The kindly brotherhood of human nature,

And robb'd thee of thy child: yet let me mingle
My penitential, with thy pious tears,

O'er this lov'd form, for whom my heart weeps

blood.

Rosa. Peace, peace, a moment! let my parting spirit Glide gently hence; death hurries on apace. O! welcome! hide me in thy peaceful breast From the dread horrors that surround me here. Confusion, shame, oppress my languid thoughts In this dread moment.-Ye, much-injur'd, pour Compassion on me now! Thou, royal EleanorThou, best of fathers, O, forgive !- -And thou, Beloved Henry!- -Oh!

King. Art thou then gone?

[Dies.

And did thy dying looks and words speak pardon
To thy destroyer? In that parting sigh,
The meekest, kindest spirit, took its flight,
That ever held abode in human breast.
O, sorrowing Clifford! how shall I atone
Thy bleeding injuries?

Cliff. It needs not, Henry;

My child lies dead before me-'T is enough

One grave will hold us both-My failing heart
Had but few drops of life's warm stream remaining-
Grief soon will drink them all.

King. What now can fate do more?

Rain, eyes, rain everlasting floods of tears.
O'er this sad monument of lawless love.

Queen. If thy torn heart can spare from its own anguish

A moment's respite, hear!-Thou know'st me, Henry:
Was cruelty an inmate of this breast,

When thou wert kind and constant? Think what pangs
I must have felt, ere wrought to this black deed;
Let that reflection win one pitying tear

For all my suff'rings, and I ask no more.

King. It shall be so; and we will reign together

In solemn, sad, uncomfortable woe.

Queen. No, Henry, no! the hand that's foul with murder,

(Bear witness, Heaven!) shall ne'er be clos'd in thine.
To the sad cloister and repentant prayer
I give my future life. Hail, gloomy shades!
Ye best befit the execrable wretch,

Who, daring to assume the bolts of

vengeance,

Dealt desolation with unbounded fury,

And shew'd the faults she meant to punish slight,
Compar'd to her, and her atrocious crimes.

[Exit.

King. In this great deed thou hast out gone thy Henry,

Peace to thy troubled soul! Ye hapless pair,
Accept these tears, for ever will they flow,
While memory recalls this dreadful scene.
Here let the gay seducer turn his eyes,
And see the dread effects of lawless love:
Learn, 'tis no single crime, the mischief spreads
To all the dearest ties of social life.

Not only the deluded virgin's heart
Fall's the sad victim of his trait'rous art,
But oft, a prey to one licentious deed,

The friend, the lover, and the parent bleed.

EPILOGUE.

Written by G. COLMAN, Esq.---Spoken by Miss BARSANTI.

GREAT and fair ladies!-Lords, gallant and mighty! Behold a female-fresh from Otaheite.

Stretch to the Southern ocean your idea,

And view, in me, the Princess Oberea.

Full three long hours I've sat, with smother'd rage,
To hear the nonsense of your tragick stage,
To see a queen majestically swagger,

A bowl in this hand, and in this a dagger;
To stab or poison (cruel inclination!)
A maid, who gave a busband consolation.

Ah, ladies! no such queen at Otaheite :
Love there has roses-without thorns to fright ye;
Frolick our days, and to complete our joy,
A Coterie's form'd—'t is call'd the Arreoy,
Where love is free and general as the air,
And every beau gallants with ev'ry fair;
No ceremonies bind, no rule controuls
But love, the only tyrant of our souls!

But pleasure's foreign to these northern climes,
And love, I hear, unknown in these dull times:

Never was maiden in these days caught tripping,
Never was wife on pleasure's ice found slipping :
True to their lords, to gallantry ne'er prone,
Divorces are so rare, the name's scarce known.
Yet in our southern air-at least I'm told
Nor French nor English men was quite so cold;
And, if your poet of to night say true,
Love formerly warm'd British ladies too;
And ladies of all times perhaps might plead,
That modern ladies are the self same breed.

There is a place, I'm told, call'd Doctor's Commons
Whence husbands issue to false wives dread summons ;
For each pretends, an all sufficient elf,

To keep a lady to his precious self.

Yet man, proud man, from Oberea know,
That female follies on your follies grow ;
And all your hopes of constancy are vain,
If marriage binds not in a mutual chain.
If in cold sheets ye leave poor Nell to sleep,
And some fair Rose in Covent-Garden keep;
Think of the ills that wake domestic strife,
The heaviest care of all the cares of life-
A tempting mistress, and an angry wife!

For you, ye fair, whom conscious virtue arms,
And with her graces heightens beauty's charms,
Hear a frail sister on your pity call,

And save air Rosamond a second Fall!

AND

HIPPOLITU S.

A

TRAGEDY.

BY MR. EDMUND SMITH.

ADAPTED FOR

THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,

As performed at the

THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK,
By Permission of the Manager.

The Lines distinguished by inverted Commas, are omitted in the Representation and those printed in Italics are Additions of the Theatres.

LONDON:

Printed for, and under the Direction of, GEORGE CAWTHORN, British Library, STRAND.

MDCCXCVI.