The Fatal Falsehood Part 4

Where would you go?

_Or._ To solitude, to hopeless banishment!

Yes, I will shroud my youth in those dark cells Where Disappointment steals Devotion's name, To cheat the wretched votary into ruin; There will I live in love with misery: Ne'er shall the sight of mirth profane my grief; The sound of joy shall never charm my ear, Nor music reach it, save when the slow bell Wakes the dull brotherhood to lifeless prayer.

Then, when the slow-retreating world recedes, When warm desires are cold, and pa.s.sion dead, And all things but my Julia are forgotten, One thought of her shall fire my languid soul, Chase the faint orison, and feed despair.

_Ber._ What! with monastic, lazy drones retire, And chant cold hymns with holy hypocrites?

First perish all the s.e.x! Forbid it, manhood!

Where is your n.o.bler self? For shame, Orlando; Renounce this superst.i.tious, whining weakness, Or I shall blush to think I call'd you friend.

_Or._ What can I do?

_Ber._ (_after a pause._) Beg she'll defer the marriage But for one single day; do this, and leave The rest to me: she shall be thine.

_Or._ How say'st thou?

What, wrong her virtue?

_Ber._ Still this cant of virtue!

This pomp of words, this phrase without a meaning!

I grant that honour's something, manly honour; I'd fight, I'd burn, I'd bleed, I'd die for honour: But what's this virtue?

_Or._ Ask you what it is?

Why 'tis what libertines themselves adore; 'Tis that which wakens love and kindles rapture Beyond the rosy lip or starry eye.

Virtue! 'tis that which gives a secret force To common charms; but to true loveliness Lends colouring celestial. Such its power, That she who ministers to guilty pleasures, a.s.sumes its semblance when she most would please.

Virtue! 'tis that ethereal energy Which gives to body spirit, soul to beauty. _Exit._

_Ber._ Curse on his principles! Yet I shall shake them; Yes, I will bend his spirit to my will, Now while 'tis warm with pa.s.sion, and will take Whatever mould my forming hand will give it.

'Tis worthy of my genius! Then I love This Emmelina--true she loves not me-- But should young Rivers die, his father's lands Would all be mine.--Is Rivers then immortal?

Come--Guildford's lands, and his proud daughter's hand Are worth some thought.--Aid me, ye spurs to genius!

Love, mischief, poverty, revenge, and envy!

[_Exit_ BERTRAND.

_Enter_ EMMELINA _and_ RIVERS _talking_.

_Em._ Yet do not blame Orlando, good my brother; He's still the same, that brave frank heart you lov'd; Only his temper's chang'd, he is grown sad; But that's no fault, I only am to blame; Fond foolish heart, to give itself away To one who gave me nothing in return!

_Riv._ How's this? my father said Orlando lov'd thee.

_Em._ Indeed I thought so--he was kinder once; Nay still he loves, or my poor heart deceives me.

_Riv._ If he has wrong'd thee--yet I know he could not; His gallant soul is all made up of virtues, And I would rather doubt myself than him.

Yet tell me all the story of your loves, And let a brother's fondness soothe thy cares.

_Em._ When to this castle first Orlando came, A welcome guest to all, to me most welcome; Yes, spite of maiden shame and burning blushes, Let me confess he was most welcome to me.

At first my foolish heart so much deceiv'd me, I thought I lov'd him for my brother's sake; But when I closely search'd this bosom traitor, I found, alas! I lov'd him for his own.

_Riv._ Blush not to own it; 'twas a well-plac'd flame!

I glory in the merit of my friend, And love my sister more for loving him.

_Em._ He talk'd of you; I listen'd with delight, And fancied 'twas the subject only charm'd me; But when Orlando chose another theme, Forgive me, Rivers, but I listen'd still With undiminish'd joy--he talk'd of love, Nor was that theme less grateful than the former.

I seem'd the very idol of his soul; Rivers, he said, would thank me for the friendship I bore to his Orlando; I believ'd him.

Julia was absent then--but what of Julia?

_Riv._ Aye, what of her, indeed? why nam'd you Julia?

You could not surely think?--no, that were wild.

Why did you mention Julia?

_Em._ (_confusedly._) Nay, 'twas nothing, 'Twas accident, nor had my words a meaning; If I did name her--'twas to note the time---- To mark the period of Orlando's coldness---- The circ.u.mstance was casual, and but meant To date the change; it aim'd at nothing further.

_Riv._ (_agitated._) 'Tis very like--no more--I'm satisfied---- You talk as I had doubts: what doubts have I?

Why do you labour to destroy suspicions Which never had a birth? Is she not mine?

Mine by the fondest ties of dear affection?---- But _did_ Orlando change at her return?

_Did_ he grow cold? It could not be for that; You may mistake.--And yet you said 'twas _then_; Was it _precisely_ then--I only ask For the fond love I bear my dearest sister.

_Em._ 'Twas as I said.

_Riv._ (_recovering himself._) He loves thee, Emmelina: These starts of pa.s.sion, this unquiet temper, Betray how much he loves thee: yes, my sister, He fears to lose thee, fears his father's will May dash his rising hopes, nor give thee to him.

_Em._ Oh, flatterer! thus to soothe my easy nature With tales of possible, unlikely bliss!

Because it _may_ be true, my credulous heart Whispers it is, and fondly loves to cherish The feeble glimmering of a sickly hope.

_Riv._ This precious moment, worth a tedious age Of vulgar time, I've stol'n from love and Julia; She waits my coming, and a longer stay Were treason to her beauty and my love.

Doubts vanish, fears recede, and fondness triumphs.

[_Exeunt._

ACT III.

SCENE--_A Garden._

_Em._ Why do my feet unbidden seek this grove?

Why do I trace his steps? I thought him here; This is his hour of walking, and these shades His daily haunt: oft have they heard his vows: Ah! fatal vows, which stole my peace away!

But now he shuns my presence: yet who knows, He may not be ungrateful, but unhappy!

Yes he will come to clear his past offences, With such prevailing eloquence will plead, So mourn his former faults, so blame his coldness, And by ten thousand graceful ways repair them, That I shall think I never was offended.

He comes, and every doubt's at once dispell'd: 'Twas fancy all; he never meant to wrong me.

_Enter_ ORLANDO.

_Or._ Why, at this hour of universal joy, When every heart beats high with grateful rapture, And pleasure dances her enchanting round, O tell me why, at this auspicious hour, You quit the joyful circle of your friends, Rob social pleasure of its sweetest charm, And leave a void e'en in the happiest hearts, An aching void which only you can fill?

Why do you seek these unfrequented shades?

Why court these gloomy haunts unfit for beauty; But made for meditation and misfortune?

_Em._ I might retort the charge, my lord Orlando!

I _might_ enquire how the lov'd friend of Rivers, Whom he has held deep-rooted in his heart, Beyond a brother's dearness, sav'd his life, And cherish'd it, when sav'd, beyond his own;---- I _might_ enquire, why, when this Rivers comes, After long tedious months of expectation, Alive, victorious, and as firm in friendship As fondness could have wish'd or fancy feign'd; I _might_ enquire why thus Orlando shuns him---- Why thus he courts this melancholy gloom, As if he were at variance with delight, And scorn'd to mingle in the general joy?