LOVEL. You had best now take my life. I guess you mean it. No:-Men will say I fear'd him, if I kill'd him. Feeling a sweet security. No doubt My secret shall remain a virgin for you!- For once you are mistaken in your man. Then, northward ho! such tricks as we shall play ACT IV. An Apartment in Woodvil Hall. JOHN WOODVIL (alone). A weight of wine lies heavy on my head, Preacheth of temperance, no sermon better. Some men are full of choler, when they are drunk; SCENE II. The Forest. SIR WALTER, SIMON, LOVEL, GRAY. Come, Sir, you had best surrender fairly. We know you, Sir. SIMON. Father, why do you cover your face with you? hands? Why do you fetch your breath so hard? See, villains, his heart is burst! O villains, he cannot speak. One of you run for some water: quickly, ye knaves; will ye have your throats cut? [They both slink off] How is it with you, Sir Walter? Look up, Sir, the villains are gone, He hears me not, and this deep disgrace of treachery in his son hath touched him even to the death. O most distuned and distempered world, where sons talk their aged fathers into their graves! Garrulous and diseased world, and still empty, rotten and hollow talking world, where good men decay, states turn round in an endless m tability, and still for the worse: nothing is at a stay. nothing abides but vanity, chaotic vanity.-Brother. adieu! There lies the parent stock which gave us life. Which I will see consign'd with tears to earth. Leave thou the solemn funeral rites to me, Sir, we are sorry we cannot return your French Grief and a true remorse abide with thee. 'utation. LOVEL. [Bears in the body SCENE III. Another part of the Forest. It was an error merely, and no crime, Which should have slept like one of nature's mysteries, Well, he is dead! And what should Margaret do in the forest? O Woodvil, man enfeoffed to despair! Take thy farewell of peace. O never look again to see good days, No tongue must speak to him, no tongue of man SCENE IV. SANDFORD, MARGARET (as from a journey). SANDFORD. The violence of the sudden mischance hath so wrought in him, who by nature is allied to nothing less than a self-debasing humor of dejection, that have never seen anything more changed and spiritbroken. He hath, with a peremptory resolution, dismissed the partners of his riots and late hours, denied his house and person to their most earnest solicitings, and will be seen by none. He keeps ever alone, and his grief (which is solitary) does not so much seem to possess and govern in him, as it is by him, with a wilfulness of most manifest affection, enterLained and cherished. MARGARET. How bears he up against the common rumor? SANDFORD. JOHN WOODVIL (dressing). JOHN. How beautiful, With a strange indifference, which whosoever dives not into the niceness of his sorrow might mistake for obdurate and insensate. Yet are the wings of his pride for ever clipt; and yet a virtuous predominance of filial grief is so ever uppermost, that you may discover his thoughts less troubled with conjecturing To claim the world's respect! they note so feelingly what living opinions will say, and judge of his deeds. By outward types the serious man within.than absorbed and buried with the dead, whom his Alas! what part or portion can I claim Indiscretion made so. In all the decencies of virtuous sorrow, Which other mourners use? as, namely, These your submissions to my low estate, Good thoughts, and frequent sighs, and seldom smiles, Write bitter things 'gainst my unworthiness. A cleaving sadness native to the brow, All sweet condolements of like-grieved friends, (That steal away the sense of loss almost), Men's pity, and good offices Which enemies themselves do for us then, As we put off our high thoughts and proud looks. These pictures must be taken down : And pointing to the pictures where they hung, (As Hugh de Widville, Walter, first of the name, But that was in old times. Now, no more Must I grow proud upon our house's pride. MARGARET enters. JOHN. Comes Margaret here to witness my disgrace? And diminution of my honor's brightness. MARGARET. Old times should never be forgotten, John. JOHN. I did refuse you, Margaret, in my pride. MARGARET. If John rejected Margaret in his pride, O Woodvil, those were happy days, When we two first began to love. When first, With what a coy reserve and seldom speech I was your favorite then. Thou perfect pattern of thy slander'd sex, MARGARET. Dost yet remember the green arbor, John, "Like hermit poor In pensive place obscure," Go whither, John? To give you in your stead a better self! Such as you were, when these eyes first beheld You mounted on your sprightly steed, White Margery, Sir Rowland my father's gift, And all my maidens gave my heart for lost. I was a young thing then, being newly come Seven years I had wasted in the bosom of France: Did John salute his love, being newly seen. And praised it in a youth. JOHN. MARGARET. Wilt go to church, John? JOHN, I have been there already. MARGARET. How canst say thou hast been there already? The bells are only now ringing for morning service, and hast thou been at church already? JOHN. I left my bed betimes, I could not sleep, rise; And the first object I discern'd Was the glistering spire of St. Mary Ottery, Well, John. MARGARET, JOHN, Then I remember'd 't was the sabbath-day. And I began to pray, and found I could pray; tection, Or was about to act unlawful business At that dead time of dawn, I flew to the church, and found the doors wide open, (Whether by negligence I knew not, Or some peculiar grace to me vouchsafed, Yes. MARGARET, JOHN, So entering in, not without fear, And covering up my eyes for shame, A docile infant by Sir Walter's side; Now Margaret weeps herself. [A noise of bells heard. And, thinking so, I wept a second flood The Witch; A DRAMATIC SKETCH OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. CHARACTERS. So saying, she departed, Leaving Sir Francis like a man, beneath Old Servant in the Family of SIR FRANCIS FAIRFORD. Whose feet a scaffolding was suddenly falling; So he described it. STRANGER. SERVANT. ONE summer night, Sir Francis, as it chanced, STRANGER. A terrible curse! What followed? SERVANT. Nothing immediate, but some two months after Among those aged oaks, said to have been planted Young Philip Fairford suddenly fell sick, Three hundred years ago By a neighboring prior of the Fairford name. Being o'ertask'd in thought, he heeded not And none could tell what ailed him; for he lay, And pined, and pined, till all his hair fell off, And he that was full-flesh'd, became as thin The importunate suit of one who stood by the gate, As a two-months' babe that has been starved in the And begged an alms. Some say (T was partly like a woman's voice, And partly like the hissing of a snake), (Sir Francis told the words) A mischief, mischief, mischief, And a nine-times-killing curse, By day and by night, to the caitiff wight, Who shakes the poor like snakes from his door, up A mischief, And a nine-fold withering curse: For that shall come to thee that will undo thee, Both all that thou fearest and worse. nursing. And sure I think |