Than a Briton. Y. Wilm. Well, 'tis no matter, Eustace! I hope my mind's not altered for the worse, And for my outside-But inform me, friend, When I may hope to see you. Eust. When you please: You'll find me at the inn. Y. Wilm. When I have learned my doom, expect me there. 'Till then, farewell! Eust. Farewell! Success attend you! [Exeunt severally. ACT II. Enter Young WILMOT. Nor any man like this. [Going to embrace her. Char. Sir, you are too bold-Forbear, and let me know What business brought you here, or leave the place. Y. Wilm. Perfidious maid! Am I forgot, or scorned? Char. Can I forget a man I never knew! Y. Wilm. My fears are true; some other has her heart: She's lost: My fatal absence has undone me. [Aside. O! could thy Wilmot have forgot thee, Charlotte! Char. Ha! Wilmot! say! what do your words import ? O gentle stranger! ease my swelling heart; Y. Wilm. This I know: When all the winds of heaven seemed to conspire When livid lightning spread its sulphurous flames And left him struggling with the warring waves; In that dread moment, in the jaws of death, When his strength failed, and every hope forsook him, And his last breath pressed towards his trembling lips, The neighbouring rocks, that echoed to his moan, The hearer with astonishment, is ceased; enjoy that thought; Persuade yourself that what you wish is true, And triumph in your falsehood. Yes, he's dead; You were his fate. The cruel winds and waves, That cast him pale and breathless on the shore, Spared him for greater woes-to know his Charlotte, Forgetting all her vows to him and heaven, But never can have rest. Even now he wanders, Char. 'Tis enough: Char. If, as some teach, the spirit after death, | To bless my longing eyes. But which, my Char Free from the bounds and ties of sordid earth, Can trace us to our most concealed retreat, Y. Wilm. Assist me, Heaven! Why dost thou gaze so wildly? Look on me; Turn thy dear eyes this way; observe me well. Have scorching climates, time, and this strange habit, So changed and so disguised thy faithful Wilmot, That nothing in my voice, my face, or mein, Remains to tell my Charlotte I am he! [After viewing him some time, she approaches weeping, and gives him her hand; and then turning towards him, sinks upon his bosom.] Why dost thou weep? Why dost thou tremble thus? Why doth thy panting heart and cautious touch Speak thee but half convinced? Whence are thy fears? Why art thou silent? Canst thou doubt me still? Char. No, Wilmot! no; I'm blind with too much light, O'ercome with wonder, and oppressed with joy. Y. Wilm. Let me know it: Give me my portion of thy sorrow, Charlotte! They flow for thy misfortunes. I am pierced Char. You apprehend me wrong. Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave lotte? Char. Afflict yourself no more with groundless fears: Your parents both are living. Their distress, Y. Wilm. My joy's complete! My parents living, and possessed of thee !— No more shall cruel want, or proud contempt, The hoary heads, of those who gave me being. Char. 'Tis now, O riches, I conceive your worth: And perilous adventures, be the theme Char. I consent with pleasure. Y. Wilm. Heavens! what a night! How shall My parents', your's, my friend's, all will be mine. SCENE II-A street in Penryn. Enter RANDAL. Rand. Poor! poor! and friendless! whither shall I wander, And to what point direct my views and hopes? A menial servant!-No-What! shall I live, Here, in this land of freedom, live distinguished, To swell his useless train for broken fragments, That dares put in his claim-My choice is made: Enter Young WILMOT. Y. Wilm. Randal!-The dear companion of my youth! Sure lavish fortune means to give me all I could desire, or ask for, this blessed day, And leave me nothing to expect hereafter. If doing what my Charlotte will approve, Rand. Your pardon, sir! I know but one on 'Cause done for me and with a good intent, earth Could properly salute me by the title Deserves the name, I'll answer it myself. You're pleased to give me, and I would not think Discovering who I am till Charlotte comes, That you are he-that you are Wilmot. Y. Wilm. Why? Rand. Because I could not bear the pointment, If I should be deceived. Y. Wilm. I am pleased to hear it: And thou, and all who love me. Ev'ry friend disap-Will, by partaking, multiply my joys. Thy friendly fears better express thy thoughts Rand. O! Wilmot! O! my master! Y. Wilm. I have not yet embraced Y. Wilm. I've heard it all, and hasten to re- Sure Heaven hath blessed me to that very end: Y. Wilm, I doubt it not. But tell me, dost thou My parents not suspecting my return, That I may visit them, and not be known? Rand. You grow luxurious in imagination. Y. Wilm. What canst thou blame in this? Y. Wilm. I am much thy debtor, O. Wilm. Here, take this Seneca: this haughty Rand. 'Tis hard for me to judge. You are al- Who, governing the master of mankind, ready Grown so familiar to me, that I wonder And heard my loud reproaches, and complaints, And awing power imperial, prates of patience; meal The vilest copy of his book e'er purchased, O. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it-But dispatch. [Exit Agnes. Where must I charge this length of misery, That gathers force each moment as it rolls, And must at last o'erwhelm me, but on hope: Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope, That has for years deceived me?-Had I thought As I do now, as wise men ever think, When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me, That power to die implies a right to do it, And should be used when life becomes a pain, What plagues had I prevented!-True, my wife Is still a slave to prejudice and fear I would not leave my better part, the dear [Weeps. Faithful companion of my happier days, Enter AGNES, and after her Young WILMOT. Y. Wilm. You are, I presume, [Gives a letter. O. Wilm. [Having read the letter.] -Sir, such welcome As this poor house affords, you may command. Our ever friendly neighbour-Once we hoped To have called fair Charlotte by a dearer name, But we have done with hope-I pray excuse This incoherence-We had once a son. [Weeps. Agn. That you are come from that dear virtuous maid, Revives in us the memory of a loss, Which, though long since, we have not learned to bear. Y. Wilm. The joy to see them, and the bitter It is to see them thus, touches my soul Enough, though nothing more should be implied, But she, perhaps, has purposed to errich Who only favours youth, as feeble age To dry our tears, and dissipate despair. Agn. The last and most abandoned of our kind, By heaven and earth neglected or despised, Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardoned, or devoted Fear without hope, and wail in such sad strains; O. Wilm. A rare example Of fortune's changes; apter to surprise you Agn. Alas! Who knows, But we were rendered childless by some storm, In which you, though preserved, might bear a part? Y. Wilm. How has my curiosity betrayed me Into superfluous pain! I faint with fondness; And shall, if I stay longer, rush upon them, Proclaim myself their son, kiss and embrace them, Till, with the excess of pleasure and surprize, Their souls, transported, their frail mansions quit, And leave them breathless in my longing arms. By circumstances then and slow degrees, They must be let into a happiness, Too great for them to bear at once, and live: That Charlotte will perform. I need not feign To ask an hour for rest. [Aside.] Sir, I intreat The favour to retire, where for a while I may repose myself. You will excuse This freedom, and the trouble that I give you. 'Tis long since I have slept, and nature calls. O. Wilm. I pray no more: Believe we're only troubled, That you should think any excuse were needful. Y. Wilm. The weight of this to me is some incumbrance, [Takes a casket out of his bosom, and gives it to his mother. And its contents of value: If you please To take the charge of it 'till I awake, I beg that you would wake me. Distracted as I am with various woes, What ravage has it made! how has it changed Her lovely form and mind! I feel her anguish, And dread I know not what from her despair. My father too- -O grant them patience, Heaven! A little longer, a few short hours more, I shall remember that. [Exit, with Old Wilmot. And all their cares, and mine, shall end for ever. Y. Wilm. Merciless grief! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-The Scene continues. He says it is of value, and yet trusts it, It is not what he says-I am strongly tempted My eyes are dazzled, and my ravished heart Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright's the lustre, And how immense the worth, of these fair jewels! At our approach, and once more bend before us. touched The bright temptation, and I see it yet→ Why am I thrilled with horror? Tis not choice, Enter Old WILMOT. O. Wilm. The mind contented, with how little pains The wandering senses yield to soft repose! And with a look, that pierced me to the soul, Begged me to comfort thee: And-dost thou hear me? What art thou gazing on? Fie, 'tis not well. Agn. And who shall know it? O. Wilm. There is a kind of pride, a decent dignity Due to ourselves; which, spite of our misfortunes, May be maintained, and cherished to the last. To live without reproach, and without leave To quit the world, shews sovereign contempt, And noble scorn of its relentless malice. Agn. Shews sovereign madness, and a scorn of sense. Pursue no farther this detested theme: O. Wilm. To chase a shadow, when the setting sun Is darting his last rays, were just as wise Your warmth might be excused-But take thy choice: Die how you will, you shall not die alone. O Wilm. There is no fear of that. Agn. Then, we'll live both. O. Wilm. Strange folly? where the means? Agn. There-those jewels! O. Wilm. Ha! Take heed! Perhaps thou dost but try me-yet take heed! There's nothing so monstrous but the mind of |