All Tongues, like yours, are licens'd to upbraid me,
Still to repeat my Guilt, to urge my Infamy,
And treat me like that abject Thing I've been.
Yet let the Saints be witness to this Truth,
That now, tho' late, I look with Horror back,
That I deteft my wretched Self, and curfe
My paft polluted Life. All-judging Heav'n
Who knows my Crimes, has feen my Sorrow for them.
HASTINGS.

No more of this dull Stuff. "Tis time enough
To whine and mortify thyfelf with Pennance,
When the decaying Senfe is pall'd with Pleasure,
And weary Nature tires in her laft Stage:
Then weep and tell thy Beads, when alt'ring Rheums
Have ftain'd the Luftre of thy ftarry Eyes,
And failing Palfies shake thy wither'd Hand.
The prefent Moments claim more gen❜rous use;
Thy Beauty, Night and Solitude reproach me,.
For having talk'd thus long---Come let me prefs thee,
[Laying hold on her.
Pant to thy Bofom, fink into thy Arms,

And lofe myself in the luxurious Fold.

JANE SHORE.

Never! By thofe chafte Lights above, I fwear,

My Soul fhall never know Pollution more;

Forbear my Lord!

-Here let me rather die,

Let quick Destruction overtake me here,

And end my Sorrows and my Shame for ever,

HASTINGS.

[Kneeling

Away with this Perverfeness,'tis too much ; you ftrive'tis monftrous Affectation.

Nay, if

JANE SHORE.

Retire! I beg you leave me

HASTINGS.

[Striving.

Thus to coy it!

With one who knows you too.
JANE SHORE.

For Mercy's fake-
HASTINGS

HASTINGS.

Ungrateful Woman! Is it thus you pay

My Services?

My Lord! for Honor's fake-
HASTINGS.

Hah! What art thou? Be gone!

DUMON T.

My Duty calls me

To my Attendance on my Miftrefs here.
JANE SHORE.

For Pity let me go

HASTINGS.

Avaunt! Bafe Groom.

At distance wait, and know thy Office better.

DUMONT.

Forego your hold, my Lord! 'tis most unmanly

This Violence

HASTINGS.
Avoid the Room this moment,

Or I will tread thy Soul out.

DUMON T.

No, my

Lord

The common Ties of Manhood call me now,
And bid me thus ftand up in the Defence
Of an opprefs'd, unhappy, helpless Woman.
HASTINGS.

And doft thou know me, Slave ?

DUMONT

DUMON T.

Yes, thou proud Lord! I know thee well, know thee with each Advantage, Which Wealth, or Pow'r, or noble Birth can give thee. I know thee too for one who stains thofe Honors, And blots a long illuftrious Line of Ancestry, By poorly daring thus to wrong a Woman. HASTINGS.

"Tis wondrous well! I fee my Saint-like Dame, You ftand provided of your Braves and Ruffians, To man your Caufe, and blufter in your Brothel. DUMONT.

Take back the foul Reproach, unmanner'd Railer;
Nor urge my Rage too far, left thou should'ft find,
I have as daring Spirits in my Blood'

As thou, or any of thy Race e'er boasted;
And tho' no gaudy Titles grac'd my Birth,
(Titles, the fervile Courtier's lean Reward,
Sometimes the Pay of Virtue, but more oft [phants,)
The Hire which Greatnefs gives to Slaves and Sycó-
Yet Heav'n that made me honeft, made me more
Than ever King did when he made a Lord.

HASTINGS.

Infolent Villain! Henceforth let this teach thee

[Draws and ftrikes him! The Distance 'twixt a Peafant and a Prince.

DUMON T.

Nay then, my Lord! [drawing.] learn you by this,

how well

An Arm refolv'd can guard its Master's Life.

JANE SHORE.

[They fight.

Oh my diftracting Fears! hold, for sweet Heav'n.
[They fight, Dumont difarms Lord Haftings.
HASTINGS.

Confufion! baffled by a base-born Hind!

DUMON T.

Now, haughty Sir, where is our Diff'rence now? Your Life is in my Hand, and did not Honor, The Gentleness of Blood and inborn Virtue

(Howe'er

(Howe'er unworthy I may feem to you)
Plead in my Bofom, I fhould take the Forfeit.
But wear your Sword again; and know, a Lord
Oppos'd against a Man is but a Man.

HASTINGS.

Curfe on my failing Hand! Your better Fortune Has giv'n you 'Vantage o'er me; but perhaps Your Triumph may be bought with dear Repentance.

JANE SHORE.

[Exit.

Alas! what have you done! know you the Pow'r, The Mightiness that waits upon this Lord?

DUMON T.

O pursue,

Fear not, my worthiest Mistress; 'tis a Cause,
In which Heav'n's Guard fhall wait you.
Purfue the facred Counfels of your Soul,
Which urge you on to Virtue; let not Danger,
Nor the incumbring World make faint your Purpose.
Affifting Angels fhall conduct your Steps,

Bring you to Blifs and crown your End with Peace.
JANE SHORE.

Oh that my Head were laid, my fad Eyes clos'd,
And my cold Corfe wound in my Shrowd to reft;
My painful Heart will never ceafe to beat,
Will never know a Moment's Peace 'till then,
DUMON T.

Wou'd you be happy? leave this fatal Place,
Fly from the Court's pernicious Neighborhood;
Where Innocence is fham'd, and blufhing Modefty
Is made the Scorner's Jeft; where Hate, Deceit,
And deadly Ruin, wear the Mafques of Beauty,
And draw deluded Fools with Shews of Pleasure.
JANE SHORE.

Where fhould I fly, thus helpless and forlorn,
Of Friends, and all the Means of Life bereft ?
DUMON T.

Bellmour, whofe friendly Care ftill wakes to ferve you, Has found you out a little peaceful Refuge, Far from the Court and the tumultuous City. Within an ancient Foreft's ample Verge,

There

There ftands a lonely, but a healthful Dwelling,
Built for Convenience, and the Use of Life:
Around it Fallows, Meads, and Pastures fair,
A little Garden, and a limpid Brook,

By Nature's own Contrivance feem difpos'd;
No Neighbors, but a few poor fiimple Clowns,
Honeft and true, with a well meaning Priest:
No Faction or domeftic Fury's Rage,
Did e'er disturb the Quiet of that Place,
When the contending Nobles fhook the Land
With Fork and Lancaster's difputed Sway.
Your Virtue there may find a fafe Retreat
From the infulting Pow'rs of wicked Greatnefs.
JANE SHORE.

Can there be so much Happiness in Store?
A Cell like that, is all my Hopes afpire to.
Haste then, and thither let us take our Flight,
Ere the Clouds gather, and the Wintry Sky
Defcends in Storms to intercept our Paflage.
DUMONT.

Will you then go

? You glad my very Soul! Banish your Fears, caft all your Cares on me ; Plenty, and Eafe, and Peace of Mind fhall wait you, And make your latter Days of Life most happy. Oh, Lady! but I must not, cannot tell you, How anxious I have been for all your Dangers, And how my Heart rejoices at your Safety. So when the Spring renews the flow'ry Field, And warns the pregnant Nightingale to build, She feeks the fafeft Shelter of the Wood, Where the may truft her little tuneful Brood; Where no rude Swains her fhady Cell may know, No Serpents climb, nor blafting Winds may blow; Fond of the chofen Place, the views it o'er, Sits there, and wanders thro' the Grove no more : Warbling the charms it each returning Night, And loves it with a Mother's dear Delight.

[Exeunt.

ACT