O. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it-But dis- | patch. [Exit Agnes. Where must I charge this length of misery, That gathers force each moment as it rolls, And must at last o'erwhelm me, but on hope: Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope," That has for years deceived me?-Had I thought As I do now, as wise men ever think, When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me, That power to die implies a right to do it, And should be used when life becomes a pain, What plagues had I prevented!-True, my wife Is still a slave to prejudice and fearI would not leave my better part, the dear [Weeps. Faithful companion of my happier days, Enter AGNES, and after her Young WILMOT. Y. Wilm. You are, I presume, [Gives a letter. O. Wilm. [Having read the letter.] -Sir, such welcome As this poor house affords, you may command. Our ever friendly neighbour-Once we hoped To have called fair Charlotte by a dearer name, But we have done with hope-I pray excuse This incoherence-We had once a son. [Weeps. Agn. That you are come from that dear virtuous maid, Revives in us the memory of a loss, Which, though long since, we have not learned to bear. Y. Wilm. The joy to see them, and the bitter It is to see them thus, touches my soul -They know me not, and yet I shall, I fear, Defeat my purpose, and betray myself. [Aside. O. Wilm. The lady calls you here her valued friend; Enough, though nothing more should be implied, But she, perhaps, has purposed to errich Who only favours youth, as feeble age To dry our tears, and dissipate despair. Agn. The last and most abandoned of our kind, By heaven and earth neglected or despised, Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardoned, or devoted Fear without hope, and wail in such sad strains; And have, believing, been as oft deceived. Y. Wilm. Behold in me an instance of its truth. At sea twice shipwrecked, and as oft the prey Of lawless pirates; by the Arabs thrice Surprized, and robbed on shore; and once reduced To worse than these, the sum of all distress O. Wilm. A rare example Of fortune's changes; apter to surprise If you would reason from events, be just, And count, when you escaped, how many perished; And draw your inference thence. Agn. Alas! Who knows, But we were rendered childless by some storm, In which you, though preserved, might bear a part? Y. Wilm. How has my curiosity betrayed me Into superfluous pain! I faint with fondness; And shall, if I stay longer, rush upon them, Proclaim myself their son, kiss and embrace them, Till, with the excess of pleasure and surprize, Their souls, transported, their frail mansions quit, And leave them breathless in my longing arms. By circumstances then and slow degrees, They must be let into a happiness, Too great for them to bear at once, and live: That Charlotte will perform. I need not feign To ask an hour for rest. [Aside.] Sir, I intreat The favour to retire, where for a while I may repose myself. You will excuse This freedom, and the trouble that I give you. 'Tis long since I have slept, and nature calls. O. Wilm. I pray no more: Believe we're only troubled, That you should think any excuse were needful. Y. Wilm. The weight of this to me is some incumbrance, [Takes a casket out of his bosom, and gives it to his mother. And its contents of value: If you please To take the charge of it 'till I awake, Distracted as I am with various woes, I shall remember that. [Erit, with Old Wilmot. Y. Wilm. Merciless grief! What ravage has it made! how has it changed Her lovely form and mind! I feel her anguish, And dread I know not what from her despair. My father too grant them patience, Hea ven! A little longer, a few short hours more, And all their cares, and mine, shall end for ever. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-The Scene continues. ACT III. He says it is of value, and yet trusts it, It is not what he says-I am strongly tempted My eyes are dazzled, and my ravished heart Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright's the lustre, And how immense the worth, of these fair jewels! At our approach, and once more bend before us. The bright temptation, and I see it yet 'Tis here 'tis mine-I have it in possessionMust I resign it? Must I give it back? Am I in love with misery and want, To rob myself, and court so vast a loss? Retain it then-But how? There is a wayWhy sinks my heart? Why does my blood run cold? Why am I thrilled with horror? Tis not choice, But dire necessity suggests the thought. Enter Old WILMOT. O. Wilm. The mind contented, with how little pains The wandering senses yield to soft repose! And with a look, that pierced me to the soul, Begged me to comfort thee: And-dost thou hear me? What art thou gazing on? Fie, 'tis not well. Agn. And who shall know it? O. Wilm. There is a kind of pride, a decent dignity Due to ourselves; which, spite of our misfortunes, May be maintained, and cherished to the last. Agn. Shews sovereign madness, and a scorn of sense. Pursue no farther this detested theme: O. Wilm. To chase a shadow, when the setting sun Is darting his last rays, were just as wise Die how you will, you shall not die alone. O Wilm. There is no fear of that. O. Wilm. Strange folly? where the means? O. Wilm. Ha! Take heed! Perhaps thou dost but try me-yet take heed! There's nothing so monstrous but the mind of man, In some conditions, may be bought to approve : So advantageous, so secure, and easy; Agn. 'Tis less impiety, less against nature, To take another's life, than end our own. 0. Wilm. No matter which, the less or great er crime: Howe'er we may deceive ourselves or others, Or none could act amiss: and that all err, For our own prescrvation. O. Wilm. Rest contented: Agn. Then nought remains But the swift execution of a deed, That is not to be thought on, or delayed— O. Wilm. Generous unhappy man! O! what could move thee To put thy life and fortune in the hands Shall we effect his death? O. Wilm. Why, what a fiend! How cruel, how remorseless and impatient Agn. Barbarous man ! Whose wasteful riots ruined our estate, And drove our son, ere the first down had spread His rosy cheeks, spite of my sad presages, Earnest intreaties, agonies, and tears, To seek his bread amongst strangers, and to perish In some remote, inhospitable land; The loveliest youth, in person and in mind, O. Wilm. Dry thy tears: I ought not to reproach thee. I confess That thou hast suffered much: So have we both. But chide no more; I am wrought up to thy pur pose. The poor, ill-fated, unsuspecting victim, And bring me word, if he be still asleep. [Exit Agnes. | Or I'm deceived, or he pronounced himself The happiest of mankind. Deluded wretch! Thy thoughts are perishing, thy youthful joys, Touched by the icy hand of grisly death, Are withering in their bloom-But, thought extinguished, He'll never know the loss, Nor feel the bitter pangs of disappointment— Is all the happiest of mankind can hope for. Enter AGNES with YOUNG WILMOT's dagger. restless we determined? Agn. You're quite dismayed. [Takes up the dagger. 0. Wilm. Give me the fatal steel. 'Tis but a single murder, Necessity, impatience, and despair, | The three wide mouths of that true Cerberus, [Going the wrong way. Agn. Where do you go? The street is that way. 0. Wilm. True ! I had forgot, Agn. Quite, quite confounded! way. O. Wilm. Well, I recover.-I shall find the [Erit. Agn. O softly! softly! The least noise undoes us. What are we doing? Misery and want What! doth my heart recoil!O Wilmot! What power shall I invoke to aid thee, Wilmot? [Exit. Enter CHARLOTTE, EUSTACE, and RANDAL. Char. What strange neglect! The doors are all unbarred, And not a living creature to be seen! Enter Old WILMOT and AGNES. Char. Sir, we are come to give and to receive A thousand greetings-Ha! what can this mean! Why do you look with such amazement on us? Are these your transports for your son's return? Where is my Wilmot?-Has he not been here? Would he defer your happiness so long, Or could a habit so disguise your son, That you refused to own him? Agn. Heard you that? What prodigy of horror is disclosing, O. Wilm. Prithee, peace! The miserable damned suspend their howling, And the swift orbs are fixed in deep attention. Rand. What mean these dreadful words, and frantic air! That is the dagger my young master wore. Eust. My mind misgives me. Do not stand to gaze On these dumb phantoms of despair and horror! Let us search further; Randal, shew the way. [Exeunt. Agn. Let life forsake the earth, and light the sun, And death and darkness bury in oblivion course, When we, the curse and burden of the earth, I durst not trust thy weakness. Agn. Ever kind, But most in this! O. Wilm. I will not long survive thee. Enter RANDAL and EUSTACE. Eust. O Wilmot! Wilmot ! Are these the fruits of all thy anxious cares My sovereign right of grief!-Was he thy son?Say! Canst thou shew thy hands reeking with blood, That flowed, through purer channels, from thy loins? Compute the sands that bound the spacious ocean, | And swell their number with a single grain; Increase the noise of thunder with thy voice; Or, when the raging wind lays nature waste, Assist the tempest with thy feeble breath; But name not thy faint sorrow, with the anguish Of a curst wretch, who only hopes from this [Stabbing himself. To change the scene, but not relieve his pain! Rand. A dreadful instance of the last remorse! May all your woes end here! Ŏ. Wilm. O would they end A thousand ages hence, I then should suffer [Dies. Rand. Heaven grant they may! And may thy penitence atone thy crime! Tend well the hapless Charlotte, and hear hence These bleeding victims of despair and pride; Toll the death bell! and follow to the grave The wretched parents and ill-fated son. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE I.-The street before ARDEN's door. Enter MOSBY. Mos. THE morning's dark, and horrid as my purpose. Thrice have my snares been laid for Arden's life, Maria is his price. I've placed her here, She could deny me nothing. This to try. SCENE II.—A chamber. Enter ARDEN in his night-gown. Ard. Unhappy Arden, whither canst thou wander To lay thy heavy load of sorrows down! |