Stuke. Dispatch him--Nay, start notDesperate occasions call for desperate deedsWe live but by his death. [Going. Bev. How like an out-cast do I wander? Loaded with every curse, that drives the soul to desperation-The midnight robber, as he walks his rounds, sees, by the glimmering lamp, my frantic looks, and dreads to meet me. Whither am I going? My home lies there; all that is dear on earth it holds too; yet are the gates of death more welcome to me-I will enter it no more— Who passes there? It is Lewson-He meets me in a gloomy hour; and memory tells me he has been meddling with my fame. Enter LEWSON. Lew. Beverley! Well met. I have been busy in your affairs. Bev. So I have heard, sir; and now must thank you as I ought. Lew. Tomorrow I may deserve your thanks. Late as it is, I go to Bates. Discoveries are making that an arch-villain trembles at. Bates. You cannot mean it? Stuke. I do, by Heaven. Bates. Good night, then. Stuke. Stay. I must be heard, then answered. Perhaps the motion was too sudden; and human weakness starts at murder, though strong necessity compels it. I have thought long of this; and my first feelings were like yours; a foolish con- Bev. Discoveries are made, sir, that you shall science awed me, which I soon conquered. The tremble at. Where is this boasted spirit, this man, that would undo me, Nature cries out, un-high demeanour, that was to call me to account? do. Brutes know their foes by instinct; and You say I have wronged my sister-Now say where superior force is given, they use it for de- as much. But first be ready for defence, as I am struction. Shall man do less? Lewson pursues for resentment. [Draws. us to our ruin; and shall we, with the means to crush him, fly from our hunter, or turn and tear him? It is folly even to hesitate. Bates. He has obliged me, and I dare not. Stuke. Why, live to shame then, to beggary and punishment. You would be privy to the deed, yet want the soul to act it. Nay, more, had my designs been levelled at his fortune, you had stepped in the foremost- -And what is life without its comforts? Those you would rob him of, and, by a lingering death, add cruelty to murder. Henceforth, adieù to half-made villains--There is danger in them. What you have got is yours; keep it, and hide with it-I will deal my future bounty to those that merit it. Bates. What is the reward? Stuke. Equal division of our gains. I swear it, and will be just. -Wait for and fit for Bates. Think of the means then. Stuke. He is gone to Beverley'sbin in the street-It is a dark night, mischief. A dagger would be useful: Bates. He sleeps no more Stuke. Consider the reward. When the deed is done, I have farther business with you. Send Dawson to me. Lew. What mean you? I understand you not. Bev. The coward's stale acquaintance! who, when he spreads foul calumny abroad, and dreads just vengeance on him, cries out, What mean you? I understand you not.' Lew. Coward and calumny! Whence are those words? But I forgive, and pity you. Bev. Your pity had been kinder to my fame. But you have traduced it; told a vile story to the public ear, that I have wronged my sister. Lew. 'Tis false. Shew me the man, that dares accuse me. Bev. I thought you brave, and of a soul superior to low malice; but I have found you, and will have vengeance. This is no place for argu ment. Lew. Nor shall it be for violence. Imprudent man! who, in revenge for fancied injuries, would pierce the heart that loves him. But honest friendship acts from itself, unmoved by slander or ingratitude. The life you thirst for shall be employed to serve you. Bev. 'Tis thus you would compound then —— First, do a wrong beyond forgiveness, and, to redress it, load me with kindnesses unsolicited.I'll not receive it. Your zeal is troublesome. Bev. Yes, for the slanderer of my fame; who, under shew of friendship, arraigns me of injustice ; buzzing in every ear foul breach of trust, and family dishonour. so? Lew. Have I done this? Who told you so Bev. The world-Tis talked of every where. It pleased you to add threats too. You were to call me to account-Why, do it now, then: I shall be proud of such an arbiter. Lew. Put up your sword, and know me better. I never injured you. The base suggestion comes from Stukely : I see him and his aims. Bev. What aims? I'll not conceal it; 'twas Stukely that accused you. Lew. To rid him of an enemy-Perhaps of two-He fears discovery, and frames a tale of falsehood, to ground revenge and murder on. Bev. I must have proof of this. Lew. Wait till to-morrow, then. Ber. I will. Lew. Good-night- I go to serve you-Forget what is past, as I do; and cheer your family with smiles. To-morrow may confirm them, and make all happy. [Erit. Bev. [Pausing.] How vile, and how absurd is man! His boasted honour is but another name for pride, which easier bears the consciousness of guilt, than the world's just reproofs. But 'tis the fashion of the times; and in defence of falsehood and false honour men die martyrs. I knew not that my nature was so bad. [Stands musing. Jar. I heard him too. Misfortunes vex him. Bates. Go to him, and lead him home. But he comes this way-I will not be seen by him. [Exit. Bev. [Starting.] What fellow's that ? [Seeing Jarvis.] Art thou a murderer, friend? Come, lead the way; I have a hand as mischievous as thine ; a heart as desperate too—Jarvis !—To bed, old man; the cold will chill thee. Jar. Why are you wandering at this late hour? Your sword drawn too? For Heaven's sake, sheath it, sir-The sight distracts me. Bev. Whose voice was that? [Wildly.] Jar. "Twas mine, sir. Let me intreat you to give the sword to me. Bev. Ay, take it quickly take it-Perhaps I am not so cursed, but Heaven may have sent thee at this moment to snatch me from perdi tion. Jar. Then I am blessed. VOL. I. | Bev. Continue so, and leave me my sorrows are contagious. No one is blessed that is near me. Jar. I came to seek you, sir. Bev. And now thou hast found me, leave me. My thoughts are wild, and will not be disturbed. Jar. Such thoughts are best disturbed. Bev. I tell thee that they will not. Who sent thee hither? Jar. My weeping mistress. Bev. Am I so meek a husband, then, that a commanding wife prescribes my hours, and sends to chide me for iny absence!-Tell her I'll not return. Jar. Those words would kill her. Bev. Kill her! Would they not be kind, then? But she shall live to curse me-I have deserved it of her. Does she not hate me, Jarvis? Jar. Alas, sir, forget your griefs, and let me lead you to her! The streets are dangerous. Bev. Be wise, and leave me then. The night's black horrors are suited to my thoughtsThese stones shall be my resting-place. [Lies down.] Here shall my soul brood o'er its miseries, till, with the fiends of hell, and guilty of the earth, I start and tremble at the morning's light. Jar. For pity's sake, sir-Upon my knees, I beg you to quit this place, and these sad thoughts. Let patience, not despair, possess yon—Risc, I beseech you- -There is not a moment of your absence, that my poor mistress does not groan for. Bev. Have I undone her, and is she still so kind ? [Starting up. It is too much-My brain | cannot hold it-Oh, Jarvis, how desperate is that wretch's state, which only death or madness can relieve! Jar. Appease his mind, good Heaven, and give | him resignation ! Alas, sir, could beings in the other world perceive the events of this, how would your parents' blessed spirits grieve for you even in Heaven! Let me conjure you, by their honoured memories; by the sweet innocence of your yet helpless child, and by the ceaseless sorrows of my poor mistress, to rouse your manhood, and struggle with these griefs. Bev. Thou virtuous, good old man! thy tears and thy entreaties have reached my heart, through all its miseries. Jar. Be but resigned, sir, and happiness may yet be yours. Bev. Prithee be honest, and do not flatter mi sery. Jar. I do not, sir. Hark! I hear voicesCome this way; we may reach home unnoticed. Bev. Well, lead me then.-Unnoticed, didst thou say? Alas, I dread no looks but of those wretches I have made at home! O, had I listened to thy honest warnings, no earthly blessing had been wanting to me! I was so happy, that even a wish for more than I possessed, was arrogant presumption. But I have warred against the 4M power, that blessed me; and now am forced to sured here till a convenient time called for its the hell I merit. [Exeunt. | use. That time is come. Take it, and give it SCENE IV.-Changes to STUKELY's lodgings. Enter STUKELY and DAWSON. Stuke. Come hither, Dawson. My limbs are on the rack, and my soul shivers in me, till this night's business be complete. Tell me thy thoughts; is Bates determined, or does he waver? Daw. At first he seemed irresolute; wished the employment had been mine; and muttered curses on his coward hand, that trembled at the deed. Stuke. And did he leave you so? Daw. No; we walked together, and, sheltered by the darkness, saw Beverley and Lewson in warm debate. But soon they cooled, and then I left them to hasten hither; but not till it was resolved Lewson should die. Stuke. Thy words have given me life. That quarrel, too, was fortunate; for, if my hopes deceive me not, it promises a grave to Beverley. Daw. You misconceive me. Lewson and he were friends. Stuke. But my prolific brain shall make them enemies. If Lewson falls, he falls by Beverley. An upright jury shall decree it. Ask me no questions; but do as I direct. This writ, [Takes out a pocket-book.] for some days past, I have trea SCENE I.-Continues. to an officer. It must be served this instant. [Gives a paper. Daw. On Beverley! Stuke. Look at it. It is for the sums that I have lent him. Daw. Must he to prison, then? Stuke. I asked obedience, not replies. This night a jail must be his lodgings. It is probable he is not gone home yet. Wait at his door, and see it executed. -He has no means Daw. Upon a beggar? of payment. Stuke. Dull and insensible !-If Lewson dies, who was it killed him?Why, he that was seen quarrelling with him: and I, that knew of Beverley's intents, arrested him in friendship— A little late, perhaps; but 'twas a virtuous act, and men will thank me for it. Now, sir, you understand me? Daw. Most perfectly; and will about it. Stuke. Haste, then; and when it is done, come back and tell me. ACT V. Bates. The clock struck twelve, as I turned to leave him. Twas a melancholy bell, I thought, tolling for his death. Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON. Bates. Poor Lewson !-But I told you enoughley last night. The thought of him is horrible to me. Stuke. In the street, did you say? And no one near him? Bates. By his own door; he was leading me to his house. I pretended business with him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he was reaching at the bell. Stuke. And did he fall so suddenly? Bates. The repetition pleases you, I see. told you he fell without a groan. I Stuke. What heard you of him this morning? Bates. That the watch found him in their rounds, and alarmed the servants. 1 mingled with the crowd just now, and saw him dead in his own house-The sight terrified me. Stuke. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise and accuse us. We have no living enemy to fear, unless it is Beverley; and him we have lodged safe in prison. Bates. Must he be murdered too? Stuke. No; I have a scheme to make the law his murderer. At what hour did Lewson fall? Stuke. The time was lucky for us -Beverwas arrested at one, you say? [To Dawson. Daw. Exactly. Stuke. Good. We'll talk of this presently. The women were with him, I think? Daw. And old Jarvis. I would have told you of them last night, but your thoughts were too busy.-It is well you have a heart of stone; the tale would melt it else. Stuke. Out with it, then. Duw. I traced him to his lodgings; and, pretending pity for his misfortunes, kept the door open, while the officers seized him. 'Twas a damned deed-but no matter-I followed my instructions. Stuke. And what said he? Daw. He upbraided me with treachery, called you a villain, acknowledged the sums you had lent him, and submitted to his fortune. Stuke. And the women Daw. For a few minutes astonishment kept them silent. They looked wildly at one another, while the tears streamed down their cheeks. But rage and fury soon gave them words; and poor Beverley too! What must he have felt ?—— The very thought distracts me- -To have him torn at midnight from me! A loathsome prison his habitation! A cold damp room his lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to lull him to his rest! and no reflections but to wound and tear him! 'Tis too horrible-I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me.—————' -They should have parted soul and body first—I was too tame. then, in the very bitterness of despair, they cur- Stuke. There let him lie, till we have farther business with him. And for you, sir, let me hear no more of your compassion- -A fellow, nursed in villany, and employed from childhood in the business of hell, should have no dealings with compassion. Daw. Say you so, sir?-You should have named the devil that tempted me Char. You must not talk so.. -All that we could we did; and Jarvis did the rest-The faithcreature will give him comfort. Why does he delay coming? Mrs Bev. And there is another fear. His poor master may be claiming the last kind office from him-His heart, perhaps, is breaking. Char. See, where he comes-Ilis looks are cheerful too. Enter JARVIS. Mrs Bev. Are tears, then, cheerful? Alas, he weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte--I have no tongue to ask him questions. Char. How does your master, Jarvis ? Jar. I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my words.--But do not you weep [To Mrs Bev.]; I have a tale of joy for you, I Mrs Bev. What tale ?-Say but he is well, and ave joy enough. Jar. His mind, too, shall be well--all shall be well-I have news for him, that will make his poor heart bound again.- -Fie upon old ageHow childish it makes me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it. Char. Shed them in showers, then, and make haste to tell it. Stuke. It is false. I found you a villain, and therefore employed you :-But no more of this; we have embarked too far in mischief to recede. Lewson is dead, and we are all principals in his murder. Think of that.—There is time enough for pity, when ourselves are out of danger. Beverley still lives, though in a gaol. His ruin will sit heavy on him; and discoveries may be made to undo us all. Something must be done, and speedily. You saw him quarrelling with Lewson in the street last night? [To Bates. Bates. I did; his steward, Jarvis, saw him too. Stuke. And shall attest it. Here is matter to work upon. An unwilling evidence carries weight Jar. Yet why should I rejoice, when a good with him. Something of my design I have hint- man dies? Your uncle, madam, died yesterday. ed to you before. Beverley must be the author Mrs Bev. My uncle!Oh, Heavens! of this murder; and we the parties to convict Char. How heard you of his death? him. But how to proceed will require time and Jar. His steward came express, madam-I met thought. Come along with me; the room with-him in the street, enquiring for your lodgings.—I in is fitted for privacy.-But no compassion, sir should not rejoice, perhaps; but he was old, and [To Dawson.]We want leisure for it. This my poor master a prisoner. Now he shall live [Exeunt. again. Oh, it is a brave fortune!-and it was death to me to see him a prisoner, SCENE II.-Changes to BEVERLEY'S lodgings. way. Enter Mrs BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE, Mrs Bev. The clock strikes eight- -I will wait no longer. Char. Stay but till Jarvis comes. He has sent twice to stop us till we see him. Mrs Bev. I have no life in this separationOh, what a night was last night! I would not pass another such to purchase worlds by it-My Mrs Bev. What is it, Jarvis? Char. Where left you the steward? Jar. I would not bring him hither, to be a witness of your distresses; and besides, I wanted, once before I die, to be the messenger of joy to you. My good master will be a man again! Mrs Bev. Haste, haste then; and let us fly to him! We are delaying our own happiness. Jar. I had forgot a coach, madam, and Lucy has ordered one. Mrs Bev. Where was the need of that? The news has given me wings. Char. I have no joy, till my poor brother share it with me. How did he pass the night, Jarvis? Jar. Why now, madam, I can tell you. Like | a man dreaming of death and horrors, When they led him to his cell-for it was a poor apartment for my master-he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and lay speechless till day-break. A sigh, now and then, and a few tears, that followed these sighs, were all that told me he was alive. I spoke to him, but he would not hear me; and when I persisted, he raised his hand at me, and knit his brow so-I thought he would have struck me. Mrs Bev. Oh, miserable!—but what said he, Jarvis? Or was he silent all night? Jar. At day-break he started from the bed, and, looking wildly at me, asked who I was. Í told him, and bid him be of comfort.-Begone, old wretch, says he-I have sworn never to know comfort.My wife! my child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no comfort. Then falling upon his knees, he imprecated curses upon himself!" Mrs Bev. This is too horrible!—But you did not leave him so? Char. No, I am sure he did not. must to the prison immediately. I would be there but a few minutes before you; and you, Dawson, must follow in a few minutes after. So here we divide-but answer me; are you resolved upon this business like men? Bates. Like villains, rather-but you may depend upon us. Stuke. Like what we are, then-you make no answer, Dawson-compassion, I suppose, has seized you. Daw. No; I have disclaimed it-my answer is Bates's-you may depend upon me. Stuke. Consider the reward! Riches and security! I have sworn to divide with you to the last shilling-so here we separate, till we meet in prison-remember your instructions, and be [Exeunt. men. SCENE IV.- Changes to a prison. BEVERLEY is discovered sitting. After a short pause, he starts up, and comes forward. Bev. Why, there's an end, then; I have judged deliberately, and the result is death. How the Jar. I had not the heart, madam. By degrees self-murderer's account may stand, I know not. I brought him to himself. A shower of tears But this I know-the load of hateful life opprescame to his relief; and he called me his kindest ses me too much-the horrors of my soul are friend, and begged forgiveness of me like a child. more than I can bear-[Offers to kneel] FaMy heart throbbed so, I could not speak to him. ther of mercy! I cannot pray-despair has laid He turned from me for a minute or two, and, his iron hand upon me, and sealed me for perdisuppressing a few bitter sighs, enquired after his tion-conscience! conscience! thy clamours are wretched family.-Wretched was his word, ma- too loud-here's that shall silence thee. [Takes dam-Asked how you bore the misery of last a phial out of his pocket, and looks at it.] Thou night-If you had the goodness to see him in art most friendly to the miserable. Come, then, prison and then begged me to hasten to you. I thou cordial for sick minds-come to my heart. told him he must be more himself first.-He pro- [Drinks.] Oh, that the grave would bury memised me he would; and, bating a few sudden mory as well as body! For if the soul sees and intervals, he became composed and easy-And feels the sufferings of those dear ones it leaves then I left him; but not without an attendant-behind, the Everlasting has no vengeance to tora servant in the prison, whom I hired to wait ment it deeper-I will think no more of it—reupon him.-It is an hour since we parted.—Iflection comes too late-once there was a time was prevented, in my haste, to be the messenger for it—but now 'tis past. Who's there? of joy to you. Mrs Bev. What a tale is this? But we have staid too long-a coach is needless. Char. Hark! I hear one at the door. Enter JARVIS. Jar. One, that hoped to see you with better looks-why do you turn so from me? I have Jur. And Lucy comes to tell us we will brought comfort with me. And see, who comes away this moment. Mrs Bev. To comfort him, or die with him. [Exit. SCENE III.-Changes to STUKELY's Lodgings. Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON. Stuke. Here's presumptive evidence at least or if we want more, why we must swear more. But all unwillingly-we gain credit by reluctance. I have told you how to proceed. Beverley must die-we hunt him in view now, and must not slacken in the chace. "Tis either death for him, or shame and punishment for us. Think of that, and remember your instructions-you, Bates, to give it welcome! Enter Mrs BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Mrs Bev. Where is he? [Runs and embraces him.] Oh, I have him! I have him! And now they shall never part us more-I have news, love, to make you happy for ever-but do not look coldly on me! Char. How is it, brother? Mrs Bev. Alas! he hears us not-speak to me, love. I have no heart to see you thus. Bev. Nor I to bear the sense of so much shame this is a sad place! |