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Blunt. But then you are to consider that the Blunt. Is it possible she could persuade him money was his master's.

to do an act like that? He is by nature honest, Lucy. There was the difficulty of it. Had it grateful, compassionate, and

generous ; and been his own, it had been nothing. Were the though his love, and her artful persuasions, have world his, she might have it for a smile. But wrought him to practise what he most abhors; those golden days are done: he is ruined, and yet we all can witness for him, with what relucMillwood's hopes of farther profits there are at tance he has still complied : so many tears he an end.

shed over each offence, as might, if possible, Blunt. That is no more than we all expected. sanctify theft, and inake a merit of a crime.

Lucy. Being calied by his master to make up Lucy. 'Tis true, at the naming of the murder his accounts, he was forced to quit his house and of his uncle, he started into rage; and, breaking service, and wisely flies to Millwood for relief from her arms (where she till then had held him, and entertainment.

with well-dissembled love, and false endearBlunt. I have not heard of this before: how ments), called her cruel, monster, devil, and told did she receive him?

her she was born for his destruction. She thought Lucy. As you would expect. She wondered it not for her purpose to meet his rage with her what he meant, was astonished at his impudence, rage, but affected a most passionate fit of grief, and, with an air of modesty peculiar to herself, railed at her fate, and cursed her wayward stars, swore so heartily that she never saw him before, that still her wants should force her to press hiin that she put me out of countenance.

to act such deeds, as she must needs abhor as Blunt. That is much indeed! But how did well as he. She told him necessity had no law, Barnwell behave?

and love no bounds; that therefore he never truly Lucy. He grieved ; and at length, enraged at loved, but meant, in her necessity, to forsake her. this barbarous treatment, was preparing to be Then she kneeled, and swore, that, since by his gone; and making towards the door, shewed a refusal he had given her cause to doubt his love, sum of money, which he had brought from his she never would see him more, unless, to prove master's, the last he is ever likely to have from it true, he robbed his uncle to supply her wants, thence.

and murdered him to keep it from discovery. Blunt. But then, Millwood

Blunt. I am astonished. What said he? Lucy. Ay, she, with her usual address, return- Lucy. Speechless he stood; but in his face you ed to her old arts of lying, swearing, and dis might have read, that various passions tore his sembling; hung on his neck, wept, and swore it very soul. Oft he in anguish threw his eyes towas meant in jest.-The amorous youth melted wards heaven, and then as often bent their beams into tears, threw the money into her lap, and on her; then wept and groaned, and beat his swore he had rather die than think her false, troubled breast : at length, with horror not to be Blunt. Strange infatuation!

expressed, he cried,— Thou cursed fair, have I Lucy. But what ensued was stranger still. As not given dreadful proofs of love? What drew doubts and fears, followed by reconcilement, ever me from my youthful innocence, and stained increase love where the passion is sincere; so in my then unspotted soul, but love? What caused him it caused so wild à transport of excessive 'me to rob my worthy, gentle master, but cursed fondness, such joy, such grief, such pleasure, and • love? What makes me now a fugitive from bis such anguish, that nature seemed sinking with service, loathed by myself, and scorned by all the weight, and his charmed soul disposed to quit the world, but love? What fills my eyes with his breast for hers. Just then, when every pas- tears, my soul with torture never felt on this side sion with lawless anarchy prevailed, and reason . death before? Why love, love, love! And why, was in the raging tempest lost, the cruel, artful • above all, do I resolve (for, tearing his hair, he Millwood prevailed upon the wretched youth to cried, I do resolve) to kill my uncle? promise- -what I tremble but to think of. Blunt. Was she not moved? It makes me weep

Blunt. I am amazed! What can it be? to hear the sad relation.

Lucy. You will be more so, to hear it is to at- Lucy. Yes, with joy, that she had gained her tempt the life of his nearest relation, and best point. She gave him no time to cool, but urged benefactor.

him to attempt it instantly. He is now gone. If Blunt. His uncle! whom we have often heard he performs it, and escapes, there is more money him speak of as a gentleman of a large estate, for her; if not, he will never return, and then and fair character, in the country where he lives? she is fairly rid of him. Lucy. The same. She was no sooner possessed

Blunt. It is time the world were rid of such of the last dear purchase of his ruin, but her a monster. avarice, insatiate as the grave, demanded this Lucy. If we do not use our endeavours to prehorrid sacrifice. Barnwell's near relation, and vent the murder, we are as bad as she. unsuspected virtue, must give too easy means to Blunt. I am afraid it is too late. seize this good man's treasure; whose blood must Lucy. Perhaps not. Her barbarity to Barnseal the dreadful secret, and prevent the terrors well makes me hate her. We have run too great of her guilty fears.

la length with ber already. I did not think her

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or myself so wicked as I find, upon reflection, for my disguise. (Plucks out a vizor.]—This is

his hour of private meditation. Thus daily he Blunt. It is true, we have been all too much prepares his soul for Heaven; while I

-But But there is something so horrid in murder, what have I to do with Heaven? Ha! no strugthat all other crimes seem nothing when com- gles, conscience pared to that : I would not be involved in the Hence, hence remorse, and every thought that's guilt of it for all the world.

good; Lucy. Nor I, Heaven knows. Therefore let The storin, that lust began, must end in blood. us clear ourselves, by doing all that is in our [Puts on the vizor, draws a pistol, and erit. power to prevent it. I have just thought of a way that to me seems probable. Will you join SCENE IV.-A close Walk in a Wood. with me to detect this cursed design? Blunt. With all my heart. He, who knows of

Enter UNCLE. a murder intended to be committed, and does not Unc. If I were superstitious, I should fear some discover it, in the eye of the law and reason, is a danger lurked unseen, or death were nigh. A murderer.

heavy melancholy clouds my spirits. My imagiLucy. Let us lose no time; I will acquaint you nation is filled with ghastly forms of dreary graves, with the particulars as we go.

[Ereunt. and bodies changed by death; when the pale

lengthened visage attracts each weeping eye, and SCENE III.-A walk at some distance from a fills the musing soul at once with grief and horcountry seat.

ror, pity and aversion. I will indulge the thought.

The wise man prepares himself for death, by maEnter BARNWELL.

king it familiar to his mind. When strong reflecBarn. A dismal gloom obscures the face of tions hold the mirror near, and the living in the day. Either the sun has slipped behind a cloud, dead behold their future self, how does each inor journeys down the west of heaven with more ordinate passion and desire cease, or sicken at than common speed, to avoid the sight of what the view! The mind scarce moves; the blood, I am doomed to act. Since I set forth on this curdling and chilled, creeps slowly through the accursed design, where'er I tread, methinks, the veins : fixed, still, and motionless, we stand, so solid earth trembles beneath my feet. Murder like the solemn objects of our thoughts, we are my uncle !Yonder limpid stream, whose almost at esent what we must be hereafter; hoary fall has made a natural cascade, as I pass till curiosity awakes the soul, and sets it on ened by, in doleful accents seemed to murmur- quiry. Murder ! The earth, the air, and water seemed concerned.' But that is not strange : the world

Enter BARNWELL, at a distance. is punished, and nature feels a shock, when Pro- Oh, death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen vidence permits a good man's fall

. Just Heaven! every day, yet never understood, but by the inthen what should I feel for him that was my communicative dead, what art thou? The extenfather's only brother, and since his death has sive mind of man, that with a thought circles the been to me a father; that took me up an infant earth's vast globe, sinks to the centre, or ascends and an orphan, reared me with tenderest care, above the stars; that worlds exotic finds, or thinks and still indulged me with most paternal fond-it finds, thy thick clouds attempts to pass in vain; ness? Yet here I stand his destined murderer- lost and bewildered in the horrid gloom, defeatI stiffen with horror at my own impiety- -It is ed, she returns more doubtful than before, of noyet unperformed—What if I quit my bloody pur- thing certain but of labour lost. pose, and fly the place? [Going, then stops.]- [During this speech, Barnwell sometimes preBut whither, oh, whither shall I fly? My master's sents the pistol, and draws it back again. once friendly doors are ever shut against me ; Barn. Oh!"'tis impossible. and without money Millwood will never see me

[ Throwing down the pistol. more; and she has got such firm possession of (Uncle starts, and attempts to draw his sword.] my heart, and governs there with such despotic Unc. A man so near me! Armed and masksway, that life is not to be endured without her.

edAy, there is the cause of all my sin and sorrow! Barn. Nay, then, there's no retreat. it is more than love; it is the fever of the soul, [Plucks a poignard from his bosom, and stabs and madness of desire. In vain does nature, rea

him, son, conscience, all oppose it; the impetuous Unc. Oh! I am slain. All gracious Heaven, passion bears down all before it, and drives me regard the prayer of thy dying servant ! bless, on to lust, to theft, and murder. Oh, conscience! with thy choicest blessings, my dearest nephew ! feeble guide to virtue, thou only shewest us forgive my murderer, and take my fleeting soud when we go astray, but wantest power to stop to endless mercy! us in our course! - -IIa ! in yonder shady (Barnwell throus off his mask, runs to him, walk I see my uncle-He is alone-Now and, kneeling by him, raises and chafes him.

Barn. Expiring saint! Oh, murdered, martyr- f and if his vengeance spares, let pity strike and ed uncle ! lift up your dying eyes, and view your end my wretched being. -Murder the worst of nephew in your murderer Oh, do not look so crimes, and parricide the worst of murders, and tenderly upon me! Let indignation lighten this the worst of parricides! Cain, who stands from your eyes, and blast me ere you die.- -By on record from the birth of time, and must to its Heaven, he weeps, in pity of my woes.-Tears, last final period, as accursed, slew a brother fatears for blood ! - The murdered, in the ago- voured above him : detested Nero, by another's nies of death, weeps for his murderer.- -Oh, hand, dispatched a mother that he feared and speak your pious purpose; pronounce my par- hated: but I, with my own hand, have murdered don then, and take me with you- -He would, a brother, mother, father, and a friend, most but cannot_Oh, why, with such fond affec-loving and beloved. This execrable act of tion, do you press my murdering hand ?- [Un- mine is without a parallel. -Oh, may it ever cle sighs and dies.] - What, will you kiss me? stand alone, the last of murders, as it is the

-Life, that hovered on his lips but till he had worst ! sealed my pardon, in that sigh expired.He is The rich man thus, in torment and despair, gone for ever, and, oh! I follow- [Swoons Preferred his vain, his charitable prayer. away upon his uncle's dead body.]- -Do I still The fool, his own soul lost, would fain be wise breathe, and taint with my infectious breath the For others' good, but Heaven his suit denies. wholesome air?- Let Heaven, from its high By laws and means well-known we stand or fall; throne, in justice or in mercy now look down on And one eternal rule remains for all. [Erit. that dear murdered saint, and me the murderer,

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ACT IV.

SCENE I.-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House.

Enter THOROWGOOD and Lucy. Mar. How falsely do they judge, who censure Thor. This woman here has given me a sad, or applaud, as we are afflicted or rewarded here! and, abating some circumstances, too probable an I know I am unhappy; yet cannot charge myself account of Barnwell's defection. with any crime, more than the common frailties Lucy. I am sorry, sir, that my frank confession of our kind, that should provoke just Heaven to of my former unhappy course of life should cause mark me out for sufferings so uncommon and se- you to suspect my truth on this occasion. vere. Falsely to accuse ourselves, Heaven must Thor. It is not that; your confession has in it abhor. Then it is just and right that innocence all the appearance of truth. Ainong many other should suffer ; for Heaven must be just in all its particulars, she inforins me, that Barnwell has ways. Perhaps by that we are kept from moral been influenced to break his trust, and wrong me, evils, much worse than penal, or more improved at several times,. of considerable sums of money. in virtue. Or may not the lesser evils that we Now, as I know this to be false, I would fain sustain, be made the means of greater good to doubt the whole of her relation, too dreadful to others? Might all the joyless days and sleepless be willingly believed. nights that I have passed, but purchase peace for Mar. Sir, your pardon ; I find myself on a sudthee! What news of Barnwell?

den so indisposed that I must retire. Providence True. None; I have sought him with the great opposes all attempts to save him. Poor ruined est diligence, but all in vain.

Barnwell! Wretched, lost Maria! (Aside. Erit. Mar. Does my father yet suspect the cause of Thor. How am I distressed on every side! his absence?

Pity for that unhappy youth, fear for the life of True. All appeared so just and fair to him, it a much valued friend- -and then my child-the is not possible he ever should. But his absence only joy and hope of my declining life ! Her will no longer be concealed. Your father is wise; melancholy increases hourly, and gives me painand though he seems to hearken to the friendly ful apprehensions of her loss -Oh, Trueman, excuses I would make for Barnwell, yet I am this person informs me that your friend, at the afraid he regards them only as such, without suf- instigation of an impious woman, is gone to rob fering them to influence his judgment.

and murder his venerable uncle. Mar. How does the unhappy youth defeat all True. Oh, execrable deed! I am blasted with our designs to serve him? Yet I can never repent horror at the thought. what we have done. Should he return, 'twill make Lucy. This delay may ruin all. his reconciliation with my father easier, and pre- Thor. What to do or think I know not. That serve him from the future reproach of a mali- he ever wronged me, I know, is false; the rest cious unforgiving world.

may be so too; there is all my hope.

İrue. Trust not to that; rather suppose all true, than lose a moment's time. Even now the fraid of your own shadow, or, what is less than a horrid deed may be doing-dreadful imagina-shadow, your conscience ! tion !or it may be done, and we be vainly de- Barn. Though to man unknown I did the acbating on the means to prevent what is already cursed act, wbat can we hide from Heaven's allpast.

seeing eye? Thor. This earnestness convinces me, that he Mill. No more of this stuff

. What advantage knows more than he has yet discovered. What, have you made of his death; or what advantage ho! without there! who waits?

may yet be made of it? Did you secure the keys

of his treasure, which, no doubt, were about him? Enter a Servant.

What gold, what jewels, or what else of value Order the groom to saddle the swiftest horse, have you brought me? and prepare to set out with speed; an affair of Barn. Think you I added sacrilege to murder? life and death demands his diligence. [Exit Ser-Oh! had you seen him, as his life flowed from vant.] For you, whose behaviour on this occasion him in a crimson food, and heard him praying I have no time to commend as it deserves, I must for me by the double name of nephew and of engage your further assistance. Return, and ob- murderer(alas, alas! he knew not then, that serve this Millwood till I come. I have your di- his nephew was bis murderer!)—how would you rections, and will follow you as soon as possible. have wished, as I did, though you had a thou[Exit Lucy:] Trueman, you, I am sure, will not sand years of life to come, to have given them all be idle on this occasion. [Exit Thorow good. to have lengthened his one hour! But, being dead,

True. He only, who is a friend, can judge of my I Aed the sight of what my hands had done; nor distress.

(Exit. could I, to have gained the empire of the world,

have violated, by theft, his sacred corpse.

Mill. Whining, preposterous, canting villain ! SCENE II.- Millwood's house.

to murder your uncle, rob him of life, nature's Enter MillwOOD.

first, last, dear prerogative, after which there is

no injury—then fear to take what he no longer Mill. I wish I knew the event of his design. wanted, and bring to me your penury and guilt! The attempt without success would ruin him. Do you think I will hazard my reputation, nay, Well; what have I to apprehend from that? I life, to entertain you? fear too much. The mischief being only intend- Barn. Oh, Millwood ! this from thee! ed, his friends, through pity of his youth, turn all | But I have done. If you hate mc, if you wish their

rage on me. I should have thought of that me dead, then are you happy; for, oh! it is sure before. Suppose the deed done; then, and then my grief will quickly end me. only, I shall be secure.–Or what if he returns Mill, In his madness he will discover all, and without attempting it at all !

involve me in his ruin. We are on a precipice,

from whence there is no retreat for both-Then Enter BARNWELL bloody.

to preserve myself -- (Pauses. There is no But he is here, and I have done him wrong. His other way. It is dreadful, but reflection comes bloudy hands shew he has done the deed, but too late when danger is pressing, and there is no shew he wants the prudence to conceal it. room for choice.. It must be done-[Aside.

Barn. Where shall I hide me? Whither shall Rings a bell, enter a Servant.]-Fetch me an ofI fly, to avoid the swift unerring hand of justice? ficer, and seize this villain. He has confessed

Alill. Dismiss your fears: though thousands himself a murderer. Should I let him escape, I had pursued you to the door, yet, being entered might justly be thought as bad as he. here, you are as safe as innocence. I have a ca

[Erit Servant, vern, by art so cunningly contrived, that the Barn. Oh, Millwood ! sure you do not, you piercing eyes of jealousy and revenge may search cannot mean it. Stop the messenger; upon my in vain, nor find the entrance to the safe retreat. knees, I beg you would call him back. It is fit I There will I hide you, if any danger's near. die indecd, but not by you. I will this instant

Barn. Oh, hide me from myself, if it be deliver myself into the hands of justice, indeed I possible; for, while I bear my conscience in my will; for death is all I wish. But thy ingratitude bosom, though I were hid where man's eye never so tears my wounded soul; it is worse ten thousaw me, nor light ever dawned, it were all in sand times than death with torture. vain. For, oh! that inmate, that impartial judge, Mill. Call it what you will; I am willing to will try, convict, and sentence me for murder, live, and live secure, which nothing but your and execute me with pever-ending torments. Be- death can warrant. hold these hands, all crimsoned over with my Barn. If there be a pitch of wickedness that dear uncle's blood! Here is a sight to make a sets the author beyond the reach of vengeance, statue start with horror, or turn a living man in- you must be secure. But what remains for me, to a statue !

but a dismal dungeon, hard galling fetters, an Mill. Ridiculous! Then it seems you are a- awful trial, and an ignominious death, justly to

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fall unpitied and abhorred: After death to be my credit is superior to thy'malice, I need not suspended between heaven and earth, a dreadful have blushed to own him. spectacle, the warning and horror of a gaping Mill. My arts! I do not understand you, sir : erowd! This I could bear, nay, wish not to if he has done amiss, what is that to me? Was avoid, had it but come from any hand but thine. he my servant, or yours? you should have taught

him better. Enter Blunt, Officer, and Attendants,

Thor. Why should I wonder to find such un. Mill. Heaven defend me! Conceal a' mur- common impudence in one arrived to such a derer! Here, sir, take this youth into your cus- height of wickedness? When innocence is batody. I accuse him of murder, and will appear nished, modesty soon follows. Know, sorceress, to make good my charge. [They seize him. I am not ignorant of any of the arts by which

Barn. To whom, of what, or how shall I com- you first deceived the unwary youth. I know plain? I will not accuse her. The hand of Hea- how, step by step, you have led him on, reluctant ven is in it, and this the punishment of lust and and unwilling, froí'crime to crime, to this last parricide. Yet Heaven, that justly cuts me off, horrid act, which you contrived, and, by your still suffers her to live; perhaps to punish others. cursed wiles, even forced him to commit. Tremendous mercy! So fiends are cursed with Mill. Ha! Lucy has got the advantage, and immortality, to be the executioners of Heaven! accused me first. Unless I can turn the accusa

Be warned, ye youths, who see my sad despair: tion, and fix it upon her and Blunt, I am lost. Avoid lewd women, false as they are fair.

(Aside. By reason guided, honest joys pursue :

Thor. Had I known your cruel design sooner, The fair, to honour and to virtue true, it had been prevented. To see you punished, as Just to herself, will ne'er be false to you. the law directs, is all that now remains. Poor By my example learn to shun my fate : satisfaction! for he, innocent as he is, compared (Ilow wretched is the man who's wise too late!) to you, must suffer too. But Heaven, who knows Ere innocence, and fame, and life, be lost, our frame, and graciously distinguishes between Here purchase wisdom cheaply, at my cost. frailty and presumption, will make a difference,

(Ereunt Barnwell, Officer, and Attendants. though man cannot, who sees not the heart, but Mill

. Where is Lucy? Why is she absent at only judges by the outward action. such a time?

Mill. I find, sir, we are both unbappy in our Blunt. Would I had been so too! Lucy will

I was surprised at such ill treatment; soon be here; aud I hope to thy confusion, thou without cause, from a gentleman of your appeardevil!

ance, and therefore too hastily returned it; for Mill, Insolent! This to me?

which I ask your pardon. I now perceive you Blunt. The worst that we know of the devil have been so far imposed on, as to think me enis, that he first seduces to sin, and then betrays gaged in a former correspondence with your serto punishment.

[Erit. vant, and, some way or other, accessary to his Mill

. They disapprove of my conduct then, undoing. and mean to set up for themselves.--My ruin Thor. I charge you as the cause, the sole cause, is resolved. I see my danger, but scorn both of all his guilt, and all his suffering; of all he now it and them. I was not born to fall by such weak endures, and must endure, till a violent and instruments.

[Going. shameful death shall put a dreadful period to his

life and miseries together. Enter THOROWGOOD.

Mill. It is very strange. But who is secure Thor. Where is the scandal of her own sex, from scandal and detraction ? So far from conand curse of ours?

tributing to his ruin, I never spoke to him till Mill. What means this insolence! Whom do since this fatal accident, which I lament as much you seek?

as you. It is true I have a servant, on whose acThor. Millwood.

count he hath of late frequented my house. If Mill. Well, you have found her then. I am she has abused my good opinion of her, am I to Millwood.

blame? Has not Barnwell done the same by Thor. Then you are the most impious wretch you? that ever the sun beheld.

Thor. I hear you ; pray go on. Mill. From your appearance I should have Mill, I have been informed he had a violent expected wisdom and moderation; but your man- passion for her, and she for him : but till now I ners belie your aspect. What is your business always thought it innocent. I know her poor, and here? I know you not.

given to expensive pleasures. Now, who can tell Thor. Hereafter you may know me better; I but she may have influenced the amorous youth am Barnwell's master.

to commit this murder to supply her extravaganMill. Then you are master to a villain, which, cies?

-It must be so. I now recollect a thouI think, is not much to your credit.

sand circumstances that confirm it. I will have Thor. Lad he been as much above thy arts, as her, and a man servant, whom I suspect as an VOL. I.

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