will indulge the thought. The wise man pre-[ pares himself for death by making it familiar ACT IV. to his mind. When strong reflections hold SCENE I-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House. the mirror near, and the living in the dead behold their future self, how does each inordinate passion and desire cease, or sicken at Enter MARIA, meeting TRUEMAN. True. None; I have sought him with the the view! The mind scarce moves! the blood, greatest diligence, but all in vain. curdling and chilled, creeps slowly through Maria. Does my father yet suspect the cause the veins; fixed, still, and motionless we stand, of his absence? so like the solemn objects of our thoughts, we True. All appeared so just and fair to him, are almost at present what we must be here- it is not possible he ever should. But his after; till curiosity awake the soul, and sets absence, will no longer be concealed. Your it on inquiry. father is wise; and though he seems to hearken to the friendly excuses I would make for Enter GEORGE BARNWELL, at a Distance. Barnwell, yet I am afraid he regards 'em only Oh, death! thou strange, mysterious power, as such, without suffering them to influence seen every day, yet never understood but by his judgment. 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, Thorow. This woman here has given me a or ascends above the stars; that worlds exotic sad, and bating some circumstances, too probfinds, or thinks it finds, thy thick clouds at-able an account of Barnwell's defection. tempts to pass in vain; lost and bewildered in Lucy. I am sorry, sir, that my frank conthe horrid gloom, defeated, she returns more fession of my former unhappy course of life doubtful than before, of nothing certain but should cause you to suspect my truth on this of labour lost. occasion. [During this Speech, Barnwell sometimes presents the Pistol, and draws it back again. Barn. Oh, 'tis impossible! Barn. Nay, then there's no retreat. Enter THOROWGOOD and Lucy. Thorow. It is not that; your confession has in it all the appearance of truth. 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. Uncle. Oh, I am slain! All gracious heaven, regard the prayer of thy dying servant; bless, with the choicest blessings, my dearest nephew; Thorow. How am I distressed on every forgive my murderer; and take my fleeting side! Pity for that unhappy youth, fear for the soul to endless mercy! life of a much valued friend-and then my [Barnwell throws off his Mask, runs child-the only joy and hope of my declining to him, and kneeling by him, raises life! Her melancholy increases hourly, and gives me painful apprehensions of her lossBarn. Expiring saint! Oh, murdered, mar- Oh, Trueman, this person informs me that tyred uncle! lift up your dying eyes, and view your friend, at the instigation of an impious your nephew in your murderer.-Oh, do not woman, is gone to rob and murder his venerlook so tenderly upon me-Let indignation able uncle. him. lighten from your eyes, and blast me ere you True. Oh, execrable deed! I'm blasted with die-By heaven, he weeps, in pity of my horror at the thought! woes.-Tears, tears for blood.-The murdered, Lucy. This delay may ruin all. in the agonies of death, weeps for his mur- Thorow. What to do or think I know not. derer-Õh, speak your pious purpose; pro- That he ever wronged me I know is false; nounce your pardon then, and take me with the rest may be so too; there's all my hope. Jou-He would, but cannot.-Oh, why with True. Trust not to that; rather suppose all such fond affection do you press my murder- true, than lose a-moment's time. Even now ing hand?-Uncle sighs, and dies] Life, the horrid deed may be doing-dreadful imathat hovered on his lips but till he had sealed gination!-or it may be done, and we be vainmy pardon, in that sigh expired! He's gone ly debating on the means to prevent what is for ever-and oh! I follow-[Swoons away already past. upon the dead Body] Do I still breathe, and Thorow. This earnestness convinces me that laint with my infectious breath the wholesome he knows more than he has yet discovered. ar? Let heaven from its high throne, in jus- What, ho! without there, who waits? tice or in mercy, now look down on that dear, murdered saint, and me the murderer, Enter a Servant. and if his vengeance spares, let pity strike, Order the groom to saddle the swiftest horse, and end my wretched being.-Murder the and prepare to set out with speed; an affair Worst of crimes, and parricide the worst of of life and death demands his diligence. [Exit murders, and this the worst of parricides. Servant] For you, whose behaviour on this Oh may it ever stand alone accurst, The last of murders, as it is the worst. [Exit. occasion I have no time to commend as it deserves, I must engage your further assist ance. Return, and observe this Millwood till to murder your uncle, rob him of life, naI come. I have your directions, and will fol- ture's first, last, dear prerogative, after which low you as soon as possible [Exit Lucy] there's no injury, then fear to take what he Trueman, you I am sure will not be idle on no longer wanted, and bring to me your pethis occasion. [Exit. nury and guilt. Do you think I'll hazard my SCENE II.-MILLWOOD'S House. Enter MILLWOOD. you True. He only who is a friend, can judge reputation, nay my life, to entertain you? of my distress. [Exit. Barn. Oh, Millwood!-this from thee?But I have done-If you hate me, if wish me dead, then are you happy; for, oh, 'tis sure my grief will quickly end me. Mill. I wish I knew the event of his design. Mill. In this madness he will discover all, The attempt without success would ruin him. and involve me in his ruin. We are on a -Well, what have I to apprehend from that? precipice, from whence there's no retreat for I fear too much. The mischief being only both. Then to preserve myself-[Pauses]intended, his friends, through pity of his youth, There is no other way. 'Tis dreadful; but turn all their rage on me. I should have reflection comes too late when danger's pressthought of that before. Suppose the deed done; ing, and there's no room for choice. It must then and then only I shall be secure-Or what be done. [Aside. Rings a Bell. if he returns without attempting it at all— Enter BARNWELL, bloody. Enter a Servant. Fetch me an officer, and seize this villain. But he is here, and I have done him wrong. He has confess'd himself a murderer. Should His bloody hands show he has done the deed, I let him escape, I might justly be thought as but show he wants the prudence to conceal it. bad as he. [Exit Servant. Barn. Where shall I hide me? Whither Barn. Ob, Millwood! sure you do not, you shall I fly to avoid the swift unerring hand of cannot mean it. Stop the messenger; upon justice? my knees, I beg you'd call him back. 'Tis fit Mill. Dismiss your fears; though thousands I die, indeed, but not by you. I will this inhad pursued you to the door, yet being en- stant throw myself into the hands of justice, tered here, you are as safe as innocence. I indeed I will; for death is all I wish. But have a cavern by art so cunningly contrived, thy ingratitude so tears my wounded soul, 'tis that the piercing eyes of jealousy and revenge worse ten thousand times than death with may search in vain, nor find the entrance to torture. the safe retreat. There will I hide you, if Mill. Call it what you will; I am willing any danger's near. to live, and live secure, which nothing but Barn. Oh, hide me-from myself, if it be your death can warrant. possible; for while I bear my conscience in Barn. If there be a pitch of wickedness that my bosom, though I were hid where man's sets the author beyond the reach of vengeance, eye never saw, nor light ere dawned, 'twere you must be secure. But what remains for all in vain. For, oh, that innate, that impar-me, but a dismal dungeon, hard galling fetters, tial judge, will try, convict, and sentence me an awful trial, and an ignominious death, justly for murder, and execute me with never-end- to fall, unpitied and abhorred? This I could ing torments. Behold these hands all crim- bear, nay wish not to avoid, had it but come soned o'er with my dear uncle's blood. Here's from any hand but thine. 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 is less than a shadow, your conscience. Barn. Though to man unknown I did the accursed act, what can hide me from heaven's all-seeing eye? 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 pear to make good my charge. ap Be warn'd, ye youths, who see my sad despair; Avoid lewd women, false as they are fair. [They seize him. Barn. To whom, of what, or how shall I Mill. No more of this stuff! What advan- complain? I'll not accuse her. The hand of tage have you made by his death: or what heaven is in it, and this the punishment of advantage may yet be made of it? Did you lust and parricide. secure the keys of his treasure, which 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 of 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 at such a time? being dead, fled the sight of what my hands Blunt. Would I had been so too! Lucy had done; nor could I, to have gained the will soon be here; and I hope to thy confuempire of the world, have violated by theft sion, thou devil! his sacred corpse. Mill. Whining, preposterous, canting villain! Ere innocence, and fame, and life be lost, Mill. Where's Lucy? Why is she absent Mill. Insolent! This to me! Blunt. The worst that we know of the devil is, that he first seduces to betrays to punishment. Mill. They disapprove of my My ruin is resolved. I see my scorn both it and them. I was fall by such weak instruments. sin, and then Thorow. I hear you. Pray go on, Enter THOROWGOOD. Thorow. Where is the scandal of her own recollect a thousand circumstances that consex, and curse of ours? Mill. What means this insolence? Whom I suspect as an accomplice, secured immediado you seek for? tely. Thorow. Millwood! Mill. Well, you have found her then, I am Millwood! Thorow. Then you are the most impious wretch that e'er the sun beheld! [Offers to go. Thorow. Madam, you pass not this way. I see your design, but shall protect them from your malice. Mill. I hope you will not use your influence, and the credit of your name, to screen Mill. From your appearance I should have such guilty wretches. Consider, sir, the wickexpected wisdom and moderation: but your edness of persuading a thoughtless youth to manners belie your aspect. What is your such a crime! business here? I know you not. Thorow. Hereafter you may know me bet-it was done. ter. I am Barnwell's master. Mill. Then you are master to a villain; which, I think, is not much to your credit. Thorow. Had he been as much above thy arts, as my credit is superior to thy malice, I need not have blushed to own him. Thorow. I do-and of betraying him when She Mill. That which you call betraying him, may convince you of my innocence. who loves him, though she contrived the murder, would never have delivered him into the hands of justice, as I, struck with horror at his crimes, have done. Mill. My arts! I don't understand you, sir. Thorow. How should an unexperienced If he has done amiss, what's that to me? Was youth escape her snares? Even I, that with he my servant, or yours? You should have taught him better. just prejudice came prepared, had by her artful story been deceived, but that my strong Thorow. Why should I wonder to find such conviction of her guilt makes even a doubt uncommon impudence in one arrived to such a impossible. [Aside] Those whom subtilely you height of wickedness? Know, sorceress, I'm not would accuse, you know are your accusers; ignorant of any of the arts by which you first and, which proves unanswerably their innodeceived the unwary youth. I know how, step cence and your guilt, they accused you before by step, you've led him on, reluctant and un- the deed was done, and did all that was in willing, from crime to crime, to this last horrid their power to prevent it. lost. act, which you contrived, and by your cursed Mill. Sir, your are very hard to be conwiles even forced him to commit. vinced; but I have a proof, which, when proMill. Ha! Lucy has got the advantage, and duced, will silence all objection. [Exit Millwood. accused me first. Unless I can turn the accusation, and fix it upon her and Blunt, I am Enter LUCY, TRUEMAN, BLUNT, Officers, etc. [Aside. Lucy. Gentlemen, pray place yourselves, Thorow. Had I known your cruel design some on one side of that door, and some on sooner, it had been prevented. To see you the other; watch her entrance, and act as your punished, as the law directs, is all that now prudence shall direct you. This way; [To remains. Poor satisfaction! For he, innocent Thorowgood] and note her behaviour; I have as he is, compared to you, must suffer too. observed her; she's driven to the last extremMill. I find, sir, we are both unhappy in ity, and is forming some desperate resoluour servants. I was surprised at such ill treat- tion. I guess at her design. ment without cause, from a gentleman of your appearance, and therefore too hastily retarned it, for which I ask your pardon. I now perceive you have been so far imposed on, as to think me engaged in a former correspondence with your servant, and some way or other accessary to his undoing. Thorow. I charge you as the cause, the Re-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 sole cause of all his guilt, and all his suffer- thy sex, thou devil! ing, of all he now endures, and must endure, Mill. That imaginary being is an emblem till a violent and shameful death shall put a of thy cursed sex collected. A mirror, wheredreadful period to his life and miseries together. in each particular man may see his own likeMill. "Tis very strange! But who's secure ness, and that of all mankind. from scandal and detraction? So far from Thorow. Think not by aggravating the faults contributing to his ruin, I never spoke to him of others, to extenuate thy own, of which the since this fatal accident, which I lament as abuse of such uncommon perfections of mind much as you. 'Tis true I have a servant, on whose and body is not the least. account he bath of late frequented my house. Mill. If such I had, well may I curse your If she has abused my good opinion of her, am I to barbarous sex, who robbed me of 'em ere I Blame? Has not Barnwell done the same by you? knew their worth; then left me, too late, to count their value by their loss.-Another, and Thorow. These are the genuine signs of another spoiler came, and all my gain was true repentance; the only preparatory, the cerpoverty and reproach. My soul disdained, and tain way to everlasting peace. yet disdains, dependence and contempt. Rich- Barn. What do I owe for all your gene es, no matter by what means obtained, I rous kindness? But though I cannot, heaven saw secured the worst of men from both; I can and will reward you. found it therefore necessary to be rich, and Thorow. To see thee thus, is joy too great to that end I summoned all my arts. You for words. Farewell.-Heaven strengthen thee! call 'em wicked; be it so; they were such as-Farewell. my conversation with your sex had furnished me withal. Barn. Oh, sir, there's something I would say, if my sad swelling heart would give me leave. Thorow. Sure none but the worst of men Thorow. Give it vent awhile, and try. conversed with thee! Barn. I had a friend-'tis true I am unMill. Men of all degrees, and all profes-worthy-yet methinks your generous example sions, I have known, yet found no difference, might persuade. Could I not see him once, but in their several capacities; all were alike, before I go from whence there's no return? wicked to the utmost of their power. What Thorow. He's coming, and as much thy are your laws of which you make your boast, friend as ever. I will not anticipate his sorbut the fool's wisdom, and the coward's va- row; too soon he'll see the sad effects of this lour, the instrument and screen of all your contagious ruin.-This torrent of domestic villanies? By them you punish in others what misery bears too hard upon me. I must reyou act yourselves, or would have acted, had tire, to indulge a weakness I find impossible you been in their circumstances. The judge, to overcome. [Aside] Much loved-and much who condemns the poor man for being a thief, lamented youth!-Farewell. — Heaven strengthhad been a thief himself had he been poor.-en thee!-Eternally farewell. Thus you go on deceiving and deceived, har- Barn. The best of masters, and of menrassing, plaguing, and destroying one another. Farewell. While I live let me not want your But women are your universal prey: prayers. Women, by whom you are, the source of joy, With cruel arts you labour to destroy: you. Oh, may from hence each violated maid, By flattering, faithless, barb'rous man betray'd, Thorow. 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 fo rever. [Exit. Barn. Perhaps I shall. I find a power within, that bears my soul above the fears of death, and, spite of conscious shame and guilt, gives me a taste of pleasure more than mortal. Enter TRUEMAN. When robb'd of innocence and virgin fame, kind, [Weeps. True. Oh, Barnwell, Barnwell! Barn. Mercy! mercy! gracious heaven! For death, but not for this was I prepared. True. What have I suffered since I saw thee last!-What pain has absence given me! -But oh, to see thee thus! Enter THOROWGOOD, at a Distance. Thorow. There see the bitter fruits of pas- Barn. I know it is dreadful! I feel the ansion's detested reign, and sensual appetite in-guish of thy generous soul:-But I was born dulged: severe reflections, penitence, and tears. to murder all who love me. [Both weep. Barn. My honoured, injured master, whose True. I come not to reproach you; I thought goodness has covered me a thousand times to bring you comfort. Oh, had you trusted with shame, forgive this last unwilling disre-me when first the fair seducer tempted you, spect. Indeed I saw you not. all might have been prevented. Thorow. Tis well; I hope you are better Barn. Alas, thou knowest not what a wretch employed in viewing of yourself; your jour- I've been. Breach of friendship was my first ney's long, your time for preparation almost and least offence. So far was I lost to goodspent. I sent a reverend divine to teach you ness, so devoted to the author of my ruin, to improve it, and should be glad to hear of that had she insisted on my murdering theeI think I should have done it. his success. Barn. The word of truth, which he recom- True. Pr'ythee aggravate thy faults no more. mended for my constant companion in this Barn. I think I should! Thus good and gcmy sad retirement, has at length removed the nerous as you are, I should have murdered doubts I laboured under. From thence I have you! learned the infinite extent of heavenly mercy. True. We have not yet embraced, and may How shall I describe my present state of mind? be interrupted. Come to my arms. I hope in doubt, and trembling I rejoice; I Barn. Nev., never will I taste such joys feel my grief increase, even as my fears give on earth; never will I sooth my just remorse. way. Joy and gratitude now supply more Are those honest arms and faithful bosom fit tears than the horror and anguish of despair to embrace and support a murderer? These before. iron fetters only shall clasp, and flinty pave SCENE 1.] GEORGE BARNWELL. ment bear me; [Throwing himself on the per guest, the abandoned and lost Maria brings all your True. I do, I do. Almighty Power! how hast thou made us capable to bear at once the extremes of pleasure and of pain! Enter Keeper. of due? Maria. When I forget you, I must be so indeed. Reason, choice, virtue, all forbid it. Let women, like Millwood, if there are more such women, smile in prosperity, and in adversity forsake. Be it the pride of virtue to repair, or to partake, the ruin such have made. True. Lovely, ill-fated maid! Keep. Sir. Maria. Yes, fruitless is my love, and una[Exit Keeper. True. I com Barn. Mus you leave me? Death would vailing all my sighs and tears. Can they save thee from approaching death?-from such a soon have parted us for ever. True. Oh, my Barnwell, there's yet another death?-Oh, sorrow insupportable! task behind. Again your heart must bleed for others woes. Barn. Preserve her, heaven, and restore her peace, nor let her death be added to my crimes! Barn. To meet and part with you, I thought-[Bell tolls]—I'm summoned to my fate. was all I had to do on earth. What is there more for me to do or suffer? True. I dread to tell thee, yet it must be known!-Maria— Barn. Our master's fair and virtuous daughter? Re-enter Keeper. Keep. Sir, the officers attend you. Millwood is already summoned. Barn. Tell 'em I'm ready. [Exit Keeper] And now, my friend, farewell. [Embracing] Support and comfort, the best you can, this True. The same. Barn. No misfortune, I hope, has reached mourning_fair.-No more-Forget not to pray that maid! Preserve her, heaven, from every for me.-[Turning to Maria]-Would you, ill, to show mankind that goodness is your care! bright excellence, permit me the honour of a True. Thy, thy misfortunes, my unhappy chaste embrace, the last happiness this world Whatever you could give were mine.-[She inclines towards friend, have reached her ear. and I have felt, and more, if more be possi-him; they embrace] Exalted goodness! Oh, turn your eyes from earth and me to heaven, ble, she feels for you. Barn. This is indeed the bitterness of death. where virtue like yours is ever heard. Pray [Aside. for the peace of my departing soul! Early my True. You must remember (for we all ob- race of wickedness began, and soon I reached served it), for some time past, a heavy me- the summit. Thus justice, in compassion to lancholy weighed her down. Disconsolate she mankind, cuts off a wretch like me; by one seemed, and pined and languished from a such example to secure thousands from future cause unknown; till hearing of your dreadful fate, the long stifled flame blazed out, and in the transport of her grief discovered her own lost state, while she lamented yours. let Barn. [Weeping] Why did not you me die, and never know it? She makes no True. It was impossible. secret of her passion for you; she is determined to see you ere you die, and waits for me to introduce her. [Exit. Barn. Vain, busy thoughts, be still! What avails it to think on what I might have been? I am now what I've made myself. ruin. If any youth, like you, in future times Or tender maid, like you, my tale shall hear, Since you nor weep, nor I shall die in vain. True. In vain With bleeding hearts, and weeping eyes, we show Re-enter TRUEMAN, with MARIA. True. Madam, reluctant I lead you to this This is the seat of misery and A humane, gen'rous sense of others woe, dismal scene. Here awful justice reserves her public Unless we mark what drew their ruin on, guilt. victims. This is the entrance to a shameful death. And, by avoiding that, prevent our own. [The Curtain descends to slow Music, Maria. To this sad place then, no impro |