SCENE II.--_An Apartment in_ D'AMVILLE'S _Mansion_.

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE, SEBASTIAN _and_ LANGUEBEAU.

_D'Am._ Now, sir, your business?

_Sebas._ My annuity.

_D'Am._ Not a denier.[159]

_Sebas._ How would you ha' me live?

_D'Am._ Why; turn crier. Cannot you turn crier?

_Sebas._ Yes.

_D'Am._ Then do so: y' have a good voice for't. Y'are excellent at crying of a rape.[160]

_Sebas._ Sir, I confess in particular respect to yourself I was somewhat forgetful. General honesty possessed me.

_D'Am._ Go, th'art the base corruption of my blood; And, like a tetter, growest unto my flesh.

_Sebas._ Inflict any punishment upon me. The severity shall not discourage me if it be not shameful, so you'll but put money i' my purse. The want of money makes a free spirit more mad than the possession does an usurer.

_D'Am._ Not a farthing.

_Sebas._ Would you ha' me turn purse-taker? 'Tis the next way to do't. For want is like the rack: it draws a man to endanger himself to the gallows rather than endure it.

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT. D'AMVILLE _counterfeits to take him for a_ Ghost.

_D'Am._ What art thou? Stay--Assist my troubled sense-- My apprehension will distract me--Stay. [LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE _avoids him fearfully._

_Sebas._ What art thou? Speak.

_Charl._ The spirit of Charlemont.

_D'Am._ O! stay. Compose me. I dissolve.

_Lang._ No. 'Tis profane. Spirits are invisible. 'Tis the fiend i' the likeness of Charlemont. I will have no conversation with Satan. [_Exit._

_Sebas._ The spirit of Charlemont? I'll try that. [_He strikes, and the blow is returned._ 'Fore God thou sayest true: th'art all spirit.

_D'Am._ Go, call the officers. [_Exit._

_Charl._ Th'art a villain, and the son of a villain.

_Sebas._ You lie.

_Charl._ Have at thee. [_They fight._ SEBASTIAN _falls._

_Enter the_ Ghost _of_ MONTFERRERS.

Revenge, to thee I'll dedicate this work.

_Mont._ Hold, Charlemont. Let him revenge my murder and thy wrongs To whom the justice of revenge belongs. [_Exit._

_Charl._ You torture me between the passion of My blood and the religion of my soul.

_Sebas._ [_Rising._] A good honest fellow!

_Re-enter_ D'AMVILLE _with_ Officers.

_D'Am._ What, wounded? Apprehend him. Sir, is this Your salutation for the courtesy I did you when we parted last? You have Forgot I lent you a thousand crowns. First, let Him answer for this riot. When the law Is satisfied for that, an action for His debt shall clap him up again. I took You for a spirit and I'll conjure you Before I ha' done.

_Charl._ No, I'll turn conjuror. Devil! Within this circle, in the midst of all Thy force and malice, I conjure thee do Thy worst.

_D'Am._ Away with him! [_Exeunt_ Officers _with_ CHARLEMONT.

_Sebas._ Sir, I have got A scratch or two here for your sake. I hope You'll give me money to pay the surgeon.

_D'Am._ Borachio, fetch me a thousand crowns. I am Content to countenance the freedom of Your spirit when 'tis worthily employed. 'A God's name, give behaviour the full scope Of generous liberty, but let it not Disperse and spend itself in courses of Unbounded licence. Here, pay for your hurts. [_Exit._

_Sebas._ I thank you, sir.--Generous liberty!--that is to say, freely to bestow my abilities to honest purposes. Methinks I should not follow that instruction now, if having the means to do an honest office for an honest fellow, I should neglect it. Charlemont lies in prison for a thousand crowns. Honesty tells me 'twere well done to release Charlemont. But discretion says I had much ado to come by this, and when this shall be gone I know not where to finger any more, especially if I employ it to this use, which is like to endanger me into my father's perpetual displeasure. And then I may go hang myself, or be forced to do that will make another save me the labour. No matter, Charlemont, thou gavest me my life, and that's somewhat of a purer earth than gold, fine as it is. 'Tis no courtesy, I do thee but thankfulness. I owe it thee, and I'll pay it. He fought bravely, but the officers dragged him villanously. Arrant knaves! for using him so discourteously; may the sins o' the poor people be so few that you sha' not be able to spare so much out of your gettings as will pay for the hire of a lame starved hackney to ride to an execution, but go a-foot to the gallows and be hanged. May elder brothers turn good husbands, and younger brothers get good wives, that there be no need of debt books nor use of serjeants. May there be all peace, but i' the war and all charity, but i' the devil, so that prisons may be turned to hospitals, though the officers live o' the benevolence. If this curse might come to pass, the world would say, "Blessed be he that curseth." [_Exit._