Did I design him poison at my feast,
Why then did I provoke him in the field,
That, as he did, he might refuse to come?
When angry he refus'd, I should have sooth'd
His rous'd resentment, and deferr'd the blow;
Not destin'd him that moment to my sword,
Which I before instructed him to shun.
Thro' fear of death, did he decline my banquet,
Could I expect admittance then at his?
These numerous pleas at variance, overthrow
Each other, and are advocates for ME.

PERSEUS. NO, Sir, Posthumius is his advocate.
KING.* Art thou afraid that I should hear him out?
DEM. Quit, then, this picture, this well painted fear,
And come to that, which touches him indeed:
Why is Demetrius not despis'd of all,
His second in endowments, as in birth?
How dare I draw the thoughts of MACEDON?
How dare I gain esteem with FOREIGN POWERS?
Esteem, when gain'd, how dare I to PRESERVE ?
These are his secret thoughts; these burn within ;
These sting up accusations in his soul,
Turn friendly visits to foul fraud, and murder;
And pour in poison to the bowl of love.

MERIT is TREASON in a younger brother.

KING. But clear your conduct with regard to Rome.
DEM. Alas! dread Sir, I grieve to find set down
Among my crimes, what ought to be my PRAISE.
That I went hostage, or ambassador,

Was PHILIP's high command, not my request:
Indeed, when there, in both those characters,
I bore in mind to whom I owe my birth:
Rome's favour follow'd. If it is a crime
To be regarded, spare a crime you caus'd;
Caus'd by your orders, and example too.
True, I'm Rome's friend, while Rome is
your ally:
When not, this hostage, this ambassador,
So dear, stands forth the FIERCEST of her FOES;
At your command, flies swift on wings of fire,
The native thunder of a father's arm.

* The King here becomes apparently biassed towards Demetrius.

ANT. There spoke, at once, the Hero, and the Son. DEM. To close-To thee,* I grant, some thanks are due; Not for thy kindness, but malignity:

Thy character's my friend, tho' THOU my foe:
For, say, whose temper promises most guilt?
Perseus, importunate, demands my death:
I do not ask for HIS: Ah! no; I feel
Too pow'rful nature pleading for him HERE:
But, were there no fraternal tie to bind me,
A son of Philip must be dear to me.

If

me,

you, my FATHER, had been angry with
An ELDER brother, a less AWFUL parent,
He should assuage you, HE should intercede,
Soften my failings, and indulge my youth:
But my asylum drops its character;

I find not there my rescue, but my ruin.
PERSEUS. His bold assurance-

KING.

Do not interrupt him;
But let thy brother finish his defence.

DEM. O Perseus! how I tremble as I speak!
Where is a brother's voice, a brother's eye?
Where is the melting of a brother's HEART?
Where is our awful father's dread command?
Where a DEAR, DYING MOTHER's last request?
FORGOT, SCORN'D, HATED, TRODDEN under foot!
Thy heart, how dead to ev'ry call of nature!
UNSON'D! UNBROTHER'D! nay, UNHUMANIZ'D!
Far from affection, as thou'rt near in blood!
Oh! Perseus, Perseus!—But my heart's too full.§
KING. Support him.

PERSEUS. Vengeance overtakes his crimes.
KING. No more!

ANT.** See, from his hoary brow he wipes the dew, Which agony wrings from him.

KING.++

Oh! my friend,

These boys at strife, like Etna's struggling flames,
Convulsions cause, and make a mountain shake;

*To Perseus.

Exceedingly affected. In a malicious tone. tt Turning to Dymas with

With a contemptuous sneer. He here falls on Antigonus. ** In reference to the King. much internal emotion.

Shake Philip's firmness, and convulse his heart,
And, with a fiery flood of civil war,

Threaten to deluge my divided land.

I've heard them both; by neither am convinc'd :
And yet Demetrius' words went thro' my HEART.—
A double crime, Demetrius, is your charge;
Fondness for Rome, and hatred to your brother.
If you can clear your innocence in one,

"Twill give us cause to think you wrong'd in both.
DEM.* How shall I clear it, Sir?

KING.

This honest man Detests the Romans. If you wed his daughter, Rome's foe becomes the guardian of your faith.

DEM. I told you, Sir, when I return'd from Rome—
KING. HOW!-Dost thou want an absolute command?

Your BROTHER, FATHER, COUNTRY, ALL exact it.
ANT. See yonder guards at hand, if you refuse;
Nay, more, a father, so distress'd, demands

A son's compassion, to becalm his heart.

Oh! Sir, comply.

touch me;

DEM. There! there! indeed you
Besides, if I'm confin'd, and Perseus FREE,

I never, never, shall behold her more,

Pardon, ye gods! an artifice forc'd on me.
Dread Sir, your Son complies.||

DYMAS.

Astonishment!

KING. Strike off his chains. Nay, Perseus, too, is free: They wear no bonds but those of duty, now.

Dymas, go, thank the prince: He weds your daughter, And highest honours pay your high desert.

YOUNG'S BROthers.

* In the most anxious manner. + Aside to Demetrius.

Aside to Antigonus,

† In a haughty manner.
To the King.

SCENE FROM THE IRON CHEST.

CHARACTERS.

SIR EDWARD MORTIMER.
WILFORD.

Sir Edward Mortimer is represented by the dramatist as a man universally respected and loved for his virtues, and particularly for his kindness to the poor and distressed. He had, however, received such extremely cruel and brutal treatment from a neighbouring gentleman, that he openly avowed his determination to send him a challenge. The gentleman was soon after found murdered in the high road. Sir Edward was charged with the murder; he was tried and acquitted, and generally considered innocent, although he had actually perpetrated the horrid deed. The bloody dagger with which the murder had been effected, together with other proofs, he kept in an iron chest in his library. Conscious of his guilt, he was always apprehensive lest it might be discovered, and consequently led a life of the most horrid anxiety. Wilford, an orphan youth, whom he had taken under his protection, and made his amanuensis, having heard something of the circumstance, takes an opportunity of looking into the chest, and there discovers the dagger. Sir Edward enters the room while he is looking at it, and, in a transport of fury, seizes a pistol with the intention of shooting him, but which, after a violent struggle of mind, he throws from him. Sir Edward was, through the arrival of his brother at that moment, diverted from the affair; he, however, shortly after desired Wilford to wait his presence in the library, when the following dialogue is supposed to have taken place. The above explanation will afford the speaker an idea of the feelings with which both Sir Edward and Wilford may be supposed to be agitated. Sir Edward is racked with mistrust and apprehension, and the most horrid feelings that a mind, naturally noble and honourable, may be supposed to possess. Wilford's manner is modest and submissive, evincing an excellent disposition, with a grateful remembrance of Sir Edward's kindness.

SIR E. Wilford! Is no one in the picture-gallery? WILF. No-not a soul, Sir;—not a human soul :— None within hearing, if I were to bawl

Ever so loud.

I shall, Sir.

* Mysterious manner,

[Sir Edward waves with his hand.]
[Going to the door, and locking it.]

+ Surprise mingled with alarm.

+ Hesitating.

SIR E. Wilford, approach me.-What am I to say For aiming at your life?-Do you not scorn me, Despise me for it?

WILF.

SIR E.

I! Oh, Sir!

You must;

For I ain singled from the herd of men,
A vile, heart-broken wretch !

You deeply wrong yourself. Your equal's love,
The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude,
All follow you:—and I!-I owe you ALL!

I am most bound to bless you.

SIR E.

Mark me,

I know the value of the orphan's tear ;

Wilford:

The poor man's prayer; respect from the respected;
I feel to merit these, and to obtain them,

Is to taste, here below, that thrilling cordial
Which the remunerating angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,
To pour on blessed souls that enter Heaven.
I FEEL this-I!--How must my nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand

In human blood?--and yet, it seems, this day
I sought your life.-Oh! I have suffer'd madness!
None know my tortures,-pangs!—but I can end them;
End them as far as appertains to thee.-

I have resolv'd it.-Hell-born struggles tear me:

But I have ponder'd on't,--and I must trust thee.
WILF. Your confidence shall not be-

SIR E.

You must sWEAR.

WILF. Swear, Sir !--will nothing but an oath, thenSIR E.

May+ all the ills that wait on frail humanity

Be doubled on your head, if you disclose
My fatal secret! May your body turn

Listen.

Most lazar-like and loathsome; and your mind
More loathsome than your body! May those fiends,
Who strangle babes, for very wantonness,

Most emphatic manner.

+ This imprecation requires the most earnest delivery, with the greatest degree of solemnity,