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his name,

Bel. Who set you on to act this horrid deed? C. Bald. What did those answers say?
C. Bald. I'll know the villain; give me quick Bel. I cannot speak to the particulars;

But I remember well, the sum of them
Or I will tear it from thy bleeding heart ! Was much the same, and all agreed,
Ped. I will confess.

That there was nothing to be hoped from you: C. Bald. Do then.

That 'twas your barbarous resolution Ped. It was my master, Carlos, your own son. To let him perish there. C. Bald. Oh, monstrous! monstrous ! most C. Bald. Oh, Carlos ! Carlos ! hadst thou unnatural!

been a brotherBel. Did he employ you to murder his own Car. This is a plot upon me.

I never knew brother?

He was in slavery, or was alive, Ped. He did; and he was with us when 'twas Or heard of him, before this fatal hour. done.

Bel. There, sir, I must confront you. C. Bald. If this be true, this horrid, horrid He sent you a letter, to my knowledge, last tale,

night; It is but just upon me: Biron's wrongs

And you sent him word you would come to him. Must be revenged: and I the cause of all! I fear you came too soon. Fr. What will you do with him?

C. Bald. 'Tis all too plain.C. Bald. Take him apart

Bring out that wretch before him.
I know too much.

[PEDRO goes
in.

[PEDRO produced Vil. I had forgot-Your wretched, dying son Cur. Ha! Pedro there!—Then I am caught Gave me this letter for you.

indeed! [Gioes it to BALDWIN. Bel. You start at sight of him; I dare deliver it. It speaks of me,

He has confessed the bloody deed. I pray to have it read.

Car. Well, then, he has confessed, C. Bald. You know the hand.

And I must answer it. Bel. I know 'tis Biron's hand.

Bel. Is there no more? C. Bald. Pray, read it.

Cur. Why, what would you have more? I [BELFORD reads the letter.

know the worst, SIR,

And I expect it. • I find I am come only to lay my death at C. Buld. Why hast thou done all this? your door. I am now going out of the world; Car. Why, that which damns most men has but cannot forgive you, nor my brother Carlos,

ruined me; for not hindering my poor wife Isabella from The making of my fortune. Biron stood marrying with Villeroy; when you knew, from Between me and your favour; while he lived, so many letters, that I was alive.

I had not that; hardly was thought a son,

BIRON.' And not at all a-kin to your estate. Vil. How !-Did you know it, then?

I could not bear a younger brother's lot, C. Bald. Amazement all!

To live depending upon courtesy

Had you provided for me like a father,
Enter Carlos, with Officers.

I had been still a brother.
Oh, Carlos! are you come? Your brother here, C. Buld. 'Tis too true!
Here, in a wretched letter, lays his death I never loved thee, as I should have done:
To you and me-Have you

done

It was my sin, and I am punished for it. To hasten his sad end?

Oh! never may distinction rise again Car. Bless me, sir, I do any thing! Who, I? In families ; let parents be the same

C. Bald. He talks of letters that were sent to us; To all their children; common in their care, I never heard of any. Did you know

And in their love of them-I am unhappy, He was alive?

For loving one too well. Cur. Alive! Heaven knows, not I.

Vil. You knew your brother lived; why did | C. Buld. Had you no news of him, from a report,

Such pains to marry me to Isabella ? Or letter, never?

Car. I had my reasons for'tCar. Never, never I.

Vil. More than I thought you had. Bel. That's strange, indeed: I know he often Car. But one was thiswrit

I knew my brother loved his wife so well, To lay before you the conditions (To C. BALD, That if he ever should come home again, Of his hard slavery: and more I know,

He could not long outlive the loss of her. That he had several answers to his letters.

Bel. If you relied on that, why did you He said they came from you; you are his bro

hin? ther.

Car. To make all sure. Now, you are anCar. Never from me.

swered all. Bel. That will appear.

Where must I go? I am tired of your questions. The letters, I believe, are still about him;

C. Buld. I leave the judge to tell thee ubat For some of them I saw but yesterday.

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A father cannot find a name for thee.

Now, I laugh at you, defy you all, But parricide is highest treason, sure,

You tyrant murderers! To sacred nature's law; and must be so,

Vil. Call, call for help-Oh, Heaven ! this So sentenced in thy crimes. Take him away

was too much. The violent remedy is found at last,

C. Bald. Oh, thou most injured innocence ! That drives thee out, thou poison of my blood,

Yet live, Infected long, and only found in thee.

Live but to witness for me to the world,

(Carlos led off: How much I do repent me of the wrongs, Grant me, sweet Heaven! the patience to go The unnatural wrongs, which I have heaped on through

thee, The torment of my cure-Here, here begins And have pulled down this judgment on us all! The operation-Alas! she's mad.

Vil. Oh, speak, speak but a word of comfort

to me! Enter ISABELLA distracted, held by her Women; C. Bald. If the most tender father's care and hair dishevelled; her little Son running in be

love fore, being afraid of her.

Of thee, and thy poor child, can make amends. Vil. My Isabella! poor unhappy wretch! Oh, yet look up and live! What can I say to her?

Isa. Where is that little wretch? Isa. Nothing, nothing; 'tis a babbling world

[They raise her. I'll hear no more on't. When does the court I die in peace, to leave him to your care. sit?

I have a wretched mother's legacy, I'll not be bought-What! to sell innocent A dying kiss- -pray let me give it himblood ?

My blessing; that, that's all I have to leave thee. You look like one of the pale judges here; Oh, may thy father's virtues live in thee, Minos, or Radamanth, or Æacus

And all his wrongs be buried in my grave! I have heard of you.

[Dies. I have a cause to try, an honest one;

Vil. She's gone, and all my joys of life with Will you not hear it? Then I must appeal

her ! To the bright throne-Call down the heavenly Where are your officers of justice now? powers

Seize, bind me, drag me to the bloody bar ! To witness how you use me.

Accuse, condemn me; let the centence reach Wom. Help, help, we cannot hold her. My hated life-No matter how it comes; Vil. You but enrage her more.

I'll think it just, and thank you as it falls. C. Bald. Pray, give her way; she'll hurt no- Self-murder is denied me; else how soon body.

Could I be past the pain of my remembrance ! Isa. What have you done with him? He was But I must live, grow grey with lingering grief, here but now;

To die at last in telling this sad tale. I saw him here. Oh! Biron, Biron! where, C. Bald. Poor wretched orphan of most Where have they hid thee from me? He is

wretched parents! gone

'Scaping the storm, thou’rt thrown upon a But here's a little flaming cherubim

rock, Child. Oh, save me, save me!

To perish there. The very rocks would melt, (Running to BALDWIN. Soften their nature, sure, to foster thee; Isa. The Mercury of Heaven, with silver I find it by myself: my flinty heart, wings,

That barren rock, on which thy father starved, Impt for the fight, to overtake his ghost, Opens its springs of nourishment to thee. And bring him back again!

There's not a vein but shall run milk for thee. Child. I fear she'll kill me.

Oh, had I pardoned my poor Biron's fault, C. Bald. She will not hurt thee.

His first, his only fault-this had not been !

(She flings away. To erring youth there's some compassion due; Isa. Will nothing do? I did not hope to find But while with rigour you their crimes pursue, Justice on earth ; 'tis not in heaven neither. What's their misfortune, is a crime for you. Biron has watched his opportunity

Hence, learn offending children to forgive; Softly; he steals it from the sleeping gods, Leave punishment to Heaven-'tis Heaven's preAnd sends it thus

(Stabs herself

rogative.

[Exeunt omnes.

VOL. I.

2 A

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MRS VERBRUGGEN.

Now tell me, when you saw the lady die,
Were you not puzzled for a reason why?
A buxom damsel, and of play-house race,
Not to out-live th' enjoyment of a brace !
Were that the only marriage curse in store,
How many would compound to suffer more,
And yet live on, with comfort, to threescore.
But on our Erits there is no relying,
We women are so whimsical in dying.
Some pine away for loss of ogling fellows:
Nay some have died for love, as stories tell us.
Some, say our histories, though long ago,
For having undergone a rape, or so,
Plung’d the fell dagger, without more ado.

But time has laugh'd those follies out of

fashion,
And sure they'll never gain the approbation
Of ladies who consult their reputation.
For if a rape must be esteemed a curse,
Grim death and publication make it worse.

Should the opinion of the world be try'd, They'll scarce give judgment on the plaintiff's

side; For all must own, 'tis most egregious nonsense, To die for being pleas’d with a safe conscience. Nay, look not on your fans, nor turn away, For tell me, ladies, why d'you marry, pray, But to enjoy your wishes as you may?

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SENT BY AN UNKNOWN HAND, AND SPOKEN BY MR POWELL.
As when, in hostile times, two neighbouring states To virgin favours, fools have no pretence;
Strive by themselves, and their confederates ;

For maidenheads were made for men of sense,
The war at first is made with awkward skill, 'Tis not enough to have a horse well bred,
And soldiers clumsily each other kill,

To shew his mettle, he must be well fed : Till ti ne, at length, their untaught fury tames, Nor is it all in provender and breed; And into rules their heedless rage reclaims; He must be try'd, and strain’d to mend his speed: Then every science by degrees is made

A favour'd poet, like a pamper’d horse, Sabservient to the man-destroying trade; Will strain his eye-balls out to win the course. Wit, wisdom, reading, observation, art; Do you but in your wisdoms vote it fit A well-turn'd head to guide a generous heart: To yield due succours to this war of wit, So it may prove with our contending stages, The buskin with more grace should tread the If you will kindly but supply their wages ;

stage, Which you with ease may furnish, by retrenching Love sigh in softer strains, heroes less rage: Your superfluities of wine and wenching. Satire shall show a triple row of teeth, Who'd grudge to spare, from riot and hard drink. And comedy shall laugh your fops to death : ing,

Wit shall refine, and Pegasus shall foam, To lay it out on means to mend his thinking ? And soar in search of ancient Greece and Rome, To follow such advice you should have leisure, And, since the nation's in the conquering fit, Since what refines your sense, refines your plea- As you by arms, we'll vanquish France in wit :

The work were over, could our poets write Women, grown tame by use, each fool can get, With half the spirit that our soldiers fight. But cuckolds are all made by men of wit.

sure:

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The SCENE,-Surinam, a colony in the West-Indies; at the time of the action of this Tragedy,

in the possession of the English.

ACT I.

ways be.

great while.

yet?

as long as they live, and poor women be thought SCENE I.

decaying and unfit for the town at one or two

and twenty. I'm sure we were not seven years Enter WELLDON following Lucy.

in London. Lucy. What will this come to? What can it Well, Not half the time taken notice of, sister. end in? You have persuaded me to leave dear The two or three last years we could make noEngland, and dearer London, the place of the thing of it, even in a vizard mask; not in a viworld most worth living in, to follow you a hus- zard mark, that has cheated many a man into an band-hunting into America: I thought husbands old acquaintance. Our faces began to be as famigrew in these plantations.

liar to the men of intrigue, as their duns, and Well. Why, so they do, as thick as oranges,

as much avoided. We durst not appear in public ripening one under another. Week after week places, and were almost grudged a gallery in the they drop into some woman's mouth : 'Tis but churches : Even there they had their jests upon a little patience, spreading your apron in expec- us, and cried,-she's in the right on't, good gentation, and one of 'em will fall into your lap at tlewoman! since no man considers her body, she last.

does very well indeed to take care of her soul. Lucy. Ay, so you say, indeed.

Lucy. Such unmannerly fellows there will alWeit. But you have left dear London, you say: Pray, what have you left in London that was Well. Then you may remember, we were revery dear to you, that had not left you before? duced to the last necessity, the necessity of maLucy. Speak for yourself, sister.

king silly visits to our civil acquaintance, to bring Well. Nay, I'll kcep you in countenance. The us into tolerable company. Nay, the young innsyoung fellows, you know, the dearest part of the of-court beaux, of but one terni's standing in the iown, and without whom London had been a fashion, who knew nobody, but as they were shewn wilderness to you and me, had forsaken us a'em by the orange-women, had nicknames for is :

How often have they laughed out,- There goes Lucy. Forsaken us! I don't know that they my landlady; is not she come to let lodgings ever had us.

Il'ell. Forsaken us the worst way, child; that Lucy. Young coxcombs, that knew no better. is, did not think us worth having; they neglected Weil. And that we must have come to. For us, no longer designed upon us, they were tired your part, what trade could you set up in ? You of us. Women in London are like the rich silks, would never arrive at the trust and credit of a i they are out of fashion a great while before they guinea-bawd: You would have too much busiwear out.

ness of your own, ever to mind other people’s. Lucy. The devil take the fashion, I say.

Lucy. That is true, indeed. Weil. You may tumble 'em over and over at Weil. Then, as a certain sign that there was their first coming up, and never disparage their nothing more to be hoped for, the maids at the price; but they fall upon wearing immediately, chocolate houses found us out, and laugh'd at lower and lower in their value, till they come to us: our billets-dour lay there neglected for waste the broker at last.

paper: we were cry'd down so low, we could Lucy. Ay, ay, that's the merchant they deal not pass upon the city; and became so notoricus with. The men would have us at their own scan- in our galloping way, from one end of the town dalous rates : their plenty makes them wanton, to t'other, that at last we could hardly compass and in a little time, I suppose, they won't know a competent change of petticoats to disguise us what they would have of the women themselves. to the hackney-coachmen: and then it was near

Well. () yes, they know what they would have. walking afoot indeed. They would have a woman give the town a pat- Lucy. Nay, that I began to be afraid of. tern of her person and beauty, and not stay in it so Weil

. To prevent which, with what youth and long to have the whole piece worn out. They beauty was left, some experience, and the small would have the good face only discover'd, and remainder of fifteen hundred pounds a-piece, not the folly that commonly goes along with it

. which amounted to bare two hundred between They say there is a vast stock of beauty in the us both, I persuaded you to bring your person nation, but a great part of it lies in unprofitable for a venture to the Indies. Every thing has suchands; therefore, for the good of the public, ceeded in our voyage: I pass for your brother: they would have a draught made once a quarter, One of the richest planters here happening to die send the decaying beautics for breeders into the just as we landed, I have claimed

kindred with country, to make room for new faces to appear, him: So, without making his will, he has left us to countenance the pleasures of the town. the credit of his relation to trade upon: We pass

Lucy. 'Tis very hard, the men must be young for his cousins, coming here to Surinam chiedy

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