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Such I restore it, with a trembling hand,
Lest aught within disturb your peace of soul.
Seb. [Tearing open the seals.] Draw near, Al-
meyda; thou art most concern'd,

For I am most in thee.
Alonzo, mark the characters:

Thou know'st my father's hand; observe it well:
And if th' impostor's pen have made one slip,
That shows it counterfeit, mark that, and save me.
Dor. It looks, indeed, too like my master's
hand;

So does the signet: more I cannot say,
But wish 'twere not so like.

Seb. Methinks it owns

The black adultery, and Almeyda's birth;
But such a mist of grief comes o'er my eyes,
I cannot, or I would not, read it plain.

Alm. Heav'n cannot be more true than this is false.

Seb. O could'st thou prove it, with the same assurance!

Speak, hast thou ever seen my father's hand? Alm. No; but my mother's honour has been read

By me, and by the world, in all her acts,
In characters more plain and legible
Than this dumb evidence, this blotted lie.
Oh that I were a man, as my soul's one,
To prove thee, traitor, an assassinate
Of her fair fame: thus would I tear thee, thus,
[Tearing the paper.
And scatter o'er the field thy coward limbs,
Like this foul offspring of thy forging brain.
[Scattering the paper.
Alv. Just so shalt thou be torn from all thy
hopes;

For know, proud woman, know, in thy despite,
The most authentic proof is still behind.
Thou wear'st it on thy finger; 'tis that ring,
Which, match'd with that on his, shall clear the

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With joints so close, as not to be perceiv'd ; Yet are they both each other's counterpart. Her part had Juan inscrib'd, and his had Zayda ; (You know those names are theirs :) and in the midst

A heart divided in two halves was plac'd. Now if the rivets of those rings, inclos'd, Fit not each other, I have forg'd this lic: But if they join, you must for ever part. [SEBASTIAN pulling off his ring; ALMEYDA does the same, and gives it to ALVAREZ, who unscrews both the rings, and fits one half to

the other.

Seb. Now life, or death!

for ever!

Alm. And either thine, or ours.- -I'm lost [Swoons. [The women and MORAYMA take her up and carry her off. SEBASTIAN here stands amazed without motion, his eyes fixed upward. Seb. Look to the queen my wife; for I am past All pow'r of aid to her or to myself.

Alo. His wife, said he? his wife! O fatal sound;
For, had I known it, this unwelcome news
Had never reach'd their ears!

So they had still been blest in ignorance,
And I alone unhappy.

Dor. I knew it, but too late, and durst not
speak.

Seb. [Starting out of his amazement.] I will not live; no, not a moment more;

I will not add one moment more to incest.
I'll cut it off, and end a wretched being;
For, should I live, my soul's so little mine,
And so much her's, that I should still enjoy.
Ye cruel powers!

Take me as you have made me, miserable;
You cannot make me guilty; 'twas my fate,
And you made that, not I. [Draws his sword.
[ANTONIO and ALV. lay hold on him, and Do-
RAX wrests the sword out of his hand.
Ant. For heav'n's sake hold, and recollect
your mind.

Alv. Consider whom you punish, and for what; Yourself; unjustly: You have charg'd the fault On heav'n, that best may bear it.

Though incest is indeed a deadly crime,
You are not guilty, since unknown 'twas done,
And, known, had been abhorr’d.

Seb. By heav'n ye're traitors all, that hold my
hands.

If death be but cessation of our thought,
Then let me die, for I would think no more.
I'll boast my innocence above,

And let 'em see a soul they could not sully:
I shall be there before my father's ghost;
That yet must languish long, in frosts and fires,
For making me unhappy by his crime :

[Struggling again.] Stand off, and let me take
my fill of death;

For I can hold my breath in your despite,
And swell my heaving soul out, when I please.
Alv. Heav'n comfort you!

Seb. What! art thou giving comfort? Wouldst thou give comfort, who hast given despair?

Thou seest Alonzo silent; he's a man ;
He knows that men, abandon'd of their hopes,
Should ask no leave, nor stay for suing out
A tedious writ of ease, from ling'ring heav'n,
But help themselves as timely as they could,
And teach the fates their duty.

Dor. [To ALV. and ANT.] Let him go:
He is our king, and he shall be obey'd.

Alv. What, to destroy himself! O parricide! Dor. Be not injurious in your foolish zeal, But leave him free; or, by my sword I swear To hew that arm away, that stops the passage To his eternal rest.

Ant. [Letting go his hold.] Let him be guilty of his own death if he pleases: for I'll not be guilty of mine, by holding him.

The king shakes off ALVAREZ. Alv. [To DoR.] Infernal fiend!

Is this a subject's part?

Dor. 'Tis a friend's office.

He has convinc'd me that he ought to die ;
And, rather than he should not, here's my sword
To help him on his journey.

Seb. My last, my only friend, how kind art thou,

And how inhuman these!

Dor. To make the trifle death, a thing of moment!

Seb. And not to weigh th' important cause I had,

To rid myself of life.

Dor. True; for a crime,

So horrid in the face of men and angels, As wilful incest is!

Seb. Not wilful neither.

Dor. Yes, if you liv'd, and with repeated acts Refresh'd your sin, and loaded crimes with crimes,

To swell your scores of guilt.
Seb. True; if I liv'd.

Dor. I said so, if you liv'd.

Seb. For hitherto 'twas fatal ignorance, And no intended crime.

Dor. That you best know;

But the malicious world will judge the worst.
Alo. O what a sophister has hell procur'd,
To argue for damnation!

Dor. Peace, old dotard!

Mankind, that always judge of kings with malice, Will think he knew this incest, and pursu'd it. His only way to rectify mistakes,

And to redeem her honour, is to die.

Seb. Thou hast it right, my dear, my best
Alonzo!

And that, but petty reparation too;

But all I have to give.

Dor. Your pardon, sir;

You may do more, and ought.
Seb. What, more than death?

Dor. Death? Why that's children's sport: a
stage-play, death.

We act it every night we go to bed.
Death to a man in misery is sleep.
Would you, who perpetrated such a crime
As frighten'd nature, made the saints above

Shake heav'n's eternal pavement with their trembling,

To view that act, would you but barely die?
But stretch your limbs, and turn on t'other side,
To lengthen out a black voluptuous slumber,
And dream you had your sister in your arms?
Seb. To expiate this, can I do more than die?
Dor. O yes: you must do more; you must
be damn'd,

You must be damn'd to all eternity;
And, sure, self-murder is the readiest way.
Seb. How, damn'd? -

Dor. Why, is that news?
Alv. O, horror! horror!

Dor. What, thou a statesman,
And make a business of damnation?
In such a world as this, why 'tis a trade.
The scriv❜ner, usurer, lawyer, shopkeeper,
And soldier, cannot live, but by damnation.
The politician does it by advance,
And gives all gone before-hand.

Seb. O thou hast giv'n me such a glimpse of hell,

So push'd me forward, even to the brink,
Of that irremeable burning gulph,

That looking in th' abyss, I dare not leap.
And now I see what good thou meanst my soul,
And thank thy pious fraud: Thou hast indeed
Appear'd a devil, but didst an angel's work.

Dor. 'Twas the last remedy, to give you lei

sure:

For, if you could but think, I knew you safe.
Seb. I thank thee, my Alonzo: I will live,
But never more to Portugal return:
For, to go back and reign, that were to show
Triumphant incest, and pollute the throne.
Alv. Since ignorance-

Seb. O, palliate not my wound!

When you have argued all you can, 'tis incest.
No, 'tis resolv'd, I charge you plead no more;
I cannot live without Almeyda's sight,
Nor can I see Almeyda but I sin.
Heav'n has inspir'd me with a sacred thought,
To live alone to heav'n, and die to her.

Dor. Mean you to turn an anchoret?
Seb. What else?

The world was once too narrow for my mind,
But one poor little nook will serve me now,
To hide me from the rest of human kind.
Afric has desarts wide enough to hold
Millions of monsters, and I am, sure, the greatest.
Alv. You may repent, and wish your crown
too late.

Seb. O never, never: I am past a boy;
A sceptre's but a play-thing, and a globe
A bigger bounding stone. He who can leave
Almeyda, may renounce the rest with ease.
Dor. O truly great!

A soul fix'd high, and capable of heav'n.
Old as he is, your uncle cardinal
Is not so far enamour'd of a cloister,
But he will thank you for the crown you leave

him.

Seb. To please him more, let him believe me dead,

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

man,

And think 'em cobwebs, spread for little man,
Which all the bulky herd of nature breaks.
The vigorous young world was ignorant
Of these restrictions, 'tis decrepit now;
Not more devout, but more decay'd and cold.
All this is impious; therefore we must part:
For, gazing thus, I kindle at thy sight,
And, once burnt down to tinder, light again
Much sooner than before.

Re-enter DORAX.

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

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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. Scb. 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.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BETWIXT ANTONIO AND MORAYMA.

Mor. I QUAK'D at heart, for fear the royal fa- | And sinn'd till we repented of each other.

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 for

tune.

THE

ORPHAN;

OR,

THE UNHAPPY MARRIAGE.

BY

OTWAY.

PROLOGUE.

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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.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

ACASTO, a nobleman retired from the court, and living privately in the country.

CASTALIO, sons.}

POLYDORE, his sons.

in

Page. Chaplain.

Servant.

WOMEN.

CHAMONT, a young soldier of fortune, brother to MONIMIA, the Orphan, left under the guardian

Monimia.

ship of old Acasto.

SERINA, Acasto's daughter.

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FLORELLA, Monimia's woman.

SCENE, Bohemia. ·

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