The skies are hushed, no grumbling thunders roll. And with a slumbering nod assents to murder. Enter Dorax, attended by three soldiers. Emp. Thou mov'st a tortoise pace to my relief. Alm. Then prayers are vain as curses. In a slave's mouth against a monarch's power. * * Make haste, seize, force her, bear her hence. I do not beg, I challenge justice now. That is no longer yours. Act III. Sc. 1. VENI CREATOR. Creator Spirit, by whose aid The World's foundations first were laid, 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, Plenteous of grace, descend from high, 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; And when rebellious they are grown, Chase from our minds the infernal foe, Make us eternal truths receive, Immortal honour, endless fame, Who for lost man's redemption died! 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, "more tears have been shed for the sorrows of Belvidera and Monimia than for those of Juliet and Desdemona." His life was short, fitful, 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 awakened 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. Pierre, Renault, and other conspirators, in chains. Guards, &c. Pierre. You, my lords, and fathers, (As you are pleased to call yourselves) of Venice; On those that bring you conquest home and honours? Pierre. Are these the trophies I've deserved for fighting 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,- To stipulate the terms of sued-for peace! Produce my charge; or show the wretch that's base Pierre. Yes, and know his virtue. His justice, truth, his general worth, and sufferings 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, 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! Still vex your councils, shake your public safety, 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 prisoners, 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 Jaff. By heaven, you stir not! [Strikes Jaffier. [Exeunt Captain and Guard. I must be heard; I must have leave to speak. Thou hast disgraced me, Pierre, by a vile blow: But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me, 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! Pierre. Thou, Jaffier! thou my once loved, valued friend! Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart; 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, 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! 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. Tread on me, buffet me, heap wrongs on wrongs Lie at thy feet, and kiss them, though they spurn me; 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 |