Helen. Or has he aught of thine? Write to him, Julia, Demanding it! Do, Julia, if you love me;And I'll direct it in a schoolboy's hand, As round as I can write, "To Master Clifford."Julia. Helen!
Helen. I'll think of fifty thousand ways To mortify him! I've a twentieth cousin, A care-for-nought, at mischief. Him I'll set, With twenty other madcaps like himself, To walk the streets the traitor most frequents And give him salutation as he passes -"How do you, Master Clifford?"
Julia. [Highly incensed.] Helen!
Helen. Bless me!
Julia. I hate you, Helen!
[Enter MODUS.]
Mod. Joy for you, fair lady!
Our baronet is now plain gentleman -
And hardly that, not master of the means To bear himself as such. The kinsman lives Whose only rumoured death gave wealth to him, And title. A hard creditor he proves, Who keeps strict reckoning--will have interest.
As well as principal. A ruined man Is now Sir Thomas Clifford!
Helen. I'm glad on't.
Mod. And so am I, A scurvy trick it was He served you, madam. Use a lady so!
I merely bore with him. I never liked him.
Helen. No more did I. No, never could I think He looked his title.
Mod. No, nor acted it.
If rightly they report, he ne'er disbursed To entertain his friends, 'tis broadly said, A hundred pounds in the year! He was most poor In the appointments of a man of rank, Possessing wealth like his. His horses, hacks!
His gentleman, a footman! and his footman, A groom! The sports that men of quality And spirit countenance, he kept aloof from, From scruple of economy, not taste, -As racing and the like. In brief, he lacked Those shining points that, more than name, denote High breeding; and, moreover, was a man Of very shallow learning.
Julia. Silence, sir!
For shame!
Helen. Why, Julia!
Julia. Speak not to me! Poor!
Most poor! I tell you, sir, he was the making Of fifty gentlemen--each one of whom Were more than peer for thee! His title, sir, Lent him no grace he did not pay it back!
Though it had been the highest of the high, He would have looked it, felt it, acted it, As thou couldst ne'er have done! When found you out You liked him not? It was not ere to-day!
Or that base spirit I must reckon yours Which smiles where it would scowl--can stoop to hate And fear to show it! He was your better, sir, And is!--Ay, is! though stripped of rank and wealth, His nature's 'bove or fortune's love or spite, To blazon or to blurr it! [Retires.]
Mod. [To HELEN.] I was told Much to disparage him--I know not wherefore.
Helen. And so was I, and know as much the cause.
[Enter MASTER WALTER, with parchments.]
Wal. Joy, my Julia!
Impatient love has foresight! Lo you here The marriage deeds filled up, except a blank To write your jointure. What you will, my girl!
Is this a lover? Look! Three thousand pounds Per annum for your private charges! Ha!
There's pin-money! Is this a lover? Mark What acres, forests, tenements, are taxed For your revenue; and so set apart, That finger cannot touch them, save thine own.
Is this a lover? What good fortune's thine!
Thou dost not speak; but, 'tis the way with joy!
With richest heart, it has the poorest tongue!
Mod. What great good fortune's this you speak of, sir?
Wal. A coronet, Master Modus! You behold The wife elect, sir, of no less a man Than the new Earl of Rochdale--heir of him That's recently deceased.
Helen. My dearest Julia, Much joy to you!
Mod. All good attend you, madam!
Wal. This letter brings excuses from his lordship, Whose absence it accounts for. He repairs To his estate in Lancashire, and thither We follow.
Julia. When, sir?
Wal. Now. This very hour.
Julia. This very hour! O cruel, fatal haste!
Wal. "O cruel, fatal haste!" What meanest thou?
Have I done wrong to do thy bidding, then?
I have done no more. Thou wast an offcast bride, And wouldst be an affianced one--thou art so!
Thou'dst have the slight that marked thee out for scorn, Converted to a means of gracing thee -It is so! If our wishes come too soon, What can make sure of welcome? In my zeal To win thee thine, thou know'st, at any time I'd play the steed, whose will to serve his lord, With his last breath gives his last bound for him!
Since only noon have I despatched what well Had kept a brace of clerks, and more, on foot -And then, perhaps, had been to do again! -
Not finished sure, complete--the compact firm, As fate itself had sealed it!
Julia. Give you thanks!
Though 'twere my death! my death!
Wal. Thy death! indeed, For happiness like this, one well might die!
Take thy lord's letter! Well?
[Enter THOMAS, with a letter.]
Thos. This letter, sir, The gentleman that served Sir Thomas Clifford -Or him that was Sir Thomas--gave to me For Mistress Julia.
Julia. Give it me!
[Throwing away the one she holds.]
Wal. [Snatching it.] For what?
Wouldst read it? He's a bankrupt! stripped of title, House, chattels, lands, and all! A naked bankrupt, With neither purse, nor trust! Wouldst read his letter?
A beggar! Yea, a very beggar!--fasts, unless He dines on alms! How durst he send thee a letter!
A fellow cut on this hand, and on that;
Bows and is cut again, and bows again!
Who pays you fifty smiles for half a one, -
And that given grudgingly! To you a letter!
I burst with choler! Thus I treat his letter!
[Tears and throws it on the ground.]
So! I was wrong to let him ruffle me;
He is not worth the spending anger on!
I prithee, Master Modus, use despatch, And presently make ready for our ride.
You, Helen, to my Julia look--a change Of dresses will suffice. She must have new ones, Matches for her new state! Haste, friends. My Julia!
Why stand you poring there upon the ground?
Time flies. Your rise astounds you? Never heed -You'll play my lady countess like a queen!
[They go out.]
