Enter MICHAEL. Mich. The guests are come-the servants all

returned. Mos. Alicia, be thyself; and mask thy heart [Mosby lifts up Alicia. From every prying eye with courteous smiles. Alic. Thou canst not think me mean enough to live?

Mos. You would not chuse an ignominious death?

Alic. That's all I dread-Might but the silent grave,

When it receives me to its dark abode, Hide, with my dust, my shame!-- might that be,

And Arden's death revenged! 'Tis my sole prayer. If not, may awful justice have her course! [Erit Alicia. Mos. Sister! our lives are thineMar. Though Mosby has shook off humanity, I cannot be his accuser. [Erit Maria. Mos. Follow them, Green, and watch Alicia's conduct.

Green. I will, but cannot answer for my own. O Arden! Arden! could we change conditions! [Erit Green.

B. Will. Why, what a crew of cowards! In the same moment murdering and repenting. Mos. Give me the ring, that is on Arden's finger.

Shake. There. Will you have his purse too? Mos. No, keep that.

B. Will. Thanks for our own: we should have kept the ring,

Were it not too remarkable.

But how must we dispose of the body?

Mos. Convey it through the garden, to the field

Behind the abbey-wall: Michael will shew the

Contracts new horrors, and a deeper black,
From this damned deed.-Mosby, thou hast thy
wish.

Arden is dead; now count thy gains at leisure.
Dangers without, on every side suspicion;
Within, my starting conscience marks such wounds,
As hell can equal, only murderers feel. [A pause.
This, this the end of all my flattering hopes!
O! happiest was I in my humble state :
Though I lay down in want, I slept in peace :
My daily toil begat my night's repose;
My night's repose made day-light pleasing to me.
But now I've climbed the top-bough of the tree,
And sought to build my nest among the clouds:
The gentlest gales of summer shake my bed,
And dreams of murder harrow up my soul.
But hark!-Not yet :-'Tis dreadful being alone.
This awful silence, that, unbroken, reigns
Through earth and air, awakes attention more,
Than thunder bursting from ten thousand clouds:
S'death!-'tis but Michael-Say-

Enter MAYOR, &c.

Mich. They muttered threats and curses, And seemed not satisfied with their reward.

[Exit Michael. Mos. Let them take all. Ambition, avarice, lust, That drove me on to murder, now forsake me. Oh Arden! if thy discontented ghost Still hovers here to see thy blood revenged, View, view the anguish of this guilty breast, And be appeased!

[Exit.

SCENE III-A room in ARDEN's house. A table

spread for supper.

GREEN, BRADSHAW, ADAM FOWL, ALICIA, MARIA, &c.

Brad. Madam, be comforted.

A. Fowl. Some accident, or business unforeseen, detains him thus.

Brad. I doubt not of his safety.

Alic. I thank you, gentlemen; I know you loved My Arden well, and kindly speak your wishes. Enter MOSBY.

Mos. I am ashamed I've made you wait: be seated.

Green. Madam, first take your place.
Alic. Make me not mad-

To me henceforth all places are alike.

[Sits.

Mos. Come, since we want the master of the house,

I'll take his seat for once.

Alic. Dares he do this?

[Aside.

Mos. I'm much afflicted, that he stays so late; The times are perilous.

Green. And he has enemies.

Though no man, sure, did e'er deserve them less. Mos. This day he was assaulted in the street. Green. You saved him then.

Mos. Would I were with him now! Mar. She starts, her looks are wild. [Aside.] How fare you, madam?

Alic. I'm lost in admiration of your brother. Mar. I fear her more than ever. [Aside.]Madam, be merry.

Mos. Michael, some wine. Health and long life to Arden,

[Rising. Alic. The good you wish, and have procured for Arden, [Rising.

Light on thyself!

Mar. For Heaven's sake!

geance!

Mayor. What says the lady?
Mos. Oh! sir, heed her not;

Her husband has not been at home to-night,
And her misboding sorrow for his absence
Has almost made her frantic.

Mayor. Scarce an hour,

Since I beheld him enter here with you!

Mos. The darkness of the night deceived you, sir; It was a stranger, since departed hence. Mayor. That's most surprising! No man knows him better.

Frank. [without] Within there-ho-bar up your gates with care,

And set a watch. Let not a man go by―

FRANKLIN, and others, enter with lights. And every tongue, that gave not its consent To Arden's death, join mine, and cry aloud To Heaven and earth for justice. Honest Arden, My friend, is murdered! Mayor. Murdered!

Green. How? Mos. By whom?

Frank. How shall I utter what my eyes have

seen!

Horrid, with many a gaping wound, he lies
Behind the abbey, a sad spectacle!
O vengeance! vengeance!

Mayor. Justly art thou moved.
Passion is reason in a cause like this.

Frank. Eternal Providence, to whose bright eye Darkness itself is as the noon-day blaze, Who brings the midnight murderer, and his deeds, 3 Q

Arn. So Cristiern holds.

He claims our country as by right of conquest,
A right to every wrong. Even now, 'tis said,
The tyrant envies what our mountains yield
Of health, or aliment; he comes upon us,
Attended by a numerous host, to seize
These last retreats of our expiring liberty.
And. Say'st thou ?

Arn. This rising day, this instant hour,
Thus chaced, we stand upon the utmost brink
Of steep perdition, and must leap the precipice,
Or turn upon our hunters.

And. Now, Gustavus!

Thou prop and glory of inglorious Sweden, Where art thou, mightiest man?-Were he but here!

I'll tell thee, my Arnoldus, I beheld him, Then when he first drew sword, serene and dreadful,

As the browed evening ere the thunder break; For soon he made it toilsome to our eyes

To mark his speed, and trace the paths of conquest.

In vain we followed, where he swept the field;
'Twas death alone could wait upon Gustavus.
Arn. He was, indeed, whate'er our wish could
form him.

And. Arrayed and beauteous in the blood
Danes,

The invaders of his country, thrice he chaced
This Cristiern, this fell conqueror, this usurper,
With rout and foul dishonour at his heels,
To plunge his head in Denmark.

of

Arn. Nor ever had the tyrant known return, To tread our necks, and blend us with the dust, Had he not dared to break through every law That sanctifies the nations, seized our hero, The pledge of specious treaty, tore him from

us,

And led him, chained, to Denmark.
And. Then we fell.

If still he lives, we yet may learn to rise,

Unknown, unfriended, compassed round with wretchedness,

Conceals some mighty purpose in his breast,
Now labouring into birth.

And. When came he hither?

Arn. Six moons have changed upon the face of night,

Since here he first arrived, in servile weeds,
But yet of mein majestic. I observed him,
And, ever as I gazed, some nameless charm,
A wondrous greatness not to be concealed,
Broke through his form, and awed my soul be-
fore him.

Amid these mines, he earns the hireling's portion;

His hands out-toil the hind; while, on his brow,
Sits Patience, bathed in the laborious drops
Of painful industry-I oft have sought,
With friendly tender of some worthier service,
To win him from his temper; but he shuns
All offers, yet declined with graceful act,
Engaging beyond utterance: and, at eve,
When all retire to some domestic solace,
He only stays, and, as you see, the earth
Receives him to her dark and cheerless bosom.

And. Has no unwary moment e'er betrayed The labours of his soul, some favourite grief, Whereon to raise conjecture?

Arn. I saw, as some bold peasants late de