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The skies are hushed, no grumbling thunders roll.
Now take your swing, ye impious; sin unpunished;
Eternal Providence seems overwatched,
And with a slumbering nod assents to murder.

Enter Dorax, attended by three soldiers.
Emp. Thou mov'st a tortoise pace to my relief.
Take hence that once a king ; that sullen pride,
That swells to dumbness : lay him in the dungeon,
And sink him deep with irons, that, when he would,
He shall not groan to hearing; when I send,
The next commands are—death.

Alm. Then prayers are vain as curses.

Emp. Much at one
In a slave's mouth against a monarch's power.

Make haste, seize, force her, bear her hence.

Alm. Farewell, my lost Sebastian :
I do not beg, I challenge justice now.-
Oh Powers, if kings be your peculiar care,
Wly plays this wretch with your prerogative?
Now flash him dead, now crumble him to ashes,
Or henceforth live confined in your own palace,
And look not idly out upon a world
That is no longer yours.

Act III. Sc. 1.
VENI CREATOR.
Creator Spirit, by whose aid
The World's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy Thee.

O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of His Almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven and earth command;
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gifts with eloquence !

Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh inflame and fire our hearts !
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thine hand, and hold them down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe:
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by Thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name !
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died !
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

THOMAS OTWAY.

(1651-1685.)

The history of the drama, after the extinction, in Shirley, of the spirit of the reigns of Elizabeth and James, presents no greater name than that of Otway. He had caught the genius of nature's pathos which the “ mighty mind” of Dryden had missed ; and, perhaps, according to the expression of Sir W. Scott, s more tears have been shed for the sorrows of Belvidera and Monimin than for those of Juliet and Desdemona," His life was short, fit. ful, and unhappy. He was the son of an English clergyman, and born at Trottin in Sussex. Leaving the university of Oxford without a degree, he attempted to become a player in London. A few years afterwards he obtained a commission in the army in Flanders, but returned home cashiered. He was continually in the most wretched poverty, although several of his pieces were eminently successful on the stage. He is alleged by some to have died of voraciously eating a piece of bread after one of the lengthened fasts to which his circumstances often condemned him. His reputation rests on his two tragedies, “ The Orphan," and " Venice Preserved." Both are disfigured by moral and literary improprieties : yet the intensity of interest a wakened by the exhibition of natural emotions, justifies the high place they hold in English literature. He wrote a considerable quantity of occasional poetry, but its merit is very humble,

FROM VENICE PRESERVED.

261

FROM " VENICE PRESERVED."

THB BETRAYED CONSPIRATORS, AND THE REVELATION OF JAFFIER'S

TREACHERY.

Scene. - The Senate House of Venice. The Duke and Senators;
Pierre, Renault, and other conspirators, in chains. Guards, fc.

Pierre. You, my lords, and fathers,
(As you are pleased to call yourselves) of Venice;
If you sit here to guide the course of justice,
Why these disgraceful chains upon the limbs
That have so often labour'd in your service ?
Are these the wreaths of triumph you bestow
On those that bring you conquest home and honours ?

Duke. Go on; you shall be heard, sir.

Pierre. Are these the trophies I've deserved for fighting
Your battles with confederated powers ?
When winds and seas conspired to overthrow you,
And brought the fleets of Spain to your own harbours;
When you, great Duke, shrunk trembling in your palace,
Stepp'd not I forth, and taught your loose Venetians
The task of honour, and the way to greatness ?
Raised you from your capitulating fears
To stipulate the terms of sued-for peace!
And this my recompense! If I'm a traitor,
Produce my charge; or show the wretch that's base
And brave enough to tell me, I'm a traitor!

Duke. Know you one Jaflier ?

Pierre. Yes, and know his virtue.
His justice, truth, his general worth, and sufferings
From a hard father, tauglit me first to love him.
Duke. See him brought forth.

Enter Captain, and Jaffier in chains.
Pierre. My friend too bound! Nay, then
Our fate has conquer'd us, and we must fall.--
Why droops the man, whose welfare's so much mine
They're but one thing? These reverend tyrants, Jaffier,
Call us traitors. Art thou one, my brother?

Jaff. To thee I am the falsest, veriest slave,
That e'er betrayed a generous trusting friend,
And gave up honour to be sure of ruin.
All our fair hopes, which morning was t'have crowned,
Has this cursed tongue o'erthrown.

Pierre. So, then all's over :
Venice has lost her freedom, I my life.
No more!

Duke. Say; will you make confession
Of your vile deeds, and trust the senate's mercy ?

Pierre. Cursed be your senate, cursed your constitution !
The curse of growing factions, and divisions
Still vex your councils, shake your public safety,
And make the robes of government you wear
Hateful to you, as these base chains to me!

Duke. Pardon, or death?
Pierre. Death ! honourable death !

Ren. Death's the best thing we ask or you can give.
No shameful bonds, but honourable death!
Duke. Break up the council. [To Officer.] Guard your pri-

soners, sir. Take Pierre into your charge, apart from the rest. [To Captain. Jaffier, you're free, but these must wait for judgment.

[Exeunt Duke, Senators, Conspirators, and Officer. Pierre. Come, where's my dungeon ? Lead me to my straw : It will not be the first time I've lodged hard, To do your senate service.

Jaffier. Hold one moment.

Pierre. Who's he disputes the judgment of the senate ? Presumptuous rebel !-on

[Strikes Jaffier.
Jaff. By heaven, you stir not! [Ereunt Captain and Guard.
I must be heard ; I must have leave to speak.
Thou hast disgraced me, Pierre, by a vile blow:
Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice ?
But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me,
For I am fallen beneath the basest injuries;
Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy,
And, as there dwells a godlike nature in thee,
Listen with mildness to my supplications.

Pierre. What whining monk art thou ? what holy cheat?
That would'st encroach upon my credulous ears,
And cant'st thus vilely? Hence ! I know thee not!

Jaff. Not know me, Pierre !
Pierre. No, know thee not! What art thou ?

Jaff. Jaffier, thy friend, thy once loved, valued friend!
Tho' now, deservedly, scorn'd and used most hardly.

Pierre. Thou, Jaffier ! thou my once loved, valued friend!
By heavens, thou liest; the man so called my friend,
Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant ;
Noble in mind, and in his person lovely ;
Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart;
But thou, a wretched, base, false, worthless coward,
Poor, even in soul, and loathsome in thy aspect :
All eyes must shun thee, and all hearts detest thee.
Prythce avoid, no longer cling thus round me,
Like something baneful, that my nature's chilled at.

Jaff. I have not wronged thee; by these tears I have not.
Pierre. Hast thou not wronged me? Dar'st thou call thyself

Jaffier,
That once loved, valued friend of mine,

FROM VENICE PRESERVED.

203

And swear thou hast not wrong'd me? Whence these chains ? Whence the vile death which I may meet this moment ? Whence this dishonour, but from thee, thou false one ?

Jaff. All's true; yet grant one thing, and I've done asking.
Pierre. What's that?

Jaff. To take thy life, on such conditions
The council have proposed : thou and thy friends
May yet live long, and to be better treated.

Pierre. Life! ask my life! confess! record myself
A villain, for the privilege to breathe,
And carry, up and down this cursed city,
A discontented and repining spirit,
Burdensome to itself, a few years longer ;
To lose it, maybe, at last, in a lewd quarrel
For some new friend, treacherous and false as thou art!
No, this vile world and I have long been jangling,
And cannot part on better terms than now,
When only men like thee are fit to live in't.

Jaff. By all that's just

Pierre. Swear by some other power,
For thou hast broke that sacred oath already.

Jaff. Then by that hell I merit, I'll not leave thee,
Till to thyself at least thou’rt reconciled,
However thy resentments deal with me.

Pierre. Not leave me !

Jaff. No; thou shalt not force me from thee.
Use me reproachfully and like a slave;
Tread on me, buffet me, heap wrongs on wrongs
On my poor head; I'll bear it all with patience,
Shall weary out thy most unfriendly cruelty ;
Lie at thy feet, and kiss them, though they spurn me;
Till, wounded by my sufferings, thon relent,
And raise me to thy arms, with dear forgiveness.

Pierre. Art thou not-
Jaff. What ?
Pierre. A traitor ?
Jaff. Yes.
Pierre. A villain ?
Jaff. Granted.

Pierre. A coward, a most scandalous coward ;
Spiritless, void of honour; one who has sold
Thy everlasting fame for shameless life?

Jaff. All, all, and more, much more; my faults are numberless.

Pierre. And would'st thou have me live on terms like thine ? Base as thou'rt false-

Jaff. No: 'Tis to me that's granted;
The safety of thy life was all I aimed at,
In recompense for faith and trust so broken.

Pierre. I scorn it more, because preserved by thee;
And, as when first my foolish heart took pity

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