The tragedy of Sir Thomas Overbury: as it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, ... Written by Richard Savage, ...

ACT I. SCENE I.

Earl of Northampton and Sir J. Elloways,

Nor.

_HOW chearfully hath this Day's Light broke forth! The new-risen Sun, drest rich in Orient Beams, Beholds, with Triumph, the late Wife of Essex Transplant her Beauties, from his barren Shade, To flourish by the Heat of Love and Somerset.

Ell.

Never shall I forget the tempting Bride! Such dazling Lustre sparkled from her Eyes, That the proud Gems she wore shone dim be|neath 'em; Inviting Warmth glow'd lovely on her Cheeks, And from her Tongue flow'd such melodious Sounds, That list'ning Rage grew gentle as her Accents, And Age was Youth again by looking on her.

Nor.

Yet, tho' her Features are as soft as Air, Strong Passions urge her Mind to manly Daring! Work'd up by Nature with unusual Strength, Vengeance, Ambition, and the Warmth of Great|ness Swell in her Soul, and lift her above Woman.

Ell.

That Overbury who oppos'd this Marriage, Will frown on its Conclusion—He's your Enemy! When corresponding with the Court of Rome, 'Twas he who intercepted dangerous Letters.

Nor.

He did, nor think that I forget he did it: My Genius, baleful as a Comet's Blaze, Hangs o'er his Head, and burns with red Revenge! Nay, he's my Rival too!—That fiery Thought Glows in my Breast; and as I weigh my Wrongs, I swell like Aetna, when her sulph'rous Rage Bursts o'er the Earth, and rolls in Floods of Fire.

Ell.

Your Isabella, Somerset's fair Charge, Is sure an Abstract of divine Perfection! While Overbury's Love, like a black Cloud, Cuts off, and intercepts the glittering Prospect.

Nor.

Oh! name it not—It must not, shall not be! Old as I am, I'll snatch the Pleasure from him; And Love and Policy shall join to crush him.

Ell.

You know her Charms are Somerset's Disposal. Warm in the Lustre of our late Queen's Graces, 'Tis strange to mark the Power of Time to change us,

Her Father shone the Favourite of the Court; But when his Day of Hope at length declin'd, Drove by his Enemies, he fled to Scotland, Pine'd there, and chill'd with Sorrows, died an Exile.

Nor.

'Tis well—But I have News more worth relating! Wade the Lieutenant of the Tower's displac'd.

Ell.

May I remind your Lordship of a Promise?

Nor.

Thou need'st not, Ell'ways, I so truly prize thee, That were my Mind big with my Country's Fate, With Plots, which, known, would blast my Life and Honour, I shou'd, I think, unfold 'em to thy Friendship— Of that hereafter—See the Bride approaches!

[Ex. Ell.

Enter the Countess of Somerset.

Nor.

Hail to those Charms that smile upon the Morn, And sweetly gild it, like a milder Sun! May Joys, in Circles, dance away your Days! And Length of Years sustain your Bridal Pleasures! Fair Somerset! now happy too, and great! Blest with Perfection to the height of Thought! The Worth that could deserve Beauty like your's, Insures soft Bliss, and heaps long Life with Pleasure.

Count.

Thus—while a Lover, talk'd my Somerset, His Words fell short like hov'ring Flakes of Snow, And in cold Tremblings melted on my Bosom! But now alas—.

Nor.

You cannot, sure, suspect him.

Count.

He has alarm'd A Pride that catches the first Spark, and kindles! To be forsaken, is a Thought of Horror!

Oh! it wou'd grate the Woman in my Soul, To have my Pride subdu'd, and make me mad! Tho' but last Night our Nuptials fix'd him mine! Starting this Morning from my slighted Arms, Thought seem'd to press his Mind! Sighs heav'd his Bosom! And, as repenting of his Wish possess'd, Full in the blushing Dawn, he rose and left me.

Nor.

There is a Damp, I know, that clouds his Joys, A Vapour which your Warmth might soon disperse.

Count.

What points my Uncle at?

Nor.

I'll speak it plainly— Overbury!— That restless Foe of ours—your Husband's Friend! This Morning is expected.

Count.

Overbury! Then aid me, Indignation—Rage—and Vengeance!

Nor.

Wisely you call on Rage for its Assistance, Justice would be too slow for your Revenge, And Conscience bids us give it up for ever! But what is Conscience?—a thin empty Name, That terrifies, like Ghosts, by Fancy rais'd. Ev'n the most Brave use Stratagems in War, And what are Plots against a private Foe, But Self-Defence!—the first great Rule of Nature!

Count.

My Lord, I see to what your Counsel leads me! I am a Woman! nay, a Woman wrong'd! And when our Sex, from Injuries take Fire, Our Softness turns to Fury!—And our Thoughts Breathe Vengeance and Destruction.

Nor.

Spoke like yourself!

Count.

Oh! I'm transported with inspiring Heat! You know I never lov'd the Earl of Somerset, 'Twas Interest, 'twas Ambition won me to him;

And there's one Thought, I own, has rack'd my Peace, The only one I e'er conceal'd from you.

Nor.

Instruct me—It may serve us as a Plan, From which I'll raise a Pile of tow'ring Mischief, Shall nod with watchful Horror o'er his Head, Till, tumbling, it shall crush him into Ruin.

Count.

Know then, with shame I speak it, I have lov'd him!

Nor.

Lov'd whom?—not Overbury?

Count.

Yes! lov'd him more than I detest him now! Each Thought, Look, Gesture has confest the Folly! Nay, I have wrote—Oh Heav'n! I know not what! Reason was fled!—and every Thought was Mad|ness! And now he may betray me!

Nor.

May! he will— These Letters must be artfully won from him: Succeeding, we stir Somerset against him; Revenge, with Transport then, would sweeten all, The Rage of slighted Love—urge that discreetly, I know the Temper of your Lord—'twill fire him— Touch but that Point, and Jealousy pleads for you— But mark! he comes, and seems amus'd and pensive, 'Tis fit we part—anon we'll fix our Scheme.

[Exit Count.

Enter Earl of Somerset.

Som.

A kind good-morrow to my honour'd Uncle! Now Fortune seems to smile in earnest on me; This last Night's Blessing crown'd my warmest Wish, And kindling Fancy from the Thought takes Fire! Oh! my good Lord! Language gives way be|neath it,

The Painter's Colours, and the Poet's Art Cou'd touch but a faint Image of my Joys.

Nor.

And yet, if I mistook you not, at Entrance, Your Looks were low'ring, and your Bosom la|bour'd! Thro' the gay Smile of your dissembled Joy, I saw th' obscuring Shade which wrap'd your Soul.

Som.

Sure you mistook!—I think I was all Rap|ture! How I adore your Niece—be witness, Heaven! Witness ye soft Desires! that swell my Veins, And beat but to the Music of her Love— Dearly I love her! to Distraction love her! Nor Words can speak—nor Thought can feel my Passion! But—Oh! Northampton!

Nor.

Speak.

Som.

I have a Friend Dearer than Life! and, as my Honour, precious! Our Wishes and our Interests are the same! Friendship has join'd us in so strict a Band, As if one parcel'd Soul inform'd us both! Yet he—

Nor.

Let not his partial Hate of her perplex you! A Wise becomes the truest, tend'rest Friend, The Balm of Comfort, and the Source of Joy! Thro' every various Turn of Life the same. For Men, they are not as they were of old— Oft their Professions are the Arts of Interest! You'll find the Friendship of the World is Show, Mere outward Show! 'Tis like the Harlot's Tears, The Statesman's Promise, or false Patriot's Zeal, Full of fair Seeming, but Delusion all.

Som.

Not so—then might I think you not my Friend! Shall I, because I live in faithless Times,

Distrust a vertuous Man, or shou'd I slight A faithful Fair-One, 'cause her Sex are false? If these are Maxims, Ties can bind no more! All that is humane is for ever lost, And Brutes are ev'n as we are.

Nor.

Come, my Lord! This Overbury! he's the Thorn that gauls you! Trust me, I know him well—He has a Soul Too harshly form'd for such endearing Friendship.

Som.

Greatly you wrong him! I have found him tender As first-made Mothers to their erring Infants, Firm to his Prince, and faithful to his Country; A braver Subject England never boasted, Nor Man a nobler Friend than Overbury.

Nor.

Can he be justly call'd your noblest Friend, Yet sacrifice your Bliss to private Malice? Let not a Show of Friendship make you wretched, Nor break the Bands which Heaven and Love have made.

Som.

Know you, my Lord, so little then of So|merset, That you can wrong him with so poor a Thought? My Wife! to tell you but how much I love her! 'Twou'd, like Eternity, admit no End.

Nor.

I've done—your safe Discretion be your Guide.

[Exit.

Som.

A Wife! a Friend! Oh! they include all Joys! And Love and Friendship are so near a-kin, They shou'd, like Poetry and Music, join! Each form'd to grace the other—Why, then, in me, Why, in my Breast, shou'd Friendship jar with Love?

Enter Sir Thomas Overbury.

Som.

Fly to my Arms—Welcome as Ease to Pain, As Health to Nature, or Relief to Want!

Over.

O Somerset! engraft me on thy Bosom! Each Day of Absence seem'd a ling'ring Age! But I have hasted ev'n to outstrip Time! Left the dull Hours behind me as I flew, And reach'd the Goal of all my Wishes here.

Som.

Friends, who thus meet, possess so soft a Bliss, That none, but those, who taste, can guess our Joy.

Over.

May ours live to the last Verge of Being! Nay, ev'n in Death! for then, if Thought remains, Shou'd mine but meet a Soul in Worlds to come, Whose generous Flame sublim'd it from the rest, I shou'd be apt to call it—Somerset! But tell me—for my Mind has dwelt upon thee, Has thy fond Heart regain'd its Liberty? Does the late Essex yet appear herself? Or art thou still bewitch'd with her Inchantment?

Som.

Alas! thou know'st not what a Lover feels.

Over.

Have I a Soul for Friendship, not for Love? There's one who knows my Softness but too well! Knows how her Beauty fires! her Vertue charms me!— Essex, I see, still hangs her Witchcraft round thee.

Som.

Wou'dst thou but view her with impartial Eyes!

Over.

Why, I confess she's fair, and, when she talks, Inchanting Softness melts upon her Tongue, And flows in Seas of Mischief!—She has Beauty, Which spreads and blooms like a fresh-opening Flow'r! But poisonous Adders lurk beneath its Shade; And from such Briars shoots this lovely Rose, It wounds the Touch which it invites to crop it.

Som.

But, let me beg thee, if thou lov'st thy So|merset, If Friendship makes my Peace of Mind thy Care, No more to shock me on this tender Point

Over.

'Twere Flattery all, not Friendship to comply! The Wound can ne'er be cur'd that shuns the probing! Kind is the Hand that wipes the Dust from Virtue, And Counsel is a Friend's peculiar Office.

Som.

Trust me, my Friend, that Counsel comes too late.

Over.

Hear me!—for, as I love thee, I will speak! What tho' her outward Charms attract the Eye, Vertue, the Gem within, is long since faded! Her Fame, like Flesh, that blackens in the Sky, Is blown and bloated by the Breath of Thousands. Now, as a Man, weigh well e'er you resolve, For when a Woman's Reputation's gone, All that repenting Virtue can inspire, Can never fix it in its State again.

Som.

Cruel Report, I know, has wrong'd her Worth! Envy still feeds upon the fairest Fruit, And spreads its Poison on the Wings of Vertue; It blinds ev'n Overbury to accuse her.

Over.

My Lord, my Lord, I am no Stranger to her! Her Tryal with her late wrong'd Husband Essex! Her loose Pretensions for that wish'd Divorce! I know it all!—and, by my Soul, I think, Dear as I love thee, could'st thou stoop so low As to receive that Wanton to thy Arms, 'T wou'd shake my Friendship so—I cou'd not scorn thee— But e'er I'd see thy Shame—I'd range the World, And leave thee to the Ruin thou'rt so fond of! Should'st thou! alas!—what mean those starting Tears? Big Drops of Sweat—dead Paleness—trembling Limbs!

Signs of some strong Confusion!

Som.

O my Friend! I must not—cannot hide a Thought from thee! She, from whose Charms your Friendship wou'd dissuade me, Is now my Wife.

Over.

Your Wife!

Som.

My much lov'd Wife.

Over.

Oh! what are Men who love!—My Lord, I've done! One Sigh to Friendship only—and no more! All those convulsive Starts that shock thy Frame, Were the prophetic Warners of my Fall.

Som.

Said'st thou! thy Fall! fall first a thousand Somersets.

Over.

That I still love thee—witness this Em|brace! Witness these Tears!—but from this fatal Hour, Join'd, as you are, to her—we part for ever.

Som.

O stop—repent—recall those hasty Words! What! part for ever!

Over.

For ever our Alliance, not our Love.

Som.

I fear I have no Friend—but Overbury.

Over.

You have a Wife, and Friendship is her Office! It stings my Soul to see thee thus betray'd, And my foreboding Heart e'en bleeds with Pity! All that is left me now is to avoid thee, And not to see, what, but to hear, will kill me. Farewell, my Lord—may ceaseless Blessings wait you.

[Exit.

Somerset alone.

Som.

Sorrow, eternal Sorrow claims me now! All happy Fortune flies for ever from me! Whate'er's worth wishing for on Earth, I've lost,

Life is a Dream, disturb'd by constant Cares, And he, who is not lov'd, finds Death a Blessing.

Friendship's dear Ties for generous Souls were made, When they relax, black Woes our Peace invade! Friendship from every Ill can Life defend, Our Guardian Angel's but a faithful Friend.

[Exit.