Thy words are balsam to my griefs. Eudocia, I never knew thee till this day; I knew not How many virtues I had wrong'd in thee! Eud. If you talk thus, you have not yet forgiven me. Eum. Forgiven thee!-Why, for thee it is, thee only, I think, heaven yet may look with pity on us; Eud. O, why is he not here? Why do I see Thousands of happy wretches, that but seem Undone, yet still are bless'd in innocence, And why was he not one? Enter an Officer. Offi. Where is Eumenes? [Aside. Eum. What means thy breathless haste? For, as I kept my watch, I spy'd afar Her. I saw them too, Where the roads meet on t'other side these hills, But took them for some band of Christian Arabs, Crossing the country. This way did they move? Offi. With utmost speed. Eum. If they are Christian Arabs, I'll to the guard myself. Enter another Officer. 2 Offi. Arm! arm! we're ruin'd! The foe is in the camp. Eum. So soon? 2 Offi. They've quitted. Their horses, and with sword in hand have forc'd Our guard; they say they come for plunder. Eum. Villains! Sure Caled knows not of this treachery! Come on-we can fight still. We'll make them know What 'tis to urge the wretched to despair. [Exeunt. Pho. Villain, thou liest! take that, To loose thy hold [Pushing at Daran with his Spear, who falls. Eudocia! I Eud. Phocyas! O, astonishment! Then is it thus that heaven has heard my prayers? tremble still-and scarce have power to ask thee How thou art here, or whence this sudden outrage? Pho. Sure every angel watches o'er thy safety! Thou seest'tis death t'approach thee without awe, And barbarism itself cannot profane thee. Eud. Whence are these alarms? Pho. Some stores remov'd, and not allow'd by treaty, Have drawn the Saracens to make a search. Perhaps 'twill quickly be agreed-But, oh! Thou know'st, Eudocia, I'm a banish'd man, And 'tis a crime I'm here once more before thee; Else, might I speak, 'twere better for the present, If thou wouldst leave this place. Eud. No-I have a father, (And shall I leave him?) whom we both have wrong'd: And yet, alas! For this last act how would I thank thee, Phocyas! I've nothing now but prayers and tears to give, 'Tis then resolv'd-It was thy cruel sentence, Pho. Never-No, here I'll lay my burden down; Eud. Forbear. O cruel man! Why wilt thou rack me thus? Didst thou not mark-thou didst, when last we parted, The pangs, the strugglings of my suff'ring soul; I'll not be tortur'd more with thy false pity! Pho. Not know thee?--Yes, too well I know thee now, [Shows a Dagger. O murd'rous fiend! Why all this waste of blood? Thy cruelty is mercy now. Farewell! Eud. Hold-stay thee yet!-0, madness of 'Tis well, 'tis well; for now I know thee too. despair! And wouldst thou die? Think, ere thou leap'st the gulf, When thou hast trod that dark, that unknown way, Canst thou return? What if the change prove worse? O think, if then No distant comfort? Pho. That's well-go on-I swear I thank thee. Speak it again, and strike it through my ear! A villain! Yes, thou mad'st me so, thou devil! And mind'st me' now what to demand from thee. Give, give me back my former self,. my honour, My country's fair esteem, my friends, my allThou canst not-O thou robber!-Give me then Revenge or death! The last I well deserveThat yielded up my soul's best wealth to thee, For which accurs'd be thou, and curs'd thy prophet! Caled. Hear'st thou this, Mahomet?-Blas- For this thou soon shalt chew the bitter fruit [Pushes at him with his Lance, which Phocyas puts by, and kills him. Pho. Go thou first thyself. Caled. [Falls] O dog! thou gnaw'st my heart! False Mahomet! Pho. Thanks to the gods, I have reveng'd my country! [Dies. [Exit. Several Parties of Christians and Saracens pass over the further End of the Stage, [Here they both continue silent for some Time. fighting. The former are beaten. At last Still thou art silent! Hear then this last, Enter CALED. Caled. So, slaughter,do thy work! These hands look well. EUMENES rallies them, and makes a stand; then enter ABU DAH, attended. Abu. Forbear, forbear, and sheathe the bloody sword. Eum. Abudah! is this well? Abu. No-I must own You've cause.-O Mussulmans,look here! Behold Eum. Ha! Caled? Abu. Dumb and breathless. Then thus has heaven chastis'd us in thy fall, Eum. This thirst of blood My father and his friends!-I dare not stay-Back to Damascus. Cast a mantle first [Looks on his Hands. Caled. What, dost thou frown too?-Sure, Molest your march.-If more you ask, 'tis granted. | Eum. Still just and brave! thy virtues would adorn A purer faith! Thou, better than thy sect, Abu. O Power Supreme! That mad'st my heart, and know'st its inmost frame, If yet I err, O lead me into truth, Re-enter ARTAMON and EUDOCIA. I left him just preparing to engage: Eud. My flight! but whither? O no-if he is lost Art. I hope not so. The noise is ceas'd. Perhaps they're beaten off. We soon shall know;-here's one that can inform us. Re-enter first Officer. Soldier, thy looks speak well;-what says thy tongue? 1 Offi. The foe's withdrawn. Abudah has been here, And has renew'd the terms. Pho. No,'twas a kind one.-Spare thy tears, Eudocia! For mine are tears of joy. Eud. Is't possible? Pho. 'Tis done-the powers supreme have heard my prayer, And prosper'd me with some fair deed this day: I've fought once more, and for my friends, my country. By me the treach'rous chiefs are slain: awhile I stopp'd the foe, till, warn'd by me before, Of this their sudden march, Abudah came. But first this random shaft had reach'd my breast. Life's mingled scene is o'er-'tis thus that heaven At once chastises, and, I hope, accepts me. Eud. What shall I say to thee, to give thee comfort? Pho. Say only thou forgiv'st me-O Eudocia! No longer now my dazzled eyes behold thee Through passion's mists; my soul now gazes on thee, And sees thee lovelier in unfading charms! Bright as the shining angel host that stoodWhilst I-but there it smarts. Eud. Look down, look down, Ye pitying powers! and help his pious sorrow! Eum. Tis not too late, we hope, to give thee help. See! yonder is my tent: we'll lead thee thither; Come, enter there, and let thy wound be dress'd; Perhaps it is not mortal. Pho. No! not mortal? No flatt'ry now. By all my hopes hereafter, For the world's empire I'd not lose this death. Caled is kill'd—Alas! I but keep in my fleeting breath Art. Hold-first thank heaven for that! 1 Offi. I left him well: by his command I came To search you out: and let you know this news. I've more; but that Art. Is bad, perhaps, so says A few short moments, till I have conjur'd you, This sudden pause. Well, be it so; let's know it: O, touch not yet the broken springs of life! Tis but life's checker'd lot. 1 Offi. Eumenes mourns A friend's unhappy fall-Herbis is slain- valour He press'd the foe, and met the fate he wish'd. Art. See where Eumenes comes! What's this? He seems To lead some wounded friend-Alas! 'tis[They withdraw to one side of the Stage. Re-enter EUMENES, leading in PHOCIAS, with an Arrow in his Breast. Eum. Give me thy wound! O, I could bear it for thee! This goodness melts my heart. What, in a mo ment Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces T'exchange forgiveness thus! Pho. Moments are few, And must not now be wasted. O Eumenes, A thousand tender thoughts rise in my soul: Pho. No more-death is now painful! But say, my friends, whilst I have breath to ask (For still methinks all your concerns are mine); Whither have you design'd to bend your journey? Eum. Constantinople is my last retreat, If heaven indulge my wish; there I've resolv'd To wear out the dark winter of my life, An old man's stock of days-I hope not many. Eud. There will I dedicate myself to heaven. O, Phocyas, for thy sake, no rival else Shall e'er possess my heart. My father too Consents to this my vow. My vital flame There, like a taper on the holy altar, Shall waste away; till heav'n, relenting, hears Incessant prayers for thee and for myself, And wing my soul to meet with thine in bliss. For in that thought I find a sudden hope, As if inspir'd, springs in my breast, and tells me That thy repenting frailty is forgiv'n, And we shall meet again to part no more. Pho. [Plucks out the Arrow] Then all is done -'twas the last pang-at lengthI've given up thee, and the world now is-nothing. [Dies. Eum. O Phocyas! Phocyas! Alas! he hears not now, nor sees my sorrows! A fruitless zeal, yet all I now can show; A much-wrong'd friend, and an unhappy hero! COMEDY. [Exeunt. A NATIVE of Ireland. and for some time one of the most successful writers for the stage. He was probably born about the year 1755, having been appointed one of the pages of Lord Chesterfield, when he was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in 1746. He was once an officer of marines, but left the service with circumstances which do not reflect credit on him as a man. These circumstances not attacking the reputation of his writings, our readers will assist us in covering them with the charitable veil of oblivion; and we shall stand excused in the eyes of the feeling world for declining to conclude his Biography. THE HYPOCRITE, COMEDY by Isaac Bickerstaff, Acted at Drury Lane 1768. The general plot of this comedy is borrowed from the Tartuffe of Molière, and the principal character in it, viz. that of Doctor Cantwell, is a close copy from that great original. The conduct of the piece, however, is so greatly altered as to render it perfectly English, and the coquet Charlotte is truly original and most elegantly spirited. The author has strongly pointed out the mischiefs and ruin which were frequently brought into the most noble and valuable families by the self-interested machinations of those skulking and pernicious vipers, those wolves in sheep's clothing, who at the troublesome and unsettled period in which this piece was first written, (by Cibber 1718) covering their private views beneath the mask of public zeal and sanctity, acted the part of the great serpent of old, first tempting to sin, and then betraying to punishment. It is an alteration of Cibber's Nonjurer. Scarcely any thing more than the character of Mawworm was written by the present author, who introduced it for the sake of Weston's comic talents. Few plays have had the advantage of better acting, and, in consequence, few had a greater share of success. It is one of the most valuable characteristics of this play, that while it severely satirizes hypocrisy, fanatism (as in Mawworm), and outrageous pretensions to sanctity, it carefully distinguishes between these and rational piety. The play met with great success in the representation, taking a rin of eighteen aights; the subject itself being its protection, and its enemies not daring to show any more at that time than a few amiles of silent contempt. The consequence, however, was what the author foresaw; that is to say, the stirring up a party against him, who would scarcely suffer any thing he wrote afterwards to meet with fair play, and making him the constant butt of Mist's Journal, and all the Jacobite faction. Nor do we think it by any means an improbable surmise, that the enmity and inveteracy of his antagonist Mr. Pope, and the set of wits who were connected with him, might have their original foundation traced from the appearance of this play, DRAMATIS PERSONAE. OLD LADY LAMBERT. CHARLOTTE. MAWWORM. YOUNG LADY LAMBERT. BETTY. SIR JOHN LAMBERT. COLONEL LAMBERT. SEYWARD. SCENE 1. DARNLEY. ACT I. SCENE. London. A Hall in SIR JOHN LAMBERT'S Sir J. So I do, sir, that I am her father, and will dispose of her as I please. Col. L. I do not dispute your authority, sir: but as I am your son too, think it my duty Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT and COLONEL to be concerned for your honour. Have not LAMBERT. Col. L. PRAY consider, sir. you countenanced his addresses to my sister? has not she received them? - Mr. Darnley's a blemish on his character. birth and fortune are well known to you; and but since you think it your duty, as a son, to I dare swear, he may defy the world to lay be concerned for my errors, think it as much mine, as a father, to be concerned for yours. Sir J. Why then, sir, since I am to be ca- If you think fit to amend them, so; if not, techised, I must tell you I do not like his take the consequence. character; he is a world-server, a libertine, and Col. L. Well, sir, may I ask you, without has no more religion than you have. offence, if the reasons you have given me are · Col. L. Sir, we neither of us think it pro- your only reasons for discountenancing Mr. per to make a boast of our religion; but, if Darnley's addresses to my sister? you please to inquire, you will find that we Sir J. Are they not flagrant? would you go to church as orderly as the rest of our have me marry my daughter to a Pagan?1) neighbours. Col. L. He intends this morning paying his Sir J. Oh, you go to church! you go to respects to you, in hopes to obtain your final church!-Wonderful! wonderful! to bow, and consent; and desired me to be present as a grin, and cough, and sleep: a fine act of de-mediator of articles between you. votion indeed. Col. L. Well but, dear sir Sir J. Colonel, you are an Atheist. Sir J. I am glad to hear it. Col. L. Pardon me, sir, I am none: it is a home when he comes: and because I will not character I abhor; and next to that, I abhor tell a lie for the matter, I'll go out this moment. the character of an enthusiast. 1) Col. L. Nay, dear sir Sir J. And, do you hear-because I will Sir J. Oh, you do so; an enthusiast!—this is the fashionable phrase, the bye-word, the not deceive him either, tell him I would not mick-name, that our pleasure-loving generation have him lose his time in fooling after your give to those few who have a sense of true sister-In short, I have another man in my sanctity. head for her. Col. L. Say, canting, sir. Sir J. I tell you what, son, as I have told you more than once, you will draw some heavy judgment on your head one day or other. [Exit. Col. L. Another man! It would be worth one's while to know him: pray heaven this canting hypocrite has not got some beggarly rascal in his eye for her. I must rid the house Col. L. So says the charitable doctor Cant- of him at any rate, or all the settlement I can well; you have taken him into your house, hope for from my father is a castle in the air. and in return he gives over half your family -My sister may be ruined too-here she comes. to the devil. If there be another man in the case, she, no Enter CHARLotte. Sir J. Do not abuse the doctor, colonel; it doubt, can let me into the secret. is not the way to my favour. I know you cannot bear him, because he is not one of your mincing preachers. He holds up the glass to your enormities, shows you to yourselves in your genuine colours. Sister, good morrow; I want to speak with you. Char. Pr'ythee then, dear brother, don't put on that wise, politic face, as if your regiment Col. L. I always respect piety and virtue, was going to be disbanded, or sent to the sir; but there are pretenders to religion, as West Indies, and you obliged to follow it. well as to courage; and as we never find the Col. L. Come, come, a truce with your truly brave to be such as make much noise raillery: what I have to ask of you is serious, about their valour; so, I apprehend, the truly and I beg you would be so in your answer. good seldom or never deal much in grimace. Sir J. Very well, sir; this is very well. Col. L. Besides, sir, I would be glad to know, by what authority the doctor pretends to exercise the clerical function. 2) It does not appear clearly to me that he ever was in orders. Sir J. That is no business of yours, sir. But, I am better informed. However, he has the call of zeal. Col. L. Zeal! that Char. Well, then, provided it is not upon the subject of love, I will be so- - but make haste too-for I have not had my tea yet. Col. L. Why it is, and it is not, upon Char. Oh, I love a riddle dearly-Comelet's hear it. subject. Col. L. Nay, pshaw! if you will be serious, say so. Char. O lard, sir! I beg your pardon—there Sir J. Why, colonel, you are in a passion. there's my whole form and features, totally Col. L. I own I cannot see with temper, disengaged and lifeless, at your service; now, sir, so many religious mountebanks impose on put them in what posture of attention you the unwary multitude; wretches, who make a think fit. [Leans on him awkwardly. trade of religion, and show an uncommon Col. L. Was there ever such a giddy devil! concern for the next world, only to raise their -Pr'ythee, stand up. I have been talking with fortunes with greater security in this. my father, and he declares positively you shall not receive any further addresses from Mr. Darnley. Sir J. Colonel, let me hear no more; I see you are too hardened to be converted now: 1) A religious sect, possessing much less of the charity of christians than any other of the numerous list of them with which the world is over-run; their prayers| and sermons, contrary to the church of England, are all extempore. Mawworm shows them in their must zealous, Cantwell in their most unfavourable light. 2) The greater part of the preachers as well as auditors of this sect are tailors, cobblers, and others, who have had a call as they call it Char. Are you serious? 1) The intoleration of the Methodists, is carried to such a degree, that, even in their sermons, they most charitably condemn every person of any other persuasion than theirs, to the most horrible of all the burning fires of Tartarus; and, as they allect a very sanctified way of living themselves, all persons visiting that devil's hot-house the theatre, playing at cards, reading novels, etc., must meet with some still more terrible punishment, if possible. |