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Am I to blame to love him? O, thou dear one, Pri. Daughter!
Why do you fly me? Are you angry still then? Bel. Ha! look there!
Jaffier, where art thou? father, why do you My husband bloody, and his friend too! Murder!
do thus ?

Who has done this ? Speak to me, thou sad
Stand off, don't hide him from me. He's bere

vision: somewhere.

On these poor trembling knees I beg it. VaStand off, I say: What gone? Remember't,

nish'd tyrant:

Here they went down-Oh, I'll dig, dig the I may revenge myself for this trick, one day.

den up! I'll dot-I'll do't.

You shan't delude me thus. Hoa, Jaffier, Jaffier,
Enter Officer.

Peep up, and give me but a look. I have him

I've got him, father: Oh! Pri. News, what news?

My love! my dear! my blessing! help me! [Officer whispers Priuli.

help me! Offi . Most sad, sir;

They have hold on me, and drag me to the Jaffier, upon the scaffold, to prevent

bottom. A shameful death,stabb’d Pierre, and next himself; Nay—now they pull so hard farewell Both fell together.

[Dies. The Curlain falls slowly to Music.

THE ORPHAN OR, The Unhappy Marriage. Tragedy by Thomas Olway. Acted at the Duke's Theatre 1680. The plot is founded on the history of Brandon, in a novel called English Adventures, published in 1667. The language is truly poetical, tender, and sentimental, the circumstances are affecting and the catastrophe is distressfull. Yet there is somewhat improbable in the particular on which all the distresses are founded;' and we must own that we incline to the opinion of that person, who, on first seeing it, exclaimed, “Oh! what an infinite deal of mischief would a farthing rushlight have prevented !” We cannot avoid remarking, says the Biographia Dramatica, that the compassion of the audience has commonly appeared misplaced; it lighting in general on tħe whining, irresolute Caslalio, instead of falling, where it ought to do, on the more spirited and open-hearted Polydore, who, in consequence of concealments on the side of his brother, which he could not have any reason to expect, and by which he is really injured, is templed in his love and resentment to an net which involves him in greater horror and distress than any of the other characters can undergo, from the more bloody effects it produces. This partiality has, however, always appeared to us to arise from some strokes of libertinism thrown into the early parts of Polydore's character, which give an air of looseness to it, and prejudice the audience against him through the whole play. As Dr. Johnson observes, “it is one of the few pieces that keep possession of the stage, and has pleased for almost a century, through all the vicissitudes of dramatic fashion. of this play nothing new can easily be said. It is a domestic tragedy drawn from middle life. power is upon the ailections; for it is not written with much comprehension of thought, or clegance of expression. But if the heart is interested, many other beauties may be wanting, yet not be missed." Voltaire, who (from his eptsgious vanily) seldom spoke of an English author but in a strain of ridicule, has sarcastically, yet not without some apa pearance of truth, observed of the impetuous Chamont: “There is a brother of Monimia, a soldier of fortune, who, bem cause he and his sister are cherished and maintained by this worthy family, abuses them all round. *Do me justice, you old Put,' says he to the father, or, damme, I'll sel your house on fire.'—'My dear boy,' says the accommodating old gentleman, 'you shall have justice.””

Its whole

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ACT I.

Cas. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war SCENE I.MA Garden.

Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard

And I be thine. What is't could hurt us then Enter CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and Page. Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, Cas. POLYDORE, our sport

How fulsome must it be to stay behind, Has been to-day much better for the danger: And die of rank diseases here at home! When on the brink the foaming boar I met, Pol. No, let me purchase in my youth renown And in his side thought to have lodg’d my spear, To make me lov'd and valu'd when I'm old; The desperate savage rush'd within my force, I would be busy in the world, and learn, And bore me headlong with him down the rock. Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed, Pol. But then

Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow. Cas. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Po- Cas. Our father lydore,

Has ta’en himself a surfeit of the world, Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed, And cries, it is not safe that we should taste i Came on, and down the dang'rous precipice I own, I have duty very pow'rful in me: leap'd

And though I'd hazard all to raise my nam To save Castalio.—'Twas a godlike act! Yet he's so tender, and so good a father,

Pol. But when I came, I found you conqueror. I could not do a thing to cross his will. Oh! my heart danc'd, to see your danger past! Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my hear The heat and fury of the chase was cold, Which you, and only you, can satisfy: And I had nothing in my mind but joy. Will you be free and candid to your friend

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Cas..So;

Cas. Have I a thought my Polydore should Cas. My friend,
not know?

If he survives me; if not, my king,
What can this niean?

Who may bestow't again on some brave man,
Pol. Nar, I'll conjure you too,

Whose honesty and services deserve one.
Bu all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship, Pol. 'Tis kindly offer'd.
To show your heart as naked in this point, Cas. By yon heaven, I love

As you would purge you of your sins to hear’n. My Polydore beyond all worldly joys;
1 And should I chance to touch it near, bear it And would not shock his quiet, lo be blest

With all the suff'rance of a tender friend. With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.

Cas. As calmly as the wounded patient bears Pol. And, by that heaven, eternally I swear,
The artist's hand, that ministers his cure. To keep the kind Castalio in my heart.
Pol. That's kindly said. You know our fa- Whose shall Monimia be?
ther's ward,

Cas. No matter whose.
The fair Monimia:– is your heart at peace? Pol. Were you not with her privately last
Is it so guarded, that you could not love her?

night? Cus. Suppose I should ?

Cas. I was; and should have met her bere ᅣ

Pol
. Suppose you should not, brother?

again. Cas. You'd say, I must not.

The opporlunity shall now be thine;
Pol. That would sound too roughly But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee,
'Twist friends and brothers, as we two are. That no false play be offer'd to thy brother.
Cas. Is love a fault ?

Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper;
Pol. In one of us it may be-

But wrong not mine. What, if I love her?

Pol. By heaven, I will not. Cas. Then I must inform you

Cas. It't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to I lord her first, and cannot quit the claim;

conquer Bat will preserve the birthright of my passion. (For thou hast all the arts of soft persuasion), Pol. You will?

Trust me, and let me know thy love's success, Cas. I will

That I may ever after stille mine. Pol . No more; I've done.

Pol. Though she be dearer to my soul than rest Cas. Why not?

To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold, Pol. I told you I had done.

To great men pow'r, or wealthy cities pride; But roo, Castalio, would dispute it.

Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her.

[Exeunt Castalio and Polydore. Not with my Polydore:-- though I must own

Enter MONIMIA.
My nature obstinate, and void of sufl'rance ;
I could not bear a rival in my friendship, Mon. Pass'd not Castalio and Polydore
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.

y? Pol. Yet you will break this friendship! Page. Madam, just now. Cas. Not for crowns.

Mon. Sure some ill fate's upon me:
Pol But for a toy you would, a woman's toy. Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart,
Injust Castalio!

And apprehension shocks my tim'rous soul.
Cas. Pr'ythee, where's my fault ?

Why was not I laid in my peaceful grave Pol You love Monimia.

With my poor parents, and at rest as they are? Cas. Yes.

Instead of that, I'm wand'ring into cares.Pol. And you would kill me,

Castalio! () Castalio! thou hast caught
I'm rour rival?

My foolish heart; and, like a tender child,
Cas. No;-sure we're such friends, That trusts his plaything to another hand,
So much one man, that our affections too I fear its harm, and fain would have it back.
Most be united, and the same as we are. Come near, Cordelio; I must chide you, sir.
Pol! dole upon Monimia.

Page. Why, madam, have I done you any
Cas. Love her still;

wrong? High and enjoy her.

Mon. I never see you now; you bave been Pol. Both of us cannot.

kinder; (s. No matter

Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money
"Esse chance it prore; but let's not quarrel for't.
Pol. You would not wed Monimia, would you? Page. Madam, I'd 'serve you with my soul.
Css. Wed her!

Mon. Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast heard ~were she all desire could wish, as fair Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets), 13 rould the vainest of her sex be thought, Sometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me? * eb wealth beyond what woman's pride Page. O madam! very wickedly they have 'could waste,

talk'd! ens should not cheat me of my freedom.—Marry! But I am afraid to name it; for, they say, abral am old and weary of the world, Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters' u grow desperate,

secrets. lake a wife to mortify withal.

Mon. Fear not, Cordelio; it shall ne'er be Prt. It is an elder brother's duty so

known; propagule his family and name.

For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine. i would not have yours die, and buried Polydore cannot be so kind as I. with you?

I'l-furnish thee with all thy harmless sports, Cus. Mere vanity, and silly dotage, all:- With pretly toys, and thou shalt be my page. ist me live at large, and when i dic- Page. And truly, madam, I had rather be so. hlWho shall possess th' estate you leave? Methinks you love me better than my lord; ·

this way

for you.

For he was never half so kind as you are. If softest wishes, and a heart more true
What must I do?

Than cver suffer'd yet for love disdain'd, Mon. Insorm me how thou'st heard

Speak an ill nature, you accuse me justly. Castalio and his brother use my name. Mon. Talk not of love, my lord, I'must not Page. With all the tenderness of love,

hear it. You were the subject of their last discourse. Pol. Who can bebold such beauty, and be At first I thought it would have fatal provid;

silent? But as the one grew hot, the other coolid, Desire first taught us words. Man, when And yielded to the frailty of his friend;

created, At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd— At first alone long wander'd up and down Mon. What, good Cordelio?

Forlorn, and silent as his vassal beasts : Page. Not lo quarrel for you.

But when a hear'n-born maid, like you, appcard, Mon. I would not have 'em, by, my dearest Strange pleasures fill'd his eyes and fir'd his heart

, bopes;

Unloos’d his tongue, and his first talk was love. I would not be the argument of strise. Mon. The first created pair indeed were But surely my Castalio won't forsake me,

bless'd; And make a mock’ry of my easy love! They were the only objects of each other, Went they together?

Therefore he courted her, and her alone; Page. Yes, to seek you, madam.

But in this peopled world of beauty, where Castalio promis'd Polydore to bring him, There's roving room, where you may court, Where he alone might meet you,

and ruin And fairly try the fortune of his wishes. A thousand more, why need you talk to me? Mon. Am I then grown so cheap, just to Pol. Oh! I could talk to thee for ever. Thus be made

Eternally admiring, fix, and gaze A common stake, a prize for love in jest ? On those dear eyes; for every glance they send Was not Castalio very loath to yield'it? Darts through my soul. Or was it Polydore's unruly passion,

Mon. How can you labour thus for my That heightend the debate?

undoing? Page. The fault was Polydore's.

I must confess indeed, I owe you more Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd Than ever I can hope, or think, to pay.. The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire. There always was a friendship 'twist our He said, no woman's smiles should buy his

families ; freedom:

And therefore when my tender parents dy'd, And marriage is a mortifying thing...,[Exit

. Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them, Mon. Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio's false, Your father's pily and his bounty took me, Where is there faith and honour to be found? A poor and helpless orphan, to his care. Ye gods, that guard the innocent, and guide Pol. 'Twas Heav'n ordain'd it so, lo make The weak, protect and take me to your care,

me happy: O, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me! Hence with this peevish virtue, 'tis a cheat; Why was I made with all my sex's fondness, And those who taught it first were hypocrites. Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies ? Come, these soft, tender limbs were made for l'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods,

yielding Be a true woman, rail, protest my, wrongs; Mon. Here on my knees, by hear'n's blest Resolve to hate him, and yet love him still.

pow'r I swear,

[Kneels

If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you Re-enter CASTALIO and POLYDORE.

But rather wander through the world a beggar de comes.

And live on sordid scraps at proud men's doors Gas. Madam, my brother begs he may have For though to fortune lost, rh still inherit leave

My mother's virtues, and my father's honour To tell you something that concerns you nearly. Pol. Intolerable vanity! your sex I leave you, as becomes me, and withdraw. Was never in the right; y'are always false, Mon. My lord Castalio!

Or silly; ev'n your dresses are not more Cas. Madam!

Fantastic than your appetites; you

think Mon. Have you purpos'd

Of nothing twice; opinion you have none. To abuse me palpably? What means this usage? To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free; Why am I left with Polydore alone? Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, the Cas. He best can tell you. Business of

glad; importance

Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you kno“ Calls me away: I must attend

my
father.

not why! Mon. Will you then leave me tbus? Mon. Indeed, my lord, Cas. But for a moment.

I own my sex's follies; I have 'em all; Mon. It has been otherwise: the time has been, And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you. When business might have stay'd, and I been Therefore, believe me, could you raise me hi heard.

As most fantastic woman's wish could read Cas. I could for ever hear thee; but this time and lay all nature's riches at my feet; Matters of such odd circumstances press me, I'd rather run a savage in the woods, That I must go.

[Exit

. Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled a Mon: Then go, and, if't be possible, for ever.

deformid, Well, my lord Polydore, I guess your business, So I might still enjoy my honour safe, And read th' ill-natur'd purpose in your eyes. From the destroying wiles of faithless men [E.

Pol. If to desire you more than misers wealth, Pol. Who'd be that sordid thing calld ma Or dying men an hour of added life; I'll

I yet possess my love, it shall be so. [E.reu

grow idle.

ACT II.

Another sister! sure, it must be so ;

Though I remember well I had but one:
SCENE I.-A Saloon.

But I feel something in my heart that prompts, Enter ACASTO, CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and And tells me, she has claim and interest.there. Altendants.

Acas. Young soldier, you've not only studied Acas. To-day has been a day of glorious sport:

war, When you, Gastalio, and your brother lefi me, Courtship, I see, bas been your practice too, Forth from the thickets rúsh'd another boar, And may not prove unwelcome to my daughter. So large, be seem'd the tyrant of the woods, Cham. Is she your daughter? then my heart With all bis dreadful bristles rais'd up high,

told true, They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back; And I'm at least her brother by adoption; Foaming he came at me, where I was posted For you bave made yourself to me a father, Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase, And by that patent I have leave to love her. Whetting his huge large tusks, and gaping wide, Ser. Monimia, thou hast told me men are false, As if be already had me for his prey ! Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love: Till brandishing my well-poisid javelin high, Is Chamont so? no, sure, he's more than man; With this bold executing arm I struck Something that's near divine, and truth dwells The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

in him. Cas. The actions of your life were always

Acas. Thus happy, who would envy pomwondrous.

pous pow'r, Acas. No flattery, boy! an honest man can't The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities? live by't ;

Let there be joy through all the house this day!
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves In ev'ry room let plenty flow at large !
l'se to cajole and soften fools withal. It is the birth-day of my royal master!
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't, You have not visited the court, Chamont,
Or send it to a court, for there 'lwill thrive. Since your return ?

Cus. Your lordship's wrongs have been Cham. I have no bus'aess there;
So great, that you with justice may complain; I have not slavish temperance enough
Bat sufier us, whose younger minds ne'er felt T'attend a favourite's heels, and watch his smiles,
Fortune's deceits, to court her, as she's fair: Bear an ill office done me to my face,
Were sbe a common mistress, kind to all, And thank the lord that wrong’d me for his favour.
Her worth would cease, and half the world Acas. This you could do. [To his Sons.

Cas. I'd serve my prince.
Meibinks I would be busy.

Acas. Who'd serve him?
Pol. So would I,

Cas. I would, my lord.
Not loiter out my life at home, and know Pol. And I; both would.
No further than one prospect gives me leave. Acas. Away!
Acas. Busy your minds then, study arts and He needs not any servants such as you.
men;

Serve him! he merits more than man can do! Learn how to salue merit, though in rags, He is so good, praise cannot speak his worth; And scorn a proud, ill-manner'd knave in office. So merciful, sure he ne'er slept in wrath!

So just, that, were he but a private man,
Enter SERINA.

He could not do a wrong! How would you Ser. My lord, my father!

serve him ? Acas. Blessings on my child!

Cas. I'd serve him with' my fortune here at Vy little cherub, what hast thou to ask me?

home, Ser. I bring you, sir, most glad and wel-And serve him with my person in his wars: come news;

Watch for him, fight for him, bleed for him. The young Chamont, whom you're so often Pol. Die for him, wish'd for,

As ev'ry true-born, loyal subject ought. Is just arriv'd, and entering.

Acas. Let me embrace ye both! now, by Acas. By my soul,

the souls and all my honours, he's most dearly welcome; of my brave ancestors, I'm truly happy! me receive him like his father's friend. For this, be ever blest my marriage day!

Blest be your mother's memory, that bore you;
Enter CHAMONT.

And doubly blest be that auspicious hour
Welcome, thou relict of the best lov'd man! That gave ye birth!
Welcome from all the turmoils, and the hazards
Of certain danger, and uncertain fortune!

Enter a Servant.
Welcome as happy tidings after fears. Sero. My lord, th' expected guests are just
Chamn. Words would but wrong the gral-

arriv'd. itude I owe you!

Acas. Go you and give 'em welcome and Should I begin to speak, my soul's so full

,

reception. That I should talk of nothing else all day.

[Exeunt Castalio and Polydore.

Cham. My lord, I stand in need of your Enter MONIMIA.

assistance, Hon. My brother!

In something that concerns my peace and honour. Cham. Ó my sister, let me hold thee Acas. Spoke like the son of that brave man Long in my arms. I've not beheld thy face

I lov'd! These many days; by night I've often seen thee So freely, friendly, we convers’d together. In gentle dreams, and satisfy'd my soul

Whate'er it be, with confidence impart it; With fancy'd joys, till morning cares awak'd me. Thou shalt command my fortune and my sword.

Let

a man

Cham. I dare not doubt your friendship, nor Cham. Then you'll remember too he was

your justice, Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear, That liv'd up to the standard of his honour, My orphan sister, must not be forgotten! And priz'd that jewel more than mines of wealth: Acas. Pr'ythec no more of thai, it grates He'd not have done a shameful thing but once: my nature.

Though kept in darkness from the world, and Cham. When our dear parents dy'd, they

bidden,
dy'd together

He could not have forgiv'n it to himself.
One fate surpris d'em, and one grave receiv'd'em; This was the only portion that he left us;
My father, with his dying breath, bequeath' And I more glory in't than if possess'd
Her to my love; my mother, as she lay Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
Languishing by him, call'd me to her side, 'Twas a large trust, and must be manag‘d nicely:
Took me

in her fainting arms, wept, and Now if, by any chance, Monimia,
embrac'd me;

You have soild ihis gem, and taken from its value, Then press'd me close, and, as she observ'd How will you account with me? my tears,

Mon. I challenge envy, Kiss'd them away; said she, “Chamont, my son, Malice, and all the practices of hell, By this, and all the love I ever show'd thee, To censure all the actions of my past Be careful of Monimia: watch her youth; Unhappy life, and taint me if they can! Let not her wants betray her to dishonour; Cham. I'll tell thee, then; three nights ago, as I Perhaps kind heav'n may raise some friend." Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me, Then sighid,

A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat Kiss'd me again; so bless'd us, and expir'd. Dew'd all my face, and trembling seiz'd my Pardon my grief.

limbs : Acas. li speaks an honest nature.

My bed shook under me, the curtains started, Cham. The friend heav'n rais'd was you; And to my tortur'd fancy there appear'd you took her up,

The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art; An infant, to the desert world expos'd, Thy garments flowing loose, and in each band And prov'd another parent.

A wanton lover, who by turns caress'd thee Acas. I've not wrong'd ber.

With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure. Cham, Far be it from my fears.

I snatch'd my sword, and in the very moment Acus. Then why this argument?

Darled it at the phantom; straight ii left me; Cham. My lord, my nature's jealous, and Then rose, and callid for lights, when, O dire you'll bear it.

omen! Acas. Go on.

I found my weapon had the arras pierc'd, Cham. Great spirits bear misfortunes hardly; Just where that famous tale was interwoven, Good offices claim gratitude; and pride, How the unhappy. Theban slew his father. Where pow'r is wanting, will usurp a little, Mon. And for this cause my virtue is suspected! And make us (rather than be thought behind Because in dreams your fancy has been ridden, hand)

I must be tortur'd waking! Pay over price.

Cham. Have a care; Acas. I cannot guess your drift;

Labour not to be justify'd too fast: Distrust you me?

Hear all, and then let justice hold the scale, Cham. No, but I fear her weakness What follow'd was the riddle that confounds me. May make her pay her debt at any rate: Through a close lane, as I pursu'd my journey, And to deal freely with your lordship's goodness, And meditating on the last night's vision, I've heard a story lately much disturbs me. I spy'd a wrinkled hag, with age grown double Acas. Then first charge her; and if th' of- Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself; fence be found

Her eyes with scalding, rheum were galld Within my rcach, though it should touch my

and red : nature,

Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seemd In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance

wither'd, Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoic'd in, And on her crooked shoulders had she wrappi I'd prosecule it with severest vengeance. [E.cit. The tatler'd remnant of an old strip'd hanging

Cham. I thank you, from my soul. Which serv'd to keep her carcass from the cold Mon. Alas, my brother! What have I done? So there was nothing of a piece about her: My heart quakes in me; in your settled face, Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch And clouded brow, methinks I see my fate. With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white You will not kill me?

yellow, Cham. Pr'ythee, why dost thou talk so ? And seem'd to speak variety of wretchednes

Mon. Look kindly on' me then; I cannot bear I ask'd her of my way, which she inform'd me Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me; Then crav'd my charity, and bade me haste My heart's so tender, should you charge me To save a sister! At that word I started ! rough,

Mon. The common cheat of beggars; every da Ishould but weep, and answer you with sobbing: They flock about our doors, pretend to gift

: But use me gently, like a loving brother, of prophecy, and telling fools their fortunes And search through all the secrets of my soul. Cham. Oh! but she told me such a tal Cham. Fear nothing, I will show myself a

Monimia, brother,

As in it bore great circumstance of truth; A tender, honest, and a loving brother. Castalio and Polydore, my sister. You've not forgot our father?

Mon. Ha!

[fail yo Mon. I never shall.

Cham. What, alter'd ? does your coura

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