The vilest copy of his book e'er purchased, Will give us more relief in this distress, Than all his boasted precepts.-Nay, no tears; Keep them to move compassion when you beg. Agnes. My heart may break, but never stoop to that.
O. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it. But dispatch. [Exit Agnes. Where must I charge this length of misery, That gathers force each moment as it rolls, And must at last o'erwhelm me, but on hope: Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope, That has for years deceived me?-Had I thought
As I do now, as wise men ever think, When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me, That power to die implies a right to do it, And should be used when life becomes a pain, What plagues had I prevented!-True, my wife
Is still a slave to prejudice and fear
I would not leave my better part, the dear
Faithful companion of my happier days, To bear the weight of age and want alone.- I'll try once more —
Enter Agnes, and after her Young Wilmot. Return'd, my life, so soon!—
Agnes. The unexpected coming of this stranger
Prevents my going yet.
Y. Wilm. You're, I presume, The gentleman to whom this is directed. [Gives a letter. What wild neglect, the token of despair, What indigence, what misery, appears In this once happy house! What discontent, What anguish and confusion, fill the faces Of its dejected owners!
O. Wilm. [Having read the letter.] Sir, such welcome
As this poor house affords, you may command. Our ever friendly neighbour-once we hoped To have call'd fair Charlotte by a dearer
Revives in us the mem'ry of a loss, Which, though long since, we have not learn'd to bear.
Y. Wilm. The joy to see them, and the bitter pain
It is to see them thus, touches my soul With tenderness and grief, that will o'erflow.
They know me not-and yet I shall, I fear, Defeat my purpose, and betray myself. [Aside. O. Wilm. The lady calls you, here, her valued friend;
Enough, though nothing more should be implied,
To recommend you to our best esteem,- A worthless acquisition! May she find Some means that better may express her kind-
But she, perhaps, has purposed to enrich You with herself, and end her fruitless sorrow For one, whom death alone can justify For leaving her so long. If it be so, May you repair his loss, and be to Charlotte A second, happier Wilmot! Partial nature, Who only favours youth, as feeble age Were not her offspring, or below her care, Has seal'd our doom: no second hope shall spring
To dry our tears, and dissipate despair.
Agnes. The last, and most abandon'd of our
By Heaven and earth neglected or despised! The loathsome grave, that robb'd us of our son, And all our joys in him, must be our refuge. Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardon'd, or devoted
fiends, [strains; Fear without hope, and wail in such sad But grace defend the living from despair! The darkest hours precede the rising sun, And mercy may appear when least expected. O. Wilm. This I have heard a thousand times repeated,
And have, believing, been as oft deceived. Y. Wilm. Behold in me an instance of its
At sea twice shipwreck'd, and as oft the prey Of lawless pirates; by the Arabs thrice Surprised, and robb'd on shore; and once re
To worse than these, the sum of all distress That the most wretched feel on this side hell; Even slavery itself: yet here I stand, Except one trouble that will quickly end, The happiest of mankind.
O. Wilm. A rare example Of fortune's changes; apter to surprise Or entertain, than comfort or instruct. If you would reason from events, be just, And count, when you escaped, how many perish'd;
And draw your inference thence. Agnes. Alas! who knows,
But we were render'd childless by some storm, In which you, though preserved, might bear a part?
Y. Wilm. How has my curiosity betray'd me | Or more provoking pity of the world. [turn, Into superfluous pain! I faint with fondness; Plenty, content, and power, might take their And shall, if I stay longer, rush upon them; And lofty pride bare its aspiring head Proclaim myself their son; kiss, and embrace At our approach, and once more bend before them; A pleasing dream!-'Tis past; and now I For sure it was a happiness to think, [wake: Though but a moment, such a treasure mine. Nay, it was more than thought—I saw, and touch'd
Till, with the excess of pleasure and surprise, Their souls, transported, their frail mansions quit,
And leave them breathless in my longing arms. By circumstances then, and slow degrees, They must be let into a happiness
Too great for them to bear at once, and live: That Charlotte will perform. I need not feign To ask an hour for rest. [Aside.] Sir, I entreat The favour to retire; where, for a while, I may repose myself. You will excuse This freedom, and the trouble that I give you: 'Tis long since I have slept, and nature calls. O. Wilm. I pray, no more: Believe we're only troubled,
you should think any excuse were needful. [encumbrance, Y. Wilm. The weight of this, to me is some [Takes a casket out of his bosom, and gives it to his mother.
And its contents of value: if you please To take the charge of it till I awake, I shall not rest the worse. If I should sleep Till I am ask'd for, as perhaps I may, I beg that you would wake me. Agnes. Doubt it not :
Distracted as I am with various woes, I shall remember that.
[Exit, with Old Wilmot.
Y. Wilm. Merciless grief! What ravage has it made! how has it changed Her lovely form and mind! I feel her anguish, And dread, I know not what, from her despair. My father too-0, grant them patience,
SCENE I.-A Room in Old Wilmot's House. Enter Agnes alone, with the Casket in her hand. Agnes. Who should this stranger be?—And then this casket-
He says it is of value, and yet trusts it, As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand. His confidence amazes me- -Perhaps
It is not what he says-I'm strongly tempted To open it, and see.-No, let it rest! Why should I pry into the cares of others, Who have so many sorrows of my own? With how much ease the spring gives way!— Surprising!
My eyes are dazzl'd, and my ravish'd heart Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright's the lustre, [jewels!- And how immense the worth of these fair Ay, such a treasure would expel for ever Base poverty, and all its abject train; Famine; the cold neglect of friends; the scorn,
The bright temptation; and I see it yet- 'Tis here-'tis mine-I have it in possession- Must I resign it? Must I give it back ? Am I in love with misery and want?- To rob myself, and court so vast a loss? Retain it then-But how?-There is a way- Why sinks my heart? Why does my blood run cold? [choice, Why am I thrill'd with horror?-'Tis not But dire necessity suggests the thought. Enter Old Wilmot.
O. Wilm. The mind contented, with how little pains
The wand'ring senses yield to soft repose! He's fallen asleep already-Happy man! What dost thou think, my Agnes, of our guest? He seems to me a youth of great humanity: Just ere he closed his eyes, that swam in tears, He wrung my hand, and press'd it to his lips, And with a look, that pierc'd me to the soul, Begg'd me to comfort thee: And-dost thou hear me?-
What art thou gazing on?-Fie, 'tis not well. This casket was deliver'd to you closed: Why have you open'd it? Should this be How mean must we appear! [known,
Agnes. And who shall know it? O. Wilm. There is a kind of pride, a decent dignity, [tunes, Due to ourselves; which, spite of our misfor- May be maintain'd, and cherish'd to the last. To live without reproach, and without leave To quit the world, shows sovereign contempt, And noble scorn of its relentless malice.
Agnes. Shows sovereign madness, and a scorn of sense.
Pursue no farther this detested theme: I will not die; I will not leave the world, For all that you can urge, until compell'd.
O. Wilm. To chase a shadow, when the set
Is darting his last rays, were just as wise As your anxiety for fleeting life,
Now the last means for its support are failing : Were famine not as mortal as the sword, Your warmth might be excused-But take thy choice:
Die how you will, you shall not die alone. Agnes. Nor live, I hope.
O. Wilm. There is no fear of that. Agnes. Then, we'll live both.
O. Wilm. Strange folly! where the means? Agnes. There-those jewels!
O. Wilm. Ah!-Take heed! Perhaps thou dost but try me—yet take heed! There's naught so monstrous, but the mind of
In some conditions, may be brought to approve.
Theft, sacrilege, treason, and parricide, When flatt'ring opportunity enticed, And desperation drove, have been committed By those who once would start to hear them named.
Agnes. And add to these detested suicide, Which, by a crime much less, we may avoid. O. Wilm. How couldst thou form a thought so very damning,
So advantageous, so secure, and easy, And yet so cruel, and so full of horror? Agnes. "Tis less impiety, less against nature, To ask 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. -Oh! what is man, his excellence strength,
When in an hour of trial and desertion, Reason, his noblest power, may be suborn'd To plead the cause of vile assassination! Agnes. You're too severe: Reason may For our own preservation. [justly plead
O. Wilm. Rest contented: Whate'er resistance I may seem to make, I am betray'd within: my will's seduced, And my whole soul's 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.
Agnes. Then naught remains,
But the swift execution of a deed That is not to be thought on, or delay'd- O. Wilm. Gen'rous, unhappy man! Oh! what could move thee
To put thy life and fortune in the hands Of wretches mad with anguish!
Agnes. 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! Agnes. Barbarous man!
Whose wasteful riots ruin'd our estate, And drove our son, ere the first down had spread
His rosy cheeks, spite of my sad presages, Earnest entreaties, agonies, and tears, To seek his bread 'mongst strangers, and to In some remote, inhospitable land [perish The loveliest youth, in person and in mind, That ever crown'd a groaning mother's pains! Where was thy pity, where thy patience then? Thou cruel husband! thou unnat'ral 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'st made me!
O. Wilm. Dry thy tears:
I ought not to reproach thee. I confess That thou hast suffer'd much : so have we both. But chide no more; I'm wrought up to thy
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, furnish'd 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, Touch'd by the icy hand of grisly death, Are with ring in their bloom.But, thought extinguish'd,
He'll never know the loss,
Nor feel the bitter pang of disappointmentThen 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!
SCENE II-A Room, with Young Wilmot asleep upon a Bed, in the Distance.
Enter Old Wilmot and Agnes.
Agnes. The stranger sleeps at present; but so restless
His slumbers seem, they can't continue long. Here, I've secured his dagger.
O. Wilm. Oh, Agnes! Agnes! if there be 'Tis just we should expect it. [a hell, [Goes to take the dagger, but lets it fall. Agnes. Shake off this panic, and be more yourself. [we determin'd? O. Wilm. What's to be done? On what had Agnes. You're quite dismay'd.
[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 stopp'd. 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. Agnes. Where do you go? The street is that way.
O. Wilm. True! I had forgot. Agnes. Quite, quite confounded! O. Wilm. Well, I recover.-I shall find the way. [Retires towards the bed. Agnes. Oh, softly! softly! The least noise undoes us.
What are we doing? Misery and want Are lighter ills than this! I cannot bear it! Stop, hold thy hand!-Inconstant, wretched
What! doth my heart recoil?-O, Wilmot! | Are these the fruits of all thy anxious cares For thy ungrateful parents?- -Cruel fiends! O. Wilm. What whining fool art thou, who wouldst usurp
Wilmot i What pow'r shall I invoke to aid thee, Wilmot!
Enter Charlotte, Eustace, and Randal.
Char. What strange neglect! The doors are all unbarr'd,
And not a living creature to be seen!
Enter Old Wilmot and Agnes. 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?
Agnes. Heard you that?—
What prodigy of horror is disclosing, To render murder venial!
O. Wilm. Pr'ythee, peace:
The miserable damn'd suspend their howling, And the swift orbs are fix'd 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
On these dumb phantoms of despair and horror! Let us search further; Randal, show the way. [Exeunt Randal, Eustace, and Charlotte. Agnes. Let life forsake the earth, and light
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! 0. Wilm. Curses and deprecations are in vain : [course, The sun will shine, and all things have their When we, the curse and burden of the earth, Shall be absorb'd, 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. Agnes. Ever kind,
But most in this!
9. Wilm. I will not long survive thee. Agnes. Do not accuse thy erring mother, Wilmot!
With too much rigour, when we meet above. To give thee life for life, and blood for blood, Is not enough. Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all to speak my penitence, Deep and sincere, and equal to my crime. Oh, Wilmot! oh, my son! my son! [Dies.
Enter Randal and Eustace. Eust. Oh, Wilmot! Wilmot!
My sovereign right of grief?-Was he thy
[blood, Say! canst thou show thy hands, reeking with That flow'd, through purer channels, from thy loins? [ocean, Compute the sands that bound the spacious And swell their numbers 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 cursed wretch, who only hopes from this [Stabbing himself.
To change the scene, but not relieve his pain. Rand. A dreadful instance of the last re- May all your woes end here! [morse!
Ó. Wilm. Q 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—-—
Rand. Heaven grant they may! And may thy penitence atone thy crime! 'Tend well the hapless Charlottte, and bear
These bleeding victims of despair and pride; Toll the death-bell! and follow to the grave The wretched parents and ill-fated son.
Till, brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high, With this bold executing arm I struck The ugly brindled monster to the heart.
§ 51. Description of a populous City. YOUNG -THIS ancient city,
How wanton sits she amidst nature's smiles! Nor from her highest turret has to view But golden landscapes and luxuriant scenes, A waste of wealth, the store-house of the world;
Here fruitful vales far stretching fly the sight; There sails unnumber'd whiten all the stream; While from the banks full twenty thousand
Survey their pride, and see their gilded towers Float on the waves, and break against the
These ruffians left me.
Beneath a shade
I sat me down, more heavily oppress'd, More desolate at heart than e'er I felt Before; when Philomela o'er my head Began to tune her melancholy strain, As piteous of my woes: till, by degrees, Composing sleep on wounded nature shed A kind but short relief. At early morn, Wak'd by the chant of birds, I look'd around For usual objects: objects found I none, Except before me stretch'd the toiling main, And rocks and woods, in savage view, behind.
§ 54. The first Feats of a young Eagle. Rowe. -So the Eagle,
You, Sir, have been my study. I have plac'd The father and the king. What weight of duty Before mine eyes, in every light of life, What virtuous toil to shine with his renown, Lay on a son from such a parent sprung, Has been my thought by day, my dream by night:
But first and ever nearest to my heart Was this prime duty, so to frame my conduct Tow'rd such a father, as were I a father, My soul would wish to meet with from a son. And may reproach transmit my name abhorr'd To latest time-if ever thought was mine Unjust to filial reverence, filial love!
HAVE I then no tears for thee, my father? Can I forget thy cares, from helpless years Thy tenderness for me? an eye still beam'd With love? A brow that never knew a frown? Nor a harsh word thy tongue? Shall I for these Repay thy stooping venerable age With shame, disquiet, anguish, and dishonor? It must not be!-thou first of angels! come, Sweet filial piety! and firm my breast: Yes! let one daughter to her fate submit, Be nobly wretched-but her father happy.
§ 58. Bad Fortune more easily borne than good. ROWE.
WITH Such unshaken temper of the soul That bears the thunder of our grandsire Jove, To bear the swelling tide of prosp'rous fortune,
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