Ends his sad story ere the half be told. Oh! may our pains with wish'd success be crown'd.

Enter ARDEN.

Ard. No, Franklin, no; your friendly cares are

vain:

Were I but certain she had wrong'd my bed,
I then might hate her, and shake off my woes,
But thus perplex'd, can never taste of comfort.

Frank. O jealousy! thou bane of social joys!
Oh! she's a monster, made of contradictions!
Let truth in all her native charms appear,
And with the voice of harmony itself,
Plead the just cause of innocence traduc'd;
Deaf as the adder, blind as upstart greatness,
Sho sees nor hears. And yet let slander whisper,
Or evil-eye'd suspicion look oblique,

Rumour has fewer tongues than she has ears;
And Argus' hundred eyes are dim and slow,
To piercing jealousy's.

Ard. No more, no more;

I know its plagues, but where's the remedy?
Mar. In your Alicia.

Frank. She shall heal these wounds.

Ard. She's my disease, and can she be my cure?

My friends should rather teach me to abhor

her,

To tear her image from my bleeding heart.

Mar. We leave that hateful office to the fiends.

Frank. If you e'er lov'd, you'll not refuse to see her:

You promis'd that.

Ard. Did I?

Frank. Indeed you did.

Ard. Well, then, some other time.

Frank. No; see her now.

Ard. Guilt chains her tongue. Lo! silent, self. condemn'd,

With tearful eyes and trembling limbs she stands. Ali. Fain would I kiss his footsteps; but that look,

Where indignation seems to strive with grief,
Forbids me to approach him.

Ard. Who would think
That anguish were not real?
Ali. I'm rooted here.

Ard. Those tears, methinks, ev'n if her guilt were certain,

Might wash away her pains.

Ali. Support me, heav'n!

Ard. Curse on the abject thought. I shall relapse

To simple dotage. She steals on my heart,

She conquers with her eyes. If I but hear her

voice,

Nor earth nor heaven can save me from her

snares.

Oh! let me fly, if I have yet the

pow'r.

Ali. Oh, Arden! do not, do not leave me thus.
(Kneels, and holds him.),
Ard. I pray thee, loose thy hold.
Ali. Oh, never, never!
Ard. Why should I stay to tell thee of my
wrongs,

To aggravate thy guilt, and wound thy soul?
Thyself, if all these agonizing struggles

Of tears, of sighs, of groans, of speechless sorrow,

Be but sincere, thyself will do it better. One thing I'll tell thee: (for perhaps 'twill please thee ;)

Thou'st broke my heart, Alicia.

Ali. Oh!

Ard. And canst thou,

(She falls to the ground.)

Can woman pity whom she hath undone?

see her.

thou say,

If thou could'st find thy speech?

Ali. Oh, mercy, mercy!

Ard. Thou hast had none on me: let go my

hand;

Why dost thou press it to thy throbbing heart,
That beats-but not for me?

Ali. Then may it e'er beat more.

Ard. At least, I'm sure it did not always so.
Ali. For that my soul is pierc'd with deep re

Ard. Be still my heart!

Enter ALICIA, not seeing Arden.

Ali. How shall I bear my Arden's just reproaches?

Or can a reconcilement long continue,
That's founded on deceit? can I avow
My secret guilt? No; at so mean a thought
Abandon'd infamy herself would blush.
Nay, could I live with public loss of honour,
Arden would die to see Alicia scorn'd.

He's here! earth open-hide me from his sight.

Till Arden speak the word of peace and comfort,

Or my heart break before him.

Ard. Oh, Alicia!

Thou inconsistent spring of grief and joy, Whence sweet and bitter streams, alternate flow, Come to my arms, and in this too fond bosom Disburden all the fulness of thy soul.

Ali. Let me approach with awe that sacred temple,

Resume my seat, and dwell for ever there. Ard. There ever reign, as on thy native throne,

Thou lovely wanderer!

Ali. Am I at last,

Shake. I've pink'd him tho'.

In error's fatal mazes long bewilder'd,
Permitted here to find my peace and safety?
Ard. Dry up thy tears; and tell me, truly tell

me,

Has my long suffering love at length prevail'd,
And art thou mine indeed?

Ali. Heav'n's my witness,

I love thee, Arden; and esteem thy love
Above all earthly good. Thy kind forgiveness
Speaks to my soul that peaceful calm confirm'd
Which reason and reflection had begun.

Ard. Thou'rt cheaply purchas'd with unnumber'd sighs,

With many a bitter tear, and years of patience,
Thou treasure of more worth than mines of gold.
I will not doubt my happiness. Thou art,
Thou wilt be mine, ever, and only mine.

Ali. I am, I will. I ne'er knew joy till now.
Ard. This is our truest, happiest nuptial day.
To-night, thou knowest, according to my cus-

tom,

Our yearly fair returning with St. Valentine,
I treat my friends. I go to countenance
Their honest mirth, and cheer them with my

bounty.

Till happy night farewell. My best Alicia,
How will our friends rejoice, our foes repine,
To see us thus?

Ali. Thus ever may they see us!

The wand'ring fires that have so long misled me,
Are now extinguish'd, and my heart is Arden's.
The flow'ry path of innocence and peace
Shines bright before, and I shall stray no longer.
Whence, then, these sighs, and why these floods of

tears?

Sighs are the language of a broken heart,
And tears the tribute each enlighten'd eye
Pays, and must pay, for vice and folly past,
And yet the painful'st virtue hath its pleasure.
Tho' dangers rise, yet peace restor'd within,
My soul collected shall undaunted meet them.
Tho' trouble, grief, and death, the lot of all,
On good and bad without distinction fall;
The soul which conscious innocence sustains,
Supports with ease these temporary pains;
But, stung with guilt, and loaded by despair,
Becomes itself a burden none can bear.

[Exeunt.

And Franklin here, and-
Mos. Sir, I will not fail.

Frank. I shall not come.

Ard. Nay, Franklin, that's unkind. Pr'ythee

Frank. Nay, urge me not. I have my reasons. Mos. Avoids my company! So much the bet

ter.

His may not be so proper. (Aside.) An hour hence,

If you are not engag'd, we'll meet at Fowl's.

Ard. I will be there.

[Exit.

Mos. Till then I take my leave.
Ard. How have I been mistaken in this man?
Frank. How are you sure you're not mistaken

now?

Ard. No doubt he loves me; and I blush to think

How I've suspected him, and wrong'd Alicia
Frank. May you be ever happy in your wife:
But-

Ard. Speak-But what? Let's have no riddles here.

Can she be innocent, and Mosby guilty?

Frank. To speak my thoughts, this new officious

fondness

Makes me suspect: I like him worse than ever.

Ard. Because I like him better. What a churl.

doubts

With too much levity. You vex me, Arden.

[Exit. Ard. Believe me, friend, you'll laugh at this hereafter.

[Exit.

MOSBY having watched Franklin out, re-enters with

GREEN.

Mos. The surly friend has left him, as I wish'd. You see how eagerly the foolish fowl

Flies headlong to our snare; now to inclose him.
At eight, the guests are bidden to his banquet,
And only Michael, of his numerous train,
Keeps home with his Alicia. He'll secure
The keys of all the doors, and let you in

With my two trusty blood-hounds. Alicia seems
Averse at present.

Green. She'll not dare betray us.

Mos. Not when the deed is done. We know too much.

She'll be our prisoner, and shall be observ'd.
Towards evening, then, upon a slight pretence,
To pass an hour at draughts, (a game he loves,)
I'll draw this husband home. You'll be prepar'd
In th' inner room, (Michael will shew it you,)
Till at a signal given, you all rush forth,
And strangle him.

Green. Good; 'tis a death that leaves
No bloody character to mark the place.

Mos. Howe'er, come all provided with your dag

MICHAEL. Could I prevail on him! Oh, sir

(Talks apart with Green.) B. Will. What a fair house! rich furniture; what piles of massy plate; and then yon iron chest. Good plunder, comrade.

Shake. And Madame Arden there, a prize worth them all to me.

B. Will. And shall that fawning, white-liver'd coward, Mosby, enjoy all these?

Shake. No doubt he would, were we the fools he thinks us.

Green. Had he as many lives as drops of blood, I'd have them all. (To Alicia.)

Ali. But for one single night

Green. I'd not defer his fate a single hour,
Tho' I were sure myself to die the next.

So, peace, irresolute woman, and be thankful
For thy own life.

Ali. Oh! mercy, mercy-
Green. Yes,

Such mercy as the nursing lioness,

When drain'd of moisture by her eager young,
Shews to the prey that first encounters her.

B. Will. Who talks of mercy, when I am here? Green. She would prevent us; but our steady courage

Laughs at her coward arts.

Ali. As the howling damn'd; and thou hell.

Mar. Unhappy brother!

If thou hast done this deed, hope not to 'scape:
Mercy herself, who only seeks for crimes,
That she may pardon and reform the guilty,
Would change her nature at a sight like this.
Enter MICHAEL.

Mich. The guests are come; the servants all return'd.

Mos. Alicia, be thyself; and mask thy heart (Mosby lifts up Alicia.) From every prying eye, with courteous smiles. Ali. Thou canst not think me mean enough to live.

Mos. You would not choose an ignominious death?

Ali. That's all I dread. Might but the silent

grave,

When it receives me to its dark abode,

Hide, with my dust, my shame! Oh, might that be,

And Arden's death reveng'd. 'Tis my sole prayer. If not, may awful justice have her course.

[Exit.

B. Will. Why, what a crew of cowards!
In the same moment murdering and repenting.
Mos. Give me the ring that is on Arden's
finger.

Shake. There. Will you have his purse, too?
Mos. No, keep that.

B. Will. Thanks for our own; we should have kept the ring,

Were it not too remarkable.

But how must we dispose of the body?

Mos. Convey it thro' the garden, to the field Behind the abbey-wall: Michael will shew the

Arden is dead; now count thy gains at leisure.
Dangers without, on every side suspicion;
Within, my starting conscience marks such wounds,
As hell can equal, only murderers feel.
(A pause.)
This, this the end of all my flatt'ring hopes!
Oh, happiest was I in my humble state;
Though I lay down in want, I slept in peace:
My daily toil begat my night's repose,
My night's repose made daylight pleasing to me.
But now I've climb'd the top-bough of the tree.
And sought to build my nest among the clouds:
The gentlest tales of summer shake my bed,
And dreams of murder harrow up my soul.
But hark! not: 'tis dreadful being alone.
This awful silence, that unbroken reigns
Through earth and air, awakes attention more,
Than thunder bursting from ten thousand clouds:
'Sdeath! 'tis but Michael. Say-

Enter MICHAEL

Mich. Dead Arden lies

Behind the abbey; 'tis a dismal sight!

It snow'd apace while we disposed the body
Mos. And not as you return'd?
Mich. No, sir.

Mos. That's much