The Female Gamester | Page 6

patience, As of its love sure proof; and oft' our benefit.
ANDREWS. Can you continue friend to such lost fortune?
WILSON. How it would grieve me could you even doubt it! The surest test of friendship is affliction. 'Tis then, the faithful heart displays itself, Whilst vain professors vanish in the gloom.
ANDREWS. Tell me--Oh tell me! what would you advise?
WILSON. Against we meet on the Exchange to-day, I will revolve it well.
ANDREWS. Reward your goodness heav'n! [WILSON goes off.]
Re-enter THOMAS.
Oh what a fatal change in my affairs! Have you observ'd it, Thomas, yet been silent?
THOMAS. I almost wish I knew not how to answer: But since it is his will I must obey. [Aside.] Dare then your faithful servant speak some truths, With which his heart is full?
ANDREWS. What prevents you?
THOMAS. I dare not--yet--[aside] suppose 'twere of a wife, So lov'd, so doted on?--
ANDREWS. Prithee, proceed.
THOMAS. Then know, last night, that as I lay awake, And hearing near the compting-house a noise, I rose, and in the dark mov'd softly towards it; When I (unseen by her) beheld her passing Quickly from thence, and in her hands a light, And key, with which she op'd the iron chest.
ANDREWS. [After some pause] Good heav'n! that she could injure me so deeply------ My credit------but I cannot bear to expose her! Means have been us'd to stop all further mischief, On some suspicions of mine own before. So for the present, must appear to doubt it. [Aside.] [To THOMAS] For this, I owe you my most grateful thanks. I've ever found you faithful to my interest; Yet, as your zeal may have alarm'd your fears, Speak not of this, until I weigh it further, Not even to your wife.
THOMAS. I shall obey. [THOMAS goes off]
ANDREWS. What an unhappy man!--It is impossible-- I ne'er knew one in ev'ry thought more pure Than she was once--and now to be so chang'd-- I will not see her more--and yet--O heav'n!-- 'Tis demonstration only can convince me.
Ah! lovely woman, didst thou ne'er design But in thy proper sphere alone to shine, Using with modesty each winning art, To fix, as well as captivate the heart, Love's purest flame might gild the nuptial days, And Hymen's altars then for ever blaze.

ACT II.

SCENE I.
An apartment in Mr. ANDREWS's house.
Mrs. ANDREWS and MARIA.
Mrs. ANDREWS. I'm quite amaz'd at what you have related. [She walks to and fro much agitated.]
MARIA. I must not now discover, how her husband Receiv'd the tidings of a secret key: She would not rest, until reveng'd of mine. [Aside.]
Mrs. ANDREWS. Can you now help me? I am much distress'd.
MARIA. You know I am devoted to your service.
Mrs. ANDREWS. So I have ever thought.--Heav'n! what a state! Compell'd to sooth ev'n those my soul abhors. [Aside.]
MARIA. Madam, I'm griev'd to see your spirits sinking. But hear me, and I think I can propose A scheme by which it may be so contriv'd, As to retort this charge on your fair character, Cruel as false, respecting the lord Belmour, On your base neighbour Wilson, the inventer, With honour to yourself.
Mrs. ANDREWS. What, and he innocent?
MARIA. Hath he not wrong'd you?------beyond all redress? Labour'd to blast your spotless fame for ever, Whilst you are innocent?
Mrs. ANDREWS. Yet much to blame. [Aside.]
MARIA. Wherefore, your honour calls aloud for vengeance.
Mrs. ANDREWS. True; his harsh, cruel, groundless, information Hath to my poor mind's peace been most injurious.
MARIA. It is the only means I can devise, At once to wipe away this foul aspersion, And all the other mischiefs that may follow.
Mrs. ANDREWS. But how, I pray? none bear more fair repute.
MARIA. Yet vers'd in gallantry.
Mrs. ANDREWS. So I have heard.
MARIA. That answers well; suppose then, in a letter, You mention earnestly, his having made Some overtures injurious to your honour, And should he persevere, that you'll disclose This breach of truth and friendship to your husband? Then, let this letter, as it were by chance, Fall in my master's way.--Consider this.
Mrs. ANDREWS. [Pauses] A most ingenious thought!--but to pursue it--[Pauses again.] Shall I at such dark villainy connive!-- Are there no means to 'scape the tongue of calumny, But by imbibing her infectious breath, And blasting innocence with sland'rous falsehood? Chang'd howsoe'er I be, yet my soul shudders Ev'n at the thought of an unjust revenge-- I ne'er could reconcile it to myself.
MARIA. Again I say, your own defence demands it. It is the sole resource you have to save you.
Mrs. ANDREWS. I am myself the cause of all these miseries. [Aside.] I see great difficulties in this matter.
MARIA. I, not any--do you but write this letter; The rest be mine--but soft!--my master's voice--
Mrs. ANDREWS. What shall I do? I would not meet him now.
MARIA. You must not, till our purpose is effected. Be not distress'd--I'll urge a fit excuse. So, to your chamber,