Ven. I'm in your power, and you must do your pleasure. Luke. Not as a brother, sir, but with such duty
As I should use unto a father, since
Your charity is my parent, give me leave
To speak my thoughts.
Sir J. What would you say?
Luke. No word, sir,
I hope, shall give offence: nor let it relish
Of flattery, though I proclaim aloud,
I glory in the bravery of your mind,
To which your wealth's a servant. Not that riches
Are, or should be contemn'd; they being a blessing,
Derived from heaven, and by your industry
Pull'd down upon you. But in this, dear sir,
You have many equals: such a man's possessions
Extend as far as your's; a second hath
His bags as full; a third in credit flies
As high in the popular voice: but the distinction
And noble difference, by which you are
Divided from them, is, that you are styled
Gentle in your abundance, good in plenty,
And that you feel compassion in your bowels
Of others' miseries,-I have found it, sir,
Heaven keep me thankful for't,-while they are cursed
As rigid and inexorable.
Sir J. I delight not
To hear this spoken.
Luke. That shall not aggrieve you.
Your affability and mildness, clothed
In the pure garment of your debtors' breath,
Shall every where, though you strive to conceal it,
Be seen, and wonder'd at; and in the act
With prodigal hand rewarded: whereas, such
As are born only for themselves, and live so,
Though prosperous in worldly understandings,
Are but like beasts of rapine, that, by odds
Of strength, usurp and tyrannize o'er others,
Brought under their subjection. Can you think, sir,
In your unquestion'd wisdom, I beseech you,
The goods of this poor man sold at an auction,
His wife turn'd out of doors, his children forced.
To beg their bread-this gentleman's estate
Thus harshly taken, can advantage you?
Or that the ruin of this once-brave merchant
-For such he was esteem'd, though now decay'd-
Will raise your reputation with good men?
But you may urge-pray pardon me, my zeal
Makes me thus bold and vehement-in this
You satisfy your anger and revenge
On those who wrong you. Grant this: it will not
Repair your loss; and there was never yet
But shame and scandal in a victory,
When passion, rebel unto reason, fought it.
Then for revenge: by great souls it was ever
Contemn'd, though offer'd, entertain'd by none
But cowards, base and abject spirits, strangers
To moral honesty, and never yet
Acquainted with religion.
Sir J. Shall I be talk'd
Out of my money?
Luke. No, sir, but entreated
To do yourself a benefit, and preserve
What you possess entire.
Sir J. How, my good brother?
Luke. By making these your beadsmen. When they eat, Their thanks, next heaven, will be paid to your mercy; When your ships are at sea, their prayers will swell Their sails with prosperous winds, and guard them from Tempests and quicksands; keep your warehouses From fire, or quench them with their tears.
Luke. Write you a good man in the people's hearts, Follow you every where→
Sir J. If this could be
Luke. It must, or our devotions are but words.
I see a gentle promise in your eye;
Make it a blessed act, and poor me rich
In being the instrument.
Sir J. [Rising.] You have prevail'd.
Give them more time. But, d'ye hear, no talk on't.
Should this arrive at noon on the Exchange,
I shall be laugh'd at for my foolish pity.
Take your own time. [To the Debtors.] I'll not be hard
I know what you would say
Go-drink a cup, and thank
there is no need
your orator.
Sophia, Rollo, Otto, Gisbert, Aubray, Baldwin.
Soph. MAKE way, or I will force it! Who are these?
My sons? my shames! Turn all your swords on me,
And make this wretched body but one wound,
So this unnatural quarrel finds a grave
In the unhappy womb that brought ye forth!
Dare you remember that you had a mother,
Or look on these grey hairs—made so with tears,
For both your goods, and not with age-and yet
Stand doubtful to obey her? From me you had
Life, nerves, and faculties, to use these
weapons;
And dare you raise them against her, to whom
You owe the means of being what you are?
Otto. All peace is meant to you.
Soph. Why is this war, then?
As if your arms could be advanced, and I
Not set upon the rack? Your blood is mine;
Your danger's mine; your goodness I should share in
And must be branded with those impious marks
You stamp on your own foreheads, and on mine,
If you go on thus. For my good name, therefore,
Though all respects of honour in yourselves
Be in your fury choak'd, throw down your swords,
-Your duty should be swifter than my tongue-
And join your hands while they are innocent!
You have heat of blood, and youth apt to ambition,
To plead an easy pardon for what's pass'd;
But all the ills, beyond this hour committed,
From gods or men must hope for no excuse.
Gis. Can you hear this unmoved?
Of this so pious charm, but should have power
To frustrate all the juggling deceits
With which the devil blinds you.
Otto. I begin
To melt, I know not how.
Rollo. Mother, I'll leave you:—
And, sir, be thankful for the time you live,
Till we meet next,-which shall be soon and sudden,
To her persuasion for you.
Soph. Oh, yet stay,
And, rather than part thus, vouchsafe me hearing
As enemies!-How is my soul divided!
My love to both is equal, as my wishes;
But is return'd by neither. My grieved heart,
Hold yet a little longer, and then break!---
I kneel to both, and will speak so, but this
Takes from me the authority of a mother's power;
And, therefore, like myself, Otto, to thee:
-And yet, observe, son, how thy mother's tears
Outstrip her forward words, to make way for 'em→
Thou art the younger, Otto; yet be now
The first example of obedience to me,
And grow the elder in my love.
Otto. The means
To be so happy?
Soph. This: yield up thy sword,
And let thy piety give thy mother strength
To take that from thee, which no enemies' force
Could e'er despoil thee.of!
Why dost thou tremble,
[Otto gives up his sword.
And, with a fearful eye, fix'd on thy brother,
Observest his ready sword as bent against thee?
I am thy armour, and will be pierced through
Ten thousand times, before I will give way
To any peril may arrive at thee;
And, therefore, fear not.
Otto. 'Tis not for myself,
But for you, mother. You are now engaged
In more than lies in your unquestion'd virtue;
For, since you have disarm'd me of defence,
Should I fall now, though by his hand, the world
May say it was your practice.
Before my piety turn treason's parent!
Take it again, and stand upon your guard;
And, while your brother is, continue arm'd:
And yet this fear is needless; for I know
My Rollo, though he dares as much as man,
So tender of his yet-untainted valour,
So noble, that he dares do nothing basely.
You doubt him; he fears you; I doubt and fear
Both, for the other's safety, and not mine own.
Know yet, my sons, when of necessity
You must deceive, or be deceived, 'tis better
To suffer treason, than to act the traitor;
And in a war like this, in which the glory
Is his that's overcome. Consider, then,
What 'tis for which you strive! Be it the dukedom,
Or the command of these so ready subjects,
Desire of wealth, or whatsoever else
Fires your ambition, 'tis still desperate madness,
To kill the people which you would be lords of;
With fire and sword to lay that country waste,
Whose rule you seek for; to consume the treasures,
Which are the sinews of your government,
In cherishing the factions that destroy it:
Far, far be this from you! Make it not question'd,
Whether you can have interest in that dukedom
Whose ruin both contend for.
But to enjoy my own, which I will keep.
Rollo. And rather than posterity shall have cause To say I ruin'd all, divide the dukedom:
I will accept the moiety.
Otto. I embrace it.
Soph. Divide me first, or tear me limb by limb, And let them find as many several graves
As there are villages in Normandy:
And 'tis less sin, than thus to weaken it.
To hear it mention'd doth already make me
Envy my dead lord, and almost blaspheme
Those Powers that heard my prayers for fruitfulness,
And did not with my first birth close my womb!
To me alone my second blessing proves
My first, my first of misery; for, if that Heaven
Which gave me Rollo, there had stayed his bounty,
And Otto, my dear Otto, ne'er had been,
Or, being, had not been so worth my love,
The stream of my affection had run constant
In one fair current; all my hopes had been
Laid up in one, and fruitful Normandy,
In this division, had not lost her glories.
For, as 'tis now, 'tis a fair diamond,
Which, being preserved entire, exceeds all value;
But, cut in pieces-though these pieces are
Set in fine gold by the best workman's cunning
Parts with all estimation: so this dukedom,
As 'tis yet whole, the neighbouring kings may covet,
But cannot compass; which, divided, will
|