Widow L. A woman! pray let me speak with you. (Draws her aside.) You are not in earnest, I hope, a woman?

Char, Really a woman.

Widow L. 'Gads my life! I could not be cheated in everything. I know a man from a woman at these years, or the devil is in't. Pray did not you marry me?

Char, You would have it so.

Widow L. And did not I give you a thousand pounds this morning?

Char. Yes, indeed, 'twas more than I deserved; but you had your pennyworth for your penny, I suppose; you seemed to be pleased with your bargain.

Widow L. A rare bargain I have made on't, truly. I have laid out my money to a fine purpose

thank you.

Widow L. 'Tis very well: I may be with child too, for aught I know, and may go look for the father.

Char. Nay, if you think so, 'tis time to look about you, indeed. For my part, Mrs. Lackitt, your thousand pounds will engage me not to laugh at you. Then my sister is married to your son; he is to have half your estate, I know; and indeed they may live upon it very comfortably to themselves, and very creditably to you.

Widow L. Nay, I can blame nobody but myself. Char. You have enough for a busband still, and that you may bestow upon honest Jack Stanmore. Widow L. Is he the man, then?

Char. He is the man you are obliged to. Jack S. Yes, faith, widow, I am the man. Widow L. Well, well, I see you will have me; even marry me, and make an end of the business. Stan. Why, that's well said; now we are all agreed, and all well provided for.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. (To Stanmore.) Sir, Mr. Blandford desires you to come to him, and bring as many of your friends as you can with you.

Stan. I come to him. You shall all go along with me. Come, young gentleman, marriage is the fashion, you see; you must like it now. Dan. If I dont, how shall I help myself? Lucy. Nay, you may hang yourself in the noose, if you please, but you'll never get out on't with struggling.

Dan. Come, then, let's e'en jog on in the old

road.

Bland. Have you no reverence for future fame?
No awe upon your actions, from the tongues,
The cens'ring tongues of men, that will be free?
Re-enter STANMORE, JACK STANMORE, CHAR-
LOTTE WELDON, LUCY, WIDOW LACKITT, and
DANIEL.

So, Stanmore, you, I know, the women too,
Will join with me: 'tis Oroonoko's cause,
A lover's cause, a wretched woman's cause,
That will become your intercession.

(To the Women.) Stan. So far from further wrong, that 'tis a shame

He should be where he is. Good governor,
Order his liberty; he yielded up

Himself, his all, at your discretion.

Bland. Discretion! no; he yielded on your word; And I am made the cautionary pledge,

The gage and hostage of your keeping it.
Remember, sir, he yielded on your word;
Your word; which honest men will think should be
The last resort of truth and trust on earth:
There's no appeal beyond it but to heaven.
Stan. He's out of all power of doing any harm,
now, if he were disposed to it.
[soon

Char. But he is not disposed to it.
Bland. To keep him where he is, will make him
Find out some desp'rate way to liberty:
He'll hang himself, or dash out his mad brains.
Char. Pray try him by gentle means; we'll all
be sureties for him.

Omnes. All, all.

Lacy. We will all answer for him now. Lieut. Well, you will have it so; do what you please, just what you will with him; I give you leave. [Exit. Bland. We thank you, sir; this way, pray come with me. Exeunt

SCENE II.-Discovers OROONOKO upon his back, his legs and arms stretched out, and chained to the ground.

Enter BLANDFORD, STANMORE, &c. Bland. O miserable sight! help, ev'ry one, Assist me all to free him from his chains.

[all

(They help him up, and bring him forward.) Most injured prince! how shall we clear ourselves! Oroo. If you would have me think you are not Confederates, all accessory to The base injustice of your governor ; If you would have me live, as you appear Concern'd for me; if you would have me live To thank and bless you, there is yet a way To tie me ever to your honest love; Bring my Imoinda to me; give me her, To charm my sorrows, and, if possible, I'll sit down with my wrongs, never to rise Against my fate, or think of vengeance more.

Bland. Be satisfy'd, you may depend on us; We'll bring her safe to you, and suddenly. Char. We will not leave you in so good a work. Widow L. No, no, we'll go with you. Bland. In the meantime, And hope a better fortune. Endeavour to forget, sir, and forgive;

[Exeunt all but Oroonoko.
Oroo. Forget! forgive! I must indeed forget
When I forgive; but while I am a man,
In flesh, that bears the living marks of shame,
The print of his dishonourable chains,
My memory still rousing up my wrongs,
I never can forgive this governor,
This villain; the disgrace of trust and place,
And just contempt of delegated pow'r.
What shall I do? IfI declare myself,

I know him, he will sneak behind his guard
Of followers, and brave me in his fears;
I would rush on him, fasten on his throat,
Else, lion-like, with my devouring rage.
Tear a wide passage to his treach'rous heart,
And that way lay him open to the world. (Pauses.)
If I should turn his Christian arts on him,
Promise him, speak him fair, flatter, and creep
With fawning steps, to get within his faith,
I could betray him then, as he has me.
But am I sure by that to right myself?
Lying's a certain mark of cowardice:
And, when the tongue forgets its honesty,
The heart and hand may drop their functions too,
And nothing worthy be resolv'd or done.
Let me but find out

An honest remedy, I have the hand,
A minist'ring hand, that will apply it home. [Exit.
SCENE III.-The Lieutenant-Governor's House.
Enter LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR.

Lieut. I would not have her tell me she consents; In favour of the sex's modesty

When he had weary'd all his useless arts,
Leap'd out, fierce as a beast of prey, to seize me.
I trembled, fear'd.

Oroo. I fear and tremble now.

What could preserve thee? What deliver thee? Imo. That worthy man, you us'd to call your friend

Oroo. Blandford?

Imo. Came in, and sav'd me from his rage. Oroo. He was a friend, indeed, to rescue thee! And, for his sake, I'll think it possible A Christian may be yet an honest man.

Imo. O did you know what I have struggled through,

To save me your's, sure you would promise me
Never to see me forc'd from you again.

Oroo. To promise thee! O! do I need to promise?

But there is now no further use of words.
Death is security for all our fears.

Find yet a way to lay her beauties down
Gently in death, and save me from her blood.
Imo. O rise, 'tis more than death to see you
thus.

I'll ease your love, and do the deed myself-
(She takes up the dagger, he rises in haste to take
it from her.)

Oroo. O hold, I charge thee, hold!
Imo. Though I must own

It would be nobler for us both from you.

Oroo. O! for a whirlwind's wing to hurry us
To yonder cliff, which frowns upon the flood;
That in embraces lock'd we might plunge in,
And perish thus in one another's arms. (Shouts.)
Imo. Alas! what shout is that?
Oroo. I see 'em coming.

They shall not overtake us. This last kiss,
And now farewell.

Imo. Farewell, farewell for ever.
Oroo. I'll turn my face away, and do it so.

And yet I cannot trust him.

Imo. Aboan!

Imo. Now. But do not grudge me The pleasure, in my death, of a last look;

To fit myself out for what I must expect,

Groan'd out a warning to me, and expir'd.
Imo. For what you must expect?

Oroo. Would that were all!
Imo. What, to be butcher'd thus-
Oroo. Just as thou seest.

Imo. By barb'rous hands, to fall at last their prey?
Oroo. I have run the race with honour, shall I

Oroo. So fate must be by this.

(Going to stab her, he stops short; she lays her

hand on his, in order to give the blow.) Imo. Nay, then, I must assist you. And, since it is the common cause of both, 'Tis just that both should be employ'd in it. Thus, thus 'tis finish'd, and I bless my fate,

(Stabs herself.) That, where I liv'd, I die in these lov'd arms.(Dies.) Oroo. She's gone. And now all's at an end with

me.

Soft, lay her down: O we will part no more.
(Throws himself by her.)
But let me pay the tribute of my grief,
A few sad tears to thy lov'd memory,
And then I follow- (Weeps over her. Shouts.)
But I stay too long.
(A noise again.)
The noise comes nearer. Hold! before I go,
There's something would be done. It shall be so,
And then, Imoinda, I'll come all to thee. (Rises.)
Enter BLANDFORD and his party, and the LIEUTE-
NANT-GOVERNOR and his party. Swords drawn.
Lieut. You strive in vain to save him, he shall
die.
[lives.
Bland. Not while we can defend him with our
Lieut. Where is he?

Oroo. Here is the wretch whom you would have.
Put up your swords, and let not civil broils
Engage you in the cursed cause of one
Who cannot live, and now entreats to die.
This object will convince you.

Bland. 'Tis his wife. (They gather about the body.) Alas! there was no other remedy.

Lieut. Who did the bloody deed?
Oroo. The deed was mine:

Bloody I know it is, aud I expect
Your laws should tell me so. Thus, self-con-
demn'd,

I do resign myself into your hands,
The hands of justice-But I hold the sword
For you-and for myself.

(Stabs the Governor and himself, then throws himself by Imoinda's body.) 'Tis as it should be now, I have sent his ghost To be a witness of that happiness In the next world, which he deny'd us here. (Dies.)

Bland. I hope there is a place of happiness
In the next world for such exalted virtue.
Pagan or unbeliever, yet he liv'd
To all he knew: and, if he went astray,
There's mercy still above to set him right.
But Christians, guided by the heav'nly ray,
Have no excuse if they mistake their way.

Exeunt

AIR.-ANNETTE,

A nightingale sung in a sycamore grove; A lover he listen'd, with sighs, to the lay; 'Twas sweet, but all plaintive, like languishing love: Heigho!" cried the lover, "ah, well-a-day!" The lover quite restless that night found his pillow, Went to sleep in despair, and still dreamt of the willow.

The lover he listen'd next morn to a lark,

Whose song better sooth'd him because it was gay; His hope grew more strong, as his mind grew less dark:

"Heigho!" he renounc'd, and “ah, well-a day!” The lover that night sweetly slept on his pillow, And dreamt of gay garlands; ne'er once of the willow.

Peggy. Well said, ma'amselle; though I hate the French in my heart, as a true Englishwoman ought, I'll be friends with their sunshine as long as I live, for making thy blood so lively in thy veins. Was it not for Annette and me, this honse would be worse than a nunnery.

Sophia. Heigho!

Ann. Ay, that's the old tune; it's all night long, sigh, sigh! pine, pine! I can hardly get a wink of sleep.

Peggy. And how is it ever to end? The two fathers, your's and your lover's, are specially circumstanced to make a family alliance. A curate, with forty pounds a year, has endowed his son with two fine qualities to entail his poverty, learning and modesty; and my gentleman (my master, heaven bless him!) is possessed of this mansion, a farm of a hundred acres, a gun, and a brace of spaniels. I should have thought the example so long before your eyes, of living upon love, might have made you

Sophia. Charmed with it, Peggy; and so indeed I am: it was the life of a mother I can never for get. I do not pass an hour without reflecting on the happiness she diffused and enjoyed.

Peggy. Then if you'd follow her example, put a little less sorrow in your sentiment, and a little more sunshine in your countenance, and never sacrifice the main chance for moonshine.

Sophia. Consider my situation, Peggy. Peggy. To be sure I do, and that's why I want you to consider my advice. Helpless souls! you haven't a single faculty to make the pot boil between you. I should like to see you at work in a dairy; your little nice fingers may serve to rear an unfledged linnet, but would make sad work at cramming poultry for market.

Sophia. But you, my good Peggy, ought not to upbraid me; for you have helped to spoil me, by taking every care and trouble off my hands: the bumility of our fortunes ought to have put us more upon a level.

Peggy. That's a notion I can't bear. I speak my mind familiarly to be sure, because I mean no harm; but I never pretend to more than a servant, and you were born to be a lady: I'm sure on't; Í see it, as sure as the gipsies, in every turn of your

countenance.

sion for Trumore out of your head, and my life on't, 'twill do. I dreamt last night I saw you with a bunch of nettles instead of a nosegay, and that's a sure sign of a wedding: let us watch for him at the park gate, and take your aim; your eyes will carry further, and hit surer, than the best gun your father bas.

Ann. Peggy, how odd you are.

Peggy. Yes, my whole life has been an oddity; all made up of chequers and chances; you don't know half of it; but Margery Heartease is always honest and gay, and has a joke for the best and worst of times.

AIR.-(Original.)—PEGGY.

I once was a maiden, as fresh as a rose,
And as fickle as April weather;

I lay down without care, and I wak'd from repose,
With a heart as light as a feather.

I work'd with the girls, I play'd with the men, I was always or romping or spinning; And what if they pilfer'd a kiss now and then? I hope 'twas not very great sinning.

I

married a husband as young as myself,

And for every frolic as willing;
Together we laugh'd while we had any pelf,

And we laugh'd when we had not a shilling.
He's gone to the wars; heav'n send him a prize!
For his pains he is welcome to spend it;
My example, I know, is more merry than wise,
But, lord help me! I never shall mend it.

Ann. It would be a thousand pities you ever should.

Peggy. But here comes your father and Rental, the steward; they seem in deep discourse. Sophia. Let us go in, then; it might displease my father to interrupt them. [Exit into the house. Peggy. Go thy ways, poor girl; thou art more afraid of being interrupted in discoursing with thy own simple heart.

Ann. Peggy, when do you think my sighing time will come?

Peggy. Don't be too sure of yourself, miss; there is no age in which a woman is so likely to be infected with folly, as just when she arrives at what they call years of discretion.

[Exeunt into the house.

Enter RASHLY and RENTAL. Rent. But you are the only tenant upon the manor that has not congratulated our new landlord upon taking possession of his purchase.

Rash. Strange disposition of events! that he, of all mankind, should be a purchaser in this county! (Aside.) I must not see Sir John Contrast.

Rent. Why so? he is prepared; in giving him an account of his tenants, your name wasn't forgot.

Rash. And pray, my friend, how did you describe

me?

man.

Rent. As what I always found you, an honest One can go no further than that word in the praise of a character; therefore, to make him better acquainted with your's, I was forced to tell him the worst I knew of you.

Rash. Good Rental, what might that be?

Rent. I told him you had the benevolence of a prince, with means little better than a peasant; that, consequently, your family was often indebted to your gun (at which you were the best hand in the county) for the only meat in your kitchen. Rash. And what said he to the gun?

Rent. Shook his head, and said, if you were a poacher, woe be to you when his son arrived.