The Gamester (1753)

_Enter LEWSON._

We were just speaking of you.

_Lew._ 'Tis best to interrupt you then. Few characters will bear a scrutiny; and where the bad out-weighs the good, he's safest that's least talked of. What say you, madam? [_To Charlotte._

_Char._ That I hate scandal, though a woman; therefore talk seldom of you.

_Mrs. Bev._ Or, with more truth, that, though a woman, she loves to praise; therefore talks always of you. I'll leave you to decide it. [_Exit._

_Lew._ How good and amiable! I came to talk in private with you; of matters that concern you.

_Char._ What matters?

_Lew._ First answer me sincerely to what I ask.

_Char._ I will--But you alarm me.

_Lew._ I am too grave, perhaps; but be assured of this, I have no news that troubles Me, and therefore should not You.

_Char._ I am easy then. Propose your question.

_Lew._ 'Tis now a tedious twelve-month, since with an open and kind heart, you said you loved me.

_Char._ So tedious, did you say?

_Lew._ And when in consequence of such sweet words, I pressed for marriage, you gave a voluntary promise, that you would live for Me.

_Char._ You think me changed then? [_Angrily._

_Lew._ I did not say so. A thousand times I have pressed for the performance of this promise; but private cares, a brother's and a sister's ruin, were reasons for delaying it.

_Char._ I had no other reasons--Where will this end?

_Lew._ It shall end presently.

_Char._ Go on, Sir.

_Lew._ A promise, such as this, given freely, not extorted, the world thinks binding; but I think otherwise.

_Char._ And would release me from it?

_Lew._ You are too impatient, madam.

_Char._ Cool, Sir--quite cool--Pray go on.

_Lew._ Time, and a near acquaintance with my faults, may have brought change: if it be so; or, for a moment, if you have wished this promise were unmade, here I acquit you of it. This is my question then; and with such plainness as I ask it, I shall entreat an answer. Have you repented of this promise?

_Char._ Stay, Sir. The man that can _suspect_ me, shall _find_ me changed. Why am I doubted?

_Lew._ My doubts are of myself. I have my faults, and You have observation. If from my temper, my words or actions, you have conceived a thought against me, or even a wish for separation, all that has passed is nothing.

_Char._ You startle me--But tell me--I must be answered first. Is it from honour you speak this? or do you wish me changed?

_Lew._ Heaven knows I do not. Life and my Charlotte are so connected, that to lose one, were loss of both. Yet for a promise, though given in love, and meant for binding; if time, or accident, or reason should change opinion, with Me that promise has no force.

_Char._ Why, now I'll answer you. Your doubts are prophecies--I am really changed.

_Lew._ Indeed!

_Char._ I could torment You now, as You have Me; but 'tis not in my nature. That I am changed I own; for what at first was inclination, is now grown reason in me; and from that reason, had I the world--nay, were I poorer than the poorest, and You too wanting bread; with but a hovel to invite me to--I would be yours, and happy.

_Lew._ My kindest Charlotte! (_Seizing her hand_) Thanks are too poor for this, and words too weak! But if we love so, why should our union be delayed?

_Char._ For happier times. The present are too wretched.

_Lew._ I may have reasons, that press it now.

_Char._ What reasons?

_Lew._ The strongest reasons; unanswerable ones.

_Char._ Be quick and name them.

_Lew._ No, madam; I am bound in honour to make conditions first; I am bound by inclination too. This sweet profusion of kind words pains while it pleases. I dread the losing you.

_Char._ Astonishment! What mean you?

_Lew._ First promise, that to-morrow, or the next day, you will be mine for ever.

_Char._ I do--though misery should succeed.

_Lew._ Thus then I seize you! and with you every joy on this side heaven! [_Embracing her._

_Char._ And thus I seal my promise. (_Returning his embrace._) Now, Sir, your secret?

_Lew._ Your fortune's lost.

_Char._ My fortune lost!--I'll study to be humble then. But was my promise claimed for this? How nobly generous! Where learnt you this sad news?

_Lew._ From Bates, Stukely's prime agent. I have obliged him, and he's grateful. He told it me in friendship, to warn me from my Charlotte.

_Char._ 'Twas honest in him; and I'll esteem him for't.

_Lew._ He knows much more than he has told.

_Char._ For Me it is enough. And for your generous love, I thank you from my soul. If you'd oblige me more, give me a little time.

_Lew._ Why time? It robs us of our happiness.

_Char._ I have a task to learn first. The little pride this fortune gave me, must be subdued. Once we were equal; and might have met obliging and obliged. But now 'tis otherwise; and for a life of obligations, I have not learnt to bear it.

_Lew._ Mine is that life. You are too noble.

_Char._ Leave me to think on't.

_Lew._ To-morrow then you'll fix my happiness?

_Char._ All that I can, I will.

_Lew._ It must be so; we live but for each other. Keep what you know a secret; and when we meet to-morrow, more may be known. Farewell. [_Exit._

_Char._ My poor, poor sister! how would this wound her! But I'll conceal it, and speak comfort to her. _Exit_.

Scene V. _changes to a room in the gaming-house._

_Enter BEVERLEY, and STUKELY._

_Bev._ Whither would you lead me? [_Angrily._

_Stu._ Where we may vent our curses.

_Bev._ Ay, on yourself, and those damned counsels that have destroyed me. A thousand fiends were in that bosom, and all let loose to tempt me--I had resisted else.

_Stu._ Go on, Sir. I have deserved this from you.

_Bev._ And curses everlasting. Time is too scanty for them.

_Stu._ What have I done?

_Bev._ What the arch-devil of old did--soothed with false hopes, for certain ruin.

_Stu._ Myself unhurt; nay, pleased at your destruction--So your words mean. Why, tell it to the world: I am too poor to find a friend in't.

_Bev._ A friend! What's he? I had a friend.

_Stu._ And have one still.

_Bev._ Ay; I'll tell you of this friend. He found me happiest of the happy; fortune and honour crowned me; and love and peace lived in my heart. One spark of folly lurked there; That too he found; and by deceitful breath, blew it to flames that have consumed me. This friend were You to Me.

_Stu._ A little more perhaps--The friend who gave his all to save you; and not succeeding, chose ruin with you. But no matter--I have undone you, and am a villain.

_Bev._ No; I think not. The villains are within.

_Stu._ What villains?

_Bev._ Dawson and the rest--We have been dupes to sharpers.

_Stu._ How know you this? I have had doubts, as well as You; yet still as fortune changed, I blushed at my own thoughts. But You have proofs, perhaps?

_Bev._ Ay, damned ones. Repeated losses: night after night, and no reverse. Chance has no hand in this.

_Stu._ I think more charitably; yet I am peevish in my nature, and apt to doubt. The world speaks fairly of this Dawson; so does it of the rest. We have watched them closely too. But 'tis a right usurped by losers, to think the winners knaves. We'll have more manhood in us.

_Bev._ I know not what to think. This night has stung me to the quick--blasted my reputation too. I have bound my honour to these vipers; played meanly upon credit, till I tired them; and now they shun me, to rifle one another. What's to be done?

_Stu._ Nothing. My counsels have been fatal.

_Bev._ By heaven! I'll not survive this shame--Traitor! 'tis You have brought it on me. (_Taking hold of him._) Shew me the means to save me, or I'll commit a murder here, and next upon myself.

_Stu._ Why, do it then, and rid me of ingratitude.

_Bev._ Prithee, forgive this language--I speak I know not what. Rage and despair are in my heart, and hurry me to madness. My home is horror to me--I'll not return to't. Speak quickly; tell me, if in this wreck of fortune, one hope remains? Name it, and be my oracle.

_Stu._ To vent your curses on--You have bestowed them liberally. Take your own counsel: and should a desperate hope present itself, 'twill suit your desperate fortune. I'll not advise you.

_Bev._ What hope? By heaven! I'll catch at it, however desperate. I am so sunk in misery, it cannot lay me lower.

_Stu._ You have an uncle.

_Bev._ Ay. What of Him?

_Stu._ Old men live long by temperance; while their heirs starve on expectation.

_Bev._ What mean you?

_Stu._ That the reversion's yours; and will bring money to pay debts with--nay, more; it may retrieve what's past.

_Bev._ Or leave my child a beggar.

_Stu._ And what's his father? A dishonourable one; engaged for sums, he cannot pay. That should be thought of.

_Bev._ It is my shame; the poison that inflames me. Where shall we go? To whom? I am impatient till all's lost.

_Stu._ All may be yours again. Your man is Bates. He has large funds at his command, and will deal justly by you.

_Bev._ I am resolved--Tell them, within, we'll meet them presently; and with full purses too--Come, follow me.

_Stu._ No. I'll have no hand in this; nor do I counsel it. Use your discretion, and act from that. You'll find me at my lodgings.

_Bev._ Succeed what will, this night I'll dare the worst-- 'Tis loss of fear, to be compleatly curs'd. [_Exit._

_Stu._ Why, lose it then for ever. Fear is the mind's worst evil; and 'tis a friendly office to drive it from the bosom. Thus far has fortune crowned me--Yet Beverley is rich; rich in his wife's best treasure; her honour and affections. I would supplant him there too. But 'tis the curse of thinking minds, to raise up difficulties. Fools only conquer women: fearless of dangers which they see not, they press on boldly, and by persisting, prosper. Yet may a tale of art do much. Charlotte is sometimes absent. The seeds of jealousy are sown already: If I mistake not, they have taken root too. Now is the time to ripen them, and reap the harvest. The softest of her sex, if wronged in love, or thinking that she's wronged, becomes a tygress in revenge. I'll instantly to Beverley's--No matter for the danger--When beauty leads us on, 'tis indiscretion to reflect, and cowardice to doubt. [_Exit_.

Scene Vi. _changes to _BEVERLEY'S_ lodgings._

_Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and _Lucy_._

_Mrs. Bev._ Did Charlotte tell you any thing?

_Lucy_. No, madam.

_Mrs. Bev._ She looked confused methought; said she had business with her Lewson; which, when I pressed to know, tears only were her answer.

_Lucy._ She seemed in haste too: yet her return may bring you comfort.

_Mrs. Bev._ No, my kind girl; I was not born for't. But why do I distress thee? Thy sympathizing heart bleeds for the ills of others. What pity that thy mistress can't reward thee! But there's a power above, that sees, and will remember all. Prithee, sooth me with the song thou sung'st last night: it suits this change of fortune; and there's a melancholy in't that pleases me.

_Lucy_. I fear it hurts you, madam. Your goodness too draws tears from me: but I'll dry them, and obey you.

SONG.

When Damon languish'd at my feet, And I believ'd him true, The moments of delight how sweet! But ah! how swift they flew! The sunny hill, the flow'ry vale, The garden and the grove, Have echoed to his ardent tale, And vows of endless love.

II.

The conquest gain'd, he left his prize, He left her to complain; To talk of joy with weeping eyes, And measure time by pain. But heav'n will take the mourner's part, In pity to despair; And the last sigh that rends the heart, Shall waft the spirit there.

_Mrs. Bev._ I thank thee, Lucy; I thank heaven too my griefs are none of these. Yet Stukely deals in hints--He talks of rumours--I'll urge him to speak plainly--Hark?--There's some one entering.

_Lucy._ Perhaps my master, madam. [_Exit._

_Mrs. Bev._ Let him be well too, and I am satisfied. (_Goes to the door, and listens._) No; 'tis another's voice; his had been music to me. Who is it, Lucy?