against my prayers, had I the will to pray. I cannot bear it. Sure 'tis the worst of torments to behold others enjoy that bliss, which we must

never taste.

Officer. The utmost limit of your time is expired.

Mill. Encompassed with horror, whither must I go? I would not live-nor die- -That I could cease to be—or ne'er had been!

Barn. Since peace and comfort are denied her here, may she find mercy where she least expects it, and this be all her hell! From our example may all be taught to fly the first approach of vice : but if o'ertaken,

By strong temptation, weakness, or surprise,
Lament their guilt, and by repentance rise.
The impenitent alone die unforgiven:
To sin's like men, and to forgive like Heaven.
[Exeunt.

SINCE fate has robb'd me of the hapless youth,
For whom my heart had hoarded up its truth;
By all the laws of love and honour, now,
I'm free again to chuse and one of you.
But soft-With caution first I'll round me
peep:

Maids, in my case, should look before they leap.
Here's choice enough, of various sorts and hue,
The cit, the wit, the rake cock'd up in cue,
The fair spruce mercer, and the tawny Jew.

Suppose I search the sober gallery?-No; There's none but 'prentices, and cuckolds all-a

row;

And these, I doubt, are those that make them so. [Pointing to the boxes.

'Tis very well, enjoy the jest:-but you, Fine powder'd sparks,-nay, I am told 'tis true,Your happy spouses-can make cuckolds too. "Twixt you and them the difference this perhaps : The cit's ashamed whene'er his duck he traps; But you, when madam's tripping, let her fall, Cock up your hats, and take no shame at all.

What if some favour'd poet I could meet, Whose love would lay his laurels at my feet? No-painted passions real love abhorsHis flame would prove the suit of creditors.

Not to detain you then with longer pause, In short, my heart to his conclusion draws; I yield it to the hand that's loudest in applause.

THE Tragic Music has long forgot to please, With Shakespeare's nature and with Fletcher's

ease:

No passion mov'd, through five long acts you sit, Charm'd with the poet's language or his wit. Fine things are said, no matter whence they fall; Each single character might speak them all.

But from this modern fashionable way, To-night our author begs your leave to stray. No fustian hero rages here to-night; No armies fall to fix a tyrant's right: From lower life we draw our scene's distress: -Let not your equals move your pity less!

Virtue distrest in humble state support;
Nor think she never lives without the court.

Though to our scenes no royal robes belong,
And though our little stage as yet be young,
Throw both your scorn and prejudice aside,
Let us with favour, not contempt, be tried;
Through the first acts a kind attention lend,
The growing scene shall force you to attend;
Shall catch the eyes of every tender fair,
And make them charm their lovers with a tear.
The lover too by pity shall impart
His tender passion to his fair one's heart:
The breast which others' anguish cannot move,
Was ne'er the seat of friendship, or of love,

SCENE I.-WILMOT's House.

Old WILMOT alone.

Of wind last night.

O. Wilm. It was a dreadful one.

Posterity perhaps may do thee justice,
And praise thy courage, learning, and integrity,
When thou art past hearing: thy successful ene-
mies,

Much sooner paid, have their reward in hand,
And know for what they labour'd.—Such events
Must, questionless, excite all thinking men,
To love and practise virtue !

Rand. Nay, 'tis certain,

That virtue ne'er appears so like itself,
So truly bright and great, as when opprest.
O. Wilm. I understand no riddles.
Where is your mistress?

Rand. I saw her pass the High-street, towards
the Minster.

O. Wilm. She is gone to visit Charlotte. She
doth well.

In the soft bosom of that gentle maid
There dwells more goodness than the rigid race
Of moral pedants e'er believed, or taught.
With what amazing constancy and truth,
Doth she sustain the absence of our son,
Whom more than life she loves? How shun for
him,

Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and great,

Who own her charms, and sigh to make her happy!
Since our misfortunes we have found no friend,
None who regarded our distress, but her;
And she, by what I have observed of late,
Is wearied, or exhausted. Curst condition!-
To live a burden to one only friend,

And blast her youth with our contagious woe!

India,

Entering the harbour, run upon a rock,
And there was lost.

O. Wilm. What became of those on board her? Rand. Some few are sav'd, but much the greater part, 'Tis thought, are perish'd.

O. Wilm. They are past the fear Of future tempests, or a wreck on shore: These, who escaped, are still expos'd to both. Rand. But I've heard news, much stranger than this shipwreck

Here in Cornwall. The brave Sir Walter
leigh,

Being arriv'd at Plymouth from Guiana,
A most unhappy voyage, has been betray'd
By base Sir Lewis Stukely, his own kinsman,
And seiz'd on by an order from the court;
And 'tis reported he must lose his head,
To satisfy the Spaniards.

O. Wilm. Not unlikely; His martial genius does not suit the times. There's now no insolence that Spain can offer, But, to the shame of this pacific reign,

Poor England must submit to.-Gallant man!

O. Wilm. That cannot be revived,
Which never died.

Rand. The whole of my intent
Was to confess your bounty, that supplied
The loss of both my parents: I was long
The object of your charitable care.

O. Wilm. No more of that: Thou hast serv'd

me longer since

Without reward; so that account is balanced,

Or rather I'm thy debtor. I remember,
When poverty began to show her face
Within these walls, and all my other servants,
Like pamper'd vermin from a falling house,
Retreated with the plunder they had gain'd,
And left me, too indulgent and remiss
For such ungrateful wretches, to be crush'd
Beneath the ruin they had help'd to make,
That you, more good than wise, refus'd to leave

me.

Rand. Nay, I beseech you, sir!

O. Wilm. With my distress,

In perfect contradiction to the world,
Thy love, respect, and diligence, increas'd.
Now, all the recompence within my power,
Is to discharge thee, Randal, from my hard,
Unprofitable service.

Rand. Heaven forbid !

Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity?—
Believe me, sir, my honest soul abhors
The barbarous thought.

O. Wilm. What! canst thou feed on air?
I have not left wherewith to purchase food
For one meal more.

Rand. Rather than leave you thus,

I'll beg my bread, and live on others' bounty,
While I serve you.

O. Wilm. Down, down my swelling heart,
Or burst in silence! 'Tis thy cruel fate
Insults thee by his kindness-He is innocent
Of all the pain it gives thee.—Go thy ways;
I will no more suppress thy youthful hopes
Of rising in the world.

Rand. 'Tis true, I'm young,
And never tried my fortune, or my genius,
Which may perhaps find out some happy means,
As yet unthought of, to supply your wants.
O. Wilm. Thou tortur'st me: I hate all obliga-
tions

Which I can ne'er return-And who art thou,
That I should stoop to take them from thy hand?
Care for thyself, but take no thought for me;
I will not want thee-trouble me no more.

Rand. Be not offended, sir, and I will go.
I ne'er repin'd at your commands before;
But, Heaven's my witness, I obey you now
With strong reluctance, and a heavy heart!
Farewell, my worthy master!

[Going.

O. Wilm. Farewell!-Stay! As thou art yet a stranger to the world, Of which, alas! I've had too much experience, I should, methinks, before we part, bestow A little counsel on thee.-Dry thy eyes: If thou weep'st thus, I shall proceed no farther. Dost thou aspire to greatness, or to wealth? Quit books, and the unprofitable search Of wisdom there, and study human kind: No science will avail thee without that; But that obtain'd, thou need'st not any other. This will instruct thee to conceal thy views, And wear the face of probity and honour, Till thou hast gain'd thy end: which must be

ever

Thy own advantage, at that man's expence, Who shall be weak enough to think thee honest.

Suppose I have renounced them : I have passions, And love thee still; therefore would have thee think,

The world is all a scene of deep deceit,
And he, who deals with mankind on the square,
Is his own bubble, and undoes himself.
Farewell, and mark my counsel, boy. [Exit.
Rand. Amazement!

Is this the man I thought so wise and just?
What! teach and counsel me to be a villain!
Sure grief has made him frantic, or some fiend
Assum'd his shape! I shall suspect my senses.
High-minded he was ever, and improvident;
But pitiful and generous to a fault.
Pleasure he lov❜d, but honour was his idol.
O fatal change! O horrid transformation!
So a majestic temple, sunk to ruin,
Becomes the loathsome shelter and abode
Of lurking serpents, toads, and beasts of prey;
And scaly dragons hiss, and lions roar,
Where wisdom taught, and music charm'd, be
fore.
[Exit.

SCENE II-CHARLOTTE'S House.

Enter CHARLOTTE and MARIA. Char. What terror and amazement must they feel, Who die by shipwreck!

Mar. 'Tis a dreadful thought!

Char. Aye! is it not, Maria?-To descend, Living and conscious, to the watery tomb!Alas! had we no sorrows of our own, The frequent instances of others' woe Must give a generous mind a world of pain. But you forget you promis'd me to sing. Though cheerfulness and I have long been stran

Passing a narrow brook, was drowned there, And perished in her sight.

SONG.

Mar. Cease, cease, heart-easing tears !
Adieu, you flattering fears,
Which seven long tedious years
Taught me to bear.

Tears are for lighter woes;
Fear no such danger knows,
As fate remorseless shews,

Endless despair!
Dear cause of all my pain,
On the wide stormy main,
Thou wast preserved in vain,
Though still adored.
Hadst thou died there unseen,
My wounded eyes had been
Sav'd from the direst scene

Maid e'er deplored.

[CHARLOTTE finds a letter. Char. What's this?-A letter superscribed to me!

None could convey it here but you, Maria.
Ungenerous, cruel maid! to use me thus !
To join with flattering men to break my peace,
And persecute me to the last retreat!

Mar. Why should it break your peace, to hear the sighs

Of honourable love? This letter is▬▬▬▬▬

Char. No matter whence: return it back unopened:

I have no love, no charms, but for my Wilmot, Nor would have any.

Mar. Alas! Wilmot's dead;

Or, living, dead to you.

Char. I'll not despair: Patience shall cherish hope;

Nor wrong his honour by unjust suspicion.
I know his truth, and will preserve my own.
But, to prevent all future vain, officious importu-
nity,

Know, thou incessant foe to my repose,
Whether he sleeps secure from mortal cares,
In the deep bosom of the boisterous mair.,
Or, tost with tempest, still endures its rage;
No second choice shall violate my vows.
High Heaven, which heard them, and abhors the
perjur'd,

Can witness, they were made without reserve;
Never to be retracted, ne'er dissolv'd

By accident or absence, time or death.

By the least favour, though 'twere but a look,
I could have shewn them, now refuse to see me.
'Tis misery enough to be reduced

To the low level of the common herd,
Who, born to beggary, envy all above them;
But 'tis the curse of curses, to endure
The insolent contempt of those we scorn.

Char. By scorning, we provoke them to contempt,

And thus offend, and suffer in our turns.
We must have patience.

Agn. No, I scorn them yet!

But there's no end of suffering: Who can say, Their sorrows are complete? My wretched hus

The highest happiness, and deepest woe,

Of such a vast transition-Such a fall
In the decline of life!—I have as quick,
As exquisite, a sense of pain as he,

And would do any thing, but die, to end it;
But there my courage fails. Death is the worst
That fate can bring, and cuts off every hope.

Char. We must not chuse, but strive to bear

our lot

Without reproach, or guilt. By one rash act Of desperation, we may overthrow