I'll be conducted thither-mark me well-
There with his turban, and his robe array'd,
And laid along, as he now lies, supine,
I shall convict her, to her face, of falsehood.
When for Alphonso's she shall take my hand,
And breathe her sighs upon my lips for his;
Sudden I'll start, and dash her with her guilt. And could not pass me unperceiv'd — What,

The king? Confusion! all is on the rout!
All's lost! all ruin'd by surprise and treachery!
Where, where is he? Why dost thou mís-
lead me?

But see, she comes! I'll shun th' encounter;

thou

Follow me, and give heed to my direction.

Enter ZARA and SELIM.

Alon. My lord, he enter'd but a moment since,

hoa!

My lord, my lord, what, hoa! my lord Gonsalez !

[Exeunt.

Sel. Avert it, heav'n! that you should ever
suffer

For my defect; or that the means which I
Devis'd to serve, should ruin your design!
Prescience is heav'n's alone, not giv'n to man.
If I have fail'd in what, as being man
I needs must fail, impute not as a crime
My nature's want, but punish nature in me;
I plead not for a pardon and to live,
But to be punish'd and forgiv'n. Here, strike;
I bare my breast to meet your just revenge.
Zara. I have not leisure now to take so poor
A forfeit as thy life; somewhat of high
And more important fate requires my thought!
Regard me well, and dare not to reply
To what I give in charge; for I'm resolv'd.
Give order that the two remaining mutes
Attend me instantly, with each a bowl
Of such ingredients mix'd, as will with speed
Benumb the living faculties, and give
Most easy and inevitable death.

Yes, Osmyn, yes; be Osmyn or Alphonso,
I'll give thee freedom, if thou dar'st be free:
Such liberty, as I embrace myself,

Thou shalt partake. Since fates no more af-
ford,

I can but die with thee to keep my word.

[Exit.

SCENE II.-Opens and shows the Prison. Enter GONSALez, disguised like a Mute, with a Dagger.

Gon. Nor sentinel, nor guard! the doors

unbarr'd.

Garcia!

Re-enter GONSALEZ, bloody.

Perdition choke your clamours! whence this rudeness?

Gar. Perdition, slavery, and death Are ent'ring now our doors! Where is the king?

What means this blood? and why this face

of horror?

Gon. No matter: give me first to know the

cause

Of these your rash and ill-tim'd exclamations.
Gar. The eastern gate is to the foe betray'd,
Who, but for heaps of slain that choke the
passage,

Had enter'd long ere now, and borne down all
Before 'em, to the palace walls. Unless
The king in person animate our men,
Granada's lost; and to confirm this fear,
The traitor Perez, and the captive Moor,
Are through a postern fled, and join the foe!
Gon. Would all were false as that! for
The Moor is dead. That Osmyn was Alphonso;
whom you call
In whose heart's blood this poniard yet is warm.
Gar. Impossible! for Osmyn was, while

flying,

Pronounc'd aloud by Perez for Alphonso.
Gon. Enter that chamber, and convince
your eyes,

How much report has wrong'd your easy faith.
[Garcia goes in.
Alon. My lord, for certain truth Perez is
fled;

And has declar'd the cause of his revolt
Was to revenge a blow the king had giv'n
him.

Re-enter GARCIA.

Gar. Ruin and horror! O, heart-wounding sight!

Gon. What says my son? what ruin? ha!
what horror?

Gar. Blasted my eyes, and speechless be
my tongue,
Rather than or to see, or to relate
This deed!-O, dire mistake! O, fatal blow!
The king-

Gon. Alon. The king!

Gar. Dead, welt'ring, drown'd in blood! See! see! attir'd like Osmyn, where he lies. [They look in.

And all as still as at the ngon of night!
Sure death already has been busy here.
There lies my way; that door too is unlock'd.
[Looks in.
Ha! sure he sleeps-all's dark within, save what
A lamp, that feebly lifts a sickly flame,
By fits reveals-his face seems turn'd to favour
Th
attempt; I'll steal and do it unperceiv'd.
What noise? somebody coming? 'st, Alonzo!
Nobody. Sure he'll wait without-I would O whence, or how, or wherefore was this done?
Twere done - I'll crawl and sting him to the But what imports the manner of the cause?
Nothing remains to do, or to require,
Then cast my skin, and leave it there to an-But that we all should turn our swords against
Ourselves, and expiate, with our own, his blood.
Gon. O wretch! O, curs'd and rash deluded
fool!

Gar. Where? where, Alonzo, where's my On me, on me, turn your avenging swords! I, who have spilt my royal master's blood,

father? where

32

THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Should make atonement by a death as horrid,
And fall beneath the hand of my own son.
Gar. Ha! what? atone this murder with a

greater!

Re-enter Mutes.

[ACT V.

What have you seen? Ha! wherefore stare

you thus [Mutes return, and look affrighted.

The horror of that thought has damp'd my rage. With haggard eyes? Why are your arms
Gon. O, my son! from the blind dotage
Of a father's fondness these ills arose:

across?

Your heavy and desponding heads hung down?

signs?

For thee I've been ambitious, base, and bloody; Why is't you more than speak in these sad
For thee I've plung'd into this sea of sin;
Stemming the tide with only one weak hand,
While t'other bore the crown (to wreathe thy
brow),

Whose weight has sunk me ere I reach'd the shore.

Give me more ample knowledge of this mourn

ing.

[They go to the Scene, which opening, she

Gar. Fatal ambition! Hark! the foe is en-O Osmyn! O Alphonso! Cruel fate!
Ha! prostrate! bloody! headless! O-I'm lost!
perceives the Body.

ter'd!

The shrillness of that shout speaks 'em at hand. I came prepar'd to die, and see thee dieCruel, cruel, O more than killing object! Alon. My lord, I've thought how to con- But cannot bear to find thee thus, my Osmyn[Shout. Nay, came prepar'd myself to give thee deathO, this accurs'd, this base, this treach'rous king.

ceal the body:

Require me not to tell the means, till done,
Lest you forbid what then you may approve.

[Goes in.

[Goe

Shout.

Gon. They shout again! Whate'er he means

to do,

'Twere fit the soldiers were amus'd with hopes;
And in the mean time fed with expectation
To see the king in person at their head.
Gar. Were it a truth, I fear 'tis now too

late:

But I'll omit no care nor haste; and try

Or to repel their force, or bravely die. [Exit. The mute you sent, by some mischance was

Re-enter ALONZO.

Gon. What hast thou done, Alonzo?
Alon. Such a deed

As but an hour ago I'd not have done,
Though for the crown of universal empire.
But what are kings, reduc'd to common clay?
Or who can wound the dead?-I've from the
body

Sever'd the head, and in an obscure corner
Dispos'd it, muffled in the mute's attire,
Leaving to view of them who enter next,
Alone the undistinguishable trunk;
Which may be still mistaken by the guards
For Osmyn, if in seeking for the king
They chance to find it.

Gon. "Twas an act of horror,
And of a piece with this day's dire misdeeds.
But 'tis no time to ponder or repent.
Haste thee, Alonzo, haste thee hence with
speed,

To aid my son. I'll follow with the last
Reserve, to reinforce his arms: at least,
I shall make good and shelter his retreat.
[Exeunt severally.
Enter ZARA, followed by SELIM, and two
Mutes bearing the Bowls.

Zara. Silence and solitude are every where!
Through all the gloomy ways and iron doors
That hither lead, nor human face nor voice
Is seen or heard.

'Tis not that he is dead! for 'twas decreed
We both should die. Nor is't that I survive;
I have a certain remedy for that.
He knew I lov'd, but knew not to what height;
But oh! he died unknowing in my heart.
Nor that I meant to fall before his eyes,
A martyr and a victim to my vows;
Then wherefore do I pause ? give me the bowl.
Insensible of this last proof he's gone:
[A Mute kneels and gives one
of the Bowls.
Hover a moment yet, thou gentle spirit,
Soul of my love, and I will wait thy flight.
This to our mutual bliss, when join'd above.
O, friendly draught! already in my heart.
[Drinks.
I'll creep into his bosom, lay me there;
Cold, cold! my veins are icicles, and frost.
Cover us close-or I shall chill his breast,
And fright him from my arms-See! see! he

slides

Still further from me; look, he hides his face! I cannot feel it-quite beyond my reach. Let 'em set down the bowls, and warn Al-O, now he's gone, and all is dark

phonso

That I am here-so. [Mutes go in] You re-
turn and find

The king; tell him what he requir'd I've done,
And wait his coming to approve the deed.

[Dies. Mutes kneel and mourn

over her.

Enter ALMERIA and LEOnora. Alm. O, let me seek him in this horrid cell; [Exit Selim. For in the tomb, or prison, I alone

HILL.

AARON HILL, eldest son of George Hill, Esq. of Malmsbury Abbey, Wiltshire, was born in London, Febr. 10, 14. The life of this author presents a most astonishing instance of genius and industry. At the age of 15 we find malone in a vessel bound for Constantinople, on a visit to Lord Paget, ambassador at that court, and a distant relation of his mother's. His Lordship, struck with the ardent desire of knowledge, which had induced this youth to uch an undertaking, provided him with a tutor with whom he travelled through Egypt, Palestine and the greater part of the East. He returned with his Lordship from Constantinople by land; and profited of the occasion of their tay at the different courts to see the greatest part of Europe. 1710, Manager of the King's Theatre, Haymarket, he te the opera of Rinaldo, the music of which was the first of Handel's compositions after his arrival in England. Although no inan could be more qualified for this undertaking, he relinquished the management on account of some

misunderstanding; and turned his thoughts entirely on a project of making sweet oil from beech-nuts. He obtained a patent, and had his fortune been sufficient for the undertaking he would undoubtedly have rendered this attempt of great advantage to the nation; but borrowing a sum of 25,000 pounds, he was obliged to submit to the formation of a company, who were to act in concert with him. These people, with the most sanguine hopes of success and ignorant of the inventor's plans, or perhaps fearing to loose their money, upon a trifling delay of their hopes, immediately com menced representations; these caused disputes, and the whole affair was overthrown just at the time when profits were already rising from it, and, if pursued with vigour, would, in all probability have continued increasing and permanent. Another valuable project, that of applying the timber grown in the north of Scotland to the use of the navy, for which it had bech long erroneously imagined to be unft, he set on foot in 1727: here again we have a terrible account of the obstacles he met with: when the trees were chained together into a raft, the Highlanders could not be prevailed upon to go down the river on them, till he first went himself; and he was obliged to find out a method of doing away with the rocks (by lighting fires on them at low water), which choked up the passage in different parts of the river. The commencement of a lead mine in the same country employing all the men and horses, which had heretofore been at his service, put an end to this undertaking; however he was presented with the freedom of Inverness and Aberdeen, as a compliment for his great exertions. All this time his pen did not continue idle: he produced The progress of Wit, a caveat for the use of an eminent Writer; in which he retorts very severely upon Pope, who had introduced him into The Dunciad, as one of the competitors for the prize offered by the goddess of Dulness. After the death of his wife 1731, he continued in London and in intercourse with the public till about 1758, when he withdrew to Plaistow in Essex, where his indefatigable genius projected many profitable improvements. One he lived to complete, but without benefit to himself, which was the art of making potash, equal to that brought from Russia. Here he wrote and published several poetical pieces; and adapted Voltaire's tragedy of Merope to the English Stage," which was the last work he lived to complete. He died the very day before it was to he represented for his benefit, Feb. 8. 1749, in the very minute of the earthquake. The Biographia Dramatica says him to have been a person of the most amiable disposition, extensive knowledge, and elegant conversation. We find him bestowing the profits of many of his works for the relief of distressed authors and artists; though he would never accept of a benefit for himself, till his distresses at the close of his life obliged him to solicit the acting of Merope for their relief. No labour deterred him from the prosecution of any design which appeared to him to be praiseworthy and feasible, nor was it in the power of the greatest misfortunes to overcome or even shake his fortitude of mind. Although accused of being rather too turgid, and in some places obscure; yet the nervous power, and sterling sense we find in his writings ought to make us overlook our having been obliged to take some little pains in digging through the tock in which it is contained; while his rigid correctness will always make him stand in an exalted rank of merit,

ZARA.

ZARA was first produced 1735; and though it is founded on the principles of religious party, which are generally apt to throw an air of enthusiasm and bigotry into those dramatic works which are built on them, this piece has always been esteemed a very superior one. The Biographia Dramatica says, "It is borrowed originally from the Zuire of Voltaire; an author who, while he resided in England, imbibed so much of the spirit of British liberty, that his writings seem almost always calculated for the meridian of London. Mr. Hill, however, has made this as well as his other translations so much his own, that it is hard to determine which of the two may most properly be called the author of this play." It is remarkable for a very extraordinary event; it is related, that a gentleman of the name of Bond, collecting a party of his friends, got up the play of Zara, at the music room in Villiers Street, York Buildings, and chose the part of Lusignan for himself. His acting was considered as a prodigy; and he yielded himself up so to the force and impetuosity of his imagination, that upon the discovery of his daughter, he fainted away. The house rung with applause; but, finding that he continued a long time in that situation, the audience began to be uneasy and apprehensive. With some difficulty, the representatives of Chatilion and Nerestan placed him in his chair; he then faintly spoke, extended his arms to receive his children, raised his eyes to heaven, and then closed them for ever,

My fate's bound in by Sion's sacred wall:
Clos'd from my infancy within this palace,
Custom has learnt, from time, the power to
please.

I claim no share in the remoter world,
The sultan's property, his will my law;
To live his subject is my only hope.
Unknowing all but him, his power, his fame;
All else, an empty dream-

Sel. Have you forgot
Absent Nerestan then? whose gen'rous friend-
ship

So nobly vow'd redemption from your chains!
How oft have you admir'd his dauntless soul?
Osman, his conqu'ror, by his courage charm'd,
Trusted his faith, and on his word releas'd him:
Though not return'd in time-we yet expect him.
Nor had his noble journey other motive,
Than to procure our ransom.-And is this,
This dear, warm hope, become an idle dream?
Zara. Since after two long years he not
returns,

Tis plain his promise stretch'd beyond his
power,

A stranger and a slave, unknown, like him

Proposing much, means little; talks and vows,
Delighted with a prospect of escape:

He promis'd to redeem ten Christians more,
And free us all from slavery! I own

I once admir'd the unprofitable zeal,
But now it charms no longer.

Sel. What, if yet,

Zara. Can my fond heart, on such a feeble
proof,

Embrace a faith abhorr'd by him I love?
I see too plainly custom forms us all;
Our thoughts, our morals, our most fix'd belief,
Are consequences of our place of birth:
Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan,

He, faithful should return, and hold his vow; In France a Christian, I am here a Saracen:

Would you not, then

Zara. No matter-Time is past.

And every thing is chang'd.

Sel. But whence comes this?

'Tis but instruction all! Our parents' hand
Writes on our heart the first faint characters,
Which time, re-tracing deepens into strength,
That nothing can efface, but death or heaven!

Zara. Go; 'twere too much to tell thee Thou wert not made a pris'ner in this place,

Zara's fate:

Till after reasons, borrowing force from years,
Had lent its lustre to enlighten faith:
For me, who in my cradle was their slave,
Thy Christian doctrines were too lately taught

me:

Yet, far from having lost the rev'rence due,
This cross, as often as it meets my eye,
Strikes through my heart a kind of awful fear!
I honour, from my soul, the Christian laws,
Those laws, which, softening nature by humanity,
Melt nations into brotherhood; no doubt
Christians are happy; and 'tis just to love them.
Sel. Why have you then declar'd yourself
their foe?

Thou blushest, and I guess thy thoughts ac- Why will you join your hand with this proud

cuse me :

Osman's,

But, known me better-'twas unjust suspicion. Who owes his triumph to the Christians' ruin?
All emperor as he is, I cannot stoop
Zara. Ah! who could slight the offer of
To honours, that bring shame and baseness
his heart?

with 'em:

Reason and pride, those props of modesty,
Sustain my guarded beart, and strengthen virtue;
No-I shall now astonish thee; his greatness
Submits to own a pure and honest flame.
Among the shining crowds, which live to please
him,

His whole regard is fix'd on me alone:
He offers marriage; and its rites now wait
To crown me empress of this eastern world.
Sel. Your virtue and your charms deserve

it all:

I talk not of a sceptre, which he gives me: No-to be charm'd with that were thanks too humble!

Offensive tribute, and too poor for love! 'Twas Osman won my heart, not Osman's crown: My heart is not surpris'd, but struck to hear it. I love not in him aught besides himself. If to be empress can complete your happiness, Thou think'st, perhaps, that these are starts of I rank myself, with joy, among your slaves. Zara. Be still my equal, and enjoy my But had the will of heav'n, less bent to bless him, Doom'd Osman to my chains, and me to fill The throne that Osman sits on-ruin and wretchedness

blessings;

For, thou partaking, they will bless me more.
Sel. Alas! but heaven! will it permit this

marriage?

passion:

Catch and consume my wishes, but I wouldWill not this grandeur, falsely call'd a bliss, To raise me to myself, descend to him. Plant bitterness, and root it in your heart?

Have you forgot you are of Christian blood?

[Exit Selima.

Zara. Ah, me! what hast thou said, why A grand March. Enter OSMAN, reading

wouldst thou thus

Recall my wav'ring thoughts? How know I

what, Or whence I am? Heaven kept it hid in dark

ness,

Conceal'd me from myself, and from my blood. Sel. Nerestan, who was born a Christian, here,

a Paper, which he re-delivers to ORASMIN, with Attendants.

Osman. Wait my return, or should there
be a cause

That may require my presence, do not fear
To enter; ever mindful that my own

[Exit Oras. etc. Follows my people's happiness. At length, Asserts, that you like him, had Christian pa-Cares have releas'd my heart to love and Zara. Zara. 'Twas not in cruel absence, to deprive me