Ent'ring in the harbour, run upon a rock,
And there was lost.

O. Wil. What 'came of those on board her? Ran. Some few are sav'd; but much the greater part,

'Tis thought, are perished,

O. Wil. They are past the fear

Of future tempests or a wreck on shore;
Those who escap'd are still expos'd to both.
Where's your mistress?

Ran. I saw her pass the High-street, towards the Minster.

O. Wil. She's gone to visit Charlotte-She
doth well.

In the soft bosom of that gentle maid,
There dwells more goodness than the rigid race
Of moral pedants e'er believ'd or taught.
With what amazing constancy and truth
Doth she sustain the absence of our son,
Whom more than life she loves! How shun for
him,

Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and great; Who own her charms, and sigh to make her happy.

:

Since our misfortunes, we have found no friend, ::
None who regarded our distress, but her;
And she, by what I have observ'd of late,
Is tir'd, or exhausted-curs'd condition!
To live a burden to one only friend,
And

Whost her youth with our contagious woe!

Who that had reason, soul, or sense, would bear it
A moment longer!-Then, this honest wretch!
I must dismiss him-Why should I detain
A grateful, gen'rous youth to perish with me?
His service may procure him bread elsewhere.
Though I have none to give him.

Randal,

How long hast thou been with me? Ran. Fifteen years.

Pr'ythee

I was a very child when first you took me,
To wait upon your son, my dear young master!
I oft have wish'd I'd gone to India with him;
Though you, desponding, give him o'er for lost.
I am to blame.-This talk revives your sorrow⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
For his absence.

O. Wil. That cannot be reviv'd,
Which never died.

Ran. The whole of my intent

Was to confess your bounty, that supplied
The loss of both my parents: I was long
The object of your charitable care.

O. Wil. No more of that.-Thou'st serv'd me
longer since

Without reward; so that account is balanc'd,
Or, rather I'm thy debtor. I remember,
When poverty began to show her face
Within these walls, and all my other servants,
Like pamper'd vermin from a falling house,
Retreated with the plunder they had gain'd,
And left me, too indulgent and remiss
For such ungrateful wretches, to be crush'd
Beneath the ruin they had help'd to make,
That you, more good than wise, refused to leave

Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity?
Believe me, Sir, my honest soul abhors
The barb'rous thought.

O. Wil. What! canst thou feed on air?
I have have not left wherewith to purchase food
For one meal more.

Ran. Rather than leave you thus,
I'll beg my bread and live on others' bounty
While I serve you.

O. Wil. Down, down my swelling heart,
Or burst in silence: 'tis thy cruel fate
Insults thee by his kindness. He is innocent
Of all the pain it gives thee. Go thy ways,
I will no more suppress thy youthful hopes
Of rising in the world.

Ran. Tis true; I'm young,

And never tried my fortune, or my genius; Which may, perhaps, find out some happy means As yet unthought of, to supply your wants.

O. Wil. Thou tortur'st me-I hate all obliga tions

Which I can ne'er return. And who art thou,
That I should stoop to take 'em from thy hand?
Care for thyself, but take no thought for me;
I will not want thee-rouble me no more.
Ran. Be not offended, Sir, and I will go:
I ne'er repin'd at your commands before;
But, heaven's my witness, I obey you now
With strong reluctance and a heavy heart.
Farewell, my worthy master!
[Going

O. Wil. Farewell-Stay-
As thou art yet a stranger to the world,
Of which, alas! I've had too much experience,
I should, methinks, before we part, bestow
A little counsel on thee. Dry thy eyes-
If thou weep'st thus, I shall proceed no farther.
Dost thou aspire to greatness, or to wealth,
Quit books and the unprofitable search
Of wisdom there, and study human kind:
No science will avail thee without that;
But, that obtain'd, thou need'st not other.
any
This will instruct thee to conceal thy views,
And wear the face of probity and honour,
'Till thou hast gain'd thy end; which must be

just?

What! teach and counsel me to be a villain!
Sure grief has made him frantic, or some fiend
Assumed his shape I shall suspect my senses.
High-minded he was ever, and improvident ;
But pitiful and generous to a fault
Pleasure he loved, but honour was his idol.
O, fatal change! O, horrid transformation!
So a majestic temple, sunk to ruin,
Becomes the loathsome shelter and abode.
Of lurking serpents, toads, and beasts of prey;
And scaly dragons hiss, and lions roar,
Where wisdom taught, and music charmed be-
fore.
[Exit.
SCENE II.—A Parlour in CHARLOTTE's House.

Enter CHARLOTTE and MARIA.

Char. What terror and amazement must they Who die by shipwreck 2⠀⠀ [feel

Mar. 'Tis a dreadful thought! Char. Ay; is it not, Maria ? to descend, Living and conscious, to that watʼry tomb! Alas! had we no sorrows of our own, The frequent instances of others' woe Must give a gen'rous mind a world of pain. But you forget you promised me to sing. Though cheerfulness and I have long been stran

gers,

Harmonious sounds are still delightful to me.
There's sure no passion in the human soul,
But finds its food in music-I would hear
The song composed by that unhappy maid,
Whose faithful lover 'scap'd a thousand perils
From rocks, and sands, and the devouring deep:
And after all, being arrived at home,
Passing a narrow brook, was drowned there,
And perished in her sight.

Mar. Cease, cease, heart-easing tears;
Adieu, you flutt'ring fears,
Which seven long tedious years.
Taught me to bear.
Tears are for lighter woes;
Fear, no such danger knows,
As Fate remorseless shows,

Endless despair.

Dear cause of all my pain,
On the wide stormy main,
Thou wast preserved in vain,

Though still ador'd ;

Hadst thou died there unseen.
My wounded eyes had been
Sav'd from the direst scene

Maid e'er deplor'd. [CHARLOTTE finds a letter. Char. What's this?-A letter, superscribed

to me!

None could convey it here but you, Maria:
Ungen'rous, cruel maid! to use me thus!
To join with flatt'ring men to break my peace,
And persecute me to the last retreat!

Mar. Why should it break your peace, to hear the sighs

Of honourable love? This letter is-

By unjust suspicion. I know his truth,
And will preserve my own. But to prevent
All future, vain, officious importunity,
Know, thou incessant foe of my repose,
Whether he sleeps, secure from mortal cares,
In the deep bosom of the boist'rous main,
Or, tossed with tempests, still endures its rage,
No second choice shall violate my vows;
High heaven, which heard them, and abhors the
perjured,

Can witness, they were made without reserve;
Never to be retracted, ne'er dissolved.
By accidents or absence, time or death.

Mar. And did your vows oblige you to support His haughty parents, to your utter ruin ? ** Well may you weep to think on what you've done.

For their support. What will become of 'em—- Char. I weep to think that I can do no more The hoary, helpless, miserable pair!

Mar. What I can't praise, you force me to admire,

And mourn for you, as you lament for them..
Your patience, constancy, and resignation,
Merit a better fate.

Char. So pride would tell me, ma
And vain self-love; but I believe them not:
And if, by wanting pleasure, I have gained
Humility, I'm richer for my loss.

Mar. You have the heavenly art, still to im

prove

Your mind by all events. But here comes one,
Whose pride seems to increase with her misfor-
As ill conceals her poverty, as that
Her faded dress, unfashionably fine, [tunes.
Strained complaisance her haughty, swelling

heart.

Though perishing with want, so far from asking,
She ne'er receives a favour uncompelled;
And while she ruins, scorns to be obliged:
Let me depart, I know she loves me not.

Enter AGNES.

Char. This visit 's kind.

[Exit MARIA.

Agn. Few else would think it so:

Those who would once have thought themselves

much honoured

By the least favour, though 'twere but a look,

I could have shown them, now refuse to see me.

'Tis misery enough to be reduced

To the low level of the common herd,
Who, born to begg'ry, envy all above them
But 'tis the curse of curses, to endure
The insolent contempt of those we scorn.
Char. By scorning, we provoke them to con-
tempt;

And thus offend, and suffer in our turns:
We must have patience.

Agn. No, I scorn them yet.

But there's no end of suff'ring: who can say Their sorrows are complete? My wretched hus

band,

Tired with our woes, and hopeless of relief,

And take the same, uncertain, dreadful course, Alone withholds his hand.

Char. And may it ever!.

Agn. I've known with him the two extremes
of life,

The highest happiness, and deepest woe,
With all the sharp and bitter aggravations
Of such a vast transition. Such a fall
In the decline of life! I have as quick,
As exquisite, a sense of pain as he,
And would do any thing, but die, to end it;
But there my courage fails. Death is the worst
T'hat fate can bring, and cuts off ev'ry hope.
Char. We must not choose but strive to bear
our lot

Without reproach or guilt: but by one act
Of desperation we may overthrow

The merit we've been raising all our days;
And lose our whole reward. And now, methinks,
Now more than ever, we have cause to fear,
And be upon our guard. The hand of heaven
Spreads clouds on clouds o'er our benighted heads,
And, wrapp'd in darkness, doubles our distress.
I had, the night last past, repeated twice,
A strange and awful dream: I would not yield
To fearful superstition, nor despise
The admonition of a friendly power
That wish'd my good.

Agn. I've certain plagues enough,
Without the help of dreams to make me wretched.
Char. I would not stake my happiness or duty
On their uncertain credit, nor on aught
But reason, and the known decrees of heaven.
Yet dreams have sometimes shown events to
come,

And may excite to vigilance and care;
My vision may be such and sent to warn us,
Now we are tried by multiplied afflictions,)
To mark each motion of our swelling hearts,
Lest we attempt to extricate ourselves,
And seek deliverance by forbidden ways;
To keep our hope and innocence entire,
"Till we're dismiss'd to join the happy dead,
Or heaven relieves us here.

Agn. Well to your dream.

Char. Methought I sat, in a dark winter's night,

On the wide summit of a barren mountain;
The sharp bleak winds pierc'd through my
shiv'ring frame,

And storms of hail, and sleet, and driving rains,
Beat with impetuous fury on my head,
Drenched my chill'd limbs, and poured a deluge

round me.

On one hand ever gentle Patience sate,
On whose calm bosom I reclin'd my head;
And on the other silent Contemplation.
At length to my unclos'd and watchful eyes,
That long had roll'd in darkness, dawn appear'd;
And I beheld a man, an utter stranger,
But of a graceful and exalted mien,
Who press'd with eager transport to embrace me.
I shunn'd his arms. But at some words he spoke,
Which I have now forgot, I turn'd again,
But he was gone. And oh! transporting sight!
Your son, my dearest Wilmot, fill'd his place.

Agn. If I regarded dreams, I should expect Some fair event from yours.

Char. But what's to come,

Though more obscure, is terrible indeed

streams!

him,

With what delight we breathe our native air,

And tread the genial soil that bore us first!
"Tis said, the world is ev'ry wise man's country;
Yet, after having view'd its various nations,
I'm weak enough, still to prefer my own,
To all I've seen beside.-You smile, my friend,
And think, perhaps, 'tis instinct more than reason.
Why, be it so. Instinct preceded reason,
E'en in the wisest men, and may sometimes
Be much the better guide. But, be it either,
I must confess, that even death itself
Appear'd to me with twice its native horrors,
When apprehended in a foreign land.
Death is, no doubt, in ev'ry place the same:

Yet nature cast a look towards home, and most,
Who have it in their power, choose to expire
Where they first drew their breath.

Eust. Believe me, Wilmot,

And fondly apprehend what none e'er found, Or ever shall, pleasure and pain unmix'd; And flatter and torment ourselves by turns, With what shall never be.

Wil. I'll go this instant

To seek my Charlotte, and explore my fate.
Eust. What! in that foreign habit?
Wil. That's a trifle,

Not worth my thoughts.

Eust. The hardships you've endur'd, And your long stay beneath the burning zone, Where one eternal sultry summer reigns, Have marr'd the native hue of your complexion; Methinks, you look more like a sun-burnt Indian Than a Briton.

Wil. Well, 'tis no matter, Eustace!

I hope my mind's not altered for the worse;

I own the truth. That we're returned to

Yet I must think a warmer passion moves you; Thinking of that, I smil❜d.

Wil. O Eustace! Eustace!

Thou know'st, for I've confess'd to thee, I love;
But, having never seen the charming maid,
Thou canst not know the fierceness of my flame.
My hopes and fears, like the tempestuous seas
That we have past, now mount me to the skies,

You'll find me at the inn.

Wil. When I have learn'd my doom, expect me there.

"Till then farewell!

Eust. Farewell! success attend you! [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I-CHARLOTTE's House.

And drive me to the centre. Did you know
How much depends on this important hour,
You would not be surprised to see me thus.
The sinking fortune of our ancient house
Compell❜d me, young, to leave my native country,
My weeping parents, and my lovely Charlotte;
Who rul'd, and must for ever rule my fate.
O! should my Charlotte, doubtful of my truth,
Or in despair ever to see me more,
Have given herself to some more happy lover!-
Distraction's in the thought!-Or should my
parents,

Griev'd for my absence and oppressed with want,
Have sunk beneath their burden, and expir'd,
While I, too late, was flying to relieve them;
The end of all my long and weary travels,
The hope that made success itself a blessing,
Being defeated, and for ever lost,
What were the riches of the world to me?
Eust. The wretch who fears all that is
sible,

pos

Must suffer more than he who feels the worst
A man can feel, who lives exempt from fear.
A woman may be false, and friends are mortal;
And yet your aged parents may be living,
And your fair mistress constant.

Wil. True, they may;

I doubt, but I despair not-No, my friend!
My hopes are strong, and lively as my fears;
They tell me, Charlotte is as true as fair,
That we shall meet, never to part again;
That I shall see my parents, kiss the tears
From their pale hollow cheeks, cheer their sad
hearts,

And drive that gaping phantom, meagre want,
For ever from their board; crown all their days
To come, with peace, with pleasure and abun-
dance;

Receive their fond embraces and their blessings, And be a blessing to them.

Eust. "Tis our weakness:

Blind to events, we reason in the dark,

VOL. I..... B

SERVANT.

Wil. This I know.

When all the winds of heaven seem'd to conspire
Against the stormy main, and dreadful peals
Of rattling thunder deafened ev'ry ear,
And drown'd th' affrighten'd mariners' loud cries;
When livid lightning spread its sulphurous flames
Through all the dark horizon, and disclos'd
The raging seas incens'd to his destruction;
When the good ship in which he was embark'd
Broke, and, o'erwhelm'd by the impetuous surge,
Sunk to the oozy bottom of the deep,

And left him struggling with the warring wave
In that dread moment, in the jaws of death,

him,

And his last breath press'd towards his trembling

lips,

The neighbouring rocks, that echo'd to his moan, Return'd no sound articulate, but-Charlotte.

Char. The fatal tempest, whose description strikes

The hearer with astonishment, is ceas'd;
And Wilmot is at rest. The fiercer storm
Of swelling passion that o'erwhelms the soul,-
And rages worse than the mad foaming seas
In which he perish'd, ne'er shall vex him more.
Wil. Thou seem'st to think he's dead; enjoy
that thought;

[After viewing him sometime, she approaches weeping, and gives him her hand; and then, turning towards him, sinks upon his bosom.

Why dost thou weep? why dost thou tremble thus?

Why doth thy panting heart and cautious touch Speak thee but half convinc'd? whence are thy fears?

Why art thou silent? canst thou doubt me still ? Char. No, Wilmot! no; I'm blind with too much light:

O'ercome with wonder, and oppress'd with joy;
This vast profusion of extreme delight,
Rising at once, and bursting from despair,

Char. 'Tis enough

..soon:

Perhaps I dream, and this is all illusion.

Char. If, as some teach, the spirit after death, Free from the bonds and ties of sordid earth, Can trace us to our most conceal'd retreat, See all we act, and read our very thoughts; To thee, O Wilmot! kneeling, I appeal :If e'er I swerv'd in action, word, or thought, Or ever wished to taste a joy on earth That centred not in thee since last we parted,May we ne'er meet again, but thy loud wrongs So close the ear of mercy to my cries, That I may never see those bright abodes Where truth and virtue only have admission, And thou inhabit'st now!

Wil. Assist me, Heaven!

Preserve my reason, memory, and sense!
O moderate my fierce tumultuous joys,
Or their excess will drive me to distraction.
O Charlotte! Charlotte! lovely virtuous maid!
Can thy firm mind, in spite of time and absence,
Remain unshaken, and support its truth;
And yet thy frailer memory retain
No image, no idea, of thy lover?
Why dost thou gaze so wildly? look on me:
Turn thy dear eyes this way; observe me well.
Have scorching climates, time, and this strange
habit,

aid of words, and mocks description; But for one sorrow, one sad scene of anguish, That checks the swelling torrent of my joys, I could not bear the transport.

Wil. Let me know it:

Give me my portion of thy sorrow, Charlotte!
Let me partake thy grief, or bear it for thee.

Char. Alas! my Wilmot! the sad tears are thine;

They flow for thy misfortunes. I am pierc'd
With all the agonies of strong compassion,
With all the bitter anguish you must feel,
When you shall hear your parents—
Wil. Are no more.

Char. You apprehend me wrong.
Wil. Perhaps I do.

Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave
Was satisfied with one, and one is left
To bless my longing eyes.-But which, my
Charlotte?

Char. Afflict yourself no more with groundless fears

Your parents both are living

Their distress,

The poverty to which they are reduc'd,
In spite of my weak aid, was what I mourn'd
And that in helpless age, to them whose youth
Was crowned with full prosperity, I fear,
Is worse, much worse, than death.

Wil. My joy's complete!

My parents living, and possessed of thee !———
From this bless'd hour, the happiest of my life,
I'll date my rest. My anxious hopes and fears,
My weary travels, and my dangers past,
Are now rewarded all: now I rejoice
In my success, and count my riches gain.
For know, my soul's best treasure! I have

have you suffered? How were you preserved ?