PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

HEBREW WOMEN.

JOCHEBED, Mother of Moses.

MIRIAM, his Sister.

EGYPTIANS.

The PRINCESS, King Pharaoh's Daughter.
MELITA; and other Attendants.

SCENE-On the Banks of the Nile.

The Subject is taken from the Second Chapter of the Book of Exodus.

MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES.

PART I.

Jochebed, Miriam.

JOCHEBED.

WHY was my pray'r accepted? why did Heav'n
In anger hear me when I ask'd a son?
Ye dames of Egypt, ye triumphant mothers,
You no imperial tyrant marks for ruin;
You are not doom'd to see the child you bore,
The babes you fondly nurture, bleed before you.
You taste the transports of a mother's love,
Without a mother's anguish! Wretched Israel !
Can I forbear to mourn the different lot

Of thy sad daughters!-Why did God's own hand
Rescue his chosen race by Joseph's care?
Joseph, th' elected instrument of Heav'n,
Decreed to save illustrious Abraham's sons,
What time the famine rag'd in Canaan's land.
Israel, who then was spared, must perish now!
Thou great mysterious Pow'r, who hast involv'd
Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex
The pride of human wisdom, to confound
The daring scrutiny, and prove the faith
Of thy presuming creatures! hear me now.
O vindicate thy honour; clear this doubt;
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence!
Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish?

MIRIAM.

Ah me, my mother! whence these floods of grief?

JOCHEBED.

My son! my son! I cannot speak the rest;

Ye who have sons can only know my fondness

Ye who have lost them, or who fear to lose,
Can only know my pangs! none else can guess them.
A mother's sorrows cannot be conceived

But by a mother-Would I were not one.

MIRIAM.

With earnest pray'rs thou didst request this son,
And Heaven has granted him.

JOCHEBED.

O sad estate

Of human wretchedness! so weak is man,
So ignorant and blind, that did not God
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,
We should be ruin'd at our own request.

Too well thou know'st, my child, the stern decree
Of Egypt's cruel king, hard-hearted Pharaoh!
'That every male of Hebrew mother born
Must die.' Oh! do I live to tell it thee?
Must die a bloody death! My child, my son,
My youngest born, my darling must be slain.

MIRIAM.

The helpless innocent, and must he die?

JOCHEBED.

No: if a mother's tears, a mother's prayers,
A mother's fond precautions can prevail,
He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam,
And sure the God of Mercies who inspired,

Will bless the secret purpose of my soul,

To save his precious life.

MIRIAM.

Hop'st thou that Pharaoh

JOCHEBED.

I have no hope in Pharaoh, much in God;

Much in the ROCK OF AGES.

MIRIAM.

Think, O think,

What perils thou already hast incurr'd,

And shun the greater which may yet remain.