he in town, and up at this late hour?

THOMAS. He's in the house; and heaven grant, Maria, He holds his reason: for he rush'd impetuous, With looks as madness wild, into the room, Where I sat tied; when falling on his knees, He crav'd my pardon; then, from my bruis'd arms He cut the cords, and hastily ran off.

MARIA. Which way?

THOMAS. Towards the compting-house.

MARIA. O heav'n!

THOMAS. Why this alarm?

MARIA. His arms are there.

THOMAS. 'Tis true, And never man appear'd more desperate. Wherefore, as ev'n a moment's loss were dangerous; I'll for his neighbours speed, Wilson and Goodwin. [He goes off.]

MARIA. The mischief is at hand, and 'twill require My deepest skill, or I'm undone for ever. But to the last I will assert my innocence. [A bell rings.] This is my mistress, and from her bedchamber. [Rings again.] Again it rings; and with unusual violence.— I must away—What fights may meet me now!— [She goes off.]



SCENE IV.

Another apartment.

CONSTANTIA and LUCIA.

CONSTANTIA. Oh! Lucia, Lucia, I shall die with terrours— What can these noises mean? [A groan is heard.] Heard you that groan?

LUCIA. Sure life expir'd with it!—A woman's voice—

Enter hastily WILSON and GOODWIN, THOMAS and other Servants, at which CONSTANTIA and LUCIA shriek.

CONSTANTIA. Protect us, heaven!—what are you?

WILSON. A messenger, In utmost hurry rous'd us from our beds, And pray'd us to haste hither with all speed, To save a family.

CONSTANTIA. Oh sirs!—heav'n grant 'Tis not too late—some sad event, I dread— [A groan, and then another] They're from the room where Mrs. Andrews sleeps. [CONSTANTIA swoons, and is taken of with LUCIA.]

Enter MARIA.

MARIA. Woe! woe unutterable!—fights of horrour! All welt'ring in their gore—haste! haste with me. [They go off.]

[Back Scene opens and discovers Mrs. ANDREWS's bedchamber— Lord BELMOUR on the ground with his sword in his hand bloody, and Mr. ANDREWS with his also drawn and bloody, in a fix'd posture, resting on it, and looking on the ground.]

GOODWIN. O heav'n! what havock's here! [To ANDREWS] Alas! my friend, What have you done?

WILSON. He's quite insensible. Perhaps this woman can inform us—speak—

MARIA. I will, I will. Hearing the bell twice rung With violence unusual from the chamber In which my mistress lay, I thither flew; Where entering, with amazement I beheld Lord Belmour there, and her upon her knees: Sudden, my master, with an unsheath'd sword In rage rush'd in, and instantly assail'd him, (Who also had drawn his) they fought awhile; When with a hideous groan lord Belmour reel'd, Bit quick recovering, with doubled fury At his assailant made—when, she, quite wild, Rush'd on lord Belmour's sword, and fell with him.

WILSON. 'Tis better done by him, than by our friend.

ANDREWS. Done—What done? all is not done as yet—this—

[He is going to stab himself, GOODWIN and WILSON rush on him, and wrest his sword from him.]

GOODWIN. What would your madness do? too much already, This fatal scene exhibits to our view.

ANDREWS. Deaf, deaf to all,—away,—away with counsel!— 'Tis clear as noonday light—burst—burst, my brain!—

Lord BELMOUR. Listen—oh listen to a dying criminal— Your wife is innocent—I, I alone—

ANDREWS. Peace, villain, peace!—how came you in her chamber?

Lord BELMOUR. Without her knowledge—Oh! 'twas by that woman, [Pointing to MARIA] My vile accomplice in the soul attempt.

MARIA. Mercy! O mercy! and I'll tell the whole. Oh! she is innocent—I, all to blame—

WILSON. 'Tis fit a magistrate be sent for instantly; As also meet assistance to these wounded, Who seem to need it much. [A servant goes off.]

Lord BELMOUR. Good sirs! Let me be hence convey'd—I can't escape— And heav'n will in some moments give full justice. [He is led out.]

ANDREWS. And let me also fly these scenes of horrour, Or I shall wilder be than the chain'd wretch That beats the dungeon walls.

[As he is passing by Mrs. ANDREWS, she seizes the skirt of his coat.]

Mrs. ANDREWS. Oh sir!—my husband!—

ANDREWS. Take! take the vile adultress from my sight.

Mrs. ANDREWS. For charity, forbear those bitter words. True, I have injur'd you beyond all hopes Either of your indulgence, or heav'n's mercy. But by that Pow'r! before whose just tribunal, I shortly shall be summon'd to appear, My soul abhors the base imputed guilt, (How strong soe'er appearance speak against me) Ev'n in thought.

ANDREWS. Abandon'd, faithless woman! Oh! that her foul disgrace clos'd with her eyes! Then might I undisturb'd behold this havock. [Aside] Did not I, find you on your knees to him?

Mrs. ANDREWS. I was beseeching him to leave the room.

ANDREWS. How came he there?

Mrs. ANDREWS. By the same Pow'r supreme! You're not yourself of that event more ignorant. Soon as my woman for the night had left me, He from the closet rush'd into my chamber.

ANDREWS. Oh! I have been too hasty—much too rash.———

Mrs. ANDREWS. You will not think so, when you hear the whole. The wretched nobleman, you now have punish'd, Is not less guilty than if I had yielded. Yet, think not that I mean t' acquit myself; My conduct led him to the vile attempt: And, oh! with rage and thirst of vengeance fir'd, I was too busy in th' infernal plot, Contain'd in that false letter to your friend, The honest, gen'rous, and most faithful Wilson. I also had your old and trusty steward Accus'd of crimes to which he was a stranger; And Jefferson to me owes his perdition.

ANDREWS. Cease! cease! pour self-convicting mourner, cease!— This cannot be—'tis the sick fancy's dream.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Oh! that it were untrue, as thou art kind. Yes; this, all this, and more I have committed. I have undone thee—I, thy bosom's favourite,— And am the fatal source of all these horrors. But my swift hast'ning fate will be some recompence.— I bleed within apace, and grow most faint——— How happy was I once, and how ungrateful!

ANDREWS. 'Tis, 'tis too much—

Mrs. ANDREWS. Alas! I see it is.— How these reflections rack my madding brain!— Turn, Oh! turn that tender aspect from me! 'Tis worse than scorpion rods, or whips of steel. Abhor me; scorn me; tear me from thy fondness, And every imprecation pour upon me: For hope is fled, and I would court despair. Some suff'rings here might lessen those hereafter, I would not covet else a moment's life.—

ANDREWS. Would I could sooth her tortur'd soul to rest! Her sorrows rend my heart.—Oh thou sweet penitent! There's not an angel in the heav'nly mansions, That will not sue for thee.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Yet, there is something I would petition as my last request— Let me conjure thee then, most injur'd excellence! By all the happy hours we liv'd together, Ere one infernal passion seiz'd my heart! Have pity on the harmless, dear-lov'd innocents, Whom I must leave amidst a cruel world! And when you shall my rueful story tell, Be thus far kind, and say, as is the truth, Oh! say, she was not an adultress.

ANDREWS. I will, I'll speak thee as my soul conceives thee, Spotless, and free as Virtue's self from blemish.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Then, may with me, thy sorrows have an end!—

ANDREWS. Oh! canst thou then forgive my wild upbraiding?

Mrs. ANDREWS. I blame thee not—so let me be convey'd From thy dread presence, and this fatal spot: They are too much for weakness to endure.

ANDREWS. No, no, I'll watch thee whilst a single spark Of that lov'd life remains, and sooth thy woes.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Too kind!—Forbear!—Were your fond wish indulg'd, It would but add new weight to your afflictions. Oh! agonizing thoughts!—Oh! my pour soul!—

ANDREWS. She droops; she dies—and oh! by saving me— Physicians, surgeons, ev'ry help be sent for!—

Mrs. ANDREWS. 'Twere fruitless all unless their friendly aid Some balm could minister to deep despair— Rage on, distress—-haste, madness! quench my soul— Hark! hark! that voice!———the door of mercy's clos'd—

ANDREWS. [To the attendants.] Straightaway, convey her hence to mine own chamber.

[She is carried off, and as he is following her, several bailiffs enter rudely with CONSTANTIA.]

CONSTANTIA. Protect my father, heav'n! undone—undone—

WILSON. What can these ruffians mean? whom do you seek?

Bailiff. He is our prisoner on several writs. [Pointing to Mr. ANDREWS]

ANDREWS. Ay, ay, come on—'Tis fit I shou'd be punish'd. Take, drag me hence, ye ministers of justice! Death, death, or madness only can relieve me.

GOODWIN. What is the whole demand?

Bailiff. Above four thousand?

WILSON. He shall not sink for that: I'll be his pledge.

ANDREWS. Most gen'rous, injur'd friend, this is too much.

GOODWIN. [To WILSON.] I'll join you in the bonds.—Prepare them, sirs. [To the bailiffs, who go off]

CONSTANTIA. Thanks, best of friends! but you shall never suffer. My fortune, independent of my father, Far more than this for which you have engag'd, Shall be our pledg'd security.

ANDREWS. Daggers!———daggers! Wasted—all wasted, in the general wreck. [Aside]

WILSON. 'Tis fit lord Weston should be straight appriz'd Of the sad fate of his unhappy uncle; These two nights past, since his return to town, He hath repos'd with me.

GOODWIN. I hear his voice.

Enter lord WESTON hastily.

Lord WESTON. Where, where's my father! take, O take your son! And let me fly as such into your arms! Just hearing of your undeserv'd calamities, From your remorseless creditors below, I have engag'd for all their claim'd demands, And come to wipe the tear from ev'ry eye.

ANDREWS. Cold sweats bedew my feeble, trembling limbs, And ev'ry object round me grows a blank. Good heav'n! support me, to these tasks unequal———[As he is falling, WILSON and THOMAS support him.]

WILSON. The feelings of his heart o'erpow'r him so, He cannot give them vent; it may prove fatal——— He's all convuls'd: let's place him on this seat. [CONSTANTIA attends him.]

Lord WESTON. [He moves towards CONSTANTIA.] My angel—My Constantia! O those tears! And looks of desperation pierce my soul. Your father lives—Fortune again may favour: But I am your's, and will be so for ever.

WILSON. O my good lord! There are disasters yet within these walls, More fatal far, which claim our instant aid.

Lord WESTON. I've heard them all—my uncle is no more— Would that he had not fall'n in such a cause!

WILSON. But heav'n hath will'd it, and we must submit. With smiles delusive, other crimes decoy, To hazard future ills for present joy: Gaming alone no transient rapture knows, No gleam of pleasure for eternal woes; Distrust and anxious fears its birth attend; And wild distraction waits its guilty end.

THE END