SCENE I.-WILMOT'S House.

Old WILMOT alone.

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
brightness.

Yet man, of jarring elements composed,
Who posts from change to change, from the first

hour

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-

Enter RANDAL.

Where hast been, Randal?

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

To hear what news from Falmouth, since the

storm

Of wind last night.

O. Wilm. It was a dreadful one.

Posterity perhaps may do thee justice,
And praise thy courage, learning, and integrity,
When thou art past hearing: thy successful ene-
mies,

Much sooner paid, have their reward in hand,
And know for what they labour'd.-Such events
Must, questionless, excite all thinking men,
To love and practise virtue !

Rand. Nay, 'tis certain,

That virtue ne'er appears so like itself,
So truly bright and great, as when opprest.
O. Wilm. I understand no riddles.
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 great,

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!-

India,

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

O. Wm. What became of those on board her? Rand. Some few are sav'd, but much the greater part,

'Tis thought, are perish'd.

O. Wilm. They are past the fear Of future tempests, or a wreck on shore: These, who escaped, are still expos'd to both. Rand. But I've heard news, much stranger than this shipwreck

Here in Cornwall. The brave Sir Walter
leigh,

Being arriv'd at Plymouth from Guiana,
A most unhappy voyage, has been betray'd
By base Sir Lewis Stukely, his own kinsman,
And seiz'd on by an order from the court;
And 'tis reported he must lose his head,
To satisfy the Spaniards.

O, Wilm. Not unlikely;

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-
dal,

How long hast thou been with me?

Rand. Fifteen years.

His martial genius does not suit the times. There's now no insolence that Spain can offer, But, to the shame of this pacific reign,

Poor England must submit to.-Gallant man!

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 serv'd
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 pamper'd vermin from a falling house,
Retreated with the plunder they had gain'd,
And left me, too indulgent and remiss
For such ungrateful wretches, to be crush'd
Beneath the ruin they had help'd to make,
That you, more good than wise, refus'd to leave

me.

Rand. Nay, I beseech you, sir!—

6. Wilm. With my distress,

In perfect contradiction to the world,
Thy love, respect, and diligence, increas'd.
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. O. Wilm. Thou tortur'st me: I hate all obliga

tions

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 repin'd at your commands before;
But, Heaven's my witness, I obey you now
With strong reluctance, and a heavy heart!
Farewell, my worthy master!

[Going.

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 weep'st 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 obtain'd, thou need'st not any other. This will instruct thee to conceal thy views, And wear the face of probity and honour, Till thou hast gain'd thy end: which must be

ever

Thy own advantage, at that man's expence, Who shall be weak enough to think thee honest.

Rand. You mock me, sure!

O. Wilm. I never was more serious. Rand. Why should you counsel what you scorn'd to practise?

O. Wilm. Because that foolish scorn has been my ruin.

I've been an idiot, but would have thee wiser, And treat mankind, as they would treat thee, Randal,

As they deserve, and I've been treated by them: Thou'st seen by me, and those who now despise me,

How men of fortune fall, and beggars rise.
Shun my example; treasure up my precepts;
The world's before thee: be a knave, and pros-

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
Assum'd his shape! I shall suspect my senses.
High-minded he was ever, and improvident;
But pitiful and generous to a fault.
Pleasure he lov❜d, 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 charm'd, be-
fore.
[Ex.

SCENE II.-CHARLOTTE'S House.

Enter CHARlotte and MARIA.

Char. What terror and amazement must they feel, Who die by shipwreck !

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 promis'd me to sing. Though cheerfulness and I have long been stran

gers,

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 'scap'd 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.

SONG.

Mar. Cease, cease, heart-easing tears!
Adieu, you flattering fears,
Which seven long tedious years
Taught me to beur.
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.
Hadst thou died there unseen,
My wounded eyes had been
Sav'd 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 vain, officious importu-
nity,

Know, thou incessant foe to my repose,
Whether he sleeps secure from mortal cares,
In the deep bosom of the boisterous mair.,
Or, tost with tempest, still endures its rage;
No second choice shall violate my vows.
High Heaven, which heard them, and abhors the
perjur'd,

Can witness, they were made without reserve;
Never to be retracted, ne'er dissolv'd

By accident or absence, time or death.

Mur. And did your vows oblige you to sup-
port

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.

By the least favour, though 'twere but a look,
I could have shewn them, now refuse to see me.
'Tis misery enough to be reduced

To the low level of the common herd,
Who, born to beggary, envy all above them;
But 'tis the curse of curses, to endure
The insolent contempt of those we scorn.

Char. By scorning, we provoke them to contempt,

And thus offend, and suffer in our turns.
We must have patience.

Agn. No, I scorn them yet!

But there's no end of suffering: Who can say, Their sorrows are complete? My wretched hus

band,

The merit we've been raising all our days,
And lose our whole reward. And now, methinks,
Now, more than ever, we have cause to fear,
And be upon our guard. The hand of Heaven
Spreads clouds on clouds o'er our benighted heads,
And, wrapt in darkness, doubles our distresses.
I had, the night last past, repeated twice,

A strange and awful dream. I would not yield
To fearful superstition, nor despise
The admonition of a friendly power,
That wished my good.

Agn. I have certain plagues enough, Without the help of dreams, to make me wretched.

Char. I would not stake my happiness or duty On their uncertain credit, nor on aught But reason, and the known decrees of Heaven; Yet dreams have sometimes shewn events to come,

And may excite to vigilance and care.

My vision may be such, and sent to warn us
(Now we are tried by multiplied afflictions,)
To mark each motion of our swelling hearts,
Lest we attempt to extricate ourselves,
And seek deliverance by forbidden ways-
To keep our hopes and innocence entire,
Till we're dismissed to join the happy dead,
Or Heaven relieves us here.

Agn. Well, to your dream.

Char. Methought I sat, in a dark winter's night,

On the wide summit of a barren mountain; The sharp bleak winds pierced through my shivering frame,

And storms of hail, and sleet, and driving rains,
Beat, with impetuous fury, on my head,
Drenched my chilled limbs, and poured a deluge
round me.

On one hand, ever-gentle Patience sat,
On whose calm bosom I reclin'd my head;
And, on the other, silent Contemplation.

At length, to my unclos'd and watchful eyes,
That long had rolled in darkness, dawn appear'd;
And I beheld a man, an utter stranger,
But of a graceful and exalted mien,

Who press'd, with eager transport, to embrace

me.

I shunn'd his arms. But at some words he spoke,
Which I have now forgot, I turn'd again;
But he was gone. And, oh! transporting sight!
Your son, my dearest Wilmot! filled his place.
Agn. If I regarded dreams, I should expect
Some fair event from yours.

Char. But what's to come,
Though more obscure, is terrible indeed.
Methought we parted soon, and when I sought
him,

You, and his father-Yes, you both were thereStrove to conceal him from me. I pursued you Both with my cries, and call'd on Heaven and earth

To judge my wrongs, and force you to reveal Where you had hid my love, my life, my Wilmot! Agn. Unless you mean to offend me, spare the

rest.

'Tis just as likely Wilmot should return,

As we become your foes.

Char. Far be such thought

From Charlotte's breast! But when I heard you

幕 name

Self-murder, it revived the frightful image

Of such a dreadful scene!

Agn. You will persist !—

Char. Excuse me: I have done. Being a dream,
I thought, at least, it could not give offence.
Agn. You could not think so, had you thought
at all.

But I take nothing ill from thee. Adieu!
I have tarried longer than I first intended,
And my poor husband mourns the while alone.
[Exit AGNES.

Char. She's gone abruptly, and, I fear, displeased.

The least appearance of advice or caution,
Sets her impatient temper in a flame.
When grief, that well might humble, swells our
pride,

And pride, encreasing, aggravates our grief,
The tempest must prevail, till we are lost.
When Heaven incens'd proclaims unequal war
With guilty earth, and sends its shafts from far,
No bolt descends to strike, no flame to burn,
The humble shrubs that in low vallies mourn;
While mountain pines, whose lofty heads aspire
To fan the storm and wave in fields of fire,
And stubborn oaks that yield not to its force,
Are burnt, o'erthrown, or shiver'd in its course.

[Exit.

the sea,

And then from men, who, more remorseless, prey On shipwreck'd wretches, and who spoil and murder

Those, whom fell tempests and devouring waves, In all their fury, spared.

Y. Wilm. It is a scandal,

(Though malice must acquit the better sort)
The rude unpolish'd people here in Cornwall
Have long lain under, and with too much justice:
For 'tis an evil grown almost inveterate,
And asks a bold and skilful hand to cure.

Eust. Your treasure's safe, I hope?
Y. Wilm. 'Tis here, thank heaven!
Being in jewels, when I saw our danger,
I hid it in my bosom.

Eust. I observed you,

And wonder how you could command your thoughts,

In such a time of terror and confusion,

Y. Wilm. My thoughts were then at home.-
O England! England!

Thou seat of plenty, liberty, and health!
With transport I behold thy verdant fields;