The Conscious Lovers

Act IV

Scene I. Bevil Jr.’s Lodgings.31

	Bevil Jr., with a letter in his hand; followed by Tom.
Tom	Upon my life, sir, I know nothing of the matter. I never opened my lips to Mr. Myrtle about anything of your honour’s letter to Madam Lucinda.
Bevil Jr.	What’s the fool in such a fright for? I don’t suppose you did. What I would know is, whether Mr. Myrtle shows any suspicion, or asked you any questions, to lead you to say casually that you had carried any such letter for me this morning.
Tom	Why, sir, if he did ask me any questions, how could I help it?
Bevil Jr.	I don’t say you could, oaf! I am not questioning you, but him. What did he say to you?
Tom	Why, sir, when I came to his chambers, to be dressed for the lawyer’s part your honour was pleased to put me upon, he asked me if I had been at Mr. Sealand’s this morning? So I told him, sir, I often went thither⁠—because, sir, if I had not said that he might have thought there was something more in my going now than at another time.
Bevil Jr.	Very well!⁠—The fellow’s caution, I find, has given him this jealousy. Aside.⁠—Did he ask you no other questions?
Tom	Yes, sir; now I remember, as we came away in the hackney coach from Mr. Sealand’s, Tom, says he, as I came in to your master this morning, he bade you go for an answer to a letter he had sent. Pray did you bring him any? says he. Ah! says I, sir, your honour is pleased to joke with me; you have a mind to know whether I can keep a secret or no?
Bevil Jr.	And so, by showing him you could, you told him you had one?
Tom	Sir⁠—Confused.
Bevil Jr.	What mean actions does jealousy make a man stoop to! How poorly has he used art with a servant to make him betray his master!⁠—Well! and when did he give you this letter for me?
Tom	Sir, he writ it before he pulled off his lawyer’s gown, at his own chambers.
Bevil Jr.	Very well; and what did he say when you brought him my answer to it?
Tom	He looked a little out of humour, sir, and said it was very well.
Bevil Jr.	I knew he would be grave upon’t; wait without.
Tom	Hum! ’gad, I don’t like this; I am afraid we are all in the wrong box here.
	Exit Tom.
Bevil Jr.	I put on a serenity while my fellow was present; but I have never been more thoroughly disturbed. This hot man! to write me a challenge, on supposed artificial dealing, when I professed myself his friend! I can live contented without glory; but I cannot suffer shame. What’s to be done? But first let me consider Lucinda’s letter again. Reads.
	“Sir, “I hope it is consistent with the laws a woman ought to impose upon herself, to acknowledge that your manner of declining a treaty of marriage in our family, and desiring the refusal may come from me, has something more engaging in it than the courtship of him who, I fear, will fall to my lot, except your friend exerts himself for our common safety and happiness. I have reasons for desiring Mr. Myrtle may not know of this letter till hereafter, and am your most obliged humble servant, “Lucinda Sealand.”
	Well, but the postscript⁠—Reads.
	“I won’t, upon second thoughts, hide anything from you. But my reason for concealing this is, that Mr. Myrtle has a jealousy in his temper which gives me some terrors; but my esteem for him inclines me to hope that only an ill effect which sometimes accompanies a tender love, and what may be cured by a careful and unblameable conduct.”
	Thus has this lady made me her friend and confident, and put herself, in a kind, under my protection. I cannot tell him immediately the purport of her letter, except I could cure him of the violent and untractable passion of jealousy, and so serve him, and her, by disobeying her, in the article of secrecy, more than I should by complying with her directions.⁠—But then this duelling, which custom has imposed upon every man who would live with reputation and honour in the world⁠—how must I preserve myself from imputations there? He’ll, forsooth, call it or think it fear, if I explain without fighting.⁠—But his letter⁠—I’ll read it again⁠—
	“Sir, “You have used me basely in corresponding and carrying on a treaty where you told me you were indifferent. I have changed my sword since I saw you; which advertisement I thought proper to send you against the next meeting between you and the injured “Charles Myrtle.”
	Enter Tom.
Tom	Mr. Myrtle, sir. Would your honour please to see him?
Bevil Jr.	Why, you stupid creature! Let Mr. Myrtle wait at my lodgings! Show him up.
	Exit Tom.
	Well! I am resolved upon my carriage to him. He is in love, and in every circumstance of life a little distrustful, which I must allow for⁠—but here he is.
	Enter Tom, introducing Myrtle.
	Sir, I am extremely obliged to you for this honour.⁠—To Tom. But, sir, you, with your very discerning face, leave the room.
	Exit Tom.
	—Well, Mr. Myrtle, your commands with me?
Myrtle	The time, the place, our long acquaintance, and many other circumstances which affect me on this occasion, oblige me, without farther ceremony or conference, to desire you would not only, as you already have, acknowledge the receipt of my letter, but also comply with the request in it. I must have farther notice taken of my message than these half lines⁠—“I have yours,” “I shall be at home.”
Bevil Jr.	Sir, I own I have received a letter from you in a very unusual style; but as I design everything in this matter shall be your own action, your own seeking, I shall understand nothing but what you are pleased to confirm face to face, and I have already forgot the contents of your epistle.
Myrtle	This cool manner is very agreeable to the abuse you have already made of my simplicity and frankness; and I see your moderation tends to your own advantage and not mine⁠—to your own safety, not consideration of your friend.
Bevil Jr.	My own safety, Mr. Myrtle?
Myrtle	Your own safety, Mr. Bevil.
Bevil Jr.	Look you, Mr. Myrtle, there’s no disguising that I understand what you would be at; but, sir, you know I have often dared to disapprove of the decisions a tyrant custom has introduced, to the breach of all laws, both divine and human.
Myrtle	Mr. Bevil, Mr. Bevil, it would be a good first principle, in those who have so tender a conscience that way, to have as much abhorrence of doing injuries, as⁠—
Bevil Jr.	As what?
Myrtle	As fear of answering for ’em.
Bevil Jr.	As fear of answering for ’em! But that apprehension is just or blameable according to the object of that fear. I have often told you, in confidence of heart, I abhorred the daring to offend the Author of life, and rushing into his presence⁠—I say, by the very same act, to commit the crime against Him, and immediately to urge on to His tribunal.
Myrtle	Mr. Bevil, I must tell you, this coolness, this gravity, this show of conscience, shall never cheat me of my mistress. You have, indeed, the best excuse for life, the hopes of possessing Lucinda. But consider, sir, I have as much reason to be weary of it, if I am to lose her; and my first attempt to recover her shall be to let her see the dauntless man who is to be her guardian and protector.
Bevil Jr.	Sir, show me but the least glimpse of argument, that I am authorised, by my own hand, to vindicate any lawless insult of this nature, and I will show thee⁠—to chastise thee hardly deserves the name of courage⁠—slight, inconsiderate man!⁠—There is, Mr. Myrtle, no such terror in quick anger; and you shall, you know not why, be cool, as you have, you know not why, been warm.
Myrtle	Is the woman one loves so little an occasion of anger? You perhaps, who know not what it is to love, who have your ready, your commodious, your foreign trinket, for your loose hours; and from your fortune, your specious outward carriage, and other lucky circumstances, as easy a way to the possession of a woman of honour; you know nothing of what it is to be alarmed, to be distracted with anxiety and terror of losing more than life. Your marriage, happy man, goes on like common business, and in the interim you have your rambling captive, your Indian princess, for your soft moments of dalliance, your convenient, your ready Indiana.
Bevil Jr.	You have touched me beyond the patience of a man; and I’m excusable, in the guard of innocence (or from the infirmity of human nature, which can bear no more), to accept your invitation, and observe your letter⁠—Sir, I’ll attend you.
	Enter Tom.
Tom	Did you call, sir? I thought you did; I heard you speak aloud.
Bevil Jr.	Yes; go call a coach.
Tom	Sir⁠—master⁠—Mr. Myrtle⁠—friends⁠—gentlemen⁠—what d’ye mean? I am but a servant, or⁠—
Bevil Jr.	Call a coach.
	Exit Tom.
	—A long pause, walking sullenly by each other.⁠—Aside. Shall I (though provoked to the uttermost) recover myself at the entrance of a third person, and that my servant too, and not have respect enough to all I have ever been receiving from infancy, the obligation to the best of fathers, to an unhappy virgin too, whose life depends on mine? Shutting the door.⁠—To Myrtle. I have, thank Heaven, had time to recollect myself, and shall not, for fear of what such a rash man as you think of me, keep longer unexplained the false appearances under which your infirmity of temper makes you suffer; when perhaps too much regard to a false point of honour makes me prolong that suffering.
Myrtle	I am sure Mr. Bevil cannot doubt but I had rather have satisfaction from his innocence than his sword.
Bevil Jr.	Why, then, would you ask it first that way?
Myrtle	Consider, you kept your temper yourself no longer than till I spoke to the disadvantage of her you loved.
Bevil Jr.	True; but let me tell you, I have saved you from the most exquisite distress, even though you had succeeded in the dispute. I know you so well, that I am sure to have found this letter about a man you had killed would have been worse than death to yourself⁠—Read it.⁠—Aside. When he is thoroughly mortified, and shame has got the better of jealousy, when he has seen himself throughly, he will deserve to be assisted towards obtaining Lucinda.
Myrtle	With what a superiority has he turned the injury on me, as the aggressor? I begin to fear I have been too far transported⁠—A treaty in our family! is not that saying too much? I shall relapse.⁠—But I find (on the postscript) something like jealousy. With what face can I see my benefactor, my advocate, whom I have treated like a betrayer? Aside.⁠—Oh! Bevil, with what words shall I⁠—
Bevil Jr.	There needs none; to convince is much more than to conquer.
Myrtle	But can you⁠—
Bevil Jr.	You have o’erpaid the inquietude you gave me, in the change I see in you towards me. Alas! what machines are we! thy face is altered to that of another man; to that of my companion, my friend.
Myrtle	That I could be such a precipitant wretch!
Bevil Jr.	Pray, no more.
Myrtle	Let me reflect how many friends have died, by the hands of friends, for want of temper; and you must give me leave to say again, and again, how much I am beholden to that superior spirit you have subdued me with. What had become of one of us, or perhaps both, had you been as weak as I was, and as incapable of reason?
Bevil Jr.	I congratulate to us both the escape from ourselves, and hope the memory of it will make us dearer friends than ever.
Myrtle	Dear Bevil, your friendly conduct has convinced me that there is nothing manly but what is conducted by reason, and agreeable to the practice of virtue and justice. And yet how many have been sacrificed to that idol, the unreasonable opinion of men! Nay, they are so ridiculous in it, that they often use their swords against each other with dissembled anger and real fear.
	Betrayed by honour, and compelled by shame, They hazard being, to preserve a name: Nor dare inquire into the dread mistake, Till plunged in sad eternity they wake.
	Exeunt.

Scene II. St. James’s Park.

	Enter Sir John Bevil* and Mr. Sealand.*
John Bevil	Give me leave, however, Mr. Sealand, as we are upon a treaty for uniting our families, to mention only the business of an ancient house. Genealogy and descent are to be of some consideration in an affair of this sort.
Mr. Sealand	Genealogy and descent! Sir, there has been in our family a very large one. There was Galfrid the father of Edward, the father of Ptolomey, the father of Crassus, the father of Earl Richard, the father of Henry the Marquis, the father of Duke John.
John Bevil	What, do you rave, Mr. Sealand? all these great names in your family?
Mr. Sealand	These? yes, sir. I have heard my father name ’em all, and more.
John Bevil	Ay, sir? and did he say they were all in your family?
Mr. Sealand	Yes, sir, he kept ’em all. He was the greatest cocker32 in England. He said Duke John won him many battles, and never lost one.
John Bevil	Oh, sir, your servant! you are laughing at my laying any stress upon descent; but I must tell you, sir, I never knew anyone but he that wanted that advantage turn it into ridicule.
Mr. Sealand	And I never knew anyone who had many better advantages put that into his account.⁠—But, Sir John, value yourself as you please upon your ancient house, I am to talk freely of everything you are pleased to put into your bill of rates on this occasion; yet, sir, I have made no objections to your son’s family. ’Tis his morals that I doubt.
John Bevil	Sir, I can’t help saying, that what might injure a citizen’s credit may be no stain to a gentleman’s honour.
Mr. Sealand	Sir John, the honour of a gentleman is liable to be tainted by as small a matter as the credit of a trader. We are talking of a marriage, and in such a case, the father of a young woman will not think it an addition to the honour or credit of her lover that he is a keeper⁠—
John Bevil	Mr. Sealand, don’t take upon you to spoil my son’s marriage with any woman else.
Mr. Sealand	Sir John, let him apply to any woman else, and have as many mistresses as he pleases.
John Bevil	My son, sir, is a discreet and sober gentleman.
Mr. Sealand	Sir, I never saw a man that wenched soberly and discreetly, that ever left it off; the decency observed in the practice hides, even from the sinner, the iniquity of it. They pursue it, not that their appetites hurry ’em away, but, I warrant you, because ’tis their opinion they may do it.
John Bevil	Were what you suspect a truth⁠—do you design to keep your daughter a virgin till you find a man unblemished that way?
Mr. Sealand	Sir, as much a cit as you take me for, I know the town and the world; and give me leave to say, that we merchants are a species of gentry that have grown into the world this last century, and are as honourable, and almost as useful, as you landed folks, that have always thought yourselves so much above us; for your trading, forsooth, is extended no farther than a load of hay or a fat ox. You are pleasant people, indeed, because you are generally bred up to be lazy; therefore, I warrant you, industry is dishonourable.
John Bevil	Be not offended, sir; let us go back to our point.
Mr. Sealand	Oh! not at all offended; but I don’t love to leave any part of the account unclosed. Look you, Sir John, comparisons are odious, and more particularly so on occasions of this kind, when we are projecting races that are to be made out of both sides of the comparisons.
John Bevil	But, my son, sir, is, in the eye of the world, a gentleman of merit.
Mr. Sealand	I own to you, I think him so.⁠—But, Sir John, I am a man exercised and experienced in chances and disasters. I lost, in my earlier years, a very fine wife, and with her a poor little infant. This makes me, perhaps, over cautious to preserve the second bounty of providence to me, and be as careful as I can of this child. You’ll pardon me, my poor girl, sir, is as valuable to me as your boasted son to you.
John Bevil	Why, that’s one very good reason, Mr. Sealand, why I wish my son had her.
Mr. Sealand	There is nothing but this strange lady here, this incognita, that can be objected to him. Here and there a man falls in love with an artful creature, and gives up all the motives of life to that one passion.
John Bevil	A man of my son’s understanding cannot be supposed to be one of them.
Mr. Sealand	Very wise men have been so enslaved; and, when a man marries with one of them upon his hands, whether moved from the demand of the world or slighter reasons, such a husband soils with his wife for a month perhaps⁠—then good be w’ye, madam, the show’s over⁠—Ah! John Dryden points out such a husband to a hair, where he says⁠—
	“And while abroad so prodigal the dolt is, Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is.”
	Now, in plain terms, sir, I shall not care to have my poor girl turned a-grazing, and that must be the case when⁠—
John Bevil	But pray consider, sir, my son⁠—
Mr. Sealand	Look you, sir, I’ll make the matter short. This unknown lady, as I told you, is all the objection I have to him; but, one way or other, he is, or has been, certainly engaged to her. I am therefore resolved, this very afternoon, to visit her. Now from her behaviour, or appearance, I shall soon be let into what I may fear or hope for.
John Bevil	Sir, I am very confident there can be nothing inquired into relating to my son, that will not, upon being understood, turn to his advantage.
Mr. Sealand	I hope that as sincerely as you believe it.⁠—Sir John Bevil, when I am satisfied, in this great point, if your son’s conduct answers the character you give him, I shall wish your alliance more than that of any gentleman in Great Britain; and so your servant.
	Exit.
John Bevil	He is gone in a way but barely civil; but his great wealth, and the merit of his only child, the heiress of it, are not to be lost for a little peevishness.
	Enter Humphry.
	Oh! Humphry, you are come in a seasonable minute. I want to talk to thee, and to tell thee that my head and heart are on the rack about my son.
Humphry	Sir, you may trust his discretion; I am sure you may.
John Bevil	Why, I do believe I may, and yet I’m in a thousand fears when I lay this vast wealth before me; when I consider his prepossessions, either generous to a folly, in an honourable love, or abandoned, past redemption, in a vicious one; and, from the one or the other, his insensibility to the fairest prospect towards doubling our estate: a father, who knows how useful wealth is, and how necessary, even to those who despise it⁠—I say a father, Humphry, a father cannot bear it.
Humphry	Be not transported, sir; you will grow incapable of taking any resolution in your perplexity.
John Bevil	Yet, as angry as I am with him, I would not have him surprised in anything. This mercantile rough man may go grossly into the examination of this matter, and talk to the gentlewoman so as to⁠—
Humphry	No, I hope, not in an abrupt manner.
John Bevil	No, I hope not! Why, dost thou know anything of her, or of him, or of anything of it, or all of it?
Humphry	My dear master, I know so much that I told him this very day you had reason to be secretly out of humour about her.
John Bevil	Did you go so far? Well, what said he to that?
Humphry	His words were, looking upon me steadfastly: “Humphry,” says he, “that woman is a woman of honour.”
John Bevil	How! Do you think he is married to her, or designs to marry her?
Humphry	I can say nothing to the latter; but he says he can marry no one without your consent while you are living.
John Bevil	If he said so much, I know he scorns to break his word with me.
Humphry	I am sure of that.
John Bevil	You are sure of that⁠—well! that’s some comfort. Then I have nothing to do but to see the bottom of this matter during this present ruffle⁠—Oh, Humphry⁠—
Humphry	You are not ill, I hope, sir.
John Bevil	Yes, a man is very ill that’s in a very ill-humour. To be a father is to be in care for one whom you oftener disoblige than please by that very care⁠—Oh! that sons could know the duty to a father before they themselves are fathers⁠—But, perhaps, you’ll say now that I am one of the happiest fathers in the world; but, I assure you, that of the very happiest is not a condition to be envied.
Humphry	Sir, your pain arises, not from the thing itself, but your particular sense of it. You are overfond, nay, give me leave to say, you are unjustly apprehensive from your fondness. My master Bevil never disobliged you, and he will, I know he will, do everything you ought to expect.
John Bevil	He won’t take all this money with this girl⁠—For ought I know, he will, forsooth, have so much moderation as to think he ought not to force his liking for any consideration.
Humphry	He is to marry her, not you; he is to live with her, not you, sir.
John Bevil	I know not what to think. But, I know, nothing can be more miserable than to be in this doubt⁠—Follow me; I must come to some resolution.
	Exeunt.

Scene III. Bevil Jr.’s Lodgings.

	Enter Tom* and Phillis.*
Tom	Well, madam, if you must speak with Mr. Myrtle, you shall; he is now with my master in the library.
Phillis	But you must leave me alone with him, for he can’t make me a present, nor I so handsomely take anything from him before you; it would not be decent.
Tom	It will be very decent, indeed, for me to retire, and leave my mistress with another man.
Phillis	He is a gentleman, and will treat one properly.
Tom	I believe so; but, however, I won’t be far off, and therefore will venture to trust you. I’ll call him to you.
	Exit Tom.
Phillis	What a deal of pother and sputter here is between my mistress and Mr. Myrtle from mere punctilio! I could, any hour of the day, get her to her lover, and would do it⁠—but she, forsooth, will allow no plot to get him; but, if he can come to her, I know she would be glad of it. I must, therefore, do her an acceptable violence, and surprise her into his arms. I am sure I go by the best rule imaginable. If she were my maid, I should think her the best servant in the world for doing so by me.
	Enter Myrtle* and Tom.*
	Oh sir! You and Mr. Bevil are fine gentlemen to let a lady remain under such difficulties as my poor mistress, and no attempt to set her at liberty, or release her from the danger of being instantly married to Cimberton.
Myrtle	Tom has been telling⁠—But what is to be done?
Phillis	What is to be done⁠—when a man can’t come at his mistress! Why, can’t you fire our house, or the next house to us, to make us run out, and you take us?
Myrtle	How, Mrs. Phillis?
Phillis	Ay; let me see that rogue deny to fire a house, make a riot, or any other little thing, when there were no other way to come at me.
Tom	I am obliged to you, madam.
Phillis	Why, don’t we hear every day of people’s hanging themselves for love, and won’t they venture the hazard of being hanged for love? Oh! were I a man⁠—
Myrtle	What manly thing would you have me undertake, according to your ladyship’s notion of a man?
Phillis	Only be at once what, one time or other, you may be, and wish to be, or must be.
Myrtle	Dear girl, talk plainly to me, and consider I, in my condition, can’t be in very good humour⁠—you say, to be at once what I must be.
Phillis	Ay, ay; I mean no more than to be an old man; I saw you do it very well at the masquerade. In a word, old Sir Geoffry Cimberton is every hour expected in town, to join in the deeds and settlements for marrying Mr. Cimberton. He is half blind, half lame, half deaf, half dumb; though, as to his passions and desires, he is as warm and ridiculous as when in the heat of youth.
Tom	Come to the business, and don’t keep the gentleman in suspense for the pleasure of being courted, as you serve me.
Phillis	I saw you at the masquerade act such a one to perfection. Go, and put on that very habit, and come to our house as Sir Geoffry. There is not one there but myself knows his person; I was born in the parish where he is Lord of the Manor. I have seen him often and often at church in the country. Do not hesitate, but come hither; they will think you bring a certain security against Mr. Myrtle, and you bring Mr. Myrtle. Leave the rest to me; I leave this with you, and expect⁠—They don’t, I told you, know you; they think you out of town, which you had as good be forever, if you lose this opportunity⁠—I must be gone; I know I am wanted at home.
Myrtle	My dear Phillis! Catches and kisses her, and gives her money.
Phillis	O fie! my kisses are not my own; you have committed violence; but I’ll carry ’em to the right owner. Tom kisses her.⁠—Come, see me downstairs, To Tom. and leave the lover to think of his last game for the prize.
	Exeunt Tom* and Phillis.*
Myrtle	I think I will instantly attempt this wild expedient. The extravagance of it will make me less suspected, and it will give me opportunity to assert my own right to Lucinda, without whom I cannot live. But I am so mortified at this conduct of mine towards poor Bevil. He must think meanly of me⁠—I know not how to reassume myself, and be in spirit enough for such an adventure as this; yet I must attempt it, if it be only to be near Lucinda under her present perplexities; and sure⁠—
	The next delight to transport, with the fair, Is to relieve her in her hours of care.
	Exit.