Enter JAFFIER.

Jaf. Hold: eyes, be dry;

Heart, strengthen me to bear

This hideous sight, and humble me, to take The last forgiveness of a dying friend, Betrayed by my vile falsehood, to his ruin. Oh, Pierre!

Pier. Yet nearer.

Jaf. Crawling on my knees,

And prostrate on the earth, let me approach thee:
How shall I look up to thy injured face,
That always used to smile with friendship on me?
It darts an air of so much manly virtue,
That I, methinks, look little in thy sight,
And stripes are fitter for me, than embraces.
Pier. Dear to my arms, though thou'st undone
my fame,

I can't forget to love thee. Prithee, Jaffier,
Forgive that filthy blow my passion dealt thee;
I'm now preparing for the land of peace,
And fain would have the charitable wishes
Of all good men, like thee, to bless my journey.
Jaf. Good! I am the vilest creature, worse

than e'er

Suffer'd the shameful fate, thou'rt going to taste of.
Why was I sent for to be used thus kindly?
Call, call me villain, as I am! describe
The foul complexion of my hateful deeds :
Lead me to the rack, and stretch me in thy

stead!

Jaf. Why?

[Pointing to the wheel.

Pier. Is't fit a soldier, who has lived with honour,

Fought nations' quarrels, and been crowned with conquest,

Be exposed a common carcase on a wheel?
Juf. Ha!

Pier. Speak! is it fitting?
Jaf. Fitting!

Pier. Yes; is it fitting?
Jaf. What's to be done?

Pier. I'd have thee undertake
Something that's noble, to preserve my memory
From the disgrace that's ready to attaint it.
Offi. The day grows late, sir.

Pier. I'll make haste. Oh, Jaffier! Though thou'st betrayed me, do me some way justice.

Jaf. No more of that: thy wishes shall be sa

tisfied;

I have a wife, and she shall bleed: my child, too,

Yield up his little throat, and all

Going away, PIERRE holds him.

Pier. No-this-no more.

[He whispers JAFFIER.

Pier. Come, now I'm ready.

[He and JAFFIER ascend the scaffold. Captain, you should be a gentleman of honour; Keep off the rabble, that I may have room To entertain my fate, and die with decency. Come. [Takes off his gown, executioner prepares to bind him.

Fri. Son.
Pier. Hence, tempter!
Offi. Stand off, priest.

Pier. I thank you, sir.

You'll think on't?

Jaf. It won't grow stale before to-morrow.

Pier. Now, Jaffier! now I'm going. Now [Executioner having bound him.

Jaf. Have at thee,

Thou honest heart, then-here!

[Stabs him. [Stabs himself.

And this is well too.

Fri. Damnable deed!

Within your walls; let plagues and famine waste
Your generation-Oh, poor Belvidera!
Sir, I've a wife, bear this in safety to her,

A token, that with my dying breath I blessed her,

And the dear little infant left behind me.
I'm sick-I'm quiet.

Dies.

Offi. Bear this news to the senate, And guard their bodies, till there's further orders. Heaven grant I die so well!

[Scene shuts upon them. SCENE IV.

Soft Music-Enter BELVIDERA distracted, led by two of her women, PRIULI and Servants. Pri. Strengthen her heart with patience, pitying Heaven!

Bel. Come, come, come, come, come, nay, come to bed,

Prithee, my love! The winds; hark how they whistle;

And the rain beats: Oh! how the weather shrinks me!

You are angry now, who cares? Pish, no indeed, Chuse then; I say you shall not go, you shall not; Whip your ill-nature; get you gone then. Oh! Are you returned? See, father, here he's come again:

Am I to blame to love him? O, thou dear one, Why do you fly me? Are you angry still then? Jaffier, where art thou? father, why do you do thus?

Stand off, don't hide him from me. He's here somewhere.

Stand off, I say: What, gone? Remember it, ty

rant:

THE text is done, and now for application;
And when that's ended, pass your approbation.
Though the conspiracy's prevented here,
Methinks I see another hatching there;
And there's a certain faction fain would sway,
If they had strength enough, and damn this play:
But this the author bade me boldly say;
If any take this plainness in its part,
He's glad on't from the bottom of his heart;
Poets in honour of the truth should write,
With the same spirit brave men for it fight.

And though against him causeless hatreds rise,
And daily where he goes of late, he spies
The scowl of sullen and revengeful eyes,
'Tis what he knows, with much contempt to
bear,

And serves a cause too good to let him fear:
He fears no poison from an incens'd drab,
No ruffian's five-foot sword, nor rascal's stab;
Nor any other snares of mischief laid,
Not a Rose-alley-cudgel ambuscade,
From any private cause where malice reigns,

OR,

WHEN once a poet settles an ill name,
Let him write well, or ill, 'tis all the same:
For critics now-a-days, like flocks of sheep,
All follow, when the first has made the leap.
And, do you justice, most are well inclin'd
To censure faults you know not how to find:
Some cavil at the style, and some the actors;
For, right or wrong, we pass for malefactors.
Some well-bred persons carp at the decorum,
As if they bore the drawing-room before 'em.
Sometimes your soft respectful spark discovers,
Our ladies are too coming to their lovers;
For they who still pursue, but ne'er enjoy,
In ev'ry case expect a siege of Troy.

There are some authors too who offer battle, And with their time and place, maul Aristotle. Ask what they mean; and, after some grimace, They tell you, twelve's the time; and for the place,

The chocolate-house, at the looking-glass. To please such judges, some have tir'd their brains,

And almost had their labour for their pains: After a twelvemonth vainly spent in plotting, These mettled critics cry 'tis good for nothing; But wiser authors turn their plots upon you, And plot to purpose when they get your money.

SCENE I.-Before Count BALDWIN's House.

Enter VILLEROY and CARLOS.

Car. This constancy of yours will establish an Immortal reputation among the women.

Vil. If it would establish me with IsabellaCar. Follow her, follow her: Troy town was won at last.

Vil. I have followed her these seven years, and now but live in hopes.

Car. But live in hopes! Why, hope is the ready road, the lover's baiting-place; and, for aught you know, but one stage short of the possession of your mistress.

Vil. But my hopes, I fear, are more of my own making than her's; and proceed rather from my wishes, than any encouragement she has given me.

Car. That I cannot tell the sex is very various; there are no certain measures to be prescribed or followed, in making our approaches to the women. All that we have to do, I think, is to attempt them in the weakest part. Press them but hard, and they will all fall under the necessity of a surrender at last. That favour comes at once; and sometimes when we least expect it.

Vit. I shall be glad to find it so.

Car. You will find it so. Every place is to be taken, that is not to be relieved: she must comply.

Vil. I am going to visit her.

Car. What interest a brother-in-law can have with her, depend upon.

Vil. I know your interest, and I thank you. Car. You are prevented; see, the mourner

comes;

She weeps, as seven years were seven hours;
So fresh, unfading, is the memory
Of my poor brother's, Biron's, death:
I leave you to your opportunity. [Exit VIL.
Though I have taken care to root her from our
house,

I would transplant her into Villeroy's-
There is an evil fate that waits upon her,
To which I wish him wedded-Only him:
His upstart family, with haughty brow,
(Though Villeroy and myself are seeming friends)
Looks down upon our house; his sister, too,
Whose hand I asked, and was with scorn refused,
Lives in my breast, and fires me to revenge.-
They bend this way—

Perhaps, at last, she seeks my father's doors;
They shall be shut, and be prepared to give
The beggar and her brat a cold reception.
That boy's an adder in my path—they come;
I'll stand apart, and watch their motions.

[Retires.

Enter VILLEROY, with ISABELLA and her little

Son.

Isa. Why do you follow me? you know I am A bankrupt every way; too far engaged Ever to make return: I own you have been More than a brother to me, my friend; And at a time when friends are found no more, A friend to my misfortunes.

Vil. I must be always your friend. Isa. I have known, and found you Truly my friend; and would I could be yours; But the unfortunate cannot be friends: Fate watches the first motion of the soul, To disappoint our wishes; if we pray For blessings, they prove curses in the end, To ruin all about us. Pray, be gone; Take warning, and be happy.

Vil. Happiness!

There's none for me without you: Riches, name,
Health, fame, distinction, place, and quality,
Are the incumbrances of groaning life,
To make it but more tedious without you.
What serve the goods of fortune for? To raise
My hopes, that you at last will share them with

me.

Long life itself, the universal prayer,
And Heaven's reward of well-deservers here,
Would prove a plague to me; to see you always,
And never see you mine! still to desire,
And never to enjoy!

Isa. I must not hear you.

Vil. Thus, at this awful distance, I have served A seven years' bondage-Do I call it bondage, When I can never wish to be redeemed? No, let me rather linger out a life Of expectation, that you may be mine, Than be restored to the indifference Of seeing you, without this pleasing pain: I've lost myself, and never would be found, But in these arms.

Isa. Oh, I have heard all this!

But must no more--the charmer is no more:
My buried husband rises in the face
Of my dear boy, and chides me for my stay:
Canst thou forgive me, child?

Child. Why, have you done a fault? You cry as if you had. Indeed now, I have done nothing to offend you: but if you kiss me, and look se very sad upon me, I shall cry too.

Isa. My little angel, no, you must not cry;
Sorrow will overtake thy steps too soon:
I should not hasten it.

Vil. What can I say!

The arguments that make against my hopes Prevail upon my heart, and fix me more; Those pious tears you hourly throw away Upon the grave, have all their quickening charms, And more engage my love, to make you mine: