Jar. Be but resigned, sir, and happiness enough last night. The thought of him is hormay yet be yours. Hark! I hear voices - rible to me. Come this way: we may reach home unnoticed.

Stuke. In the street did you say? and no

Beo. Unnoticed didst thou say? Alas! I dread one near him. no looks but of those wretches I have made Bates. By his own door; he was leading at home. Oh, had I listened to thy honest me to his house. I pretended business with warnings, no earthly blessing had been want-him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he ing to me; but I have warred against the power was reaching at the bell. that blest me, and now am sentenced to the hell I merit.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-STUKELY's Lodgings.

Enter STUKELY and DAWSON.

I

Stuke. And did he fall so suddenly?

Bates. The repetition pleases you, I see-
told you he fell without a groan.

Stuke. What heard you of him this morning?
Bales. That the watch found him in their

Stuke. Come hither, Dawson; my limbs are rounds, and alarmed the servants. I mingled on the rack, and my soul shivers in me, till with the crowd just now, and saw him dead this night's business be complete.-Tell me thy in his own house. The sight terrified me. thoughts; is Bates determined, or does he waver? Stuke. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise Daw. At first he seemed irresolute!-wished and accuse us. We have no living enemy to the employment had been mine; and muttered fear unless 'tis Beverley; and him we have curses on his coward hand, that trembled at lodged safe in prison.

the deed.

Bates. Must he be murdered too?

Stuke. And did he leave you so? Stuke. No; I have a scheme to make the Daw. No; we walked together, and, shel-law his murderer. At what hour did Lewson fall? tered by the darkness, saw Beverley and Lew- Bates. The clock struck twelve as I turned son in warm debate; but soon they cooled, to leave him-'Twas a melancholy bell, I thought, and then I left them to hasten hither; but not ringing for his death. till 'twas resolved Lewson should die.

Stuke. Thy words have given me life. That quarrel too was fortunate; for, if my hopes deceive me not, it promises a grave to Beverley, Daw. You misconceive me-Lewson and he were friends.

Stuke. The time was lucky for us-Beverley

was arrested at one, you say ? [To Dawson. Daw. Exactly.

Stuke. Good. We'll talk of this presently. The women were with him, I think?

Daw. And old Jarvis. I would have told

Stuke. But my prolific brain shall make them you of them last night, but your thoughts were enemies. If Lewson falls he falls by Beverley too busy.-Tis well you have a heart of stone; -Ask me no question, but do as I direct. the tale would melt it else. This writ [Takes out a Pocket-book] for some Stuke. Out with it then.

days past I have treasured here, till a conve- Daw. I traced him to his lodgings; and nient time called for its use-That time is come; take it, and give it to an officer-It must be [ Gives a Paper.

served this instant.

Daw. On Beverley?
Stuke. Look at it.-It is for the sums that
I have lent him.

Daw. Must he to prison then?

.

Stuke. I ask, obedience, not replies. This night a gaol must be his lodging. "Tis probable he's not gone home yet.-Wait at his door, and see it executed.

pretending pity for his misfortunes, kept the door open while the officers seized him. 'Twas a damned deed! - but no matter - I followed my instructions.

Stuke. And what said he?

Daw. He upbraided me with treachery, called you a villain, acknowledged the sums you had lent him, and submitted to his fortune. Stuke. And the women

Daw. For a few minutes astonishment kep them silent. They looked wildly at one an Daw. Upon a beggar!-He has no means other, while the tears streamed down the of payment. cheeks. But rage and fury soon gave ther Stuke. Dull and insensible!-If Lewson dies, words; and then, in the very bitterness who was it killed him? Why, he that was despair, they cursed me, and the monster the seen quarrelling with him; and I, that knew had employed me, of Beverley's intents, arrested him in friendship -A little late, perhaps; but 'twas a virtuous act, and men will thank me for it. Now, sir, you understand me?

Stuke. And you bore it with philosophy? Daw. Till the scene changed, and then melted. I ordered the officers to take aw their prisoner. The women shrieked, and wou have followed him; but we forbade them. Tw then they fell upon their knees, the wife fai ed, the sister raving, and both, with all [Exit. eloquence of misery, endeavouring to sof Stuke. Now tell thy tale, fond wife! And, us. I never felt compassion till that mome Lewson, if again thou canst insult me!

Daw. Most perfectly; and will about it. Stuke. Haste, then; and when 'tis done, come back and tell me.

Daw. Till then, farewell.

and, had the officers been moved like me, Not avarice now, but vengeance, fires my had left the business undone, and fled w

breast;

curses on ourselves. But their hearts w

And one short hour must make me curs'd steeled by custom. The sighs of beauty,

or bless'd.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.-STUKELY's Lodgings.

[Exit. the pangs of affection, were beneath their p They tore him from their arms, and loc him in prison, with only Jarvis to comfort Stuke. There let him lie, till we have fur business with him-But how to proceed require time and thought.--Come along

Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON.

But I told you

SCENE IL-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings. Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Mrs. B. No news of Lewson yet?

me; the room within is fitted for privacy-deliberately, and the result is death! How the But no compassion, sir. [To Dawson]-We self-murderer's account may stand I know not. want leisure for't-This way. [Exeunt. But this I know-the load of hateful life oppresses me too much-The horrors of my soul are more than I can bear-[Offers to kneel.] Father of mercy!-I cannot pray-Despair has laid his iron hand upon me, and sealed me Char. None. He went out early, and knows for perdition - Conscience! conscience! thy not what has happened. clamours are too loud!-Here's that shall siMrs. B. The clock strikes eight-I'll wait no lence thee. [Takes a Phial out of his Pocket, longer. Ob, what a night was last night! I and looks at it] Thou art most friendly to would not pass another such to purchase worlds the miserable. Come then, thou cordial for by it-My poor Beverley too! What must he sick minds-Come to my heart. [Drinks] Oh, have felt-The very thought distracts me!-that the grave would bury memory as well as To have him torn at midnight from me! A body! For if the soul sees and feels the sufloathsome prison his habitation! A cold, damp ferings of those dear ones it leaves behind, room his lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, the Everlasting has no vengeance to torment blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to full it deeper-I'll think no more on't-Reflection him to his rest! and no reflections but to comes too late-Once there was a time for❜t wound and tear him!-'Tis too horrible!--but now 'tis past.-Who's there? wanted love for him, or they had not forced

bim from me.-They should have parted soul and body first-I was too tame.

Enter JARVIS.

Jar. One that hoped to see you with better Char. You must not talk so. All that we looks-Why do you turn so from me? I have could we did; and Jarvis did the rest-The brought comfort with me. And see who comes faithful creature will give him comfort. See to give it welcome! where he comes! His looks are cheerful too!

Enter JARVIS. Mrs. B. Are tears then cheerful! Alas, he weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte.

Char. How does your master, Jarvis? Jar. I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my words-But don't you weep: [To Mrs. Beverley] I have a tale of joy for you.

Mrs. B. Say but he's well, and I have joy enough.

Jar. All shall be well-I have news for him, that will make his poor heart bound again Fie upon old age! How childish it makes me-I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it.

Mrs. B. What is it, Jarvis? Jer. Your uncle, madam, died yesterday. Mrs. B. My uncle!-Oh, heavens! Char. How heard you of his death? Jar. His steward came express, madam-I met him in the street, inquiring for your lodgings-I should not rejoice, perhaps but he was old, and my poor master a prisoner-Now he shall live again-Ob, 'tis a brave fortune! and twas death to me to see him a prisoner.

Char. How did he pass the night, Jarvis? Jar. Like a man dreaming of death and horrors-When they led him to his cell, he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and lay speechless till day-break. I spoke to him, but be would not hear me; and when I persisted, be raised his hand at me, and knit his brow -I thought he would have struck me. bid him be of comfort-Be gone, old wretch, says he-My wife! my child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no comfort! Then, falling upon his knees, he imprecated curses upon himself.

I

Beo, My wife and sister! Why 'tis but one pang more then, and farewell, world! [Aside.

Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE.

Mrs. B. Where is he? [Runs and embraces him] Oh, I have him! I have him! And now they shall never part us more-I have news, love, to make you happy for ever -Alas, he hears us not!-Speak to me, love. have no heart to see you thus. Bev. This is a sad place!

I

Mrs. B. We come to take you from itto tell you the world goes well again— that Providence has seen our sorrows, and sent the means to help them--Your uncle died yesterday. Bev. My uncle!-No, do not say so!-Oh, I am sick at heart!

Mrs. B. Indeed!-I meant to bring you comfort.

Bev. Tell me he lives then-If you would bring me comfort, tell me he lives!

Mrs. B. And if I did-I have no power to raise the dead-He died yesterday.

Bev. And I am heir to him? Jar. To his whole estate, sir-But bear it patiently-pray bear it patiently.

Bec. Well, well-[Pausing] Why fame says I am rich then?

Mrs. B. And truly so-Why do you look so wildly?

Bev. Do I? The news was unexpected. But has he left me all?

Jar. All, all, sir-He could not leave it from you.

Beo. I am sorry for it.

Mrs. B. Why are you disturbed so?
Bev. Has death no terrors in it?

Mrs. B. Not an old man's death. Yet, if
it troubles you, I wish him living,
Bev. And I, with all my heart. For I have

Mrs. B. This is too horrible! But we have staid too long. Let us haste to comfort him, a tale to tell that shall turn you into stone; or, or die with him. if the power of speech remain, you shall kneel down and curse me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Prison.
BEVERLEY is discovered sitting.
Bes. Why there's an end then; I have judged

Mrs. B. Alas! and why are we to curse you?-P'll bless you for ever.

Bev. No; I have deserved no blessings. The

Mrs B. Then hear me, heaven! [Kneels] Look down with mercy on his sorrows! Give softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart! Take from his memory the sense of what is past, and cure him of despair! On me, on me, if misery must be the lot of either, multiply misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so he is happy! These hands shall toil for his support! These eyes be lifted up for hourly blessings on him! And every duty of a fond and faithful wife be doubly done, to cheer and comfort him! So hear me!-So reward me! [Rises. Beo. I would kneel too, but that offended heaven would turn my prayers into curses. For I have done a deed to make life horrible to you

Mrs B. What deed?

Jar. Ask him no questions, madam-This last misfortune, has hurt his brain. A little time will give him patience.

Enter STUKely.

Beo. Why is this villain here!

Stuke. To give you liberty and safety. There, madam, is his discharge. [Giving a Paper to Mrs. Beverley The arrest last night was meant in friendship, but came too late. Char. What mean you, sir?

Stuke. Rather let him fly. His evidence may crush his master.

Beo. Why ay; this looks like management. Bates. He found you quarrelling with Lewson in the streets last night. [To Beverley.

Mrs. B. No; I am sure he did not.
Jar. Or if I did -
Mrs. B. 'Tis false, old man-They had no
quarrel; there was no cause for quarrel.
Beo. Let him proceed, I say-Oh! I am
sick! sick!-Reach a chair. [He sits down.
Mrs. B. If Lewson's dead, you killed him not.
Enter DAWSON.

Stuke. Who sent for Dawson?
Bates. "Twas I-We have a witness too
you little think of-without there!
Stuke. What witness?

is

Bates. A right one. Look at him.

Enter LEWSON and CHARLOTTE. Stuke. Lewson! O villains! villains! [To Bates and Dawson. Mrs. B. Risen from the dead! Why, this unexpected happiness!

Char. Or is it his ghost? [To Stukely] That sight would please you, sir.

Jar. What riddle's this?

Beo. Be quick and tell it-My minutes are but few.

Mrs. B. Alas! Why so? You shall live long and happily.

Lew. While shame and punishment shall rack that viper! [Pointing to Stukely] The tale is short-I was too busy in his secrets, and therefore doomed to die. Bates, to prevent the murder, undertook it-I kept aloof to give it credit.—

Char. And gave me pangs unutterable. Lew. I felt them all, and would have told you-But vengeance wanted ripening. The Stuke. The arrest was too late, I say; Ivillain's scheme was but half executed. The would have kept his hands from blood, but arrest by Dawson followed the supposed murder And now, depending on his once wicked as

was too late. Mrs. B. His hands from blood!—whose blood?sociates, he comes to fix the guilt on Beverley. Stuke. From Lewson's blood.

Char. No, villain! Yet what of Lewson? Speak quickly.

Bates. Dawson and I are witnesses of this. Lew. And of a thousand frauds. His fortune ruined by sharpers and false dice; and

Stuke. You are ignorant then! I thought I Stukely sole contriver and possessor of all.

heard the murderer at confession.

Char. What murderer?-And who is murdered? Not Lewson?-Say he lives, and I'll kneel and worship you.

Stuke. In pity, so I would; but that the tongues of all cry murder. I came in pity, not in malice, to save the brother, not kill the sister. Your Lewson's dead.

Char. Oh, horrible!

Beo. Silence, I charge you-Proceed, sir. Stuke. No; justice may stop the tale-and there's an evidence.

Enter BATES.

Bates. The news, I see, has reached you. But take comfort, madam. [To Charlotte]

Daw. Had he but stopped on this side murder, we had been villains still.

Lew. How does my friend? [To Beverley, Beo. Why, well, Who's he that asks me? Mrs. B. 'Tis Lewson, love-Why do you look so at him?

Bev. They told me he was murdered.

[Wildly Mrs. B. Ay; but he lives to save us. Bev. Lend me your hand-The room turns round.

Lew. This villain here disturbs him. Remove him from his sight-And, for your lives, see that you guard him. [Stukely is taken off by Dawson and Bates] How is it, sir? Bec. 'Tis here-and here. [Pointing to his

There's one without inquiring for you.-Go Head and Heart] And now it tears me.

to him, and lose no time.

Char. O misery! misery!

Mrs. B. Follow her, Jarvis. If it be true

Mrs. B. You feel convulsed too-What is't [Exit. disturbs you? Beo. A furnace rages in this heart-Down, that Lewson's dead, her grief may kill her. restless flames! [Laying his Hand on his Bates. Jarvis must stay here, madam. I Heart] Down to your native hell-There you have some questions for him. shall rack me-Oh! for a pause from pain!

Where's my wife?-Can you forgive me,

Mrs. B. Alas! for what?

Bev. For meanly dying.

Mrs. B. No-do not say it.

love?

Mrs. B. Restore him, heaven! Oh, save him! save him! or let me die too.

Beo. No; live, I charge you. We have a little one.-Though I have left him, you will

Bec. As truly as my soul must answer it-not leave him-To Lewson's kindness I beHad Jarvis staid this morning all had been queath him.-Is not this Charlotte?—We have well. But, pressed by shame-pent in a prison lived in love, though I have wronged you.-tormented with my pangs for you-driven Can you forgive me, Charlotte?

to despair and madness-I took the advantage
of his absence, corrupted the poor wretch he
left to guard me, and-swallowed poison.
Lew. Oh, fatal deed!

Char. Dreadful and cruel!

Char. Forgive you! Oh, my poor brother! Béo. Oh! for a few short moments to tell you how my heart bleeds for you-That even now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fearful of hereafter, my bosom-pang is for your miseries! Support her, heaven!-And now I goOh, mercy! mercy! [Dies.

Lew. How is it, madam?

Char. Her grief is speechless.

Bev. Ar, most accursed-And now I go to my account. Bend me, and let me kneel. [Kneels] I'll pray for you too. Thou power that madest me, hear me? If for a life of frailty, and this too hasty deed of death, thy justice Lew. Remove her from this sight-lead and dooms me, here I acquit the sentence; but if, support her-Some ministering angel bring her enthroned in mercy where thou sittest, thy peace! [Charlotte leads her off] And thou, paty has beheld me, send me a gleam of hope, poor, breathless corpse, may thy departed soul that in these last and bitter moments my soul have found the rest it prayed for! Save but may taste of comfort! and for these mourners one error, and this last fatal deed, thy life was here, ob! let their lives be peaceful, and their lovely. Let frailer minds take warning; and deaths happy! from example learn, that want of prudence is [They lift him to the Chair. want of virtue. [Exit.

T

THOMAS OTWAY,

Wat are remarkable for moving the tender passions, than for the variety of fortune to which he himself aced He was the son of the Rev. Mr. Humphrey Otway, rector of Wolbeding, in Sussex, and was born at in dal county, the 5d of March in the year 1651. He received his education at Wickeham school, near War, and became a commoner of Christ Church, in Oxford, in 1669. But on his quitting the university, in 10%, and caring to London, he turned player. His success as an actor was but indifferent, having made only one *** Mr. Eehn's tragedy of The Fore'd Marriage; or, Jealous Bridegroom; he was more valued for the sprighta conversation and the acuteness of his wit; which gained him the friendship of the Earl of Plymouth, who cuted him a cornet's, commission in the troops which then served in Flanders. At his return from Flanders he gave mmission and had recourse to writing for the stage; and now it was that he found out the only employBett at ware seems to have fitted him for. In comedy he has been deemed to licentious; which, however, was section to those who lived in the profligate days of Charles 11. But in tragedy few of our English poets led him; and perhaps none ever excelled him in touching the passions, particularly that of love. There is something familiar and domestic in the fable of his tragedy, and there is amazing energy in his expression Olway possessed, in so eminent a degree, the rare talent of writing to the heart, yet he was not very faretarded by some of his contemporary poets; nor was he always successful in his dramatic compositions. Afriencing many reverses of fortune, in regard to his circumstances, but generally changing for the worse, he at wrrichedly in a house, known by the sign of a Bull, on Tower Hill, April 14, 1685. whither he had retired the pressure of his creditors. Some have said, that downright hunger compelling him to fall too eagerly upon * of bread, of which he had been some time in want, the first mouthful choked him, and instantly put a period

.

VENICE PRESERVED.

17 at the Duke's Theatre, 1682. This interesting tragedy is borrowed, with respect to the plan of it at least,., le book that relates the circumstances of the Spanish conspiracy at Venice, i. c. the Abbé de St. Real's Liisla la Cajuration du Marquis de Badumar. The speech of Renault to the conspirators is translated word for this author. It has been remarked, that though, on the whole, the incidents of Otway's piece are interesting, c'astrophe affecting, there is not one truly valuable character in the whole drama, except that of Belvidera. berer, we cannot entirely subscribe. The character of Pierre is nobly drawn. His public services had been with ingratitude, and he was a greatly injured character; but was justly punished for taking a treasonable drening his wrongs. The scene lies in Venice. By comparing this with The Orphan, it will appear that were by time become stronger, and his language more energetic. The public seems to judge rightly of the *4cellencies of this play; that it is the work of a man not attentive to decency, nor zealous for virtue, but of *** creceived forcibly, and drew originally, by consulting nature in his own breast, Mr. Dryden says, "the moshe studied are never so natural as those which break out in the height of a real passion. Mr. Olway this part as thoroughly as any of the ancients or moderns. I will not defend every thing in his Venice Premust bear this testimony to his memory, that the passions are truly touched in it, though perhaps there **** to be desired, both in the grounds of them, and in the height and elegance of expression; but nature is mesh in the greatest beauty."

My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
You think me. Patience! where's the distance Heav'n has already crown'd our faithful loves
With a young boy, sweet as his mother's
beauty:

In right, though proud oppression will not hear May he live to prove more gentle than his

Jaf. You use me thus, because you know
my soul
Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive

By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation;
Pleas'd with your growing virtue, I receiv'd My life feeds on her, therefore thus

Courted, and sought to raise you to your Oh! could my soul ever have known satiety;
Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs
As you upbraid me with, what hinders me
But I might send her back to you with con
tumely,

My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours; you might have us'd