Ger. Oh dear, good Mr. Governor, don't cram me into that abominable black castle, and I'll confess all.

Эот.

The strictest discipline, you see, Within Sorrento's castle reigns: My rule is-regularity,

And I'm rewarded for my pains.
(When the bridge is down, a guard comes
from the castle, leaving a sentinel at the
other side of the bridge, and returns again
into the castle.)

Off. Advance! The countersign!

(The Governor makes signs to Murville and
Germain to remain still.)

Goy. Rochelle! (Going to the Officer.)
Offi. Correct! Pass friends, and all is well.
Gov. Lieutenant, hasten, Blinval's free.

Mur. &

(Giving the keys to the Lieutenant.)

Gov. Fly! soothe his anxious mind to peace.

Gov. Roar like a lion—liberty!

Gov.

Mur. & Fly, quick, and hasten his release!
Mur. Tell him a friend, whose life he sav'd,
Has joyous tidings to impart.

Gov. Tell him he's been so well behav'd,

He's my permission to depart.

[Exit the Lieutenant over the bridge into the
castle, ordering the Officer from the ram-
parts to follow him.

Gov. Och honey sweet, what joys we feel-
Mur. Transporting moment! yes, I feel-
Ger. I'm glad he's free, but still I feel-
Gov. When gratitude the bosom warms.
Mur. A generous act the bosom warms.
Ger. Some symptoms strong of fierce alarms.
Gov. Its glowing ardour you reveal.
Mur. Ah! could my tongue my joys reveal-
Ger. Ah! could my tongue my fears reveal-
Gov. Humanity, how bright thy charms!
Mur. & 'Twould soon destroy those fancied
Ger. S charms.

Enter the Officer from the castle.
Cff. Escap'd, escap'd! the pris'ner's fled!
[Exit Germain, hastily.
The southern tower we've search'd in vain.
Gov. Oh, heaven! am I alive or dead?
Mur. Some mystery-
Gov. Some trick, 'tis plain!

To arms, to arms! Post sentries round!
(An alarm, flourish of drums, &c.)
Offi. Each avenue, each opening guard!
Gov. Alive or dead, I'll have him found.
His slippery tricks I'll soon reward.
Enter Soldiers from the castle.
To arms, to arms! the pris'ner's fled!
He must be found, alive or dead!

[All the Soldiers go off; but one party re-
turns, bringing in Germain.

Cho. As now we search'd the castle round,
This fellow lurking near we found:
His guilty looks declare that he
Has help'd to set our pris'ner free.
Ger. I nothing know-in truth, 'tis so!

If he got free,

What's that to me?

I'm innocent, so let me go.

Cho. March! The dungeon straight prepare: He, for life, shall languish there. Treachery was his intent;

Now he meets his punishment

Gov. Confess! Oh, oh! Then you begin to squeak, do you?

Mur. Scoundrel! And have you been accessory to his escape?

Ger. Why, lord, sir, he had escaped before I had any hand in the business. Mur. Explain.

Ger. Why, you must know, then, that there's a secret communication between his prison and the Widow Belmont's. He has been burrowing underground, and playing at bo-peep between the two buildings like a rabbit in a warren.

Gov. Has he so? 'Faith, theu, I'll have my ferrets after him, and they'll soon bring him out. Corporal, take a guard, and go to the Widow Belmont's, and recover the prisoner.-(Erit Corporal with Guards.) So, then, this singular gentleman nas been cutting himself in half, and has been a double man after all. Then it was him I saw at the Widow's, and not Count Murville.

Mur. You certainly never saw Count Murville there; for I am he, and never yet entered her doors; but his reason for personating me I am at a loss to guess.

Ger. Love was his reason, sir. Love, you know, sir, will change a man into anything; and if Miss Rosina be not as much inclined to the prisoner as the prisoner is to her, I know nothing of the tender passion.

Gov. Och! then, the little blind boy, Master Cupid, has been at work with them.

Enter MRS. BELMONT and ROSINA Mrs. B. Governor, what is all this? The confusion in my house-your guard-the

Gov. Be aisy, Widow, be aisy! Here comes one that will clear up all.

Enter BLINVAL, guarded.

So, Mr. Proteus! 'Faith, and you're trapped! What, then, you put the governor, and all his chains, bolts, bars, and sentries, at defiance. Eh! | here you have this pickle, your cousin; but, give me leave, I must make known the real Murville. (Presents him to Ms. Belmont.) And that whipstart is my recluse of the south tower. Pretty sweet innocent! see how demure he seems.

Ros. (Advancing.) Blinval! Oh! I'm so glad! Mur. My dear Blinval! give me your hand, and let me give you joy of the pardon which I have obtained for you, and just delivered to the Gover

nor.

Blin. My pardon! Huzza! My dear friend! I will, then, confess that

Mur. You may spare yourself that trouble, for Germain has told us all. Cousin, my friend Blinval has had the ingenuity to find a secret communication from his prison to that apartment; and, I believe your fair daughter made him explore it. The state is benefited by the discovery; but he deserves to be made prisoner for life. Will you consent? Rosina has forged them, and he is, I dare be sworn, ready to hug his chains.

Mrs. B. I have had proofs of my daughter's attachment, and if she'll venture on such a prisonbreaker-She's her own mistress. (Blinval goes up to Rosina, who retires bashfully to Mrs. Belmont.) Nay, my child, you have my consent. Lock up his heart; and, like the Governor, temper your sway with gentleness.

I would transplant her into Villeroy's.
There is an evil fate that waits upon her,
To which I wish him wedded-only him:
His upstart family, with haughty brow,
(Though Villeroy and myself are seeming friends)
Looks down upon our house; his sister, too,
Whose hand I ask'd, and was with scorn re-
fus'd,

Lives in my breast, and fires me to revenge.
They bend this way.

Perhaps, at last, she seeks my father's doors!
They shall be shut, and he prepared to give
The beggar and her brat a cold reception.
That boy's an adder in my path: they come;
I'll stand apart, and watch their motions.

[Exit.

Isa. I must not hear you.

Fil. Thus, at this awful distance, I have served
A seven years' bondage. Do I call it bondage,
When I can never wish to be redeem'd?
No, let me rather linger out a life

Of expectation, that you may be mine,
Than be restored to the indifference
Of seeing you, without this pleasing pain:
I've lost myself, and never would be found,
But in these arms.

Isa. Oh, I have heard all this!

But must no more-the charmer is no more:
My buried husband rises in the face

Of my dear boy, and chides me for my str
Canst thou forgive me, child?

Vil. What can I say?

The arguments that make against my hopes
Prevail upon my heart, and fix me more;
When yet a virgin, free, and undisposed,
I loved, but saw you only with mine eyes;
I could not reach the beauties of your soul:

To use me ill: pray leave me to the trial.

Vil. I'm only born to be what you would have me,

The creature of your power, and must obey,
In every thing obey you. I am going;
But all good fortune go along with you.
Isa. I shall need all your wishes.
Lock'd! and fast!

Where is the charity that used to stand
In our forefathers' hospitable days
At great men's doors,

Like the good angel of the family,
With open arms taking the needy in,

(Knocks.)

To feed and clothe, to comfort and relieve them? Now even their gates are shut against their poor. (She knocks again.)

En'er SAMPSON.

Samp. Well, what's to do now, I trow? You knock as loud as if you were invited: and that's more than I heard of; but I can tell you, you may look twice about for a welcome in a great man's family, before you find it, unless you bring it along with you.

Isa. I hope I bring my welcome along with me: Is your lord at home?

Samp. My lord at home?

Isa. Count Baldwin lives here still?

Samp. Ay, ay; Count Baldwin does live here; and I am his porter; but what's that to the purpose, good woman, of my lord's being at home? Isa. Why, don't you know me, friend? Samp. Not I, not I, mistress; I may have seen you before, or so! but men of employment must forget their acquaintance; especially such as we are never to be tho better for. (Going to shut the door.)

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Handsomer words would become you, and mend your manners, Sampson: do you know who you prate to?

Isa. I am glad you know me, nurse.

Nurse. Marry, heaven forbid! madam, that I should ever forget you, or my little jewel: pray go in. (Isabella goes in with her child.) Now, my blessing go along with you, wherever you go, or whatever you are about. Fie! Sampson, how couldst thou be such a Saracen? A Turk would have been a better Christian, than to have done so barbarously by so good a lady.

Samp. Why, look you, nurse, I know you of old: by your good will, you would have a finger in everybody's pie; but mark the end on't! if I am called to account about it, I know what I have to say.

Nurse. Marry, come up here! say your pleasure, and spare not. Refuse his eldest son's widow and poor child the comfort of seeing him? She does not trouble him so often.

Samp. Not that I am against it, nurse, but we are

but servants, you know: we must have no likings, but our lord's, and must do as we are ordered. But what is the business, nurse? You have been in the family before I came into the world: what's the reason, pray, that this daughter-in-law, who has so good a report in everybody's mouth, is so little set by by my lord?

Nurse. Why, I tell you, Sampson, more or less; I'll tell the truth, that's my way, you know, without adding or diminishing.

Samp. Ay, marry, nurse!

Nurse. My lord's eldest son, Biron by name, the son of his bosom, and the son that he would have loved best, if he had as many as king Pyramus of Troy: this Biron, as I was saying, was a lovely sweet gentleman; and, indeed, nobody could blame his father for loving him; he was a son for the king of Spain, heaven bless him! for I was his nurse. But now I come to the point, Sampson; this Biron, without asking the advice of his friends, hand over head, as young men will have their vagaries, not having the fear of his father before his eyes, as I may say, wilfully marries this Isabella.

Samp. How, wilfully! he should have had her consent, methinks.

Nurse. No, wilfully marries her; and, which was worse, after she had settled all her fortune upon a nunnery, which she broke out of to run away with him. They say they had the church's forgiveness, but I had rather it had been his father's.

Samp. Why, in good truth, I think our young master was not in the wrong, but in marrying without a portion.

Nurse. That was the quarrel, I believe, Sampson; upon this, my old lord would never see him; disinherited him: took his younger brother, Carlos, into favour, whom he never cared for before; and, at last, forced Biron to go to the siege of Candy, where he was killed.

Samp. Alack-a-day, poor gentleman! Nurse. For which my old lord hates her, as if she had been the cause of his going there. Samp. Alas, poor lady! she has suffered for it; she has lived a great while a widow.

Nurse. A great while, indeed, for a young woman, Sampson.

Samp. Gad so! here they come: I won't venture to be seen. (They retire.)

Enter COUNT BALDWIN, followed by ISABELLA, and her child.

C. Bald. Whoever of your friends directed you, Misguided and abused you-there's your way: What could you expect from me?

Isa. Oh! I have nothing to expect on earth!

But misery is very apt to talk:

I thought I might be heard.

C. Bald. What can you say?

Is there in eloquence, can there be in words
A recompensing pow'r, a remedy,

A reparation of the injuries,

The great calamities, that you have brought

On me and mine? You have destroyed those

C. Bald. Beyond all other pleasures. Isa. Then you are pleased, for I am most undone.

C. Bald. I pray'd but for revenge, and heav'n has heard,

And sent it to my wishes: these grey hairs
Would have gone down in sorrow to the grave,
Which you have dug for me, without the thought,
The thought of leaving you more wretched here.
Isa. Indeed I am most wretched.

I lost with Biron all the joys of life:
But now its last supporting means are gone.
All the kind helps that heaven in pity raised,
In charitable pity to our wants,
At last have left us: now bereft of all,
But this last trial of a cruel father,
To save us both from sinking. Oh, my child!
Kneel with me, knoek at nature in his heart:
Let the resemblance of a once-loved son
Speak in this little one, who never wrong'd you,
And plead the fatherless and widow's cause.
Oh, if you ever hope to be forgiven,
As you will need to be forgiven too,
Forget our faults, that heaven may pardon yours.
C. Bald. How dare you mention heav'n? Call to
mind

Your perjured vows; your plighted, broken faith
To heav'n, and all things holy; were you not
Devoted, wedded to a life recluse,
The sacred habit on, profess'd and sworn,
A votary for ever? Can you think
The sacrilegious wretch, that robs the shrine,
Is thunder-proof?

Isa. There, there began my woes.
Oh, had I never seen my Biron's face,
Had he not tempted me, I had not fall'n,
But still continued innocent and free
Of a bad world, which only he had pow'r
To reconcile, and make me try again.
C. Bald. Your own inconstancy
Reconciled you to the world:
He had no hand to bring you back again,
But what you gave him. Circe, you prevail'd
Upon his honest mind: and what he did
Was first inspired by you.

Isa. Not for myself, for I am past the hopes
Of being heard, but for this innocent;
And then I never will disturb you more.

C. Bald. I almost pity the unhappy child:
But being yours-

Isa. Look on him as your son's;
And let his part in him answer for mine.

Oh, save, defend him, save him from the wrongs
That fall upon the poor!

C. Bald. It touches me,

And I will save him. But to keep him safe, Never come near him more.

Isa. What! take him from me?

No, we must never part; 'tis the last hold
Of comfort I have left; and when he fails
All goes along with him: Oh! could you be
The tyrant to divorce life from my life?
I live but in my child.

No, let me pray in vain, and beg my bread
From door to door, to feed his daily wants,
Rather than always lose him.

C. Bald, Then have your child, and feed him with your prayers. Away!

Isa. Then heaven have mercy on me!

[Exit, with Child. C. Bald. You rascal slave, what do I keep you

for? How came this woman in?