Act III
Scene I. Stukely’s lodgings.
Enter Stukely, and Bates.
STUKELY.
SO runs the world, Bates. Fools are the natural prey of knaves; nature designed them so, when she made lambs for wolves. The laws that fear and policy have framed, nature disclaims: she knows but two; and those are force and cunning. The nobler law is force; but then there’s danger in’t; while cunning, like a skilful miner, works safely and unseen.
Bat. And therefore wisely. Force must have nerves and sinews; cunning wants neither. The dwarf that has it, shall trip the giant’s heels up.
Stu. And bind him to the ground. Why, we’ll erect a shrine for nature, and be her oracles. Conscience is weakness; fear made, and fear maintains it. The dread of shame, inward reproaches, and fictitious burnings, swell out the phantom. Nature knows none of this; Her laws are freedom.
Bat. Sound doctrine, and well delivered!
Stu. We are sincere too, and practice what we teach. Let the grave pedant say as much—But now to business. The jewels are disposed of; and Beverley again worth money. He waits to count his gold out, and then comes hither. If my design succeeds, this night we finish with him. Go to your lodgings, and be busy. You understand conveyances, and can make ruin sure.
Bat. Better stop here. The sale of this reversion may be talked of; there’s danger in’t.
Stu. No; ’tis the mark I aim at. We’ll thrive, and laugh. You are the purchaser, and there’s the payment. (Giving a pocket book.) He thinks you rich; and so you shall be. Enquire for titles, and deal hardly; ’twill look like honesty.
Bat. How if he suspects us?
Stu. Leave it to Me. I study hearts, and when to work upon them. Go to your lodgings; and if we come, be busy over papers. Talk of a thoughtless age, of gaming and extravagance, you have a face for’t.
Bat. A feeling too that would avoid it. We push too far; but I have cautioned you. If it ends ill, you’ll think of me; and so adieu.
[Exit.
Stu. This fellow sins by halves; his fears are conscience to him. I’ll turn these fears to use. Rogues that dread shame, will still be greater rogues to hide their guilt—This shall be thought of. Lewson grows troublesome—we must get rid of him—he knows too much. I have a tale for Beverley; part of it truth too. He shall call Lewson to account. If it succeeds, ’tis well; if not, we must try other means—But here he comes—I must dissemble.