Scene III The Street
[Enter Clifford and Stephen, meeting.]
Ste. Letters, Sir Thomas.
Clif. Take them home again,
I shall not read them now.
Ste. Your pardon, sir,
But here is one directed strangely.
Clif. How?
Ste. “To Master Clifford, gentleman, now styled
Sir Thomas Clifford, baronet.”
Clif. Indeed!
Whence comes that letter?
Ste. From abroad.
Clif. Which is it?
Ste. So please you, this, Sir Thomas.
Clif. Give it me.
Ste. That letter brings not news to wish him joy upon. If he was disturbed before, which I guessed by his looks he was, he is not more at ease now. His hand to his head! A most unwelcome letter! If it brings him news of disaster, fortune does not give him his deserts; for never waited servant upon a kinder master.
Clif. Stephen!
Ste. Sir Thomas!
Clif. From my door remove
The plate that bears my name.
Ste. The plate, Sir Thomas!
Clif. The plate—collect my servants and instruct them
To make out each their claims, unto the end
Of their respective terms, and give them in
To my steward. Him and them apprise, good fellow,
That I keep house no more. As you go home,
Call at my coachmaker’s and bid him stop
The carriage I bespoke. The one I have
Send with my horses to the mart whereat
Such things are sold by auction. They’re for sale;
Pack up my wardrobe, have my trunks conveyed
To the inn in the next street; and when that’s done,
Go round my tradesmen and collect their bills,
And bring them to me at the inn.
Ste. The inn!
Clif. Yes; I go home no more. Why, what’s the matter?
What has fallen out to make your eyes fill up?
You’ll get another place. I’ll certify
You’re honest and industrious, and all
That a servant ought to be.
Ste. I see, Sir Thomas,
Some great misfortune has befallen you?
Clif. No!
I have health; I have strength; my reason, Stephen, and
A heart that’s clear in truth, with trust in God.
No great disaster can befall the man
Who’s still possessed of these! Good fellow, leave me.
What you would learn, and have a right to know,
I would not tell you now. Good Stephen, hence!
Mischance has fallen on me—but what of that?
Mischance has fallen on many a better man.
I prithee leave me. I grow sadder while
I see the eye with which you view my grief.
’Sdeath, they will out! I would have been a man,
Had you been less a kind and gentle one.
Now, as you love me, leave me.
Ste. Never master
So well deserved the love of him that served him.
[Stephen goes out.]
Clif. Misfortune liketh company; it seldom
Visits its friends alone. Ha! Master Walter,
And ruffled too. I’m in no mood for him.
[Enter Master Walter.]
Wal. So, Sir—Sir Thomas Clifford! what with speed
And choler—I do gasp for want of breath.
Clif. Well, Master Walter?
Wal. You’re a rash young man, sir;
Strong-headed and wrong-headed, and I fear, sir,
Not over delicate in that fine sense
Which men of honour pride themselves upon!
Clif. Well, Master Walter?
Wal. A young woman’s heart, sir,
Is not a stone to carve a posy on!
Which knows not what is writ on’t; which you may buy,
Exchange, or sell, sir, keep or give away, sir:
It is a richer—yet a poorer thing;
Priceless to him that owns and prizes it;
Worthless, when owned, not prized; which makes the man
That covets it, obtains it, and discards it—
A fool, if not a villain, sir.
Clif. Well, sir?
Wal. You never loved my ward, sir!
Clif. The bright Heavens
Bear witness that I did!
Wal. The bright Heavens, sir,
Bear not false witness. That you loved her not
Is clear—for had you loved her, you’d have plucked
Your heart from out your breast, ere cast her from your heart!
Old as I am, I know what passion is.
It is the summer’s heat, sir, which in vain
We look for frost in. Ice, like you, sir, knows
But little of such heat! We are wronged, sir, wronged!
You wear a sword, and so do I.
Clif. Well, sir!
Wal. You know the use, sir, of a sword?
Clif. I do.
To whip a knave, sir, or an honest man!
A wise man or a fool—atone for wrong,
Or double the amount on’t! Master Walter,
Touching your ward, if wrong is done, I think
On my side lies the grievance. I would not say so
Did I not think so. As for love—look, sir,
That hand’s a widower’s, to its first mate sworn
To clasp no second one. As for amends, sir,
You’re free to get them from a man in whom
You’ve been forestalled by fortune, for the spite
Which she has vented on him, if you still
Esteem him worth your anger. Please you read
That letter. Now, sir, judge if life is dear
To one so much a loser.
Wal. What, all gone!
Thy cousin living they reported dead!
Clif. Title and land, sir, unto which add love!
All gone, save life and honour, which, ere I’ll lose,
I’ll let the other go.
Wal. We’re public here,
And may be interrupted. Let us seek
Some spot of privacy. Your letter, sir.
[Gives it back.]
Though fortune slights you, I’ll not slight you; not
Your title or the lack of it I heed.
Whether upon the score of love or hate,
With you and you alone I settle, sir.
We’ve gone too far. ’Twere folly now to part
Without a reckoning.
Clif. Just as you please.
Wal. You’ve done
A noble lady wrong.
Clif. That lady, sir,
Has done me wrong.
Wal. Go to, thou art a boy
Fit to be trusted with a plaything, not
A woman’s heart. Thou knowest not what it is!
And that I’ll prove to thee, soon as we find
Convenient place. Come on, sir! you shall get
A lesson that shall serve you for the rest
Of your life. I’ll make you own her, sir, a piece
Of Nature’s handiwork, as costly, free
From bias, flaw, and fair, as ever yet
Her cunning hand turned out. Come on, sir! come!
[They go out.]