Chapter 14

Mr. ANDREWS's house.

LUCIA alone.

LUCIA. I but now met him, and methought he shunn'd me. Unusual this from his most gentle nature. But deep distress seem'd on his brow imprinted, And rumours are unkind to him of late, Though none stood higher once in fair repute. O Jefferson! would I cou'd tear thee hence, From this fond heart, and its lost peace restore!--- But soft! I hear my dear Constantia's voice.

Enter CONSTANTIA.

CONSTANTIA. O Lucia! I'm of women most unhappy; No more must I of that chos'n youth have hope, In whom my ev'ry thought, my soul is center'd.

LUCIA. You quite astonish me--it cannot be. Even the day was fix'd for your espousals.

CONSTANTIA. O! but lord Belmour, his relentless uncle, Hath just now charg'd my father, that henceforth His visits here be countenanced no more; Vowing most solemnly, that shou'd we wed, He'd disinherit him. Besides in speech He hath much flighted us.

LUCIA. Most distressful!

CONSTANTIA. From such examples, Lucia, we may learn To dread those prospects of illusive fortune, Which shew like havens on a treach'rous shore, And lure us to our ruin.

LUCIA. Happy man! How by the tyrant custom art thou favour'd! Canst speak the anguish of the love-sick heart, And from the hand that wounds implore relief: Whilst we in silent secrecy must shelter The deadly shaft, that rooted rankles there, And wastes the virgin bloom. Nor is this all; Should but the modest blush, the fault'ring speech, Or the disorder of the conscious soul, Betray the fondness it would fain conceal; Not only cold indifference, but neglect, Is full too oft the base return we meet.--

CONSTANTIA. Ha! Lucia! whence these fears? am I despis'd? What have I done! I have betray'd myself. O! I conjure thee, by the sacred tie Of honour, friendship, confidence and love, Speak nought of this, but leave me to despair!

LUCIA. Alas! 'tis my poor heart betrays itself. [Aside] Why to despair? by all those sacred ties! Thou wert not in my thoughts in what I've utter'd. Hath yet lord Weston heard these fatal tidings?

CONSTANTIA. Full well you know how long he hath been absent: 'Tis that distracts my soul.--How hath he vow'd, That if a day pass'd by, and we asunder, He felt it as the absence of an age!

LUCIA. My dear Constantia! banish all such thoughts. He hath a soul superior to all falsehood. Affairs, 'tis said, of moment call'd him hence, And his return is ev'ry hour expected.

CONSTANTIA. True, he is all that's gen'rous, great and noble, All that stirs envy and respect in man, Or love in woman. O my friend, my Lucia! Thou know'st not half the fondness of mine heart: Oft have I wish'd (so will love's fancy rave) That he had been the guardian of a flock, And I the sovereign of unbounded realms, To make him partner of that heart and throne: Or that we had been rear'd, 'midst rural innocence, A low, yet happy pair; with what delight, My tender frame had shared the harvest toil, To close with intercourse of souls the day!

Enter a SERVANT.

SERVANT. Madam, lord Weston's in the anti-chamber.

CONSTANTIA. [To the SERVANT] Withdraw awhile-- [He withdraws.] Be still, my flutt'ring heart! Haste, Lucia, if thou lov'st me, make excuse: Say, I am indispos'd--retir'd--yet stay. Why thus conceal the truth which must be known? Tell him, I cannot, must not, dare not see him-- Yet, stay again--where is my father now?

LUCIA. I know not; he went forth some hours ago.

CONSTANTIA. 'Tis fit, lord Weston knows my father's orders, That I no more admit his visits here. Say, what would you advise? pause not, but speak.

LUCIA. I'd see him, for the reason you have mention'd; Not rashly cast away a gem so precious.

CONSTANTIA. How soon we yield to that the heart approves! Who waits without? [Enter a SERVANT] Conduct lord Weston hither.

Enter Lord WESTON. LUCIA withdraws.

Lord WESTON. Am I so bless'd to view thee once again! O! my Constantia, could'st thou but conceive What I have suffer'd in this tedious absence, Of which the cause hath been conceal'd from thee! Yet, whilst I languish'd on the verge of fate, Thy image ne'er forsook my tortur'd fancy, And its wild ravings were of nought but thee.

CONSTANTIA. Would heav'n this interview had not been now! [Aside]

Lord WESTON. Ha! not a word! not even a look this way! All ailments, every pang were ease to this. I read some dreadful sentence in thine eye.-- What mean those shiverings?------Why that look of anguish? Sure, cruelty ne'er wore a form like thine!

CONSTANTIA. What can I say? my tongue denies its office. [Aside] My lord, you have by this untimely visit, Led me to break my father's strict injunction. A father, dear as my heart's vital drops.

Lord WESTON. What do I hear? O! are we not united? By sacred, mutual, faithful vows united? Of which I now am come to claim performance.

CONSTANTIA. It is forbid--forbid, most sure, for ever! I'm but the daughter of a bankrupt citizen, (Th' ungentle terms with which I am reproach'd,) Of whom, shou'd you think more--

Lord WESTON. What is't you mean?

CONSTANTIA. Lord Belmour would renounce you then for ever; And 'tis most fit, my lord, you should comply. He is your uncle, and can much befriend you.

Lord WESTON. O my Constantia! cruel, dear Constantia! Can'st thou conceive that any earthly views, Could for the loss of thee requite an heart, That cannot form a bliss from heav'n without thee? By that chaste passion, which no time can alter! Not mines of wealth, nor all life's splendid pomp, Can weigh with me against that worth of soul, With which thou art enrich'd so far above All others of thy sex I yet have seen, Far as thy beauteous form excels them all. Do but pronounce a peril, or a suffering To prove my constancy, save loss of thee.

CONSTANTIA. My lord, these honours far exceed my merit.

Lord WESTON. By heav'n! this coldness may to madness drive me. Am I to suffer for another's rashness, Of which, the new-born babe is not more innocent? Perhaps, some other hath usurp'd thine heart? 'Tis plain; too plain--You cannot doubt my truth!

CONSTANTIA. Do not distress me thus--you know my heart; As well you know, that on that truth alone I would repose my ev'ry hope in life.--

Lord WESTON. Then haste thee with me, and for ever bless me: A reverend priest attends to do the office, To which your father hath long since consented.

CONSTANTIA. Oh! oh! forbear,--I shudder at the thought. I've told you all--You know a parent's right; Parent, not only of my life, but mind, Wherein he every wholesome seed implanted, And watch'd with never ceasing care their growth.

Lord WESTON. Nor hath the soil been faithless to its trust.

CONSTANTIA. Could you then hope from an unduteous daughter, To meet in wedded state, the due compliance Heav'n hath ordain'd, or I expect its blessings? You would yourself on serious thoughts condemn me.

Lord WESTON. [He falls on his knees.] How far thou soar'st above all human excellence! And how thy virtues raise those peerless charms! I have transgress'd---but Oh! vouchsafe thy pity! It was the zeal of fondness, and the fear Of losing thee, that urg'd me to the question, Which hath thy delicacy so offended.

CONSTANTIA. O! if you ever lov'd me--prize my peace! Go, whilst my wav'ring heart can hold its purpose. These tell-tale eyes proclaim an interest there, Which time or fortune never can erase. But now this meeting might to both prove fatal.

Lord WESTON. Wipe, wipe away that tear! thy sovereign pow'r Needs not an aid to bid my heart obey. Yet, O permit me, like the sentenc'd criminal, Who dreads the fatal stroke, awhile to parley! But go where e'er I may, my heart will bear The dear impression of thy image on it, Nor time nor absence ever shall efface it. [He goes off.]

CONSTANTIA. How have I suffer'd by this forc'd behaviour, Gainst my soul's feelings, to this matchless youth! But O! in what enchanting, phrase, he urg'd His love, his fears and never-failing constancy! I cannot rest, till Lucia knows it all. [She goes off.]