His errand; but, as it would seem, he comes 1 I did not; by the powers of truth I did not With news that much import thy present hearing. Remorseless villain !-Where, where shall I hide Grey. I'll speak with him anon.

Me? whither shall I fly?- deed of horrorKnt. I know not what

Thy blood, detested hireling, shall in part Their purpose ; but even now, as on the tower Compensate. I stood, which high o'erlooks the eastern cause- Mor. Hold-He cannot sure dissemble way,

Wish you, my lord, this deed were yet undone? Methought I heard the distant sound of horses, | Ray. What would the monster Oh! could I As hither bent in full career.

recall Grey. The sound

His life by killing twenty thousand slaves Of horse!-Look out; call up our knights Like thee, it were a comfort! away.

(Exit Knt. Mor. I believe -What cắn delay him ?-Should my present That you are innocent: know, then, my lord, hopes

He lives; he sleeps; and sleeps secure of ham. Miscarry, I will bear the lady hence,

Ray. Take heed thou dost not trifle ! And make her hostage for my safety; nay,

Mor. I will confess Perchance, what I have some incentives to, Me true, and heaven forgive my foul intent! Supplant them both, the lover and the husband I undertook to slay this innocent: He comes!

Approached him as a friend-I saw his sufferings;

Saw his distracted wife: at length I cursed, Re-enter MORTON.

| And in my heart abjured the wicked purpose. Mor. Oh! that the earth would yawn and Ray. Hadst thou the goodness! Then, per cover me!

hapsOr that Heaven's quick-devouring fires had shrunk Mor. I thought And withered up this arm when it was raised Haply that you yourself might soon relent. Eyes ! eyes! why closed ye not ere you beheld This instrument of purposed cruelty, The ghastly ruin?

I took; and, with a fair devised tale Grey. Speak, direct are they disposed? | Of Salisbury's death, amused the guilty wretchi, Mor. Away!—thou hast destroyed my peace That would ensnare your quiet. for ever

| Ray. Is this honest? Had you beheld him as he lay, struggling

Mör. Approach, my lord, approach, and let In the cold gripe of death; cheeks o'erspread

your eye With livid pale; those eyes, that late shot forth | Be witness of my truth-In doing thus, So radiant, now quite sunk; their burning lamps I thought I should be deemed lord Raymolts Extinct; while from the deep-mouthed wound,

friend. As from a copious fountain, issued forth

Ray. Thou wert the best of friends! Retire Life's purple spring.

thou now. I would have fled, but horror for a space One way there yet remains to reconcile Suspended every power.

This double war, and heal my tortured bosom. Grey. 'Tis well

Thou, that so soundly sleep'st, unguarded thus Hast thou, then, slain lord Salisbury ?

I . (Going to the side of the stege. At thy own peril be it-Help!-He has slain | Against whatever il that may approach thee, The innocent!

Awake! rouse from the bed of listless sleep, They're murdered, foully murdered by a slave. | And see who comes to greet thee.

(Exit. Mor. The earth has teemed with prodigies

Enter Lord SALISBURY. this sure

Lord Sal. Do I dream? Out-monsters all !

Or am I in the regions of the unblest, Enter RAYMOND hastily, with his sword drawn.

Beset with monsters? Though thou art a bent,

I will attempt thee. Ray. On what purpose art thou here!

Ray. Rush not on my weapon. Mör. Lord Raymond cannot be a stranger, | I have sought thee on a cause which has sure.

loves; Ray. A dagger!-what hast thou done?

And would not have thee mar my soul's far fua Mor. Did not my lord approve the deed ?

pose. Ray. What deed ?

Lord Sal. Inglorious ! base! Oh, shame Mör. How's this ! - My lord,

manhood! Dearly I had your sanction ratified by Grey;

Shalt thou atone the accumulated wrongs.' With promise of high recompence the hour That I do bleed withal. Nor sen, nor earu, When Salisbury should expire.

Though thou shouldst traverse her remo Ray. Accursed be he that told thee so; and climes, thou

Shall shelter thee from my determined furs; That gav’st him credit!

Ray. Think not that I shall fly thee; of the Mor. This is strange!

Have sought thee now, but on such terms as ett Ray. Approve!

I May challenge thy applause. I come a foe,

(Exit MOR

Indeed, but I do come a generous foe. ilLord Sal. It is, it is'sir Ardolf ! See, he comes. Lord Sul. A generous foe! The brave indeed aspire

Enter ARDOLF and Knight. To generous acts; their every thought looks up, Ard. My noble friend ! safe! crowned with And honour's dictates are their only function :

conquest too! But thou! what terms would'st thou propose? Lord Sal. Saw you Leroches ? what act

Ard. My lord,
Of that essential virtue, that may rase

He sought the castle by a private path.
The ignoble stains wherewith thou art polluted? | I thought he had been here by this.
Ray. The ignoble and the brave alike have 1 Lord Sal. 'Tis well.
erred;

But where's my wife? my son? my soul is maimed
And he, that re-ascends to virtue's height, Of half its joys till I've again embraced them.
Does often snatch a wreath, which never bloomed
On safer wisdom's brow. First let me loose

Enter ELEANOR. Those ignominious bonds, which have, indeed, | Ele. My lord, my lord! the countess and lord My own dishonoured—not the wearer's arm.

William (Takes off his chains. Send, send and save them from destruction ! Lord Sal. Say to what purpose tends this ho With horses, that outstrip the winds, the villains nest seeming?

Have borne her from the castle! Ray. That I have wronged thee, I confess ; Lord Sal. Ravished by villains ! Mount your take this,

horses, haste ! (Gives him a sword, and draws another. Ard. Say, which way have they fled ? The only restitution I have left.

Ele. West of the castle: I know thou never canst forgive, nor I

Heaven grant their swiftness mock not your best. Forget : the sword, then, judge between. Lord Sal. Indeed!.

Ard. Now, good my lord, if I might speak
Lives there so much honour, then, within thee? Lord Sal. Speak not
Spite of the mighty wrongs which thou hast done To me; but forth and scour the country!
Me, I do thank thee.

Ard. Hark!
Ray. Now, Fortune mark her favourite! Methought I heard a voice

(Ray. is disarmed. | Ele. And I methought. Then she is partial, and I must submit.

Perhaps Heaven has been kind ! perhaps 'tis she. Lord Sal. "Take up thy sword again; my fair Lady Sal. (Entering.) Now, hushed be every revenge

fear-Where, where's my hero, Disdains too cheap a conquest.

That I may once more hold him to my bosom? Ray. 'Tis too much. Oh generous ! generous even to cruelty !

i . Enter Lady SALISBURY and Lord WILLIAM, some way I would repay thee-Oh, that I

conducted by LEROCHES. (Takes up his sword. | Lord Sal. 'Tis she! 'tis she ! lad never seen thy wife! It may not be; My wife is in my arms again! Speak, speak! Chen let me tear for ever from my breast Oh, whence this precious, this unlooked event? The guilty passion: thus I thank thee- thus Lady Sal. When the fell ruffian,

(Wounds himself. When Grey, with impious hands, had snatched Atone the mischiefs, that- Oh!- (Falls. us hence, Lord Sal. This, indeed,

Then came my guardian angel c ame your Itones for all. Thou much misguided youth ! friend, Vhat tempted thee to stray so wide from ho- | And rescued us from ruin, nour?

Ler. Happy hour ! Ray. Ask, ask that villain; he will answer all; I took the path which brought me to their res. hat villain Grey, whose wicked arts seduced me; cue; 'orgive- I die, I die: a dreadful proof

The atrocious villain fell beneath this arm. V hat ills await the wretch, who gives his ear Lord Sal. My wife! o vicious counsels.

(Dies. My son! my friend! My God ! my guardian Lord Sal. Dreadful proof indeed!

God! do forgive thee,-so forgive thee, Heaven ! Ele. O joy, that they are here again!

Lord Sal. They're bere ! they're here! my wife Re-enter Morton.

and son are here! Tow, where's my wife? where is my friend Le Proclaim it, Oye sons of light ! spread wide roches ?

Your starry pinions, angels, spread them wide, Mor. My lord, by my assistance, he has filed. And trumpet loud throughout the unmeasured saw how vain your purpose to escape;

tracts Iis single flight was unobserved. Your friends, I of highest Heaven, that virtue is made happy! quest of whom he hasted, are arrived :

Lady Sal. Let the sun cease to shine, the plahat trumpet speaks it. [trumpet heard. nets cease,

Drop every star from his etherial height,
Ere I forget thee, source of every good!
Lord Sal. Friends, I am much beholden to

you all.
My love! the gloom that overspread our morn,
Is now dispersed ; our late mishaps,
Recalled, shall be the amusing narrative,

And story of our future evening, oft
Rehearsed. Our son, too, he shall hang upon
The sounds, and lift his little hands in praise
To heaven : taught by his mother's bright exam-

ple,
That, to be truly good, is to be blessed.

(Exeunt omnes

EPILOGUE.

This virgin author's such a blushing rogue - Laugh’d, danc'd and sported it till spouse came What! no gay, lively, laughing epilogue ?

over, Madam,' says he, and looked so wise ! 'in | Then kissed my dear-while Betty bid the lover. Greece

But here again our poet checks my flight: (Greece, that's their cant) no jesting closed the Nay, madam, you mistake the matter quite. piece.

My heroine liv'd in ancient, honest times; Play, epilogue, and all were grave and solemn' | Cards were unknown, and gallanlries were Then, sir, the town were fools that did not maul

crimes !'

Psha! what if females then were seldom rovers? No-let your heroine, in this laughing age, Husbands-(aye, there's the cause) were warm as Come thus (as Bayes says) souse upon the stage;

lovers. Then with a jaunting air-half smìle, half grin, Their warlike days indeed were spent in killing; Curtsey quite round the boxes, and begin. But then at night-no turtles were so billing.

A spark from court-no husband to detect him: Well-though he gives me no smart things to A pretty fellow too, and yet reject him !Now, ladies, let me die but it was silly | I wish this begging face may save his play: You'll not approve such horrid prud'ry—will | The thing may mend, and learn to please you bet

ye?I should have bless'd th' occasion, and receiv'd | Do then—nay, pray you shew him some good him :

nature. He should have kneeld and vow'd, and I-be

liev'd him.

say,

SCENE,– The Castle of Narbonne, partly on a Platform before the Gate, and partly in a Garden

within the Walls.

ACT І.

| I met a peasant, and inquir'd my way: SCENE I.-The Platform before the Castle. The carse, not rude of speech, but like the tenant

Of some night-haunted ruin, bore an aspect Enter FLORIAN.

Of horror, worn to habitude. He bade Flor. What awful silence ! how these antique God bless me; and pass'd on.-I urg'd him fartowers

ther: And vacant courts dull the suspended soul, Good master, cried he, go not to the castle ; Till expectation wears the cast of fear;

There sorrow ever dwells, and moping misery. And fear, half-ready to become devotion,

I press'd him yet-None there, said he, are welMumbles a kind of mental orison,

come, It knows not wherefore: .

But now and then a mass-priest, and the poor, What a kind of being is circumstance!

To whom the pious countess deals her alms, I am a soldier, and were yonder battlements On covenant, that each revolving night. Garnish'd with combatants, and cannon-mounted, | They beg of heaven the health of her son's soul, My daring breast would bound with exultation, And of her own : But often as returns And glorious hopes enliven this drear scene. The twentieth of September, they are bound Now dare not I scarce tread to my own hearing, Fast from the midnight watch to pray till morn. Lest Echo borrow Superstition's tongue,

More would he not disclose, or knew not more. And seem to answer me, like one departed. What precious mummery! Her son in exile,

ble,

She wastes on monks and beggars his inheri- | They say his son count Edmund's mainly like tance,

him. For his soul's health! I never knew a woman | 'Would these old arms, that serv'd his grandBut lov'd our bodies or our souls too well.

father, Each master-whim maintains its hour of empire, Could once enfold him! I should part in peace. And obstinately faithful to its dictates,

Flor. What if I bring tidings of cours EdWith equal ardour, equal importunity,

mund ? They teaze us to be daunn'd, or to be sav'd. Por. Mercy befal me!-Now my dream is ont. I hate to love or pray too long.

Last night the raven croak’d, and from the bars

Of our lodge-fire flitted a messenger-
SCENE IJ.

I knew no good would follow- Bring you !

tidings, Enter PETER, Porter of the Castle, and FLORIAN. Sir gentleman Por. Methought

Flor. (This is a solemn fool, I heard a stranger's voice- What lack you, sir? | Or solemn knave.) (Aside. Shouldst thou isFlor. Good fellow, who inhabits here?

deed rejoice Por. I do.

To see count Edmund ? Would thy poble mis Flor. Belike this castle is not thine.

tress Por. Belike so:

Spring with a mother's joy to clasp her son? But be it whose it may, this is no haunt

Por. Oh! no, no, no.-He must not hereFor revellers and gallants Pass your way.

alas! Flor. Thou churl! Is this your Gallic hospi- | He must not here set foot-But tell me, stranger, tality?

I prithee, say, does my old master's heir Thy lady, on my life, would not thus rudely Still breathe this vital air? Is he in France? Chide from her presence a bewildered knight. Is he within some ten, or twenty leagues, Por. Thou know'st my lady then ! -Thou | Or fifty? I am hearty yet, have all my limbs, know'st her not.

And I would make a weary pilgrimage Canst thou in hair-cloths vex those dainty limbs? To kiss his gracious hand, and at his feet Canst thou on reeking pavements and cold mar- | Lay my old bones—for here I ne'er must see

him.

[Weeps. In meditation pass the live-long night?

Flor. Thou good old man, forgive a soldier's Canst mortify that flesh, my rosy minion,

mirth. And bid thy rebel appetite refrain

But, say, why Narbonne's heir from Narbonne's From goblets foaming wine, and costly viands?

lands These are the deeds, my youngster, must draw | Is banish'd, driven by a ruthless mother? down

Por. Ah! sir, 'tis hard indeed—but spare his My lady's ever hear'n-directed eye.

mother; *Flor. In sooth, good friend, my knighthood is such virtue never dwelt in female form. not schoold

Count Edmund-but he was indeed a stripling, In voluntary rigours— I can fast,

A very lad-it was the trick of youth, March supperless, and make cold earth my pil And we have all our sins, or we have had; low,

Yet still no pardon—Think'st thou not, my lord, When my companions know no choicer fare. My late kind master, ere he knew my lady, But seldom roost in churches, or reject

Wist not what woman was?-I warrant hiThe ready banquet, or a willing fair-one.

But so-Count Edmund being not sixteen, Por. Angels defend us! What a reprobate ! A lusty youth, his father's very image Yon mould'ring porch, for sixteen years and Oh! how he has play'd me many a trick-good more,

sir, Has not been struck with such unhallowed sounds. Does my young master ever name old Peter? Hence to thy lewd companions !

Well ! but I prateyou must forgive my age; Flor. Father grey-beard,

I come to th' point- Her name was Beatrice; I cry you mercy ; nor was it my intention A roguish eye-she ne'er would look on me, To wound your reverence's saint-like organs. Or we had sav'd full many a woeful day. But come, thou hast known other days—canst Mark you me well? tell

Flor. I do. Of banquettings and dancings—'twas not always Por. This Beatricethus.

But hark! my lady comes-retire a while Por. No, no-time was—my lord, the count | Beyond these yews-anon I'll tell you more. of Narbonne,

Flor. May I not greet her?
A prosp'rous gentleman : were he alive,

Por. For my office, no:
We should not know these moping melancholies. "Twere forfeit of my badge to hold a parler
Heaven rest his soul! I marvel not my lady
Cherishes his remembrance, for he was

[FLORIAN withdrest Comely to sight, and wondrous goodly built. (The Countess in Iceds, with a Crucifis in het