The Female Gamester: A Tragedy Part 9

Lady BELMOUR. Imagine not, That I cou'd doubt your honour, were it thousands.

Your strict and constant perseverance in it, Has won you the esteem and love of all; And to convince you of my high opinion, I'll hazard this five hundred with you now.

The day is early yet.

Mrs. ANDREWS. O press me not; My mind's too-much distress'd with what has happen'd; But I have brought the honourable debt. [She takes out several notes from a pocket-book.]

These make the whole, I think.

Lady BELMOUR. Most honour'd friend!

But may I trespa.s.s on your gen'rous spirit?

Your stock I see, is not a little weighty.

Cou'd you supply me with five hundred more For a few hours? I have no doubt to treble them, At a small party, I expect this instant: And I'll repay them gratefully this evening At lady Meldmay's, where we are to meet.

I, and three more this morning hold a bank; In which, if you wou'd choose to share a chance, Fortune perhaps might favour you this way.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Not now; but here's the further sum you wish for; And fail not to repay it as you promise.

'Tis but a part of what I owe to others.

Lady BELMOUR. I wou'd not disappoint you for the world.

My obligations are beyond expression.

Grant heav'n, your present troubles quickly vanish.

Mrs. ANDREWS. And may you meet the fortune which you hope for!

[She goes off.]

Lady BELMOUR. 'Tis wonderful, how she acquires all this.

Her husband's ruin'd, my dissipated lord, Most lavishly, I hear, supplies her wants; Whilst even for domestic calls his purse Is n.i.g.g.ardly unclos'd; and what he spares, Must be in strictest mode accounted for: Nor does he know a pleasure, absent from her.

To keep this sum then, were but fair reprisals. [Exit.]

SCENE III.

Mr. ANDREWS's house.

Mr. ANDREWS and THOMAS.

ANDREWS. What monsters trust will make us when we yield Our reason to its rage, and let it rule!

My neighbour! my companion! Oh! the man, Whom I to serve, would have risk'd every blessing To seek to wound me in the tenderest point!

Then, under friends.h.i.+p's show masking his treachery, Endeavour falsely to accuse another-- Most infernal villain!

THOMAS. 'Tis impossible.

Say, is there one of more exalted virtues?

Or one who so esteems and honours you?

ANDREWS. Oh! my wife's letter proves beyond all question, This breach of friends.h.i.+p, grat.i.tude and honour.

THOMAS. All forgery.

ANDREWS. She did not deny it.

THOMAS. Where is it?

ANDREWS. I have it not, she tore it.

THOMAS. Tore it! how got she it?

ANDREWS. It matters not.

THOMAS. There's something more in this, than yet you know of.

ANDREWS. If any thing by chance hath reach'd your ear, Against the safety ev'n of an enemy, Stain not your fair repute with the foul secret.

The faithful tongue will utter what the heart In justice prompts, though death were the event.

THOMAS. Then, sir, the letter is a black contrivance.

And would you now forgive this tell-tale honesty, I shou'd not hesitate to name the forger.

ANDREWS. These intermissions aggravate the misery.

THOMAS. Prepare then for the shock. It was your wife.

Boldly I speak the truth; for much she's wrong'd, If since she has been link'd with those high miscreants, Who, whilst they plunder, hold her in derision, Her foul's not ripe for ev'ry desp'rate project. [ANDREWS walks about much disturb'd.]

Patience, good sir! I rest not on suspicion.

ANDREWS. Audacious wretch, away!--quick, shun my rage!

THOMAS. I meant you well. [Aside as he goes off.] How piteous is his case! [Exit.]

ANDREWS. How can I meet him, and we both survive it!

Dread interval! would I had ne'er been born. [Goes off.]

SCENE IV.

Mr. ANDREWS's house.

Mrs. ANDREWS and MARIA.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Well, I believe if all my debts were paid, I ne'er should hazard more.

MARIA. And so return To the dull, lonely life you once pursued?

Forbid it your good angel! 'twould destroy you.

Mrs. ANDREWS. O! but that life, Maria, was estrang'd To those anxieties which haunt me now.

I cannot bear to be alone a moment.

MARIA. For that good reason, act like lady Belmour; Like her be resolute, and scorn despair.

Enter a SERVANT.

SERVANT. Lord Belmour, madam, tenders his respects.