That he may never dream I may return.
Alonzo, I am now no more thy king,
But still thy friend, and by that holy name,
Adjure thee to perform my last request.
Make our conditions with yon captive king,.
Secure me but my solitary cell;
'Tis all I ask him for a crown restor❜d.
Dor. I will do more:

But fear not Muley-Zeydan: his soft metal
Melts down with easy warmth; runs in the mould,
And needs no farther forge. [Exit DORAX.
Re-enter ALMEYDA, led by MORAYMA, and fol-
lowed by her Attendants.

Seb. See where she comes again!

By heav'n, when I behold those beauteous eyes, Repentance lags, and sin comes hurrying on. Alm. This is too cruel!

Seb. Speak'st thou of love, of fortune, or of
death,

Or double death? for we must part, Almeyda.
Alm. I speak of all;

For all things that belong to us are cruel ;
But what's most cruel, we must love no more.
O'tis too much that I must never see you,
But not to love you is impossible:
No, I must love you: Heav'n may bate me that,
And charge that sinful sympathy of souls
Upon our parents, when they lov'd too well.
Seb. Good heav'n, thou speak'st my thoughts,
and I speak thine.

Nay, then there's incest in our very souls,
For we were form'd too like.

Alm. Too like indeed,
And yet not for each other.

Sure, when we part (for I resolv'd it too,
Though you propos'd it first,) however distant,
We shall be ever thinking of each other,
And, the same moment, for each other pray.
Seb. But if a wish should come athwart our
prayers!

Alm. It would do well to curb it, if we could. Seb. We cannot look upon each other's face, But, when we read our love, we read our guilt; And yet methinks I cannot chuse but love.

Alm. I would have ask'd you, if I durst for
shame,

If still you lov'd? you gave it air before me.
Ah, why were we not-born both of a sex;
For then we might have lov'd without a crime!
Why was not I your brother? though that wish
Involv'd our parents' guilt, we had not parted;
We had been friends, and friendship is not incest.
Seb. Alas, I know not by what name to call
thee!

Sister and wife are the two dearest names;
And I would call thee both, and both are sin.
Unhappy we, that still we must confound
The dearest names into a common curse!

Alm. To love, and be belov'd, and yet be
wretched!

Seb. To have but one poor night of all our
lives!

It was indeed a glorious, guilty night;
So happy, that, forgive me heav'n, I wish,

With all its guilt, it were to come again. Why did we know so soon, or why at all, That sin could be conceal'd in such a bliss?

Alm. Men have a larger privilege of words, Else I should speak: but we must part, Sebastian; That's all the name that I have left to call thee: I must not call thee by the name I would; But when I say Sebastian, dear Sebastian, I kiss the name I speak.

Seb. We must make haste, or we shall never part.

I would say something that's as dear as this; Nay, would do more than say: one moment longer,

And I should break through laws divine and hu

Alm. Here comes the sad denouncer of iny fate,

To toll the mournful knell of separation:
While I, as on my death-bed, hear the sound,
That warns me hence for ever.

Seb. [To DOR.] Now be brief,
And I will try to listen,

And share the minute that remains betwixt
The care I owe my subjects and my love.

Dor. Your fate has gratified you all she can,
Gives easy misery, and makes exile pleasing.
I trusted Muley Zeydan, as a friend,
But swore him first to secresy: he wept
Your fortune, and with tears not squeez'd by art,
But shed from nature, like a kindly shower:
In short, he proffer'd more than I demanded;
A safe retreat, a gentle solitude,

Unvex'd with noise, and undisturb'd with fears:
I chose you one.-—

Alm. O do not tell me where !
For if I knew the place of his abode,
I should be tempted to pursue his steps,
And then we both were lost.

Seb. Ev'n past redemption:
For, if I knew thou wert on that design,
(As I must know, because our souls are one,)
I should not wander, but, by sure instinct,
Should meet thee just half-way, in pilgrimage,
And close for ever: for I know my love
More strong than thine, and I more frail than
thou.

Alm. Tell me not that: for I must boast my

Cut in the living rock, by Nature's hands,
The venerable seat of holy hermits,
Who there, secure in separated cells,
Sacred ev'n to the Moors, enjoy devotion;
And, from the purling streams and savage fruits,
Have wholesome bev'rage, and unbloody feasts.
Seb. 'Tis penance too voluptuous for my
crime.

Dor. Your subjects, conscious of your life, are
few,

But all desirous to partake your exile,
And to do office to your sacred person;
The rest, who think you dead, shall be dismiss'd,
Under safe convoy, till they reach your fleet.

Alm. But how am wretched I to be dispos'd?
A vain enquiry, since I leave my lord;
For all the world beside is banishment!

Dor. I have a sister, abbess in Terceras, Who lost her lover on her bridal day.

Alm. There fate provided me a fellow-turtle, To mingle sighs with sighs, and tears with tears. Dor. Last, for myself, if I have well fulfill'd My sad commission, let me beg the boon, To share the sorrows of your last recess, And mourn the common losses of our loves. Alv. And what becomes of me? must I be left, As age and time had worn me out of use? These sinews are not yet so much unstrung, To fail me when my master should be serv'd; And when they are, then will I steal to death, Silent, and unobserv'd, to save his tears. Seb. I've heard you both: Alvarez, have thy wish; But thine, Alonzo, thine, is too unjust. I charge thee with my last commands, return, And bless thy Violante with thy vows. Antonio, be thou happy too in thine.

Last, let me swear you all to secresy;
And, to conceal my shame, conceal my life.

Dor. Ant. Mor. We swear to keep it secret.
Alm. Now I would speak the last farewell, I

cannot.

It would be still farewell, a thousand times,
And, multiply'd in echos, still farewell.
I will not speak, but think a thousand thousand.
And be thou silent too, my last Sebastian;
So let us part in the dumb pomp of grief.
My heart's too great, or I would die this moment:
But death, I thank him, in an hour, has made
A mighty journey, and I haste to meet him.

[She staggers, and her women hold her up. Seb. Help to support this feeble, drooping flower;

This tender sweet, so shaken by the storm;
For these fond arms must thus be stretch'd in
vain,

And never, never must embrace her more.
'Tis past-
-my soul goes in that word;-
farewell.

[ALVAREZ goes with SEBASTIAN to one end
of the Stage; women with ALMEYDA to
the other.

DORAX, coming up to ANTONIO and MORAYMA,
who stand on the middle of the stage.
Dor. Haste to attend Almeyda: for your sake
Your father is forgiven: but to Antonio
He forfeits half his wealth: be happy both.
And let Sebastian's and Almeyda's fate
This dreadful sentence to the world relate,
That unrepented crimes of parents dead,
Are justly punish'd on their children's head.
[Exeunt omnes.

shion

Should have seduc'd us two to separation :
To be drawn in, against our own desire,
Poor I to be a nun, poor you a friar.

Ant. I trembled when the old man's hand
was in,

He would have prov'd we were too near of kin:
Discovering old intrigues of love, like t'other,
Betwixt my father and thy sinful mother;
To make us sister Turk, and Christian brother.
Mor. Excuse me there; that league should have
been rather

Betwixt your mother and my Mufti father;
'Tis for my own and my relations' credit,
Your friends should bear the bastard, mine should
get it.

Ant. Suppose us two, Almeyda and Sebastian, With incest prov'd upon us

Mor. Without question,

Their conscience was too queasy of digestion. Ant. Thou wouldst have kept the counsel of thy brother,

Mor. Beast as you are, on nature's laws to

trample! 'Twere fitter that we follow'd their example; And since all marriage in repentance ends, 'Tis good for us to part while we are friends. To save a maid's remorses and confusions, E'en leave me now before we try conclusions.

Ant. To copy their example, first make certain Of one good hour, like theirs, before our parting; Make a debauch o'er night of love and madness, And marry when we wake in sober sadness.

Mor. I'll follow no new sects of your inventing, One night might cost me nine long months repenting:

First wed, and if you find that life a fetter,
Die when you please, the sooner, sir, the better:
My wealth would get me love ere I could ask it:
Oh, there's a strange temptation in the casket!
All these young sharpers would my grace impor
tune,

And make me thund'ring votes of lives and fortune.

THE

OR,

BY

Nay, never once lampoon'd the harmless life
Of suburb virgin, or of city wife.
Satire's the effect of poetry's disease,
Which, sick of a lewd age, she vents for ease;
But now her only strife should be to please:
Since of ill fate the baneful cloud's withdrawn,
And happiness again begins to dawn,
Since back with joy and triumph he is come,
That always drove fears hence, ne'er brought 'em
home.

Oft has he plough'd the boisterous ocean o'er,
Yet ne'er more welcome to the longing shore,
Not when he brought home victories before;
For then fresh laurels flourish'd on his brow,
And he comes crown'd with olive branches now.
Receive him! Oh receive him, as his friends,
Embrace the blessings which he recommends;
Such quiet as your foes shall ne'er destroy;
Then shake off fears, and clap your hands for
joy.

CASTALIO,

POLYDORE, his sons.

Servant.

WOMEN.

Monimia.

ship of old Acasto.

SERINA, Acasto's daughter.

FLORELLA, Monimia's woman.

SCENE I.

Enter PAULINO and ERNEsto.

Paul. "Tis strange, Ernesto, this severity Should still reign powerful in Acasto's mind, To hate the court, where he was bred and lived, All honours heaped on him, that power could give.

Ern. 'Tis true, he came hither a private gentleman,

But young and brave, and of a family
Ancient and noble as the empire holds.
The honours he has gained are justly his;
He purchased them in war: thrice has he led
An army 'gainst the rebels, and as often
Returned with victory. The world has not
A truer soldier, or a better subject.

Paul. It was his virtue at first made me serve him;

He is the best of masters as of friends:
I know he has lately been invited thither,
Yet still he keeps his stubborn purpose; cries
He's old, and willingly would be at rest.
I doubt there's deep resentment in his mind,
For the late slight his honour suffered there.

Ern. Has he not reason? When, for what he had borne,

Paul. The same, the daughter of the brave Chamont;

He was our lord's companion in the wars; Where such a wondrous friendship grew between them,

As only death could end. Chamont's estate
Was ruined in our late and civil discords;
Therefore, unable to advance her fortune,
He left his daughter to our master's care;
To such a care, as she scarce lost a father.
Ern. Her brother to the emperor's wars went
early,

To seek a fortune, or a noble fate;
Whence he, with honour, is expected back,
And mighty marks of that great prince's favour.
Paul. Our master never would permit his sons
To launch for fortune in the uncertain world;

claimed

Places in honour and employment high;
A huffing, shining, flattering, cringing coward,
A canker-worm of peace was raised above him.
Paul. Yet still he holds just value for the king,
Nor ever names him but with highest reverence.
"Tis noble that.

Ern. Oh! I have heard him wanton in his praise,

Speak things of him might charm the ears of

envy.

Paul. Oh, may he live, till nature's self grow old,

And from her womb no more can bless the earth!
For, when he dies, farewell all honour, bounty,
All generous encouragement of arts;
For charity herself becomes a widow.

Ern. No; he has two sons, that were ordained to be

As well his virtues' as his fortune's heirs.

Paul. They're both of nature mild, and full of sweetness;

They came twins from the womb, and still they live,

As if they would go twins too to the grave:
Neither has any thing he calls his own,
But of each other's joys, as griefs partaking;
So very honestly, so well they love,
As they were only for each other born.

Where dilatory Fortune plays the jilt
With the brave, noble, honest, gallant man,
To throw herself away on fools and knaves.
Ern. They both have forward, generous, ac-
tive spirits.

'Tis daily their petition to their father,
To send them forth where glory's to be gotten:
They cry, they're weary of their lazy home,
Restless to do something, that fame may talk of.
To-day they chased the boar, and near this time
Should be returned.

Paul. Oh, that's a royal sport!
We yet may see the old man in a morning,
Lusty as health, come ruddy to the field,
And there pursue the chase, as if he meant
To o'ertake time, and bring back youth again.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Garden.

Enter CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and Page.
Cast. Polydore, our sport

Has been to-day much better for the danger;
When, on the brink, the foaming boar I met,
And in his side thought to have lodged my

spear,

The desperate savage rushed within my force, And bore me headlong with him down the rock Pol. But then

Cast. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Polydore,

Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed, Came on, and down the dangerous precipice leaped,

To save Castalio. 'Twas a godlike act!

Pol. But, when I came, I found you conqueror. Oh, my heart danced to see your danger past! The heat and fury of the chase was cold, And I had nothing in my mind but joy.

Cast. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war Rush on together: thou shouldst be my guard, And I be thine; what is't could hurt us then? Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, How fulsome must it be to stay behind, And die of rank diseases here at home?

Pol. No! let me purchase in my youth re

Has ta'en himself a surfeit of the world,

And cries, 'It is not safe that we should taste it:'
I own I have duty very powerful in me ;
And though I'd hazard all to raise my name,
Yet he's so tender, and so good a father,
I could not do a thing to cross his will.

Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my heart,
Which you, and only you, can satisfy.
Will you be free and candid to your friend?
Cast. Have I a thought my Polydore should
not know?

What can this mean?

Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too,

By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship,
To show your heart as naked in this point,
As you would purge you of your sins to heaven.
Cast. I will.

Pol. And should I chance to touch it nearly,
bear it

With all the sufferance of a tender friend.

Cast. As calmly as the wounded patient bears The artist's hand, that ministers his cure.

Pol. That's kindly said.-You know our father's ward,

The fair Monimia. Is your heart at peace?
Is it so guarded, that you could not love her?
Cast. Suppose I should?

Pol. Suppose you should not, brother?
Cast. You'd say I must not.

Pol. That would sound too roughly

"Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are. Cast. Is love a fault?

Pol. In one of us it may be. What if I love her?

Cast. Then I must inform you

I loved her first, and cannot quit the claim, But will preserve the birth-right of my passion. Pol. You will?

Cast. I will.

Pol. No more, I've done. Cast. Why not?

Pol. I told you I had done: But you, Castalio, would dispute it. Cast. No;

Not with my Polydore; though I must own
My nature obstinate, and void of sufferance:
Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart,
Attended on his throne by all his guards
Of furious wishes, fears, and nice suspicions.
I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.

Pol. Yet you would break this friendship.
Cast. Not for crowns

Pol. But for a toy you would, a woman's toy; Unjust Castalio!

Cast. Prithee, where's my fault?
Pol. You love Monimia.

waste,

She should not cheat me of my freedom. Marry! When I am old, and weary of the world, may grow desperate,

And take a wife to mortify withal.

Pol. It is an elder brother's duty so
To propagate his family and name:
You would not have yours die and buried with you?
Cast. Mere vanity, and silly dotage all.
No, let me live at large, and when I die-

Pol. Who shall possess the estate you leave?
Cast. My friend,

If he survives me; if not, my king,

Who may bestow it again on some brave man,
Whose honesty and services deserve one.
Pol. 'Tis kindly offered.

Cast. By yon heaven, I love
My Polydore beyond all worldly joys;
And would not shock his quiet, to be blest
With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.

Pol. And by that heaven, eternally I swear, To keep the kind Castalio in my heart!Whose shall Monimia be?

Cast. No matter whose.
Pol. Were you not with her privately last
night?

Cast. I was, and should have met her here

again;

But the opportunity shall now be thine; Myself will bring thee to the scene of love: