Miscellaneous Plays/Rayner Act 1

by Joanna Baillie

RAYNER.

 

---

---

 

ACT I.

SCENE I. A noise of voices and unruly merriment is heard, whilst the curtain draws up, and discovers Count Zaterloo, Bernard, Sebastian, and others of their band, seated round a table with wine, &c.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Ha! ha! ha! ha! with all this noisy mirth,

Should some grave stranger, on his way misled,
Now push the door a-jar, and look upon us
Thus set, what class of men mould we be deem'd?
A set of light hearts, snug in fortune's lap,
Who will not go to bed because we may?
Or club of sharpers, flush'd with full success,
New from the spoiling of some simple fool?
Or troop of strolling players, at our ease,
After the labours of our kingly sorrows,
With throats new cool'd at as great charge of wine
As our tough lungs have cost of lady's tears?

BERNARD.

No, no, thou hast not hit upon it yet:

He'd take thee for the heir of some old miser,

Treating thy friends, as first fruits of thy kingdom,
With flowing bumpers to the quiet rest
Of thy good kinsman's soul,

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Yes, Bernard, thou say'st well: and thy dark visage,

Lank and unsuited to all mirth, would mark thee
The undertaker, who amongst the guests
Had come on matters of his sable trade,
Grinning a strange, uncomely, jaw-bone smile
O'er the fair prospect of his future gains.

SEBASTIAN.

Methinks, at least, in this gay, jolly band,

He scarcely would discover needy men,
Who better days have seen.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Tut, man! thou art too grave; thou art too grave—

Which of you sung that song with merry lay
Some few nights since? Come, let us have it now.

SONG.

Ye who fain would happy be,
Give the hand, and join with me:
They who toil the weary day,
They who bend with locks of grey,
They who tread the beaten way,
Fools who work that we may play,

Fold their weary arms to sleep,
Come, let us our vigil keep.

Fellows, join, and never fear;
Ye who would be happy, hear.
With the sober and the meek,
Lighter flies the passing week?
In his dwelling warm and sleek,
Brighter smiles the rich man's cheek?
Wiser things may wise men say,
But we are wiser far than they.

Come, light spirits, light and free,
Wisest they who foolish be.
He who hammers at the pot,
He who brews for every sot,
He who made my hose and coat,
Is a better man I wot;
Yet were we form'd, events declare,
He to work and I to wear.

Mistress of the misty shroud,
O, lovely moon! come from thy cloud.
When thou o'erlook'st the ocean's brine,
Ourselves we view in floods of wine.
Our constancy resembles thine;
Like thee in borrowed robes we shine;
Then let us, in thy kindred light,
Still wake, the rulers of the night.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

It is a song of Halbert's, is it not?

He was a social jolly-hearted mate,
And had a knack of making ready rhymes.

BERNARD.

I knew him well: what has become of him?

COUNT ZATERLOO (pretending not to hear).

Fill up your glass, and let the flask go round.

BERNARD.

What has become of Halbert, dost thou know?

COUNT ZATERLOO. (still pretending not to hear).

This wine is richly flavour'd, is it not?

BERNARD.

It is.—But Halbert; know ye aught of him?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

The devil take thy question, asking spirit!

For when thou get'st a notion by the skirt,
Thou, like an English bull-dog, keep'st thy hold,
And wilt not let it go.—
He shot himself in prison some months since:
Now, there's thine answer for thee; art thou satisfied?

(A deep and long pause; then Zaterloo starts up as if he recollected something.)

He will be with us ere I've pav'd his way.

SEBASTIAN.

Hast thou some new associate to propose?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Know ye the younger branch of Valvo's house?

Whose valiant father left him but his sword
And his proud spirit, thro' this changeful world
To shape his way, with heart as truly tempered
To all the softest witch'ries of refinement
As e'er own'd cherish'd heir of wide domains,
In palace nurs'd.

SEBASTIAN.

I've seen him when a youth.

But he since then has of a foreign state
The soldier been; and had not now returned,
But in the hope, 'tis laid, of being heir
To his great uncle's vast and rich possessions,
Of which that villain Hubert has depriv'd him
With treach'rous wiles. Poor heart! he has my pity.
'Tis said a ling'ring fever seiz'd upon him
From disappointment; and I marvel not;
The stroke was most severe.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

And felt more keenly,

For that he left behind him, in the country
To which he now belongs, a gentle maid
And his betroth'd, with whom he thought to share

His promis'd wealth.
But these things rest,—Thus driven as we are
To this uncertain, daring course of life,
The stronger and the more respectable
Our band, the greater chance of prospering.
Our number is too small; and, by my soul,
To see a mean, plebeian, vulgar knave,
Admitted of our fellowship, still rubs
Against my nature. Such a man as Rayner
Is precious, and, once gain'd, is sure and steadfast.
But few days since I met him, dark and thoughtful,
With melancholy and unwonted gait
Slow saunt'ring thro' lone, unfrequented paths,
Like one whose soul from man's observing eye
Shrinks gall'd, as shrinks the member newly torn,
From every slightest touch. Seeing him thus,
I mark'd him for my man,

BERNARD.

Did'st thou accost him?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Yes; when to my greeting,

"Thou see'st I am unhappy, go thy ways,"
He fretful said, and turn'd. I still persisted,
With soothing words which thrill'd against his heart,
(For in our youthful days we once were playmates,)
Like the sweet tones of some forgotten song,
Till, like a pent-up flood swoln to the height,
He pour'd his griefs into my breast with tears,

Such as the manliest men in their cross'd lives
Are sometimes forc'd to shed,

SEBASTIAN.

And spoke he of his love?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Nay, there indeed

He was reserv'd; but that part of his story,
Which I from sure authority have learnt,
I still thro' broken words could shrewdly read,
Altho' he nam'd it not.

BERNARD.

Hast thou explain'd to him our course of life?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

No, that had been too much: but can'st thou doubt,

Suff'ring such wrongs as Hubert's artful baseness
Has put upon him, he will scruple long,
Thus circumstanc'd, to join his arm with ours
In murd'ring the rich villain?

BERNARD (looking at Sebastian, who shrinks back).

I pray thee call it shooting! that plain word

Still makes Sebastian, like a squeamish dame,
Shrink and look lily-fac'd. To shoot a man
As one in battle shoots a fronted foe;
As from the tavern's broil, in measur'd field,
One shoots a friend, is nought:—but that word murder—

It hath a horrid sound; pray thee, good captain,
Remember 'tis a band of gentlemen
Thou dost command, and let such gentle phrase
Fall from thy tongue as gentle ears may suit.
(Omnes laughing loud at Sebastian.)

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Hush! Rayner is at hand, I hear his steps.

Enter Rayner.

I give you welcome, Rayner, with my heart:

These are my friends, of whom I well might boast;
But that it seems like boasting of myself.
Here, take your place, and join our fellowship.
There is but little need of ceremony
With those whom like misfortunes bring together.

RAYNER.

I take my seat, honour'd in such a place;

And so far to misfortune am indebted,
Which has procur'd it for me.(Sits down.)

BERNARD (drinking to Rayner).

This do I fill to future fellowship:

To that which makes, at fortune's lowest ebb,
A few brave men united, mock the world
And all its good-boy rules; enabling them
Boldly to seize their portion of life's feast,
Which griping av'rice or unjust oppression
Would from them snatch, whilst with insulting scorn
It mocks their poverty and patient want.

RAYNER.

Thou truly say'st; at least I have observ'd

That those who bear misfortunes over meekly
Do but persuade mankind that they and want
Are all too fitly match'd to be disjoin'd,
And so to it they leave them.

BERNARD.

'Tis ever so:

Even good men then neglect them; but the base,
They, who by mean and undermining arts
To o'ergrown wealth attain, like the ass's heel
'Gainst the sick lion's low and lanken breast
Spurn at them.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Yes, good Bernard, thou speak'st truly.

For I myself, who, as thou know'st right well,
Am not too meekly to misfortune bent,
Have somewhat of the worthless ass's kick
Against my bosom felt.—'Lone and unarm'd—
Had but one brave companion by my side
My anger shar'd, full dearly had the knave—
But let it pass—he had a brave man's curse,
And that will rest upon him.

BERNARD.

But, pray thee, Count, tell us the circumstance,

Thou speak'st in mystery.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

A few days since, returning near my home,

Upon a narrow path rais'd from a road
With mud choak'd up, behind me trampling came,
A band of liv'ried rascals at his heels,
In all his awkward state, a puff'd-up worldling,
And rode me off my way; whilst looking back,
He turned his head with a malicious grin
At the poor spatter'd wretch, who in the mud
Stood showering curses on him.

RAYNER.

Ay, 'tis the cursed insolence of wealth

That makes the poor man poor. Thou wert unarmed?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

I was; or by this hand, poor as I am,

I should have spent a brace of bullets on him
With much good-will.

RAYNER.

Know'st thou the villain's name?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Faith, I'm almost asham'd to tell it thee.

Thou know'st him well: he is a rich man now;
His name is Hubert.

RAYNER.

There lives no blacker villain on the earth

Than him who bears it.—But thou know'st it all.
When from a distant country, where with honour
I earn'd a soldier's pittance, the fair promises
Of a near kinsman tempted me, and I,
Tho' by my nature most incautious,
And little skill'd to gain by flatt'ring arts
An old man's love, high in his favour stood;
That villain Hubert rous'd his jealous nature
With artful tales of slights and heir-like wishes,
And side-long mock'ry of his feebleness,
Till, in the bitterness of changed love,
All his vast wealth he did bequeath to him,
And left me here, ev'n in this stranger's land,
(For years of absence makes it so to me,)
A disappointed, friendless, unknown man,
Poor and depressed, such as you see me now.

BERNARD.

Double, detested, cruel-hearted villain!

COUNT ZATERLOO (starting up with affected vehemence).

By heaven he dies, as I do wear this arm!

(they all start up.)
Defended by a host of liv'ried knaves,
I'd seek him out alone.

BERNARD.

Thou shalt not go alone; here, heart and hand

We will all join thee in so good a cause.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

My arm is at thy will.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

Take my aid too;

We never can be bold in better cause.

THIRD GENTLEMAN (on receiving a sign from Zaterloo).

Then, Sirs, you must be speedy with your vengeance,

For I am well inform'd that on to-morrow,
With all his treasure, for a distant province
He will begin his journey towards eve.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Ha! then good fortune leads him to our hands;

How goes he guarded?

THIRD GENTLEMAN.

With a slender train.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Then thanks to fortune's fav'ring smiles, which thus,

Whilst we but seek revenge for a friend's wrongs,
So kindly throws into our heedless way
The easy cure of our necessities.
Yes, let us seize the greedy glutted villain!

Let us disgorge him of his ill-got gains!
He long enough has rioted in ease,
Whilst better men have felt the gripe of want.

BERNARD.

Yes, let it be so, let the villain die!

COUNT ZATERLOO.

What say'st thou, Rayner? thou alone art silent.

RAYNER.

The wrongs are mine, and if with indignation

They fill your breasts, in strong desire of vengeance
Ye well may guess I am not far behind:
But there's a law above all human bonds,
Which damps the eager beating of my heart,
And says, "do thou no murder."

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Well, clear thy knitted brows, nor look thus strangely.

We both are form'd, my friend, to know like feelings,
Like wants and wishes, and from better days
Both are reduced to fortune's lowed ebb:
And I as well as thou, standing thus singly,
Can feed my fancy up with strong conceits
Of what in letter'd lore is virtue term'd,
And bear its darkest frowns. There was a time,
When sharing ev'ry wish and ev'ry view
With one of weaker frame and softer soul;

Yet forced by the dark frowns of adverse fortune
To live a willing outlaw from her presence,
Because I could not bear to come before her
A poor despised man, rest of that comeliness
And honest grace which independence gives,
To bid her throw aside her flowing robes
And decent ornaments of maiden pride,
Unveil the sweetness of her shelter'd beauty
To beating mid-day heats and chilling winds,
And be a wand'ring vagrant by my side;—
There was a time, my friend, when thus beset
At view of any means to better fortune,
A stronger pow'r had ris'n within my breast
And mock'd at law. But, standing thus alone,
I can as well as thou forego the gain
Which this occafion offers.—Let it pass!
There is within us, be it superstition,
Th' unscann'd opinions from our childhood cherish'd,
Or natural instinct, still a strong aversion
To ev'ry act of blood. Let us yield to it,
We will not strain our nature from its bent:
We'll do no violent deed.

RAYNER (catching hold of Zaterloo with great agitation).

O thou hast mov'd me! thou hast conjur'd thought!

Wert thou—Wert thou indeed thus circumstanc'd?
And thy deserted love; what was her fate?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

She felt not long the cruel separation:

One lovely bush of the pale virgin thorn,
Bent o'er a little heap of lowly turf,
Is all the sad memorial of her worth;
All that remains to mark where she is laid.

RAYNER.

Oh! Oh! and was it thus!

COUNT ZATERLOO.

But let us now shake off these dismal thoughts,

This hour was meant for social fellowship:
Resume your seats, my friends, and, gentle Rayner,
Clear up thy cloudy brows and take thy place.

RAYNER.

I fain would be excus'd.

COUNT ZATERLOO (gently forcing him to sit down).

Nay, no excuse:

Thou must perforce a social hour or two
Spend with us. To ye all, my noble friends,
I fill this cup. (drinks.)
———Bernard, how goes thy suit?
Hast thou yet to thy greedy Lawyer's pocket
Convey'd thy hindmost ducat? Ha, ha, ha!
Had he, with arms in hand, ta'en from thee boldly
Half of the sum, thou would'st have call'd him robber.
Ha, ha,, ha! (laughing heartily.)

BERNARD.

Yes, thou may'st laugh:

We nice distinctions make.—I had an uncle,
Who once upon a time——

COUNT ZATERLOO.

I hope, good Bernard,

Thy story will be shorter than thy suit.

(Rayner, who has been sitting in gloomy thoughtfulness, without attending to any thing around him, whilst Zaterloo has been keeping an eye of observation on him, now rises up in great agitation to go away.)

COUNT ZATERLOO.

What is the matter, Rayner?

RAYNER.

I am difturb'd—I know not how I am—

Let me take leave, I pray you.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Thou shalt not quit us thus. What is the matter?

RAYNER.

Question me not: my thoughts are all confus'd:

There is a strong temptation fasten'd on me.
I am not well.

COUNT ZATERLOO (aside to Bernard).

Ay, now it works upon him:

This will do———
(Aloud and preventing Rayner from going.)
If thou'rt unwell, art thou not with thy friends?

RAYNER.

If ye indeed are friends, not spirits enleagu'd

To force me to my ruin, let me go—
Let me go to my home.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

What, dost thou call a bare unfurnish'd chamber,

With griping Landlord clam'ring in thine ears
For what he knows thou can'st not give, thy home?

RAYNER (sighing deeply).

I have no other.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Stay thou here with us:

In the next chamber thou shalt rest a while.
Lead him, my kind Sebastian, by the hand:
There is a sort of woman's kindliness
About thy nature which befits thee best
To be a sick man's friend. I'll follow you.

(Exit Rayner, leaning on Sebastian, turning about to his friends triumphantly as they go off.)

I have secur'd my man. (A voice heard without.)

But hark! a voice without! It is my mother's.
Secure the lettic'd door. Plague on her kindness
To haunt me here! I have forgot my promise.
(To Bernard.) Make fast the lettic'd door and answer for me.

BERNARD (after fastening a door of lettice work through which the Countess is seen).

Who's there? what want ye?

COUNTESS ZATERLOO (Without).

I want my son: I pray you is he here?

BERNARD.

He is not here.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO (without).

Nay, say not so, I think he is with you.

Tell him I have sat these three long hours,
Counting the weary beatings of the clock,
Which slowly portion'd out the promis'd time
That brought him not to bless me with his sight.
If he is well, why does he thus forget?
And if he is not, as I fear he is not,
Tell me the worst, and let me be with him
To smooth his couch and raise his sickly head.

COUNT ZATERLOO (aside to Bernard).

Tell her it is unseemly for a mother

To runabout like a new foolish wife.

BERNARD.

If you complain thus movingly, fair widow,

We shall believe you seek a second husband
In lieu of your good son; and by my truth
It were a better errand.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

O base of thought, as most unblest of speech!

My son is not with you: it cannot be:
I did him wrong to seek him in such company.

BERNARD (speaking loud after her as she retires from the door).

Not far from hence, there is a nightly meeting

Of worthy, sober, well-disposed folks,
Who once a week do offer up their prayers
And chant most faintly hymns till morning dawn,
It is more likely you will find him there.
(Omnes laughing)

COUNT ZATERLOO.

She's gone.

BERNARD.

Yes, yes; come from thy hiding place.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Now what a most unreasonable woman!

Thinks she, thus ripen'd to these manly years,
That I must run whene'er my finger aches
To lean my silly head upon her lap?
'Tis well I have no wife.

BERNARD.

Ay, so it is.

There is no pleasing those high legal dames
With endless claims upon a man's regard:
Heaven save us from them all!

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Well, this I drink to precious liberty:

He is a fool indeed who parts with that.
(A loud voice and bustling heard without.)
What's this comes next to plague us?

BERNARD.

'Tis Mira's voice.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Hast thou not sent to say, that urgent bus'ness

Detains me from her banquet?

BERNARD.

I have; I sent to her a written message.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Keep fast the door and I will stand conceal'd.

(Conceals himself, and Mira appears thro' the latticed door.)

MIRA (without).

Where is Count Zaterloo? Let me pass on.

BERNARD.

Affairs of greatest consequence detain him,

My beauteous Mira; and I needs must say
That now you may not pass.——
He's much concern'd: early upon the morrow
He will be with you.

MIRA.

Upon the morrow! prate not thus to me!

He shall to-night go with me where I list,

Or never see my face again. To-morrow!
Open the door I say! this weakly barrier
Shall not oppose my way.
(Beating violently against the door.)

COUNT ZATERLOO (aside to Bernard).

Faith I believe we must e'en let her in,

She may do some rash thing, if we persist.

(Bernard unbolts the door; Zaterloo comes from his concealment; and enter Mira, superbly dress'd, and in a violent passion.)

MIRA.

Is this the way you keep your promises?

Is this your faith? is this your gallantry?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Mira, my gentle love, I pray thee hear me!

I sent to tell thee bus'ness of great moment.

MIRA.

Yes, yes! I have receiv'd your scurvy message.

And well I know that ev'ry paltry matter
Is cause sufficient for neglecting me.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Thou know'st to be from thee is painful to me,

MIRA.

So it should seem, by taking so much care

To comfort ye the while, (pointing to the wine, &c.)
You do your bus'ness jovially, methinks.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Thou art too warm: accuse me as thou wilt

Of aught but want of love.

MIRA.

O thou deceitful man! I know thee well:

Thou talk'st of love and thou wouldst break my heart.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Indeed I am to blame, my gentle love;

Yet be not thus: in token of forgiveness
This friendly cup receive, and smile upon me.
(Offering her a cup, which she dashes to the ground.)

MIRA.

Off with thy hateful gifts! nought from thy hands

Will I receive; I scorn thy offering.
Ev'n the rich robe thou hast so often promis'd me:
Ay and so oft forgot, so I must call it,
I would now scorn, since thou dost slight my love.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Indeed, my Mira, thou shalt have that robe

Before two days be past: I swear to thee.
Then do not look so frowningly, my love;
I know thou hast a soft relenting nature;
Smile my forgiveness.

MIRA.

O thou provoking man! thou know'st full well

It is thyself and not thy gifts I prize:
Thou know'st too well how my fond doating heart
Is moved with the soft witch'ry of thy tongue;
Yet thou wilt vex me thus, and break my heart.
Oh! 'tis too much! (pretending to burst into tears.)

COUNT ZATERLOO.

I cannot see thee weep: what would'st thou have?

MIRA.

I will have nought, unless you go with me.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

I cannot now, for I have urgent bus'ness.

MIRA.

Then stay, and never see my face again.

O that some friendly hand would end my days,
Since I have lived to see me thus despis'd.

COUNT ZATERLOO (aside to Bernard).

Bernard, I think I must e'en go with her.

See thou to Rayner: I will soon return.
(Aloud.) Then let us go, my love, thou dost compel me.
Thy hand, sweet Mira. (Exeunt Zaterloo and Mira.)

BERNARD.

Well, gentle friends, it is blest liberty

Our noble chief enjoys. I must to Rayner.

Stay if you will, and keep ye merry here.
(Omnes.) No, we are tir'd, we will retire to rest.
(Exeunt.

SCENE II. Rayner's Lodgings.

Enter RAYNER alone.

RAYNER.

Be still, ye idle thoughts that toss me thus,

Changing like restless waves, but ever dark;
Or some one of you o'er his fellows rife,
And bear a steady rule. Adversity!
Thou'st come upon me like an ambush'd foe
In armed strength. If I had mark'd thy course,
I might have girt myself for thine approach,
While distant still, and met thee like a man.
But when new-fetter'd in a lover's bonds,
And dazzled too with hope's deceitful brightness,
Cam'st thou like a thick cloud of desart sand,
And in dark night o'erwhelm'd me: deepest night,
Thro' which no waking vision ever gleams,
Save thy grim visage only, loathly want,
In all thy varied forms of misery.
My night, my day dreams, ah! how are ye changed,
Since in the new-betroth'd, the lover's fancy,
Ye wove your sheeny maze of mingled thoughts,
Like sparkling dew-webs in the early Sun!
(after a pause.)
Elizabeth! methinks ev'n now I see her,
As in the horrors of my last night's dream,
When, after following her thro' flood and fire,

She turn'd to me, and her weak arms stretch'd forth.
But ah! how changed, how pale, and spent, and keen!
As if already blighting poverty,
That portion which her love must share with me,
Had marr'd—cease, cease, base thought, it shall not be!

(Enter Herman with a knapsack on his back, as if prepared for a journey.)

What, my good Herman, art thou so soon ready?

HERMAN.

Yes, my dear master, but if you think it too soon, I will not go to-day. Nay if it were not that you force me to go, I should as soon have thought of deserting my friend (pardon my boldness, sir) in a wild wood amongst savages, as leaving you here in this strange place in the state you are in at present. Pardon my boldness, sir.

RAYNER.

Thou hast no boldness to pardon, Herman: thou art well entitled to call thyself my friend; there is not one amongst those who have borne that name, who would have done more for me than thou hast done.

HERMAN.

Ah sir!

RAYNER (assuming a look of cheerfulness).

Fy, do not look so sadly upon me, man; thanks to thy good nursing and the good broth thou hast made me, I am getting strong again: and as for the state of my coffers, for which thou so much concerned thyself, do not let that disturb thee. My tide of means is, to be sure, pretty well ebb'd just now; but some wind or other will spring up to set it a flowing again. In the mean time thou knowest I would travel alone: perhaps I may ramble about a little while mysteriously, like the wandering Jew or some of those lonely philosophers which thy old stories tell thee about, and there is no knowing what I may find out to do me good. The philosopher's stone, thou knowest, may as well fall into my hands as those of any other wanderer, so pray thee, man, dont look so ruefully upon me.

HERMAN.

Ah, my dear master! there is something here that hangs heavy on my heart, and says, if I leave you now, some evil will befal you: I beseech you let me stay with you, I shall find something to do in this town, and I can————

RAYNER.

No, no, no! Speak of this no more—we have argued this point already. And what is this which thou puttest down so slyly upon the table? (taking up a little packet which Herman has put secretly upon the table.) Ha! the jewels I have given thee in room of thy wages! out upon it! thou wilt make me angry with thee now, and it grieves me to be angry with thee. Put it up, put it up: I command thee to do it; and thou knowest I have not often used this stern word.

HERMAN.

O no, sir! You have not indeed used it; and I shall never meet with another master like you,

RAYNER.

Thou wilt meet, I hope, my dear Herman, with a far better master than I have been to thee, though not with one for whom thou wilt do so much kindly service as thou hast done for me; and for this cause, perhaps, thou wilt not love him so much. God prosper thee for it, wherever thou goest!—Take this embrace and blessing for all thou hast done for me. Farewel! farewel! thou must be gone now; indeed thou must. God bless thee, my good Herman.

(Pushing Herman gently off the stage, who wipes his eyes and seems unwilling to go.)

Exit Herman.)

RAYNER (alone).

Now am I left alone: there's no one near me

That e'er hath loved or cared for me. Methinks
I now can better look i'th' surly face
Mine alter'd state, and bear to be in want.
I am alone, and I am glad of it.
Alas! chang'd heart of mine! what is that state
Which gives to thee such thoughts?—Elizabeth—
At it again! This strong idea still!

I am distracted when I think of this,
Therefore I must not, if I would be honest.
Those men—or are they men or are they devils?
With whom I met last night; they've fasten'd on me
Fell thoughts, which, tho' I spurn them, haunt me still.
Would I had never met them!——
Here comes my landlord with his surly face
Of debts and claims, and ev'ry irksome thing.
(Enter Landlord with a letter.)
Good morrow, Landlord.

LANDLORD.

I thank you, sir; I am glad to hear you call me Landlord, for I began to be afraid you had mistaken me for your Host.

RAYNER.

I understand you well enough, and indeed I have proved your patience, or rather your impatience, much longer than I wished. You have a letter in your hand.

LANDLORD (giving it).

There, Sir; if it bring you the news of any good luck, I shall be glad of it.

RAYNER (agitated).

From Elizabeth.—Good morning—good morning to you.

LANDLORD.

Read it, sir, and see if it bring you any good news; it is time now to look for some change in your favour.

RAYNER.

I cannot open it whilst thou art here. Have the goodness at least not to stand so near me.

LANDLORD.

So I must not occupy a place in my own house, forsooth, for fear of offending the good folks who do me the honour to live in it. (retires to the bottom of the stage muttering to himself.)

RAYNER (after opening the letter with great emotion and reading it).

O what is this!——

Abandon'd by the friend with whom she liv'd,
And coming here to join me with all speed!
O God! O God! (sinks down upon a chair in violent agitation.)

LANDLORD. (running up to him).

What is the matter now?

RAYNER.

Begone, begone! I cannot answer thee.

Enter COUNT ZATERLOO.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Ha, Rayner! how is't with thee? thou look'st wildly.

(To Landlord.) Speak to me, friend: he heeds not what I say:
Has any new misfortune happen'd to him?

LANDLORD.

I fear there has, sir.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Rouse thee up, brave Rayner,

A friend is come to thee.

RAYNER (starting up).

Ha, is it thee?

Com'st thou upon me now, my tempter? now,
Ev'n in my very moment of distraction?
Thou know'st thy time: some fiend has whisper'd to thee.
Ay, ay! say what thou wilt.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

Thou'rt surely mad; I came not, on my word,

To say aught to thee which an honest ear
Might not receive; nor will I even speak,
Since it so moves thee——

RAYNER (interrupting him eagerly).

Ah, but thou must!

Thou must speak that, which, in its darkest hour,
Push'd to extremity, 'midst ringing dizziness
The ear of desperation doth receive,
And I must listen to it.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

What, say'st thou so? 'Tis well (aside), but be more prudent,

We are o'erheard. (looking suspiciously to Landlord, who has retired a few paces behind.)
Come with me to my lodgings;
There wait my friends; all things shall be concerted:
Come with me instantly; the time is precious.

RAYNER (in a tone of despair, clasping his hands vehemently).

Ay, ay! I'll go with thee.

(Exeunt Count Zaterloo and Rayner:

Manet Landlord.

LANDLORD (coming forward).

What's this I've overheard? Is this devil now going to tempt the poor distressed young man to do some foul deed in his necessity?—I have tempted him too, with my hard-hearted murmuring about the few wretched pounds that he owes me. I'll run after him and say, I don't care whether he pay me or not. (running to the door and then stopping short.) No, no! softly, softly! I dare say it is only some sharping business they have got on hand, such as needy Gentlemen are sometimes forced to follow: if I have got my conscience newly cleared off at confession last week, and I am to make an offering next holy day to the shrine of our patron St. Bernard; this is no time, goodsooth, to lose such a sum upon scruples. (Exit.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.