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In the grim court of death, whose senses taste And after breath'd a jealousy upon thee,
The poisonous powder scatter'd o'er its leaves.
Now mark, that when with rapturous lust,
Thinking the dead Marcelia reviv'd,
The duke shali fix his lips upon thy hand,
Hold fast the poison'd herb, till the fond fool
Has drunk his death-draught from thy hand
he spurn'd.

As killing as those damps that belch out plagues
When the foundation of the earth is shaken:
I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon,
Which was-to kill an innocent.

[Sits down veiled.

Eug. I yield myself and cause up, to be
As thou think'st fit.
Fran. Now to the upshot;
And, as it proves, applaud it.—My lord the


Enter with joy, and see the sudden change,
Your servant's hand hath wrought.

Sfor. Call forth the tortures
For all that flesh can feel.

Fran. I dare the worst.

Only, to yield some reason to the world
Why I pursu'd this course-look on this face,
Made old by thy base falsehood! 'tis Eugenia.
Sfor. Eugenia!

Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister,
Seduc'd and fool'd by thee; but thou must
The forfeit of thy falsehood.
work yet?

Does it not

Re-enter LUDOVICO SFORZA and the Rest. Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not, Thou art mark'd for the grave: I've given thee

Sfor. I live again

my full confidence that Marcelia may Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet? Fran. No:

You must not look for all your joys at once;
That will ask longer time.

Sfar. By all the dues of love I have had
from her,

This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it.
[Kisses her Hand.

Pes. Tis wondrous strange!
Sfor. This act will bind e'en heaven your

The saints will smile and look on't.
Oh, I could ever feed upon this native

[Kisses her Hand again. Eugenia
throws away the Flower, and

She wakes! she lives! and I am blest again.
[She lifts up her Feil.
Oh! horror! shield me from that face.
Eug. I can no more-thou'rt mark'd for death.
Pes. Treason, treason!
Tib. Call up the guard.
Fran. Then we are lost.
Sfor. Speak.

Eug. This is

Enter Guard.

Fran. Francisco.

Pes. Monster of men!

Fran. Give me all attributes

Of all you can imagine, yet I glory
To be the thing I was born. I am Francisco;
Francisco, that was rais'd by you, and made
The minion of the time; the same Francisco,
That would have ue'd thy wife while she had life,


In this cup; now observe me: which, thy lust
Carousing deeply of, made thee forget
Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia.
Pes. O damn'd villain!
How do you, sir?
Sfor. Like one

[To Ludovico Sforza.

That learns to know in death what punish


Waits on the breach of faith! Oh! now I feel
An Aetna in my entrails. I have liv'd
A prince, and my last breath shall be command.
I burn! I burn! yet, ere life be consum'd,
Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture
That witty cruelty can invent.

Pes. Away with him!

Tib. In all things we will serve you.
Fran. Farewell, sister!

Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn;
I leave the world with glory. They are men,
And leave behind them name and memory,
That, wrong'd, do right themselves before they

[Exeunt Guard, with Francisco. Steph. A desperate wretch!

Sfor. I come: death! I obey thee.
Yet I will not die raging; for, alas!

My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia,
In death forgive me.-As you love me, bear


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EDWARD MOORE was bred a linen-draper; but having a stronger attachment to Pegasus than the yard, and redeat zeal in the pursuit of fame than in the hunt after fortune, he quitted business and applied to the Muses a support. In verse he had certainly a very happy and pleasing manner; in his Trial of Selim the Persian, which compliment to the ingenious Lord Lyttelton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of , viz. that which is couched under the appearance of accusation; and his Fables for the Female Sex seem, Balealy in the freedom and ease of the versification, but also in the forcibleness of the moral and poignancy of the is approach nearer to the manner of Mr. Gay, than any of the numerous imitations of that author which have attempted since the publication of his Fables. As a dramatic writer, Mr. Moore has, by no means, met with the

success his works had merited; since, out of three plays that he wrote, one of them, The Foundling, has been condemned for its supposed resemblance to a very celebrated comedy (The Conscious Lovers), but to which great preference must be given; and another, The Gamester, met with a cold reception, for no other apparent reason, but because it too nearly touched a favourite and fashionable vice. Yet on the whole his plots are interesting his sentiments delicate, and his language poetical and pleasing; and, what crowns the whole of his recommendation, the greatest purity runs through all his writings, and the apparent tendency of every piece is towards the promotion of morality and virtue. The two plays mentioned, and one more, (Gil Blas) with a screnata (Solomon) make the whole of his dramatic works. Mr. Moore married a lady of the name of Hamilton, whose father was table-decker to the princesses; she had also a very poetical turn, and has been said to have assisted him in the writing of his tragedy. One specimen of her poetry, however, was handed about before their marriage; it was addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen Duck; and begins with the following stanza:

Would you think it, my Duck, for the fault I must own
Your Jenny, at last, is quite covetous grown;

Though millions if fortune should lavishly pour,

I still should be wretched if I had not MORE.

And after half a dozen stanzas more, in which, with great ingenuity and delicacy, and yet in a manner that expresses a sincere affection, she has quibbled on our author's name, she concludes with the following lines: You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me;

But you shan't know his name; though I told you before, It begins with an M.; but I dare not say MORE. Mr. Moore died the 28. of Febr. 1757, soon after his celebrated papers, entitled The World, were collected into



ACTED at Drury Lane 1755. This tragedy is written in prose, and is the best drama that Mr. Moore produced, The language is nervous, and yet pathetic; the plot is artful, yet clearly conducted; the characters are highly marked, yet not unnatural; and the catastrophe is truly tragic, yet not unjust. Still with all these merits it met with but middling success, the general cry against it being, that the distress was too deep to be borne; yet we are rather apt to imagine its want of perfect approbation arose in one part, and that no inconsiderable one, of the audience, from a tenderness of another kind than that of compassion; and that they were less hurt by the distress of Beverley, than by finding their darling vice, their favourite folly, thus vehemently attacked by the strong lance of reason and dramatic execution. It has often been disputed, whether plays, in which the plots are taken from domestic life, should be written in prose or metre; and the success of the present performance and George Barnwell must incline one very strongly in favour of the former, A great author, however, appears to be of a different opinion. Mr. Howard says, that having communicated his play of The Female Gamester to Dr. Samuel Johnson, that gentleman observed that he could hardly consider a prose tragedy as dramatic; that it was difficult to performers to speak it; that, let it be either in the middling or in low life, it may, though in metre and spirited, be properly familiar and colloquial; that many in the middling rank are not without erudition; that they have the feelings and sensations of nature, and every emotion in consequence thereof, as well as the great; that even the lowest, when impassioned, raise their language; and that the writing of prose is ge nerally the plea and excuse of poverty of genius." We have heard that the interview between Lewson and Stukely, in the fourth act, was the production of Mr. Garrick's pen. When the play was shown in manuscript to Dr. Young, he remarked, that "Gaming wanted such a caustic as the concluding scene of the play presented,"

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one vice driven him from every virtue!-Nay, SCENE I.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings. from his affections too!-The time was, sisterMrs. B. And is. I have no fear of his af MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered. fections. Would I knew that he were safe! Mrs. B. Be comforted, my dear, all may be Char. From ruin and his companions. Bu well yet. And now, methinks, the lodging that's impossible. His poor little boy too begins to look with another face. Oh, sister! What must become of him?

sister! if these were all my hardships; if all I Mrs. B. Why, want shall teach him indus had to complain of were no more than quit- try. From his father's mistakes he shall lear ting my house, servants, equipage, and show, prudence, and from his mother's resignation your pity would be weakness. patience. Poverty has no such terrors in i Char. Is poverty nothing, then? as you imagine. There's no condition of lif Mrs. B. Nothing in the world, if it affected sickness and pain excepted, where happine only me. While we had a fortune, I was is excluded. The husbandman, who rises earl the happiest of the rich; and now 'tis gone, to his labour, enjoys more welcome rest give me but a bare subsistence and my hus-night for't. His bread is sweeter to him; h band's smiles, and I shall be the happiest of home happier; his family dearer; his enjoy the poor. Why do you look at me?

ments surer. The sun that rouses him in t Char. That I may hate my brother. morning, sets in the evening to release hir Mrs. B. Don't talk so, Charlotte. All situations have their comforts if swe Char. Has he not undone you?-Oh, this contentment dwell in the heart. But my po pernicious vice of gaming! But methinks his Beverley has none. The thought of havi usual hours of four or five in the morning ruined those he loves is misery for ever might have contented him. Need he have him. Would I could ease his mind of th staid out all night?—I shall learn to detest him.| Char. If he alone were ruined 'twere j Mrs. B. Not for the first fault. He never he should be punished. He is my broth slept from me before. 'tis true; but when I think of what he Char. Slept from you! No, no, his nights done-of the fortune you brought him—of have nothing to do with sleep. How has this own large estate too, squandered away up

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sin to doubt it.

this vilest of passions, and among the vilest of Jar. Is he indeed so poor, then?-Oh! he wretches! Oh, I have no patience!-My own was the joy of my old heart-But must his htte fortune is untouched, he says. Would creditors have all?-And have they sold his I were sure on't. house too? His father built it when he was Mrs. B. And so you may-'twould be a but a prating boy. The times that I have carried him in these arms! And, Jarvis, says Char. I will be sure on't-'twas madness he, when a beggar has asked charity of me, in me to give it to his management. But I'll why should people be poor? You shan't be demand it from him this morning. I have a poor, Jarvis; if I were a king nobody should melancholy occasion for it. be poor. Yet he is poor. And then he was Mrs. B. What occasion? so brave!-Oh, he was a brave little boy! And Char. To support a sister. yet so merciful, he'd not have killed the gnat that stung him.

Mrs. B. No; I have no need on't. Take it, and reward a lover with it.-The generous Lewson deserves much more-Why won't you make him happy?

Char. Because my sister's miserable. Mrs. B. You must not think so. I have my jewels left yet. And when all's gone, these I bands shall toil for our support. The poor should be industrious-Why those tears,


Mrs. B. Speak to him, Charlotte, for I cannot. Jar. I have a little money, madam; it might have been more, but I have loved the poor. All that I have is yours.

Mrs. B. No, Jarvis; we have enough yet. thank you though, and I will deserve your goodness.

Jar. But shall I see my master? And will he let me attend him in his distresses; I'll be Char. They flow in pity for you. no expense to him; and, 'twill kill me to be Mrs. B. All may be well yet. When he refused.-Where is he, madam? has nothing to lose, I shall fetter him in these arms again; and then what is it to be poor? Char. Cure him but of this destructive passion, and my uncle's death may retrieve all yet. Mrs. B. Ay, Charlotte, could we cure him! -But the disease of play admits no cure but poverty; and the loss of another fortune would but increase his shame and his affliction.Will Mr. Lewson call this morning?

Mrs. B. Not at home, Jarvis. You shall see him another time.

Char. He said so last night. He gave me hints too, that he had suspicions of our friend


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Char. He would fain be thought so;-therefore I doubt him. Honesty needs no pains to set itself off.

Enter Lucy.

Char. To-morrow, or the next day - Oh, Jarvis! what a change is here!

Jar. A change indeed, madam! my old heart aches at it. And yet, methinks-But here's somebody coming.

Re-enter LUCY, with STUKELY. Lucy. Mr. Stukely, madam. [Exit. Stuke. Good morning to you, ladies. Mr. Jarvis, your servant. Where's my friend, madam? [To Mrs. Beverley. Mrs. B. I should have asked that question you. Have you seen him to-day? Stuke. No, madam.


Char. Nor last night?

Stuke. Last night! Did he not come home then?
Mrs. B. No.-Were you not together?
Stuke. At the beginning of the evening, but

Lucy. Your old steward, madam. I had not since.-Where can he have staid? ant the heart to deny him admittance, the

Char. You call yourself his friend, sir-why good old man begged so hard for't. [Exit. do you encourage him in this madness of



Stuke. You have asked me that question Mrs. B. Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you before, madam; and I told you my concern to avoid me. was that I could not save him; Mr. Beverley Jar. Did you, madam? I am an old man, is a man, madam; and if the most friendly and bad forgot. Perhaps, too, you forbade entreaties have no effect upon him, I have no tears; but I am old, madam, and age will other means. My purse has been his, even be forgetful. to the injury of my fortune. If that has been Mrs. B. The faithful creature! how he moves encouragement I deserve censure; but I meant [To Charlotte. it to retrieve him.

Jar. I have forgot these apartments too. I Mrs. B. I don't doubt it, sir, and I thank member none such in my young master's ycu-But where did you leave him last night? herise; and yet I have lived in't these five- Stuke. At Wilson's, madam, if I ought to twenty years. His good father would not tell, in company I did not like. Possibly he ve dismissed me. may be there still. Mr. Jarvis knows the house, I believe.

Mrs. B. He had no reason, Jarvis. Jar. I was faithful to him while he lived,, wd when he died he bequeathed me to his I have been faithful to him too. Mrs. B. I know it, I know it, Jarvis. Jor. I have not a long time to live. I askbut to have died with him, and he dis

ed me.

Mrs. B. Prythee no more of this! "Twas
that dismissed you.

Jar. Shall I go, madam?
Mrs. B. No; he may take it ill.
Char. He may go as from himself.

Stuke, And if he pleases, madam, without
naming me. I am faulty myself, and should
conceal the errors of a friend. But I can re-
fuse nothing here. [Bowing to the Ladies.
Jar. I would fain see him, methinks.
Mrs. B. Do so then, but take care how you

upbraid him I have never upbraided him. Jar. Would I could bring him comfort!

Mrs. B. Nor have you, sir. Who told you of suspicion? I have a heart it cannot reach. Stuke. Then I am happy-I would say more -but am prevented.

Enter CHARLotte.

[Exit. Stuke. Don't be too much alarmed, madam. All men have their errors, and their times of seeing them. Perhaps my friend's time is not come yet. But he has an uncle; and old men Char. What a heart has that Jarvis!-A don't live for ever. You should look forward, creditor, sister. But the good old man has madam; we are taught how to value a second taken him away-"Don't distress his wifefortune by the loss of a first. Don't distress his sister." I could hear him [Knocking at the Door. say. ""Tis cruel to distress the afflicted”— Mrs. B. Hark! No-that knocking was too And when he saw me at the door, he begged rude for Mr. Beverley. Pray heaven he be well! pardon that his friend had knocked so loud. Stuke. Never doubt it, madam. You shall Stuke. I wish I had known of this. Was be well too-Every thing shall be well. it a large demand, madam?

[Knocking again. Char. I heard not that; but visits such as Mrs. B. The knocking is a little loud though these we must expect often-Why so distress-Who waits there? Will none of you an- ed, sister? This is no new affliction. swer?-None of you, did I say?-Alas, what Mrs. B. No, Charlotte; but I am faint with was I thinking of! I had forgot myself. watching quite sunk and spiritless - Will Char. I'll go, sister-But don't be alarmed you excuse me, sir? I'll to my chamber, and [Exit. try to rest a little. [Exit. Stuke. What extraordinary accident have Stuke. Good thoughts go with you, madam. you to fear, madam? My bait is taken then. [Aside.]-Poor Mrs. Beverley! How my heart grieves to see her thus! Char. Cure her, and be a friend then. Stuke. How cure her, madam? Char. Reclaim my brother.


Mrs. B. I beg your pardon; but 'tis ever thus with me in Mr. Beverley's absence. No one knocks at the door, but I fancy it is a messenger of ill news.

Stuke. You are too fearful, madam; 'twas but one night of absence; and if ill thoughts intrude (as love is always doubtful), think of your worth and beauty, and drive them from your breast.

Mrs. B. What thoughts? I have no thoughts that wrong my husband.

Stuke. Ay; give him a new creation, or breathe another soul into him. I'll think on't, madam. Advice, I see, is thankless.

Char. Useless I am sure it is, if, through mistaken friendship, or other motives, you feed his passion with your purse, and sooth it by example. Physicians, to cure fevers, Stuke. Such thoughts indeed would wrong keep from the patient's thirsty lip the cup that him. The world is full of slander; and every would inflame him. You give it to his hands. wretch that knows himself unjust, charges his [4 knocking] Hark, sir!-These are my broneighbour with like passions; and by the ge- ther's desperate symptoms-Another creditor! neral frailty hides his own-If you are wise, Stuke. One not so easily got rid of—What, and would be happy, turn a deaf ear to such Lewson! reports. 'Tis ruin to believe them.

Mrs. B. Ay, worse than ruin. 'Twould be to sin against conviction. Why was it mentioned?

Stuke. To guard you against rumour. The sport of half mankind is mischief; and for a single error they make men devils. If their tales reach you, disbelieve them.

Mrs. B. What tales? By whom? Why told? I have heard nothing or, if I had, with all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits no doubt-It is my safety, my seat of rest and joy, while the storm threatens round me. I'll not forsake it. [Stukely sighs, and looks down.] Why turn you, sir, away? and why that sigh?


Lew. Madam, your servant-Yours, sir. was inquiring for you at your lodgings. Stuke. This morning! You had busines then?

Lew. You'll call it by another name, per haps. Where's Mr. Beverley, madam? Char. We have sent to inquire for him. Lew. Is he abroad then? He did not use go out so early.

Char. No, nor stay out so late.

Lew. Is that the case? I am sorry for But Mr. Stukely, perhaps, may direct you him.

Stuke. I have already, sir. But what w your business with me?

Lew. To congratulate you upon your 1 successes at play. Poor Beverley! But are his friend; and there's a comfort in ha successful friends.

Stuke. I was attentive, madam; and sighs will come, we know not why. Perhaps I have been too busy-If it should seem so, impute my zeal to friendship, that meant to guard you against evil tongues. Your Beverley is wronged, slandered most vilely-My life upon his truth. Stuke. And what am I to understand by t Mrs. B. And mine too. Who is't that Lew. That Beverley's a poor man, wit doubts it? But no matter-I am prepared, sir-rich Yet why this caution?-You are my husband's friend; I think you mine too; the common I friend of both. [Pauses] I had been uncon- an explanation.

cerned else.

friend; that's all.

Stuke. Your words would mean someth suppose. Another time, sir, I shall de

Lew. And why not now? I am no Stuke. For heaven's sake, madam, be so in long sentences. A minute or two wil still! I meant to guard you against suspicion, for me. not to alarm it.

Stuke. But not for me, sir. I am slo

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apprehension, and must have time and priv-less, will be sufficient for us. Vye shall find acy. A lady's presence engages my attention. you at home, madam?

Another morning I may be found at home.
Lew. Another morning, then, I'll wait upon

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Char. What mean you by this?
Lew. To bint to him that I know him.

[To Charlotte. Exit with Mrs. Beverley.

Char. Certainly.


Stuke. That Lewson suspects me, 'tis too

Char. How know him? Mere doubt and plain. Yet why should he suspect me?—I apsupposition!

Lew. I shall have proof soon.

Char. And what then? Would you your life to be his punisher?

pear the friend of Beverley as much as he. But I am rich, it seems; and so I am, thanks risk to another's folly and my own wisdom. To what use is wisdom, but to take advantage of Lew. My life, madam! Don't be afraid. But the weak? This Beverley's my fool; I cheat let it content you that I know this Stukely-him, and he calls me friend. But more buTwould be as easy to make him honest as siness must be done yet-His wife's jewels are brave. unsold; so is the reversion of his uncle's estate: Char. And what do you intend to do. I must have these too. And then there's a Lew. Nothing, till I have proof. But me- treasure above all-I love his wife--Before she thicks, madam, I am acting here without author- knew this Beverley I love her; but, like a ity. Could I have leave to call Mr. Bever- cringing fool, bowed at a distance, while he ley brother, his concerns would be my own. stepped in and won her- Never, never will Why will you make my services appear of I forgive him for it. Those hints this morning were well thrown in-Already they have Char. You know my reasons, and should fastened on her. If jealousy should weaken not press me. But I am cold, you say; and her affections, want may corrupt her virtuecold I will be, while a poor sister's destitute These jewels may do much-He shall demand -But let us change this subject - Your busi- them of her; which, when mine, shall be conness bere this morning is with my sister. Mis-verted to special purposesfortunes press too hard upon her; yet, till today she has borne them nobly.


Lew. Where is she?

Char. Gone to her chamber. Her spirits

failed her.

Lew. I hear her coming. Let what has passed with Stukely be a secret-She has already too much to trouble her.

Enter MRS. Beverley.

Mrs. B. Good morning, sir; I heard your Tere, and, as I thought, inquiring for me. Where's Mr. Stukely, Charlotte?

Char. This moment gone-You have been in tears, sister; but here's a friend shall com

tart you.

Enter BATES.
What now, Bates?

Bates. Is it a wonder then to see me? The forces are all in readiness, and only wait for orders. Where's Beverley?

Stuke. At last night's rendezvous, waiting for me. Is Dawson with you?

Bates. Dressed like a nobleman; with money in his pocket, and a set of dice that shall deceive the devil.

Stuke. That fellow has a head to undo a nation; but for the rest, they are such lowmannered, ill-looking dogs, I wonder Beverley has not suspected them.

Bates. No matter for manners and looks. Lew. Or, if I add to your distresses, I'll beg Do you supply them with money, and they yeur pardon, madam. The sale of your house are gentlemen by profession-The passion of furniture was finished yesterday. gaming casts such a mist before the eyes, that Mrs. B. I know it, sir; I know too your the nobleman shall be surrounded with sharDerous reason for putting me in mind of it. pers, and imagine himself in the best company. Bat you have obliged me too much already. Stuke. There's that Williams too. It was Lew. There are trifles, madam, which I he, I suppose, that called at Beverley's with know you have set a value on; those I have the note this morning. What directions did purchased, and will deliver. I have a friend you give him?

te, that esteems you-He has bought largely, Bates. To knock loud and be clamorous. and will call nothing his, till he has seen you. Did not you see him? a visit to him would not be painful, he has

begged it may be this morning.

Stuke. No; the fool sneaked off with Jarvis. Had he appeared within doors as directed, the Mrs. B. Not painful in the least, my pain note had been discharged. I waited there on from the kindness of my friends. Why am purpose. I want the women to think well of to be obliged beyond the power of return? me, for Lewson's grown suspicious; he told Lew. You shall repay us at your own time. me so himself. I have a coach waiting at the door-Shall we Late your company, madam? [To Charlotte. Char. No; my brother may return soon; Til stay and receive him.

Mrs. B. He may want a comforter, perhaps. But don't upbraid him, Charlotte. We shan't absent long. Come, sir, since I must be oblized.

Lew. Tis I that am obliged. An hour, or

Bates. What answer did you make him? Stuke. A short one-That I would see him soon for further explanation.


Bates. We must take care of him. what have we to do with Beverley? Dawson and the rest are wondering at you.

Stuke. Why, let them wonder. I have designs above their narrow reach. They see me lend him money, and they stare at me.

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