Agn. 'Tis less impiety, less against nature, To take another's life, than end our own.

O. Wilm. No matter which, the less or greater crime:

Howe'er we may deceive ourselves or others,
We act from inclination, not by rule,

Or none could act amiss: and that all err,
None but the conscious hypocrite denies.
O! what is man, his excellence and strength,
When in an hour of trial and desertion,
Reason, his noblest power, may be suborned
To plead the cause of vile assassination!
Agn. You're too severe: Reason may justly
plead

For our own preservation.

O. Wilm. Rest contented:
Whate'er resistance I may seem to make,
I am betrayed within: My will's seduced,
And my whole soul infected. The desire
Of life returns, and brings with it a train
Of appetites, that rage to be supplied!
Whoever stands to parley with temptation,
Parleys to be o'ercome.

Agn. Then nought remains

But the swift execution of a deed,

That is not to be thought on, or delayed—

O. Wilm. Generous unhappy man! O! what could move thee

To put thy life and fortune in the hands
Of wretches mad with anguish !
Agn. By what means

Shall we effect his death?

O. Wilm. Why, what a fiend!

How cruel, how remorseless and impatient
Have pride and poverty made thee!

Agn. Barbarous man!

Whose wasteful riots ruined our estate,

And drove our son, ere the first down had spread His rosy cheeks, spite of my sad presages, Earnest intreaties, agonies, and tears,

To seek his bread amongst strangers, and to perish

In some remote, inhospitable land;

The loveliest youth, in person and in mind,
That ever crowned a groaning mother's pains!
Where was thy pity, where thy patience then?
Thou cruel husband! thou unnatural father!
Thou most remorseless, most ungrateful man!
To waste my fortune, rob me of my son,
To drive me to despair, and then reproach me
For being what thou hast made me!

O. Wilm. Dry thy tears:

I ought not to reproach thee. I confess

That thou hast suffered much: So have we both. But chide no more; I am wrought up to thy purpose.

The poor, ill-fated, unsuspecting victim,
Ere he reclined him on the fatal couch,
From which he's ne'er to rise, took off the sash,
And costly dagger that thou saw'st him wear,
And thus, unthinking, furnished us with arms
Against himself. Steal to the door,

And bring me word, if he be still asleep.

[Exit Agnes.

Or I'm deceived, or he pronounced himself
The happiest of mankind. Deluded wretch!
Thy thoughts are perishing, thy youthful joys,
Touched by the icy hand of grisly death,
Are withering in their bloom-But, thought ex-
tinguished,

He'll never know the loss,

Nor feel the bitter pangs of disappointment—
Then I was wrong in counting him a wretch:
To die well pleased,

Is all the happiest of mankind can hope for.
To be a wretch, is to survive the loss
Of every joy, and even hope itself,
As I have done-Why do I mourn him then?
For, by the anguish of my tortured soul,
He's to be envied, if compared with me.

Enter AGNES with YOUNG WILMOT's dagger.
Agn. The stranger sleeps at present; but so

restless

His slumbers seem, they can't continue long.
Here, I've secured his dagger.

O. Wilm. O Agnes! Agnes! if there be a hell,

'Tis just we should expect it.

[Goes to take the dagger, but lets it full. Agn. Shake off this panic, and be more yourself!

O. Wilm. What's to be done? On what had

we determined?

Agn. You're quite dismayed.

[Takes up the dagger. O. Wilm. Give me the fatal steel, 'Tis but a single murder, Necessity, impatience, and despair,

| The three wide mouths of that true Cerberus,
Grim poverty, demand: they shall be stopped.
Ambition, persecution, and revenge,
Devour their millions daily: And shall I—
But follow me, and see how little cause
You had to think, there was the least remain
Of manhood, pity, mercy, or remorse,
Left in this savage breast.

[Going the wrong way.

Agn. Where do you go?
The street is that way.

O. Wilm. True! I had forgot.
Agn. Quite, quite confounded!

O. Wilm. Well, I recover. I shall find the [Exit. Agn. O softly! softly! The least noise un

way.

does us.

Enter CHARLOTTE, EUSTACE, and RANDAL.

Char. What strange neglect! The doors are all unbarred,

And not a living creature to be seen!

Enter Old WILMOT and AGNES. Char. Sir, we are come to give and to receive A thousand greetings-Ha! what can this mean! Why do you look with such amazement on us? Are these your transports for your son's return? Where is my Wilmot?-Has he not been here? Would he defer your happiness so long, Or could a habit so disguise your son, That you refused to own him?

Agn. Heard you that?

What prodigy of horror is disclosing,
To render murder venial !

O. Wilm. Prithee, peace!

The miserable damned suspend their howling, And the swift orbs are fixed in deep attention. Rand. What mean these dreadful words, and frantic air!

That is the dagger my young master wore. Eust. My mind misgives me. Do not stand to gaze

On these dumb phantoms of despair and horror! Let us search further; Randal, shew the way.

[Exeunt. Agn. Let life forsake the earth, and light the

sun,

And death and darkness bury in oblivion
Mankind and all their deeds, that no posterity
May ever rise to hear our horrid tale,
Or view the grave of such detested parricides!
O. Wilm. Curses and deprecations are in vain:
The sun will shine, and all things have their

course,

When we, the curse and burden of the earth,
Shall be absorbed, and mingled with its dust.
Our guilt and desolation must be told,
From age to age, to teach desponding mortals,
How far beyond the reach of human thought
Heaven, when incensed, can punish-Die thou
first.
[Stabs Agnes.

I durst not trust thy weakness.

Agn. Ever kind,

But most in this!

O. Wilm. I will not long survive thee.

Enter RANDAL and EUSTACE. Eust. O Wilmot! Wilmot ! Are these the fruits of all thy anxious cares For thy ungrateful parents?- -Cruel fiends! O. Wilm. What whining fool art thou, who would'st usurp

My sovereign right of grief!-Was he thy son?Say! Canst thou shew thy hands reeking with blood,

That flowed, through purer channels, from thy loins?

Compute the sands that bound the spacious ocean,
And swell their number with a single grain;
Increase the noise of thunder with thy voice;
Or, when the raging wind lays nature waste,
Assist the tempest with thy feeble breath;
But name not thy faint sorrow, with the anguish
Of a curst wretch, who only hopes from this
[Stabbing himself.

To change the scene, but not relieve his pain!
Rand. A dreadful instance of the last remorse!
May all your woes end here!

Ó. Wilm. O would they end

A thousand ages hence, I then should suffer
Much less than I deserve. Yet let me say,
You'll do but justice to inform the world,
This horrid deed, that punishes itself,
Was not intended, thinking him our son;
For that we knew not, 'till it was too late.
Proud, and impatient under our afflictions,
While Heaven was labouring to make us happy,
We brought this dreadful ruin on ourselves.
Mankind may learn-but- -oh-

[Dies.

SCENE I.-The street before ARDEN's door. Enter MOSBY.

Mos. THE morning's dark, and horrid as my purpose.

Thrice have my snares been laid for Arden's life,
And thrice hath he escaped. I am not safe:
The living may revenge. Oh! could I win
Alicia to conspire her husband's fall,
Then might I say, security, thou'rt mine,
And laugh at all to come. For other instruments,
There's Green: he bears him hard about this suit
For the abbey-lands, to which the hot youth
pleads

Some fancied right. Michael, the trencher favourite,

A bastard, bred of Arden's charity,
He has been privy to our secret joys,

And, on that trust presuming, loves my sister-
Winks at adultery, and may at murder.

Maria is his price. I've placed her here,
Companion of my sweet Alicia's hours,
To spread her charms for ever in his eye:
To her are all my visits. But Alicia-
She must, she shall comply: when to my arms
Her honour she resigned, her fond reluctance
whispered,

She could deny me nothing. This to try.
[Exit into Arden's house.

SCENE II-A chamber.

Enter ARDEN in his night-gown. Ard. Unhappy Arden, whither canst thou wan der

To lay thy heavy load of sorrows down!
Will change of place relieve the afflicted mind,
Or does all nature yield a balm to cure
The pangs of slighted love and broken faith?
Ungrateful false Alicia! false with Mosby,

Would sell her free estate for marriage bonds?
From vows and oaths, and every servile tye,
The tyrant man at pleasure is set free;
The holy nuptial bond leaves him at large;
Yet vests him with a power, that makes us slaves.
'Tis heavenly this-

Ard. To stop my just reproach,

Art thou the first to tax the marriage state?

Alic. Are you not jealous? do you not give ear To vain surmises and malicious tongues, That hourly wound my yet untainted fame? Ard. And wouldst thou make me author of the shame,

Thy guilt has brought on us!-I'll bear no longer. The traitor Mosby, cursed, detested Mosby, Shall render an account for both your crimes. Alic. What do I hear!

Ard. The base mechanic slave Shall answer with his blood.

Alic. O hear me speak!

[Aside.

Ard. No, I am deaf: As thou hast ever been To fame, to virtue, and my just complaints. Alic. Thus on my knees

Ard. Adultress! dost thou kneel And weep, and pray, and bend thy stubborn heart (Stubborn to me) to sue for him? Away! Away this instant, lest I kill thee too.

[Recovering himself. No-not the hell, thou hast kindled in this bosom,

Shall make me shed thy blood.

Alic. I do not hope it.

Ard. For me, be as immortal as thy shame.
Alic. I see your cruel purpose: I must live,
To see your hand and honour stained with blood,
Your ample fortune seized on by the state,
Your life a forfeit to the cruel laws.

O Arden, blend compassion with your rage,
And kindly kill me first!

Ard. Not for my sake

Are all thy tears; then had you felt them sooner; Plead not the ruin you have made; but say,

VOL. I.

Why have you driven me to these extremes? Why sacrificed my peace, and your own fame, By corresponding with a menial slave?

Alic. Thou canst not think, that I have wronged thy bed?

Ard. Would I could not!
Alic. By Heaven—
Ard. No perjuries.

But now, as you lay slumbering by my side,
I still awake, anxious and full of thought,
(For thou hast banished sleep from these sad eyes)
With gentle accents, thrilling with desire,
You called on Mosby. Love made me doubt my
ears,

And question, if the dark and silent night
Conspired not with my fancy to deceive me :
But soon I lost the painful pleasing hope;
Again you called upon your minion Mosby.
Confirmed, I strove to fly your tainted bed,
But, wanting strength, sunk lifeless on my pillow.
You threw your eager arms about my neck,
You pressed my bloodless cheeks with your warm
lips,

Which glowed, adultress! with infernal heat ;
And called, a third time, on the villain Mosby.

Alic. A dream indeed, if I e'er called on him. Ard. Thy guilty dreams betray thy waking thoughts.

Alic. I know I'm simple, thoughtless, and un

guarded;

And what is carelessness you construe guilt.
Yet were I weak as those fantastic visions,
Sure I could never have condemned you, Arden,
On circumstances and an idle dream.

Ard. But such a dream!

Alic. Yet was it but a dream, Which, though I not remember, I abhor, And mourn with tears, because it gives you pain. Arden, you do not wish me innocent,

Or on suspicions could you doom me guilty?

Ard. Not wish thee innocent! do sinking ma

riners,

When struggling with the raging seas for life, Wish the assistance of some friendly plank? 'Tis that, and that alone, can bring me comfort.

Alic. O jealousy! thou fierce remorseless fiend, Degenerate, most unnatural child of love! How shall I chase thee from my Arden's bosom? Ard. There is a way, an easy way, Alicia. Alic. O name it-speak.

Ard. What's past may be forgotten. Your future conduct

Alic. You distract me, Arden.

Say, how shall I convince you of my truth? Ard. I ask but this: never see Mosby more! [He starts.

By Heaven, she's dumb!

Alic. O how shall I conceal

My own confusion, and elude his rage? [Aside. Ard. Thou'rt lost, Alicia!-lost to me-and Heaven.

Alic. Indeed I'm lost, if you unkindly doubt me. 30

Alic. That always was your own.

Alic. Thou canst say nothing.-Get thee from my sight!

Yet stay-no matter. I'll myself go seek him. [Exeunt Alicia and Servant. Mar. Where reason is, can passion thus prevail? [Exit Maria.

SCENE III-A parlour in ARDEN's house. Enter ALICIA, meeting MOSBY,

Alic. Mosby, that brow befits our wayward fate.

The evil hour, long feared, is fallen upon us,

strife?

Still art thou cold: nor warm are thy embraces,

Nor sparkle in thine eyes the fires of love:
Cold, cold, and comfortless.

Alic. Indeed you fright me.

Ard. 'Tis possible

Alic. What?

Ard. That thou may'st yet deceive me.
Alic. Ó! I am wretched!

Ard. Both perhaps are so.

But, if thou ever lov'dst, thou'lt not despise me, And wilt forgive me, if indeed I've wronged thee, As I've forgiven thee-Pity, I'm sure, I need.

[Exit Arden. Alic. Thou hast it, Arden, even from her, that wrongs thee.

All, all shall pity thee, and curse Alicia.
Can I feel this, and further tempt the stream
Of guilty love! O whither am I fallen!

Serv. Madam, your brother Mosby-
Alic. Where is Mosby?

Serv. He waits below.

Alic. O haste, and lead me to him!

Serv. Madam, he but desires to see his sister. Alic. His sister! what! did he not ask for me? Mar. Perhaps

If you're unkind, to whom shall I complain?
Mos. Madam, it was my sister I expected.
Alic. Am I forgotten then? Ungrateful man!
This only could have added to my woes.
Did you but know what I have borne for you,
You would not thus, unmoved, behold my tears.
Mos. Madam, you make me vain.

Alic. Insult not, Mosby:

You were the first dear object of my love;
And could my heart have made a second choice,
I had not been the object of your scorn:
But duty, gratitude, the love of fame,
And pride of virtue, were too weak to erase
The deep impression of our early vows.

Mos. Therefore you kindly chose to wed ano

ther.

Alic. Reproach me not with what I deemed my duty.

Oh! had I thought I could assume the name,
And never know the affection of a wife,

I would have died ere given my hand to Arden.
Mos. You gave him all.-

Alic. No, no, I gave him nothing:

Words without truth-an hand without a heart! But he has found the fraud; the slumbering lion At length hath roused himself.

Mos. And I must fall

The victim

Alic. No; he knows not yet his wrongs.
Mos. But quickly will.

Alic. That, that's my greatest fear.

Mos. Then, branded with a strumpet's hated

name,

The cause abhorred of shame, of blood, and ruin,
Thou'lt be exposed, and hooted through the world!
Alic. O hide the dreadful image from my view!
Chaste matrons, modest maids, and virtuous
wives,

Scorning a weakness which they never knew,
Shall blush, with indignation, at my name!
Mos. My death-but that, though certain-
Alic. Labour not

Serv. He seems in health.

Alic. Here, and not ask for me!

Seems he or angry then, or melancholy? Answer me, stock, stone.

Serv. Truly I can't say.

Mos. You may, and be deceived. For me, I

know

My fate resolved-and thee the instrument,

The willing instrument, of Mosby's ruin!
Inconstant, false Alicia!