When yet a virgin, free, and undisposed,
I loved, but saw you only with my eyes;
I could not reach the beauties of your soul:
I have since lived in contemplation,

And long experience of your growing goodness:
What then was passion, is my judgment now,
Through all the several changes of your life,
Confirmed and settled in adoring you.

Isa. Nay, then, I must be gone. If you are
my friend,

If you regard my little interest,

No more of this; you see, I grant you all =That friendship will allow: be still my friend: That's all I can receive, or have to give.

I am going to my father; he needs not an excuse
To use me ill: pray leave me to the trial.

Vil. I am only born to be what you would

have me,

The creature of your power, and must obey;
In every thing obey you. I am going:
But all good fortune go along with you.

[Exit.

Isa. I shall need all your wishes-[Knocks. Locked! and fast!

Where is the charity that used to stand,
In our forefathers' hospitable days,
At great men's doors, ready for our wants,
Like the good angel of the family,
With open arms taking the needy in,

To feed and clothe, to comfort and relieve them! Now even their gates are shut against their poor. [She knocks again.

Enter SAMPSON to her.

Samp. Well, what's to do now, I trow? You knock as loud as if you were invited; and that is more than I heard of; but I can tell you, you may look twice about you for a welcome in a great man's family, before you find it, unless you bring it along with you.

Isa. I hope I bring my welcome along with me: Is your lord at home? Count Baldwin lives bere still?

Samp. Ay, ay, Count Baldwin does live here; and I am his porter: but what's that to the purpose, good woman, of my lord's being at home?

Isa. Why, dont you know me, friend?

Samp. Not I, not I, mistress; I may have seen you before, or so; but men of employment must forget their acquaintance; especially such as we are never to be the better for.

[Going to shut the door, Nurse enters, having

overheard him.

Nurse. Handsomer words would become you, and mend your manners, Sampson: do you know who you prate to?

Isa. I am glad you know me, nurse.

Nurse. Marry, Heaven forbid, madam, that I should ever forget you, or my little jewel: pray, go in [ISABELLA goes in with her child.] Now niy blessing go along with you wherever you go, or whatever you are about. Fie, Sampson, how could'st thou be such a Saracen! A Turk would have been a better Christian, than to have done so barbarously by a good lady.

Samp. Why look you, nurse, I know you of

VOL. I.

old: by your good-will you would have a finger in every body's pye: but mark the end of it; if I am called to account about it, I know what I have to say.

Nurse. Marry come up here! say your pleasure, and spare not. Refuse his eldest son's widow, and poor child, the comfort of seeing him? She does not trouble him so often.

Samp. Not that I am against it, nurse: but we are but servants, you know: we must have no likings, but our lord's; and must do as we are ordered.

Nurse. Nay, that's true, Sampson.

Samp. Besides, what I did was all for the best: I have no ill-will to the young lady, as a body may say, upon my own account; only that I hear she is poor; and indeed I naturally hate your decayed gentry: they expect as much waiting upon as when they had money in their pockets, and were able to consider us for the trouble.

Nurse. Why, that is a grievance indeed in great families, where the gifts, at good times, are better than the wages. It would do well to be reformed.

Samp. But what is the business, nurse? You have been in the family before I came into the world: what is the reason, pray, that this daughter-in-law, who has so good a report in every body's mouth, is so little set by, by my lord?

Nurse. Why, I tell you, Sampson, more or less: I will tell the truth, that's my way, you know, without adding or diminishing.

Sump. Ay, marry, nurse.

Nurse. My lord's eldest son, Biron by name, the son of his bosom, and the son that he would have loved best, if he had as many as king Pyramus of Troy

Samp. How! King Pyramus of Troy! Why, how many had he?

Nurse. Why, the ballad sings he had fifty sons: but no matter for that. This Biron, as I was saying, was a lovely sweet gentleman, and, indeed, nobody could blame his father for loving him; he was a son for the king of Spain; God bless him, for I was his nurse. But now I come to the point, Sampson; this Biron, without asking the advice of his friends, hand over head, as young men will have their vagaries, not having the fear of his father before his eyes, as I may say, wilfully marries this Isabella.

Samp. How, wilfully! he should have had her consent, methinks.

Nurse. No, wilfully marries her; and, which was worse, after she had settled all her fortune upon a nunnery, which she broke out of to run away with him. They say they had the church's forgiveness, but I had rather it had been his fa

ther's.

see him; disinherited him; took his younger brother, Carlos, into favour, whom he never cared for before; and at last forced Biron to go to the siege of Candy, where he was killed.

Samp. Alack-a-day, poor gentleman! Nurse. For which my old lord hates her, as if she had been the cause of his going thither. Samp. Alas, alas, poor lady! she has suffered for it: she has lived a great while a widow. Nurse. A great while indeed, for a young woman, Sampson.

Sump. Gad so! here they come; I will not

venture to be seen.

Enter Count BALDWIN, followed by ISABELLA and her Child.

C. Bald. Whoever of your friends directed
you,

Misguided and abused you-there's your way;
I can afford to shew you out again.
What could you expect from me?

Isa. Oh, I have nothing to expect on earth!
But misery is very apt to talk:
I thought I might be heard.

C. Bald. What can you say?

Is there in eloquence, can there be in words
A recompensing power, a remedy,
A reparation of the injuries,

The great calamities, that you have brought
On me and mine? You have destroyed those
hopes

I fondly raised, through my declining life,
To rest my age upon; and most undone me.
Isa. I have undone myself too.

C. Bald. Speak it again!

Say still you are undone, and I will hear you,
With pleasure hear you.

Isa. Would my ruin please you?
C. Buld. Beyond all other pleasures.
Isa. Then you are pleased-for I am most
undone.

C. Bald. I prayed but for revenge, and Hea-
ven has heard,

And sent it to my wishes: these grey hairs Would have gone down in sorrow to the grave, Which you have dug for me, without the thought, The thought of leaving you more wretched

here.

Isa. Indeed I am most wretched-When I lost My husband

C. Bald. Would he had never been, Or never had been yours!

Isa. I then believed

The measure of my sorrow then was full:
But every moment of my growing days

Makes room for woes, and adds them to the sum.
I lost with Biron all the joys of life:

But now its last supporting means are gone.
All the kind helps that Heaven in pity raised,
In charitable pity to our wants,
At last have left us: now bereft of all,
But this last trial of a cruel father,
To save us both from sinking. Oh, my child!
Kneel with me, knock at nature in his heart!
Let the resemblance of a once-loved son

Speak in this little one, who never wronged you
And plead the fatherless and widow's cause!
Oh, if you ever hope to be forgiven,

As you will need to be forgiven too,
Forget our faults, that Heaven may pardon yours!
C. Bald. How dare you mention Heaven!
Call to mind

Your perjured vows; your plighted, broken faith
To Heaven, and all things holy: were you not
Devoted, wedded to a life recluse,
The sacred habit on, professed and sworn,
A votary for ever? Can you think
The sacrilegious wretch, that robs the shrine,
Is thunder-proof?

Isa. There, there, began my woes.
Let women all take warning at my fate;
Never resolve, or think they can be safe,
Within the reach and tongue of tempting men.
Oh! had I never seen my Biron's face,
Had he not tempted me, I had not fallen,
But still continued innocent and free
Of a bad world, which only he had power
To reconcile, and make me try again.

C. Bald. Your own inconstancy, your graceless thoughts,

Debauched and reconciled you to the world:
He had no hand to bring you back again,
But what you gave him. Circe, you prevailed
Upon his honest mind, transforming him
From virtue, and himself, into what shapes
You had occasion for; and what he did
Was first inspired by you. A cloister was
Too narrow for the work you had in hand:
Your business was more general; the whole world
To be the scene: therefore you spread your

charms

But bringing you into a family,

Entails a curse upon the name and house
That takes you in: the only part of me
That did receive you, perished for his crime.
'Tis a defiance to offended Heaven
Barely to pity you: your sins pursue you:
The heaviest judgments that can fall upon you,
Are your just lot, and but prepare your doom:
Expect them, and despair-Sirrah, rogue,
How durst thou disobey me? [To the Porter

Isa. Not for myself-for I am past the hopes Of being heard--but for this innocentAnd then I never will disturb you more.

C. Bald. I almost pity the unhappy child: But being yours—

Isa. Look on him as your son's;
And let his part in him answer for mine.

Oh, save, defend him, save him from the wrongs, That fall upon the poor!

C. Bald. It touches me,

And I will save him. But to keep him safe,
Never come near him more.

Isa. What! take him from me!

No, we must never part: 'tis the last hold
Of comfort I have left; and, when he fails,
All goes along with him: Oh! could you be
The tyrant to divorce life from my life?
I live but in my child.

No, let me pray in vain, and beg my bread
From door to door, to feed his daily wants,
Rather than always lose him.

C. Bald. Then have your child, and feed him with your prayers.—

You, rascal, slave, what do I keep you for?
How came this woman in ?

Samp. Why, indeed, my lord, I did as good as tell her, before, my thoughts upon the mat

ter

C. Bald. Did you so, sir? Now, then, tell her
mine;

Tell her, I sent you to her.
There's one more to provide for.

[Thrusts him towards her Samp. Good my lord, what I did was in perfect obedience to the old nurse there. I told her what it would come to.

C. Bald. What! this was a plot upon me.And you, too, beldam, were you in the conspiracy? Begone, go altogether: I have provided you an equipage, now set up when you please. She's old enough to do you service; I have none for her. The wide world lies before you: begone! take any road but this to beg or starve in-I shall be glad to hear of you: but never, never, see me more. [He drives them off before him. Isa. Then Heaven have mercy on me!

[Exit with her Child, followed by SAMPSON and Nurse.

SCENE I.-Continues.

For Carlos' sake; thou art no son of his.
There needs not this to endear thee more to me.
[Embrace.
Car. My Villeroy, the fatherless, the widow,
Are terms not understood within these gates-
You must forgive him, sir; he thinks this woman
Is Biron's fate, that hurried him to death-
I must not think on't, lest my friendship stagger.
My friend's, my sister's mutual advantage
Have reconciled my bosom to its task.

Vil. Advantage! think not I intend to raise
An interest from Isabella's wrongs.
Your father may have interested ends
In her undoing; but my heart has none:
Her happiness must be my interest,
And that I would restore.

Car. Why, so I mean.

These hardships that my father lays upon her, am sorry for, and wish I could prevent; But he will have his way.

Since there's no hope from her prosperity, her change of fortune may alter the condition of her thoughts, and make for you.

Vil. She is above her fortune. Car. Try her again. Women commonly love according to the circumstances they are in. Vil. Common women may.

Car. Since you are not accessary to the injus

tice, you may be persuaded to take the advantage of other people's crimes.

Vil. I must despise all those advantages, That indirectly can advance my love. No, though I live but in the hopes of her, And languish for the enjoyment of those hopes, I'd rather pine in a consuming want Of what I wish, than have the blessing mine, From any reason but consenting love. Oh! let me never have it to remember, I could betray her coldly to comply! When a clear generous choice bestows her on me, I know to value the unequalled gift: I would not have it, but to value it.

Car. Take your own way; remember what I offered came from a friend.

Vil. I understand it so. I'll serve her for her

self, without the thought of a reward.

[Exit. If you

Cur. Agree that point between you. marry her any way, you do my business. I know him-What his generous soul intends Ripens my plots-I'll first to Isabella.

I must keep up appearances with her too.

SCENE II.-ISABELLA's House.

Erit.

Enter ISABELLA and Nurse; ISABELLA's little Son at play upon the floor.

Isa. Sooner, or later, all things pass away, And are no more. The beggar and the king, With equal steps, tread forward to their end: The reconciling grave swallows distinction first, that made us foes.

Though they appear of different natures now,
They meet at last:

Then all alike lie down in peace together.
When will that hour of peace arrive for me?

Isa. Do I deserve to be this outcast wretch; Abandoned thus, and lost? But 'tis my lot, The will of Heaven, and I must not complain: I will not for myself: let me bear all

The violence of your wrath; but spare my child!
Let not my sins be visited on him?
They are, they must; a general ruin falls
On every thing about me: thou art lost,
Poor nurse, by being near me.

Nurse. I can work, or beg, to do you service.
Isa. Could I forget

What I have been, I might the better bear
What I am destined to: I am not the first
That have been wretched: but to think how much
I have been happier! Wild hurrying thoughts
Start every way from my distracted soul,
To find out hope, and only meet despair.
What answer have I?

Enter SAMPSON.

Samp. Why truly, very little to the purpose: like a Jew as he is, he says you have had more already than the jewels are worth: he wishes you would rather think of redeeming them, than expect any more money upon them.

[Exit SAMPSON.

Isa. 'Tis very well-
So: poverty at home, and debts abroad!
My present fortune bad; my hopes yet worse!
What will become of me?

This ring is all I have left of value now:
'Twas given me by my husband: his first gift
Upon our marriage: I have always kept it,
With my best care, the treasure next my life,
And now but part with it to support life,
Which only can be dearer. Take it, nurse;
"Twill stop the cries of hunger for a time,
Provide us bread, and bring a short reprieve,
To put off the bad day of beggary,

That will come on too soon. Take care of it:
Manage it as the last remaining friend
That would relieve us. [Exit Nurse. Heaven
can only tell

Where we shall find another-My dear boy!
The labour of his birth was lighter to me

Than of my fondness now; my fears for him
Are more, than in that hour of hovering death,
They could be for myself-He minds me not,
His little sports have taken up his thoughts:
Oh, may they never feel the pangs of mine!
Thinking will make me mad: why must I think,
When no thought brings me comfort?

Nurse returns.

Nurse. Oh, madam! you are utterly ruined and undone; your creditors of all kinds are come in upon you: they have mustered up a regiment of rogues, that are come to plunder your house, and

Car. Oh, sister! can I call you by that name,
And be the son of this inhuman man,
Inveterate to your ruin? Do not think
I am a-kin to his barbarity:

I must abhor my father's usage of you,
And from my bleeding honest heart must pity,
Pity your lost condition. Can you think
Of any way that I may serve you in?
But what enrages most my sense of grief,
My sorrow for your wrongs, is, that iny father,
Fore-knowing well the storm that was to fall,
Has ordered me not to appear for you.

Isa. I thank your pity; my poor husband fell For disobeying him; do not you stay

To venture his displeasure too for me.
Car. You must resolve on something-

Isa. Let my fate

[Exit.

Determine for me; I shall be prepared.
The worst that can befall me, is to die: [A noise.
When once it comes to that, it matters not
Which way 'tis brought about: whether I starve,
Or hang, or drown, the end is still the same;
Plagues, poison, famine, are but several names
Of the same thing, and all conclude in death:
But sudden death; Oh, for a sudden death,
To cheat my persecutors of their hopes,
The expected pleasure of beholding me
Long in my pains, lingering in misery!
It will not be, that is denied me too.

Hark! they are coming; let the torrent roar !
It can but overwhelm me in its fall;
And life and death are now alike to me.

[Exeunt, the Nurse leading the Child.

SCENE III.-Opens, and sheres CARLOS and VILLEROY with the Officers.

Vil. No farther violence

The debt in all is but four thousand crowns:
Were it ten times the sum, I think you know
My fortune very well can answer it.
You have my word for this: I will see you paid.

Offi. That's as much as we can desire: so we
have the money, no matter whence it comes.
Vil. To-morrow you shall have it.
Car. Thus far all's well-

Enter ISABELLA, and Nurse, with the Child. And now my sister comes to crown the work. [Aside

Isa. Where are the raving blood-hounds, that pursue

In a full cry, gaping to swallow me?
I meet your rage, and come to be devoured:
Say, which way are you to dispose of me?
To dungeons, darkness, death!
Car. Have patience.

Isa. My friends! Have I a friend?

Though now you have a friend, the time must

come

That you will want one; him you may secure
To be a friend, a father, husband to you.
Isa. A husband!

Car. You have discharged your duty to the dead,

And to the living; 'tis a wilfulness
Not to give way to your necessities,
That force you to this marriage.

Nurse. What must become of this poor inno-
cence?
[To the child.
Car. He wants a father to protect his youth,
And rear him up to virtue: you must bear
The future blame, and answer to the world,
When you refuse the easy honest means
Of taking care of him.

Nurse. Of him and me,

And every one that must depend upon you; Unless you please now to provide for us, We must all perish.

Car, Nor would I press you

Isa. Do not think I need

Your reasons, to confirm my gratitude;

I have a soul that's truly sensible

Villeroy came in to save you→→→

Isa. Save me! How?

Car. By satisfying all your creditors, Isa. Which way? For what?

Vil. Let me be understood,

[Aside.

And then condemn me: you have given me leave
To be your friend; and in that only name
I now appear before you. I could wish
There had been no occasion for a friend,
Because I know you hate to be obliged;
And still more loth to be obliged by me.
Isa. 'Twas that I would avoid
Vil. I am most unhappy that my services
Can be suspected to design upon you;
I have no farther ends than to redeem you
From fortune's wrongs; to shew myself at last,
What I have long professed to be, your friend:
Allow me that; and to convince you more
That I intend only your interest,
Forgive what I have done, and in amends
(If that can make you any, that can please you)
I'll tear myself for ever from my hopes,
Stifle this flaming passion in my soul,
That has so long broke out to trouble you,
And mention my unlucky love no more.
Isa. This generosity will ruin me. [Aside.
Vil. Nay, if the blessing of my looking on you
Disturbs your peace, I will do all I can
To keep away, and never see you more,

Car. You must not go.
Vil. Could Isabella, speak
Those few short words, I should be rooted here,
And never move but upon her commands.
Car. Speak to him, sister; do not throw away
A fortune that invites you to be happy.
In your extremity he begs your love;
And has deserved it nobly. Think upon
Your lost condition, helpless and alone.

[TO VILLEROY, If possible, to make you a return. Vil. Oh! easily possible!

Isa. It cannot be your way: my pleasures are Buried, and cold in my dead husband's grave; And I should wrong the truth, myself, and you, To say that I can ever love again.

I owe this declaration to myself:
But, as a proof that I owe all to you,

If, after what I have said, you can resolve
To think me worth your love-Where am I
going?

You cannot think it; 'tis impossible.
Vil. Impossible!

Isa. You should not ask me now, nor should I

grant;

I am so much obliged, that to consent
Would want a name to recommend the gift:
'Twould show me poor, indebted, and compelled,
Designing, mercenary; and I know

You would not wish to think I could be bought. Vil. Be bought! where is the price that can pretend

To bargain for you! Not in fortune's power. The joys of Heaven and love must be bestowed; They are not to be sold, and cannot be deserved. Isa, Some other time I will hear you on this