Are the true children of my grief,

And not a woman's cunning.

Char. Can you, Beaumelle,

Having deceived so great a trust as mine,
Though I were all credulity, hope again
To get belief? No, no; if you look on me
With pity, or dare practise any means

To make my sufferings less, or give just cause
To all the world to think what I must do
Was called upon by you, use other ways:
Deny what I have seen, or justify

What you have done; and, as you desperately
Made shipwreck of your faith, to be a whore,
Use the arms of such a one, and such defence,
And multiply the sin with impudence.
Stand boldly up, and tell me to my teeth,
That you have done but what is warranted
By great examples, in all places where
Women inhabit; urge your own deserts,
Or want in me of merit; tell me how
Your dower, from the low gulf of poverty,
Weighed up my fortunes to what they now are:
That I was purchased by your choice and prac-

tice

To shelter you from shame, that you might sin
As boldly as securely; that poor men
Are married to those wives that bring them
wealth,

One day their husbands, but observers ever.
That when, by this proud usage, you have blown
The fire of my just vengeance to the height,
I then may kill you, and yet say, 'twas done
In heat of blood, and after die myself,
To witness my repentance.
Beaumel. O my fate!

That never would consent that I should see
How worthy you were both of love and duty,
Before I lost you; and my misery made
The glass, in which I now behold your virtue!
While I was good I was a part of you,
And of two, by the virtuous harmony

Of our fair minds, made one; but, since I wandered

In the forbidden labyrinth of lust,
What was inseparable is by me divided.
With justice, therefore, you may cut me off,
And from your memory wash the remembrance
That e'er I was; like to some vicious purpose,
Which, in your better judgment, you repent of,
And study to forget.

Char. O Beaumelle !

That you can speak so well, and do so ill!

But you had been too great a blessing, if

You had continued chaste: See, how you force

O, sir, most welcome! Let me take your cloak,
I must not be denied.-Here are your robes;
As you love justice, once more put them on.
There is a cause to be determined of,
That does require such an integrity
As you have ever used.-I'll put you to
The trial of your constancy and goodness;
And look that you, that have been eagle-eyed
In other men's affairs, prove not a mole
In what concerns yourself. Take you your seat;
I will before you presently.
[Exit.

Roch. Angels guard me!

To what strange tragedy does this induction
Serve for a prologue?

Enter CHARAlois, Beaumelle, and BEAU-
MONT, with Servants bearing the body of No-
VALL junior.

Char. So, set it down before The judgment seat,-[Exeunt Servants.] and stand you at the bar:

For me, I am the accuser.

Roch. Novall slain!

And Beaumelle, my daughter, in the place
Of one to be arraigned!

Char. O, are you touched?

I find that I must take another course.

[He hoodwinks ROCHFORT. Fear nothing; I will only blind your eyes, For justice should do so, when 'tis to meet An object, that may sway her equal doom From what it should be aimed at. Good my lord, A day of hearing.

Roch. It is granted, speak-You shall have justice.

Char. I then here accuse,

Most equal judge, the prisoner, your fair daughter
For whom I owed so much to you; your daughter,
So worthy in her own parts, and that worth
Set forth by yours, (to whose so rare perfections,
Truth witness with me, in the place of service,
I almost paid idolatrous sacrifice,)
To be a false adultress.

Roch. With whom?

Char. With this Novall, here dead.
Roch. Be well advised,

And, ere you say adulteress again,
Her fame depending on it, be most sure
That she is one.

Char. I took them in the act:
I know no proof beyond it.
Roch. O my heart!

Char. A judge should feel no passions.
Roch. Yet, remember

He is a man, and cannot put off nature.
What answer makes the prisoner?
Beaumel. I confess

The fact I am charged with, and yield myself
Most miserably guilty.

Roch. Heaven take mercy
Upon your soul, then! It must leave your body.
Now free mine eyes; I dare unmoved look on her,
And fortify my sentence with strong reasons.
[CHAR. unbinds his eyes.
Since that the politic law provides that servants,
To whose care we commit our goods, shall die,
If they abuse our trust; what can you look for,
To whose charge this most hopeful lord gave up
All he received from his brave ancestors,
Or he could leave to his posterity,

His honour, wicked woman! in whose safety All his life's joys and comforts were locked up, Which thy hot lust, a thief, hath now stolen from

him;

Roch. Never, sir.

The wrong that's done to the chaste married bed
Repentant tears can never expiate;
And be assured, to pardon such a sin,
Is an offence as great as to commit it.
Char. I may not then forgive her?
Roch. Nor she hope it.

Nor can she wish to live: No sun shall rise,
But ere it set shall shew her ugly lust
In a new shape, and every one more horrid.
Nay, even those prayers, which with such humble
fervour

She seems to send up yonder, are beat back;
And all suits which her penitence can proffer,
As soon as made, are with contempt thrown out
Of all the courts of mercy.

Char. Let her die, then.

[He stabs her.

Better prepared, I am sure, I could not take her,
Nor she accuse her father as a judge,
Partial against her.

Beaumel. I approve his sentence,

And kiss the executioner: My lust

Is now run from me in that blood, in which
It was begot and nourished.

Roch. Is she dead, then?

[Dies.

Char. Yes, sir, this is her heart-blood, is it not?

I think it be.

Roch. And you have killed her?

Char. True, and did it by your doom.
Roch. But I pronounced it

As a judge only, and a friend to justice,
And, zealous in defence of your wronged honour,
Broke all the ties of nature, and cast off
The love and soft affection of a father.
I, in your cause, put on a scarlet robe
Of red-dyed cruelty; but, in return,
You have advanced for me no flag of mercy.
I looked on you as a wronged husband; but
You closed your eyes against me as a father.
O Beaumelle! my daughter!

Char. This is madness.

Roch. Keep from me!-Could not one good
thought rise up,

To tell you that she was my age's comfort,
Begot by a weak man, and born a woman,
And could not, therefore, but partake of frailty?
Or wherefore did not thankfulness step forth,
To urge my many merits, which I may
Object unto you, since you prove ungrateful,
Flint-hearted Charalois !

Char. Nature does prevail above your virtue.
Roch. No; it gives me eyes

To pierce the heart of your design against me:
I find it now, it was my state was aimed at.
A nobler match was sought for, and the hours
I lived, grew tedious to you: my compassion
Towards you hath rendered me most miserable,
And foolish charity undone myself.

But there's a heaven above, from whose just wreak

No mists of policy can hide offenders.

Nov. sen. within.] Force ope the doors!-
Enter NOVALL sen. with Officers.

O monster! cannibal!

Lay hold on him. My son! my son !-O Roch fort,

'Twas you gave liberty to this bloody wolf,
To worry all our comforts :-But this is
No time to quarrel; now give your assistance
For the revenge.

Roch. Call it a fitter name,
Justice for innocent blood.

Char. Though all conspire

Against that life which I am weary of,
A little longer yet I'll strive to keep it,
To shew, in spite of malice and their laws,
His plea must speed, that hath an honest cause.
[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Enter Tailor, and two Bailiffs with LILADAM. Lilad. Why, it is both most unconscionable and untimely,

To arrest a gallant for his clothes, before He has worn them out. Besides, you said you asked

My name in my lord's bond but for form only,
And now you'll lay me up for it. Do not think
The taking measure of a customer
By a brace of varlets, though I rather wait
Never so patiently, will prove a fashion
Which any courtier or inns-of-court-man
Would follow willingly.

Tail. There I believe you.

But, sir, I must have present monies, or

I yet could wish the justice, that you seek for
In the revenge, had been trusted to me,
And not the uncertain issue of the laws:
It has robbed me of a noble testimony
Of what I durst do for him.-But, however,
My forfeit life redeemed by him, though dead,
Shall do him service.

Nov. sen. As far as my grief
Will give me leave, I thank you.
Lilad. O, my lord!

Oh, my good lord! deliver me from these fu

Grew suddenly out of a tailor's bodkin;
These hangers from my vails and fees in hell;
And where as now this beaver fits, full often
A thrifty cap, composed of broad-cloth lists,
Near-kin unto the cushion where I sat
Cross-legged, and yet ungartered, hath been seen
Our breakfasts, famous for the buttered loaves,
I have with joy been oft acquainted with;
And therefore use a conscience, though it be
Forbidden in our hall towards other men,
To me, that, as I have been, will again
Be of the brotherhood.

Officer. I know him now;

He was a 'prentice to Le Robe at Orleance. Lilad. And from thence brought by my young lord, now dead,

Unto Dijon; and with him, till this hour,
Have been received here for a complete mon-
sieur :

Nor wonder at it; for, but tithe our gallants,
Even those of the first rank, and you will find,
In every ten, one, peradventure two,
That smell rank of the dancing-school or fiddle,
The pantofle or pressing-iron :-But hereafter
We'll talk of this. I will surrender up
My suits again; there cannot be much loss;
'Tis but the turning of the lace, with one
Addition more you know of, and what wants
I will work out.

Tail. Then here our quarrel ends:

The gallant is turned tailor, and all friends.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Court of Justice.

Enter ROMONT and BEAUMONT.

Rom. You have them ready?

Beaum. Yes; and they will speak

Though they are too familiar I deserve them. And, knowing too what blood my sword hath drunk,

In wreak of that disgrace, they yet forbear
To shake their heads, or to revile me for

A murderer; they rather all put on

(As for great losses the old Romans used) A general face of sorrow, waited on

fit

To have them called upon.

Rom. 'Tis well; and something

I can add to their evidence, to prove

And no eye but was readier with a tear
To witness 'twas shed for me, than I could
Discern a face made up with scorn against me.
Why should I, then, though for unusual wrongs

Rom. That friendship's raised on sand,
Which every sudden gust of discontent,
Or flowing of our passions, can change,

As if it ne'er had been:-But do you know
Who are to sit on him?

Beaum: Monsieur Du Croy,

Assisted by Charmi.

Rom. The advocate,

That pleaded for the marshal's funeral,
And was checked for it by Novali?
Beaum. The same.

Rom. How fortunes that?

Beaum. Why, sir, my lord Novall, Being the accuser, cannot be the judge; Nor would grieved Rochfort, but lord Charalois (However he might wrong him by his power) Should have an equal hearing.

Rom. By my hopes

Of Charalois' acquittal, I lament
That reverend old man's fortune.

Beaum. Had you seen him,

As to my grief I have, now promise patience,
And ere it was believed, though spake by him
That never brake his word, enraged again
So far as to make war upon those hairs,
Which not a barbarous Scythian durst presume
To touch, but with a superstitious fear,
As something sacred;-and then curse his daugh-
ter,

But with more frequent violence himself,
As if he had been guilty of her fault,
By being incredulous of your report,
You would not only judge him worthy pity,

But suffer with him.-But here comes the priso

ner;

Enter Officers, with CHARALOIS.

I dare not stay to do my duty to him;
Yet, rest assured, all possible means in me
To do him service, keeps you company.
Rom. It is not doubted. [Exit BEAUMONT.
Char. Why, yet, as I came hither,
The people, apt to mock calamity,

Condemn myself, as over partial

In my own cause?-Romont!

Rom. Best friend, well met!

By my heart's love to you, and join to that, My thankfulness that still lives to the dead, 1 look upon you now with more true joy, Than when I saw you married.

Char. You have reason

To give you warrant for it. My falling off From such a friendship, with the scorn that an

swered

Your too prophetic counsel, may well move you
To think your meeting me, going to my death,
A fit encounter for that hate, which justly
I have deserved from you.

Rom. Shall I still, then,

Speak truth, and be ill understood?
Char. You are not.

I'm conscious I have wronged you; and allow me
Only a moral man, to look on you,

Whom foolishly I have abused and injured,
Must of necessity be more terrible to me,
Than any death the judges can pronounce
From the tribunal which I am to plead at.
Rom. Passion transports you.
Char. For what I have done
To my false lady, or Novall, I can
Give some apparent cause; but touching you,
In my defence, childlike, I can say nothing
But, I am sorry for it; a poor satisfaction!
And yet, mistake me not; for it is more
Than I will speak, to have my pardon signed
For all I stand accused of.

Rom. You much weaken

The strength of your good cause, should you but think,

A man for doing well could entertain
A pardon, were it offered. You have given
To blind and slow-paced justice wings and eyes,
To see and overtake impieties,

Which from a cold proceeding had received
Indulgence or protection.

Char. Think you so?

Rom. Upon my soul! nor should the blood you challenged,

And took to cure your honour, breed more scruple

In your soft conscience, than if your sword
Had been sheathed in a tyger or she-bear,

me,

To injure innocence is more than murder: