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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
Bev. 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 Sluke. And did he fall so suddenly? hell I merit.
[E.reunt. Bates. The repetition pleases you, I see
I told you he fell without a groan.
Bates. 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 multered 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 bither; but not ringing for his death. till 'twas resolved Lewson should die.
Štuke. The time was lucky for us--Beverley Stuke. Thy words have given me life. was arrested at one, you say? [To Dawson. That quarrel too was fortunate; for, if my bopes Daw. Exactly. deceive me not, it promises a grave to Beverley; Stuke. Good. We'll talk of this presently
. Daw. You misconceive memLewson and he The women were with him, I think? were friends.
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 ioo busy.- 'Tis well you have a heart of stone; -Ask me no question, but do as I direct. the tale would mell 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; pretending pity for his misfortunes
, kept the take it, and give it to an officer-It must be door open while the officers seized him. Twa served this instant.
[Gives a Paper. a damned deed!-- but no matter-I followed Dax, On Beverley ?
my instructions. Stuke. Look at it. It is for the sums that Stuke. And what said he? I have lent him.
Daw. He upbraided me with treachery, callDaw. Must he to prison then?
ed you a villain, acknowledged the sums you Stuke. I ask, obedience, not replies. · This had lent him, and submitted to his fortune. pight a gaol must be his lodging: 'T'is probable Stuke. And the womenhe's not gone home yet.— Wait at his door, Daw. For a few minutes astonishment kept and sec it executed.
them silent. They looked wildly at one an: Daw. Upon a beggar!—He has no means other, while the tears streamed down theit of payment. Stuke. Dull and insensible !--If Lewson dies, words; and then, in the very bilierness
cheeks. But rage and fury soon gave them who was it killed him? Why, he that was despair
, they cursed me, and the monster that seen quarrelling with him; and I, that knew had employed me, of Beverley's intents, arrested him in friendship Stuke. And you bore it with philosophy? -A little late, perhaps; but 'twas a virtuous Daw. Till the scene changed, and then! act, and men will thank me for it. Now, sir, melted. I ordered the officers to take away you understand me?
their prisoner. The women shrieked, and wouli Daw. Most perfectly; and will about it. have followed bim; but we forbade them. 'Twa: Stuke. Haste, then ; and
when 'tis done, come then they fell upon their knees, the wife faintback and tell me.
ed, the sister raving, and both, with all the Daw. Till then, farewell.
[Exit. eloquence of misery, endeavouring to softer Sluke. Now tell thy tale, fond wife! And, us. Lewson, if again thou canst insult me!
I never felt compassion till that moment
and, had the officers been moved like me, we Not avarice now,
had left the business undone, and fled will breast; And one short bour must make me curs'd steeled by custom. The sighs of beauty
, and curses on ourselves. But their hearts were or bless'd.
[Exit. the pangs of affection, were beneath their pity: ACT V.
| They tore him from their arms, and lodged SCENE I.-STUKELY's Lodgings.
him in prison, with only Jarvis to comfort bim.
Stuke. There let him lie, till we have further Enter Stukely, Bates, and DAWSON. business with him-But how to proceed will Bates. Poor Lewson! - But I told you'require time and thought.--Come along with
me; the room within is fitted for privacy- deliberately, and the result is death! How the But no compassion, sir. [To Dawson]-Ve self-murderer's account may stand I know not. vant leisure for's—This way. [E.reunt. But this I know—the load of hateful life opSCENE IL-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings.
presses me too much-The horrors of my soul
are more than I can bear-[Offers to kneel.] Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Father of mercy !-I cannot pray-Despair has Mrs. B. No news of Lewson yet? 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. Os, what a night was last night! 1 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, bare felt? --The very thought distracts me!- that the grave would bury memory as well as To bare him torn at midnight from me! A body! For if the soul sees and feels the sufboathsome prison his habitation! A cold, damp serings of those dear ones it leaves behind, Toem bis lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, the Everlasting has no vengeance to torment
his pillow! No fond wife to lull it deeper-I'll think no more on't-Reflection kim to his rest! and no reflections but to comes too late-Once there was a time fort 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
Enter JARVIS. and body first-I was too tame.
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! Bev, My wife and sister! Why 'tis but one Enter JARVIS.
pang more then, and farewell, world! [Aside. Mrs. B. Are tears then cheerful! Alas, he weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte.
Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Char. How does your master, Jarvis?
Mrs. B. Where is he?, [Runs and em, Jar. I an old and foolish, madam; and braces him] Oh, I have him! I have him! lears will come before my words-But don't And now they shall never part us more - -I you weep; [To Mrs. Beverley] I have a tale bave news, love, to make you happy for ever of joy for you.
---Alas, he hears us not!-Speak to me, love. Mrs. B. Say but he's well, and I have joy I have no heart to see you thus. enough.
Bev. This is a sad place! Jar. All shall be well—I have news for him, Mrs. B. We come to take you from itthat will make his poor heart bound again to tell you the world goes well again – that Fie upon old age! – How childish it makes Providence has seen our sorrows, and sent the me! - I have a tale of joy for you, and my means to help them-Your uncle died yesterday. tears drown it.
Bev. My uncle!—No, do not say so.—Oh, Mrs. B. What is it, Jarvis?
I am sick at heart! Jer. Your uncle, madam, died yesterday.
Mrs. B. Indeed!-I meant to bring you Mrs. B. My uncle!-Oh, heavens!
comfort. Char. How beard you of his death? Bev. Tell me he lives then-If you would Jar. His steward came express, madam–1 bring me comfort, tell me he lives! met bim in the street, inquiring for your lodg
Mrs. B. And if I did, I have no power to ings-I should not rejoice, perhaps—but he was raise the dead — He died yesterday. old, and my poor master a prisoner-Now he Bev. And I am heir to him? shall live again-Ob, 'tis a brave fortune! and Jar. To his whole estate, sir — But bear it twas death to me to see him a prisoner. patiently-pray bear it patiently. Char. How did he pass the night, Jarvis? Beo. Well, well-[Pausing] Why fame Jar. Like a man dreaming of death and says I am rich then ? borrors-When they led him to his cell, he Mrs. B. And truly so-Why do you look lung bimself upon a wretched bed, and lay so wildly? speechless till day-break. I spoke to him, but Bev. Do I? The news was unexpected. But be would not bear me; and when I persisted, has he left me all? be raised his band at me, and knit his brow Jar. All, all, sir — He could not leave it so thought he would have struck me. bid bim be of cornfort-Be
old wretch, Beo. I am sorry for it. says he - My wise! my child! my sister! I have Mrs. B. Why are you disturbed so ? udone them all, and will know no comfort! Beo. Has death no ícrrors in it? Then, filling upon his knees, he imprecated Mrs. B. Not an old man's death. Yet, if Curses upon himself.
it troubles you, I wish him living, Mrs. B. This is too horrible! But we have Bev. And I, with all my heart. For I have staid too long. Let us baste to comfort him, a tale to tell that shall turn you into stone; or, ar die with him,
[Exeunt. if the power of speech remain, you shall kneel
down and curse me. SCENE III.-A Prison.
Mrs. B. Alas! and why are we to curse BEVERLEY is discovered silting. you?--I'll bless you for ever. Ber. Why there's an end then; I have judged Bev. No; I have deserved no blessings. The
I from you.
world holds not such another wretch. All this Stuke. Rather let him fly. His evidence large fortune, this second bounty of heaven, may crush his master. that might have healed our sorrows, and sa- Bev. Why ay; this looks like management. tisfied our utmost hopes, in a cursed hour I Bates. He found you quarrelling with Lewson sold last night.
in the streets last night. [To Beverley Mrs. B. Impossible!
Mrs. B. No; I am sure he did not.
an- They had no debts of honour, and to redeem past errors, quarrel; there was no cause for quarrel. I sold the reversion-Sold it for a scanty sum, Bev. Let him proceed, I say-Oh! I am and lost it among villains.
sick! sick!-Reach a chair. [He sits down. Char. Why, farewell all then!
Mrs. B. If Lewson's dead, you killed him nol. Bev. Liberty and life-Come, kneel and
Enter Dawson. Mrs B. Then hear me, heaven! [Kneels] Stuke. Who sent for Dawson? Look down with mercy on his sorrows! Give Bates. 'Twas 1-We have a witness too softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart! you little think of-without there! Take from his memory the sense of what Stuke. What witness? past, and cure him of despair! On me, on me, Bates. A right one. Look at him. if misery must be the lot of either, multiply misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so he is
Enter LEWSON and CHARLOTTE. happy! These hands shall toil for his support! Stuke. Lewson! ( villains! villains! These eyes be lifted up for hourly blessings
[To Bates and Dawson. on him! And every duty of a fond and faith- Mrs. B. Risen from the dead! Why, this ful wife be doubly done, to cheer and comfort is unexpected happiness! him !-So hear me!-So reward me! [Rises. Char. Or is it his ghost? [To Stukely] That
Bev. I would kneel too, but that offended sight would please you, sir. heaven would turn my prayers into curses.
Jar. What riddle's this? For I have done a deed to make life horrible Bev. Be quick and tell il-My minutes are to you
but few. Mrs B. What deed?.
Mrs. B. Alas! Why so? You shall live long Jar. Ask him no questions, madam-This and happily: last misfortune, has hurt his brain. A little Lew. While shame and punishment shall time will give him patience.
rack that viper! [Pointing io Stukely] The Enter STUKELY.
tale is short-I was too busy in bis secrets, Bev. VVhy is this villain here!
and therefore doomed to die. Bates, to preStuke. To give you liberty and safety. There,
vent the murder, undertook it-I kept aloof to madam, is bis discharge. [Giving a Paper to give it credit.Mrs. Beverley:] The arrest · last night was
Char. And gave me pangs unutterable
. meant in friendship, but came too late.
Lew. I felt them all,' and would have tolu Char. What mean you, sir?
you-But vengeance wanted ripening. The Stuke. The arrest was too late; I' say; I
villain's scheme was but half executed. The would have kept his hands from blood, but arrest by Dawson followed the supposed murder I was too late.
--And now, depending on his once wicked asMrs. B. His hands from blood!—whose blood ? sociales, he comes to fix the guilt on Beverley
Bates. Dawson and I are witnesses of this. Stuke. From Lewson's blood. Char. No, villain! Yet what of Lewson?
Lew. And of a thousand frauds. His forSpeak quickly.
tune 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.
Daw. Had he but stopped on this side murder, Char. What murderer?-And who is nour-we had been villains still
. dered? Not Lewson ?-Say he lives, and I'll
Lew. How does my friend? [To Beverley, kneel and worship you,
Bev. Why, well. Who's he that asks me? Stuke. In pity, so I would; but that the look so at bim?
Mrs. B. 'Tis Lewson, love-Why do you tongues of all cry murder. I came in pity, not in malice, to save the brother, not kill the
Bev. They told me he was murdered. sister. Your Lewson's dead. Char. Oh, horrible!
Mrs. B. Ay; but he lives to save us. Bev. Silence, I charge you—Proceed, șir.
Bev. Lend me your hand–The room turns
round. Stuke. No; justice may stop the tale-and there's an evidence.
Lew. This villain here disturbs him. Remove
him from his sight-And, for your lives, see Enter Bates.
that you guard him. [Stukely is taken off by Bates. The news, I see, has reached you. Dawson nnd Bates How is it, sir? But take comfort, madam. [To Charlotte 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.
Mrs. B. You feel convulsed too-What is't Char. O misery! misery!
[E.rit. disturbs you? Mrs. B. Follow her, Jarvis. If it be true Bev. 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 bell—There wou have some questions for him.
shall rack me-Oh! for a pause from pain!
Where's my wife?-Can you forgive me, love? Mrs. B. Restore him, heaven! Oh, save him! Mrs. B. Alas! for what?
save bim! or let me die too. Bev. For meanly dying.
Bev. No; live, I charge you. - We have a Mrs. B. No-do not say it.
little one.-Though I have left him, you will Bee. 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 Char. Forgive you! Oh, my poor brother! of bis absence, corrupted the poor wretch he Dév. Oh! for a few short 'moments to tell left to guard me, and-swallowed poison. you how my heart bleeds for you—That even' Lex. Oh, fatal deed!
now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fearsul Char. Dreadful and cruel!
of hereafter, my bosom-pang is for your misBes. Ar, most accursed—And now I go to eries! Support her, heaven! -And now I gomy account. Bend me, and let me kneel. Oh, mercy! mercy!
[Vies. [Kneels.] I'll pray for you too. Thou power Lew. How is it, madam ? ibat madest me, hear me! If for a life of frailty, Char. Her grief is speechless. and this too hasty deed of death, thy justice Lew. Remove her from this sight-lead and dooms me, bere 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, pity bas beheld me, send me a gleam of hope, poor, breathless corpse, may thy departed soul ihat 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 bere , oh! let their lives be peaceful, and their lovely. Let frailer minds' take warning; and
from example learn, that want of prudence is [They lift him to the Chair. I want of virtue.
Wag net mere remarkable for moving the tender passions, than for the variety of fortune to which he himself tas sebjected. He was the son of the Rev. Mr. Humphrey Olway, rector of Wolbeding, in Sussex, and was born al Trolls in that cranly, the 5d of March in the year 1651.
He received his education at Wickehom school, ncar Winchester, and became a commoner of Christ Church, in Oxford, in 1669. But on his quilling the university, in 167, ad esaing to London, he turned player, His success as an actor was but indiferent, having made only one alcar a Jirs. Peha's tragedy of The Fore'd Marriage ; or, Jealons Bridegroum; he was more valued for the sprightLes of ha conversation and ihe acuteness of his wit; which gained him the friendship of the Earl of Plymouth, who prexured him a cornet's, commission in the troops which then served in Flanders. Al his return from Flanders he gave ?? his commission and had recourse to writing for the stage; and now it was that he found out the unty employneat that pare seems to have fitted him for. In comedy he has been deemed lo licentious; which, however, was Do great objection to those who lived in the profligale days of Charles ll. But in tragedy few of our English poets
er finalled him; and perhaps none ever excelled bim in touching the passions, particularly that of love. There is cenedlestething familiar and domestic in the fable of his tragedy, and there is amazing energy in his expression Eat thoragh Olwas passessed, in so eminent a degree, the rare talent of writing to the heart, yet he was not very fa**'s regarded by some of his contemporary poets; nor was he always successful in his dramatic compositions. Aftez esperiencing many reverses of fortune, in regard to his circumstances, but generally changing for the worse, he al in die wielehedly in a house, known by the sign of a Bull, on Tower Hill, April 14, 1685. whither ho bad retired +1 uraid the prestare of his creditors. Some have said, that downright hunger compelling him to fall too eagerly upon
press or bread, of which he had been some time in want, the first mouthțul choked him, and instantly put a period
w his coys.
LC7ED a the Duke's Theatre, 1982. This interesting tragedy is borrowed, with respect to the plan of il at least, .
lite book that relales the circumstances of the Spanish conspiracy at Venice, i. c. the Abbé de St. Real's His
da le Conjuration du Marquis de Badumar. The speech of Renault to the conspiralors is translated word for #ed from this authof. It has been remarked, that though, on the wbole, the incidents of Olway's piece are interesting,
ed the catastrophe affeeling, there is not one truly valuable character in the whole drama, excepl that of Belvidera. 74 #s, however, we cannot entirely subscribe. The character of Pierre is nobly drawn. His public services had been Fred zih ingratitude, and he was a greatly injured character; but was justly punished for taking a treasonable mede si redressing his wrongs. The scene lies in Venice, By comparing this with The Orphan, it will arrear
that se were by time become stronger, and his language more energetic. The public sectos to judge rightly of the is ad excellencies of this play; that it is the work of a man not allenlive in decency, nor zealous for virtue, but of se who caceived forcibly, and drew originally; by consulting nature in his own breast. Mr. Dryden says, "the moto wbich are studied are never so natural as those which break out in the height of a real passion.
Mr. Olway passed this part as thoroughly, as any of the ancients or moderns. I will not defend every thing in his Venice Préo red; bat I must bear this testimony to his memo y, that the passions are truly touched in it, though perhaps there
nacwhat to be desired, both in the grounds of them, and in the height and elegance of expression; but nature is bere, which is the greatest beauty."
DUKE OF VENICE.
May all your joys in her prove false, like mine;
A sterile fortune, and a barren bei,
Attend you both; continual discord make
Your days and nights bitter and grievous; still Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! Be gone May the hard hand of a vexatious need and leave me.
Oppress and grind you; till at last you find Jaf. Not hear me! By my suffering but you The curse of disobedience all your portion. shall!
Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestow'd My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
in rain: You think me. Patience! where's the distance Ileav'n has already crown'd our faithful loves throws
With a young boy, sweet as his mother's Me back so far, but I may boldly speak
beauty: In right, though proud oppression will not hear May he live to prore more gentle than his me?
grandsire, Pri. Have you not wrongd me?
And happier than his father. Jaf. Could my nature e'er
Pri. Rather live Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrongs, To bait thee for bis bread, and din your ears I need not now thus low have bent myself With hungry cries; whilst his unhappy mother To gain a hearing from a cruel father. Sils down and weeps in bitterness of want Wrong'd you ?
Jaf. You talk as if 'would please you. Pri: Yes, wrongd me! In the nicest point, Pri. 'Twould, by heav'n! The honour of my house, you're done me Jaf. Would I were in my grave! wrong.
Pri. And she too with thee: You
may remember (for I now will speak, For, living here, you're but my curst rememAnd urge ils baseness) when you first came home
I once was happy. From travel, with such bopes as made you Jaf. You use me thus, because you know By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation; Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive Pleas'd with your growing virtue, I receiva My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat
you; Courted, and sought to raise you to your Oh! could my soul ever have known satiety merils:
Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs My house, my table, nay, my fortune too, As you upbraid me with, what binders me My very self was yours; you might have us a But I might send her back to you with con
tumely, To your best service; like an open friend And court my fortune where she would by I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine:
kinder ? When, in requital of my best endeavours, Pri. You dare not do't. You treacherously practis'd to undo me; Jaf. Indeed, my lord, I dare not. Seduc'd the weakness of my age's darling, My heart, that awes me, is too much m My only child, and slole her from my bosom.
master: Oh Belvidera!
Three years are past, since first our vows wer Jaf. 'Tis to me you owe her:
plighted, Childless you had been else, and in the grave During which time, the world must bear m Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of.
witness, You may remember, scarce five years are past, I've treated Belvidera like your daughter, Since in your brigantine you sail'd to see The daughter of a senator of Venice: The Adriatic wedded by our duke; Distinction, place, attendance, and observane And I was with you: your unskilsul pilot Due to her birth, she always has commande Dash'd us upon a rock; wben to your boat Out of my little fortune I've done this; You made for safety: enter'd first yourself; Because (though hopeless e'er to win you Th' affrighted Belvidera following next,
nature) As she stood trembling on the vessel's side, The world might see I lov'd her for herself Was, by a wave, washid off into the deep; Not as the heiress of the great Priuli. When instantly 1 plung'd into the sea,
Pri. No more. And buffeting ihe billows to her rescue, Jaf. Yes, all, and then adieu for ever. Redeem'd her life with half the loss of mine. There's not a wretch, that lives on comm Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her,
charity, And with the other dash'd the saucy waves, But's happier than me: for I have known That throng'd and press'd to rob me of my The luscious sweets of plenty ; every night prize.
Have slept with soft content about my best I brought her, gave her to your despairing And never wak’d, but to a joyful morning
Yet now must fall, like a full ear of corn, Indeed
thank'd me; but a nobler gratitude Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in Rose in her soul: for from that hour she lov'd
Pri. Home, and be humble; study to retren Till for her life she paid me with her Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall, Pri. You stole her from me; like a thief Those pageants of thy folly: you stole ber,
Reduce the glittring trappings of thy wise At dead of night!" that cursed hour you chose To humble weeds, fit for thy little slate: To rifle me of all my heart held dear. Then, to some suburb cottage both retire;