SCENE I.

The Wood. CLEONE is discovered siting by her dead child; over whom she hath form'd a little bower of shrubs and branches of trees. She seems very busy in picking little sprigs from a bough in her hand.

CLEONE sings.

Sweeter than the damask rose
Was his lovely breast;
There, O let me there repose,
Sigh, sigh, and sink to rest.

Did I not love him? who can say I did not?
My heart was in his bosom, but he tore
It out, and cast it from him-Yet I lov'd-
And he more lovely seem'd to that fond heart,
Than the bright cherub sailing on the skirts
Of yonder cloud, th' inhabitant of heaven.
Enter SIFROY, BEAUFORT Senior, ISABELLA,
GLANVILLE, RAGOZIN, Officers, &c.
Beauf. sen. This is the place-And see my
hapless child!

Why, gracious Heaven! why have I liv'd to feel
This dreadful moment? Soft I pray ye tread-
And let us well observe her speech and action.
Sif. Have I done this !-and do I live !-My
heart

Drops blood! but to thy guidance I will bend,
And in forc'd silence smother killing grief.

Glan. [Aside.] Did'st thou not tell me, vil-
lain, she was dead?

Rag. [Aside.] I was deceiv'd--by Heav'n, I
thought her so.

Glan. [Aside.] May hell reward thee!
Beauf. sen. Stay-she rises--hush!
Cle. Soft! soft! he stirs-

O, I have wak'd him-I have wak'd my child!
And when false Glanville knows it, he again
Will murder him.

Beauf, sen. Mark that!

Glan. And are the words

Of incoherent madness to convict me?

Sif. They are the voice of Heaven, detecting murder!

Yes, villain! thy infernal aim appears.

Cle. No, no; all still--As undisturb'd he sleeps As the stolen infant rock'd in th' eagle's nest. I'll call the red-breast, and the nightingale, Their pious bills once cover'd little babes, And sung their dying dirge. Again, sweet birds! Again pour forth your melancholy notes, And sooth once more that innocence ye love. Sif. On that enchanting voice, how my fond beart

Hath hung with rapture!-now too deeply pierc'd,

I die upon the sound. [He advances towards her.
My dearest love,

Thy griefs! and pour into thy wounded mind
Behold thy own Sifroy, return'd to calm
The healing balm of tenderness!

Cle. [Frighted and trembling.] Sweet Heaven,
Protect me! O, if you have pity, save
My infant!-Cast away that bloody steel!
And on my knees I'll kiss the gentle hand
That spar'd my child!-Glanville shall never
know

But we are dead.—In this lone wood we'll live, And I no more will seck my husband's house. And yet I never wrong'd him! never indeed!

Sif. I know thou didst not-Look upon me, love!

Dost thou not know me? I am thy SifroyThy husband-Do not break my heart-O speak! That look will kill me!

Beauf. sen. My dear child! Look upLook on thy father! Am I too forgotten? Is every filial trace in thy poor brain Defac'd-She knows us not!-May Heaven, my

son,

Lend thee its best support! For me-my days Are few; nor can my sorrows' date be long Protracted.

Sif. Say not so! Must I become The murderer of all I hold most dear!

Cle. Yes-yes-a husband once-a father too
I had-but lost, quite lost-deep in my brain
Buried they lie-In heaps of rolling sand--
I cannot find them.

Sif. O heart-rending grief!
How is that fair, that amiable mind,
Disjointed, blasted by the fatal rage
Of one rash moment !

[She goes to her child, he follows.

Let sweet pity veil
The horrors of this scene from every eye!
My child! my child! hide, hide me from that
[Turns away.

sight!

Cle. Stay, stay-for you are good, and will not hurt

My lamb. Alas, you weep,-why should you weep?

I am his mother, yet I cannot weep.
Have you more pity than a mother feels?
But I shall weep no more- -my heart is cold.
Sif. [Falling on his knees.] O mitigate thy
wrath, good Heaven! Thou know'st
My weakness-lay not on thy creature more
Than he can bear: Restore her, O restore!
But if it must not be-if I am doom'd
To stand a dreadful warning to deter
Frail man from sudden rage-Almighty Power,
Then take, in mercy take, this wretched life!

[As he rises, ISABELLA comes forward, and
throws herself at his feet.

Isab. Hear, hear me, sir; my very heart is pierc'd!

And my shock'd soul, beneath a load of guilt, Sinks down in terrors unsupportable.

'Tis Heaven impels me to reveal the crimes,
In which a fatal passion has involv’d me.
Protect me, save me from his desperate rage!
[GLANVILLE suddenly pulls out a short dag-
ger which he had concealed in his bosom;
and attempts to stab her. One of the Offi-
cers wrenches it from him.

Beauf. sen. Ha! seize the dagger!
Sif. Hold thy murderous hand!

Kag. [Aside.] All is betray'd-for me no
safety now,

But sudden flight. [He endeavours to withdraw.
Sif. Stop-seize-detain that slave!
The attempt to fly bespeaks him an accomplice.
[He is seized by the Officers.
Isab. [To GLAN.] Tremble, O wretch ! Thou
seest that Heaven is just,

Nor suffers even ourselves to hide our deeds.
To death I yield-nor hope, nor wish for life-
Permit me to reveal some dreadful truths,
And I shall die content. Thy hapless wife,
Chaste as the purest angel of the sky,
By Glanville is traduc'd-by him betray'd-
Paulet is murder'd-and by his device,
The lovely child. Seduc'd by his vile arts,
And by the flattering hopes of wealth ensnar'd,
Distracting thought! I have destroy'd my soul.
Beauf. sen. Why, why so far from virtue didst
thou stray,

That to compassionate thy wretched fate,
Almost is criminal?

[To GLAN.] But canst thou bear

Can thy hard heart support this dreadful scene! Glan. I know the worst, and am prepar❜d to meet it.

That wretch hath seal'd my death. And had I

but

Aveng'd her timorous perfidy-the rest

I'd leave to fate; and neither should lament My own, nor pity yours.

Sif. Inhuman savage!

But justice shall exert her keenest scourge,
And wake to terror thy unfeeling heart.
Guard them to safe confinement.-Killing sight!
Behold that piteous object !--Her dumb grief
Speaks to my heart unutterable woe!

Horror is in her silence-[He goes to her.] My dear love!

Look, look upon me! Let these tears prevail, And with thy reason, wake thy pity too.

Cle. Again you weep—But had you lost a wife, As I a husband, you might weep indeed! Or had you lost so sweet a boy as mine, 'Twould break your heart!

Sif. Her words are pointed steel!
Have I not lost a wife?--lost a sweet boy?
Indeed I have!-Myself too murder'd them.
Cle. That was unkind-Why did you so?-
But hush!

Let no one talk of murder-I was kill'd-
My husband murder'd me-but I forgave him.

Sif. I cannot, cannot bear!-O torture, tor ture!

Beauf. sen. Collect thyself, and with the humble eye

Of patient hope, look up to Heaven resign'd. Sf. Hope! where is hope!-Alas, no hope for me!

On downy pinions, lo! to heaven she fliesTo realms of bliss-where I must never come! Terrors are mine-and from the depths below, Despair looks out, and beckons me to sink.

Beauf. sen. Assuage thy grief, call reason to
thy aid,

Perhaps we yet may save her precious life;
At least delay not, by some gentle means,
To sooth her to return.

Sif. May soft persuasion dwell upon thy lips!
But ah, can tears or arguments avail,
When reason marks not?

Enter BEAUFORT Junior.

Beauf. jun. Where, where is my sister?
Beauf. sen. Alas! the melancholy sight will
pierce

Thy inmost soul!-But do not yet disturb her.
Distraction o'er her memory hangs a cloud,
That hides us from her.

Sif. My dearest brother, can thy heart receive The wretch, who robb'd it of a sister's love? Beauf. jun. I do forgive thee all——————Alas, my brother!

Most basely wert thou wrong'd. But truth is found

Paulet, though wounded, yet escap'd with life. Sif. Then Heaven is just-But tell me, how escap❜d

Beauf. jun. Thou shalt know all-But stay! my sister speaks--

Cle. [Coming forward.] O who hath done it!

who hath done this deed

Of death-My child is murder'd-my sweet babe Bereft of life!-Thou Glanville! thou art he! Remorseless fiend! destroy a child, an infant!Monster, forbear!-See, see the little heart Bleeds on his dagger's point!

[Looking down to the earth. But lo! the furies!-the black fiends of hell Have seiz'd the murderer! look, they tear his heart

That heart which had no pity! Hark, he shricks,
His eye-balls glare--his teeth together gnash
In bitterness of anguish--while the fiends
Scream in his frighted ear-Thou shalt not mur
der!

Beauf. sen. What dreadful visions terrify her
brain!

To interrupt her must relieve.-Speak to her.
Sif. My dearest love!-cast but one look upon

us!

Cle. [Looking up to heaven.] Is that my infant-Whither do ye bear My bleeding babe! Not yet. O mount not yet, Ye sons of light, but take me on your wings, With my sweet innocent-I come, I come!

Her father and brother take hold of her,

Yet hold; where is my husband-my Sifroy?
Will not he follow? Will he quite forsake
His poor lost wife?-O tell him I was true!

[Swoons. Beauf. sen. Alas, she faints!-I fear the hand of death

Is falling on her. Gently bear her up.
Sf. O God! my heart-

My heart-strings break!-Did not her dying words

Dwell on my name? Did not her latest sigh Breathe tenderness for me?-for me, the wretch, Whose rash suspicion, whose intemperate rage, Abandon'd her to shame!-Ha! gracious Heaven!

Does she not move? Does not returning light Dawn in her feeble eye? Her opening lips Breathe the sweet hope of life.

Cle. Where have I been?

What dreadful dreams have floated in my brain! Beauf. sen. How fares my child?

Cle. O faint! exceeding faint!

My father!-my dear father!-Do I wake?
And am I, am I in a father's arms?
My brother too! O happy!

Beauf. jun. My dear sister!

Sif. Transporting rapture! Will my love return To life, to reason too? indulgent Power!

Cle. What sound, what well-known voice is
that I hear!

Support me, raise me to his long-lost arms!
It is my husband! my Sifroy! my love!
Alas, too faint-I never more shall rise.

Sif. Ah! do not wound me, do not pierce my

heart

With any thought so dreadful. Art thou given
In mockery only to my longing arms?
Raise up thy head, my love, lean on my breast,
And whisper to my soul thou wilt not die.

Cle. How thy sweet accents sooth the pangs of death!

Witness, ye angels, thus in thy dear arms

Bestows upon departed saints, be thine!

Cle. Farewell, my brother! comfort and support

Our father's feeble age---To heal his grief
Will give thy sister's dying moments ease.
Sif. Talk not of death!--We must not, must
not part!

Good Heaven, her dying agonies approach.

Cle. The keenest pang of death, is that I feel For thy surviving woe. Adieu, my love! I do entreat thee with my last, last breath, Restrain thy tears--nor let me grieve to think Thou feel'st a pain I cannot live to cure.

Sif. Might'st thou but live, how light were every pain

Fate could inflict !

Cle. It will not be !-I faint

My spirits fail-farewell-receive me, Heaven.

[Dies.

Sif. She's gone!-for ever gon !---Those

lovely eyes

Are clos'd in death--no more to look on me! My fate is fix'd, and in this tortur'd breast Anguish-remorse--despair-must ever dwell.

Beauf. sen. Offended power, at length with pitying eyes

Look on our misery! Cut short this thread, That links my soul too long to wretched life!

And let mankind, taught by his hapless fate, Learn one great truth, experience finds too late; That dreadful ills from rash resentment flow, And sudden passions end in lasting woe.

[Exeunt.

"Order your coach-conduct me safe to town"Give me my jewels-wardrobe-and my maid, "And pray take care my pin-money be paid: "Else know, I wield a pen-and, for his glory, "My dear's domestic feats may shine in story!

Then for the child-the tale was truly sad"But who for such a bantling would run mad? "What wife, at midnight hour inclin'd to roam, "Would fondly drag her little chit from home? "What has a mother with her child to do? "Dear brats-the nursery's the place for you."

Such are the strains of many a modish fair! Yet memoires-not of modern growth-declare The time has been, when modesty and truth Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth; Ere, in the dice-box, ladies found delight, Or swoon'd, for lack of cards, on Sunday-night; When women hid their necks, and veil'd their faces,

Nor romp'd, nor rak'd, nor star'd, at public places:

Nor took the airs of Amazons-for graces! When plain domestic virtues were the mode, And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad, But cheer'd their offspring, shunn'd fantastic airs, And, with the joys of wedlock, mixt the cares.

Such modes are past-yet sure they merit

praise;

For marriage triumph'd in those wassel days:
No virgin sigh'd in vain, no fears arose,
Lest holy wars should cause a dearth of beaux:
By chaste decorum, each affection gain'd;
By faith and fondness, what she won, maintain'd
'Tis yours, ye fair to mend a thoughtless age,
That scorns the press, the pulpit, and the stage.
To yield frail husbands no pretence to stray,
(Men will be rakes, if women lead the way.)
To sooth-But truce with these preceptive lays!
The muse, who, dazzled with your ancient praise,
On present worth, and modern beauty tramples,
Must own, she ne'er could boast more bright ex
amples. *

ENOUGH of Greece and Rome. The exhausted

store,

Of either nation, now can charm no more:
Even adventitious helps in vain we try,
Our triumphs languish in the public eye;
And grave processions, musically slow,
Here pass unheeded-as a Lord Mayor's shew.
On eagle wings, the poet of to-night,
Soars for fresh virtues to the source of light,
To China's eastern realms; and boldly bears
Confucius' morals to Britannia's ears.
Accept th' imported hoon, as echoing Greece
Received from wand'ring chiefs her golden fleece;
Nor only richer by the spoils become,

But praise th'advent'rous youth who brings them home.

One dubious character, we own, he draws, A patriot, zealous in a monarch's cause!