Joanna Baillie

“ Sel. Indeed, good Ethelbert, thou art too warm:
Thou dealest hardly with him.
Eth. I know, tho' peace dilates the heart of man,
And makes his stores increase, his countenance smile,
He is by nature form'd, like savage beasts,
To take delight in war.
'Tis a strong passion in his bosom lodged,
For ends most wise, curb'd and restrain'd to be:
And they who for their own designs do take
Advantage of his nature, act, in truth,
Like cruel hinds who spirit the poor cock
To rend and tear his fellow. ”

“ I know Count Freberg's bus'ness with De Monfort,
And had a strong desire to visit you,
So much I wish the honour of your friendship.
For he retains no secret from mine ear.
Jane, archly. Knowing your prudence.—You are welcome, madam,
So shall Count Freberg's lady ever be.
(De Monfort and Freberg returning towards the front of the stage, still engaged in discourse.)
Freb. He is indeed a man, within whose breast,
Firm rectitude and honour hold their seat,
Tho' unadorned with that dignity
Which were their fittest garb. Now, on my life!
I know no truer heart than Rezenvelt. ”

“ Prison'd or free, where'er he breathes, lives one
Whom Ethwaid fears. Alas! this thing must be,
From th' imaged form of which I still have shrunk,
And started back as from my fancy's fiend.
The dark and silent cope of night is o'er us,
When vision'd horrours, thro' perturbed sleep,
Harden to deeds of blood the dreamer's breast;
When from the nether world fell demons rise
To guide with lurid flames the murd'rer's way:
I'll wake him now; should morning dawn upon me
My soul again might from its purpose swerve.
(in a loud energetic voice.)
Alwy, awake! Sleepest thou? ”

“ SCENE II. A garden, with a temple seen at some distance, in which are discovered Lady Sarah, Sophia, Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, and William Beaumont, as if seated after breakfast, whilst Gardener and one or two of the Servants skulk near the front of the stage, behind some hushes, looking at them.
Gar. Bride indeed! she's as unlovely a looking piece of goods as ever I look'd upon. See how she stares at every thing about her, and curls up her nose like a girkin! I'll warrant you she'll be all thro' my kitchen grounds by-and-by, to count over my cabbages. ”

“ No, till his corse, bereft of life, is found,
Till this is sworn, and prov'd, and witness'd to me,
Within my breast he shall be living still.
Ter. Wilt thou yet vainly watch night after night,
To guide his bark who never will return?
Aur. Who never will return! And thinkest thou
To bear me down with such presumptuous words?
Heaven makes me strong against thee:
There is a Power above that calms the storm,
Restrains the mighty, gives the dead to life:
I will in humble faith my watch still keep;
Force only shall restrain me.
Gar. Force never shall, thou noble, ardent spirit! ”

“ It is not merely under the violent agitations of passion, that man so rouses and interests us; even the smallest indications of an unquiet mind, the restless eye, the muttering lip, the half-checked exclamation, and the hasty start, will set our attention as anxiously upon the watch, as the first distant flashes of a gathering storm. When some great explosion of passion bursts forth, and some consequent catastrophe happens, if we are at all acquainted with the unhappy perpetrator, how minutely will we endeavour to remember every circumstance of his past behaviour! ”

“ Art thou, good Jerome, too, in kindness come?
I see thou art. How goes it with thine age?
Jer. Ah, madam! woe and weakness dwell with age:
Would I could serve you with a young man's strength!
I'd spend my life for you.
Jane.Thanks, worthy Jerome.
O! who hath said, the wretched have no friends!
Freb. In every sensible and gen'rous breast
Affliction finds a friend; but unto thee,
Thou most exalted and most honourable,
The heart in warmest adoration bows,
And even a worship pays.
Jane. Nay, Freberg, Freberg! grieve me not, my friend. ”

“ Is it not better to be with you in reality than only in imagination? Ah! Agnes! you little know what my home studies are.—Law, said you! how can I think of law, when your countenance looks upon me from every black lettered page that I turn? When your figure fills the empty seat by my side, and your voice speaks to me in the very mid-day stillness of my chamber? Ah! my sweet Agnes! you will not believe what a foolish fellow I have been, since I first saw you.
Ag. Nay, Harwood, I am not at all incredulous of the fact, it is only the cause of it which I doubt. ”

“ Countess. That will depend on the price you offer for it.
Hov. Being a portrait, it is of no value at all, but to those who have a regard for the original.
Jean. And what part of the world do they live in, Mr. Hovelberg? Can you find them out any where?
Countess. Nay, peace, Jeanetta.—As a portrait, indeed, it is of no value to any body, but, as a characteristic old head, it should fetch a good price. (Shewing it to Baron.) Observe, my dear Sir, that air of conceit and absurdity over the whole figure: to those who have a taste for the whimsical and ridiculous, it would be invaluable. ”

“ Anger is a passion that attracts less sympathy than any other, yet the unpleasing and distorted features of an angry man will be more eagerly gazed upon, by those who are no wise concerned with his fury or the objects of it, than the most amiable placid countenance in the world. Every eye is directed to him; every voice hushed to silence in his presence; even children will leave off their gambols as he passes, and gaze after him more eagerly than the gaudiest equipage. ”

“ And, gentle Orra! dost thou know a man,
Who might in ward all that his soul holds dear
From danger keep, yet would the charge refuse,
For that strict right such wardship doth condemn?
O! still to be with thee; to look upon thee;
To hear thy voice, makes ev'n this place of horrours,—
Where, as 'tis said, the spectre of a chief,
Slain by our common grandsire, haunts the
night,
A paradise—a place where I could live
In penury and gloom, and be most bless'd.
Ah! Orra! if there's misery in thraldom,
Pity a wretch who breathes but in thy favour ”

“ Eth. Be not so vehement: this will endanger
The little chance thou still may'st have for life.
The God we fear is merciful.
Ethw. Ay, he is merciful; but may it reach—
O listen to me!—Oswal I have murder’d,
And Edward, brave and gentle—Ay, this bites
With a fell tooth! I vilely have enthrall'd;
Of all his rights deprived. The loving Bertha;
Too will thou know'st what I have been to her—
Ah I thinkest thou a thousand robed priests
Can pray down mercy on a soul so foul? ”

“ Ros. God knows my heart! I would not give thee pain;
But it disturbs me, Basil, vexes me,
To see thee so enthralled by a woman.
If she is fair, others are fair as she.
Some other face will like emotions raise,
When thou canst better play a lover's part:
But for the present, fye upon it, Basil!
Bas. What, is it possible thou hast beheld,
Hast tarried by her too, her converse shar'd,
Yet talkst as tho' she were a common fair-one,
Such as a man may fancy and forget?
Thou art not, sure, so dull and brutish grown ”

“ I will venture, however, to say, that amidst all this decoration and ornament, all this loftiness and refinement, let one simple trait of the human heart, one expression of passion genuine and true to nature, be introduced, and it will stand forth alone in the boldness of reality, whilst the false and unnatural around it, fades away upon every side, like the rising exhalations of the morning. With admiration, and often with enthusiasm we proceed on our way through the grand and the beautiful images, raised to our imagination by the lofty Epic muse ”

“ Countess. And you answer me thus! I have spoilt you, indeed; and an indulged child, I find, does not always prove a dutiful one. Who is that you hold by the hand?
Vald. My wife, Madam.
Countess. Your wife! You do not say so: you dare not say so. Have they imposed a wife upon you also? Let go her unworthy hand.
Vald. No, Madam; never. It is my hand that is unworthy to hold so much innocent affection.
Countess. You are distracted: let go her hand, or I renounce you for ever.—What, will you not?
Vald. I will not.
Countess. Thou can'st be sturdy, I find, only for thine own ruin. ”

“ Wilt thou never give over that vile habit of grinning like a dog? (going up with a firm proud step to Free.) No, Sir; we have entered the lists as fair combatants together, and neither of us, I hope, (significantly) have taken any unfair advantage of the other. Let the most fortunate gain the day. I will never receive reward for a common office of humanity. That is not my way (mimicking Freeman.)
Free. Let me intreat you!
Balt. Mention it no more: I am determined.
Free. It would make me infinitely happy.
Balt. Do me the honour to believe that I speak truth, when I say, I am determined. ”

“ A power surpassing nature. List, I pray:
Altho' more distant now, dost thou not hear
The yell of hounds; the spectre-huntsman's horn?
Rud. I hear, indeed, a strangely mingled sound:
The wind is howling round the battlements.
But rest secure where safety is, sweet Orra!
Within these arms, nor man nor fiend shall harm thee.
(Approaching her with a softened winning voice, while she pushes him off with abhorrence.)
Or. Vile reptile! touch me not.
Rud. Ah! Orra! thou art warp'd by prejudice,
And taught to think me base; but in my veins
Lives noble blood, which I will justify. ”

“ Is Basil, then, so lavish of his praise
On a neglected pitiful subaltern?
It were a libel on his royal master;
A foul reproach upon fair fortune cast,
To call me valiant:
And surely he has been too much their debtor
To mean them this rebuke.
Bas. Is nature then so sparing of her gifts,
That it is wonderful when they are found
Where fortune smiles not?
Thou art by nature brave, and so am I,
But in those distant ranks moves there not one
(Pointing off the stage.) ”

“ Were it not, Rudigere?
⁠ (Calling to Rudigere, who answers not.)
Maur. His brow is dark, his tongue is lock'd, my Lord;
There come no words from him; he bears it not
So manfully as thou dost, noble Glottenbal.
Glot. Fy on't! I mind it not.
Maur. And wherefore should'st thou? This same Theobald,
Count and co-burgher—mixture most unseemly
Of base and noble,—know we not right well
What powers assist him? ”

“ For yet I will not think that in these ranks,
There moves a man who wears a traitor's heart.
(The soldiers begin to march off, and musick strikes up.)
Basil holding up his hand.) Cease, cease triumphant sounds,
Which our brave fathers, men without reproach,
Rais'd in the hour of triumph; but this hour
To us no glory brings—
Then silent be your march—ere that again
Our steps to glorious strains like these shall move
A day of battle o'er our heads must pass,
And blood be shed to wash out this day's stain. ”

“ Tho' but a partial sunshine in my lot
I will converse with her, gaze on her still,
If all behind were pain and misery.
Pain! were it not the easing of all pain,
E'en in the dismal gloom of after years,
Such dear rememb'rance on the mind to wear?
Like silv'ry moon-beams on the 'nighted deep,
When heav'n's blest sun is gone!
Kind mercy! how my heart within me beat
When she so sweetly pled the cause of love!
Can she have lov'd? why shrink I at the thought?
Why should she not? no, no, it cannot be—
No man on earth is-worthy of her love. ”

“ No, my dear Seabright; in a very different spirit are we come: we come to sympathize with you, and to console you.
Sea. I hate sympathy, and I hate consolation! You are come, I suppose, to sympathize with me too, my Lord, and to put me in mind of the damn'd place I have given up to that knave Sir Crafty Supplecoat.
Lord A. No, Sir Anthony, I scorn to upbraid, but I pretend neither to sympathize with you nor to console you: I come to rescue my sister from a situation unworthy a daughter of the house of Allcrest, and she shall go home with me. ”

“ Nay, my friend, there is a social influence which we all have, even the meanest of us, over one another, and there is more advice taken in the world than you are aware of. But had every adviser from the beginning of time fail'd before me, I will never believe that he who pleads to a father in behalf of his own children will speak without effect. Hear me then; let him who stands alone, run every risk to aggrandize himself, but let a father—O let the father of a family consider! ”

“ Formed as we are with these sympathetick propensities in regard to our own species, it is not at all wonderful that theatrical exhibition has become the grand and favourite amusement of every nation into which it has been introduced. Savages will, in the wild contortions of a dance, shape out some rude story expressive of character or passion, and such a dance will give more delight to his companions than the most artful exertions of agility. ”