Chapter 11

Lord WESTON's apartments.

Lord BELMOUR and Lord WESTON.

Lord BELMOUR. Well, nephew, have you yet consider'd better Of your love-frolick for the merchant's daughter? You may meet numbers through this spacious city With wealth superior far to her possessions; Nor need you languish for their hearts a moment.

Lord WESTON. The common light shines not more unreserv'd; Their very charms fatigue the public eye. But, sir, my spirit scorns an easy conquest.

Lord BELMOUR. Fine founding words, yet answer not my question. You too much from the world seclude yourself; Which serves to add fresh fuel to the flame. Long have I been, as I may say, your parent, And have at present in my thoughts for you, A wife well suited to your rank and fortune.

Lord WESTON. Thanks, my good lord! I doubt not your kind wishes; But here, where all life's happiness depends, Permit me to determine for myself. True joys dwell only with united hearts, And solitude is far the wiser choice Than wedlock where domestic bliss is absent. How vain is then the hope of such delights With those of Fashion's stamp, whose only merit, Is, that they are of this all-conqu'ring sex, Of ev'ry other excellence regardless?

Lord BELMOUR. Again, young lord, I tell you, shou'd you wed With the first merchant's daughter of the world, 'Twould to your lineage be disgrace for ever.

Lord WESTON. Disgrace lies only in the want of virtue, That excellence, in which she most abounds.

Lord BELMOUR. How long have you surrender'd to this dotage?

Lord WESTON. Almost from infancy; for even then, A mutual sympathy inspir'd our souls; Which first commenc'd in her good father's house, (Whom I then serv'd,) when all I knew of love, Was that her presence ever gave me pleasure, As did her absence pain--I even thought, The air blew sweeter from the place she breath'd. But when her heav'nly mind disclos'd its beauties, My heart then fix'd beyond the power of change.

Lord BELMOUR. All, all romance, with which your head seems fill'd. But briefly to decide this matter, know, 'Tis now full thirty summers since I wedded, Yet have not had one offspring to inherit My large possessions, which I can bestow, As best my pleasure suits: and you're the one, Who in my mind stands fairest for adoption; My heir apparent, as my next a-kin. Reflect too, that your income is unequal To that high rank in life, it shou'd support.

Lord WESTON. The more I lose, the more I prize myself, In persevering thus---but, my lov'd uncle! What can impede the progress of my bliss, When your consent hath sanctified my choice?

Lord BELMOUR. What though I yielded once to your fond suit, It is now rumour'd, and by all believ'd, Not only that her father is reduc'd To bankruptcy and want, but that the whole Of the large fortune which an uncle left her Is wasted with the rest.

Lord WESTON. Is this her fault? Is she to suffer for another's act? Constantia hath that ever-during worth, Which wealth or grandeur's glitter far outweighs: That heav'nly mind, which will, when time hath cool'd The fever of the heart, and reason rules, Cause mutual friendship and domestic blessing. But shou'd ev'n this misfortune be as rumour'd, I have this one occasion more of proving My constancy, and how I prize her virtues; Then, to secure for ever that esteem By me preferr'd to all terrestrial blessings.

Lord BELMOUR. Infatuated boy! you form perfections Which only have existence in your fancy. But pray, consider, what the world will say.

Lord WESTON. The world! base world! to censure gen'rous deeds; You mean, perhaps, my lord, those slaves of fashion, Who barter real for fictitious happiness; Alas! Their judgment is not worth a thought: If I'm approv'd of by the wife and honest, I shall be happy, and despise that world, Where virtue is discourag'd,--vice exalted,-- Corruption an adopted cherish'd system, And ev'ry manly sentiment extinguish'd.

Lord BELMOUR. For shame, young lord, call reason to your aid!

Lord WESTON. From beauty only, it might have preserv'd me; But reason is Constantia's ceaseless advocate.

Lord BELMOUR. Once more forsake her, if you prize my favour, The world's esteem, or your own future welfare. Away to distant regions; seek improvement; There is no love that absence cannot cure.

Lord WESTON. Absence!--No death transcends that thought.--O sir! My fondness is to such excess, so true, That were heav'n's bliss assur'd me to forsake her, My soul might tremble for its own resolve. But what would worlds be worth with loss of honour! With loss of peace, its constant sure attendant!

Lord BELMOUR. Since then all soothing arguments are fruitless; 'Tis fit t' apprize you that you yet remain Under my wardship by your father's will; And now to wed would be by law a nullity.

Lord WESTON. Unrighteous, partial law! whose keen restraint 'Gainst female innocence alone is pointed, Whilst villains riot in its spoils unpunish'd; So that love's chaste, connubial joys no more, On its fleet wings, but in the tardy pace Of sordid interest move. But, thank kind heaven! My will is free to choose; else, my good lord, The parish proofs deceive. Lord BELMOUR. Perish all love! That one of the first families in Britain, Shou'd by such whims of folly be dishonour'd! A moment more, and I shall lose all patience! [He goes off hastily.]

Lord WESTON. It grieves my soul that we should differ thus: He still has acted as a tender parent To me an orphan to his care intrusted. But pride and pageantry engross him wholly; With these, an avaricious selfish passion, For some years past hath quite possess'd his heart, And stagnated the streams of its benevolence, Save where by humour, or by pleasure prompted.

But no mean views shall ever make me fight The sacred vows of love I once did plight. The heart that's true, will still remain the same Though crosses press, they but refine the flame And more sure joys the virtuous passion wait With calm content, than with the pomp of state. [Exit.]