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life.

| Let Afric and her hundred thrones rejoice: SCENE III.

Oh, my dear countrymen, look down, and see

How I bestride your prostrate conqueror! Enter ZANGA.

I tread on haughty Spain, and all her kings. Zan. How stands the great account 'twixt me But this is mercy, this is my indulgence; and vengeance?

'Tis peace, 'tis refuge from my indignation. Though much is paid, yet still it owes me much, | I must awake him into horrors. Hoa? And I will not abate a single groan.

Alonzo, hoa ! the Moor is at the gate !
Ha! that were well-but that were fatal too, Awake, invincible, omnipotent !
Why, be it so—Revenge, so truly great,

Thou who dost all subdue !
Would come too cheap, if bought with less than Alon. Inhuman slave!

Zan. Fallen Christian, thou mistak’st my chaCome, death, come, hell, then ! 'tis resolved, 'tis

ra ter. . done.

Look on mı Who am I? I know, thou sayst,

The Moor, a slave, an abject, beaten slave: Enter ISABELLA.

(Eternal woes to him that made me so!). Isa. Ah, Zanga, see me tremble! Has not yet | But look again. Has six years cruel bondage Thy cruel heart its fill? Poor Leonora

Extinguished majesty so far, that nought Zan. Welters in blood, and gasps for her last Shines here to give an awe of one above thee ? breath.

When the great Moorish king, Abdallah, fell What then? We all must die.

Fell by thy hand accurs d—I fought fast by him, Isa. Alonzo raves,

His son, though, through his fondness, in disAnd, in the tempest of his grief, has thrice

guise, Attempted on his life. At length disarmed, Less to expose me to the ambitious foe. He calls his friends that save him his worst foes, Ha! does it wake thee? O'er my father's And importunes the skies for swift perdition.

corse, Thus in his storm of sorrow. After a pause, I stood astride, till I had clove thy crest; He started up, and called aloud for Zanga, And then was made the captive of a squadron, For Zanga raved; and see, he seeks you here, And sunk into thy servant- But oh! what, To learn the truth which most he dreads to know. | What were my wages? Hear nor Heaven nor Zan. Begone. -Now, now, my soul, consum

earth! mate all !

(Erit ISAB. My wages were a blow! by Heaven, a blow !

And from a mortal hand!
Enter ALONZO.

Alon. Oh villain, villain !
Alon. Oh Zanga!

Zan. All strife is vain. [Shewing a dagger. Zar. Do not tremble so; but speak.

Alon. Is thus my love returned ? Alon. I dare not.

|Falls on him. Is this my recompence? Make friends of tigers ! Zan. You will drown me with your tears. Lay not your young, oh mothers ! on the breast, Alon. Have I not cause?

For fear they turn to serpents as they lie, Zan. As yet you have no cause.

And pay you for their nourishment with death! Alon. Dost thou too rave?

Carlos is dead, and Leonora dying! Zan. Your anguish is to come:

Both innocent! both murdered! both by me! You much have been abused.

That heavenly maid, who should bave lived for Alon. Abused! by whom?

ever, Zan. To know were little comfort.

At least have gently slept her soul away, Alon. Oh, 'twere much!

Whose life should have shut up, as evening Zan. Indeed!

flowers

Alon. By Heaven! Oh, give him to my fury! At the departing sun—was murdered ! murdered! Zan. Born for your use, I live but to oblige Oh shame! oh guilt! oh horror!. oh remorse! you,

Oh punishment! Had Satan never fell, Know, then, 'twas-1.

Hell had been made for me. Oh Leonora! Alon. Am I awake?

Zan. Must I despise thee, too, as well as hate Zan. For ever.

thee? Thy wife is guiltless-that's one transport to me; Complain of grief- complain thou art a man. And I, I let thee know it—that's another. Priam from Fortune's lofty summit fell; I urged Don Carlos to resign his mistress, Great Alexander 'midst his conquests mourned; I forged the letter, I disposed the picture, Heroes and demi-gods have known their sor: I hated, I despised, and I destroy!

rows : Alon. Oh!"

Swoons. Cæsars have wept; and I have had my blow : Zan. Why, this is well-why, this is blow for | But 'tis revenged, and now my work is done. blow!

Yet, ere I fall, be it one part of vengeance Where are you? Crown me, shadow me with To make thee to confess that I am just.laurels,

Thou see'st a prince, whose father thou bast Ye spirits who delight in just revenge !

slain; Let Europe and her pallid sons go weep ; ! Whose native country thou hast laid in blood;

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Whose sacred person (oh!) thou hast profaned," | But these are foreign to the soul : not mine
Whose reign extinguished. What was left to me, The groans that issue, or the tears that fall;
So highly born? No kingdom, but revenge! They disobey me; on the rack I scorn thee,
No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans. As when my faulchion clove thy helm in battle.
If men should ask who brought thee to thy end, Alo. Peace, villain!
Tell them, the Moor, and they will not despise | Zan. While I live, old man, I'll speak :
thee.

And well I know thou dar'st not kill me yet;. If cold white mortals censure this great deed, For that would rob thy blood-hounds of their Warn them, they judge not of superior beings,

prey. Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,

Alon. Who called Alonzo ? With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee well Alo. No one called, my son. Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave :

Alon. Again ! - 'Tis Carlos' voice, and I But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near,

obey.-I leave thee my example how to die.

Oh, how I laugh at all that this can do!

(Shewing the dagger. As he is going to stab himself, ALONZO rushes The wounds that pained, the wounds that murupon him to prevent him. In the mean time,

dered me, enter Don ALVAREZ, attended. They disarm

Were given before; I am already dead; and seize ZANGA. ALONZO puts the dagger in | Tbis only marks my body for the grave. his bosom.

[Stabs himself. Alon. No, monster, thou shalt not escape by Afric, thou art revenged. Oh, Leonora ! (Dies. death.

Zan. Good ruffians, give me leave; my blood Oh, father!

is yours, Alc. Oh, Alonzo !-Isabella,

The wheel's prepared, and you shall have it all. Touched with remorse to see her mistress' pangs, Let me but look one moment on the dead, Told all the dreadful tale.

And pay yourselves with gazing on my pangs. Alon. What groan was that?

(He goes to Alonzo's body. Zan. As I have been a vulture to thy heart, Is this Alonzo ? Where's the haughty mein ? So will I be a raven to thine ear,

Is that the hand which smote me? Heavens, how As true as ever snuffed the scent of blood,

pale! As ever flapped its heavy wing against

And art thou dead? So is my enmity. The window of the sick, and croaked despair. I war not with the dust. The great, the proud, Thy wife is dead.

The conqueror of Afric was my foe; [ALVAREZ goes to the side of the stage, and A lion preys not upon carcases. returns.

This was thy only method to subdue me. Alo. The dreadful news is true.

Terror and doubt fall on me: all thy good Alon. Prepare the rack; invent new torments Now blazes, all thy guilt is in the grave. for him.

Never had man such funeral applause: Zan. This too is well. The fixed and noble If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great mind

Oh, vengeance, I have followed thee too far, Turns all occurrents to its own advantage ; And, to receive me, hell blows all her fires ! And I'll make vengeance of calamity.

[He is borne off. Were I not thus reduced, thou wouldst not know, Alv. Dreadful effects of jealousy! a rage That, thus reduced, I dare defy thee still. In which the wise with caution will engage; Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise Reluctant long, and tardy to believe, me.

Where, swayed by nature, we ourselves deceive, The blood will follow where the knife is driven, Where our own folly joins the villain's art, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear, And each man finds a Zanga in his heart. And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain.

(Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

OUR author sent me, in an humble strain, To eat no suppers--on your wedding night?
To beg you'd bless the offspring of his brain; Should English husbands dare to starve their
And I, your proxy, promis'd in your name,

wives,
The child should live, at least six days of fame. Be sure they'd lead most comfortable lives!
I like the brat, but still his faults can find; | But he loves mischief, and, with groundless fears,
And, by the parent's leave, will speak my mind. Would fain set loving couples by the ears;
Gallants, pray, tell me, do you think 'twas well, Would spoil the tender husbands of our nation,
To let a willing maid lead apes in hell ?

By teaching them his vile, outlandish fashion.. You nicer ladies, should you think it right, | But we've been taught, in our good-natur'd clime,

That jealousy, though just, is still a crime; | Love was her errand, but the hot-brain'd Spaniard, And will be still; for (not to blame the plot) Instead of love-produc'd-a filthy poignardThat same Alonzo was a stupid sot,

Had he been wise, at this their private meeting, To kill a bride, a mistress unenjoyed

The proof o'th' pudding had been in the eating; Twere some excuse, had the poor man beenMadam had then been pleas'd, and Don concloy'd:

tented, To kill her on suspicion, ere he knew

And all this blood and murder been prevented. Whether the heinous crime were false or true- Britons, be wise, and from this sad example, The priest said grace, she met him in the bower, Ne'er break a bargain, but first take a sample. In hopes she might anticipate an hour

- тив

BROTHERS.

BY

YOUNG.

PROLOGUE.

WRITTEN BY MR. DODSLEY.

THE tragic muse, revolving many a page

And pity throbs in every feeling breast; Of Time's long records, drawn from every age, Hope, fear, and indignation rise by turns, Forms not her plans on low or trivial deeds, And the strong scene with various passion burns. But marks the striking ! When some hero bleeds, Such is our tale.-Nor blush if tears should flow: To save his country, then her powers inspire, | They're virtue's tribute paid to human woe. And souls congenial catch her patriot fire. Such drops new lustre to bright eyes impart, When bold oppression grinds a suffering land; The silent witness of a tender heart :: When the keen dagger gleams in Murder's hand; Such drops adorn the noblest hero's cheek, When black conspiracy infects the throng; And paint his worth in strokes that more than Or fell Revenge sits brooding o'er his wrong;

speak : Then walks she forth in terror; at her frown Not he who cannot weep, but he who can, Guilt shrinks appall'd, though seated on a throne. Shews the great soul, and proves himself a man. But the rack'd soul, when dark suspicions rend, Yet do not idly grieve at others' pain, When brothers hate, and sons with sons contend; Nor let the tears of nature fall in vain : When clashing interests war eternal wage, Watch the close crimes from whence their ills And love, the tenderest passion, turns to rage;

have grown, Then grief on every visage stands imprest, And from their frailties learn to mend your own.

DRAMATIS PERSONA.

MEN.
PHILIP, king of Macedon.
PERSEUS, his elder son.
DEMETRIUS, his younger son.
PERICLES, the friend of Perseus.
ANTIGONUS, a minister of state.

DYMAS, the king's favourite.
POSTHUMIUS, > Roman ambassadors.
CURTIUS, 3

WOMEN.
ERIXENE, the Thracian princess.
| Her attendant.

SCENE,- Macedon.

ACT I.

ind

| Cur. I've partly heard SCENE I.

Her smothered story.

Post. Smothered by the king;
Enter CURTIUS and POSTHUMIUS.

And wisely too: but thou shalt hear it all. Cur. There's something of magnificence about Not seas of adamant, not mountains wbelmed us,

On guilty secrets, can exclude the day. I have not seen at Rome. But you can tell me. Long burnt a fixed hereditary hate

[Gazes round. Between the crowns of Macedon and Thrace ; Post. True: hither sent on former embassies, The sword by both too much indulged in blood. I know this splendid court of Macedon,

Philip, at length, prevailed; he took, by night, And haughty Philip, well.

The town and palace of his deadly foe; . Cur. His pride presumes

Rushed through the flames, which he had kindled To treat us here like subjects more than Romans,

round, More than ambassadors, who in our bosoms And slew him, bold in vain; nor rested there, Bear peace and war, and throw him which we | But, with unkingly cruelty, destroyed please,

Two little sons within their mother's arms; As Jove his storm, or sunshine, on his creatures. Thus meaning to tread out those sparks of war, Post. This Philip only, since Rome's glory

Which might one day flame up to strong revenge. rose,

The queen, through grief, on her dead sons exPreserves its grandeur to the name of king;

pired. Like a bold star, that shews its fires by day. One child alone survived; a female infant, The Greek, who won the world, was sent before | Amidst these horrors, in the cradle smiled. him,

Cur. What of that infant? As the grey dawn before the blaze of noon: Post. Stung with sharp remorse, Philip had ne'er been conquered, but by Rome; The victor took, and gave her to his queen. And what can fame say more of mortal man? The child was bred, and honoured as her own; Cur. I know his public character.

She grew, she bloomed ; and now her eyes repay Post. It pains, me

Her brothers' wounds, on Philip's rival sons. To turn my thought on his domestic state.

Cur. Is, then, Erixene that Thracian child? There Philip is no god; but pours his heart, How just the gods! from out that ruined house In ceaseless groans, o'er his contending sons; He took a brand, to set his own on fire. And pays the secret tax of mighty men

Post. To give thee, friend, the whole in minia, To their mortality,

- ture, Cur. But whence this strife,

This is the picture of great Philip's court: Which thus afflicts him ?. **

The proud, but melancholy king, on high Post. From this Philip's bed

Majestic sits, like Jove enthroned in darkness; Two Alexanders spring.

His sons are as the thunder in his hand; Cur. And but one world?

And the fair Thracian princess is a star, Twill never do.

That sparkles by, and gilds the solemn scene, Post. They both are bright; but one,

[Shouts heard, Benignly bright, as stars to mariners;

'Tis their great day, supreme of all their year, And one a comet, with malignant blaze,

The famed lustration of their martial powers; Denouncing ruin,

Thence, for our audience, chosen by the king. Cur. You mean Perseus.

If he provokes a war, his empire shakes,
Post. True.

And all her lofty glories nod to ruin..
The younger son, Demetrius, you well know, Cur. Who comes?
Was bred at Rome, our hostage from his father. Post. O, that's the jealous elder brother;
Soon after, he was sent ambassador,

Irregular in manners as in form.
When Philip feared the thunder of our arms. Observe the fire, high birth and empire kindle!
Rome's manners won him, and his manners | Cur. He holds his conference with much emo-
Rome;

tion. Who granted peace, declaring she forgave

Post. The brothers both can talk, and, in their To his high worth the conduct of his father.

turn, Thuis gave him all the hearts of Macedon; Have borne away the prize of eloquence Which, joined to his high patronage from Rome, At Athens. Shun his walk : our own debate Inflames bis jealous brother,

Is now at hand. We'll seek his lion sire, Cur. Glows there not

Who dares to frown on us, his conquerors; A second brand of enmity?

And carries so much monarch on his brow, Post. O yes;

As if he'd fright us with the wounds we gave The fair Erixene.

him,

(Ereunt.

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