The Fatal Falsehood Part 8

And yet her beauty might excuse a falsehood; Nay, almost sanctify a perjury.

Perdition's in that thought--'twas born in h.e.l.l.

My soul is up in arms, my reason's lost, And love, and rage, and jealousy, and honour, Pull my divided heart, and tear my soul. [_Exit._

_Ber._ Rave on, and beat thy wings; poor bird! thou'rt lim'd, And vain will be thy struggles to get loose.

--How much your very honest men lack _prudence_!

Though all the n.o.bler virtues fill one scale, Yet place but Indiscretion in the other; In worldly business, and the ways of men, That single folly weighs the balance down, While all th' ascending virtues kick the beam.

Here's this Orlando now, of rarest parts, Honest, heroic, generous, frank, and kind As inexperience of the world can make him; Yet shall this single weakness, this _imprudence_, Pull down unheard-of plagues upon his head, And snare his heedless soul beyond redemption: While dull unfeeling hearts, and frozen spirits, Sordidly safe, secure, because untempted, Look up and wonder at the generous crime They wanted wit to frame, and souls to dare.

ACT IV.

SCENE--_An Apartment._

_Em._ How many ways there are of being wretched!

The avenues to happiness how few!

When will this busy, fluttering heart be still?

When will it cease to feel and beat no more?

E'en now it shudders with a dire presage Of something terrible it fears to know.

Ent'ring, I saw my venerable father In earnest conference with the Count Orlando; Shame and confusion fill'd Orlando's eye, While stern resentment flush'd my father's cheek.

And look, he comes with terror on his brow!

But, oh! he sees me, sees his child; and now The terror of his look is lost in love, In fond, paternal love.

_Enter_ GUILDFORD.

_Guild._ Come to my arms, And there conceal that penetrating eye, Lest it should read what I would hide for ever, Would hide from all, but most would hide from thee---- Thy father's grief, his shame, his rage, his tears.

_Em._ Tears! heaven and earth! see if he does not weep!

_Guild._ He who has drawn this sorrow from my eyes Shall pay me back again in tears of blood.

'Tis for thy sake I weep.

_Em._ Ah, weep for me?

Hear, Heaven, and judge; hear, Heaven, and punish me!

If any crime of mine----

_Guild._ Thou art all innocence; Just what a parent's fondest wish would frame; No fault of thine e'er stain'd thy father's cheek; For if I blush'd, it was to hear thy virtues, And think that thou wast mine: and if I wept, It was from joy and grat.i.tude to heaven, That made me father of a child like thee.

Orlando----

_Em._ What of him?

_Guild._ I cannot tell thee; An honest shame, a virtuous pride forbids.

_Em._ Oh, speak!

_Guild._ Canst thou not guess, and spare thy father?

_Em._ 'Tis possible I can--and yet I will not: Tell me the worst while I have sense to hear.

Thou wilt not speak--nay, never turn away; Dost thou not know that fear is worse than grief?

There may be bounds to grief, fear knows no bounds: In grief we know the worst of what we feel, But who can tell the end of what we fear?

Grief mourns some sorrow palpable and known, But fear runs wild with horrible conjecture.

_Guild._ Then hear the worst, and arm thy soul to bear it.

My child!--he has--Orlando has refus'd thee.

_Em._ (_after a long pause._) 'Tis well--'tis very well--'tis as it should be.

_Guild._ Oh, there's an eloquence in that mute woe Which mocks all language. Speak, relieve thy heart, Thy bursting heart; thy father cannot bear it.

Am I a man? no more of this, fond eyes!

I am grown weaker than a chidden infant, While not a sigh escapes to tell thy pain.

_Em._ See, I am calm; I do not shed a tear; The warrior weeps, the woman is a hero!

_Guild._ (_embraces her._) My glorious child! now thou art mine, indeed!

Forgive me if I thought thee fond and weak.

I have a Roman matron for my daughter, And not a feeble girl. And yet I fear, For, oh! I know thy tenderness of soul; I fear this silent anguish but portends Some dread convulsion soon to burst in horrors.

_Em._ I will not shame thy blood; and yet, my father, Methinks thy daughter should not be refus'd!

Refus'd? It has a harsh, ungrateful sound; Thou shouldst have found a softer term of scorn.

And have I then been held so cheap? Refus'd?

Been treated like the light ones of my s.e.x, Held up to sale? been offer'd, and refus'd?

_Guild._ Long have I known thy love; I thought it mutual: I met him--talk'd of marriage----

_Em._ Ah! no more: I am rejected;--does not that suffice?

Excuse my pride the mortifying tale; Spare me particulars of how and when, And do not parcel out thy daughter's shame.

No flowers of rhetoric can change the fact, No arts of speech can varnish o'er my shame: Orlando has refus'd me!

_Guild._ Villain! villain!

He shall repent this outrage.

_Em._ Think no more on't: I'll teach thee how to bear it; I'll grow proud, As gentle spirits still are apt to do When cruel slight or killing scorn a.s.sails them.

Come, virgin dignity; come, female pride; Come, wounded modesty; come, slighted love; Come, conscious worth; come, too, O black despair!

Support me, arm me, fill me with my wrongs!

Sustain this feeble spirit!--Yes, my father, But for thy share in this sad tale of shame, I think I could have borne it.

_Guild._ Thou hast a brother; He shall a.s.sert thy cause.

_Em._ First strike me dead!

No, in the wild distraction of my spirit, In this dread conflict of my breaking heart, Hear my fond pleading--save me from that curse; Thus I adjure thee by the dearest ties [_Kneels._ Which link society; by the sweet names Of parent and of child; by all the joys These tender claims have yielded, I adjure thee Breathe not this fatal secret to my brother; Let him not know his sister was refus'd!

Spare me that exquisite, that perfect ruin!

Conceive the mighty woe I cannot speak, And tremble to become a childless father.

[_Exit_ EMMELINA.

_Guild._ What art thou, Life? thou lying vanity!

Thou promiser, who never meanst to pay!