SCENE II.-Millwood's House.

Enter LUCY and BLUNT. Lucy. Well! what do you think of Millwood's conduct now?

Blunt. I own it is surprising; I don't know which to admire most, her feigned or his real passion; though I have sometimes been afraid that her avarice would discover her; but his youth and want of experience made it the easier to impose on him.

Lucy. No; it is his love. To do him justice, notwithstanding his youth, he don't want understanding; but you men are much easier imposed on, in these affairs, than your vanity will allow you to believe. Let me see the wisest of you all, as much in love with me, as Barnwell is with Millwood, and I'll engage to make as great a fool of him.

Blunt. And, all circumstances considered, to make as much money of him too.

Lucy. I can't answer for that. Her artifice in making him rob his master at first, and the various stratagems, by which she has obliged him to continue in that course, astonish even me, who know her so well.

Blunt. But, then, you are to consider that the money was his master's.

But

Blunt. I am amazed! what can it be?

Lucy. You will be more so, to hear it is to attempt the life of his nearest relation, and best benefactor.

Blunt. His uncle! whom we have often heard him speak of as a gentleman of large estate and fair character, in the country, where he lives. Lucy. The same. She was no sooner possessed of the last dear purchase of his ruin, but her avarice, insatiate as the grave, demands this horrid sacrifice.

Blunt. 'Tis time the world was rid of such a monster. There is something so horrid in murder, that all other crimes seem nothing when compared to that. I would not be involved in the guilt of that for all the world.

Lucy. Nor I, heaven knows! therefore, let us clear ourselves by doing all that is in our power to prevent it. I have just thought of a way, that to me seems probable. Will you join with me to detect this cursed design?

Blunt. With all my heart. How else shall I clear myself? He who knows of a murder intended to be committed, and does not discover it, in the eye of the law and reason, is a murderer.

Lucy. Let us lose no time; I'll acquaint you with the particulars as we go.

[Exeunt.

Lucy. He grieved; and at length, enraged at this barbarous treatment, was preparing to be gone; and, making toward the door, showed a bag of money, which he had stolen from his master; the last he's ever like to have from thence.

Blunt. But then, Millwood?

Luby. Ay; she, with her usual address, returned to her old arts of lying, swearing, and dissembling: hung on his neck, and wept, and swore t'was meant in jest; till the easy fool, melted into tears, threw the money into her lap, and swore he had rather die, than think her false.

Blunt. Strange infatuation!

Lucy. But what followed was stranger still. As doubts and fears, followed by reconcilement, ever increase love, where the passion is sincere; so in him, it caused so wild a transport of excessive fondness,-such joy, such grief, such pleasure and such anguish, that nature in him seemed sinking with the weight, and the charmed soul disposed to quit his breast for hers; just then, when every passion with lawless anarchy prevailed, and reason was in the raging tempest lost, the cruel, artful, Millwood, prevailed upon the wretched youth to promise, what I tremble but to think

on.

try-sent.

Enter BARNWELL.

Barn. A dismal gloom obscures the face of day; either the sun has slipped behind a cloud, or journeys down the west of heaven, with more than common speed, to avoid the sight of what I'm doomed to act. Since I set forth on this accursed design, wherever I tread, methinks the solid earth Murder my uncle! trembles beneath my feet. My father's only brother! who since his death has been to me a father; who took me up an infant and an orphan; reared me with tenderest care, and still indulged me with most paternal fondness; yet

In

here I stand avowed his destined murderer: I stiffen with horror at my own impiety! 'Tis yet unperformed. What if I quit my bloody purpose and fly the place! (Going, then stops.) But whither, O whither shall I fly! My master's once friendly doors are ever shut against me; and without money, Millwood will never see me more, and life is not to be endured without her: she's got such firm possession of my heart, and governs there with such despotic sway; ay, there's the cause of all my sin and sorrow: 'tis more than love; 'tis the fever of the soul, and madness of desire. vain does nature, reason, conscience, all oppose it; the impetuous passion bears down all before, and drives me on to lust, to theft, and murder. Oh, shews us when we go astray, but wants the power conscience! feeble guide to virtue, who only to stop us in our course. Ha! in yonder shady walk I see my uncle. He's alone. Now for my This is his hour disguise. (Plucks out a visor.) his soul for heaven, whilst I-But what have I of private meditation. Thus daily he prepares No struggles, con

to do with heaven! Ha! science

Hence! hence remorse, and every thought that's good;

The storm that lust began, must end in blood.

[Puts on the visor, draws a pistol, and exit.

SCENE IV.-A Cut Wood.

Enter Uncle.

Uncle. If I were superstitious, I should fear some danger lurked unseen, or death were nigh: a heavy melancholy clouds my spirits; my imagination is filled with ghastly forms of dreary graves, and bodies changed by death.

Enter BARNWELL at a distance.

O death, thou strange mysterious power, seen every day, yet never understood, but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou? The extensive mind of man, that with a thought circles the earth's vast globe, sinks to the centre, or ascends above the stars; that worlds exotic finds, or thinks it finds, thy thick clouds attempt to pass in vain, lost and bewildered in the horrid gloom; defeated she returns more doubtful than before; of nothing certain, but of labour lost.

[During this speech, Barnwell sometimes presents the pistol, and draws it back again; at last he drops it, at which his uncle starts, and draws his sword.

Barn. Oh! 'tis impossible.

Uncle. A man so near me, armed and masked! Barn. Nay, then there's no retreat.

Plucks a poniard from his bosom, and stabs him.

Uncle. Oh! I am slain! All gracious heaven, regard the prayer of thy dying servant. Bless, with thy choicest blessings, my dearest nephew; forgive my murderer, and take my fleeting soul to endless

mercy.

(Barnwell throws off his mask, runs tɔ him, and kneeling by him, raises and chafes him.) Barn. Expiring saint! Oh! murdered, martyred uncle! Lift up your dying eyes, and view your nephew in your murderer. O do not look so tenderly upon me. Let indignation lighteu from your eyes, and blast me ere you die. By heaven, he weeps in pity of my woes. Tears, tears, for blood. The murdered in the agonies of death, weeps for his murderer. O, speak your pious purpose; pronounce my pardon then, and take me with you. He would, but cannot. O why, with such fond affection do you press my murdering hand! What! will you kiss me? (Kisses his hand. Uncle groans and d es.) Life that hovered on his lips but till he had sealed my pardon, in that sigh expired. He's gone for ever, and oh! I follow. (Swoons away upon his uncle's dead body.) Do I still live to press the suffering bosom of the earth? Do I still breathe, and taint with my infectious breath the wholesome air! Let heaven, from its high throne, in justice or in mercy now look down on that dear murdered saint, and me the murderer. And, if his vengeance spares, let pity strike and end my wretched being. Murder, the worst of crimes, and parricide the worst of murders, and this the worst of parricides.

O, may it ever stand alone, accurs'd,
The last of murders, as it is the worst.

ACT IV.

[Exit.

SCENE I-A Room in Thorowgood's house.

Enter MARIA and TRUEMAN.

Maria. What news of Barnwell?

Maria. Doth my father yet suspect the cause of his absenting himself?

True. All appeared so just and fair to him, it is not possible he ever should; but his absence will no longer be concealed. Your father's wise; and though he seems to harden to the friendly excuses, I would make for Barnwell, yet I'm afraid he regards them only as such, without suffering them to influence his judgment.

Maria. How does the unhappy youth defeat all our designs to serve him! yet I can never repent what we have done. Should he return, it will make his reconciliation with my father easier, and preserve him from future reproach from a malicious, unforgiving world.

Enter THOROWGOOD and LUCY.

Thor. This woman here has given me a sad, (and bating some circumstances) too probable account of Barnwell's defection.

Lucy. I am sorry, sir, that my frank confession of my former unhappy course of life should cause you to suspect my truth on this occasion.

Thor. It is not that; your confession has in it all the appearance of truth. (1o them.) Among many other particulars, she informs me that Barnwell has been influenced to break his trust, and wrong me at several times, of considerable sums of money; now, as I know this to be false, I would fain doubt the whole of her relation: too dreadful to be willingly believed.

Maria. Sir, your pardon; I find myself on a sudden so indisposed, that I must retire. Poor ruined Barnwell! Wretched, lost Maria!

(Aside.-Exit.

Thor. How am I distressed on every side? Pity for that unhappy youth, fear for the life of a much vulued friend: and then my child, the only joy and hope of my declining life. Her melancholy increases hourly, and gives me painful apprehensions of her loss. O Trueman! this person informs me that your friend, at the instigation of an impious woman, is gone to rob and murder his venerable uncle.

True. O execrable deed! I am blasted with the horror of the thought.

Lucy. This delay may ruin all.

Thor. What to do or think I know not: that he ever wronged me, I know is false, the rest may be so too, there is all my hope.

True. Trust not to that, rather suppose all true than lose a moment's time: even now the horrid deed may be a doing; dreadful imagination! or it may be done, and we are vainly debating on the means to prevent what is already past.

Thor. This his earnestness convinces me that he knows more than he has yet discovered. What ho! without there! who waits?

Enter a Servant.

Order the groom to saddle the swiftest horse, and prepare himself to set out with speed. An affair of life and death demands his diligence. [Exit Servant.] For you, whose behaviour on this occasion, I have no time to commend as it deserves, I must engage your farther assistance. Return and observe this Millwood till 1 come. I have your directions, and will follow you as soon as possible. [Exit Lucy.] Trueman, you I am sure would not be idle on this occasion.

diligence, but all in vain.

[Exit.

SCENE IL-Millwood's House.

Enter MILLWOOD.

Mill. I wish I knew the event of this design: the attempt without success would ruin him. Well! what have I to apprehend from that? I fear too much. The mischief being only intended, his friends, in pity of his youth, turn all their rage on me. I should have thought of that before. Suppose the deed done, then, and then only I shall be secure; or what if he returns without at tempting? But he is here, and I have done him wrong; his bloody nands shew he has done the deed, but shew he wants the prudence to conceal it.

tice.

Enter BARNWELL, bloody.

Barn. Where shall I hide me? Whither shall I fly to avoid the swift unerring hand of jusMill. Dismiss those fears; though thousands had pursued you to the door, yet being entered here, you are safe as innocence; I have such a cavern, by art so cunningly contrived, that the piercing eyes of jealousy and revenge may search in vain, nor find the entrance to the safe retreat. There will I hide you if any danger's near. Barn. O hide me from myself if it be possible; for while I bear my conscience in my bosom, though I were hid where man's eye never saw, nor light ever dawned, it were all in vain. For that inmate, that impartial judge, will try, convict, and sentence me for murder: and execute me with never ending torments. Behold these hands all crimsoned over with my dear uncle's blood! Here's a sight to make a statue start with horror, or turn a living man into a statue.

Mill. Ridiculous! Then it seems you are afraid of your own shadow; or what's less than a shadow, your conscience.

Barn. Though to man unknown I did the accursed act, what can we hide from heaven's omniscient eye?

What advantage

Mill. No more of this stuff. have you made of his death? or what advantage may yet be made of it? Did you secure the keys of his treasure? those, no doubt, were about him. What gold, what jewels, or what else of value have you brought me?

Barn. Think you I added sacrilege to murder? Oh! had you seen him as his life flowed from him in a crimson flood, and heard him praying for me by the double name, of nephew and murderer; alas, alas! he knew not then that his nephew was his murderer; how would you have wished as I did, though you had a thousand years of life to come, to have given them all to have lengthened his one hour. But, being dead, I fled the sight of what my hands had done, nor could I, to have gained the empire of the world, have violated by theft his sacred corpse.

Mill. Whining, preposterous, canting villain! to murder your uncle, rob him of life, nature's first, last, dear prerogative, after which there's no injury, then fear to take what he no longer wanted;, and bring to me your penury and guilt. Do you think I'll hazard my reputation; nay, my life, to entertain you?

Barn. Oh, Millwood! this from thee? But I have done. If you hate me, if you wish me dead; then are you happy, for oh! 'tis sure my grief will quickly end me.

Mill. In his madness he will discover all, and involve me in his ruin. we are on a precipice from

Barn. O Millwood! sure thou dost not, cannot mean it. Stop the messenger, upon my knees I beg you to call him back. (Kneels.) "Tis fit I die indeed, but not by you. I will this instant deliver myself into the hand of justice, indeed I will, for death is all I wish. But thy ingratitude so tears my wounded soul, 'tis worse ten thousand times than death with Mill. Call it what you will, I am willing to live: and live secure: which nothing but your death can warrant. (Barnwell rises.)

torture.

Barn. If there be a pitch of wickedness that seats the author beyond the reach of vengeance, you must be secure. But what remains for me, but a dismal dungeon, hard-galling fetters, an awful trial, and ignominious death, justly to fall unpitied and abhorred? After death to be suspended between heaven and earth, a dreadful spectacle, the warning and horror of a gaping crowd. This Í could bear, nay, wish not to avoid, had it but come from any hand but thine.

Enter BLUNT, Officer and Attendants.

Mill. Heaven defend me! Conceal a murderer! here, sir, take this youth into your custody, I accuse him of murder, and will appear to make good my charge.

(They seize him.)

Barn. To whom, of what, or how shall I complain? I'll not accuse her, the hand of heaven is in it, and this the punishment of lust and parricide

Be warn'd, ye youths, who see my sad despair,
Avoid lewd women, false as ey are fair,
By reason guided, honest joys pursue.
The fair to honour, and to virtue true,
Just to herself, will ne'er be false to you.
By my example, learn to shun my fate,
(How wretched is the man who's wise too late!)
Ere innocence and fame, and life be lost,
Here purchase wisdom cheaply, at my cost.

Thor. Millwood.

Thor. Madam, you pass not this way: I see your

wood.

Thor. Then you are the most impious wretch that ever the sun beheld.

Mill. From your appearance, I should have expected wisdom and moderation; but your manners belie your aspect. What is your business here? I know you not.

Thor. Hereafter you may know me better; I am

Barnwell's master.

Mill. Then you are master to a villain; which I think is not much to your credit."

Thor. Had he been as much above thy arts, as my credit is superior to thy malice, I need not have

blushed to own him.

Mill. My arts! I do not understand you, sir! It he has done amiss, what's that to me? Was he my servant, or yours? You should have taught him

better.

Thor. Why should I wonder to find such uncommon impudence in one arrived to such a height of wickedness? Know, sorceress, I am not ignorant of any of your arts, by which you first deceived the unwary youth: I know how, step by step, you have led him on, reluctant and unwilling, from crime to crime, to this last horrid act, which you contrived, and, by your cursed wiles, even forced him to commit, and then betrayed him.

Mill. Ha! Lucy has got the advantage of me, and accused me first; unless I can turn the accusation, and fix it upon her and Blunt, I am lost.

(Aside.)

Thor. Had I known your cruel design sooner, it had been prevented. To see you punished as the law directs, is all that now remains. Poor satisfaction! for he, innocent as he is, compared to you, must suffer too.

Mill. I find, sir, we are both unhappy in our servants. I was surprised at such ill treatment, from a gentleman of your appearance, without cause, and therefore, too hastily returned it, for which I ask your pardon. I now perceive you have been so far imposed on, as to think me engaged in a formal correspondence with your servant; and, some way or other, accessory to his undoing.

Thor. I charge you as the cause, the sole cause of all his guilt and all his suffering; of all he now endures, and must endure, till a violent and shameful death shall put a dreadful period to his life and miseries together.

Mill. Tis very strange! but who's secure from scandal and detraction? So far from contributing to his ruin, I never spoke to him till since that fatal accident, which I lament as much as you: 'tis true, I have a servant, on whose account he has of late frequented my house; if she has abused my good opinion of her, am I to blame? Has not Barnwell done the same by you?

Thor. I hear you; pray go on.

Mill. I hope you will not use your influence, and wretches. Consider, sir, the wickedness of perthe credit of your name, to screen such guilty suading a thoughtless youth to such a crime.

Thor. I do, and of betraying him when it was done.

Mill. That which you call betraying him, may him, though she contrived the murder, would convince you of my innocence. She who loves never have delivered him into the hands of justice, as I, struck with the horror of his crimes, have done.

Thor. Those whom subtly you would accuse, you know are your accusers; and what proves unancused you before the deed was done, and did all swerably their innocence and your guilt, they acthat was in their power to have prevented it.

Mill. Sir, you are very hard to be convinced; but I have such a proof, which, when produced, will silence all objections.

[Exit.

Enter LUCY, TRUEMAN, BLUNT, Officers, &c.

Lucy. Gentlemen, pray place yourselves, some on one side of that door, and some on the other; watch her entrance, and act as your prudence shall direct you. This way. (To Thorowgood.) She's driven to the last extremity, and is forming some desperate resolution. I guess at her design.

Enter MILLWOOD with a pistol. Trueman secures her.

True. Here thy power of doing mischief ends; deceitful, cruel, bloody woman! Mill. Fool, hypocrite, villain,-man! thou canst not call me that.

True. To call thee woman, were to wrong the sex, thou devil!

Mill. That imaginary being is an emblem of thy cursed sex collected. A mirror, wherein each particular man may see his own likeness, and that of all mankind.

True. Think not by aggravating the fault of others to extenuate thy own, of which the abuse of such uncommon perfections of mind and body is not the least.

Mill. If such I had, well may I curse your barbarous sex, who robbed me of them, ere I knew their worth; then left me, too late, to count their value by their loss. Another and another spoiler came, and all my gain was poverty and reproach. My soul disdained, and yet disdains, dependence and contempt. Riches, no matter by what means obtained, I saw secured the worst of men from both: I found it therefore necessary to be rich; and, to that end, I summoned all my arts. You call them wicked; be it so; they were such as my conversation with your sex had furnished me

Thor. Sure none but the worst of men conversed with thee.

Mill. Men of all degrees and all professions I have known, yet found no difference, but in their several capacities; all were alike wicked to the utmost of their power. In pride, contention, avarice, cruelty, and revenge, the reverend priesthood

Barn. My honoured, injured master, forgive this last unwilling disrespect,-indeed I saw you not. Thor. 'Tis well; I hope you were better employed in viewing of yourself; I sent a reverend divine to teach you to improve it, and should be glad to hear of his success.

were my unerring guides. From suburb magistrates, who live by ruined reputations, as the unhospitable natives of Cornwall do by shipwrecks, I learned that to charge my innocent neighbours with my crimes, was to merit their protection; for to screen the guilty, is the less scandalous, when many are suspected, and detraction, like darkness and death, blackens all objects, and levels all distinction. Such are your venal magistrates, who favour none but such as, by their office, they are sworn to punish: with them not to be guilty, is the worst of crimes; and large fees privately paid, are every needful virtue.

Thor. Your practice has sufficiently discovered your contempt of laws, both human and divine; no wonder then that you should hate the officers of both.

Mill. I hate you all; I know you, and expect no mercy; nay, I ask for none; I have done nothing that I am sorry for; I followed my inclinations, and that the best of you does every day. All actions are alike natural and indifferent to man and beast, who devour, or are devoured, as they meet with others weaker or stronger than themselves.

Thor. What pity it is, a mind so comprehensive, daring and inquisitive, should be a stranger to religion's sweet, but powerful charms.

Mill. I am not fool enough to be an atheist, though I have known enough of men's hypocrisy to make a thousand simple women so. Whatever religion is in itself, as practised by mankind it has caused the evil you say it was designed to cure. War, plague, and famine have not destroyed so many of the human race, as this pretended piety has done; and with such barbarous cruelty, as if the only way to honour heaven, were to turn the present world into hell.

Thor. Truth is truth, though from an enemy, and spoke in malice. You bloody, blind, and superstitious bigots, how will you answer this?

Mill. What are your laws, of which you make your boast, but the fool's wisdom, and the coward's valour; the instrument and screen of all your villanies, by which you punish in others what you act yourselves, or would have acted, had you been in their circumstances? The judge who condemns the poor man for being a thief, had been a thief himself had he been poor. Thus you go on deceiving, and being deceived, harassing and plaguing, and destroying one another; but women are your universal prey.

Women, by whom you are, the source of joy,
With cruel arts you labour to destroy:
A thousand ways our ruin you pursue
Yet blame in us those arts, first taught by you.
O may, from hence, each violated maid,
By flattering, faithless, barb'rous man betray'd,
When robb'd of innocence, and virgin fame,
From your destruction raise a nobler name;
To right their sex's wrongs devote their mind,
And future Millwoods prove to plague mankind.

ACT V.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A Dungeon, a table and lamp. BARNWELL reading.

Enter THOROWGOOD.

Thor. See there the bitter fruits of passion's detested reign, and sensual appetite indulged. Severe reflections, penitence, and tears.

Barn. The word of truth, which he recommended for my constant companion in this my sad retirement, has at length removed the doubts I laboured under. From thence I have learned the infinite extent of heavenly mercy; that my offences, though great, are not unpardonable; and that it is not my interest only, but my duty to believe, and to rejoice in that hope; so shall heaven receive the glory, and future penitents the profit of my example. Thor. Go on. How happy am I, who live to see this!

Barn. 'Tis wonderful,-that words should charm despair, speak peace and pardon to a murderer's conscience; but truth and mercy flow in every sentence, attended with force and energy divine. How shall I describe my present state of mind? I hope in doubt-and trembling, I rejoice. I feel my grief increase, even as my fears give way. Joy and gratitude now supply more tears, than the horror and anguish of despair before.

Thor. These are the genuine signs of true repentance-the only preparatory-certain way to everlasting peace.

Barn. What do I owe for all your generous kindness? but though I cannot, heaven can and will reward you.

Thor. To see thee thus, is joy too great for words. Farewell! Heaven strengthen thee. Farewell! Barn. O! sir, there's something I could say, if my sad swelling heart would give me leave. Thor. Give it vent awhile, and try.

Barn. I had a friend,-'tis true I am unworthy, yet methinks your generous example might persuade; could I not see him once before I go from whence there's no return.

Thor. He's coming,—and as much thy friend as ever; but I'll not anticipate his sorrow, too soon he'll see the sad effect of this contagious ruin. I must retire to indulge a weakness I find impossible to overcome. (Aside.) Much loved, and much lamented youth, Farewell. Heaven strengthen thee eternally farewell.

Barn. The best of masters and of men-Farewell;-while I live let me not want your prayers. Thor. Thou shalt not; thy peace being made with heaven, death is already vanquished; bear a little longer the pains that attend this transitory life, and cease from pain for ever.