The guardian of my honour! Follow thee!
I should have gone before thee: then perhaps
Thy fate had been prevented. All his care
Was to preserve me from the barbarous rage
That worried him, only for being mine.
Why, why, you gods! why am I so accurst,
That it must be a reason of your wrath,
A guilt, a crime sufficient to the fate
Of any one, but to belong to me?
My friend has found it, and my wife will soon:
My wife! the very fear's too much for life;
I can't support it. Where? Imoinda! Oh!
[Going out, she meets him, running into his

arms.

Thou bosom softness! down of all my cares!
I could recline my thoughts upon this breast
To a forgetfulness of all my griefs,
And yet be happy! But it will not be.
Thou art disordered, pale, and out of breath!
If fate pursues thee, find a shelter here.
What is it thou would'st tell me?

Imo. 'Tis in vain to call him villain.
Oro. Call him governor: is it not so?
Imo. There's not another, sure.

Oro. Villain's the common name of mankind
here;

But his most properly. What! what of him?
I fear to be resolv'd, and must enquire.
He had thee in his power.

Imo. I blush to think it.
Oro. Blush! to think what?
Imo. That I was in his power.
Oro. He could not use it!
Imo. What can't such men do?
Oro. But did he? durst he?
Imo. What he could, he dared.

Oro. His own gods damn him then! for ours
have none,

No punishment for such unheard-of crime.

Imo. This monster, cunning in his flatteries, When he had wearied all his useless arts, Leap'd out, fierce as a beast of prey, to seize me. I trembled, feared.

Oro. I fear, and tremble now.

What could preserve thee? What deliver thee? Imo. That worthy man, you used to call your friend

Oro. Blandford.

Imo. Came in, and saved me from his rage. Oro. He was a friend indeed to rescue thee!

But there is now no farther use of words.
Death is security for all our fears.

[Shews ABOAN's body on the floor. And yet I cannot trust him. Imo. Aboan!

Oro. Mangled and torn, resolved to give me time

To fit myself for what I must expect,
Groan'd out a warning to me, and expired.
Imo. For what you must expect!
Oro. Would that were all.

Imo. What! to be butcher'd thus-
Oro. Just as thou seest.

Imo. By barbarous hands, to fall at last their prey!

Oro. I have run the race with honour; shall I now

Lag, and be overtaken at the goal?

The gods themselves conspire with faithless men, To our destruction.

Imo. Heaven and earth our foes!

Oro. It is not always granted to the great, To be most happy: if the angry powers Repent their favours, let them take 'em back: The hopes of empire, which they gave my youth, By making me a prince, I here resign.

Let them quench in me all those glorious fires, Which kindled at their beams: that lust of fame,

That fever of ambition, restless still,
And burning with the sacred thirst of sway,
Which they inspired, to qualify my fate,
And make me fit to govern under them,
Let them extinguish. I submit myself
To their high pleasure, and devoted bow
Yet lower, to continue still a slave;
Hopeless of liberty: and if I could

Are not to be entreated or believed:

O! think on that, and be no more deceived.

Oro. What can we do?

Imo. Can I do any thing!

Oro. But we were born to suffer.

Imo. Suffer both.

Both die, and so prevent them.

Oro. By thy death!

O! let me hunt my travell'd thoughts again;
Range the wide waste of desolate despair;
Start any hope. Alas! I lose myself,
'Tis pathless, dark, and barren all to me.
Thou art my only guide, my light of life,
And thou art leaving me.-Send out thy beams
Upon the wing; let them fly all around,
Discover every way: is there a dawn,

A glimmering of comfort? The great God,
That rises on the world, must shine on us.
Imo. And see us set before him.
Oro. Thou bespeak'st,

And goest before me.

Imo. So I would in love,

In the dear unsuspected part of life,

In death for love. Alas! what hopes for me? I was preserved but to acquit myself,

To beg to die with you.

Oro. And can'st thou ask it?

I never durst inquire into myself
About thy fate, and thou resolv'st it all.

Imo. Alas! my lord! my fate's resolv'd in yours.

Oro. O keep thee there: let not thy virtue shrink

From my support, and I will gather strength,
Fast as I can, to tell thee-

Imo. I must die:

you,

As you have ever been: for though I am
Resigned, and ready to obey my doom,
Methinks it should not be pronounc'd by you.
Oro. O! that was all the labour of my grief.
My heart and tongue forsook me in the strife:
I never could pronounce it.

Imo. I have for you, for both of us.
Oro. Alas! for me! my death

I could regard as the last scene of life,
And act it through with joy, to have it done.
But then to part with thee!-

Imo. 'Tis hard to part.

But parting thus, as the most happy must,

Parting in death, makes it the easier.
You might have thrown me off, forsaken me,
And my misfortunes: that had been a death
Indeed of terror, to have trembled at.

Oro. Forsaken! thrown thee off!

Imo. But 'tis a pleasure more than life can give,

That with unconquer'd passion to the last,
You struggle still, and fain would hold me to

you.

Oro. Ever, ever! and let those stars, which are my enemies,

Witness against me in the other world,
If I would leave this mansion of my bliss,
To be the brightest ruler of their skies.
O! that we could incorporate, be one,

[Embracing her.
One body, as we have been long one mind;
That blended so, we might together mix,
And losing thus our being to the world,
Be only found to one another's joys!
Imo. Is this the way to part?

Oro. Which is the way?

Imo. The god of love is blind, and cannot find

it.

us both.

There is no other safety.

Oro. It must be But first a dying kissThis last embraceAnd now

Imo. I'm ready.

Oro. O where shall I strike?

[Kisses her. [Embracing her.

Is there the smallest grain of that lov'd body
That is not dearer to me than my eyes,
My bosom'd heart, and all the life-blood there?
Bid me cut off these limbs, hew off these hands,
Dig out these eyes, though I would keep them
last

To gaze upon thee: But to murder thee!
The joy, and charm of every ravish'd sense,
My wife! forbid it, nature.

Imo. 'Tis your wife,

Who on her knees conjures you. O! in time
Prevent those mischiefs that are falling on us.
You may be hurried to a shameful death,
And I too dragg'd to the vile governor;
Then I may cry aloud: when you are gone,
Where shall I find a friend again to save me?
Oro. It will be so. Thou unexampled virtue!

I welcome you, and death.

But let me pay the tribute of my grief, A few sad tears to thy loved memory,

And then I follow

But I stay too long.

throws himself on the ground.

Oro. I cannot bear it.

O let me dash against this rock of fate,
Dig up this earth, tear, tear her bowels out,
To make a grave, deep as the centre down,
To swallow wide, and bury us together!
It will not be. O! then some pitying God
(If there be one a friend to innocence)
Find yet a way to lay her beauties down
Gently in death, and save me from her blood!
Imo. O rise! 'tis more than death to see you
thus.

I'll ease your love, and do the deed myself—
[She takes up the dagger, he rises in haste to
take it from her.

Oro. O hold, I charge thee, hold.
Imo. Though I must own,

It would be nobler for us both from you.

Oro. O for a whirlwind's wing to hurry us To yonder cliff, which frowns upon the flood: That in embraces lock'd we might plunge in, And perish thus in one another's arms!

Imo. Alas! what shout is that?
Oro. I see 'em coming.

They shall not overtake us. This last kiss,
And now farewell.

Imo. Farewell, farewell for ever !
Oro. I'll turn my face away, and do it so.
Now, are you ready?

Imo. Now. But do not grudge me
The pleasure in my death of a last look:
Pray look upon me-Now I'm satisfied.

Oro. So fate must be by this.

[Going to stab her, he stops short; she lays

her hand on his, in order to give the blow. Imo. Nay, then I must assist you; And since it is the common cause of both, 'Tis just that both should be employ'd in it. Thus, thus 'tis finish'd, and I bless my fate,

[Stabs herself. That where I lived, I die, in these loved arms. [Dies. Oro. She's gone. And now all's at an end with me. Soft, lay her down; O we will part no more. [Throws himself by her.

[Weeps over her. [A noise again. Hold, before I go,

There's something would be done. It shall

[They gather about the body. Alas! there was no other remedy. Gov. Who did the bloody deed? Oro. The deed was mine:

Bloody I know it is, and I expect

Your laws should tell me so. Thus self-condemn'd,

I do resign myself into your hands,
The hands of justice-But I hold the sword
For you-and for myself.

[Stabs the Governor, and himself, then throws himself by IMOINDA's body.

Stan. He has kill'd the governor, and stabb'd

himself.

Your different tastes divide our poet's cares: One foot the sock, t'other the buskin wears. Thus while he strives to please, he's forced to do't, Like Volscius, hip-hop, in a single boot.

BY

THE time has been when plays were not so plenty,

And a less number, new, would well content ye.
New plays did then like almanacks appear,
And one was thought sufficient for a year:
Though they are more like almanacks of late;
For in one year, I think they're out of date.
Nor were they, without reason, join'd together;
For just as one prognosticates the weather,
How plentiful the crop, or scarce the grain,
What peals of thunder, or what showers of rain;
So t'other can foretell, by certain rules,
What crops of coxcombs, or what floods of fools.
In suchlike prophecies were poets skill'd,
Which now they find in their own tribe fulfill'd.
The dearth of wit they did so long presage,
Is fallen on us, and almost starves the stage.
Were you not grieved, as often as you saw
Poor actors thresh such empty sheafs of straw?
Toiling and lab'ring at their lungs' expence
To start a jest, or force a little sense?
Hard fate for us, still harder in th' event:
Our authors sin, but we alone repent.

Still they proceed, and, at our charge, write worse; 'Twere some amends, if they could reimburse.

But there's the devil, though their cause is lost,
There's no recovering damages or cost.
Good wits, forgive this liberty we take,
Since custom gives the losers leave to speak.
But if provok'd your dreadful wrath remains,
Take your revenge upon the coming scenes:
For that damn'd poet's spar'd, who damns a
brother,

As one thief 'scapes, that executes another.
Thus far alone does to the wits relate;

But from the rest we hope a better fate.
To please, and move, has been one poet's theme,
Art may direct, but nature is his aim;

And, nature miss'd, in vain he boasts his art,
For only nature can affect the heart.
Then freely judge the scenes that shall ensue;
But, as with freedom, judge with candour too.
He would not lose, through prejudice, his cause;
Nor would obtain, precariously, applause.
Impartial censure he requests from all,
Prepar'd by just decrees to stand or fall.