The Female Gamester: A Tragedy Part 6

Mrs. ANDREWS. He heeds me not. The letter strongly works. [Aside.]

I've been inform'd, sir, that you wish'd to see me.

You seem disturb'd; acquaint me with the cause.

ANDREWS. Forbear to question me. I am not well.

Mrs. ANDREWS. You yield too much to melancholy thoughts.

ANDREWS. True--Melancholy hath been long my portion; As I've too long the fatal cause conceal'd: But ev'ry duty now, to heaven, to you, To my poor children, to myself, all, all Demand it from the husband and the father, That you, oh! you, are the sole, fatal cause. [She offers to withdraw, he shuts the door.]

Mrs. ANDREWS. How your looks scare me! what have I committed?

ANDREWS. O! many things you should not have committed.

To number all the mischiefs which your conduct, Your most misguided conduct hath induc'd On those, to whom, each law divine and human Had bound you in affection's strongest ties, Were but a needless waste of time and speech.

[Aside] Heav'n! what contempt and scorn her looks betray!

O Gaming! cursed vice! parent of all!

How callous grow the hearts of all thy votaries!

And how hast thou this once soft bosom chang'd!

Nor is her form less alter'd than her mind.

[Turning to her] Perverse and obstinate! as adders deaf!

Mrs. ANDREWS. Your words are not unheard.

ANDREWS. It matters not; Without due heed, 'twere speaking to the winds.

Have you yet thought, how you could bear the change, The bitter change from affluence to poverty, Which ev'ry want will bring to your remembrance?

We both must in one ruin be involv'd.

Mrs. ANDREWS. I know no life I lead that is not suited To what I am ent.i.tled by my birth: An honour, sir, of which you seem insensible.

ANDREWS. True honour only lies in virtuous deeds.

But had you been the daughter of a prince, 'Twere fit you suitably demean'd yourself, To that condition you had freely chosen.

Mrs. ANDREWS. By gloomy minds, and years by ailments sour'd, Remembring not past seasons in themselves, Ev'n pleasures innocent are deem'd offence.

ANDREWS. No--no; it lies not in their decent use; 'Tis the extreme that const.i.tutes the fault, By which, ev'n Virtue's sacred self might err; But they who break a single law, would others, If lured alike; so violate the whole.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Ha! is it come to this? arraign my virtue?

ANDREWS. This quick impatience is self-accusation.

I have not even hinted at it yet.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Whilst I am conscious of my own heart's innocence, I scorn the censure of a slanderous world; It cannot injure me.

ANDREWS. Soft! have a care.

No virtue with that thought is safe a moment.

O! 'tis a jewel of such brilliant l.u.s.tre, And so resistless wins the admiration, That even vice, in its appearance mansk'd, Pays homage at its shrine.

Mrs. ANDREWS. What is't I hear?

I see th' ill-natur'd purpose of your summons.

But who are they, sir, who have dar'd traduce me?

Some, it is like, of your low-rank'd a.s.sociates?

ANDREWS. This war of words is wandering from the purpose.

Now, mark me well--the man who dares insult A woman's modesty, must have descry'd Somewhat in her behaviour that would warrant Such outrage of abuse.--Is this your hand? [Shewing her the letter.]

Mrs. ANDREWS. Let me see it. [He gives her the letter, which she reads hastily, then tears it to pieces.]

Now, let me tell you, sir, 'Twas a base action to unclose this letter, Or any other not to you address'd.

What a curs'd h.e.l.lish plot hath here been schem'd Against my peace! oh! oh! Maria--oh! [She faints upon the sofa.]

Enter MARIA.

MARIA. Alas! alas! my poor lady! good sir!

What hath she done to merit this unkindness?

You've always been the tenderest of husbands.

ANDREWS. Forbear this idle talk; attend your mistress.

[Aside] What fool was I to trust her with this letter!

Yet, why was she so hasty to destroy it?

Heav'n! in what deep perplexities I'm plung'd! [He goes off.]

Mrs. ANDREWS. What! gone! Leave me in the sad seeming state In which I call myself!--and unconcern'd!

Would I had died before I wrote that letter!

Desperate act! I knew not what I did.

MARIA. Madam, despair not; this will soon blow over, You're young and beauteous; he, in his decline.

You can command him, as best suits your pleasure; But let not scruples rule you at this crisis: In my poor judgment, 'twould undo us all.

Consult your friend, the faithful lady Belmour; None can advise you better on this subject.

Mrs. ANDREWS. O! but Maria, this is not the whole.

My ill success at play for some time past, Hath far exceeded all hath yet befall'n me: This hurried me to borrow of lord Belmour A thousand pieces, which, with the several sums I've lost to him (not small), must now be paid; But above all,--ill fate! is the discovery Of the false key to my wrong'd husband's chest: Which must be so; as other locks are fix'd On it, and every door that leads thereto.

MARIA. The work this, of my old officious husband. [Walks apart and pauses.]

Now for due vengeance for the killing flights, That youth, the scornful Jefferson, hath cast On me, and my ill-fated fondness for him. [Returning.]

What think you of a further application To the cashier; your worthy friend young Jefferson?

Mrs. ANDREWS. I cannot: he already hath a.s.sur'd me, He dares not venture to supply me further.

MARIA. I doubt not but he told you so; and yet, My hopes are surety still for his compliance.

There is no danger he'd not risk to serve you.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Whence comes this zeal?

MARIA. From a pa.s.sion for you, As violent perhaps, as e'er possess'd The heart of man, and which he cannot hide.

You surely must have seen it? It destroys him.

Mrs. ANDREWS. I have, 'tis true, observ'd him much confus'd At times I spoke to him; but this, I thought, Might have proceeded from a bashful modesty, As I conceive his readiness to serve me, Did from a generous spirit to oblige.

MARIA. I tell you, madam, 'tis the height of fondness.

A fever, that he lately had, in which His ceaseless ravings were of you, confirm'd 'it.