ISABELLA.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-A Street.

Enter VILLEROY and CARLOS, R.

Car. (R. C.) This constancy of yours will establish an immortal reputation among the women.

Vil. (L. c.) If it would establish me with IsabellaCar, Follow her, follow her: Troy town was won at last.

Vil. I have followed her these seven years, and now but live in hopes.

Car. But live in hopes! Why hope is the ready road, the lover's baiting place; and, for aught you know, but one stage short of the possession of your mistress.

Vil, But my hopes, I fear, are more of my own making than her's; and proceed rather from my wishes, than any encouragement she has given me.

All

Car. That I can't tell the sex is very various: there are no certain measures to be prescribed or followed, in making our approaches to the women. that we have to do, I think, is to attempt them in the weakest part. Press them but hard, and they will all fall under the necessity of a surrender at last. That favour comes at once; and sometimes when we least expect it.

Vil. I shall be glad to find it so. [Going L.] I'm going to visit her.

Car. (c.) What interest a brother-in-law can have with her, depend upon.

Vil. [Turns.] I know your interest, and I thank you.

Gar. You are prevented; see the mourner comes: She weeps, as seven years were seven hours; So fresh, unfading is the memory

Of my poor brother's, Biron's death;

I leave you to your opportunity.

[Exit VILLEROY, L.

Though I have taken care to root her from our house,
I would transplant her into Villeroy's-
There is an evil fate that waits upon her,
To which I wish him wedded-only him:
His upstart family, with haughty brow,
(Though Villeroy and myself are seeming friends,)
Looks down upon our house; his sister too,
Whose hand I ask'd, and was with scorn refused,
Lives in my breast, and fires me to revenge..

[Looking L.

They bend this way.-
Perhaps, at last, she seeks my father's doors;
They shall be shut, and he prepared to give
The beggar and her brat a cold reception.

That boy's an adder in my path. [Going, R.] They

come,

I'll stand apart, and watch their motions.

[Exit, R.

Enter VILLEROY and ISABELLA, with her Child, L.

Isa. [With her Child on her R.] Why do you follow me? you know I am

A bankrupt every way; too far engaged
Ever to make return: I own you have been
More than a brother to me, my friend:

And at a time when friends are found no more,
A friend to my misfortunes.

Vil. (L. c.) I must be

Always your friend.

Isa. I have known, and found you

Truly my friend; and would I could be yours.
But the unfortunate cannot be friends

Pray begone,

Take warning, and be happy.

Vil. Happiness!

There's none for me without you.

What serve the goods of fortune for? To raise
My hopes, that you at last will share them with me.
Isa. I must not hear you.

Vil. Thus, at this awful distance, I have served
A seven years' bondage. Do I call it bondage,
When I can never wish to be redeem'd?

No, let me rather linger out a life
Of expectation, that you may be mine,
Than be restored to the indifference

Of seeing you, without this pleasing pain:
I've lost myself, and never would be found,
But in these arms.

Isa. Oh, I have heard all this!

-But must no more-the charmer is no more:
My buried husband rises in the face

Of my dear boy, and chides me for my stay:
Canst thou forgive me, child?

Vil. What can I say!

[Embracing Child.

The arguments that make against my hopes
Prevail upon my heart, and fix me more;
When yet a virgin, free, and undisposed,
I loved, but saw you only with mine eyes;
I could not reach the beauties of your soul:
1 have since lived in contemplation,

And long experience of your growing goodness:
What then was passion, is my judgment now,
Through all the several changes of your life,
Confirm'd and settled in adoring you.

Isa. Nay, then I must begone.

friend,

If you regard my little interest,

No more of this.

If you are my

I'm going to my father: he needs not an excuse

To use me ill: pray leave me to the trial.

Vil. I'm only born to be what you would have me,

The creature of your power, and must obey,
In every thing obey you. I am going:

But all good fortune go along with you.
Isa. I shall need all your wishes-

[Exit L.

-Knocks.

[Crosses to COUNT BALDWIN's house R.-)

Lock'd! and fast!

Where is the charity that used to stand

In our forefathers' hospitable days

At great men's doors,

Like the good angel of the family,

With open arms taking the needy in,

To feed and clothe, to comfort and relieve them? Now even their gates are shut against the poor. [Knocks again.

SAMPSON opens the door and comes out.

Samp. (R.) Well, what's to do now, I trow? You knock as loud as if you were invited; and that's more than I heard of; but I can tel' vou, you may look twice

about for a welcome in a great man's family, before you find it, unless you bring it along with you.

Isa. (R.) I hope I bring my welcome along with me: Is your lord at home?

Samp. My lord at home!

Isa. Count Baldwin lives here still?

Samp. Ay, ay, Count Baldwin does live here: and I am his porter; but what's that to the purpose, good woman, of my lord's being at home?

Isa. Why don't you know me, friend?

Samp. Not I, not I, mistress; I may have seen you Defore, or so; but men of employment must forget their acquaintances; especially such as we are never to be the better for. [Going to shut the Door.

NURSE appears at the door.

Nurse. Handsomer words would become you, and mend your manners, Sampson: do you know who you prate to?

Isa. I am glad you know me, Nurse.

Nurse. [Coming out.] Marry, Heav'n forbid, madam, that I should ever forget you, or my little jewel: pray go in [ISABELLA goes in with her Child.] Now my blessing go along with you, wherever you go, or wnatever you are about. Fie, Sampson, how could'st thou be such a aracen? A Turk would have been a better Christian, than to have done so barbarously by so good a lady.

Samp. [Both c.] Why, look you, Nurse, I know you of old by your good will, you would have a finger in every body's pye, but mark the end on't: if I am called to account about it, I know what I have to say.

Nurse. Marry come up here; say your pleasure, and spare not. Refuse his eldest son's widow and poor child the comfort of seeing him? She does not trouble him so often.

Samp. Not that I am against it, Nurse, but we are but servants, you know; we must have no likings, but our lord's, and must do as we are ordered. But what is the business, Nurse? You have been in the family before I came into the world: what's the reason, pray, that this daughter-in-law, who has so good a report in every body's mouth, is so little set by by my lord?

Nurse. Why, I tell you, Sampson, more or less: I'll tell the truth, that's my way, you know, without adding or diminishing.

Samp. Aye, marry, Nurse,

Nurse. My lord's eldest son, Biron by name, the son of his bosom, and the son that he would have loved best, if he had as many as king Pyramus of Troyhis Biron, as I was saying, was a lovely sweet gentleman, and, indeed, nobody could blame his father for loving him: he was a son for the king of Spain; Heaven bless him, for I was his nurse. But now I come to the point, Sampson; this Biron, without asking the advice of his friends, hand over head, as young men will have their vagaries, not having the fear of his father before his eyes, as I may say, wilfully marries this Isabella.

Samp. How, wilfully! he should have had her consent, methinks.

Nurse. No, wilfully marries her; and which was worse, after she had settled all her fortune upon a nunnery, which she broke out of to run away with him. They say they had the church's forgiveness, but I had rather it had been his father's.

Samp. Why, in good truth, I think our young master was not in the wrong but in marrying without a portion.

Nurse. That was the quarrel, I believe, Sampson; upon this, my old lord would never see him: disinherited him; took his younger brother, Carlos, into favour, whom he never cared for before; and, at last, forced Biron to go to the siege of Candy, where he was killed.

Samp. Alack-a-day, poor gentleman!

Nurse. For which my old lord hates her, as if she had been the cause of his going there.

Samp. Alas, poor lady! she has suffered for it; she has lived a great while a widow.

Nurse. A great while indeed, for a young woman, Sampson.

Samp. Gad so; here they come; I won't venture to be seen. [They retire and confer in the back ground.

Enter from the door COUNT BALDWIN, followed by ISABELLA and her Child,

C. Bald. (c.) Whoever of your friends directed you, Misguided and abused you-There's your way: [Pointing 1.

What could you expect from me?

Isa. (R. C.) Oh, I have nothing to expect on earth!