The Fatal Falsehood: A Tragedy. In Five Acts

Em. How many ways there are of being wretched!
The avenues to happiness how few!
When will this busy, fluttering heart be still?
When will it cease to feel and beat no more?
E'en now it shudders with a dire presage
Of something terrible it fears to know.
Ent'ring, I saw my venerable father
In earnest conference with the Count Orlando;
Shame and confusion fill'd Orlando's eye,
While stern resentment flush'd my father's cheek.
And look, he comes with terror on his brow!
But, oh! he sees me, sees his child; and now
The terror of his look is lost in love,
In fond, paternal love.

Guild. Come to my arms,
And there conceal that penetrating eye,
Lest it should read what I would hide for ever,
Would hide from all, but most would hide from thee——
Thy father's grief, his shame, his rage, his tears.

Em. Tears! heaven and earth! see if he does not weep!

Guild. He who has drawn this sorrow from my eyes
Shall pay me back again in tears of blood.
'Tis for thy sake I weep.

Em. Ah, weep for me?
Hear, Heaven, and judge; hear, Heaven, and punish me!
If any crime of mine——

Guild. Thou art all innocence;
Just what a parent's fondest wish would frame;
No fault of thine e'er stain'd thy father's cheek;
For if I blush'd, it was to hear thy virtues,
And think that thou wast mine: and if I wept,
It was from joy and gratitude to heaven,
That made me father of a child like thee.
Orlando——

Em. What of him?

Guild. I cannot tell thee;
An honest shame, a virtuous pride forbids.

Em. Oh, speak!

Guild. Canst thou not guess, and spare thy father?

Em. 'Tis possible I can—and yet I will not:
Tell me the worst while I have sense to hear.
Thou wilt not speak—nay, never turn away;
Dost thou not know that fear is worse than grief?
There may be bounds to grief, fear knows no bounds:
In grief we know the worst of what we feel,
But who can tell the end of what we fear?
Grief mourns some sorrow palpable and known,
But fear runs wild with horrible conjecture.

Guild. Then hear the worst, and arm thy soul to bear it.
My child!—he has—Orlando has refus'd thee.

Em. (after a long pause.)
'Tis well—'tis very well—'tis as it should be.

Guild. Oh, there's an eloquence in that mute woe
Which mocks all language. Speak, relieve thy heart,
Thy bursting heart; thy father cannot bear it.
Am I a man? no more of this, fond eyes!
I am grown weaker than a chidden infant,
While not a sigh escapes to tell thy pain.

Em. See, I am calm; I do not shed a tear;
The warrior weeps, the woman is a hero!

Guild. (embraces her.)
My glorious child! now thou art mine, indeed!
Forgive me if I thought thee fond and weak.
I have a Roman matron for my daughter,
And not a feeble girl. And yet I fear,
For, oh! I know thy tenderness of soul;
I fear this silent anguish but portends
Some dread convulsion soon to burst in horrors.

Em. I will not shame thy blood; and yet, my father,
Methinks thy daughter should not be refus'd!
Refus'd? It has a harsh, ungrateful sound;
Thou shouldst have found a softer term of scorn.
And have I then been held so cheap? Refus'd?
Been treated like the light ones of my sex,
Held up to sale? been offer'd, and refus'd?

Guild. Long have I known thy love; I thought it mutual:
I met him—talk'd of marriage——

Em. Ah! no more:
I am rejected;—does not that suffice?
Excuse my pride the mortifying tale;
Spare me particulars of how and when,
And do not parcel out thy daughter's shame.
No flowers of rhetoric can change the fact,
No arts of speech can varnish o'er my shame:
Orlando has refus'd me!

Guild. Villain! villain!
He shall repent this outrage.

Em. Think no more on't:
I'll teach thee how to bear it; I'll grow proud,
As gentle spirits still are apt to do
When cruel slight or killing scorn assails them.
Come, virgin dignity; come, female pride;
Come, wounded modesty; come, slighted love;
Come, conscious worth; come, too, O black despair!
Support me, arm me, fill me with my wrongs!
Sustain this feeble spirit!—Yes, my father,
But for thy share in this sad tale of shame,
I think I could have borne it.

Guild. Thou hast a brother;
He shall assert thy cause.

Em. First strike me dead!
No, in the wild distraction of my spirit,
In this dread conflict of my breaking heart,
Hear my fond pleading—save me from that curse;
Thus I adjure thee by the dearest ties [Kneels.
Which link society; by the sweet names
Of parent and of child; by all the joys
These tender claims have yielded, I adjure thee
Breathe not this fatal secret to my brother;
Let him not know his sister was refus'd!
Spare me that exquisite, that perfect ruin!
Conceive the mighty woe I cannot speak,
And tremble to become a childless father.

Guild. What art thou, Life? thou lying vanity!
Thou promiser, who never meanst to pay!
This beating storm will crush my feeble age!
Yet let me not complain; I have a son,
Just such a son as Heaven in mercy gives,
When it would bless supremely: he is happy;
His ardent wishes will this day be crown'd;
He weds the maid he loves: in him, at least,
My soul will yet taste comfort.—See; he's here;
He seems disorder'd.

Riv. Yes, I fondly thought
Not all the tales which malice might devise,
Not all the leagues combined hell might form,
Could shake her steady soul.

Guild. What means my son?
Where is thy bride?

Riv. O name her not!

Guild. Not name her?

Riv. No; if possible, not think of her;
Would I could help it:—Julia! oh, my Julia!
Curse my fond tongue! I said I would not name her:
I did not think to do it, but my heart
Is full of her idea; her lov'd image
So fills my soul, it shuts out other thoughts;
My lips resolving not to frame the sound,
Dwell on her name, and all my talk is Julia!

Guild. 'Tis as it should be; ere the midnight bell
Sound in thy raptur'd ear, this charming Julia
Will be thy wife.

Riv. No.

Guild. How?

Riv. She has refus'd.

Guild. Say'st thou?

Riv. She has.

Guild. Why, who would be a father!
Who that could guess the wretchedness it brings,
But would entreat of Heaven to write him childless!

Riv. 'Twas but a little hour ago we parted,
As happy lovers should; but when again
I sought her presence, with impatient haste,
Told her the priest, the altar, all was ready;
She blush'd, she wept, and vow'd it could not be;
That reasons of importance to our peace
Forbad the nuptial rites to be perform'd
Before to-morrow.

Guild. She consents to-morrow!
She but defers the marriage, not declines it.

Riv. Mere subterfuge! mere female artifice!
What reason should forbid our instant union?
Wherefore to-morrow? wherefore not to-night?
What difference could a few short hours have made?
Or if they could, why not avow the cause?

Guild. I have grown old in camps, have liv'd in courts;
The toils of bright ambition have I known,
Woo'd greatness and enjoy'd it, till disgust
Follow'd possession; still I fondly look'd
Through the false perspective for distant joy;
Hop'd for the hour of honourable ease,
When, safe from all the storms and wrecks of fate,
My shatter'd bark at rest, I might enjoy
An old man's blessings, liberty and leisure,
Domestic happiness, and smiling peace.
The hour of age, indeed, is come! I feel it:
Feel it in all its sorrows, pains, and cares;
But where, oh, where's th' untasted peace it promis'd?

Riv. I would not deeper wound my father's peace;
But I would hide the cause of my resentment,
Till all be known; and yet I know too much.
It must be so—his grief, his sudden parting:
Fool that I was, not to perceive at once—
But friendship blinded me, and love betray'd.
Bertrand was right, he told me she was chang'd,
And would, on some pretence, delay the marriage.
I hop'd 'twas malice all.—Yonder she comes,
Dissolv'd in tears; I cannot see them fall,
And be a man; I will not, dare not meet her;
Her blandishments would soothe me to false peace,
And if she ask'd it, I should pardon all.

Jul. Stay, Rivers! stay, barbarian! hear me speak!
Return, inhuman!—best belov'd, return:
Oh! I will tell thee all, restore thy peace,
Kneel at thy feet, and sue for thy forgiveness.
He hears me not—alas! he will not hear.
Break, thou poor heart, since Rivers is unkind.

Or. Julia in tears!

Jul. Alas! you have undone me!
Behold the wretched victim of her promise!
I urg'd, at your request, the fatal suit
Which has destroy'd my peace; Rivers suspects me,
And I am wretched!

Or. Better 'tis to weep
A temporary ill than weep for ever;
That anguish must be mine.

Jul. Ha! weep for ever!
Can they know wretchedness who know not love?

Or. Not love! oh, cruel friendship! tyrant honour!

Jul. Friendship! alas, how cold art thou to love!

Or. Too well I know it; both alike destroy me,
I am the slave of both, and more than either
The slave of honour.

Jul. If you then have felt
The bitter agonies——

Or. Talk you of agonies?
You who are lov'd again! No! they are mine;
Mine are the agonies of hopeless passion;
Yes, I do love—I dote, I die for love!
(He falls at her feet.) Julia!

Jul. What dost thou mean? Unfold this fatal secret.

Or. Nay, never start—I know I am a villain!
I know thy hand is destin'd to another,
That other, too, my friend, that friend the man
To whom I owe my life! Yes, I adore thee;
Spite of the black ingratitude, adore thee;
I dote upon my friend and yet betray him;
I'm bound to Emmelina, yet forsake her;
I honour virtue while I follow guilt;
I love the noble Rivers more than life,
But Julia more than honour.

Jul. Hold! astonishment
Has seal'd my lips; whence sprung this monstrous daring?

Or. (rises.) From despair.

Jul. What can you hope from me?

Or. Hope! nothing.
I would not aught receive, aught hope, but death.
Think'st thou I need reproach? think'st thou I need
To be reminded that my love's a crime?
That every moral tie forbids my passion?
But though I know that heav'n has plagues in store,
Yet mark—I do not, will not, can't repent;
I do not even wish to love thee less;
I glory in my crime: pernicious beauty!
Come, triumph in thy power, complete my woes;
Insult me with the praises of my rival,
The man on earth—whom most I ought to love!

Jul. I leave thee to remorse, and to that penitence
Thy crime demands.[Going.

Or. A moment stay.

Jul. I dare not.

Or. Hear all my rival's worth, and all my guilt.
The unsuspecting Rivers sent me to thee,
To plead his cause; I basely broke my trust,
And, like a villain, pleaded for myself.

Jul. Did he? Did Rivers? Then he loves me still—
Quick let me seek him out.

Or. (takes out the dagger.) First take this dagger;
Had you not forc'd it from my hand to-day,
I had not liv'd to know this guilty moment:
Take it, present it to the happy Rivers,
Tell him to plunge it in a traitor's heart,
Tell him his friend, Orlando, is that traitor,
Tell him Orlando forg'd the guilty tale,
Tell him Orlando was the only foe
Who at the altar would have murder'd Rivers,
And then have died himself.

Jul. Farewell—repent—think better.

Riv. Turn, villain, turn!

Or. Ha! Rivers here?

Riv. Yes, Rivers.

Or. Gape wide, thou friendly earth, for ever hide me!
Rise, Alps, ye crashing mountains, bury me!

Riv. Nay, turn, look on me.

Or. Rivers! oh, I cannot,
I dare not, I have wrong'd thee.

Riv. Doubly wrong'd me;
Thy complicated crimes cry out for vengeance.

Or. Take it.

Riv. But I would take it as a man.
Draw.  [Rivers draws.

Or. Not for a thousand worlds.

Riv.   Not fight?
Why, thou'rt a coward, too, as well as villain:
I shall despise as well as hate thee.

Or.   Do;
Yet wrong me not, for if I am a coward
'Tis but to thee: there does not breathe the man,
Thyself excepted, who durst call me so
And live; but, oh! 'tis sure to heaven and thee,
I am the veriest coward guilt e'er made.
Now, as thou art a man, revenge thyself:
Strike!

Riv. No, not stab thee like a base assassin,
But meet thee as a foe.

Or. Think of my wrongs.

Riv. I feel them here.

Or. Think of my treachery.

Riv. Oh, wherefore wast thou false? how have I lov'd thee!

Or. Of that no more: think of thy father's grief,
Of Emmelina's wrongs——

Riv. Provoke me not.

Or. Of Julia——

Riv. Ha! I shall forget my honour,
And do a brutal violence upon thee,
Would tarnish my fair fame. Villain and coward!
Traitor! will nothing rouse thee?

Or. (drawing.) Swelling heart!
Yet this I have deserv'd, all this, and more.

Em. Lend me your swiftness, lightnings—'tis too late.
See they're engag'd—oh, no—they live, both live!
Hold, cruel men!

Riv. Unlucky! 'tis my sister.

Em. Ye men of blood! if yet you have not lost
All sense of human kindness, love, or pity;
If ever you were dear to one another;
If ever you desire or look for mercy
When in the wild extremity of anguish,
You supplicate that Judge who has declar'd
That vengeance is his own—oh, hear me now;
Hear a fond wretch, whom mis'ry has made bold;
Spare, spare each other's life—spare your own souls.

Or. (to Rivers.)
Thou shouldst have struck at once! O tardy hand!

Em. Does death want engines? is his power curtail'd?
Has fell disease forgotten to destroy?
Are there not pestilence and spotted plagues,
Devouring deluges, consuming fires,
Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes, and famine,
That man must perish by the hand of man?
Nay, to complete the horror, friend by friend?

Riv. What! shall I then endure this outrage tamely?

Em. No. If you covet death; if you're in love
With slaughter and destruction—does not war
Invite you to her banner? Far and wide
Her dire dominion reaches.—There seek death.
There fall without a crime. There, where no hate,
No individual rage, no private wrong,
Arms man against his brother.—Not as here,
Where both are often murderers in the act;
In the foul purpose——always.

Riv. Is honour nothing?

Em. Honour! O yes, I know him. 'Tis a phantom;
A shadowy figure wanting bulk and life;
Who, having nothing solid in himself,
Wraps his thin form in Virtue's plunder'd robe,
And steals her title. Honour! 'tis the fiend
Who feeds on orphans' tears and widows' groans,
And slakes his impious thirst in brothers' blood.
Honour! why, 'tis the primal law of hell!
The grand device to people the dark realms
With noble spirits, who, but for this curst honour,
Had been at peace on earth, or bless'd in heaven.
With this false honour Christians have no commerce,
Religion disavows, and truth disowns it.

Or. (throws away his sword.)
An angel speaks, and angels claim obedience.

Riv. (to Orlando.)
This is the heart thou hast wrong'd.

Em. (comes up to Orlando.) I pity thee;
Calamity has taught me how to pity;
Before I knew distress, my heart was hard;
But now it melts at ev'ry touch of woe;
And wholesome sufferings bring it back to virtue.
Rivers, he once was good and just like thee:
Who shall be proud and think he stands secure,
If thy Orlando's false?

Riv. Think of his crime.

Em. Oh, think of his temptation! think 'twas Julia;
Thy heart could not resist her; how should his?
It is the very error of his friendship.
Your souls were fram'd so very much alike,
He could not choose but love whom Rivers lov'd.

Or. Think'st thou there is in death a pang like this?
Strike, my brave friend! be sudden and be silent!
Death, which is terrible to happy men,
To me will be a blessing: I have lost
All that could make life dear; I've lost my friend;
I've stabb'd the peace of mind of that fair creature;
I have surviv'd my honour: this is dying!
The mournful fondness of officious love
Will plant no thorns upon my dying pillow;
No precious tears embalm my memory,
But curses follow it.

Em. See, Rivers melts;
He pities thee.

Or. I'll spare thy noble heart
The pain of punishing: Orlando's self
Revenges both.

Em. Barbarian! kill me first.

Riv. (snatching the dagger.) Thou shalt not die!
I swear I love thee still:
That secret sympathy which long has bound us
Pleads for thy life with sweet but strong entreaty.
Thou shalt repair the wrongs of that dear saint,
And be again my friend.

Or. Oh, hear me.

Em. No.
I cannot stoop to live on charity,
And what but charity is love compell'd?
I've been a weak, a fond, believing woman,
And credulous beyond my sex's softness:
But with the weakness, I've the pride of woman.
I lov'd with virtue, but I fondly lov'd;
That passion fix'd my fate, determin'd all,
And mark'd at once the colour of my life.
Hearts that love well, love long; they love but once.
My peace thou hast destroy'd, my honour's mine:
She who aspir'd to gain Orlando's heart
Shall never owe Orlando's hand to pity.

Or. (after a pause.) And I still live!

Riv. Farewell! should I stay longer
I might forget my vow.

Or. Yet hear me, Rivers.

Ber. How's this? my fortune fails me, both alive!
I thought by stirring Rivers to this quarrel,
There was at least an equal chance against him.
I work invisibly, and like the tempter
My agency is seen in its effects.
Well, honest Bertrand! now for Julia's letter.
(Takes out a letter.)
This fond epistle of a love-sick maid,
I've sworn to give, but did not swear to whom.
"Give it my love," said she, "my dearest lord!"
Rivers she meant; there's no address—that's lucky.
Then where's the harm? Orlando is a lord,
As well as Rivers, loves her, too, as well.
(Breaks open the letter.)
I must admire your style—your pardon, fair one.
(Runs over it.)
I tread in air—methinks I brush the stars,
And spurn the subject world which rolls beneath me.——
There's not a word but fits Orlando's case
As well as Rivers';—tender to excess—
No name—'twill do; his faith in me is boundless;
Then, as the brave are still, he's unsuspecting,
And credulous beyond a woman's weakness.
(Going out, he spies the dagger.)
Orlando's dagger!—ha! 'tis greatly thought.
This may do noble service; such a scheme!
My genius catches fire! the bright idea
Is form'd at once, and fit for instant action!

Ber. 'Twas here we were to meet; where does he stay?
This compound of strange contradicting parts,
Too flexible for virtue, yet too virtuous
To make a flourishing, successful villain.
Conscience! be still; preach not remorse to me;
Remorse is for the luckless, failing villain.
He who succeeds repents not; penitence
Is but another name for ill success.
Was Nero penitent when Rome was burnt?
No: but had Nero been a petty villain,
Subject to laws and liable to fear,
Nero perchance had been a penitent.
He comes:—this paper makes him all my own.

Or. At length this wretched, tempest-beaten bark
Seems to have found its haven: I'm resolv'd;
My wav'ring principles are fix'd to honour;
My virtue gathers force, my mind grows strong,
I feel an honest confidence within,
A precious earnest of returning peace.

Or. It was a generous fault.

Ber. Yet 'twas a fault.
Oh, for a flinty heart that knows no weakness,
But moves right onward, unseduc'd by friendship,
And all the weak affections!

Or. Hear me, Bertrand!
This is my last farewell; absence alone
Can prop my stagg'ring virtue.

Ber. You're resolv'd:
Then Julia's favours come too late.

Or.   What favours?

Ber. Nay, nothing; I renounce these weak affections;
They have misled us both. I, too, repent,
And will return the letter back to Julia.

Or. Letter! what letter? Julia write to me?
I will not see it.—What would Rivers say?
Bertrand! he sav'd my life:—I will not see it.

Ber. I do not mean you should; nay, I refus'd
To bring it you.

Or. Refus'd to bring the letter?

Ber. Yes, I refus'd at first.

Or. Then thou hast brought it?
My faithful Bertrand!—come.

Ber. 'Twere best not see it.

Or. Not see it! how! not read my Julia's letter!
An empire should not bribe me to forbear.
Come, come.

Ber. Alas, how frail is human virtue!
My resolution melts, and though I mean not
To trust you with the letter, I must tell you
With what a thousand, thousand charms she gave it.
"Take this," said she, "and as Orlando reads it,
Attend to every accent of his voice;
Watch every little motion of his eye;
Mark if it sparkles when he talks of Julia;
If when he speaks, poor Julia be the theme;
If when he sighs, his bosom heave for Julia:
Note every trifling act, each little look,
For, oh! of what importance is the least
To those who love like me!"

Ber. How your friend will thank you!
Another day makes Julia his for ever.
Even now the great pavilion is prepar'd;
There will the nuptial rites be solemnis'd.
Julia already dress'd in bridal robes
Like some fair victim——

Or. O, no more, no more.
What can she write to me?

Ber. Some prudent counsel.

Or. Then wherefore fear to read it? come, I'll venture:
What wondrous harm can one poor letter do?
The letter—quick the letter.

Ber. Since you force me.[Gives it.

Or. Be firm, ye shivering nerves! It is her hand.
(Reads.) "To spare my blushes Bertrand brings you this.
How have you wrong'd me! you believ'd me false;
'Twas my compassion for your friend deceiv'd you.
Meet me at midnight in the great pavilion;
But shun till then my presence; from that hour
My future life is yours; your once-lov'd friend
I pity and esteem; but you alone
Possess the heart of Julia."
  This to me!
I dream, I rave, 'tis all Elysium round me,
And thou, my better angel! this to me!

Ber. I'm dumb: oh, Julia! what a fall is thine!

Or. What! is it such a crime to love? away——
Thy moral comes too late; thou shouldst have urg'd
Thy scruple sooner, or not urg'd at all:
Thou shouldst—alas! I know not what I say—
But this I know, the charming Julia loves me,
Appoints a meeting at the dead of night!
She loves! The rest is all beneath my care.

Ber. Be circumspect; the hour is just at hand;
Since all is ready for your purpos'd parting,
See your attendants be dispos'd aright,
Near the pavilion gate.

Or. Why so?

Ber. 'Tis plain
Julia must be the partner of your flight:
'Tis what she means, you must not mind her struggles;
A little gentle violence perhaps,
To make her yield to what she had resolv'd,
And save her pride; she'll thank you for it after.

Or. Take her by force? I like not that: O Bertrand,
There is a mutinous spirit in my blood,
That wars against my conscience.—Tell my Julia
I will not fail to meet her.

Ber. I obey.
Be near the garden: I shall soon return.

Or. This giant sin, whose bulk so lately scar'd me,
Shrinks to a common size; I now embrace
What I but lately fear'd to look upon.
Why, what a progress have I made in guilt!
Where is the hideous form it lately wore?
It grows familiar to me; I can think,
Contrive, and calmly meditate on mischief;
Talk temp'rately of sin, and cherish crimes
I lately so abhorr'd, that had they once
But glanc'd upon the surface of my fancy,
I had been terrified. Oh, wayward conscience!
Too tender for repose, to sear'd for penitence!

Riv. Ye lovely scenes of long remember'd bliss!
Scenes which I hop'd were fated to bestow
Still dearer blessings in a beauteous bride!
Thou gay pavilion, which art dress'd so fair
To witness my espousals, why, ah! why
Art thou adorn'd in vain? Yet still I haunt thee,
For Julia lov'd thee once:—dear faithless Julia!
Yet is she false? Orlando swore she was not:
It may be so; yet she avoids my presence,
Keeps close from every eye, but most from mine.

Or. Ha! Rivers here! would I had shunn'd his walks!
How shall I meet the man I mean to wrong?

Riv. Why does Orlando thus expose his health
To this cold air?

Or. I ask the same of Rivers?

Riv. Because this solitude, this silent hour,
Feeds melancholy thoughts, and soothes my soul.
My Julia will not see me.

Or. How?

Riv. She denies me
Admittance to her presence.

Or. (aside.)   Then I'm lost,
Confirm'd a villain; now 'tis plain she loves me.

Riv. She will not pardon me one single fault
Of jealous love, though thou hadst clear'd up all.

Or. Wait till to-morrow, all will then be known.

Riv. Wait till to-morrow? Look at that pavilion;
All was prepar'd: yes, I dare tell thee all,
For thou art honest now.

Or. (aside.) That wounds too deeply.

Riv. Soon as the midnight bell gave the glad summons,
This dear pavilion had beheld her mine.

Or. All will be well to-morrow.—(Aside.) If I stay
I shall betray the whole.——Good night, my Rivers.

Riv. Good night; go you to rest; I still shall walk.

Riv. Yes, I will trace her haunts; my too fond heart,
Like a poor bird that's hunted from its nest,
Dares not return, and knows not where to fix;
Still it delights to hover round the spot
Which lately held its treasure; eyes it still,
And with heart-breaking tenderness surveys
The scene of joys which never may return.

Or. Did he say rest? talk'd he of rest to me?
Can rest and guilt associate? but no matter,
I cannot now go back; then such a prize,
Such voluntary love, so fair, so yielding,
Would make archangels forfeit their allegiance!
I dare not think: reflection leads to madness.

Bertrand! I was not made for this dark work;
My heart recoils—poor Rivers!

Ber. What of Rivers?

Or. I've seen him.

Ber. Where?

Or. Before the great pavilion.

Ber. (aside.) That's lucky, saves me trouble: were he absent,
Half of my scheme had fail'd.

Or. He's most unhappy;
He wish'd me rest, spoke kindly to me, Bertrand;
How, how can I betray him?

Ber. He deceives you;
He's on the watch, else wherefore now abroad
At this late hour? beware of treachery.

Or. I am myself the traitor.

Ber. Come, no more!
The time draws near, you know the cypress walk,
'Tis dark.

Or. The fitter for dark deeds like mine.

Ber. I have prepar'd your men; when the bell strikes,
Go into the pavilion; there you'll find
The blushing maid, who with faint screams, perhaps,
Will feign resentment. But you want a sword.

Or. A sword!—I'll murder no one—why a sword?

Ber. 'Tis prudent to be arm'd;—no words,—take mine;
There may be danger,—Julia may be lost,—
This night secures or loses her for ever.
The cypress walk—spare none who look like spies.

Or. (looking at the sword.)
How deeply is that soul involv'd in guilt,
Who dares not hold communion with its thoughts,
Nor ask itself what it designs to do!
But dallies blindly with the gen'ral sin
Of unexamin'd, undefin'd perdition!

Ber. Thus far propitious fortune fills my sails;
Yet still I doubt his milkiness of soul;
My next exploit must be to find out Rivers,
And, as from Julia, give him a feign'd message,
To join her here at the pavilion gate;
There shall Orlando's well-arm'd servants meet him,
And take his righteous soul from this bad world.
If they should fail, his honest cousin Bertrand
Will help him onward in his way to heav'n.
Then this good dagger, which I'll leave beside him,
Will, while it proves the deed, conceal the doer.
'Tis not an English instrument of mischief,
And who'll suspect good Bertrand wore a dagger?
To clear me further, I've no sword—unarm'd—
Poor helpless Bertrand! Then no longer poor,
But Guildford's heir, and lord of these fair lands.

Or. Draw thy dun curtain round, oh, night! black night!
Inspirer and concealer of foul crimes!
Thou wizard night! who conjur'st up dark thoughts,
And mak'st him bold who else would start at guilt!
Beneath thy veil the villain dares to act
What, in broad day, he would not dare to think.
Oh, night! thou hid'st the dagger's point from men,
But canst thou screen the assassin from himself?
Shut out the eye of heaven? extinguish conscience?
Or heal the wounds of honour? Oh, no, no, no!
Yonder she goes—the guilty, charming Julia!
My genius drives me on—Julia, I come.

Jul. Not here? not come? look out my faithful Anna.
There was a time—oh, time for ever dear!
When Rivers would not make his Julia wait.
Perhaps he blames me, thinks the appointment bold,
Too daring, too unlike his bashful Julia;
But 'twas the only means my faithful love
Devis'd to save him from Orlando's rashness.
I have kept close, refus'd to see my Rivers;
Now all is still, and I have ventur'd forth,
With this kind maid and virtue for my guard.
Come, we'll go in, he cannot sure be long.

Or. What have I done? a deed that earns damnation!
Where shall I fly? ah! the pavilion door!
'Tis open—it invites me to fresh guilt;
I'll not go in—let that fall'n angel wait,
And curse her stars as I do.
(The midnight bell strikes.) Hark! the bell!
Demons of darkness, what a peal is that!
Again! 'twill wake the dead—I cannot bear it!
'Tis terrible as the last trumpet's sound!
That was the marriage signal! Powers of hell,
What blessings have I blasted! Rivers!—Julia!

Jul. My Rivers calls; I come, I come.—Orlando!

Or.   Yes,
Thou beautiful deceiver! 'tis that wretch.

Jul. That perjur'd friend.

Or. That devil!

Jul. I'm betray'd.
Why art thou here?

Or. Thou canst make ruin lovely,
Or I would ask, why dost thou bring me here?

Jul. I bring thee here?

Or. Yes, thou, bright falsehood! thou.

Jul. No, by my hopes of heaven! where is my Rivers?
Some crime is meant.

Or. (catches her hand.)
Julia! the crime is done.
Dost thou not shudder? art thou not amaz'd?
Art thou not cold and blasted with my touch?
Is not thy blood congeal'd? does no black horror
Fill thy presaging soul? look at these hands;
Julia! they're stain'd with blood; blood, Julia, blood!
Nay, look upon them.

Jul. Ah! I dare not.—Blood!

Or. Yes, thou dear false one, with the noblest blood
That ever stain'd a dark assassin's hand.
Had not thy letter, with the guilty message
To meet thee here this hour, blinded my honour,
And wrought my passion into burning frenzy,
Whole worlds should not have bribed me.

Jul. Letter and message?
I sent thee none.

Or. Then Bertrand has betray'd me!
And I have done a deed beyond all reach,
All hope of mercy—I have murder'd Rivers.

Jul. Oh! [She falls into her maid's arms.

Or. O rich reward which Love prepares for Murder!
Thus hell repays its instruments!

Guild. Where is he?
Where is this midnight murderer? this assassin?
This is the place Orlando's servant nam'd.

Or. The storm comes on. 'Tis Guildford, good old man!
Behold the wretch accurst of heaven and thee.

Guild. Accurst of both, indeed. How, Julia fainting!

Or. She's pure as holy truth; she was deceiv'd,
And so was I.

Guild. Who tempted thee to this?

Or. Love, hell, and Bertrand.

Jul. (recovering.) Give me back my Rivers;
I will not live without him.—Oh, my father!

Guild. Father! I am none; I am no more a father;
I have no child; my son is basely murder'd,
And my sweet daughter, at the fatal news,
Is quite bereft of reason.

Or. Seize me, bind me:
If death's too great a mercy, let me live:
Drag me to some damp dungeon's horrid gloom,
Deep as the centre, dark as my offences;
Come, do your office, take my sword: oh, Bertrand,
Yet, ere I perish, could it reach thy heart!

Jul. I will not long survive thee, oh, my Rivers!

Riv. Who calls on Rivers with a voice so sad,
So full of sweetness?

Guild. Ah, my son!

Jul. 'Tis he, 'tis he!

Or. He lives, he lives! the god-like Rivers lives!
Hear it, ye host of heaven! witness, ye saints!
Recording angels, tell it in your songs;
Breathe it, celestial spirits, to your lutes,
That Rivers lives!

Jul. Explain this wond'rous happiness?

Riv. 'Twas Bertrand whom Orlando killed; the traitor
Has with his dying breath confess'd the whole.

Or. Good sword, I thank thee!

Riv. In the tangled maze
Orlando miss'd the path he was to take,
And pass'd through that where Bertrand lay conceal'd
To watch th' event: Orlando thought 'twas me,
And that I play'd him false: the walk was dark.
In Bertrand's bloody hand I found this dagger,
With which he meant to take my life; but how
Were you alarm'd?

Guild. One of Orlando's men,
Whom wealth could never bribe to join in murder——

Or. Murder! I bribe to murder?

Riv. No; 'twas Bertrand
Brib'd them to that curs'd deed: he lov'd my sister.

Or. Exquisite villain!

Guild. Fly to Emmelina,
If any spark of reason yet remain,
Tell her the joyful news.—Alas, she's here!
Wildly she flies!—Ah, my distracted child!

Em. Off, off! I will have way! ye shall not hold me:
I come to seek my Lord: is he not here?
Tell me, ye virgins, have ye seen my love,
Or know you where his flocks repose at noon?
My love is comely—sure you must have seen him;
'Tis the great promiser! who vows and swears;
The perjur'd youth! who deals in oaths and breaks them.
In truth he might deceive a wiser maid.
I lov'd him once; he then was innocent:
He was no murderer then, indeed he was not;
He had not kill'd my brother.

Riv. Nor has now;
Thy brother lives.

Em. I know it—yes, he lives
Among the cherubim. Murd'rers too will live:
But where? I'll tell you where—down, down, down, down.
How deep it is! 'tis fathomless—'tis dark!
No—there's a pale blue flame—ah, poor Orlando!

Guild. My heart will burst.

Or. Pierce mine, and that will ease it.

Em. (comes up to her father.)
I knew a maid who lov'd—but she was mad—
Fond, foolish girl! Thank heav'n, I am not mad;
Yet the afflicting angel has been with me;
But do not tell my father, he would grieve;
Sweet, good old man—perhaps he'd weep to hear it:
I never saw my father weep but once;
I'll tell you when it was—I did not weep;
'Twas when—but soft, my brother must not know it,
'Twas when his poor fond daughter was refus'd.

Guild. Who can bear this?

Or. I will not live to bear it.

Em. (comes up to Orlando.)
Take comfort, thou poor wretch! I'll not appear
Against thee, nor shall Rivers; but blood must,
Blood will appear; there's no concealing blood.
What's that? my brother's ghost—it vanishes:
[Catches hold of Rivers.
Stay, take me with thee, take me to the skies;
I have thee fast: thou shalt not go without me.
But hold—may we not take the murd'rer with us?
That look says—No. Why then I'll not go with thee.
Yet hold me fast—'tis dark—I'm lost—I'm gone.

Or. One crime makes many needful: this day's sin
Blots out a life of virtue. Good old man!
My bosom bleeds for thee; thy child is dead,
And I the cause. 'Tis but a poor atonement;
But I can make no other.[Stabs himself.

Riv. What hast thou done?

Or. Fill'd up the measure of my sins. Oh, mercy!
Eternal goodness, pardon this last guilt!
Rivers, thy hand!—farewell! forgive me, Heaven!
Yet is it not an act which bars forgiveness,
And shuts the door of grace for ever!—Oh!