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.

Enter Young WILMOT.

Nor any man like this.
Y. Wilm. Ten thousand joys!

[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;
What dost thou know of Wilmot?

Y. Wilm. This I know:

When all the winds of heaven seemed to conspire
Against the stormy main, and dreadful peals
Of rattling thunder deafened every ear,
And drowned the affrightened mariners' loud
cries;

When livid lightning spread its sulphurous flames
Through all the dark horizon, and disclosed
The raging seas incensed to his destruction;
When the good ship, in which he was embarked,
Broke, and, o'erwhelmed by the impetuous surge,
Sunk to the oozy bottom of the deep,
VOL. I.

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,
Returned no sound articulate but-Charlotte.
Char. The fatal tempest, whose description
strikes

The hearer with astonishment, is ceased;
And Wilmot is at rest. The fiercer storm
Of swelling passions, that o'erwhelms the soul,
And rages worse than the mad foaming seas
In which he perished, ne'er shall vex him more.
Y. Wilm. Thou seemest to think he's dead;

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,
Had cast him from her thoughts-Then, then he
died;

But never can have rest. Even now he wanders,
A sad, repining, discontented ghost,
The unsubstantial shadow of himself,
And pours his plaintive groans in thy deaf ears,
And stalks, unseen, before thee.

Char. 'Tis enough:

Free from the bounds and ties of sordid earth,

Can trace us to our most concealed retreat,
See all we act, and read our very thoughts;
To thee, O Wilmot! kneeling I appeal.
If e'er I swerved in action, word, or thought,
Or ever wished to taste a joy on earth
That centred not in thee, since last we parted;
May we ne'er meet again, but thy loud wrongs
So close the ear of mercy to my cries,
That I may never see those bright abodes,
Where truth and virtue only have admission,
And thou inhabitest now !

Y. Wilm. Assist me, Heaven!
Preserve my reason, memory, and sense!
O moderate my fierce tumultuous joys,
Or their excess will drive me to distraction.
O Charlotte! Charlotte! lovely, virtuous maid!
Can thy firm mind, in spite of time and absence,
Remain unshaken, and support its truth;
And yet thy frailer memory retain
No image, no idea of thy lover?

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.
This vast profusion of extreme delight,
Rising at once, and bursting from despair,
Defies the aid of words, and mocks description.
But for one sorrow, one sad scene of anguish,
That checks the swelling torrent of my joys,
I could not bear the transport.

Y. Wilm. Let me know it:

Give me my portion of thy sorrow, Charlotte!
Let me partake thy grief, or bear it for thee.
Char. Alas! my Wilmot! these sad tears are
thine;

They flow for thy misfortunes. I am pierced
With all the agonies of strong compassion,
With all the bitter anguish you must feel,
When you shall hear your parents-
Y. Wilm. Are no more!

Char. You apprehend me wrong.
Y. Wilm. Perhaps I do;

Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave
Was satisfied with one, and one is left

lotte?

Char. Afflict yourself no more with groundless fears:

Your parents both are living. Their distress,
The poverty, to which they are reduced,
In spite of my weak aid, was what I mourned:
That poverty in age, to them whose youth
Was crowned with full prosperity, I fear,
Is worse, much worse, than death.

Y. Wilm. My joy's complete!

My parents living, and possessed of thee !—
From this blest hour, the happiest of my life,
I'll date my rest. My anxious hopes and fears,
My weary travels, and my dangers past,
Are now rewarded all: Now I rejoice
In my success, and count my riches gain.
For know, my soul's best treasure! I have wealth
Enough to glut even avarice itself:

No more shall cruel want, or proud contempt,
Oppress the sinking spirits, or insult

The hoary heads, of those who gave me being.

Char. 'Tis now, O riches, I conceive your

worth:

And perilous adventures, be the theme
Of many a happy winter night to come.
My present purpose was to intreat my angel,
To know this friend, this other better Wilmot,
And come with him this evening to my father's:
I'll send him to thee.

Char. I consent with pleasure.

Y. Wilm. Heavens! what a night! How shall
I bear my joy!

My parents', your's, my friend's, all will be mine.
If such the early hopes, the vernal bloom,
The distant prospect of my future bliss,
Then what the ruddy autumn! What the fruit,
The full possession of thy heavenly charms!
[Exeunt severally.

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,

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,
To bear the weight of age and want alone.
-I'll try once more—

Enter AGNES, and after her Young WILMOT.
O. Wilm. Returned, my life! so soon!-
Agn. The unexpected coming of this stranger
Prevents my going yet.

Y. Wilm. You are, I presume,
The gentleman to whom this is directed.

[Gives a letter.
What wild neglect, the token of despair,
What indigence, what misery, appears
In this once happy house! What discontent,
What anguish and confusion fill the faces
Of its dejected owners!

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
pain

It is to see them thus, touches my soul
With tenderness and grief, that will overflow.
-They know me not, and yet I shall, I fear,
Defeat my purpose, and betray myself. [Aside.
O. Wilm. The lady calls you here her valued
friend;

Enough, though nothing more should be implied,
To recommend you to our best esteem;
-A worthless acquisition! May she find
Some means that better may express her kind-
ness!

But she, perhaps, has purposed to errich
You with herself, and end her fruitless sorrow
For one, whom death alone can justify
For leaving her so long. If it be so,
May you repair his loss, and be to Charlotte
A second, happier Wilmot! Partial nature,

Who only favours youth, as feeble age
Were not her offspring or below her care,
Has sealed our doom: No second hope shall
spring,

To dry our tears, and dissipate despair.

Agn. The last and most abandoned of our kind,

By heaven and earth neglected or despised,
The loathsome grave, that robbed us of our son,
And all our joys in him, must be our refuge.

Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardoned, or devoted
fiends,

Fear without hope, and wail in such sad strains;
But grace defend the living from despair!
The darkest hours precede the rising sun,
And mercy may appear, when least expected.
O. Wilm. This I have heard a thousand times

O. Wilm. A rare example

Of fortune's changes; apter to surprise
Or entertain, than comfort or instruct.
would reason from events, be just,
And count, when you escaped, how many perished;
And draw your inference thence.

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 shall not rest the worse. If I should sleep
"Till I am asked for, as perhaps I may,

I beg that you would wake me.
Agn. Doubt it not:

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,

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-The Scene continues.
Enter AGNES alone, with the casket in her hand.
Agn. WHO should this stranger be? And then
this casket-

He says it is of value, and yet trusts it,
As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand-
His confidence amazes me-Perhaps

It is not what he says-I am strongly tempted
To open it, and see-No, let it rest!
Why should I pry into the cares of others,
Who have so many sorrows of my own?
With how much ease the spring gives way-Sur-
prising!

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!
Ay, such a treasure would expel for ever
Base poverty, and all its abject train;
Famine; the cold neglect of friends; the scorn,
Or more provoking pity, of the world.
Plenty, content, and power might take their turn,
And lofty pride bare its aspiring head

At our approach, and once more bend before us.
A pleasing dream! 'Tis past; and now I wake.
For sure it was a happiness to think,
Though but a moment, such a treasure mine.
Nay, it was more than thought I saw and

touched

The bright temptation, and I see it yet→
'Tis here 'tis mine-I have it in possession-
Must I resign it? Must I give it back?
Am I in love with misery and want,
To rob myself, and court so vast a loss?
Retain it then-But how? There is a way-
Why sinks my heart? Why does my blood run
cold?

Why am I thrilled with horror? Tis not choice,
But dire necessity suggests the thought.

Enter Old WILMOT.

O. Wilm. The mind contented, with how little pains

The wandering senses yield to soft repose!
He's fallen asleep already-Happy man!
What dost thou think, my Agnes, of our guest?
He seems to me a youth of great humanity :
Just ere he closed his eyes, that swam in tears,
He wrung my hand, and pressed it to his lips;

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.
This casket was delivered to you closed:
Why have you opened it? Should this be known,
How mean must we appear!

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:
I will not die; I will not leave the world
For all that you can urge, until compelled.

O. Wilm. To chase a shadow, when the setting

sun

Is darting his last rays, were just as wise
As your anxiety for fleeting life,
Now the last means for its support are failing:
Were famine not as mortal as the sword,

Your warmth might be excused-But take thy choice:

Die how you will, you shall not die alone.
Agn. Nor live, I hope.

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