Stuke. Or turned hermit, counting a string of beads in a dark cave; or under a weeping willow, praying for mercy on the wicked. Ha, ha, ha!-Prithee, be a man, and leave dying to disease and old age. Fortune may be ours again; at least we'll try for it.

Bev. No; it has fooled us on too far.

Stuke. Ay, ruined us; and therefore we will sit down contented! These are the despondings of men without money; but let the shining ore chink in the pocket, and folly turns to wisdom. We are fortune's children--True, she is a fickle mother; but shall we droop because she is peevish?—No; she has smiles in store; and these her frowns are meant to brighten them. Bev. Is this a time for levity? But you are single in the ruin, and therefore may talk lightly of it. With me it is complicated misery.

Stuke. You censure me unjustly—I but assumed these spirits to cheer my friend. Heaven knows he wants a comforter.

Bev. What new misfortune? Stuke. I would have brought you money, but lenders want securities. What is to be done? All that was mine is yours already.

Bev. And there is the double weight, that sinks me. I have undone my friend too; one who, to save a drowning wretch, reached out his hand, and perished with him.

Stuke. Have better thoughts!

Bev. Whence are they to proceed? I have nothing left.

Stuke. [Sighing.] Then we are indeed undone. What, nothing? No moveables, nor useless trinkets? Baubles locked up in caskets to starve their owners? I have ventured deeply for you.

Bev. Therefore this heart-ache; for I am lost beyond all hope.

Stuke. No; means may be found to save us. Jarvis is rich. Who made him so? This is no tine for ceremony.

Bev. And is it for dishonesty? The good old man! Shall I rob him too? My friend would grieve for it. No; let the little, that he has, buy food and clothing for him.

Stuke. Good morning, then.

[Going.

Bev. So hasty! Why then, good morning. Stuke. And when we meet again, upbraid me. Say it was I, that tempted you. Tell Lewson so; and tell him I have wronged you-He has sus picions of me, and will thank you.

Bev. -No; we have been companions in a rash voyage, and the same storm has wrecked us both. Mine shall be self-upbraidings.

Stuke. And will they feed us? You deal unkindly by me. I have sold and borrowed for you, while land or credit lasted; and now, when fortune should be tried, and my heart whispers me success, I am deserted; turned loose to beggary, while you have hoards.

Bev. What hoards? Name them, and take them.

Stuke. Jewels.

Bev. And shall this thriftless hand seize them too? My poor, poor wife! Must she lose all? I would not wound her so.

Stuke. Nor I, but from necessity. One effort more, and fortune may grow kind. I have unusual hopes.

Bev. Think of some other means then.
Stuke. I have; and you rejected them.
Bev. Prithee, let me be a man.

Stuke. Ay, and your friend a poor one. But I have done. And for these trinkets of a woman, why, let her keep them to deck out pride with, and shew a laughing world, that she has finery to starve in.

Bev. No; she shall yield up all. My friend demands it. But need we have talked lightly of her? The jewels, that she values, are truth and innocence-Those will adorn her ever; and for the rest, she wore them for a husband's pride, and to his wants will give them. Alas! you know her not. Where shall we meet? Stuke. No matter. I have changed my mind. Leave me to a prison; it is the reward of friendship.

Bev. Perish mankind first-Leave you to a prison! No; fallen as you see me, I am not that wretch. Nor would I change this heart, overcharged as it is with folly and misfortune, for one most prudent and most happy, if callous to a friend's distress.

Stuke. You are too warm.

Bev. In such a cause not to be warm is to be frozen. Farewell. I will meet you at your lodgings.

Stuke. Reflect a little. The jewels may be lost. Better not hazard them-I was too pressing.

Bev. And I ungrateful. Reflection takes up time. I have no leisure for it. Within an hour expect me. [Erit

Stuke. The thoughtless shallow prodigal? We shall have sport at night, then-But hold— The jewels are not ours yet―The lady may refuse them--The husband may relent too-It is more than probable-I will write a note to Beverley, and the contents shall spur him to demand them

-But am I grown this rogue through avarice? No; I have warmer motives, love and revengeRuin the husband, and the wife's virtue may be bid for. It is of uncertain value, and sinks or rises in the purchase, as want, or wealth, or pas sion governs. The poor part cheaply with it: rich dames, though pleased with selling, will have high prices for it. Your love-sick girls give it for oaths and lying. But tender wives, who boast of honour and affections, keep it against famineWhy, let famine come, then! I am in haste to purchase.

Enter BATES.

Look to your men, Bates; there's money stirring. We meet to-night upon this spot. Hasten, and

Bep. If you are my sister, spare the remembrance-it wounds too deeply. To-morrow shall clear all; and when the worst is known, it may be better than your fears. Comfort my wife; and for the pains of absence I'll make atonement. The world may yet go well with us.

Char. See, where she comes! Look chearfully upon her- -Affections such as hers are prying, and lend those eyes, that read the soul.

Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY and LEWSON. Mrs. Bev. My life!

Bev. My love! how fares it? I have been a truant husband.

Mrs. Bev. But we meet now, and that heals all-Doubts and alarms I have had; but in this dear embrace I bury and forget them. My friend here [pointing to Lewson] has been indeed a friend. Charlotte, it is you must thank him: your brother's thanks and mine are of too little

Bev. To stop a sister's chiding? Char. To vindicate her brother.

Bev. How if he needs no vindication?
Char. I would fain hope so.

Bev. Ay, would and cannot. Leave it to time, then; 'twill satisfy all doubts:

Char. Mine are already satisfied.

Bev. 'Tis well. And when the subject is renewed, speak to me like a sister, and I will answer like a brother.

Char. To tell me I am a beggar. Why, tell it now. I that can bear the ruin of those dearer to me, the ruin of a sister and her infant, can bear that too.

Bev. No more of this- -you wring my heart. Char. Would that the misery were all your own! But innocence must suffer- -Unthinking rioter! whose home was heaven to him; an angel dwelt there, and a little cherub, that crowned his days with blessings.-How he has lost this heaven to league with devils!

Bev. Forbear, I say; reproaches come too late; they search, but cure not. And for the fortune you demand, we'll talk to-morrow on it; our tempers may be milder.

Char. Or, if 'tis gone, why farewell all. I claimed it for a sister. She holds my heart in hers; and every pang she feels tears it in pieces But I'll upbraid no more. What Heaven permits, perhaps, it may ordain; and sorrow then is sinful. Yet that the husband! father! brother! should be its instruments of vengeance! Tis grievous to know that.

Bev. Yet what we have we'll pay. I thank you, sir, and am obliged. I would say no more, but that your goodness to the wife upbraids the husband's follies. Had I been wise, she had not trespassed on your bounty.

Lew. Nor has she trespassed. The little I have done, acceptance overpays.

Char. So friendship thinks

Mrs. Bev. And doubles obligations by striving to conceal them-We'll talk another time on

it

-You are too thoughtful, love.

Bev. No, I have reason for these thoughts. Char. And hatred for the cause-Would you had that too!

Bev. I have-The cause was avarice.
Char. And who the tempter?

Bev. A ruined friend-ruined by too much kindness.

Lew. Ay, worse than ruined; stabbed in his fame, mortally stabbed-riches cannot cure him. Bev. Or if they could, those I have drained him of. Something of this he hinted in the morning-that Lewson had suspicions of himWhy these suspicions? [Angrily.

A

Lew. At school we knew this Stukely. cunning, plodding, boy he was, sordid and cruel, slow at his task, but quick at shifts and tricking. He schemed out mischief, that others might be punished; and would tell his tale with so much art, that for the lash he merited, rewards and praise were given him. Shew me a boy with such a mind, and time, that ripens manhood in him, shall ripen vice too-I will prove him, and lay him open to you-Till then be warned- -I know him, and therefore shun him.

Bev. As I would those, that wrong him.-You are too busy, sir.

Mrs. Bev. No, not too busy-Mistaken, perhapsThat had been milder.

Lew. No matter, madam. I can bear this,

and praise the heart that prompts it-Pity such friendship should be so placed!

Bev. Again, sir! But I'll bear too-You wrong hin, Lewson, and will be sorry for it. Char. Ay, when 'tis proved he wrongs him. The world is full of hypocrites.

Bev. And Stukely one-so you would infer, I think. I will hear no more of this-my heart aches for him-I have undone him.

Lew. The world says otherwise.

Bev. The world is false then I have busines with you, love. [To Mrs. Bev.] We'll leave them to their rancour. [Going. Char. No; we shall find room within for it.Come this way, sir. [To Lew. Lew. Another time my friend will thank me; that time is hastening too.

[Exeunt Lew. and Char. Bev. They hurt me beyond bearing- -Is Stukely false? Then honesty has left us! Twere sinning against Heaven to think so.

you

Mrs. Bev. I never doubted him. Bev. No; you are charity. Meekness and ever-during patience live in that heart, and love that knows no change.Why did I ruin } Mrs. Bev. You have not ruined me. I have no wants, when you are present, nor wishes in your absence but to be blest with your return. Be but resigned to what has happened, and I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

Bev. My generous girl!—But memory will be busy; still crowding on my thoughts, to sour the present by the past. I have another pang

too.

Mrs. Bev. Tell it, and let me cure it. Bev. That friend- -that generous friend, whose fame they have traduced-I have undone him too. While he had means he lent me largely; and now a prison must be his portion. Mrs. Bev. No; I hope otherwise.

Bev. To hope must be to act. The charitable wish feeds not the hungry---Something must be done.

Mrs. Bev. What?

Bev. In bitterness of heart he told me, just now he told me, I had undone him. Could I hear that, and think of happiness? No! I have disclaimed it, while he is miserable.

Ruined by friendship!low him.

R. STUKELY.'

-I must relieve or fol

Mrs Bev. Follow him, did you say? Then I am lost indeed!

Bev. O this infernal vice! how has it sunk me! A vice, whose highest joy was poor to my domestic happiness. Yet how have I pursued it! turned all my comforts to bitterest pangs, and all my smiles to tears. Damned, damned infatuation!

Mrs Bev. Be cool, my life! What are the means the letter talks of? Have you-have I those means? Tell me, and ease me. I have no life while you are wretched.

Bev. No, no: it must not be. Tis I alone have sinned; 'tis I alone must suffer. You shall reserve those means to keep my child, and his wronged mother, from want and wretchedness. Mrs Bev. What means?

Bev. I came to rob you of them--but cannot, dare not-Those jewels are your sole support-I should be more than monster to request them.

Mrs Beo. My jewels! Trifles, not worth the speaking of, if weighed against a husband's peace ; let them but purchase that, and the world's wealth is of less value.

Bev. Amazing goodness! How little do I seem before such virtues!

Mrs Bev. No more, my love. I kept them till occasion called to use them; now is the occasion, and I will resign them cheerfully.

Bev. Why, we will be rich in love then. But this excess of kindness melts me. Yet for a friend one would do much-He has denied me nothing.

Henceforth my follics and neglects shall cease, And all to come be penitence and peace; Vice shall no more attract me with her charms, Nor pleasure reach me, but in these dear arms. [Exeunt.

SCENE I-STUKELY's Lodgings,

Bates. And therefore wisely. Force must have nerves and sinews; cunning wants neither. The dwarf that has it shall trip the giant's heels up.

Stuke. And bind him to the ground. Why, we will erect a shrine for nature, and be her oracles. Conscience is weakness; fear made it, and fear maintains it. The dread of shame, inward reproaches, and fictitious burnings swell out the phantom. Nature knows none of this; her laws are freedom.

Bates. Sound doctrine, and well delivered! Stuke. We are sincere, too, and practise what we teach. Let the grave pedant say as much. But now to business-the jewels are disposed of, and Beverley again worth money. He waits to count his gold out, and then comes hither. If my design succeeds, this night we finish with him --go to your lodgings, and be busy-You understand conveyances, and make ruin sure.

Bates. Better stop here. The sale of this reversion may be talked of-there's danger in it.

Enter BEVERLEY.

Look to the door there! [In a seeming fright.] -My friend! I thought of other visitors.

Bev. No; these shall guard you from them-[Offering notes.] Take them, and use them cau tiously-The world deals hardly by us.

Stuke. And shall I leave you destitute? No: your wants are the greatest. Another climate may treat me kinder. The shelter of to-night takes me from this.

Bev. Let these be your support, then-yet is there need of parting? I may have means again; we will share them, and live wisely.

Stuke. No: I should tempt you on. Habit is nature in me: ruin cannot cure it. Even now I would be gaming. Taught by experience as I am, and knowing this poor sum is all that is left us, I am for venturing still-and say I am to blame-yet will this little supply our wants? No, we must put it out to usury. Whether 'tis madness in me, or some restless impulse of good fortune, I yet am ignorant; but

Bev. Take it, and succeed then. I will try no more.

Stuke. 'Tis surely impulse; it pleads so strongly-but you are cold-we will even part here, then.. And for this last reserve, keep it for better uses; I will have none of it. I thank you, though, and will seek fortune singly one thing I had forgot

Bev, What is it?

:

Stuke. No; 'tis the mark I aim at. We will thrive and laugh. You are the purchaser, and there's the payment. [Giving a pocket book.]— He thinks you rich; and so you shall be. quire for titles, and deal hardly; 'twill look like honesty.

Bates. How if he suspects us?

Stuke. Leave it to me. I study hearts, and when to work upon them. Go to your lodgings; and if we come, be busy over papers. Talk of a thoughtless age, of gaming and extravagance; you have a face for it.

Bates. A feeling, too, that would avoid it. We push too far; but I have cautioned you. If it ends ill, you will think of me; and so, adieu.

[Exit.

Stuke. This fellow sins by halves; his fears are conscience to him. I will turn these fears to use. Rogues, that dread shame, will still be greater rogues to hide their guilt-this shall he thought of. Lewson grows troublesome-we must get rid of him-he knows too much. I have a tale for Beverley; part of it truth, too-he shall call Lewson to account-if it succeeds, 'tis well; if not, we must try other means-but here he comes -I must dissemble.

VOL. I.

Bev. Of you, I know, he does.

Stuke. I can forgive him for it; but, for my friend I am angry.

Bev. What says he of me?

Stuke. That Charlotte's fortune is embezzled→ he talks of it loudly.

Bev. He shall be silenced, then-how heard you of it?

Stuke. From many.

He questioned Bates about it. You must account with him, he says. Bev. Or he with me-and soon, too. Stuke. Speak mildly to him. Cautions are

friend; for his lost fortune and ruined family.All separate interests I disclaim. Together we have fallen; together we must rise. My heart, my honour, and affections, all will have it so.

Bev. I am weary of being fooled.

Stuke. And so am I-here let us part, thenthese bodings of good fortune shall all be stifled ; call them folly, and forget them—this one embrace, and then farewell. [Offering to embrace. Bev. No; stay a moment-how my poor heart's distracted! I have these bodings too; but whether caught from you, or prompted by my good or evil genius, I know not-the trial shall determine-and yet, my wife.

Stuke. Ay, ay, she will chide.
Bev. No; my chidings are all here.

[Pointing to his heart. Stuke. I will not persuade you. Bev. I am persuaded; by reason too; the strongest reason-necessity. Oh, could I but regain the height I have fallen from! Heaven should forsake me in my latest hour, if I again mixed in these scenes, or sacrificed the husband's peace, his joy and best affections, to avarice and infamy.

Stuke. I have resolved like you; and since our motives are so honest, why should we fear success?

Bev. Come on, then-where shall we meet?
Stuke. At Wilson's-yet if it hurts you, leave
I have misled you often.

me:

Bev. We have misled each other-but come! Fortune is fickle, and may be tired with plaguing us-there let us rest our hopes.

Stuke. Yet think a little

Bev. I cannot-thinking but distracts me. When desperation leads, all thoughts are vain; Reason would lose what rashness may obtain. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-Changes to BEVERLEY'S Lodgings. Enter Mrs BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Char. 'Twas all a scheme, a mean one; unworthy of my brother.

Mrs Bev. No; I am sure it was not-Stukely is honest too; I know he is-this madness has undone them both.

Char. My brother's irrecoverable-you are too spiritless a wife-a mournful tale, mixed with a few kind words, will steal away your soul. The world's too subtle for such goodness. Had I been by, he should have asked your life sooner than those jewels.

Mrs Bev. 'Twas friendship did it. His heart was breaking for a friend.

Char. The friend that has betrayed him. Mrs Bev. Pr'ythec do not think so. Char. To-morrow he accounts with me. Mrs Bev. And fairly-I will not doubt it. Char. Unless a friend has wanted-I have no patience-Sister! sister! we are bound to curse this friend!

Mrs. Bev. My Beverley speaks nobly of him. Char. And Lewson truly-But I displease you with this talk.-To-morrow will instruct

us.

Mrs. Bev. Stay till it comes then-I would not think so hardly.

Char. Nor I, but from conviction-Yet, we have hope of better days. My uncle is infirm, and of an age that threatens hourly-Or, if he lives, you never have offended him; and for dis tresses so unmerited he will have pity.

Mrs. Bev. I know it, and am cheerful. We have no more to lose; and for what's gone, if it brings prudence home, the purchase was well made.

Char. My Lewson will be kind too. While he and I have life and means, you shall divide with us-And see, he's here.

Enter LEWSON.

We were just speaking of you.

Lew. 'Tis best to interrupt you then. Few characters will bear a scrutiny; and where the bad outweighs the good, he is safest that is least talked of. What say you, madam?

[To Charlotte Char. That I hate scandal, though a woman therefore talk seldom of you.

Mrs. Bev. Or, with more truth, that though a wonan, she loves to praise therefore talks always of you. I'll leave you to decide it. [Erit.

Lew. How good and amiable! I came to tak in private with you; of matters that concern you, Char. What matters?

Lew. First answer me sincerely to what I ask. Char. I will-But you alarm me. Lew. I am too grave, perhaps; but be assured of this, I have no news that troubles mc, and therefore should not you.

Char. I am easy, then-propose your que

stion.

Lew. It is now tedious twelvemonth, since, with an open and kind heart, you said you loved

me.

Char. So tedious, did you say?

Char. You think me changed, then? [Angrih Lew. I did not say so. A thousand times I have pressed for the performance of this pr mise: but private cares, a brother's and a sisteð ruin, were reasons for delaying it,