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Haste from this fatal place-I cannot leave her! Whom did I strike? Was this the act of love? Swallow me, earth!-She's silent-Zara's dead! And should I live to see returning day,

Twill show me but her blood!-shew me left joyless,

In a wide, empty world, with nothing round me,
But penitence and pain-And yet 'twas just :-
Hark! Destiny has sent her lover to me,
To fill my vengeance, and restore my joy.


Approach, thou wretch! thou more than cursed!

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| The remnant of the royal Christian blood:
Old Lusignan, expiring in my arms,
Sent his too wretched son, with his last blessing,
To his now murdered daughter!—
Would I had seen the bleeding innocent!
I would have lived to speak to her in death;
Would have awakened, in her languid heart,
A livelier sense of her abandoned God:
That God, who, left by her, forsook her too,
And gave the poor lost sufferer to thy rage.

Osm. Thy sister!-Lusignan her father!-Se-

Can this be true?-and have I wronged thee,

Sel. Thy love was all the cloud 'twixt her and
Osm. Be dumb-


-for thou art base, to add

To my already more than bleeding heart.
And was thy love sincere?—What then remains?

Ner. Why should a tyrant hesitate on murder? There now remains but mine, of all the blood, Which, through thy father's cruel reign and thine,

IIas never ceased to stream on Syria's sands.
Restore a wretch to his unhappy race;
Nor hope that torments, after such a scene,
Can force one feeble groan to feast thy anger.
I waste my fruitless words in empty air;
The tyrant, o'er the bleeding wound he made,
Hangs his unmoving eye, and heeds not me.
Osm. Oh Zara!-

Oras. Alas! my lord, return-whither would grief

Transport your generous heart?-This Chris tian dog

Osm. Take off his fetters, and observe my


To him, and all his friends, give instant liberty: Pour a profusion of the richest gifts

On these unhappy Christians; and, when heaped With varied benefits, and charged with riches, Give them safe conduct to the nearest port. Oras. But, sir

Osm. Reply not, but obey.-
Fly-nor dispute thy master's last command,
Thy prince, who orders-and thy friend, who
loves thee!

Go-lose no time-farewell-begone-and thou!
Unhappy warrior-yet less lost than I——
Haste from our bloody land-and to thy own
Convey this poor, pale object of my rage.
Thy king, and all his Christians, when they hear
Thy miseries, shall mourn them with their tears;
But, if thou tell'st them mine, and tell'st them


If They, who shall hate my crime, shall pity me. Take, too, this poniard with thee, which my.

She was my sister—All that now is left thee, Dispatch-From my distracted heart drain next


Has stained with blood far dearer than my own; Tell them-with this I murdered her I loved; The noblest and most virtuous among women!

The soul of innocence, and pride of truth:
Tell them I laid my empire at her feet:
Tell them I plunged my dagger in her blood;
Tell them, I so adored-and thus revenged her.
[Stabs himself.
Reverence this hero-and conduct him safe. [Dies.

Ner. Direct me, great inspirer of the soul! How should I act, how judge in this distress? Amazing grandeur! and detested rage! Even I, amidst my tears, admire this foe, And mourn his death, who lived to give me woe. [Exeunt omnes.

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THE day is far advanced. The chearful sun
Pursues with vigour his repeated course:
No labour lessens, nor no time decays
His strength, or splendour: evermore the same,
From age to age his influence sustains

Dependent worlds, bestows both life and motion
On the dull mass, that forms their dusky orbs,
Chears them with heat, and gilds them with his


Yet man, of jarring clements composed,

Rand. Not out of Penryn, sir; but to the strand,

To hear what news from Falmouth, since the


Of wind last night.

O. Wilm. It was a dreadful one.

Rand. Some found it so. A noble ship from

Entering the harbour, run upon a rock,
And there was lost.

O. Wilm. What became of those on board her?
Rand. Some few are saved, but much the
greater part,

Who posts from change to change, from the first 'Tis thought, are perished.


Of his frail being to his dissolution,
Enjoys the sad prerogative above him,

To think and to be wretched!-What is life
To him, that's born to die!

Or, what the wisdom, whose perfection ends
In knowing, we know nothing!

Mere contradiction all! A tragic farce,
Tedious, though short, elaborate without art,
Ridiculously sad-


Where hast been, Randal?

O. Wilm. They are past the fear
Of future tempests, or a wreck on shore:
Those, who escaped, are still exposed to both.
Where is your mistress?

Rand. I saw her pass the High-street, towards
the Minster.

O. Wilm. She is gone to visit Charlotte. She
doth well.

In the soft bosom of that gentle maid
There dwells more goodness than the rigid race
Of moral pedants e'er believed, or taught.
With what amazing constancy and truth,
Doth she sustain the absence of our son,

Whom more than life she loves! How shun for him,

Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and


Who own her charms, and sigh to make her happy!

Since our misfortunes we have found no friend,
None who regarded our distress, but her;
And she, by what I have observed of late,
Is wearied, or exhausted. Curst condition!-
To live a burden to one only friend,

And blast her youth with our contagious woe! Who, that had reason, soul, or sense, would bear it

A moment longer? Then this honest wretch!-
I must dismiss him-Why should I detain
A grateful, generous youth to perish with me?
His service may procure him bread elsewhere,
Though I have none to give him.-Prithee, Ran-

How long hast thou been with me?

Rand. Fifteen years.

I was a very child, when first you took me,
To wait upon your son, my dear young master.
I oft have wished I'd gone to India with him,
Though you, desponding, give him o'er for lost.
[Old Wilmot wipes his eyes.
I am to blame: this talk revives your sorrow
For his long absence.

O. Wilm. That cannot be revived,
Which never died.

Rand. The whole of my intent
Was to confess your bounty, that supplied
The loss of both my parents: I was long
The object of your charitable care.

O. Wilm. No more of that: Thou hast served
me longer since

Without reward; so that account is balanced,
Or rather I'm thy debtor. I remember,
When poverty began to show her face
Within these walls, and all my other servants,
Like pampered vermin from a falling house,
Retreated with the plunder they had gained,
And left me, too indulgent and remiss
For such ungrateful wretches, to be crushed
Beneath the ruin they had helped to make,
That you, more good than wise, refused to leave


Rand. Nay, I beseech you, sir!

0. Wilm. With my distress,

In perfect contradiction to the world,
Thy love, respect, and diligence, increased.
Now, all the recompence within my power,
Is to discharge thee, Randal, from my hard,
Unprofitable service.

Rand. Heaven forbid !

Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity?—
Believe me, sir! my honest soul abhors
The barbarous thought.

O. Wilm. What! canst thou feed on air? I have not left wherewith to purchase food For one meal more.

Rand. Rather than leave you thus, I'll beg my bread, and live on others bounty, While I serve you.

O. Wilm. Down, down my swelling heart, Or burst in silence! 'Tis thy cruel fate Insults thee by his kindness-He is innocent Of all the pain it gives thee-Go thy ways: I will no more suppress thy youthful hopes Of rising in the world.

Rand. 'Tis true, I'm young,

And never tried my fortune, or my genius, Which may perhaps find out some happy means, As yet unthought of, to supply your wants.

Ŏ. Wilm. Thou torturest me: I hate all obligations

Which I can ne'er return-And who art thou,
That I should stoop to take them from thy hand!
Care for thyself, but take no thought for me;
I will not want thee-trouble me no more.

Rand. Be not offended, sir, and I will go.
I ne'er repined at your commands before;
But, Heaven's my witness, I obey you now
With strong reluctance, and a heavy heart!
Farewell, my worthy master!


O. Wilm. Farewell!-Stay!
As thou art yet a stranger to the world,
Of which, alas! I've had too much experience,
I should, methinks, before we part, bestow
A little counsel on thee.-Dry thy eyes:

If thou weepest thus, I shall proceed no farther.
Dost thou aspire to greatness, or to wealth?
Quit books, and the unprofitable search
Of wisdom there, and study human kind:
No science will avail thee without that;
But that obtained, thou needest not any other.
This will instruct thee to conceal thy views,
And wear the face of probity and honour,
Till thou hast gained thy end: which must be

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Is this the man I thought so wise and just?
What! teach and counsel me to be a villain!
Sure grief has made him frantic, or some fiend
Assumed his shape! I shall suspect my senses.
High-minded he was ever, and improvident;
But pitiful and generous to a fault.

Pleasure he loved, but honour was his idol.
O fatal change! O horrid transformation!
So a majestic temple, sunk to ruin,
Becomes the loathsome shelter and abode
Of lurking serpents, toads, and beasts of prey;
And scaly dragons hiss, and lions roar,
Where wisdom taught, and music charmed, be-

SCENE II-Charlotte's House.



Hadst thou died there unseen,

My wounded eyes had been

Saved from the direst scene
Maid e'er deplored.

[Charlotte finds a letter.
Char. What's this?-A letter superscribed to me!
None could convey it here but you, Maria.
Ungenerous, cruel maid! to use me thus!
To join with flattering men to break my peace,
And persecute me to the last retreat!

Mar. Why should it break your peace, to hear the sighs

Of honourable love? This letter is

Char. No matter whence; return it back unopened:

I have no love, no charms, but for my Wilmot, Nor would have any.

Mar. Alas! Wilmot's dead!

Or, living, dead to you.

Char. I'll not despair: Patience shall cherish hope;

Nor wrong his honour by unjust suspicion.
I know his truth, and will preserve my own.
But, to prevent all future importunity,
Know, thou incessant foe to my repose,

Char. What terror and amazement must they Whether he sleeps secure from mortal cares, feel,

Who die by ship-wreck !

Mar. 'Tis a dreadful thought!

Char. Aye! is it not, Maria?-To descend, Living and conscious, to the watery tomb!Alas! had we no sorrows of our own, The frequent instances of others woe Must give a generous mind a world of pain. But you forget you promised me to sing. Though cheerfulness and I have long been stran


Harmonious sounds are still delightful to me.
There's sure no passion in the human soul,
But finds its food in music. I would hear
The song, composed by that unhappy maid,
Whose faithful lover 'scaped a thousand perils,
From rocks, and sands, and the devouring deep;
And, after all, being arrived at home,
Passing a narrow brook, was drowned there,
And perished in her sight.


Mar. Cease, cease, heart-easing tears!
Adieu, you flattering fears,
Which seven long tedious years
Taught me to bear.

Tears are for lighter woes;
Fear no such danger knows,
As fate remorseless shews,

Endless despair!
Dear cause of all my pain,
On the wide stormy main,
Thou wast preserved in vain,
Though still adored.

In the deep bosom of the boisterous main,
Or, tost with tempest, still endures its rage;
No second choice shall violate my vows;
High Heaven, which heard them, and abhors the

Can witness, they were made without reserve;
Never to be retracted, ne'er dissolved
By accident or absence, time or death.

Mar. And did your vows oblige you to support
His haughty parents, to your utter ruin?-
Well may you weep to think on what you've done!

Char. I weep to think, that I can do no more For their support. What will become of them! The hoary, helpless, miserable pair!

Mar. What I can't praise, you force me to admire,

And mourn for you, as you lament for them.
Your patience, constancy, and resignation,
Merit a better fate.

Char. So pride would tell me,
And vain self-love; but I believe them not:
And if, by wanting pleasure, I have gained
Humility, I'm richer for my loss.

Mar. You have the heavenly art still to improve Your mind by all events.-But here comes one, Whose pride seems to increase with her misfor

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