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THE TRAGEDY OF Sir THOMAS OVERBURY.

(Price 1s. 6d.)

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THE TRAGEDY OF Sir Thomas Overbury: As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in Drury-Lane, BY HIS Majeſty's Company of Comedians.

Written by RICHARD SAVAGE, Son of the Late Earl Rivers.

Obſequium Amicos, Veritas Odium, parit!
Terent.
O faelix Hominum genus!
Si veſtros Animos Amor,
Quo Coelum regitur, regat.

LONDON; Printed for SAMUEL CHAPMAN, at the Angel in Pallmall. M.DCC.XXIV.

TO HERBERT TRYST Eſq OF THE City of Hereford.

[5]
SIR,

I Have been told, 'tis a Cuſtom to ask Permiſſion for ſuch kind of Addreſſes; but, there is ſomething ſo [6] very mean in this Civility, to ask your Pardon for neg⯑lecting it, were to deſerve your Indignation.

If Merit ought to be pre⯑fer'd, to what the World calls Greatneſs; if, a Senſe of paſt Favours ſhould be conſider'd, before future Views; You, Sir, have the juſteſt Title to this Dedica⯑tion from me, were the Play a Performance more worthy Your Acceptance.

Had other Authors the Knowledge and Experience [7] of your Virtues that I have, I ſhould find many Rivals, when I beg leave to ſub⯑ſcribe myſelf,

SIR,
Your Devoted, Humble Servant, Richard Savage.

ADVERTISEMENT.

[8]

THE Importunity of the Publiſher being very preſ⯑ſing, I omit the Preface which I intended, wherein I propos'd (by way of Eſſay) a Diſcourſe on TRAGEDY: The Subject being too copious to treat of, in this ſhort Time, I defer it, either to publiſh it ſingle, or to join it with ſome other Work.

But, my Gratitude prompts me to declare the Obligations I have to my Beſt and Deareſt Friend [9] Mr. Aaron Hill, for his many judi⯑cious Corrections in this Tragedy. On that worthy Gentleman (whoſe Mind is enrich'd with every noble Science, and in whoſe Breaſt all the Virtues of Humanity are compriſed) it will be my Pride, to offer my Sentiments, in a more diſtinguiſhing Manner here⯑after.

I think it my Duty alſo, to return Thanks to the Town, for their fa⯑vourable Reception of this Play; and for the Applauſe their Indulgence be⯑ſtow'd on the Performance of the Young Actors: Particularly for my own Succeſs, in a double Capacity, as Actor, and Author; I ſhall ever pub⯑lickly confeſs their Generoſity, as it will ever prove my ſecret Satisfac⯑tion.

Notwithſtanding the Diſadvantage this Play may have received, in the Repreſentation, I cannot omit acknow⯑ledging a Debt of Gratitude to [10] Mr. Theophilus Cibber, who was very careful in the Management of the Rehearſals, and endeavour'd to in⯑ſtruct every one concern'd in the Play; a Mechaniſm, which my Inexperience, as an Actor, made me incapable of.

Tho' an Author knows the Mean⯑ing of his Scenes, he may be unac⯑quainted with a Theatrical Method, of ſetting 'em in the moſt advanta⯑geous Appearance. Example enforces Precept: and therefore Mr. Cibber junior, took the nobleſt Method, to improve others, by doing Juſtice to his own Character; and, tho' he la⯑bours under the preſent Diſadvantage of ſmall Stature, I can't help concur⯑ring with the Opinion of many others, that, in Action, and Elocution, he is certainly a Prodigy.

PROLOGUE,

[11]
Written by AARON HILL Eſq
Spoken by Mr. CIBBER Jun.
NEW to the Stage—By no paſt Praiſes fir'd,
Young, and unfam'd, and, but, by Hope, inſpir'd:
Raiſe us to reach that Hope's ambitious Call,
Or, with ſoft Pity; break our threaten'd Fall.
Small, tho' our Merit be, your Minds are Great,
And undeſerv'd Applauſe may Worth create.
Sweetneſs ſits, ſmiling, where the Heart beats true,
And they praiſe moſt, to whom moſt Praiſe is due.
Low let me court ye, to befriend our Cauſe!
If Juſtice pleads not, gen'rous Pity draws.
[12] In a full World, our Author lives, Alone!
Unhappy—and, of Conſequence, unknown;
Yet, amidſt Sorrow, he diſdains Complaint:
Nor, languid, in the Race of Life, grows faint.
He ſwims, unyielding, againſt Fortune's Stream,
Nor, to his private Suff'rings, ſtoops his Theme:
Adopts the Pains, which others undergo;
And, for your Pleaſure, feels not his own Woe.
They ſhou'd, themſelves, be pleas'd, who love to pleaſe;
And he, who fears not Mis'ry, merits Eaſe.
Oh!—ſave unfriended Virtue from Diſtreſs—
'Tis the Divine Prerogative—to bleſs!
Sad, for the Tragic Scene, your Hearts prepare,
Where Love kills Friendſhip, and awakes Deſpair;
Where cheriſh'd Miſchiefs tow'r above Controul,
And warring Paſſions rend the tortur'd Soul!
Taught by the pictur'd Woes, which weep, to-night,
Let long-weigh'd Caution guide your Wiſhes right;
Slow, thro' your Eyes, give ſmiling Ruin Way;
Love, by That Paſs, but enters to betray!
Beauty fades faſt—nor will its tranſient Grace
Sooth the ſick Boſom, when the Thought takes Place.
But, when Twin Souls each other's Tranſport claim,
And pant, and burn, and twiſt their ſtruggling Flame,
Safe, let 'em meet, by no falſe Fears oppreſs'd;
Form'd to be one, and, till rejoin'd, unbleſs'd!

EPILOGUE,

[13]
Written by AARON HILL, Eſq
Spoken by Mrs. BRET, in the Cha⯑racter of Iſabella.
WELL!—'tis a ſhameful Breach, in Honour's Laws,
To court the Credit, and betray the Cauſe!
But, faithful to my Sex,—Pray, Ladies! hear me—
And, if the Poet murmurs, ſmile, and clear me.
He bids me ſay, Sir Tom was Juſt—Brave—Witty!
Troth! he was e'en too good for Woman's Pity—
I find, by Hiſt'ries of the Poor Soul's Life,
He wrote that frightful Poem, call'd—The Wife.
[14] There, with Cold Rules, he damps the Glow of Beauty:
And fetters free-born Will, by ſneaking Duty!
His Husbands are mere Tyrants—(and no Wonder!—)
They've Natural Right, he ſays, to keep us under.
Pleas'd—or not pleas'd—we muſt, it ſeems, lie quiet:
And rather ſtarve to Death than mend our Diet!
Prompt, in Obedience, wait the Sovereign's Motion,
And do, or ſuffer, with reſign'd Devotion!
'Tis a fine Leſſon, truly!—Blaſt Sir Thomas—
Or—Keep the galling Yoke of Wedlock from us!
Cou'd Wives but once ſuch Paſſive Grace inherit,
Bleſs us!—what Active Husbands wou'd they merit!
This the fine Overbury! whoſe juſt Fate
You've ſeen, to Night, dreſs'd out, in Tra⯑gic State!
He make a Hero!—He attract Compaſſion!
Heaven keep theſe witty Husbands out of Faſhion!
Had he been mine, I'd paid him for his Poem:
And made him feel, what Thanks we Wo⯑men owe him!
[15]
Though Lovers pleaſe—and mine is a ſtark New one,
My feign'd Sir Thomas ſuffers, for the True one:
Bleſs'd be the Doſe, by which our Match miſcarry'd;
Heavens!—how I'd hated him, had we been marry'd!
As to my Errand,—E'er your Smiles I pray,
Thus, make him mend the Moral of his Play:
Truſt not repenting Somerſet's Opinion,
Nor ſtrive to ſhake our Sex's fix'd Dominion.
Woman does, ev'n in yielding, Conqueſt gain,
And Man, howe'er contending, toils in vain!
Learn, ye loſt Things! for Diſobedience, hated,
To what ſure Suff'rings raſh Mens Lives are fated!
Wiſely, be rul'd:—move on, the Way we draw ye—
And let due Senſe of Power ſuperior awe ye!
Elſe, will your Ev'ry Woe be ſtill kept waking,
And your proud Hearts, waſte half an Age in breaking:
Care ſhall corrode your Thoughts—De⯑ſpair invade ye!
Dangers riſe round!—And Horns want Power to ſhade ye!

Dramatis Perſonae.

[16]
  • MEN.
    Earl of Northampton,
    Mr. Bridgwater.
    Earl of Somerſet,
    Mr. Cibber, Jun.
    Sir Thomas Overbury,
    Mr. Savage, the Author.
    Sir Gervas Elloways,
    Mr. Keith.
  • WOMEN.
    Lady Frances Howard Niece to the Earl of Northampton, formerly Wife of the Earl of Eſſex, divorced from him, and afterwards married to the Earl of Somerſet,
    Mrs. Campbell.
    Iſabella, An Orphan, under the Guardianſhip of the Earl of Somerſet, in Love with Sir Tho⯑mas Overbury,
    Mrs. Bret.
    Cleora, Confident to the Counteſs of Somerſet, ſecretly a Friend to Iſabella,
    Mrs. Daviſon.
  • Officer, Guards, and Attendants.
SCENE LONDON.

The Reader is deſired to correct the following Errors.

PAG. 3. lin. 23. for ſhort, r. ſoft, P. 8. l. 27. for Shade, r. Stalk. P. 9. l. 9. for Sky, r. Sun. P. 12. l. 14. for Lightning, r. Lightnings. P. 13. l. 12. for part, r. pant. P. 15. l 24. for the ſmiling, r. her ſmo⯑king. P. 16. l. 27. for Men, r. They. The laſt three Lines of that Speech ſhould be omitted, being printed before in the firſt Scene. P. 24. l. 16. for Followers, r. Follower. Ibid. l. 17. for haunt, r. trace. P. 41. l. 8. after me, add to.

[1] THE TRAGEDY OF Sir THOMAS OVERBURY.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Earl of Northampton and Sir J. Elloways,
Nor.
HOW chearfully hath this Day's Light broke forth!
The new-riſen Sun, dreſt rich in Orient Beams,
Beholds, with Triumph, the late Wife of Eſſex
Tranſplant her Beauties, from his barren Shade,
To flouriſh by the Heat of Love and Somerſet.
Ell.
[2]
Never ſhall I forget the tempting Bride!
Such dazling Luſtre ſparkled from her Eyes,
That the proud Gems ſhe wore ſhone dim be⯑neath 'em;
Inviting Warmth glow'd lovely on her Cheeks,
And from her Tongue flow'd ſuch melodious Sounds,
That liſt'ning Rage grew gentle as her Accents,
And Age was Youth again by looking on her.
Nor.
Yet, tho' her Features are as ſoft as Air,
Strong Paſſions urge her Mind to manly Daring!
Work'd up by Nature with unuſual Strength,
Vengeance, Ambition, and the Warmth of Great⯑neſs
Swell in her Soul, and lift her above Woman.
Ell.
That Overbury who oppos'd this Marriage,
Will frown on its Concluſion—He's your Enemy!
When correſponding with the Court of Rome,
'Twas he who intercepted dangerous Letters.
Nor.
He did, nor think that I forget he did it:
My Genius, baleful as a Comet's Blaze,
Hangs o'er his Head, and burns with red Revenge!
Nay, he's my Rival too!—That fiery Thought
Glows in my Breaſt; and as I weigh my Wrongs,
I ſwell like Aetna, when her ſulph'rous Rage
Burſts o'er the Earth, and rolls in Floods of Fire.
Ell.
Your Iſabella, Somerſet's fair Charge,
Is ſure an Abſtract of divine Perfection!
While Overbury's Love, like a black Cloud,
Cuts off, and intercepts the glittering Proſpect.
Nor.
Oh! name it not—It muſt not, ſhall not be!
Old as I am, I'll ſnatch the Pleaſure from him;
And Love and Policy ſhall join to cruſh him.
Ell.
You know her Charms are Somerſet's Diſpoſal.
Warm in the Luſtre of our late Queen's Graces,
'Tis ſtrange to mark the Power of Time to change us,
[3] Her Father ſhone the Favourite of the Court;
But when his Day of Hope at length declin'd,
Drove by his Enemies, he fled to Scotland,
Pine'd there, and chill'd with Sorrows, died an Exile.
Nor.
'Tis well—But I have News more worth relating!
Wade the Lieutenant of the Tower's diſplac'd.
Ell.
May I remind your Lordſhip of a Promiſe?
Nor.
Thou need'ſt not, Ell'ways, I ſo truly prize thee,
That were my Mind big with my Country's Fate,
With Plots, which, known, would blaſt my Life and Honour,
I ſhou'd, I think, unfold 'em to thy Friendſhip—
Of that hereafter—See the Bride approaches!
[Ex. Ell.
Enter the Counteſs of Somerſet.
Nor.
Hail to thoſe Charms that ſmile upon the Morn,
And ſweetly gild it, like a milder Sun!
May Joys, in Circles, dance away your Days!
And Length of Years ſuſtain your Bridal Pleaſures!
Fair Somerſet! now happy too, and great!
Bleſt with Perfection to the height of Thought!
The Worth that could deſerve Beauty like your's,
Inſures ſoft Bliſs, and heaps long Life with Pleaſure.
Count.
Thus—while a Lover, talk'd my Somerſet,
His Words fell ſhort like hov'ring Flakes of Snow,
And in cold Tremblings melted on my Boſom!
But now alas—.
Nor.
You cannot, ſure, ſuſpect him.
Count.
He has alarm'd
A Pride that catches the firſt Spark, and kindles!
To be forſaken, is a Thought of Horror!
[4] Oh! it wou'd grate the Woman in my Soul,
To have my Pride ſubdu'd, and make me mad!
Tho' but laſt Night our Nuptials fix'd him mine!
Starting this Morning from my ſlighted Arms,
Thought ſeem'd to preſs his Mind! Sighs heav'd his Boſom!
And, as repenting of his Wiſh poſſeſs'd,
Full in the bluſhing Dawn, he roſe and left me.
Nor.
There is a Damp, I know, that clouds his Joys,
A Vapour which your Warmth might ſoon diſperſe.
Count.
What points my Uncle at?
Nor.
I'll ſpeak it plainly—
Overbury!—
That reſtleſs Foe of ours—your Husband's Friend!
This Morning is expected.
Count.
Overbury!
Then aid me, Indignation—Rage—and Vengeance!
Nor.
Wiſely you call on Rage for its Aſſiſtance,
Juſtice would be too ſlow for your Revenge,
And Conſcience bids us give it up for ever!
But what is Conſcience?—a thin empty Name,
That terrifies, like Ghoſts, by Fancy rais'd.
Ev'n the moſt Brave uſe Stratagems in War,
And what are Plots againſt a private Foe,
But Self-Defence!—the firſt great Rule of Nature!
Count.
My Lord, I ſee to what your Counſel leads me!
I am a Woman! nay, a Woman wrong'd!
And when our Sex, from Injuries take Fire,
Our Softneſs turns to Fury!—And our Thoughts
Breathe Vengeance and Deſtruction.
Nor.
Spoke like yourſelf!
Count.
Oh! I'm tranſported with inſpiring Heat!
You know I never lov'd the Earl of Somerſet,
'Twas Intereſt, 'twas Ambition won me to him;
[5] And there's one Thought, I own, has rack'd my Peace,
The only one I e'er conceal'd from you.
Nor.
Inſtruct me—It may ſerve us as a Plan,
From which I'll raiſe a Pile of tow'ring Miſchief,
Shall nod with watchful Horror o'er his Head,
Till, tumbling, it ſhall cruſh him into Ruin.
Count.
Know then, with ſhame I ſpeak it, I have lov'd him!
Nor.
Lov'd whom?—not Overbury?
Count.
Yes! lov'd him more than I deteſt him now!
Each Thought, Look, Geſture has confeſt the Folly!
Nay, I have wrote—Oh Heav'n! I know not what!
Reaſon was fled!—and every Thought was Mad⯑neſs!
And now he may betray me!
Nor.
May! he will—
Theſe Letters muſt be artfully won from him:
Succeeding, we ſtir Somerſet againſt him;
Revenge, with Tranſport then, would ſweeten all,
The Rage of ſlighted Love—urge that diſcreetly,
I know the Temper of your Lord—'twill fire him—
Touch but that Point, and Jealouſy pleads for you—
But mark! he comes, and ſeems amus'd and penſive,
'Tis fit we part—anon we'll fix our Scheme.
[Exit Count.
Enter Earl of Somerſet.
Som.
A kind good-morrow to my honour'd Uncle!
Now Fortune ſeems to ſmile in earneſt on me;
This laſt Night's Bleſſing crown'd my warmeſt Wiſh,
And kindling Fancy from the Thought takes Fire!
Oh! my good Lord! Language gives way be⯑neath it,
[6] The Painter's Colours, and the Poet's Art
Cou'd touch but a faint Image of my Joys.
Nor.
And yet, if I miſtook you not, at Entrance,
Your Looks were low'ring, and your Boſom la⯑bour'd!
Thro' the gay Smile of your diſſembled Joy,
I ſaw th' obſcuring Shade which wrap'd your Soul.
Som.
Sure you miſtook!—I think I was all Rap⯑ture!
How I adore your Niece—be witneſs, Heaven!
Witneſs ye ſoft Deſires! that ſwell my Veins,
And beat but to the Muſic of her Love—
Dearly I love her! to Diſtraction love her!
Nor Words can ſpeak—nor Thought can feel my Paſſion!
But—Oh! Northampton!
Nor.
Speak.
Som.
I have a Friend
Dearer than Life! and, as my Honour, precious!
Our Wiſhes and our Intereſts are the ſame!
Friendſhip has join'd us in ſo ſtrict a Band,
As if one parcel'd Soul inform'd us both!
Yet he—
Nor.
Let not his partial Hate of her perplex you!
A Wiſe becomes the trueſt, tend'reſt Friend,
The Balm of Comfort, and the Source of Joy!
Thro' every various Turn of Life the ſame.
For Men, they are not as they were of old—
Oft their Profeſſions are the Arts of Intereſt!
You'll find the Friendſhip of the World is Show,
Mere outward Show! 'Tis like the Harlot's Tears,
The Stateſman's Promiſe, or falſe Patriot's Zeal,
Full of fair Seeming, but Deluſion all.
Som.
Not ſo—then might I think you not my Friend!
Shall I, becauſe I live in faithleſs Times,
[7] Diſtruſt a vertuous Man, or ſhou'd I ſlight
A faithful Fair-One, 'cauſe her Sex are falſe?
If theſe are Maxims, Ties can bind no more!
All that is humane is for ever loſt,
And Brutes are ev'n as we are.
Nor.
Come, my Lord!
This Overbury! he's the Thorn that gauls you!
Truſt me, I know him well—He has a Soul
Too harſhly form'd for ſuch endearing Friendſhip.
Som.
Greatly you wrong him! I have found him tender
As firſt-made Mothers to their erring Infants,
Firm to his Prince, and faithful to his Country;
A braver Subject England never boaſted,
Nor Man a nobler Friend than Overbury.
Nor.
Can he be juſtly call'd your nobleſt Friend,
Yet ſacrifice your Bliſs to private Malice?
Let not a Show of Friendſhip make you wretched,
Nor break the Bands which Heaven and Love have made.
Som.
Know you, my Lord, ſo little then of So⯑merſet,
That you can wrong him with ſo poor a Thought?
My Wife! to tell you but how much I love her!
'Twou'd, like Eternity, admit no End.
Nor.
I've done—your ſafe Diſcretion be your Guide.
[Exit.
Som.
A Wife! a Friend! Oh! they include all Joys!
And Love and Friendſhip are ſo near a-kin,
They ſhou'd, like Poetry and Muſic, join!
Each form'd to grace the other—Why, then, in me,
Why, in my Breaſt, ſhou'd Friendſhip jar with Love?
Enter Sir Thomas Overbury.
Som.
Fly to my Arms—Welcome as Eaſe to Pain,
As Health to Nature, or Relief to Want!
Over.
[8]
O Somerſet! engraft me on thy Boſom!
Each Day of Abſence ſeem'd a ling'ring Age!
But I have haſted ev'n to outſtrip Time!
Left the dull Hours behind me as I flew,
And reach'd the Goal of all my Wiſhes here.
Som.
Friends, who thus meet, poſſeſs ſo ſoft a Bliſs,
That none, but thoſe, who taſte, can gueſs our Joy.
Over.
May ours live to the laſt Verge of Being!
Nay, ev'n in Death! for then, if Thought remains,
Shou'd mine but meet a Soul in Worlds to come,
Whoſe generous Flame ſublim'd it from the reſt,
I ſhou'd be apt to call it—Somerſet!
But tell me—for my Mind has dwelt upon thee,
Has thy fond Heart regain'd its Liberty?
Does the late Eſſex yet appear herſelf?
Or art thou ſtill bewitch'd with her Inchantment?
Som.
Alas! thou know'ſt not what a Lover feels.
Over.
Have I a Soul for Friendſhip, not for Love?
There's one who knows my Softneſs but too well!
Knows how her Beauty fires! her Vertue charms me!—
Eſſex, I ſee, ſtill hangs her Witchcraft round thee.
Som.
Wou'dſt thou but view her with impartial Eyes!
Over.
Why, I confeſs ſhe's fair, and, when ſhe talks,
Inchanting Softneſs melts upon her Tongue,
And flows in Seas of Miſchief!—She has Beauty,
Which ſpreads and blooms like a freſh-opening Flow'r!
But poiſonous Adders lurk beneath its Shade;
And from ſuch Briars ſhoots this lovely Roſe,
It wounds the Touch which it invites to crop it.
Som.
But, let me beg thee, if thou lov'ſt thy So⯑merſet,
If Friendſhip makes my Peace of Mind thy Care,
No more to ſhock me on this tender Point
Over.
[9]
'Twere Flattery all, not Friendſhip to comply!
The Wound can ne'er be cur'd that ſhuns the probing!
Kind is the Hand that wipes the Duſt from Virtue,
And Counſel is a Friend's peculiar Office.
Som.
Truſt me, my Friend, that Counſel comes too late.
Over.
Hear me!—for, as I love thee, I will ſpeak!
What tho' her outward Charms attract the Eye,
Vertue, the Gem within, is long ſince faded!
Her Fame, like Fleſh, that blackens in the Sky,
Is blown and bloated by the Breath of Thouſands.
Now, as a Man, weigh well e'er you reſolve,
For when a Woman's Reputation's gone,
All that repenting Virtue can inſpire,
Can never fix it in its State again.
Som.
Cruel Report, I know, has wrong'd her Worth!
Envy ſtill feeds upon the faireſt Fruit,
And ſpreads its Poiſon on the Wings of Vertue;
It blinds ev'n Overbury to accuſe her.
Over.
My Lord, my Lord, I am no Stranger to her!
Her Tryal with her late wrong'd Husband Eſſex!
Her looſe Pretenſions for that wiſh'd Divorce!
I know it all!—and, by my Soul, I think,
Dear as I love thee, could'ſt thou ſtoop ſo low
As to receive that Wanton to thy Arms,
'T wou'd ſhake my Friendſhip ſo—I cou'd not ſcorn thee—
But e'er I'd ſee thy Shame—I'd range the World,
And leave thee to the Ruin thou'rt ſo fond of!
Should'ſt thou! alas!—what mean thoſe ſtarting Tears?
Big Drops of Sweat—dead Paleneſs—trembling Limbs!
[10] Signs of ſome ſtrong Confuſion!
Som.
O my Friend!
I muſt not—cannot hide a Thought from thee!
She, from whoſe Charms your Friendſhip wou'd diſſuade me,
Is now my Wife.
Over.
Your Wife!
Som.
My much lov'd Wife.
Over.
Oh! what are Men who love!—My Lord, I've done!
One Sigh to Friendſhip only—and no more!
All thoſe convulſive Starts that ſhock thy Frame,
Were the prophetic Warners of my Fall.
Som.
Said'ſt thou! thy Fall! fall firſt a thouſand Somerſets.
Over.
That I ſtill love thee—witneſs this Em⯑brace!
Witneſs theſe Tears!—but from this fatal Hour,
Join'd, as you are, to her—we part for ever.
Som.
O ſtop—repent—recall thoſe haſty Words!
What! part for ever!
Over.
For ever our Alliance, not our Love.
Som.
I fear I have no Friend—but Overbury.
Over.
You have a Wife, and Friendſhip is her Office!
It ſtings my Soul to ſee thee thus betray'd,
And my foreboding Heart e'en bleeds with Pity!
All that is left me now is to avoid thee,
And not to ſee, what, but to hear, will kill me.
Farewell, my Lord—may ceaſeleſs Bleſſings wait you.
[Exit.
Somerſet alone.
Som.
Sorrow, eternal Sorrow claims me now!
All happy Fortune flies for ever from me!
Whate'er's worth wiſhing for on Earth, I've loſt,
[11] Life is a Dream, diſturb'd by conſtant Cares,
And he, who is not lov'd, finds Death a Bleſſing.
Friendſhip's dear Ties for generous Souls were made,
When they relax, black Woes our Peace invade!
Friendſhip from every Ill can Life defend,
Our Guardian Angel's but a faithful Friend.
[Exit.

ACT II. SCENE I. continues.

Iſabella, Cleora.
Cleo.
WHY, Iſabella, are theſe Sighs of Sorrow,
While crouding Joys invite your blooming Youth?
Love rears a thouſand little tender Fears,
Fate, with a Smile auſpicious, bids you hope;
To fear is to diſtruſt a Power Supreme,
The watchful Guard of Vertue in Diſtreſs.
Iſa.
Have I not cauſe to fear a thouſand Ills?
Cleo.
No! your lov'd Overbury comes to chear you,
Then let weak Malice work up threatning Miſchief,
Soon ſhall the Fairy Structure melt away:
Tho' Somerſet's new Bride tries every Wile
That ſlighted Love (to Hatred turn'd) can practiſe,
Her Soul's chief Secrets ſhe unfolds to me,
As I to you diſcloſe 'em.
Iſa.
Kind Cleora!
Our Friendſhip grew and ripen'd with our Years!
When forc'd to loſe thee at my Father's Death,
How mournful was our Parting? I bleſs'd the Chance,
[12] When I beheld thee, with my Guardian's Bride,
Companion of her Hours.
Cleo.
Of me no more;
Now let your Overbury fill your Thoughts,
And every Accent ſwell with Sounds of Love.
Iſa.
Oh! my Cleora! he will ne'er be mine,
A dreadful Dream laſt Night has warn'd my Soul:
Love had (methought) ordain'd our Nuptial Rites,
But ſudden, while before the Prieſt we ſtood,
A low'ring Cloud hung o'er the Temple's Roof,
And, with ſlow Horror, ſpread a fleecy Darkneſs.
From its black Center burſt a rattling Shower,
The lab'ring Air groan'd, big with rolling Thunder.
Red, thro' the gather'd Gloom, flaſh'd Lightning broke,
And the rent Veil-let in a dreadful Glare,
Which, with portentous Quiverings, gleam'd up⯑on us!
The Altar totter'd—and the Lights grew dim—
A hollow Wind ſigh'd cold—and from their Graves
Pale Ghoſts ſtalk'd ſhadowy, and ſcream'd hideous round me.
But Oh!—around my Love fierce Brightneſs glit⯑ter'd,
A Fire, triumphant, curl'd about his Form,
And, winding upward, ſnatch'd him from my Sight.
Cleo.
Yet he's not loſt—See! where he ſmiling comes!
Let me not ſtay to interrupt your Joys.
[Exit.
Enter Overbury.
Over.
O take me, take me, to thy Heav'nly Bo⯑ſom!
Here let me pour out all my hoarded Thoughts!
Here tower my Joys! my Cares be here diſpers'd!
Iſa.
[13]
I have a thouſand tender things to ſay!
A thouſand Doubts at once to be reſolv'd!
Three tedious Months have heavily roll'd on,
And not one Thought, perhaps, has chid thy Stay:
But while thy Voice ſo ſweetly ſtrikes my Ear,
My Joys revive, and melt away my Sadneſs.
Over.
Let my Soul bleſs the Muſic of thoſe Words!
My Heart breaks rapt'rous at the ſoftning Sound!
I feaſt my famiſh'd Eyes upon thy Smiles!
I touch thee—and am loſt in Extaſy!
A Tide of thrilling Joy flows thro' my Veins,
I part with Pleaſure, and I burn with Love.
Iſa.
I cannot, if I wou'd, diſguiſe my Thoughts,
Tho 'tis, perhaps a Fault to look thus kindly:
But, Oh! beware!—for thou haſt dangerous Foes!
Beware Northampton, who pretends to love me!
Beware the Woman who deludes thy Friend!
Watchful I ſtrive to counterplot their Miſchief,
And guard thy Vertue from impending Danger!
Over.
Oh! thou rich Source of everlaſting Plea⯑ſure!
Virtues riſe mix'd, and ſparkle in thy Soul:
One glittering Charm purſues another's Shine,
As, while I cut thoſe Seas which brought me near thee,
Sweet Sun-reflecting Waves roll'd glaſſy on;
And this no ſooner kiſs'd the Shore, and dy'd,
But a new Follower 'roſe, and ſwell'd as lovely.
Enter Northampton.
Nor.
Why ſtart you, Madam?—at a Lover's Preſence,
Unveil your clouded Beauty—ſince, this Morning,
A ſmiling Sun looks gay on our Friend's Nuptials.
Iſa.
My Lord, I want the Courtier.
Nor.
Not the Woman!
I ſee a too ſucceſsful Rival near you—
[14] Sir, I ſhou'd ſpeak you welcome—You are happy—
But, Madam, ſince your Charms may be neglected,
For Boys, unskill'd, find Gems, whoſe Worth they know not!
When ſuch your Fortune proves, think of Nor⯑thampton,
And ſmile, tho late, on one who lives to love you.
Over.
My Lord, this Injury but provokes my Scorn,
The next may move my Anger.
Nor.
Am I threaten'd?
A way—thou buzzing Inſect of the Court!
Over.
Reproaches are too mean for brave Mens Anger,
Or I could ſting thy Arrogance with talking!
Be wiſe! nor urge my Sword againſt thy Meanneſs,
Worn for a nobler Quarrel.
Nor.
Sir, 'tis well!
When we meet next, what now remains to ſay,
May be debated.
Over.
At your ſpeedieſt Leiſure.
[Leads off Iſab.
Northampton ſolus.
Nor.
Well, Overbury!—thou doſt right to ſpurn me!
If Plots have Power, if Oaths have force to cruſh thee,
If there's a Magic Spell beneath the Moon,
Or Poiſon can be drawn from baneful Plants,
Then Horror, from my Fury, light upon thee!
Enter Counteſs of Somerſet.
Count.
My Lord, I know not if I'm yet betray'd!
My Foe ſhot by me with a gloomy Brow,
Nor bow'd his Head in paſſing.
Nor.
Saw you your Lord?
Count.
[15]
I did; and ſtrangely mov'd!
The uſual Sweetneſs of his Nature's loſt,
With folded Arms he traverſes the Room,
Now red!—now pale! big on his watry Eyes
Prompt Tears ſtand trembling—ſpeak to him, and he ſighs!
Or ſhakes his Head—and groans an hollow Anſwer!
Then, on a ſudden, ſtarts!—and flies Obſervance!
Nor.
Now is the Time to fire him to our Purpoſe!
Their Friendſhip broke, I have a further Plot—
E'er Night this Overbury ſees the Tower.
Count.
Woolſey nor Burleigh e'er projected better.
Nor.
Haſte we to execute Reſolves of Weight.
An active Fire ſhou'd quicken vaſt Conceptions!
For, when Delay's cold Influence chills our Schemes,
Some adverſe Fate comes, like a furious Blaſt,
And kills 'em e'er they ripen into Action.
Count.
O! I can match thee with an equal Flame,
Not e'en the Soldier's Fury, rais'd in War!
The Rage of Tyrants, when Defiance ſtings 'em!
The Pride of Prieſts, ſo bloody when in Power!
Are half ſo dreadful as a Woman's Vengeance.
Nor.
'Tis a warm Thought, and fires the moun⯑ting Soul!
Revenge dares ſtrike at every thing—
Rivers of Blood mark out the ſmiling Way!
And Kingdoms flame to give her Triumphs Luſtre!
Welcome, dread Vengeance! as I weigh my Wrongs,
I ſwell like Aetna, when her ſulph'rous Rage
Burſts o'er the Earth, and rolls in Floods of Fire.
Count.
Let the Prieſt-ridden Vulgar worſhip Vertue!
Thou virtuous Overbury, ſleep, and dream!
Dream of Philoſophy, and puzzling Honour!
Of heavenly Viſions, and immortal Shadows!
Till ſlow Revenge leaps ſuddenly upon thee,
Then ſtart!—behold who ſtrikes! and ſo expire!
[14]
[...]
[15]
[...]
Nor.
[16]
Soft! the Earl comes!—be on the niceſt Guard!
Prove thy Succeſs but vaſt as are thy Wiſhes,
Thy Name ſhall ſwell on Fame's immortal Voice,
A Wonder among Women—
[Ex.
Count.
He comes!—now aid me, all my Sex's Falſhood!
Enter Somerſet muſing.
Som.
Men ſay, our Thoughts diſtinguiſh us from Brutes!
Wou'd I had never thought!—I had then been happy!
Reflection rivets Woe upon the Wretched!
Thought teaches me to feel a Friend's loſt Worth!
When we have Friends, to them we truſt our Griefs,
Our Care lies lighten'd, and the Mind ſleeps calm:
To me, that Comfort 's loſt!—I have no Friend!
Oh! I cou'd pine away this wretched Life!
Lean, like a Willow, trembling o'er a Brook!
Sigh with the Winds! and murmur with the Stream!
Count.
His Heart ſeems preſs'd with Care.
[Aſide.]
My gentle Lord,
Why leave you thus the Gaiety of Friends?
And why has grinding Grief uſurp'd your Soul?
Som.
I found myſelf diſorder'd, and I left you—
Oft am I thus—Leave me, I'll ſoon return.
Count.
Oh! my dear Lord, I am not ſoon deceiv'd,
Thoſe care-bent Brows ſuit not a Bridegroom's Face!
Are folded Arms the Geſtures of Delight?
Or theſe ſad Groans the Voice of inward Joy?
No, no—conſider, I am now your Wife!
'Tis mine to eaſe your Cares, and bring you Com⯑fort!
If you have Sorrows, I muſt claim my Part;
[17] I ſink not ſoon beneath a Weight of Woe—
If you deny me this, you love me not.
Som.
Not love thee! ſay'ſt thou? Oh! thou Soul of Somerſet,
Cou'd thoſe bright Eyes be turn'd into my Breaſt,
There wou'd you ſee how your Suſpicion wrongs me!
Let me look nigh!—let me gaze here with Wonder!
Where's Friendſhip now? Why, Reaſon yields to Beauty!
What tho' the Crimes, of which her Foes accuſe her,
Glar'd, broad as Daylight, on my ſtartled Soul,
Angels play ſmiling in her wanton Eyes,
And lend an Awe to Lightneſs—Love reigns round her,
And when ſhe ſpeaks—the ſofteſt, ſweeteſt Muſic
Melts in her Voice, and charms away my Grief.
Count.
Oh! with what Art you ſooth my faint⯑ing Spirits!
Then I am ſtill your dear, your much-lov'd Wife—
Why do I ask? thoſe Eyes confeſs I am!
But tell me—for you ſhou'd impart your Cares!
Why are you thus?
Som.
Oh!
Count.
Nay, again you're cruel!
Still when I ſtrive to ſearch the Cauſe, your Voice
Sinks from the Point, and anſwers with a Groan.
Som.
What Cauſe?—I told thee I had been diſ⯑order'd—
Thy Fears are the wild Coinage of thy Fancy,
A ſubtle Self-Tormentor!
Count.
'Tis well, my Lord!
I gueſs to whom I owe my Loſs of Power;
You have a Friend can tell you Tales of Honour,
And teach you how to triumph o'er a Wife,
Who has, indeed, had Faults—but whoſe chief Crime
[18] Is loving you, perhaps, with too much Fondneſs.
Som.
What doſt thou mean?—what Friend?
Count.
Why Overbury!
I know your Tutor chides your faulty Conduct!
Go then, and make your Peace—be meekly penitent,
Promiſe to err no more—and he'll forgive you.
Som.
Hear me, ſweet Tyrant!—By my Life, I ſwear
Thou'rt dear to me, as Crowns to the Ambitious!
Dear as theſe Eyes, which tremble on thy Charms,
Or, as this Heart, which akes with Joy and Anguiſh.
Count.
Then I muſt tell you, Sir, your Friend's a Villain!
Som.
Have a care!
Let not thy Rage tranſport thee to Detraction.
Count.
Oh! were I but to ſpeak his baſe Attempt!
Som.
What baſe Attempt?
Count.
No matter what it is!
I, ſure, may be allow'd ſome Secrets too!
Som.
Nay, this is wrong!—to brand him firſt with Villain!
Then, in a dusky Phraſe, elude the Charge!
Truth ſeldom lies conceal'd in Myſtery,
Clearly to Reaſon, ſhe reveals her Light,
And Errors vaniſh, like a Miſt, before her.
Count.
Why—what if he deſign'd againſt my Ho⯑nour?
Som.
Your Honour! 'tis impoſſible!—
Count.
Form all, that treacherous Guilt wou'd dare to act,
And ſum it up in this pretended Friend.
Som.
I prithee do not make me mad!—ſpeak plainly!
Count.
Knowing your Paſſion, he durſt urge his own—
He told me you were falſe!—deſigning!—jealous!—
Try'd every Art of Treachery to ſupplant you;
[19] And when he found his Wiles were unſucceſsful,
Attempted Force, and threaten'd me with Slander.
Som.
Force!—Slander!—thou haſt warm'd me!—think once more!
He cou'd not be ſo baſe!
Count.
He was.
Som.
Impoſſible!—
E'er yet my Fury mounts into a Blaze,
E'er I upbraid him with theſe black Deſigns,
I charge thee do not tax him wrongfully;
For thou may'ſt open ſuch a Scene of Horror,
'Twill ſhake thee to behold it!
Dare you confirm it with an Oath?
Count.
I will.
Som.
Nay, but weigh well what you preſume to ſwear!
Oaths are of dreadful Weight—and, if they're falſe,
Draw down Damnation—thoſe who murder Fame,
Kill more than Life-Deſtroyers—Think again!
For, at that Day, when each muſt ſtand arraign'd,
Their Lots will fall in the ſevereſt Fires.
Count.
By all my Hopes,
What I have ſaid—
Som.
No more—I muſt believe you—
Believe you, ſaid I?—what muſt I believe?
If you prove falſe!—if you traduce my Friend!
And wrong my Faith! may Sorrow blaſt thy Beauties!
May Conſcience riſe in all her dreadful Triumph!
Scare every Senſe! and ſtrike thee with Diſtraction!
Yet, ſure thou'rt true! thoſe Eyes which ſhine ſo ſweetly,
Can wear no dusky Stain of barbarous Falſhood!—
What then muſt Overbury be? Reflection
Sickens with Doubt, and dies in dark Confuſion.
Count.
My Lord—
Som.
[20]
Thou need'ſt not ſpeak—I ſaid I would be⯑lieve thee;
Thou art my Life, the Fountain of my Joy!
Yet, let me think!—Force!—Slander!—yes, 'tis ſo!
He's falſe! he's falſe!—Curſe on all treacherous Friends!
Count.
Nay, but I meant not, thus to fire your Anger!
Forget a Friend's firſt Falſhood.
Som.
Never! never!
No—tho this Day was vow'd to Peace and Love,
Tho' Crouds of noble Gueſts have grac'd my Joys,
Nay, tho' our King ſhou'd add his ſacred Preſence,
My Fury brooks no Stay—my Fame! my Honour!
Both are concern'd, and rouze my Soul to Vengeance.
Enter Northampton.
Nor.
Why are the Bride and Bridegroom thus retir'd?
Crouds of all Ranks preſs in to join your Pleaſures!
And every Inſtrument of Muſic vies
To ſound ſweet Notes, and ſwell the Hours of Love.
Som.
Alas, my Lord! even Harmony grows harſh!
Thought 's out o' tune, Diſcord has ſtruck my Ear,
And my Soul jars within me.
Nor.
What's the Cauſe?
Som.
'Tis a vile World, Northampton!
The Oaths of Friendſhip, like thoſe made to Girls,
Are meant but to betray, and broke o' courſe.
Nor.
This I knew well before—but who has wrong'd you?
Som.
The darkeſt of all Villains—a falſe Friend!
But as I am a Man, I will revenge it!—
Oh! what a Change has my poor Heart ſuſtain'd!
But a few Moments ſince, this Man's lov'd Memory
Sat ſoft, as brooding Halcyons, on my Soul;
[21] Now my rouz'd Rage cou'd hunt him in full Scent,
Till his laſt Duſt were ſcatter'd in the Air,
And driven, like Chaff, before the angry Wind.
Nor.
My Lord, this ſeems th' Extravagance of Paſſion!
When Anger ruſhes, unreſtrain'd, to Action,
Like a hot Steed, it ſtumbles in its way!
The Man of Thought wounds deepeſt, and ſtrikes ſafely;
Premeditation makes his Vengeance ſure,
And levels it directly to the Mark.
Som.
I cannot, like a Courtier, kill with Smiles!
My Fury ſcorns to glow, conceal'd in Embers:
No; it ſhall blaze abroad with flaming Luſtre!
If I muſt fall, why I was born to die,
And fall as a Man ſhou'd—If I revenge me,
I right my injur'd Honour, as I ought.
Nor.
My Lord, this Stream muſt have another Courſe:
This Overbury—
Som.
Said'ſt thou Overbury?
Now, by my Soul, there's Magic in the Name,
And my charm'd Rage grows ſtill as Midnight Silence!
Why wou'dſt thou ſpeak it?—Let me not dwell up⯑on him!
Talk of falſe Friendſhip! of abandon'd Honour!
Of Hate! Revenge!—Diſtraction!—
But ſpare that Name—at which my Fury melts,
Or Guilt will ſmile, like ſweet-ey'd Innocence.
Count.
My Lord, I wiſh you cou'd ſurmount your Anger.
'Tis nobler to forgive, than to revenge.
Som.
Doſt thou plead too—why—he has wrong'd thy Fame!
E'en to my Ear has wrong'd it!—generous Charmer!
Nor.
[22]
Your Frowns will blaſt what ſprung but by your Smiles.
Som.
I'll think a while—your Counſel ſhall di⯑rect me.
Thou injur'd Friendſhip, my griev'd Soul inſpire
With awful Juſtice, and vindictive Fire!
Let my Revenge, to match th' ungen'rous Wrong,
Be ſwift, as Eagles; and, as Lions, ſtrong!
Dreadful, as Flames, by furious Whirlwinds driven,
Or, Thunder, burſting from offended Heaven.
[Exeunt.

ACT III.

Northampton and Counteſs of Somerſet.
Nor.
THE King come here in private!—then all's right,
And, in good time, we've ſtirr'd your Husband's Anger.
Count.
The Courtiers are in Overbury's Intereſt.
Nor.
No matter—they'll deſert him in his Fall;
Like Perſians they adore the Riſing Sun,
But, when the Great Man's Glories ſhrink away,
Shrubs, which grew under him, ſhoot up ungrateful,
And brave him in Declenſion—none aſſiſt him,
No kind Hand lifts him from engulphing Ruin,
But all join Strength to preſs him lower ſtill—
You have not heard, perhaps, that Overbury
Courts Friendſhip with your Eſſex.
Count.
How! with Eſſex!
Nor.
What if he ſhould betray your Letters to him?
Count.
[23]
The Villain dares not—
Nor.
If he does, you're loſt—
What! know you of his Love to Iſabella?
Count.
Oh! name it not—
It cannot be—I've fear'd, but would not find it.
Nor.
Wou'd 'twere a Secret then—but ſee this Pacquet,
Theſe are his Letters to that Iſabella!
Their Superſcriptions wanting—happy that!
To tell how I acquir'd 'em, would be tedious!
Let it ſuffice, theſe undirected Papers
Shall bear the Force of Proofs to Somerſet,
Moſt fatal to his Friend. Sir Gervas Ell'ways,
Who bears a weighty Part in this Deſign,
Is coming tow'rds us—Pleaſe to leave him with me.
I am an Exile from the Royal Preſence,
But you, the King expects, ſhould bleſs his Eyes.
[Exit Counteſs of Somerſet.
That he ſees Eſſex I am well inform'd,
And blew that Spark to raiſe her to a Flame.
Enter Sir G. Elloways.
Let me congratulate my faithful Elloways!
The Tower-Lieutenancy will now be yours,
For Somerſet has ſaid it.
Ell.
My kind Lord!
Nor.
Nay, I have News
That more will pleaſe you, if you love Northampton!
The Man I hate will ſoon be in my Power!
All the proud Steps, by which he climb'd to Great⯑neſs,
Sink from his Feet, and let him fall to Ruin.
Ell.
Can Somerſet forſake him?
Nor.
He deteſts him—
Ell.
Prodigious Change!—this News indeed ſur⯑prizes!
Nor.
[24]
To gain the Unbeliever to my Wiſhes,
I ſtirr'd his Temper with ſuch cautious Art,
That, e'er his Judgment cou'd exert its Phlegm,
His Blood took Ferment from a Warmth of Paſſion:
Then, while his fiery Spirit flam'd with Rage,
In its full Heat, I ſtamp'd it with Revenge.
Ell.
The Depth of Wiſdom flows, in all your Actions,
Like a ſtrong Current, which, oppos'd by Piles,
Works gently thro', and ſaps the Mound unſeen,
Till, gathering Force, it pours reſiſtleſs in,
And the Bank floats before it—End you there?
Nor.
No—Overbury's Death muſt crown my Con⯑duct!
Ell.
There's Danger there!—
Nor.
Not ſo—I've weigh'd it well!
Th'aſſaſſinating Spaniſh Way's unſafe.,
Suſpicion were its Followers—and Suſpicion
Wou'd, like a Bloodhound, haunt our Steps too near!
What think you of the cloſe Italian's Means?
Sure, ſilent Poiſon?—Dare you be a Friend?
Ell.
I dare the worſt.
Nor.
Know, then, that Somerſet
Has noted Overbury as moſt intimate
With ſome, whoſe Zeal is mark'd againſt the State:
Now to inflame the King with Jealouſy,
An Embaſſy to Ruſſia will be offer'd him:
This Love and Policy forbid him taking,
And if he not accept it, all's confirm'd;
It ſpeaks him plainly loth to leave his Faction,
And ſo he comes committed to your Care.
Ell.
The reſt may be compleated eaſily,
'Tis but to change the doubted Officers,
And place ſuch round him as will ſuit our Purpoſe.
Nor.
No more—be ſecret.
[25]Enter Somerſet.
Som.
Good Sir Gervas Elloways!
I greet you, gladly, with your new-giv'n Honour,
Which the King's Pleaſure, thus, confirms, by me.
[Delivers a Commiſſion.
Ell.
My Lord, you bind me ever to your Service.
Som.
Oh—my Northampton!
Nor.
Why that Sigh, my Lord?
Som.
I have been thinking, when we loſe a Friend,
'Tis like an Eye pluck'd from its bleeding Orb.
No more the other holds the Joy of Sight,
But, ceaſeleſs, weeps till it grows blind with An⯑guiſh—
So mourns my widow'd Soul for Overbury!
Nor.
Why do you name him ſtill thus tenderly?
Methinks your Wrongs ſhou'd riſe againſt your Weakneſs,
And ſting you with Reflection.
Som.
Ay, mention thoſe, and I relapſe to Fury!
My reſtleſs Thoughts drive round like veering Winds,
Forgetful of their Center—yet the Soul,
Like a ſoft Babe, inur'd to fooliſh Fondneſs,
Is hard to wean from wailing—Oh! forgive me!
'Tis the laſt Struggle of expiring Friendſhip!
Nor.
Your Paſſions late were wing'd, like venge⯑ful Whirlwinds,
Now they ſink, ſighing, to a Gale of Sorrow!
Shame on your Softneſs—where's the Soul of So⯑merſet?
Where's that fierce Fire which us'd to kindle in you,
And ſparkle, from your Eyes, in fierce Reſentment?
What! all extinguiſh'd?
Som.
[26]
No; I am ſtill the ſame!
I've the King's Orders for this Embaſſy,
And Overbury's ſent for.
Nor.
If he refuſes,
We place him on the Pinacle of Fate!
There ſhall big-gathering Winds ſing round his Head,
And whirl him to Deſtruction—Ell'ways be ready.
[Exit Elloways.
Som.
But, my good Lord, this Treachery ſtar⯑tles me,
'Tis an unmanly Vengeance.
Nor.
Fye, my Lord!
Som.
Why, rather, not accuſe him Face to Face?
And, with an open Anger, prove the Charge?
Nor.
There may be Guilt, you wou'd not wiſh to prove—
Look on theſe Letters! ſent without Direction!
Artful, and ſafe, that Caution—Know you the Hand?—
How ſoft are the Contents?
Som.
Wou'd I were blind!
Nor.
Wou'd not he wrong his King who wrongs his Friend!
Come, come, my Lord—you muſt be won to Wiſ⯑dom!
Tho' the ſoft Dove brood, gall-leſs, o'er your Breaſt,
Yet let the wary Serpent arm your Mind.
Som.
O Heaven! he comes!—he ſhocks me with his Preſence!
Nor.
See!—Eſſex leaves him—had he been your Friend,
He wou'd not thus be ſeen. My Lord—farewell.
[Exit.
Som.
'Tis Death to meet him!—yet I cannot ſtir.
[27]Enter Overbury.
Over.
My Lord, I come, obedient to your Sum⯑mons,
The Force of Friendſhip overſways my Griefs,
And I muſt love you ſtill.
Som.
Diſſembling Villain!
[Aſide.
I have a Meſſage from the King, this Morning,
That will, I doubt, ſurprize you—'tis his Pleaſure,
That you prepare yourſelf, without Delay,
For a ſhort Embaſſy to Ruſſia.
Over.
The Warning's ſudden!
Som.
The Deſign is deep!
Perhaps too, not propos'd by your beſt Friends.
Over.
Now, my lov'd Lord, I'll try your Friend⯑ſhip's Faith!
When ſick'ning Reaſon labours in the Mind,
Advice is the Soul's Cordial—how ſhall I act?
Som.
If Honeſty's your Guide, you cannot ſtray.
Over.
If to be bleſt, and honeſt, were the ſame,
I ſhou'd not be unhappy.
Som.
He ſeems innocent.
[Aſide.
'Tis a hard Struggle to diſſemble thus!
Over.
If your Looks wrong you not, you are diſ⯑order'd!
Som.
Have you reſolv'd? I wait for your Reply.
Over.
So cool in your Advice!—nay, now I read you!
Northampton and your Wife!—Serpent and Woman!
Have turn'd you 'gainſt your Friend!
And your plain Mind, unfaſhion'd for Deceit,
Knows not to veil its Frailty.
Som.
Have a care—
Over.
What! am I threaten'd too?—ungrateful Somerſet!
Have I advis'd you with a Brother's Tenderneſs,
[28] Pin'd for your Peace, and made your Cares my own,
To be rewarded thus?—here end our Friendſhip!
And, for my Anſwer, I deſire a Pauſe.
Som.
Then I muſt tell the King, you're not re⯑ſolv'd?
Over.
That as you pleaſe—I'll ſerve him till I die,
Till the Reward of Loyalty o'ertakes me;
For Patriots ſtill muſt fall for Stateſmen's Safety,
And periſh by the Country they preſerve.
Som.
'Tis dangerous, thus, to tax the Royal Gra⯑titude!—
I ſee you're raſh, and wou'd adviſe you better—
If, when you touch'd me in too weak a Part,
I ſhrunk—'twas from quick Senſe of aking Pain.
I was to blame—I knew not what I ſaid!—
Excuſe it as a Friend.
Over.
Said you, you were to blame?—if you're ſincere,
My Fit of Rage, like Lightning on a Deſart,
But flaſhes—and is loſt.
Som.
Can he be falſe?
And yet I muſt not doubt—
[Aſide.
Over.
What! ſtill uneaſy?
Som.
You know, I'm rais'd on Fortune's fav'rite Spoke!
If I grow giddy, I ſhall move away,
And roll, at once, to Ruin.
Over.
Let me guard you—
And, to be near you, not accept this Embaſſy—
Form ſome fair Cauſe, and urge it as my Anſwer.
Som.
I'll to the King this Inſtant, and attempt it.
[Exit.
Over.
This Meſſage, from the King, bears ſome Deſign,
But I'm more touch'd with Somerſet's Diſorder!
Let me ſtill mark him—As he paſſes on,
[29] He ſtarts!—ſtops ſhort!—and ponders in ſuſ⯑pence!—
Now he proceeds!—all this ſhou'd bode ſome Miſ⯑chief!
Enter Counteſs of Somerſet.
Count.
Now, now, ſupport me, Pride, or I am loſt!
Over.
Ha! ſhe here!
Count.
Why ſtart you, calm, inſulting Man?
Is Love a Crime too great to be forgiven?
But thy cold Soul admits no Warmth of Paſſion:
I, like the Sun, darted too fierce a Blaze,
Yet, thy chill Wiſhes
Dawn'd ſome ſick Hope, when Iſabella's Eyes,
Like a pale Moon, gleam'd her faint Beams upon thee.
Over.
How! knows ſhe that?
[Aſide.]
When Honour lights up Love,
Th' illumin'd Soul burns lambent with a Flame,
Pure as the hallow'd Altars—ſuch my Hope!
Such were the Wiſhes, mov'd by Iſabella.
Count.
How I diſdain thee!—yes, I ſcorn thee!—hate thee!
Thou, who cou'dſt ſtoop to expoſe a Woman's Weakneſs,
To taint her Fame, and blaſt her to the World!—
All my fierce Paſſions riſe with that Reflection,
Inward they rage—a winding Train takes fire,
The flaſhy Blaze runs ſwift thro' every Vein,
And my Brain ſplits with Agony.
Over.
You wrong me, Madam—I, with humbleſt Gratitude,
Thank'd, and conceal'd your Paſſion—If your Fame
Is tainted—your Divorce has caus'd it—Modeſty
Muſt guard a Woman's Seemings—
Oh! that my Words, like the Sun's powerful Rays,
Were with Attraction arm'd—till, from your Breaſt,
[30] This Flood of Frailty roſe, exhal'd in Sighs,
Or flow'd away in Streams of ſoft Repentance.
Count.
Upbraider!
Over.
I not upbraid your Love, but your wild Paſſions,
Which wou'd, like envious Shades, eclipſe thoſe Beauties,
That elſe, with Juſtice, ſure, muſt charm Mankind!
But, Madam, think—there's not a homely Peaſant,
If grac'd with Innocence, tho nurs'd in Toil,
But boaſts more Glory than a tainted Grandeur.
Count.
Preaching Statue!
Where are my Letters?—thou detain'ſt 'em poorly,
With Aim, to awe my Anger.
Over.
E'er you ask'd 'em,
Mov'd by a conſcious Hope, to eaſe your Fears,
Honour induc'd me, thus to give 'em up.
Now, they are yours again—But their Effect
Will ſtill live in me, and whene'er your Image
Enriches my Remembrance—the humbleſt Gra⯑titude
Will teach my Heart new Tenderneſs.
[Gives Letters.
Count.
This generous Act has waken'd Love again,
And Pity pleads againſt me—What ſhall I do?
If I continue here, and he thus charms me,
My Scheme, at once, is Air—Like jarring Elements
My Paſſions war—and Thought oppoſing Thought,
Shakes my whole Frame, 'till I am mad with doubting.
Over.
Why are you thus diſturb'd?
Count.
Can I ſo ill reward his generous Heart,
As to apply theſe Letters to his Ruin,
Which might have ruin'd me, had he with-held 'em?
And yet I muſt—Fate's ſlippery Ice has caught me,
And, if I not ſlide on, I ſink for ever.
[31] Let me not ſtay—O Wretch! Death hovers o'er thee!
He graſps a Dart, and, in pale Fury, ſhakes it
High o'er thy Head!—Now, now it falls, and ſtrikes thee!
I cannot bear to ſee what I have caus'd.
[Ex. in Confuſion.
Over.
Or I'm enſnar'd—or Madneſs ſeiz'd the Counteſs.
Enter Iſabella.
My Iſabella!
Iſa.
Oh! let us join as Friends, who meet in Sorrow,
To weep!—and ſigh!—and mingle mutual Woes!
Over.
What wou'd my Love's ſoft Fears divine of Ill,
That merits this ſweet Sadneſs?
Iſa.
Oh! I am wild! and ſay I know not what!—
This will explain.
Enter Sir G. Elloways, and Guards.
Ell.
Sir Thomas Overbury,
I come to bring you an unwelcome Meſſage;
'Tis the King's Pleaſure, that you ſtand confin'd,
Cloſe in the Tower, a Priſoner to the State.
Over.
What have I done, that I ſhould be a Pri⯑ſoner?
Ell.
Has not the Earl of Somerſet inform'd you?
Over.
The Earl of Somerſet!—What doſt thou mean?
The Polar Star ſhall be no longer fix'd,
But turn deluſive to the Sailor's Eye,
Sooner than Somerſet prove falſe to me—
May I not ſee my Friend?
Ell.
[32]
I dare not grant it.
Over.
No!—that's hard, indeed!
I thought I cou'd have met the worſt, unmov'd;
[Turns to Iſabella.
But to ſee thee, thus preſs'd with Griefs, not thine,
I cannot bear the Pangs which rend my Soul!—
Teach me ſome Art, but to aſſuage thy Sorrows,
And mine are Griefs to ſmile at.
Iſa.
The Voice of Muſic can compoſe Diſtraction;
Oh! then, let thine but ſooth me into Comfort;
Say ſomething ſoft and kind—But whither fly you?
Perhaps to Death!
Over.
What's Death, but loſing thee?
Life is a Trifle, where no Love enriches it;
And when the Guiltleſs die the Death of Traitors,
The Scaffold Steps, but, like the Patriarch's Ladder,
Form an Aſcent to Heaven.
Iſa.
Oh! talk not thus!
There's Madneſs in that Thought.
Over.
Nay, do not weep!
Thy Grief attracts with ſuch a melting Force,
That my loſt Soul evaporates to Air,
Glides in each Breath, and mingles with thy Sighs—
Help, Manhood, or I'm loſt!—lead to the Tower.
Iſa.
That Place bodes Ruin—there, the good Sixth Henry,
Clarence, and Royal Edward's Infants fell—
Such ſecret Death, perhaps, may prove thy Fate.
Over.
Why doſt thou fright thyſelf at fancy'd Ills?
Iſa.
I have a thouſand, thouſand anxious Fears!
No chearing Hope dawns thro' the cloudy Woe,
'Tis Darkneſs all—What will not Malice dare?
But if I muſt—
Over.
Oh! I cou'd gaze for ever!
Thus, when high Seas ſwell foaming o'er the Coaſt,
The Wretch, who treads the dangerous Beach, is loſt;
[33] Plung'd in his Fate, like me, he ſtrives to riſe,
And ſeeks the ſwallow'd Land with wiſtful Eyes!
But, as his Arms extend to reach the Shore,
The Waves o'erwhelm him, and he's ſeen no more.
[Exeunt ſeverally.

ACT IV.

SCENE The Tower.
Northampton and Elloways meet.
Nor.
ELLW'AYS, be ſwift, for Somerſet 's unſettled!
The Counteſs too, who, lately, urg'd his Death,
Melts in a Fit of Softneſs, from her Purpoſe;
Beſure the Stream of Ruin, then, rolls rapid,
To bear him down the Tide—For, if it turns,
'Twill overwhelm us all.
Ell.
Now, by my Soul,
The youthful Warrior, fluſh'd with his firſt Hopes,
Burns not with half that Heat for Fame, and Con⯑queſt,
Which fires my Wiſhes to compleat your Will.
Nor.
Weſton, and Franklin—are they both re⯑ſolv'd?
Ell.
They are.
Nor.
Have they the Wine the Counteſs has pre⯑par'd?
Ell.
[34]
They have,
And bring it, as a Preſent, from Earl Somerſet.
Nor.
Then he, who, late, by Royal Favour ſhone,
That Favour veil'd, ſhall, ſtraight, be dark again.
So Waters, at hot Noon, aſpire in Steams,
And, thin'd by Heat, float, gay, aloft in Air!
But when the Sun's exhaling Power withdraws,
Chill'd, by the Cold of Night, they fall in Dews,
And mix with humble Duſt, like Overbury.
Ell.
See, my good Lord, where Iſabella comes,
To viſit, in the Tower, her priſon'd Lover!
Nor.
My faithful Ell'ways, watch my Rival well;
And, if your Ear catch a ſuſpicious Sound,
Bring me immediate Notice.
Enter Iſabella.
So, Madam, your proud Hero falls his Plume!
Iſa.
Is that a Noble's Voice? The Brave, I thought,
Scorn'd all Advantage o'er a fallen Foe,
And rais'd him to be worthy their Revenge.
Nor.
Since there's a Storm upon your angry Brow,
I am not arm'd to meet, I muſt retire.
[Exit.
Iſa.
So, Villains, when they gain th' Aſcent of Power,
Like Ravens, pois'd before the glorious Sun,
Spread a black Cloud, and darken all beneath.
Enter Overbury, follow'd by Ell'ways liſtning.
Over.
Are you thus kind? bleſt with your lovely Preſence,
A Priſon is a Paradiſe—Sweet Mourner!
[35] Matchleſs in Joy—But in thy Grief all heavenly!
In thee, as in a Dew-drop on a Flower,
A thouſand mingled Beauties, glittering, play,
Which riſe, as the Eye turns, in ſtill new Proſpects,
And, in each different Light, refract new Luſtre.
Iſa.
Why wilt thou charm me thus?—thy tune⯑ful Voice
Floats ſoft, like Muſic, melting in the Winds!
A flutt'ring Rapture fills my trembling Breaſt,
Swells in each Vein, and pants with every Thought!
Yet do I view thee, with ſuch Dangers round thee,
That ev'n thy Sight is painful!
Over.
Wer't not for thee, my Soul wou'd wing her Flight,
To reſt in Realms of Everlaſting Bliſs!
Iſa.
How know'ſt thou that?—Weigh firſt, what is the Soul!
'Tis not a Shade, that will diſſolve in Air,
Nor Matter, which, by Time, can be conſum'd!
Oh! then, be cautious, for the Beſt are frail!
Venture not raſhly, on an unknown Being—
Ev'n the moſt perfect ſhun the Brink of Death,
And ſhudder at the Proſpect of Futurity.
Over.
What means my Soul?
Iſa.
A Thouſand Deaths are hov'ring round thy Head!
If I have e'er deſerv'd thy Love—Oh! think
Thy Guardian Angel now inſpires my Tongue,
And warns thee, if thou canſt, to 'ſcape diſguis'd.
Ell.
I've heard enough.
[Exit unſeen.
Over.
No; ſafe in Innocence, I'll dare their Ma⯑lice.
To fly, wou'd be, to leave my Fame unclear'd,
My Fame, much dearer to me than my Life!
Iſa.
Forgive me, if I err;
'Tis but a Fault that ſprings from too much Love!
[34] [...][35] [...]
[36] Should'ſt thou be loſt—Oh! think upon my Griefs,
See me diſtracted, without Hope of Comfort,
Prophaning Heaven, rending the Air with Shrieks,
Burſting with Groans, and raving with Deſpair!
Over.
Why was I born to make thee thus Un⯑happy?
But ſee, where one obſerves!
'Tis dangerous, here, to talk—To-night farewel,
And if to-morrow bleſſes me again,
I ſhall have News to tell you.
[Exit.
Iſa.
'Till then, farewel.
Enter Cleora in Haſte.
Cleo.
My Friend, forgive me, if officious Zeal
Forc'd me to ſeek you here—your Foe, the Counteſs—
Iſa.
What of the Counteſs?
Cleo.
Flies about, diſorder'd:
So ſtung with Guilt, no Place can give her Eaſe:
Wild 'twixt the Sallies of Remorſe and Love,
She wrote theſe Lines, and truſted 'em with me;
I think it not a Treachery to betray 'em.
Iſa.
'Tis pious Treachery that reveals a Miſ⯑chief;
'Tis Juſtice to yourſelf, and to the World.
[Looks on the Letter.
To Overbury!—How my Heart beats at it!
Cleo.
She, there, repeats, and urges an old Flame,
Proffers him Freedom, wou'd partake his Flight,
And owns the Wiles that have ſeduc'd her Lord.
Nay, more—The Guards are, by her Agents, brib'd,
And your Name's us'd to cover the Deceit,
That, ſhould they fail, ſhe might be ſtill ſecure.
Iſa.
[37]
Here too, ſhe urges him to feign ſome Illneſs,
That, ſo retir'd to Reſt, and none left near him,
She, in the ſilent Darkneſs introduc'd,
May find him in his Chamber, and inſtruct him,
What Means may bring him Safety—
Fate ſent this Clue to unravel all her Falſhood—
Flatter her artfully with his Compliance,
And, if ſhe comes—But ſee, the Earl of So⯑merſet!
Night ſteals upon us faſt—Be ſure you bring her.
[Exit Cleora.
Enter Somerſet.
Som.
My Iſabella!—why that mournful Brow?
Why do thoſe Eyes, that ſparkled Gladneſs round 'em,
Loſe their keen Luſtre now, and look ſo languid?
Iſa.
Shou'd I forget, my Lord, that fatal Day,
When my dear Father's trembling Hand preſt yours,
His dying Eyes, wet with paternal Tears,
While agonizing Sweats bedew'd his Face,
To you, my Lord, he rais'd his falt'ring Voice,
And gave me to your Care? Kind was the Thought,
And, pleas'd, he bade farewel—and breath'd his laſt.
Som.
Have I not us'd thee with the tend'reſt Care,
And chear'd thy Vertue with the Smiles of For⯑tune?
Iſa.
Oh! my good Lord, you've been a Father to me,
And 'tis for you theſe ſwelling Sighs riſe ſad,
And my Tears flow for Gratitude.
Som.
What mean'ſt thou?
Iſa.
[38]
If Overbury wrong'd—
Som.
No more of Overbury!
My Child, avoid him, as thou wou'dſt thy Ruin.
Iſa.
You are miſled—
Som.
The Subject's harſh—farewell.
Iſa.
You muſt not go—thus, on my Knees, I beg you,
For your own ſake, but hear me—you'te betray'd.
Oh! think how dear this Man was to your Soul!
By Friendſhip join'd, you comforted each other;
Joy crown'd your Days, your Minds were then ſe⯑rene,
Your Thoughts had Harmony, and you were bleſt.
Som.
Indeed, I thought ſo.
Iſa.
Oh! reflect again!
Why have you caſt him thus unkindly from you,
And open'd your dear Breaſt to vile Northampton?
Som.
Why doſt thou injure, thus, my Lord Nor⯑thampton?
Iſa.
One, who wou'd undermine an Orphan's Vertue,
Is, ſure, unworthy of her Guardian's Friendſhip.
Som.
And cou'd Northampton that?
Iſa.
I bluſh t' affirm it.
Yet more your Vertue wanders in the dark!
The Counteſs—
Som.
Who?—I charge thee, name not her!
Shou'd I but hear a Word to taint my Wife,
'Twou'd urge me ſo, I might forget my Nature,
And uſe thee harſhly.
Iſa.
'Tis Death to undeceive you!
But, in the Cauſe of Vertue, I am arm'd
To meet all Dangers boldly—be prepar'd,
For I muſt wound you with ſuch piercing Accents,
That you poor Heart, I fear, will bleed with An⯑guiſh!
Som.
[39]
Suſpence is the worſt Rack—ſpeak what thou know'ſt.
Iſa.
Read this—'twill ſpeak all for me.
[Gives a Letter.
Som.
'Tis my Wife's Hand—ha! to Sir Thomas Overbury!
A ſtrange Direction that! where had it you?
Iſa.
From one, ſhe truſted as her Meſſenger.
Som.
Sure 'tis ſome Miſt, which Hell has rais'd to blind me!
My Eyes belye her—Let me again peruſe it!
Iſa.
'Tis as I thought.
[Aſide.
Som.
'Tis all black Forgery!—
Falſe Iſabella!
Iſa.
Who is falſe, my Lord?
Som.
Why thou art falſe—I prithee, own thou art,
For ſhould an Angel charge her with theſe Crimes,
I fear, I ſhou'd miſname that Angel, Fiend!
Iſa.
'Tis but to wait her Preſence, if you doubt it;
Night is already round us, and, e'er long,
She comes, conceal'd, to find him—Be you Witneſs,
And, then, who's falſe, diſcover—
Som.
If thou art ſo, fly where I ne'er may ſee thee!
But if thou'rt true, then I'm a Wretch indeed!
Iſa.
My Lord, retire—I think, ſhe comes already.
[Exeunt.
Enter Counteſs of Somerſet and Cleora.
Count.
O my Cleora, whither am I going?
But thou art faithful, nor wilt chide my Frailties!
I go t'attone my Overbury's Wrongs,
To meet my Love—my Love!—What's then my Husband?
[40] Hold Brain—reſiſt that ruſhing Rack of Thought—
The Night, now brooding o'er her gloomy Shades,
Owns not a Spectre, half ſo foul, as I am.
Oh State of Horror! Oh Deſpair! O Shame!
Cleo.
Yet think—
Count.
Fain wou'd I—but all Thought forſakes me!
My Flame revives!—each Fit comes ſtronger on me!
Varying Convulſions torture every Nerve!
I love! I rage!—hate—fear—and love again!
And burn, and die with a whole War of Paſſions!
Cleo.
But, will you ſee him?
Count.
See him?—Oh! I muſt—
My Soul will have it ſo—the Wrongs, I meant him,
Require Atonement, more than Love can give him!
Come—guide me, my Cleora!
[Exeunt.
Enter Northampton and Elloways.
Nor.
Eſcaping, ſay'ſt thou?
Ell.
What I then heard, was little.
But now a truſted Yeoman of the Guard
Betray'd their whole Deſign of preſent Flight;
But why have you, thus, led me thro' the Darkneſs?
Nor.
The Darkneſs beſt befits my purpos'd Ven⯑geance.
Ell.
What means my Lord by Vengeance?
Nor.
The Poiſon not yet given—my Sword ſhall end him.
Secure the Paſſage—bar the outward Doors,
While I reſolve, within, where Weſton left us.
[Exeunt.
Enter Somerſet and the Counteſs, meeting in the Dark.
Count.
'Tis wond'rous dark! and Night wears double Horror!
[41] Each Step, methinks, I hear my Husband's Voice!
The Creep of diſtant Whiſpers damps my Soul!
Hark! how the Thunder rolls! the Wind, too, roars!
Who's that? my Overbury?
Som.
Yet, hold my Heart!
[Aſide.
Count.
You had my Letter, then?
Som.
I had—Oh Heaven!
Count.
Reach me your Hand, and lead me your Chamber!
For I have much to ſay—but ſtay—Cleora
Waits me hard by—I'll caution her a Moment,
And find you here again.
[Exit.
Som.
Why do I live?
Let me turn wild!—Or tear out my fond Heart,
That cou'd be thus far wrong'd, and not diſ⯑cern it!
O thou falſe Woman! O my injur'd Friend!
Mad, raſh, deluded Somerſet!
Enter Northampton from a private Door in the Back Scene; a Light within.
Nor.
Now, Overbury, die!
[Draws.
Som.
Villain!—Northampton!
[Draws.
Nor.
Save me, ſome Angel, from this ſtrange Il⯑luſion!
Som.
View my Eyes well!—do they not flaſh with Fury?
And tell thee, that 'tis Somerſet thou look'ſt on?
Nor.
Northampton was not born to look with Fear,
Tho' Hell blaz'd, angry, in the Eyes of Somerſet.
My Honour's equal!—my Deſcent more noble!
Come, we miſtake each other—as a Friend,
I'd moderate this Rage.
Som.
[42]
Thou Sycophant!
Thou wouldſt, again, betray me to thy Friendſhip,
To ruin, with more Eaſe, my Iſabella.
Nor.
Ha!
Som.
But ſhe is Proof againſt thy baſe Aſſaults,
My Wife was eaſy, and Succeſs there met thee,
And Overbury was to fall your Victim.
Nor.
No more—I can no longer brook this Rail⯑ing;
Whate'er I do, I always dare to anſwer!
Let this defend it all—
[Fight, Northampton diſarmed.
Som.
Why art thou living in the Power of So⯑merſet?
I wiſh thee dead, but dare not kill thee baſely;
Give me the Chance once more—
[Offers his Sword.
Nor.
No; take my Life;
'Tis, now, not worth defending.
Som.
Live, and repent!—and be as curs'd as I am!
Go—ſave me from the Pain thy Preſence gives me!
Now, whither ſhall I wander?
[Exit Northampton.
Going, meets the Counteſs entring.
Death and Confuſion!
Count.
I heard, or I'm deceiv'd, the Claſh of Weapons,
Yet was the Paſſage barr'd—yon Gleam of Light
Shews a drawn Sword bent hither.
Som.
Tremble at it—'tis the Sword of Juſtice!
Count.
Ha! let me not betray myſelf—'tis Somer⯑ſet.
[Aſide.
What mean you, Sir? methinks, your Words ſound angry—
Som.
[43]
Traitreſs! falſe! foul! fickle—damn'd—lovely Traitreſs!
Know'ſt thou this Letter?—thou ungrateful Wo⯑man!
Count.
Now, I am loſt, indeed!
Som.
What can thy Guilt expect?
Count.
You will not kill me.
Som.
Not kill thee, ſayſt thou! yes, Deceiver! hear me!
Hadſt thou as many Lives, as thou haſt Crimes,
My Fury wou'd reach all—wrong'd Love and Friendſhip,
With double Cry, demand thy Death in Vengeance.
Count.
Oh! do but hear me!
Som.
Not one Syren Word!
Count.
Oh! by the endearing Softneſs of that Bo⯑ſom,
Look but on her you lov'd ſo much! ſo lately!
See how ſhe pants for Life! and begs for Mercy!
Let me die, ſlow, ſome ling'ring Death of Sorrow,
But ſend me not to the eternal Bar,
With all my Crimes about me!
Som.
Do, Crocodile, weep on—thy Tears be⯑come thee!
Think what I ſuffer! think how thou haſt wrong'd me!
Oh! I will ſtab thee!—tho' my Heart-ſtrings burſt.
Count.
Yet, but a Moment, hear me!
Som.
No—I will not;
Be dumb for ever—for whene'er you ſpeak,
You bring a baſe Infection o'er my Anger,
And I, at once, grow ſick with Pity—Off!
Why cling'ſt thou to me?
Count.
O ſpurn me!—drag me—
Yet my poor Limbs ſhall graſp thee to the laſt,
And ev'n my dying Groans plead ſoft for Pardon.
Som.
[44]
Wherefore juſt Heav'n, has Guilt ſuch Power to charm?
Oh!—riſe, and take thoſe mournful Eyes away!
Thy Beauty, and my Love combine to ſave thee!
And my Sword turns its Point againſt my Purpoſe.
I cannot ſee thee bleed!—Oh! my torn Heart!
Ungrateful! go—
Fly from my Rage!—far hence, on ſome lone Iſle,
Safe in thy Frauds, and pleas'd with Ruin, ſmile;
But ſhun theſe ſhameful Eyes, which thus deplore
Thy Loſs—yet never muſt behold thee more.

ACT V.

Somerſet ſolus.
HOW have I wandred thro' a Maze of Errors,
And labour'd for Deſtruction!—Of Mankind,
I had but one true Friend, and him, alone,
Of all Mankind have wrong'd—Reproachful Thought!
Oh! Peace of Mind! thou Boſom Balm of Na⯑ture!
Thou, that canſt make the Labourer's Miſery ſweet,
And cauſe, ev'n, Smiles, amidſt the Pangs of Death,
Where ſhall I find thee?
[45]Enter Iſabella.
Come not near me!
Let me not hear thee ſpeak, leſt I betray thee,
But fly me as a deſp'rate, dangerous Villain.
Iſa.
I come, my Lord, to reconcile your Soul
To the ſweet Joys of Peace—
Som.
Talk not of Peace!—'tis gone! 'tis fled with Honour!
Honour once loſt, can never be retriev'd!
My Thoughts are Furies all!—and turn upon me!
I feel their Whips!—They laſh me with Remorſe!
My Brain grows hot!—Hell glows in my mad Boſom!
Iſa.
Your Friend yet knows not, how you were miſled.
Som.
But there's a Senſe of Shame that knows it all!
Tho' Mountains ſhadow'd me, they cou'd not hide it!
My red'ning Cheeks, and my moiſt Eyes wou'd ſpeak it!
Let me fly, far, as the vaſt Ocean rolls,
Rather than ſee the Friend I've baſely injur'd.
Iſa.
Fly but to Overbury—tell him all!
And, once more met in the ſtrict Band of Friend⯑ſhip,
United, riſe the Pillars of your Country.
Som.
How muſt he ſcorn me, when he knows my Treachery!
I cannot bear that Thought!
Iſa.
Yet the mild King—
Som.
For thy poor Father's Sufferings in his Cauſe,
The Royal Ear will liſten to thy Pleadings:
Oh! fly, and ſwiftly ſave my Friend from Ruin!
Iſa.
[46]
But, look, my Lord!—See, where the Counteſs comes!
Som.
What ſay'ſt thou? Ha!—I cannot bear their Preſence!
Oh! for a Whirlwind's Rage, to ſnatch her from me!
A Hell of Miſchief kindles in her Eyes,
And Horrors blaze around her!—Let's avoid her!
[Exeunt.
Enter Northampton and Counteſs of Somerſet.
Nor.
Now, haughty Somerſet, I'm well reveng'd!
My ſullen Genius tow'rs, with Scorn, above thee,
And ſmiles at Diſappointment.
Count.
My Lord Northampton,
Tho' ſtrongly urg'd, I feel a Woman's Softneſs!
Revenge, Remorſe, and Love divide my Soul,
Like three wild Streams, that ruſh againſt each other!
Nor.
Yet, ſtill, be reſolute,
Summon your Reaſon to your Paſſion's Aid!
Think how you're treated by your angry Lord,
Menac'd, caſt off, and but Revenge can ſave you.
Count.
Now, you have urg'd the Flint again to ſparkle,
And flaſh'd up all the latent Fire within me!
Die, Overbury!—Somerſet!—die all!
Let the World burn to be my Funeral Pile,
And Nature groan as I do!
Enter Elloways.
Nor.
What News, Elloways?
Ell.
The Deed is done!
So deadly is the Poiſon he has ſwallow'd,
[47] There's not a Nerve but has receiv'd its Death:
Horror, and Madneſs ſhall infect his Brain,
Till ev'ry ſtruggling Vital, torn with Pangs,
Muſt burſt at once, and tortur'd Life forſake him.
Count.
Mean'ſt thou all this of Overbury?
Ell.
Of him—We brought the Wine which you prepar'd,
As a ſent Pledge of Friendſhip from your Lord;
Straight, with an eager Haſte, he ſnatch'd the Cup!—
Give me the Draught, ſaid he!—then ſwell'd the Brim,
And, thro' his Lips, he drain'd it to the laſt.
And now there's not a Health-reſtoring Herb,
Which the Sun ſmiles on, can expel th' Infection.
Count.
Was it the Wine I ſent?
Ell.
Madam, it was.
Count.
Then ſhall I never know a Moment's Peace!
Villain, be curſt!—What have we done, Nor⯑thampton?
Nor.
A Deed, which is not, now, to be recall'd.
Count.
And doſt thou think, Heav'n will conceal this Murder?
No!—we ſhall be purſu'd with hourly Vengeance!
Dreams will diſcloſe it; or, if Night wants Eyes,
Lightning will flaſh, and point us out to Juſtice.
Nor.
Will you be mad?
Coun.
I will—you have undone me!
Plung'd me for ever in the Depth of Miſery!
Hark!—there's a tell-tale Wind groans hollow un⯑der us,
And the Earth heaves with Wonder!
Nor.
Her Grief diſtracts her!
Coun.
'Tis falſe! Thy Tongue ſhall never more delude me!
[48] Ha!—Murder's ſhriek'd already in my Ears!
Hark! Heaven rings with Murder!—the red Clouds
Rain a whole Sea of ſmoaking Blood upon us!
Oh! I am ſtain'd all over!—Murder!—Murder!
[Runs off.
Ell.
My Lord, this Fit may prove a dangerous Frenzy.
Nor.
Our Lives are ſet upon this ſingle Caſt.
Retire we to ſome ſafe Retreat a while,
Where we may watch th' Event.
[Exit.
Ell.
What ſhall I do?
Fly from my Poſt I cannot,—that pleads guilty!
Poor Overbury comes!
Enter Sir Tho. Overbury.
How fares my noble Priſoner?
Over.
Why juſt as noble Priſoners ever fare,
Like Lambs, encompaſs'd by devouring Wolves,
Or, harmleſs Birds, with Kites and Ravens round 'em.
Ell.
I cannot hear him ſpeak—his Preſence pains me.
[Exit.
Over.
I know not why, but I am ſhock'd of late!
My Dreams are dreadful—Be it as it may:
While Virtue arms me, what have I to fear?
This cold Clay Cottage, is but the Soul's Priſon,
And Death, at worſt, is but a ſurly Friend,
Who conquers to give Liberty.
Enter Somerſet.
'Tis well, my Lord, you can at laſt remember me,
But had my Somerſet been thus confin'd,
I had not learnt to ſhun him.
Som.
[49]
Oh, my Friend!
I'm not the Somerſet, whom once you knew,
I'm alter'd much, of late.
Over.
Ay, thou art marry'd!
Som.
That was the fatal Rock we both have ſplit on!
You, like a skilful Mariner, diſcern'd it—
But I, bewitch'd by the curſt Syren's Voice,
Sail'd on, regardleſs, 'till we ſtruck on Ruin.
Over.
Why—doſt thou repent it?
Som.
Repent it, ſaid you?—
Oh! I cou'd rave!—but, 'tis too late a Penitence,
For I have wrong'd thy Friendſhip, and undone thee!
Over.
Nay, that, I ſtill believe, thou cou'dſt not do!
Som.
Thou doſt not know, how baſe thy Friend has been!—
Oh! that fair Devil has enſnar'd my Soul,
And ſtain'd it o'er with Falſhood—I, led by her,
Accus'd thee to the King.
Over.
Forbid it, Heav'n!
Leſt I grow ſick of Life—and curſe Mankind.
Som.
Oh!—'tis too true! wrought by my faithleſs Wife,
And curſt Northampton—I contriv'd thy Ruin!
Over.
Why look'ſt thou, then, like Man, who art a Monſter?
Som.
Yet by the Memory of our dear Friendſhip!
Over.
How dares thy Tonguge profane the Name of Friendſhip?
Haſte to the King!—clear up my ſully'd Fame,
Or, may'ſt thou always bear ſome Mark of Tray⯑tor,
That every one may know, deſpiſe, and ſhun thee.
Som.
Hear me but ſpeak—
Over.
Why ſhould'ſt thou grate my Ear?
[50] The Bird of Death's ſhrill Scream—the Hiſs of Serpents,
Are Muſic to thy Voice!—my ſick'ning Soul
Faints at thy Preſence—and thy Stay wou'd kill me!
Som.
Yet I muſt ſtay—'till you forgive, or pity me.
Over.
Name not Forgiveneſs—nor expect my Pity.
Be gone!—there's Treachery couch'd in this Delay!
Mean'ſt thou to bear more Miſchief to the King?
Som.
Rather than pierce me with ſuch Words as theſe,
Strike through my Heart, that bleeds to've done you Wrong,
Here—take my Sword—kill me—but, as I fall,
Reach me thy Hand—ſay, but thou haſt forgiv'n me!
And I ſhall die in Peace.
Over.
Take back thy Sword—I wou'd not uſe it baſely,
Thou know'ſt, I wou'd not—go, for ever from me!
And when I hear of an ungrateful Wretch,
A fawning Slave, who ſmiles, while he betrays—
Then will I think of Somerſet.
Som.
Diſtraction!
Canſt thou? but, peace—I have deſerv'd it all!
Life's a Diſeaſe, which I want Strength to bear,
And wiſh for Death to cure me—what was I born to?
Shame on the Guilt, that bids me bear theſe Scorns,
And not dare think 'em Injuries.
Over.
(After a long Pauſe)
—Oh! Somerſet!
[Both ſtand ſilent: Overbury obſerves the Poſture of Somerſet.
Can all this Grief be real?
Som.
[51]
What ſhall I ſay?
Over.
Had any other thus contriv'd my Ruin,
I cou'd have borne it with a Manly Patience!
But from thy Hand! my Friend! my very Self!—
Such unexpected Wrongs have ſhook my Soul!
But—I forgive thee all—
Som.
Oh! Joy! Oh, Friend—
Forgive my Softneſs too! my Tears will flow,
While I rejoin thee, thus, to my glad Breaſt.
Over.
I feel my Heart bound high with throbbing Tranſport!
And wou'd ſpeak more, but the ſlow-riſing Words
Die in big, unborn Accents on my Tongue!
I feel, ev'n now, a faintiſh Damp all o'er me,
And I am ſick at Heart—But here comes one,
Whoſe Heav'nly Brightneſs, can diſperſe all Clouds!
My Life! my Iſabella!
Enter Iſabella, running into his Arms.
Iſa.
Live—live, my Overbury!
Scarce can I ſpeak my Tranſport!—but the King!
The gracious King—
Over.
What of the King, my Love?
Iſa.
Has yielded to my Suit in thy Behalf,
And giv'n thee Liberty!
Over.
I thank thy Goodneſs!
And Bleſſings croud about his Royal Head,
Who heard my Iſabella's Prayer with Pity.
How my Soul ſwells with Ecſtaſy!—my Friend!
My Iſabella!—Why do you not rejoice?
Rejoice in Love! in Friendſhip! Liberty!
Som.
Live long thus bleſs'd.
Over.
Here, in ſoft Sighs, I'll pour my Pleaſures forth—
Gaze!—'till I ev'n grow giddy with Delight!
Now, Heav'n, thou art too kind.
Iſa.
[52]
Oh happy Day!
So ſweet a Calm, as my late Cares are huſh'd in,
Ne'er yet ſucceeded ſuch a threatning Tempeſt?—
But you, methinks, look pale!
Over.
No—ſay not ſo;
My Heart is but oppreſs'd, and ſick, with Tranſ⯑port!—
Another Start!—that Rapture was ſo ſtrong,
It ſhot quite thro', and trembled to my Soul!
Another yet!—nay, now I ſcarce ſupport it—
My Spirits ſink, exhauſted with Delight,
And Nature reels beneath it.
Iſa.
Oh! help! he faints!
Som.
Heav'n! a cold Dew,
Like that of Death, o'erſpreads his Icy Temples.
Help! who waits there?
[Enter Attendants.
Iſa.
My Love! my Overbury!
Return to Life—'tis Iſabella calls!
Over.
Where, where are now my Joys?
All fled at once—Oh! Somerſet! I'm poi⯑ſon'd!
Som.
Good Heaven forbid!
Over.
The Wine!—the Wine you ſent!
Som.
Sayſt, thou, I ſent?
Alas! you are impos'd on!
Over.
Then 'twas thy Wife,
And ſhe diſguis'd it with thy powerful Name.
Som.
Ten thouſand Plagues o'ertake her for the Deed!
Oh! if ſhe acted this unnatural Guilt,
May all the Woes of Vengeance be her Portion!
Haunt her, pale Ghoſts! eternal Anguiſh grind her!
Laſh her, ye Furies! Adders, twiſt around her!
And let Deſpair and endleſs Torment ſeize her!
Over.
[53]
Ha!—what a Shoot was there!—my Blood boils in me!
Flames wind about my Breaſt—my Brain burns red,
And my Eyes ſwim in a blue Sea of Sulphur!
Stand off!—and let me breathe!—what's that grim Form,
That ſtalks along! and creeps ſo pale upon me!
I know the meagre Phantom now!—'tis Death!
He's gone!—and now the Heav'ns all open to me!
A Flight of Angels ſwoop upon my Head,
And clap their Wings about me!
Som.
What a Slave is Man, when Paſſion maſters him?
My Want of Reaſon is the curſed Source
Of all their Miſeries: But I'm trebly curs'd!
I feel for him, for her, and for myſelf.
What Place in Hell is there reſerv'd for me?
Sure that which holds the greateſt Share of Pain!
Over.
There's Death again!
What unmov'd! beamleſs! hollow! limy Eyes
The Bone-built Monſter ſtares with!—there he ſtruck me!
'Tis done!—I mount!—I riſe above the Clouds!
My Brain grows giddy!—now 'tis wond'rous hot!
The Rays ſcorch ſtrong—the Stars ſpout ſtream⯑ing Fire!
I'll ſhade me in the Moon's dark Body!—Hold!
The Sun's Reflection's there—Oh! help!—defend me!
Som.
What can I do to eaſe thee?
Over.
Who touch'd me?—'twas a cold, and deadly Hand!
It makes me ſhrink!—ſave me! where am I now?
I'm chain'd in the chill Region of the North!
[54] My Blood's all Froſt!—and, paſſing my hot Veins,
It hizzes in its Motion!—The bleak Winds
Dip their broad Wings in Seas of melted Snow,
And ſweep whole Winter o'er me!—I ſhiver at it!
My Teeth are turn'd to Ice, and, as they chatter,
Break in their Striking—Where's Friendſhip now to warm me?
Som.
My Friend!—my Overbury!
Over.
Oh, Somerſet!
Where have I been?—my Life is at a Period!
Poor Iſabella!—ſhe's o'erwhelm'd with Grief!
Let me conjure thee, by my dying Friendſhip,
To comfort all her Sorrows!
Som.
Wherefore do I not rave? But Heav'n is juſt!
To loſe my Senſes, is to loſe my Pain.
Oh! I reſign me to th' impartial Hand
Of Juſtice, nor dare murmur at my Fate.
Over.
Hark! the Wind roars!—the Seas begin to ſwell!
The Billows roll!—now! now they drive upon me!
Oh! ſave me, or I'm loſt!—what! muſt I periſh!
Is there no Hold?—not one kind, friendly, Plank!
Helpleſs indeed!—thus, in the Gulph, I ſink—
Never to riſe again.
[Dies.
Iſa.
Hover a-while, dear Shade, and I'll o'er⯑take thee,
Oh! for a Dagger now!—Death, give me Eaſe!
He comes!—I feel him at my Heart already!
He brings me all I wiſh!
Som.
Alas! ſhe ſwoons!
Be quick, and bear her gently from the Body
But, be ſure, guard her with the tendereſt Care,
[55] Leſt her Diſtraction ſhou'd commit Self-Violence.
[Led off.
Now, dear, departed Friend—'twere juſt, that I,
The Wretch, whoſe Crimes have been the Cauſe of all,
Shou'd, on theſe Clay-cold Lips, breathe out my laſt.
Enter Officer of the Guards.
Off.
My Lord, your Pardon, but you're here a Priſoner:
Your Wife, has, in a Fit of raving Frenzy,
Confeſs'd the Murder on Sir Thomas Overbury.
Sir Gervas Ell'ways, and the reſt impeach'd,
Are ſeiz'd, and ſay, the Wine was ſent from you.
Som.
Oh! the vile Traitreſs!—guard her from my Sight,
But leave me here—and let me, ſlow, expire
Cloſe by the trueſt Friend, and beſt of Men!
Oh!—wou'd the World be warn'd by my Example!
Fly, ye fond Youth, the guilty Fair-One's Arms,
Nor judge their Excellence by outward Charms;
They, who, for faithleſs Love, true Friends betray,
Chuſe glitt'ring Toys, and throw rich Pearls away.
FINIS.

Appendix A Juſt Publiſh'd,

[]
  • A Wife to be Lett. A Comedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal, in Drury-Lane, by his Majeſty's Servants. Written by Mrs. Eliza Haywood. Price 1s. 6d.
  • Sophonisba, or Hannibal's Overthrow. By Mr. Lee. Price 1s.
  • Siege of Damaſcus, a Tragedy. By John Hughes Eſq deceaſed. Price 1s.
  • The Fair Circaſſian, with ſome Occaſional Poems. Price 1s.
  • The Country Wit, or Sir Mannerly Shallow, a Comedy. By Mr. Crown.
  • The Revenge, a Tragedy. By Mr. Young.
  • The Spartan Dame, a Tragedy. By Mr. Southerne.
  • Sir Walter Raleigh, a Tragedy. By Mr. Sewell.
  • The Paſtoral Amours of Daphnis and Chloe, a Novel, with nine curious Cuts. Price 1s. 6d.

All printed for Samuel Chapman, at the Angel in Pall-Mall.

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License
Holder of rights
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 5103 The tragedy of Sir Thomas Overbury as it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane Written by Richard Savage. . University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-DBB0-D