To bring me comfort, say that you have made Let them at once dispatch me. My peace with my Marcelia. Isa. I had rather Wait on you to your funeral. Sfor. You are my mother; Or, by her life, you were dead else. To your dishonour! Here your mother was Sfor. She hath blasphem'd, and by our law Isa. Blasphem'd! for giving a false woman her true name. Sfor. O hell, what do I suffer? Mari. Or is it treason For me, that an a subject, to endeavour To save the honour of the duke, and, that Their hourly private meetings; and, e'en now, Sfor. O the malice And envy of base women! Wretches! you A monumental trophy to her. I'm so far To fall as sacrifices to appease her; And therefore live till your own envy burst you. Isa. All is in vain; he is not to be mov'd. Pes. Tis so past_belief, To me it shows a fable. Fran. Draw your sword then, And, as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me ; Sfor. Oh! Fran. And from hence grew Sfor. O women! women! Fran. I labour'd to divert her by persuasion, Fran. But when I saw her smile, then heard Your love and extreme dotage, as a cloak, Enter FRANCISCO, speaking to a Servant Both base and poor to rise up her accuser) within. Fran. Great sir, I would impart, Freely discover it. Sfor. Eternal plagues Pursue and overtake her! But, like a village Stephano, Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret, Tiberio, and the rest! I will be sudden, I am in labour to deliver to you. Sfor. All leave the room. [Exeunt Isa. and Mari.] Excuse me, good Pescara, Ere long I will wait on you. Pes. You speak, sir, The language I should use. Sfor. Be within call, Perhaps we may have use of you. [Exit. [Exeunt Tiberio and Stephano. Sfor. Say on, my comfort! Fran. Comfort! no, your torment, Of misery stand ready to devour me? How ugly thou appear'st now! Thy intent Marc. Return'd thee the dishonour thou Sfor. Your chosen favourite, your woo'd Has dearly paid for't; for, wretch! know, he's And by my hand. Marc. Thou hast kill'd then, A man I do profess I lov'd; a man For whom a thousand queens might well be But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be Sfor. I begin now In this my justice. [Stabs her. Marc. Oh! I have fool'd myself You needs must suffer. Sfor. An innocent! Let one Re-enter STEPHANO. Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenc'd by you, Sfor. Then I believe thee; Tib. Her sweet soul has left Steph. Look to the duke; he stands ACT V. SCENE L-The MILANESE. [Dies. [Exeunt. A Room in Ev Thy promis'd hopes, and robb'd thee of a fortune But hasten'd her sad ruin. A grief that is beneath it; for, however Fran. Such indeed, I grant, The stream of his affection was, and ran, Fran. And by Sforza's hand. Does it not How coldly you receive it! I expected Steph. Seignior Francisco, sir, but even now For if my sorrows could receive addition, And both by him undone. Stay, death, a little, warrant That you sign'd for my death. But, being Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me, Her sad fate would increase, not lessen them. Fran. Have you then no gall, Eug. Yes, of him That did deceive me. There's no passion, that Of teeming women; and will hazard all Fran. Still mine own, and dearer! I did begin his tragedy in her death, Eug. Upon those terms I yield myself and cause, to be dispos'd of |Speak, my oraculous Graccho. Grac. I have heard, sir, Of men in debt that, laid for by their creditors, Fran. But what infer you from it? That since all ways of your escape are stopp'd, Fran. By thee? Alas! I know thee honest, And I will put thy counsel into act, Grac. In the devil's name, what means he? Appear to me as written in thy forehead, In plain and easy characters: and, but that' and I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sword And your head rated at ten thousand ducats Are intercepted, and your picture sent Eug. Why, let us then turn Romans. Fran. Twould show nobly: [Exeunt. Graccho is wise; my friend too, not my SCENE II.-MILAN. A Room in the Castle. servant; And I dare trust him with my latest secret. Grac. He instructs me What I should do. Fran. What's that? Grac. I labour with [Aside. Enter PESCARA, TIBERIO, and STEPHANO. Pes. Troth, I'll tell you, A strong desire to assist you with my service; Of his physicians, he was brought to life, And now I am deliver'd of it, Fran. I told you. He call'd for fair Marcelia, and being told (I would not say blasphem'd); then it came Into his fancy that she was accus'd By his mother and his sister; thrice he curs'd them, And thrice his desp'rate hand was on his sword Tib. 'Twas well thought on. Pes. He, easily believing what he wish'd, Sfor. [Within] Support her gently. I am prevented. Enter LUDOVICO SFORZA, ISABELLA, MARIANA, Doctors, and Servants, with the Body of MARCELIA. Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you. This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still Isa Oh! cross him not, dear daughter.. Enter a Servant, and whispers PESCARA. Pes. With me? What is he? Sero. He has a strange aspect; A Jew by birth, and a physician By his profession, as he says; who, hearing Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of His life, will undertake to render him Perfect in every part. [Apart. Pes. Bring me to him. As I find cause, I'll do. [Apart. Exeunt Pescara and Servants. Sfor. How sound she sleeps! Bite your tongues, vile creatures, The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint, 1 Doc. You are too loud, sir; you disturb Her sweet repose. Sfor. I am hush'd. 1 Doc. He's past hope; we can no longer cover the imposture. Re-enter PESCARA, with FRANCISCO, as a Jew To give a new life to her; yet I'll hazard Till we use means to win upon his passions, Admits no looker on: I only ask Pes. About it straight. [Exit Eugenia. sound? Pes. He is a man that can do wonders. [Beckons Francisco. Exit Francisco. Do not hinder Heaven keep her from a lethargy! How long The dutchess's wish'd recovery, to inquire (But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) Or what he is, or to give thanks; but leave him Does your judgment tell you that her sleep To work this miracle. will last? Sfor. Sure 'tis my good angel. I do obey in all things. Be it death Re-enter FRANCISCO, leading in EUGENIA, clothed as the Body of MARCELIA. Fran. 'Tis my purpose. I'll make the door fast-so Eug. Alas! I tremble: Thus to tyrannise upon, and mock the dead, Is most inhuman. Fran. Come we for revenge, And can we think on pity? If to enjoy The wish'd-for sacrifice to thy lost honour, Be in thy wavering thought a benefit, Now art thou blest. Eug. Ah me! what follows now? Fran What, but a full conclusion of our wishes! Look on this flowr, Eugenia-such a thing As yonder corpse, whose fatal robe you wear, Must the pale wretch be summon'd to appear In the grim court of death, whose senses taste And after breath'd a jealousy upon thee, Eug. I yield myself and cause up, to be As thou think'st fit. [Sits down veiled. Enter with joy, and see the sudden change, Re-enter LUDOVICO SFORZA and the Rest. In my full confidence that Marcelia may You must not look for all your joys at once; Pes. Tis wondrous strange! The saints will smile and look on't. [Kisses her Hand again. Eugenia She wakes! she lives! and I am blest again. Eug. This is Enter Guard. Fran. Francisco. Pes. Monster of men! Fran. Give me all attributes Sfor. Call forth the tortures Fran. I dare the worst. Only, to yield some reason to the world Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister, MOORE. EDWARD MOORE was bred a linen-draper; but having a stronger attachment to Pegasus than the yard, and a more ardent zeal in the pursuit of fame than in the hunt after fortune, he quitted business and applied to the Muses for a support. In verse he had certainly a very happy and pleasing manner; in his Trial of Selim the Persian, which is a compliment to the ingenious Lord Lyttelton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of panegyric, viz. that which is couched under the appearance of accusation; and his Fables for the Female Sex seem, not only in the freedom and ease of the versification, but also in the forcibleness of the moral and poignancy of the satire, to approach nearer to the manner of Mr. Gay, than any of the numerous imitations of that author which have been attempted since the publication of his Fables. As a dramatic writer, Mr. Moore has, by no means, met with the |