Beauty in Distress. A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the Theatre in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields. By His Majesty's Servants.  
Written by Mr. Motteux.  
With a Discourse of the Lawfulness & Unlawfulness of Plays, Lately written in French by the Learned Father Caffaro, Divinity-Professor at Paris. Sent in a Letter to the Author By a Divine of the Church of England.  
LONDON, Printed for Daniel Brown, at the Black Swan and Bible without Temple-bar; and Rich. Parker at the Unicorn under the Piazza of the Royal Exchange. 1698.  
There is newly published, The Usefulness of the Stage, to the Happiness of Mankind, To Government, and To Religion. Occasioned by a late Book, written by Jeremy Collier, M. A. By Mr. Dennis. Printed for Rich. Parker.   

To the Honourable Henry Heveningham, Esq  
SIR,  
AS Beauty in Distress has always found Protection from the Generous and the Brave, to throw herself into honourable Hands and hospitable Walls, she seeks a Patron here; fearless even of greater Dangers than those she has happily escaped, when Your condescending Goodness emboldens her to aspire to Favours which her humble Thoughts would scarce permit her to expect. But while my fair Unfortunate rests secure under so auspicious a Roof, my unhappier Hero will inevitably be lost there: He'll find that Sweetness of Temper, that Gracefulness, that Tenderness of Soul, and every lovely Qualification so much above him, that, where he enters with Pride, he will sit down with Envy. He will find You dividing your equally grateful Conversation betwixt the gravity of the Wise, the gaiety of the Witty, and the easy sprightliness of the Fair, and entertaining the Solid, the Ingenious and the Beauteous, so as to improve the first, cheer the second, and charm the last. For, as none seems to have more studied the Art of pleasing those whom the Best deserving would please, so a particular Genius of Gallantry distinguishes You from most of those who make any considerable Figure among the Beau monde. You wisely consider that by such a Spirit the best Men have been inspired with Sentiments productive of the noblest Actions, and 'tis chiefly owing to such Examples as Yourself, that 'tis kept up in this degenerating Age, when so many seem fondest of estranging themselves from the most harmless Recreations and Improvements. More happy those, who, like You, are convinced, that, by a pleasing Converse with the other Sex, ours insensibly gains that graceful Deportment, that elegant Politeness, and those Accomplishments which the ingenious Fair seldom fail to impart more effectually than the most lavish Nature itself, and even that Love of Glory, which a desire to please 'em awakes or rather inspires in Hearts. In that engaging Society, Learning soon loses its Pedantry, Youth its Indiscretion, and Bravery its Roughness; and Man becomes with Ease and Pleasure an absolute Master of those Graces that change a rude Mass into a perfect Gentleman. But I ought not to dwell on the Praise of others, while I have so fair an opportunity to enlarge on Yours. The Character which You have still maintained, is what the ablest Pens might be ambitious of Drawing; but what Colours of Speech shall Rethoric, or Poetry itself, that bolder Painting, use, to do Justice to the great Original? If like too many others you had need to borrow some Glory from the reflected Lustre of your Ancestry, the remotest Ages would supply you with hereditary Marks of Honour, while we trace up Yours long before the Conquest, and find among the many noble Branches of so Illustrious a Family, some of your Ancestors enriching your Scutcheon in the Holy Wars by extraordinary Achievements of Honour. and the acquisition of Laurels before the Walls of Jerusalem; and one particularly, killing in single Combat the Champion of the Saracens before the King and the whole Army, to the immortal Glory of his Name and Country.  
But we need not look so far back as to Chronicles and Monuments, when we have living Objects of Admiration; before us Artful Painters, when they would copy such, endeavour to set every Perfection in its truest light, and either to veil, extenuate, or throw into shades those defects of which Nature is so seldom free; they strive to heighten every grace, yet so as to preserve the original Likeness, and give an advantageous Idea of what they represent. While thus they flatter Nature, I could only wish the first of these Talents, conscious that I should have no occasion to exert the others, to give a just Idea of your Accomplishments. But extrordinary Qualifications are yet more uneasily described to the Eyes of the Mind, than extraordinary Features to those of the Body, and I have not so much of the Author, but that a Sense of Modesty and my own Incapacity, check my presumptuous Desires. Besides, even Truth itself begins to cease to please the most deserving, when it makes too bold with their Praise; and the illnatured World is apt to term that Flattery, which often is but a just Acknowledgement, and the Incentive, and only Reward of Virtue in this World; the want of Merit of most Men making 'em displeased to hear the Worth of others, and their Envy and uncharitable Thoughts charging the fairest and most lively Complexions with using Artifice. For my part, I hope never to seem so imprudent as to debase with Flattery the real Worth which I would extol; I know that thus to add imaginary Virtue to the true, is like the injudicious laying paint on a good Face, where some natural Beauty is wanting, this only serves to disgrace the other Charms, and make Deformity more conspicuous. Yet, without so much as attemping a slight Sketch of your particular Endowments, (though most Poetical Dedications have more of the Picture than of the Epistle) to whom should aspiring writers make their Court, but such as You, by whose countenancing Generosity, Poetry, Music, and other ingenious Arts are encouraged? You, whose known Zeal for those whom you espouse, and Humanity to all the world, make every one fond of sharing your Smiles. 'Tis as You influence those whom we are proudest of pleasing, that even our most laboured Pieces must expect to be received; and as You supply us with Instructions and Examples, that we are enabled to succeed. 'Tis not from the vulgar Order of men that we must learn to write to the Heart, to touch the Soul, to trifle agreeably, be witty without Affectation, solid without Dulness, lofty without Bombast, and familiar without Meanness.  
But I ought to finish this Address, lest I usurp some of those Moment's which are due to your more entertaining Diversions; and as the Business of this Epistle is not more to secure to this Tragedy the Honour of your Patronage, than to assure You of the deep Respect of the Author, I cannot conclude better than with a Solemn Protestation of being eternally, with the utmost Veneration.  
Your most humble and Most obedient Servant, Peter Motteus.   

The PREFACE.  
I Have no reason to complain of the Reception which this Tragedy met with, though it appeared first at a time not very favourable to Composures of this kind, and divested of all the things that now recommend a Play most to the Liking of the Many. For it has no Singing, no Dancing, no mixture of Comedy, no Mirth, no change of Scene, no rich Dresses, no Show, no Rants, no Similes, no Battle, no Killing on the Stage, no Ghost, no Prodigy; and, what's yet more, no Smut, no Profaneness, nor Immorality. Besides: 'tis a single Plot, and the whole Story, notwithstanding the great number of Turns in it, is transacted on one individual spot of ground, and in no more Time than the Representation takes up, which is an uncommon Confinement; the rather if you consider that the Scenes are unbroken, no two and two coming on to talk and then go out merely because they had no more to say. Here I studied to bring the Actors to that Place only because they have Business there, and make 'em go away because their concerns call for them elsewhere yet never without leaving some Actor on, from the Beginning to the End of the Act. Add to this the Confinement in writing to a Moral, the whole design tending to make good the last line in the Poem; and the Difficulty in clothing a Fiction like this with words that may keep up the dignity of Verse, while the Tale requires all the Freedom and natural Turn of Prose.  
I had the satisfaction of seeing the Audience pleasingly surprised by the Turns in the Plot; and if, as I am willing to believe, they came on somewhat too fast, 'tis a Fault which I can with ease avoid another time. Perhaps they only seem so now, because several things were left out, to make the Play the shorter.  
Such as it is, it has had the honour of forcing Tears from the fairest Eyes, and what I cannot too thankfully and humbly acknowledge, of being the happy occasion of recommending me to Her Royal highness's Bounty; Her Princely Gift alone outweighing the Benefit of a sixth Representation: This most excellent and pious Princess being pleased to encourage thus an inoffensive Writer, doubtless that he may still keep to strict Morality, even in the circumstances of a melancholic Fortune.  
I might say something now of the present Disputes about the Lawfulness or Unlawfulness: of the Stage, but refer you to the following Letter, which (as the Booksellers, who are men of fair and unquestioned Reputation, and above countenancing any little trick, can testify) was really writ by a worthy Divine of the Church of England.  
I cannot be too cautious; for I find my uninterrupted good success has raised me Enemies. But, since 'tis common for better Pens than myself to be abused by the worst, as long as my Writings continue to be as well received as they have been from the first, I can calmly leave Envy and Detraction in their deserved Obscurity.  
I only beg leave to add the following lines, out of a Poem which before I wrote for the Stage I inscribed to a reverend Clergyman: As they were then my sentiments, they are, and I hope will be still▪   

The Poet's Character of himself.  
To what hard Fate a Muse her Votaries binds,  
Still forced by need to rack their wearied minds;  
To soothe a dull, ungrateful, impious age,  
Th' eternal Drudges of the Press and Stage;  
This moment baffled, thoughtless of the past,  
Still rich in hopes, and wretched to the last;  
Inspired by Fits, but oftener dull than wise,  
And fond of Fame, which yet they sacrifice!  
Ah, cruel Fortune, Tyrant of my Life,  
To Fools so kind, with Poets still at strife,  
Thou mayst constrain thy Slave to lose his right  
To dear-bought Fame, the Poet's best delight;  
But never shall my dearer Honour be,  
Thou Prostitute, a Prostitute to thee.  
Oh, let me ne'er profane celestial Fire,  
Quench sacred Flames, or kindle loose Desire;  
Or, to base Flattering and Detraction bent,  
Poison the Weak, and stab the Innocent.  
Oh! that my Muse in some Retreat might sing  
Britain's great Ruler, and heavens' greater King!  
Even our winged Brother-Poets of the Grove  
Strive here below to rival those above.  
Each morning they their warbling voices raise,  
Inspired by Nature, Nature's God to praise.  
The labouring Swain by them beguiles his Cares,  
Yet by his Arts, their callow Brood ensnares;  
Then, blinded taught t' unlearn their native strain,  
And caged for life, the wretches sing for Grain.  
So 'tis with us, at first by Nature free,  
Our Lays were sacred as our Deity:  
But by a selfish World enslaved, while young,  
Blinded by Vice, we're taught a meaner Song:  
Kept close and bare, we ne'er enjoy the Spring,  
The Town our Cage, where we must starve or sing.   

A LETTER FROM A Divine of the CHURCH of ENGLAND, To the Author of the TRAGEDY called, BEAUTY in DISTRESS, Concerning the Lawfulness and Unlawfulness of Plays.  
SIR,  
SINCE you have been pleased to desire my Opinion about the lawfulness or unlawfulness of writing Plays for the Stage, I shall give it you with all the Freedom and Impartiality which becomes one of my Function. Upon reflecting on the present Management of our theatres, on the Actions, Humours, and Characters which are daily represented there, which are for the most part so Lewd and Immodest, as to tend very much to the debauching the Youth and Gentry of our English Nation; I might very well dissuade you from giving any Countenance to such unmanly Practices, by offering any of your Works to the service of the Stage.  
But though the Theatral Representations are become an Offence and Scandal to most, yet I am not of their Mind, who think Plays are absolutely unlawful, and the best way to Reform is wholly to suppress them: For certainly they might be of very great use, not only for the Diversion and Pleasure, but also for the correction and information of Mankind. 'Tis no Crime to eat or drink, but the Sin lies in the excessive and immoderate Use, or rather abuse of those things which we either eat or drink: the Case is much the same with Plays. In their own Nature they are innocent and harmless Diversions; but then indeed they become sinful and unlawful, to be made, acted, or seen, when they transgress the bounds of Virtue and Religion; shock our Nature, put our Modesty to the blush; imprint nauseous and unbecoming Images on our Minds; and in a word, when they are such as are a scandal to the Author, and an offence to the Audience.  
I am not willing (Sir) to believe so hardly of the Age, (tho 'tis bad enough in all Conscience) but that most of the Persons who frequent the Theatres, would be as well pleased to see a Play of Decorum and Modesty acted, as they would be to see a lewd and Atheistical Comedy. 'Tis upon this consideration that I am willing to encourage you in your design of writing Plays for the Stage; for you have too much Prudence, Honour, and Conscience, to subject the sacred Nine to base and servile ends. 'Tis to be hoped that such as you may be a means of reforming the Abuses of the Stage, and of showing the World that a Poet may be a man of Sense and Parts, without renouncing his Virtue.  
I shall not trouble you at present with any farther Thoughts of my own, but will here give you the sentiments of a very judicious Divine upon this Subject. It seems he was consulted by a Gentleman, whether Plays were lawful or not, and whether he might in Conscience exercise his Parts that way: To this the Divine replies in the ensuing Letter, showing how far Plays are lawful and necessary, and when they become unlawful and sinful; the Resolution of this will, I presume, come up to your Purpose.  
The LETTER is as follows.  
SIR,  
I Have avoided as much as I could giving you my Opinion in writing about Plays, considering the niceness of the Subject, and my own Incapacity: But since you press me still to cure you of that scrupulous Fear which lies upon your Mind, I must pass over those two Difficulties, choosing rather to expose myself on your account, than not to ease you of your Doubts. In truth, Sir, the more I examine the Holy Fathers, the more I read the Divines, and consult the Casuists, the less able I find myself to determine any thing in this matter. I had no sooner found something in favour of the Drama among the Schoolmen, who are almost all of them for allowing it, but I perceived myself surrounded with abundance of passages out of the Councils and the Fathers, who have all of them declaimed against public Shows.  
This Question would have been soon determined, if the Holy Scripture had said any thing about it. But as Tertullian very well observes, We no where find that we are as expressly forbidden in Scripture to go to the Circus and Theatre, to see the fightings of Gladiators, or be assisting in any Show, as we are forbid to worship Idols, or the being guilty of Murder, Treason and Adultery. If you read the Scriptures over and over, you will never meet with any express and particular precept against Plays. The Fathers assert that we cannot in Conscience be any ways assisting to the Drama; the Schoolmen maintain the contrary: Let us therefore endeavour to make use of St. Cyprian's Rule, who says, That Reason is to be heard where Holy Writ is silent; and let us try to reconcile the conclusions of the Divines with the determination of the Fathers of the Church.  
But because 'tis a very nice Point, and the question consists in reconciling them together, I will not advance any thing of my own Sentiments, but bring St. Thomas Aquinas to speak for me; who being on one side a very Religious Father, and Holy Doctor of the Church, and on the other side, the Angel of the School, the Master and Head of all the Divines, seems to me the most proper of any to reconcile the disagreeing Opinions of both parties. In the second part of his Sums, among others, he starts this Question, What we ought to think of Sports and Diversions? And he returns in answer to himself, That provided they be moderate, he does not only not think them sinful, but in some measure good and conformable to that Virtue which Aristotle styles Eutrapelia, whose business 'tis to set just bounds to our Pleasures. The reason which he alleges for it is this, That a man being fatigued by the serious actions of Life, has need of an agreeable Refreshment, which he can find no where so well as in Plays: and to back his Opinion, that great Casuist produces that of St. Augustin in his own words, In short, I would have you take care of yourself, for 'tis the part of a Wise man, sometimes to unbend his Mind which is too intent upon his Bussness.  
Now, continues St. Thomas, How can this relaxation of the Mind be effected, if not by diverting Words or Actions? 'Tis not therefore sinful or unbecoming a wise and virtuous Man, to allow himself some innocent Pleasures. This holy Doctor does even in some sort reckon it a Sin to refrain from Diversion; Because (says he) whatever is contrary to Reason, is vicious; now 'tis contrary to Reason that a man should be so unsociable and hard upon others, as to oppose their innocent Pleasures, never to bear a part in their Diversions, or contribute to 'em by his Words or Actions. Therefore Seneca had a great deal of reason to say upon this occasion, Demean yourselves in your Conversation with so much Prudence and Discretion, that none may charge you with being morose, or despise you as one unfit for human Converse: for 'tis a Vice to fall out with all Mankind, and thus to be imputed a morose and savage Creature.  
'Tis easy, Sir, to determine from those words of that Father, that under the general term of Recreations he comprehends the Drama, when he says, that this unbending of the Mind, which is a Virtue, is performed by diverting Words and Actions. Now what is more proper and peculiar to Plays than this, since they only consist in jocose and witty Words and Actions, such as produce delight and recreate the mind? I do not think you will find in any other Diversion, Words and Actions thus united together. But harken, I beseech you, once more to this great Scholar.  
It seems (says he) as if those Players who spend their whole lives on the Stage, did transgress the bounds of innocent Diversion. If then excessive Diversion be a Sin (as certainly 'tis) the Players are in a state of Sin; and so likewise are all those who assist at Stage-representations, and they who give any thing to them are, as it were, Abetters of their Sin; which seems to be false; for we read in the Lives of the Fathers, that one day it was revealed to St. Paphnutius, That in the other Life he should not arrive to a higher degree of Glory than a certain Player.  
If the Objection which St. Thomas here starts be nice, his Answer is as delicate and solid. Diversion (replies this excellent Doctor) being therefore necessary for the comfort of human Life, we may appoint several Employments for this very end, which are lawful. Thus the Employment of Players being established to afford men an honest Recreation, has nothing in it, in my mind, which deserves to be prohibited; and I do not look upon them to be in a state of Sin, provided they make use of this sort of Recreation with moderation, that is, provided they neither speak nor act any thing which is unlawful; mix nothing that is Sacred with Profane, and never act in a prohibited time. And though they may have no other employment of Life, with respect to other Men, yet with respect to themselves and to God, they have other very serious Employments, such as when they pray to God, govern their Passions, and give Alms to the Poor. From hence I conclude, that those who in moderation pay or assist them are guilty of no Sin, but do an act of justice, since they only give them the reward of their labour. But if any one should squander away his whole Estate upon them, or countenance Players who act after a scandalous and unlawful way, I make no question but that he sins, and gives them encouragement to sin; and 'tis in this sense that St. Augustin's words are to be taken, when he says, That to give one's Estate away to Players, is rather a Vice than a Virtue.  
To prove that 'tis only the Excess which ought to be condemned in all Sports and Diversions, and that the holy Fathers had no other design in declaiming against Plays, St. Thomas explains what he means by Excess, and lays it down as an indispensible Maxim, That in every thing which may be regulated according to Reason, that which transgresses this Rule is to be reckoned superfluous, and that which does not come up to it defective. Now, continues he, diverting Words and Actions may be regulated according to Reason: The Excess therefore in them is, when they do not agree to this Rule, or are defective by the Circumstances which ought to be applied to them. 'Tis upon this Maxim that we ought to return answer to the Authorities of the Fathers of the Church, since according to St. Thomas, they declaim only against the Excess in Plays, and we shall offer nothing on this subject, but in imitation of this great Doctor, who, as his way was, applying to all the Fathers the Answer which he gives to only one, answers St. Chrysostom in this manner. That eloquent Father had said, that it was not God who was the Author of Sports, but the Devil; and the more to back what he had advanced, produced this passage out of holy Writ; The people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play. But St. Thomas is for having those words of the great Chrysostom, to be understood of excessive and immoderate Sports; and he adds, That Excess in play is a foolish pleasure, styled by St. Gregory the Daughter of Gluttony and Sin; and that in this sense it is written, that the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play. This is the Answer which we are to make to whatever may be objected against us out of the Fathers, and the rather, because in examining them without prejudice, 'tis easy to perceive, that if they did declaim so much against the Drama, it was only because in their times its Excess was criminal and immoderate; whereas had they seen it as 'tis nowadays in France, conformable to good Manners and right Reason, they would not have inveighed against it. But Plays as they were acted in the time of our Forefathers, were so abominable and infamous, that those Pious men could not but employ their greatest Zeal against a thing which was so very offensive to the Church. For is it not the excess of Plays, for instance, against which Tertullian cries out, when he says; Let us not go to the Theatre, which is a particular Scene of Immodesty and Debauchery, where nothing is liked but what is disapproved elsewhere; and what is thought most excellent, is commonly what is infamous and lewd. A Player, for instance, acts there with the most shameful and naked Gestures; Women forgetting the modesty of their Sex, dare do that on the Stage, and in the view of all the World, which others would blush to commit at home where no body could see them. There they represent the Rape of Virgins, the infamous Victims of public Debauchery; so much the more wretched, because exposed to the view of such Women as are supposed to be ignorant of such Licentiousness. They are there made the subject of the young men's mirth; there you are directed to the place where they prostitute themselves; there they tell you how much they get by their infamous Trade, and there in a word those Strumpets are commended in the presence of those who ought to be ignorant of all those things. I say nothing, adds this Father, of what ought to be buried in eternal silence, for fear that by barely mentioning such horrid Actions, I should in some measure be guilty of them.  
But the other Fathers are not so reserved as he, and make no scruple to discover all they know about it. You must not imagine that I am ambitious of quoting all they have said: Those matters which are so freely handled in another Language, might prove offensive in ours; therefore I will only leave you to guests what Exorbitances they have mentioned, by some of those lesser Infamies of which I dare give an account out of their Writings.  
Salvian was afraid to say any thing about it: Who (says he) can treat of those shameful Representations, those dishonest Speeches, and of those lascivious and immodest Actions, the enormity and offence of which are discoverable by that restraint which they in their own nature impose upon us not to rehearse them?  
Lactantius is not so reserved, his most favourable Thoughts about it are these. To what end do those impudent Actions of the Players tend, but to debauch the Youth of the Age? Their effeminate Bodies in womens' dresses, represent the most lascivious Gestures of the most dissolute. And a little lower, he says, From the licentiousness of Speech, they proceed to that of Action: they, at the instance of the people, strip, debauched Women stark naked on the public Theatre, etc. Pray be you Judge, whether what this Father adds, can be acceptable to modesty.  
St. Cyprian, who ex professo composed a Book of public Shows, describes at large all the infamous Practices there. We may also read something of that abominable Custom of their appearing naked on the Theatres, in St. Chrysostom, St. Jerom, and St. Augustin. The first of these does not scruple comparing those of his time who went to Plays to David, who took pleasure in seeing Bathsheba naked in her Bath; and saying that the Theatre is the Rendezvouz of all manner of Debaucheries, that 'tis full of Impudence, Abomination, and Impiety. A more modern Writer (viz. Alexander ab Alexandro) describing the Shows of the Ancients, and especially their Bacchanalia, gives us such horrible Pictures of their public Infamies and Prostitutions, that I should tremble to repeat them. You may imagine, Sir, there could be nothing of good in them, since the infamous Heliogabalus was the Author of some of them. But lest you should suppose that Plays were much the same as they are now; and that 'twas only to dissuade the faithful from frequenting the Stage, that the Fathers represented it in such frightful Colours; let us consult profane Authors. Valerius Maximus, speaking of the detestable Custom which the Romans had, of exposing upon the Theatre the naked Bodies of debauched Women, and the naked Bodies of young Boys, relates of M. P. Cato, that he being one day at those sights, and understanding by his Favourite Favonius, that out of the Respect which they bore to him, the People were ashamed to desire the Players should appear naked on the Theatre; this great man withdrew, that he might not by his presence hinder that which was so customary. Seneca gives us the same Account of Cato, and commends him for his being unwilling to see those debauched Women naked. I dare not repeat to you the words of Lampridius, because they are too fulsome, when he says, that the Emperor Heliogabalus, who in a Play represented Venus, showed himself all naked upon the Stage with the utmost signs of Impudence. We also find that the public Shows of the Ancients were as dreadfully impious, as they were immoral. There (says St. Chrysostom) they blaspheme the Name of God, and no sooner have the Players vented a blasphemous Expression, but a loud Applause follows. This is what obliged the third Council of Carthage by a Canon to condemn Players as Blasphemers: Let not the Laics themselves be present at the Shows, for it has been always unlawful for any Christian to go into the Company of Blasphemers.  
Now who would not cry down the Stage, if it were so full of Immorality and Profaneness? There is no need of being one of the Fathers, the Light of Nature is sufficient to condemn so great an Excess. Thus we read in St. Chrysostom, That certain Barbarians having heard of those Theatral Plays, expressed themselves in those terms worthy of the greatest Philosophers, viz. 'Tis fit that the Romans, when they invented this kind of Pleasures, should be looked upon as Persons who had neither Wives nor Children. And Alcibiades among other things is commended for having cast a certain Comedian, named Eupolis, into the Sea, for being so impudent as to repeat some infamous Verses in his presence, adding at his Punishment this Expression, Thou hast plunged me often in the debaucheries of the Stage, and for once I will plunge thee into the depths of the Sea.  
You may easily perceive, Sir, that all those passages out of the Fathers, and a thousand others which I could produce out of them against Stage-Plays, prove nothing against the Drama as it now stands in France. It would be superfluous to stand making a Comparison between the one and the other; I desire that you would only take notice, that far from weakening the Doctrine of St. Thomas, all that has been hitherto alleged serves only to strengthen it: For 'tis only against the Excess of the Stage that the Fathers appeared so zealous, whereas if they had found it divested of those unhappy Circumstances which then attended it, they would have been of St. Thomas' Opinion, and at least have looked upon it as indifferent.  
I thought it proper to relate all this to you before I ventured to discover my own Thoughts on this Subject; and upon those indisputable Principles which I have laid down, I affirm, that in my Judgement, Plays in their own Nature, and taken in themselves, independent from any other Circumstance whether good or bad, aught to be reckoned among the number of things purely indifferent. Upon due examination you will find it to be the Opinion even of Tertullian and St. Cyprian, the two who seem to declaim most against the Drama.  
To begin with Tertullian, at the same time that he abominates the infamy of public Shows, he starts this Objection to himself: God (says he) has made all things, and given them to men, and consequently they are all good, such as the Circus, Lions, Voices, etc. What then makes the use of them unlawful? To this he answers, That 'tis true, all things were instituted by God, but that they were corrupted by the evil Spirit: That Iron, for instance, is as much God's Creature as Plants and Angels; that notwithstanding this, God did not make these Creatures to be instruments of Murder, Poison, and Magic, though men by their Wickedness deprave them to those Uses; and that what renders a great many things evil, which in their own nature are indifferent, is not their Institution but Corruption. From hence, if we apply this way of arguing to public Shows, it follows, that considered in their own nature, they are as harmless as Angels, Plants, and Iron; but that 'tis the evil Spirit that has changed, perverted, and spoiled 'em. You see then that Tertullian has reckoned Stage-Plays among indifferent Actions, and that what he condemns in them is only the Excess.  
St. Cyprian, speaking of David's dancing before the Ark, owns that there is no harm in dancing or singing; but yet, says he, this is no excuse for Christians, who are present at those lascivious Dances and impure Songs, which are in honour of Idols. Whence 'tis easy for you to infer, that this holy Doctor does not absolutely condemn Dancing, Singing, Operas, and Comedies, but only those Shows that represented Fables after the lascivious manner of the Greeks and Romans, and which were celebrated in honour of Idols. This is likewise St. Bonaventure's Opinion, who says expressly, That shows are good and lawful if they are attended with necessary Precautions and Circumstances. The great Albertus his Master taught him this Doctrine: and the words which I met with upon this Subject in St. Antoninus, Archbishop of Florence, are so pertinent that I cannot forbear inserting them here. The profession of a Comedian (says he) because it is useful for the Diversion of men which is requisite, is not forbidden in its own nature: from whence it follows, that it is no less lawful to get one's Livelihood by this Art, etc. And in another place, Comedy is a mixture of pleasant Speeches and Actions, for the Diversion of a man's self, or for that of ather. If nothing is mixed in it either unbecoming, or an Affront to God, or prejudicial to one's Neighbour, 'tis an effect of that Virtue which is called Eutrapelia; for the Mind which is fatigued by internal Cares, as the Body is by external Labour, has as much need of Repose as the Body has of Nourishment. This Repose is procured by those kind of diverting Speeches and Actions which are called Plays. Can any thing, Sir, be said of greater weight in favour of Comedy? Yet he who says it, is a Man of undoubted sanctity: How comes it to pass that he does not declaim as loudly against it, as the Ancients did? 'Tis because the Drama grows more correct and perfect every day; and I have observed in reading the Holy Fathers, that the nearer they come to our times, the more favourable they are to Plays, because the Stage was not so licentious as before. Thus likewise we see, that it is not prohibited by the Saint of our times, the great Francis de Sales, who might without dispute serve as a pattern to all Directors. And Fontana de Ferrara in his Institutes relates, That the famous Saint, Charles Borromeus, allowed Stage-Plays in his Diocese, by an Order in the year 1583. yet upon condition, that before they were acted they should be revised and licenced by his grand Vicar, for fear any thing which is immodest should be in them. This pious and learned Cardinal did then allow of modest Comedies, and condemned only the Immodest and Profane, as appears by the third Council which he held at Milan in the year 1572.  
Beside this multitude of Testimonies which are in my favour, I might likewise form a strong Proof taken from the Words and Practice of the Holy Fathers in general, and observe that those who have cried out so mightily against the Stage, have been as violent in declaiming against playing at Cards, Dice, etc. They have inveighed against Banquets and Feasts, against Luxury and gaudy Dresses, against lofty Buildings, magnificent Houses, rich Furniture, rare Painting, etc. St. Chrysostom has whole Homilies upon this Subject: we find a particular Catalogue of them in the Pedagogue of St. Clement Alexandrinus: St. Augustin treats very largely of them in most of his Works, and particularly in his Letter to Possidonius. St. Cyprian quoted by the same St. Augustin, St. Gregory, in a word, all the Fathers have warmly declaimed claimed against the luxury and richness of Apparel; sometimes exciting us to follow the Example of St. John Baptist, who for the Austerity of his Life was so highly commended by our Saviour. And yet we find that they did not raise so many doubts of Conscience in men's Minds upon this score, as they did upon the account of Stage-Plays; and none made a scruple either of wearing Habits suitable to their Quality, nor of living at ease, provided they did it within the compass of Modesty and Moderation. Why then should we not extend this Indulgence to Shows, and affirm, that as the Reproaches of the Doctors of the Church are applicable to Luxury, Intemperance, and Prodigality, but not to the innocent and moderate use of the good things of this Life, so we may interpret their words of immoral and profane Plays, but not of those that do not transgress the Rules of Prudence and Morality?  
To prove (says Albertus Magnus) that the Scripture does not condemn Plays, Dancing, and Shows, considered singly, and without those offensive Circumstances which make them condemnable; do not we read in Exodus, That Miriam the Prophetess, the Sister of Aaron, took a Timbrel in her hand, and all the Women went out after her with Timbrels and with Dances, Exod. 15. 20? Does not the Royal Prophet say (Psal. 68 25, 27.) That Benjamin was among the Damsels who played with Timbrels? Nay, does not God himself, by the Mouth of Jeremiah, Chap. 31. 4. promise the Jews, that upon their return from Chaldee, they should play upon Timbrels, and go forth in the Dances of them that make merry? Therefore (concludes Albertus Magnus) Dances and Pleasures are not in themselves sinful or unlawful, but made so by the criminal Circumstances added to them: and I would not enjoin a Penitent to abstain from them, since God himself not only permits, but promises them. And indeed take away the Excess which may possibly creep into Dramatic Representations, and I know no harm in them: For 'tis a kind of speaking Picture, wherein are represented Histories or Fables for the Diversion, and very often for the Instruction of men.  
Hitherto we find nothing amiss in the Design of the Stage; but perhaps its enemies will object, that it must needs be bad however, because 'tis prohibited. I protest, Sir, I never yet thought the Prohibition of any thing made it sinful, but on the contrary, that the Viciousness of it made it to be prohibited. But let us consult those places of Scripture which seem to forbid Plays, and such like Shows, and try to explain them, not as we please, but by the words of the greatest Doctors. Albertus Magnus, who has collected all those Passages, shall give us the Explanation of them. The first which he mentions is that of St. Paul, who seems to reduce all those Sports to immodesty; for the Apostle exhorting men to avoid that Sin, expresses himself thus, 1 Cor. 10. As some of them fell into Impurity, of whom it is written, The People sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play. The second is taken out of Exodus, Chap. 32. where we find that Dances were first invented before Idols; and by this they prove that 'tis an idolatrous Institution, to excite men to impurity. The third is that of Isaiah, Chap. 3. who in the Name of God denounces great threatenings against those kind of Sports; Because the Daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth Necks, and wanton Eyes, walking and tripping as they go, and making a tinkling with their Feet: Therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the Head of the Daughters of Zion, etc. And lastly, 'tis pretended that St. Paul includes all public Sights in those famous words, 1 Thess. 5. 22. Abstain from all appearance of Evil. But Albertus Magnus returns this Reply to all those Passages, That Dancing, etc. which are not in their own nature evil, may become so by being attended with those unhappy Circumstances which St. Paul is to be understood to speak of: That 'tis false to assert that they never danced but before Idols; and that it has been done upon other occasions, witness Miriam the Sister of Moses and Aaron, whom we formerly mentioned: That God by the Mouth of his Prophet, reproves only those impudent Gestures, with which the dancing of the Jews was attended. And lastly, That St. Paul forbids even the appearance of real Evil, and not of that which may become so by Accident and bad Circumstances.  
But you will say, If Plays are good in themselves, why are the Actors of them noted with Infamy in Justinian's Institutes? But pray let me ask you a Question or two; Does that Soldier sin who runs away in Battle for fear of being killed? Or does a young Widow, who cannot live single, commit a mortal Sin by marrying a second Husband before her year is up? and yet the same Book brands both of them with a note of Infamy, and a thousand other Persons whose Actions are not criminal. 'Tis therefore a very weak Consequence to prove the sinfulness of an Action, because 'tis noted as infamous: Suppose it true, that Players were infamous by acting on the Stage, I would fain know why the Youth of the Universities, and other Persons very prudent, and sometimes of the best Quality, who for their own Diversion, and without scandal act Parts in Play, are not as infamous as the common Players. I hope none will say, 'tis because the latter act to get by it, whereas the others do it for their Diversion, for that is a very wretched Argument. Suppose any Action be evil in itself, what signifies it whether a Man gets by it or no? It will still be evil, and no Circumstance can alter its nature: So that as a perjured Man, or a Calumniator, branded with Infamy by the Law you cited, will be always infamous, let them be in what circumstances soever; so Plays cannot be represented upon any occasion or motive whatever, without incurring the stain of Infamy, which you say is cast upon it. But to understand the meaning of the Laws, 'tis requisite to have recourse to those Doctors who have expounded them. Pray see what the famous Baldus says on this Subject; The Players who act in a modest way, either to divert themselves or please others, and who commit nothing against good Manners, are not to be reputed infamous. You perceive then according to this Commentator, that the Infamy falls only on those who act infamous Plays.  
Since time changes every thing, Men of Equity ought to consider things in the time wherein they are. Were not the Physicians themselves turned out of Rome as infamous Persons? And in the esteem wherein now they are, is there the least sign of their Infamy remaining? Why then should any Reflection stick on so ingenious a Profession, which in France (and perhaps elsewhere) is become rather the School of Virtue than that of Vice? The reason why formerly Players were declared infamous, was the Infamy so predominant in the Plays which they acted, and the Infamy which they themselves added to it by their shameful way of acting. But now since that Reason is out of doors, without doubt its Consequences are abolished; and if any Consequences are to be drawn from it, 'tis that Plays being altogether unblameable, those who act them, provided they live honestly, ought not to be reckoned among the number of dishonourable Persons. This is so far true, that the being a Player does not degrade any Man's Quality. Floridor, who is said to have been the greatest Player France ever had, being a Gentleman by Birth, was not judged unworthy of that Title upon the account of his Profession: And when enquiry was made about the false Nobless, he was admitted by the King and Council to make out the truth of his, which by right of Inheritance descended to his Posterity. Those of the Opera, if born Gentlemen, by the establishment of that Academy of Music, are not to lose their Quality: Now are there Prerogatives for the one which are not to be allowed the other? And if there be any distinction between them, have not all Ages determined it in favour of Comedy, since by the consent of all Nations, Poetry is the elder Sister of Music?  
Several Doctors (you say) or at least such as pretend to be so, have shown you certain Rituals, which forbid the Confessors to administer the Sacraments to Players, which they confirm by the Authority of several Councils. To this I answer, That those Rituals, and the Canons of those Councils, only mean it of such Players who act scandalous pieces, or who act them immodestly. But let those People tell you what difference they make between stageplays and other kinds of Sports; for as to the Rituals, the Canons, the Councils, etc. they make none, but equally prohibit them all. Yet your Doctors who talk so loudly of the Fathers and Councils, do not so scrupulously follow their Decisions against Gaming and other Sports. We find that the Abbots, Priests, Bishops and ecclesiastics make no difficulty of playing, and pretend that all the Censures of the Fathers ought to be understood of the excess in Sports, and not of those which are moderate, and used without much application to pass away a little time. Why then should not the same thing be urged, and the same Indulgence allowed in behalf of Plays, since we find such a Dispensation with respect to other Sports? Besides, should you ask the Bishops and Prelates what they think of Plays, they would declare, that when they are modest, and have nothing in them which wounds Morality and Christianity, they do not pretend to censure them. And even if they were silent in the case, one may guests at their Opinion by their Conduct, since in those very Dioceses where those severe Rituals are used, Plays are acted, tolerated, and perhaps approved. If they are bad, why are they tolerated? As they are acted at Paris, I see no fault in them. 'Tis true, I cannot pass a definitive Judgement upon them, since I never go to see them: But there are three very easy ways of knowing what is done at the Theatres, and I acknowledge that I have made use of all three. The first is to inform one self of it by Men of Parts and Probity, who out of that horror they have to Sin, would not allow themselves to be present at those sort of Shows, if sinful. The next is, to judge by the Confessions of those who go thither of the evil Effects which Plays produce upon their Minds. The third is the reading of the Plays: and I protest that by these ways I have not been able to discover the least appearance of the excess which the Fathers with so much Justice condemned in Plays. A world of People of eminent Virtue, and of a very nice, not to say scrupulous Conscience, have been forced to own to me that the Plays on the French Theatre are at present so pure, that there is nothing in them which can offend the chastest Ear: Every day at Court the Bishops, Cardinal's, and Nuncio's of the Pope make no scruple to be present at them; and it would be no less Impudence than Folly, to conclude that all those great Prelates are profane Libertines, since they authorise the Crime by their presence. 'Tis rather a sign that the Plays are so pure and regular, that none need be ashamed or afraid to see them. I have likewise sometimes made a Reflection (which to me seems of some weight.) Upon casting my Eyes on the Bills pasted up at the corners of Streets, wherein all manner of Persons are invited to come to the Plays which are acted by the King's Authority, and by his Majesty's Servants: I thought to myself, if they invited People to some bad Action, to be in infamous places, etc. 'tis certain that the Magistrates would be so far from allowing the publication of those Bills, that they would severely punish the Authors of them, who abused the King's Authority, by inviting his good Subjects to the commission of such Enormities. Therefore concluded I, 'tis plain that Plays are not so bad, since the Magistrates do not put them down, nor the Prelates make any opposition to them, and since they act by the privilege of a religious Prince, who would not by his presence authorise a Crime, of which he would be more guilty than others.  
As to Confessions, I could never by their means find out this pretended mischief of Plays: For if it were the source of so many Crimes, it would from thence follow that the Rich who frequent the Theatres, would be the greatest Sinners; and yet we find that 'tis pretty equal, and that the Poor who never saw a Play are as guilty as the Rich of Anger, Revenge, Uncleanness, and Pride. I would therefore rather conclude, and that with some reason too, that those Sins are the effects of human Weakness or Malice, which take an occasion of sinning from all manner of Objects indifferently.  
As to the reading of the Plays which are now acted in France, I never could find in those I have perused, any thing which could any ways offend Christianity or good Manners. The greatest fault that can be found in them is, that most of the Subjects are taken out of Fables; and yet what harm is there in that? They are such Fables out of which may be taken very fine Instructions of Morality, capable of inspiring Men with a love of Virtue, and a detestation of Vice. These are the words of a very great Man (Peter Bishop of Blois) who maintains, That 'tis lawful to extract Truths out of Heathen Fables, and that 'tis no more than receiving Arms from our very Enemies.  
To leave nothing unresolved, let me examine the Precautions which the Doctors give us in going to a Play. As to the lawfulness of the Drama, St. Thomas, St. Bonaventure, St. Antonine, and above all Albertus Magnus has said that in all Sports we ought to take care of three things. The first is, that we should not seek for Pleasure in immodest Words or Actions, as they did in the times of the Ancients; an unhappy Custom which Cicero laments in these words: There is a kind of jesting which is sordid, insolent, wicked, and obscene. The second thing we are to take care of, says Albertus, is, that when we would refresh our Spirits, we should not entirely lose the Gravity of the Soul, which gives St. Ambrose occasion to say: Let us beware, lest in giving our Spirits some Relaxation, we lose the harmony of our Souls, where the Virtues form an agreeable Consort. And the third Condition required in our Sports, as well as in all the other Actions of our Lives, is, that they be suitable to the Person, Time and Place, and regulated by all the other Circumstances which may render them inoffensive. It would be easy for me to prove that none of these Qualifications are wanting to the Plays, as they are in France; from whence you ought to conclude that they are good and allowable.  
After all I have said for Plays, you cannot question but they ought to be such as are free from all immodest Speeches and Actions. You have told me yourself, that the Players are very careful of this point, and that they would not so much as suffer, when they accept of any piece, that it should have any thing in it indecent, licentious, equivocal, or the least word under which any poison might be concealed.  
We have very severe Laws in France against Blasphemers; they are bored through the Tongue, they are condemned even to be burned: and should we caress the Players, or give them any privilege if they were Blasphemers, Libertines, or Profane?  
We own, say our Reformers, that they dare not openly speak any thing that is profane, nor act upon the Stage those Infamies which were formerly acted there, but there is still something remaining of its primitive Corruption disguised under gay Names. Is there any Play acted now, where there is not some Love-intrigue or other? where the Passions are not represented in all their light? and where mention is not made of Ambition, Jealousy, Revenge and Hatred? A dangerous School for Youth, where they are easily disposed to raise real Passions in their Hearts by seeing feigned ones represented! The first Duty of a Christian is to suppress his Passions, and not to expose himself to the growth of them; and by a necessary Consequence, nothing is more pernicious than that which is capable of exciting them.  
A fine Speech this for a rigid Declaimer, but not sound enough for an equitable Divine! Is there no difference, think ye, between an Action or a Word which may by accident raise the Passions, and those which do it in reality?  
The last are absolutely unlawful and sinful; and though it might happen that a Man might be unmoved by them, yet we are obliged to avoid them, because 'tis only by chance that they produce not their effect, whereas in their own nature they are always attended with pernicious Consequences. But for those Actions and Words which may by accident raise the Passions, we cannot justly condemn them; and we must even fly to Deserts to avoid them; for we cannot walk a Step, read a Book, enter a Church, or live in the World, without meeting with a thousand things capable of exciting the Passions. Must a Woman because she is handsome never go to Church, for fear of exciting the Lust of a Debauchee? Must the Great in Courts, and the Magistrates lay aside that Splendour which is becoming, and perhaps necessary to them, for fear of exciting Ambition, and a desire of Riches in others? Must a man never wear a Sword for fear of being guilty of Murder? This would be ridiculous: and though by misfortune a Scandal happen, and an occasion of sinning be taken, 'tis a Passive, not an Active Scandal, (pardon those School-terms) 'tis an Occasion taken, not given, which kind alone we are ordered to avoid; for as to the first, 'tis impossible to avoid it, and sometimes, to foresee it.  
All Histories (not excepting the Bible) make use of such words as express the Passions, and relate great Actions of which they have been the Cause. And will it be a Crime to read History, because we may there meet with something which may be an occasion of our falling? By no means, unless it be a scandalous, profane and loose History, such a one as does infallibly stir up dangerous Passions, and then 'tis no longer an occasion taken, but given. But this is not the Character of our Plays; for though they speak of Love, Hatred, Ambition, Revenge, and the like, 'tis not done with an Intention of exciting those kinds of Passions in the Audience; nor are there any such scandalous Circumstances in them, as will infallibly produce such mischievous Effects in their Minds. Besides, as the wise Lycurgus said, Shall we destroy all the Vines, because some men get drunk with the juice of the Grape? An ill use has and may be made of the most Sacred things, such as are the Holy Scriptures, and consequently of the most indifferent and least serious: yet neither the one nor the other ought to be forbidden, unless we would forbid every thing that may be put to an ill Use.  
As to the second Qualification which our Casuists require in Sports, which is to avoid breaking the Harmony of the Soul by the excess and length of our Pleasures; it may be said, that neither those who go to Plays, nor those who compose them, nor those who act them, so far unbend their Minds, as to destroy that just disposition of Soul. As for the first, they have their Liberty to go or stay away; and after a days Labour, two Hours of Refreshment may be allowed. As for the Authors and Players, whose Profession seems to be one contied Diversion, they do not certainly look upon their Lives to be a Play, since they have other serious Business in their Families, besides the common Duties of Christians to perform.  
As for the circumstance of Time, of which our Casuists would have us take care, it is observed in France, where they never act but at proper Hours. One of the things against which the Fathers declaimed the most was, the time of acting the Plays; they lasted the whole day, and People had scarce any time to go to Church. Thus St. Chrysostom complains; That the Christians in his time, and in his Diocese, did not only go to Plays, but were so intent upon them that they stayed whole days at those infamous Sights, without going one moment to Church. St. John of Damascus condemned the same Excess, in these words, There are several Towns where the Inhabitants are from morning to night Feasting their Eyes with all manner of Sights, and in hearing always immodest Songs, which cannot choose but raise in their Minds wicked Desires. Is there any thing to be found like this in our Plays? They begin at five or six a Clock, when Divine Service is over, the Prayers and Sermon ended; when the Church Doors are shut, and People have had time enough to bestow on Business and Devotion; and they end about eight or nine.  
As for the Circumstance of Places, 'tis observed in France; for, whereas formerly they acted in Churches, now they have public Theatres for the purpose.  
The Circumstance of the Persons is also observed, for those who Act are civil People, who have undertaken the Employ, and generally behave themselves in it with Decency; at least there are as few ill Men among them, as in other Professions: their Vice arises from their own corrupt Nature, and not from the State or Calling they are in, since all are not like them. I have conversed, and am particularly acquainted with some of them, who out of the Theatre, and in their own Families, live the most exemplary Life in the World: and you have told me yourself, that all of them in general, out of their common Stock, contribute a considerable Sum to pious and charitable Uses; of which the Magistrates and Superiors of the Convents could give sufficient Testimony. I question whether we can say as much of those zealous Persons who inveigh so loudly against them.  
I am conscious, Sir, that some People will blame me for having followed the most favourable Opinion concerning Plays; for 'tis now the Fashion to teach an Austere Doctrine, and not to practise it: but I assure you I have wholly been governed by Truth, wishing still to observe that Father's Rule who directs us to form our Actions by the most severe Opinions, and our Doctrine by the most indulgent. I am,  
SIR, Yours, etc.  
BY this judicious Dissertation, you may find your whole desire satisfied: You see he has brought the Schoolmen to speak in favour of the Drama, and has explained the Invectives of the Fathers against it, so as to make them on its side. He has answered the most material Objections which can be brought against the Stage, and given very necessary Precautions to such as go to the Playhouses: You perceive 'tis a French Divine, 
* See Journal des Scavans, Paris. Histoire des Ouurage des Scavans, Rotterdam: & Oevures de Boursault. , [Father Caffaro, Brother to the Duke of—] one of the Romish Religion, who has given us his Thoughts in this Letter; and 'tis in behalf of the Plays acted in France that he has here argued. But were he to see our English Stage, he would never say such fine things of it; unless he saw it stocked only with Plays and Entertainments, innocently Diverting, and strictly Moral; as those which you have hitherto so successfully published, are generally allowed to be.  
Give me leave before I conclude, to thank you for the sight of your Beauty in Distress, which I'll assure you pleased me so much in the reading, that I scarce imagine how it can yield greater satisfaction to those that see it Acted. Were it not for offending you, I might justly enlarge myself in its Commendation; but I forbear, since a perusal of it will give an Idea of it much above what can be said by,  
SIR, Your real Friend to serve you   

To my Friend, the AUTHOR.  
'TIS hard, my Friend, to write in such an Age,  
As damns not only Poets, but the Stage.  
That sacred Art, by Heaven itself infused,  
Which Moses, David, Solomon have used,  
Is now to be no more: The Muse's Foes  
Would sink their Maker's Praises into Prose.  
Were they content to prune the lavish Vine  
Of straggling Branches, and improve the Wine,  
Who but a mad Man would his Faults defend?  
All would submit; for all but Fools will mend.  
But, when to common sense they give the Lie,  
And turn distorted Words to Blasphemy,  
They give the Scandal; and the Wise discern,  
Their Glosses teach an Age too apt to learn.  
What I have loosely, or profanely writ,  
Let them to Fires (their due desert) commit.  
Nor, when accused by me, let them complain:  
Their Faults and not their Function I arraign.  
Rebellion, worse than Witchcraft, they pursued:  
The Pulpit preached the Crime; the People rued.  
The Stage was silenced: for the Saints would see  
In fields performed their plotted Tragedy.  
But let us first reform: and then so live,  
That we may teach our Teachers to forgive.  
Our Desk be placed below their lofty Chairs,  
Ours be the Practice, as the Precept theirs.  
The moral part at least we may divide,  
Humility reward, and punish Pride:  
Ambition, Interest, Avarice accuse:  
These are the Province of the Tragic Muse.  
These hast thou chosen; and the public Voice  
Has equaled thy performance, with thy choice.  
Time, Action, Place, are so preserved by thee  
That even Corneille, might with envy see  
Th' Alliance of his tripled Unity.  
Thy Incidents, perhaps, too thick are sown;  
But too much Plenty is thy fault alone:  
At least but two, can that good Crime commit;  
Thou in Design, and Wycherley in Wit.  
Let thy own Gauls condemn thee if they dare;  
Contended to be thinly regular.  
Born there, but not for them, our fruitful Soil  
With more Increase rewards thy happy Toil.  
Their Tongue enfeebled, is refined so much,  
That, like pure Gold, it bends at every touch:  
Our sturdy Teuton, yet will Art obey,  
More fit for manly thought, and strengthened with Alloy.  
But whence art thou inspired, and Thou alone  
To flourish in an Idiom, not thine own?  
It moves our wonder, that a foreign Guest  
Should over-match the most, and match the best.  
In underpraising, thy Deserts I wrong:  
Here, find the first deficience of our Tongue:  
Words, once my stock, are wanting to commend  
So Great a Poet, and so Good a Friend.  
JOHN DRYDEN.   

PROLOGUE.  Enter a Player. Play. 
Gentlemen, I am sent to acquaint you, that, by reason of an Accident, there can be no Prologue spoke to day; but the Play will begin immediately.  Enter Mr. Bowen. Mr. Bowen. 
HOw's that? No Prologue? go, this must not be;  
I'll rather speak one now extempore.  [Exit Player. Stay: 
How shall I begin?— I have it now—  
Gallant!— Hold! I forgot to make my Bow.  [Bows. 
Gallants, Our Author— Ay, that's well begun,  
Our Author— To— For— hold, I can't go on:  
This Modesty does strangely balk a Man.  
Why should I strive to help these Tragic Actors?  
Hang 'em, they make you dull, like any Doctors.  
Well, if for nothing but grave Stuff you're all,  
I too will rant, and toss my awful Head,  
Till from the Battlements of yon high Wall  
The Mob look pale to see me look so red.  
But what shall I say next?— O! Stay, I've got  
The Epilogue; I'll speak it now. Why not?  
More Poet-Bays than one, when all things fail,  
Turn thus the Tail to Head, and Head to Tail.  
I hate to sneak in, and be hissed away,  
Begging for Mercy, when you've damned the Play▪  
Prompter, take th' Epilogue, and prompt me right;  
We're always damned imperfect the first night.  [The Prompter takes a Paper from him, and retires to prompt. Prompter. 
You've seen the Play.  Mr. Bo. 
How's that?  Prom. 
You've seen the Play▪  Mr. Bo. 
You've seen the Play! Why, that won't do? But stay.  
We'll let that pass; if you han't seen't, you may.  
What's next?  Prom. 
You think—  Mr. Bo. 
You think your time misspent;  
But know, 'twas studied to be played in Lent;  
A time when some of you so nice were grown,  
Y' abstained from every kind of Flesh, but one.  
You Topers, leaving Wine, to grow devout,  
Got only drunk in Derby, Punch and Stout.  
Nay even we Players, not over-godly neither,  
Fasted the week, that none of you came hither.  
But that's no Fast to what poor Poets fear.  
If his Play's damned, he keeps Lent all the year.  
Now you, instead of fasting, went to spark it,  
To race, cock, bet, and lose by Stiff-Dick at New Market;  
While drooping here we did your Loss condole,  
Tugging with Viva viva Barbacole.  
So we laid this Play by, when you were gone,  
For you Sparks now to mortify upon;  
You know a Reformation's coming on.  
Then bear these moral Scenes with Resignation,  
T'inure you to be weened from darling Fornication.   

The EPILOGUE,  Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle. 
Poisoning and stabbing you have seen me scape,  
And, what you think no mighty thing, a Rape:  
But can poor Poet scape, like richer Drudges,  
The dreadful Votes of his five hundred Judges?  
He has no Epilogue. What shall he do?  
H'as sent me a Petition here for you.  
That's it— Cry ' Mercy! That's a Billetdoux.  [She pulls out a Paper, and puts it up in haste; then pulls out a Petition, and reads it.] Reads. 
To you great Wits, dread Critics, nicest Beaux!  
Gay Sparks with borrowed Wit, and Masks with borrowed  [Clothes! 
You, who to chat or ogle fill yond Benches,  
Or tempt with Love our modest Orange Wenches!  
Rakes, Cuckolds, Cits, Squires▪ Cullies great and small!  
I think, Sirs, this P●tition's to you all.  [Speaks this line of herself. Reads. 
The trembling Author, by this short Petition,  
Most humbly shows, he's in a sad condition:  
Doomed to be thought profane, or write dull Trash,  
Venture Damnation, or some Zealot's Lash:  
H'as chose to trust your Clemency to live,  
For well he knows, that sometimes you forgive.  
Then spare these Scenes, and let all People see  
Plays may be liked, yet grave and moral be.  
Seem pleased and edified to go away,  
And your Petitioner shall never pray—  
Without remembering you and his third day.  [Here ends the Petition.] 
Now, Sirs, I'd know what you would have him ask?  
As for you Rakes, that's no uneasy Task,  
Good Wine for you, full Pockets, and a Mask.  
And for you, Masks, still in your Prayers— but stay,  
Who ever knew a Vizard Mask to pray?  
For Cits, he should ask Trade; for Courtiers, Places;  
For Squires, more Wit; and for you, Beaux, more Graces,  
Kind trusting Tailors, full Wigs, and new Faces;  
And for you, Jockeys, better luck at Races:  
For Sharpers wealthy Bubbles, and much Play;  
For Soldiers, no more fighting, and full Pay.  
But 'twere in vain to mention every Head,  
I guess a Poet's Prayers are quickly said;  
He seldom prays but to avoid his Curse,  
An empty Playhouse, and an empty Purse.  
Yet, Ladies, for your Smiles Ours chiefly prays:  
You make a Muse, and ev'vy Spirit raise.  
Grace this first Offspring of his Tragic Vein  
With one kind Smile, that's his most valued Gain.   

Dramatis Personae.  

MEN.  
Mr. Betterton. Don VINCENTIO disguised like a Black, by the Name of MORAT. In love with Placentia.  
Mr. Verbruggen. RICARDO, in love with Placentia, contracted to Laura.  
Mr. Kynaston. D. FERDINAND Governor of Lisbon.  
Mr. Hodgson. D. FABIANO his Son in love with Placentia.  
Mr. Arnold. ZEMET, a Black, Vincentio's Servant.  
Captain of a Brigantine.  
His Lieutenant.  
Two Monks. Bravoes. Sailors. Guards. Servants.   

WOMEN.  
Mrs. Barry. LAURA a Widow Lady, privately contracted to Ricardo.  
Mrs. Bracegirdle. PLACENTIA.  
Mrs. Moor. MORELLA.  
Mrs. Prince. MELINDA. Laura's two Children, Women, etc.   
SCENE  
An Antichamber in D. Vincentio's House in Lisbon.  
The Time of Action from 5 to 8 in the Evening.   

Beauty in Distress: A TRAGEDY.  
ACT I.  The Scene throughout the Play is an Anti Chamber. Enter Vincentio in a Moorish-Dress, his Skin blacked over, assuming the Name of Morat. Zemet his Servant. Mor. 
AH! poor Vincentio, altered more by Passions  
Than by this new Disguise, who now could know thee?  
Thou'rt grown a Stranger to thy very self.  
'Tis scarce a Year since I fled hence to Afric;  
But oh! how Sorrow, Sickness, and Fatigue,  
And most my anxious Love, since that, have changed me.  
I doubt I wear this borrowed Black and Dress  
Rather to try Placentia, thus unknown,  
Than to reclaim and save my wicked Brother.  Zemet. 
You're but too kind to him, my Lord. I hear,  
That when a fatal Duel forced you hence,  
He stabbed the Friend who strove to get your Pardon,  
To hinder your Return.  Mor. 
With what unnatural Joy, he, in the Morning,  
Heard us confirm the Tidings of my Death!  Zem. 
My Lord, if he's as wicked as he's thought,  
'Twould have been ill in him to have done better.  
Bad Men still act themselves in every thing that's bad,  
And are not to be blamed for barbarous Actions,  
More than the Beasts of Prey for Cruelty:  
Nor is it for their Vices, but their Natures,  
We should destroy 'em both.  Mor. 
Yes, he's my Shame;  
But still my Brother; therefore yet a while  
Let Lisbon think me dead, as I'm reported.  
In this Disguise I thought fit to confirm it;  
For, should they think I live, the King would never  
Grant him his Pardon for Don Carlo's Murder.  Zem. 
It seems he's sure of it, for he has left  
The Sanctuary, and lords it in your House.  Mo. 
Upon the confirmation of my Death,  
The King has signed the Warrant for his Pardon;  
So to prevent th' Extinction of our Name,  
Which Royal Gratitude still makes him value.  
Then let him revel, till the Seals are past,  
As a sole Brother in my large Estate;  
That done, I will revive, a severe check  
On all his future Life.  Zem. 
I wish yours be secure, my Lord!  
Tools of Destruction still stand ready pressed  
To a bad hand, and Murder watches sure.  
Then, give me leave to fear.  Mo. 
I'll keep Prevention's Eye upon the Watch;  
But I disdain to fear. For Death must come,  
And 'tis no matter when: Once in the Grave,  
Long Life and short are both become the same.  
Death levels all: Age, Beauty, Wealth, and Titles,  
Lie undistinguished, huddled up together,  
And none complain of what, or when, or how.  
Oh! I could wish my Dust with thy dead Parents  
Lay blended in one Urn on Africk's Shore,  
Rather than languish thus in hopeless Love,  
And see my Father's Glory  
Turn rusly in this Brother.  Zem. 
Ah! my Lord,  
That rusts not, since it shines so bright in you.  Mor. 
Zemet, no more. I here expect Placentia;  
This is her way from Chapel—  
See, she comes.— Withdraw.  [Exit Zemet. 
She comes, and weeps for me,  
For the false News I brought her. Cruel Fate,  
Deal me less Pity, and some Love—  Enter Placentia Weeping. Mor. to himself.] 
I shiver—  
How my Heart beats! Even through this hue, I fear,  
She'll read my Soul's Disorder— Now I burn.  
Let Love be drawn no more with golden Darts,  
But armed with Fires: I feel him in my Veins.  
How shall I speak?  Plac. 
Oh! generous Don Vincentio,  
As soon shall I forget myself as thee.  Mo. aside.] 
Now, by my Love, there's Life in that kind Sorrow;  
It bids me hope, and speak.  To her.] 
Why, Madam, will you lavish thus your Tears  
On my dead Friend? He ne'er could gain your Love;  
Yet, if departed Souls see things on Earth,  
Placentia is Vincentio's present Object,  
And not one Tear she sheds but he must prize  
At a much greater Value than his Life.  Plac. 
Can I do less than weep for that brave Lord?  
Oh! Sir, you were a Stranger to his worth.  Mor. 
No, Madam; none could know Vincentio better  
Than did Morat; and you will think so too,  
When I relate some Passages he told me.  
He said, you were the Cause of all those Sighs  
He had betrayed so often, and I pitied;  
He said, such Beauty and such Cruelty  
ne'er met in one before; and yet methinks  
Your Tears and Sorrow contradict his Words—  Aside.] 
If I talk long, I shall betray myself.  Plac. 
Since my best Lord (for so I always called him)  
Made you no Stranger to those humble Thoughts,  
The only Blemish of his noble Life,  
I will a little clear that passage to you—  
His Virtuous Mother, for what Cause I know not,  
Took me from humble Birth, to breed me as her Child.  Mor. 
Madam, he told me this, and that his Mother  
Had made your Fortune equal to her Daughters;  
Commanding him to see you nobly married, or a Nun.  
But Love, he said, doubled that Pious Charge,  
And he ne'er wished for any Wife but you.  
Oh! why did you refuse to make him happy?  Plac. 
To clear myself to you, I'll tell you that  
Which should not be revealed, were he still living.  Mor. aside.] 
Now I begin to tremble.  Plac. 
His Mother found out that unhappy Love;  
And, lest it should dishonour his great Name,  
Taught me t'obey him, as my Lord and Brother;  
But charged me, as I tendered Heaven, my Soul,  
Her Memory, or any Thing that's Sacred,  
I ne'er should marry him.  Mor. aside.] 
Oh! Patience Heaven!  Plac. 
This was her daily, and her last Request;  
And, that I might Religiously perform it,  
Resolving with myself a single Life,  
I solemnly did swear, Never to wed above my humble Birth.  Mor. aside.] 
'Twill be in vain to live after this Story.  
Oh! Mother— you mixed the worst of Curses with that Breath  
That gave your wretched Son his latest Blessing.  Plac. 
You're strangely moved!— But see Ricardo!  
I would shun him.  Enter Ricardo. Servants after him. Ric. 
You were my Brother's Servants; I dismiss you—  
Placentia, stay.  Seru. 
My Lord, our Wages.  Ric. 
Do Men like me pay Wages?  Seru. 
My Lord—  Ric. 
Talk with my Steward! hence! Be gone!  [Ex. Servants. 
Well, Madam?  Plac. 
My Lord.  Ric. 
So scornful still! I will no longer bear it.  Pla. asi.] 
How I dread his vile Love, since now he's Master here!  Ric. 
How now, Morat? What, you've been talking now  
Of my dead Brother, and the Creature weeps.  
'Tis true, the humble Fop indulged her Pride  
With honourable Love, tho' still she scorned him.  Mo. asi.] 
Hold! Patience yet! Thus most Heirs treat the Dead.  To Ric.] 
My Lord, I was your Brother's worthless Friend,  
And know how much he did esteem this Lady,  
As I believe, not without due defert.  Ric. 
Oh, dull Morat! thou dost not know this Trifle;  
Thou art a Moor, and look'st on outward Toys,  
Fine clothes and Jewels; why, these Things are mine;  
I'll strip her of 'em all, if she consents not  
To yield to my Embraces.  Mor. 
My Lord, I fancy 'tis not in your Power.  Ric. 
Hark you, Morat; I suffered you my House  
For the good News this Morning you confirmed.  
But ne'er believe I made you of my Council.  Mor. 
No; if you had, I should advise you better  
Than thus to forfeit all your House's Honour  
By most ignoble Actions.  Ric. 
How's this, Slave?  Mo. 
By all my former Honour, that Name Slave,  
Did not you share your noble Brother's Blood,  
Should cost the dearest Drop about your Heart.  Ric. 
Sure, he's run mad— Out of my House, thou Frenzy.  Mor. 
I will not stir.  
Your Brother made me joint-executor  
With this fair Lady; I'll soon prove his Will,  
And till I've seen it all performed, I'll stay.  Ric. 
You mean, till th' Inquisition seizes you.  
Do you not, Moor? you two Executors!  Mor. 
Laugh not too fast, my Lord: Your Inquisition  
Can't fright me; for tho' my Complection's black,  
My Soul is white and Christian, which, I fear,  
The Holy Font has not made yours.  Ric. 
Insolent Slave! who waits! what hoa! not one  
Of my new Train to rid me of this Moor?  
Nay, then I'll do't myself.  [Draws, Mor. closes with him, and disarms him, Mor. 
Inhospitable Wretch!  Plac. 
Hold! help! help!  Mor. 
Here, take your Sword, and put it up, proud Lord,  
But oh! insult no further, if you'd live.  [Gives him back his Sword. Enter Servants and Zemet. Ric. aside.] 
Disarmed! and by a Moor! But he's not worth  
A second Danger. I've some trusty Bravoes,  
Who safely shall correct his Insolence.  To his Servants.] 
Hence, Slaves! there's now no need of you.  Exeunt Servants and Zemet. Mor. 
My Lord, yet think from what great Stock you sprung,  
And how a Nobleman should keep that Name:  
'Tis not to be preserved by dead men's Actions;  
You must have living Virtues, or 'tis lost—  
Come, I perceive that you attend with shame  
My too severe Reproof, and I repent it;  
I'll leave you to repent too for the Cause.  
Madam, some other Time I'll wait on you.  [Exit Morat. Pla. aside, and going. 
A brave good Man, well worth Vincentio's Friendship!  Ri. 
Stay, scornful Thing.  Pla. 
I must not.  Ri. 
Must not?  Pla. 
No— you've forfeited at last all the Respect I owed you.  Ri. 
Yes, you shall stay: I'll know what you've been hatching,  
That I'm thus braved with a forged Will. 'Tis vain:  
Your Reign is out; The Fool my Brother's dead,  
And I'll command what hitherto I begged.  
You're now my Ward, my Prisoner if I please:  
You're not in those cold Climes, where Maids and Wives  
Rove where they please, as shameless as unquestioned,  
To wrong the dull contented Herd of Men.  
If you'll be paid my Mother's Legacy,  
That lavish Gift, a Portion for a Princess,  
Your proud pretended Virtue laid aside,  
Meet my Embraces willingly to morrow,  
Or soon by Force you shall. Till then think of it.  Pla. 
I'll think on Daggers for the Ravisher,  
To cool his Fires, or save myself from shame.  
Yes, even the famed Lucretia I'll outvie;  
Not let the Tarquin force the brutal Joy,  
But kill him first, or with my Honour die.  Exit Placen. Ri. 
Thou firest me so, that for Revenge  
I could— I could even marry thee, young Fury.  
But at a cheaper Rate I'll ease my Rage:  
She and my Sisters harden one another  
In rigid Coyness, and in hate of me,  
But they shall Wed, and leave this House to morrow;  
Then by Wiles, Threats, or Force, I'll deal with t'other.  
Who waits?  Enter Servant. Seru. 
My Lord!  Ric. 
Call both my Sisters.  Seru. 
Yes, my Lord.  [Exit Servant. Ric. 
I must prepare 'em to receive new Lovers;  
Tho' now few Women need such Preparations.  Enter Morella and Melinda. Ric. 
Still weeping!  
D' you grieve at my good Fortune? Come, I've got  
Young Husbands for you: That, I take to be  
The surest way to dry a Virgin's Tears.  
To morrow Don Fabiano shall be yours,  
Morella; and Don Paulo yours, Melinda.  Mel. aside.] 
His lewd Friend Paulo!  Morel. 
Fabiano! poor Placentia's Lover!  Ric. 
What, Dumb? Are they not Noble, Rich, and Young?  Morel. 
Oh! Let us hear of nothing, Sir, but Grief.  
Alas! we cannot even think of those  
My Brother's Choice designed us once for Husbands.  Ric. 
You need not: For, their hopes, like him, must die.  
No more— Compose your Looks to meet my Friends.  Enter a Servant. Ser. 
Don Ferdinand, My Lord, is just a lighting  Ric. aside. 
The Governor! He brings his Son Fabiano!  
I'll meet him— Sisters stay till I return.  [Exit Ric. and Seru. Morel. 
Oh! dismal News! now we indeed are wretched.  
Completely wretched. Alas poor Vincentio!  
How soon we feel thy Loss, thou best of Brothers!  Enter Placentia. Plac. 
Dear Orphan Ladies, let us mingle Sorrows.  
Alas, I'm an unhappy Orphan too.  
Like you, methinks, I mourn a Brother's Loss,  
And what's yet more, a Friend's.  Morel. 
A Friend's indeed! alas, my Dear, I doubt  
Your Tears, like ours, will flow from several Springs.  
I'm bid to wed to morrow your Fabiano.  Plac. 
Ha! But why am I startled and disordered?  
Tho', to my Soul's eternal dear Disquiet,  
We love each other, even to mere Distraction,  
My hopes are lost, for I must keep my Vow.  
I wish a mutual Love might link your Fates.  Morel. 
Oh! wish not this, my Dear, my Heart is fixed:  
Don Philip, or a Cloister.  Plac. 
Fabiano, with his Father! Oh my Heart!  
I must not stay; yet I am rooted here.  Ric. 
Sister Morella, let my Lord be used  
As his great Merit, and my Choice deserve.  Ferd. 
Son, scorn Ignoble Love! See there your better Fate.  Ri. aside to Ferd. 
Let's not seem to observe 'em, while he whispers  
His first Love-Complement. All Infancies are bashful,  
And that of Love is most.  Pla. aside.] 
Amazement! sure he loves her! how they whisper!  
What do I feel? 'tis more than Love; 'tis Jealousy, I fear.  
Am I then Jealous? What, of him I'd lose?  
I will not: Sure he came in hopes to see me.  
Away, cursed Jealousy! Thou needless Physic,  
That turn'st our Health to voluntary Sickness,  
I dash thee from me like a Poison— yet I will look.  Mel. aside to Plac.] 
My Dear, you're Jealous?  Pla. aside. 
Not at all— yet I must gaze— I'm racked— I cannot bear it.  Exit Placentia. Mel, aside.] 
I must follow her.  [Exit Mel. Ferd. 
What's that bright Vision which now shot from hence, Swift as a Star?  Ric. 
A falling one, a glaring fatal Meteor,  
The worthless Creature of my Mother's Favour,  
Her Fortune ample, but her Birth unknown.  Ferd. 
'Tis a fair Destruction!  
I blush to own I've heard my Son was dazzled  
By her deluding Beams. This made me hasten  
To fix him quickly in a nobler choice:  
Which was my Motive to demand your Sister  
When I engaged to get your Pardon signed.  Fa. aside to Morel.] 
Madam, you know the tie upon my Heart,  
The longings of my Soul, Placentia's Love:  
My Trust in your kind Pity brought me hither,  
Which all my Father's Threats could scarce have done.  
Then let's retire, since by your generous Sufferance  
I may see her once more: For, if I stay,  
I shall act Love so ill, it will betray us.  [Ex. Fa. and Morel. Ric. 
She's his, My Lord: The conqueror leads his Prize.  Ferd. aside.] 
Now, as I love bright Honour, this sight charms me,  
And makes my Age, in spite of Time, run back.  
'Tis true, this Lord has dimmed his House's Glory;  
But now I hope 'twill clear. High Birth, tho' clouded  
With fashionable Vices, will at last  
Exert itself and shine.  Enter a Servant to Ricardo. Ser. 
My Lord, a Lady in a Veil desires to speak with your Lordship.  Fer. 
My Lord, I'll leave you, and in an Hour return.  Ri. 
Your Lordship's Servant—  [Ex. Ferd. and Servant. To his Seru.] 
Conduct the Lady in—  
I fear 'tis Laura— But why should I fear?  
She's kind, she's fair— But oh! I'm bound to wed her:  
I on that score, was trusted with her Fortune,  
And lost it all at Play. She's heard the News,  
And comes prepared to share my Joys— I dread her:  
Let me wed nothing but variety.  
But I'll dissemble yet; for tho' when pleased  
She's smiling as the Morn, cool as the Evening,  
And calm as is the Night, when urged, she rages  
Like the Meridian Sun's collected Beams;  
Proud of her Charms, tho' lavish of her Love;  
Generous, and free, and daring, like a Man;  
But Jealous and Revengeful, like a Woman—  
'Tis she—  
Now help me, Cunning, once to feign  
A Joy as great as hers— My Laura!  Enter Laura. Lau. 
Fly off my Veil! Oh! let me rush at once  
Into his Heart, into his very Soul.  Ri. 
My Life, my all!  Lau. 
Oh let me gaze— I cannot speak for Joy-Oh happy Change!  
When the Profuseness of my Love had left me  
Nothing to give to save thy Life, but mine,  
To see thee raised at once to Honour, Wealth, and Freedom,  
From Shame, from Death, and Ruin,  
'Tis Rapture, 'tis Delight transcending Words,  
Too vast for Thought, and even too strong for Souls,  
'Tis perfect Joy, and Pleasure in extreme.  Ri. 
Oh! do not talk of Honour, Wealth, and Freedom:  
Yourself, yourself's the greatest, dearest Blessing.  Lau. 
In being so to thee, thy Laura's blessed,  
Life of my Life, and Genius of my Soul;  
Thy very Shadow brings me more delight  
Than all the Substance of the World besides;  
For I've no Being, when I'm torn from thee;  
Or, if I find I've one, 'tis only by my Pains.  Ri. 
Oh! sympathy of Hearts! My only Joy!  
'Twas not less Pain to me to be forced from thee,  
Than now 'tis Pleasure thus to meet thee kind.  Lau. 
Oh! now I hope we're met to part no more.  
Let me no longer hear nor think of Absence.  
Absence to some gives Relish to their Joy,  
A breathing to their Pleasures; but to me  
'Twas Death, when to the Monast'ry you fled,  
And to be safe lay hid.  Ri. 
Ah! Madam—  Lau. 
Madam! Fie, leave this dull Formality.  
Does it suit Love of such a Growth as ours?  
I should abhor it, came it not from thee.  Ri. 
Oh! stop this Torrent of unbounded Love.  
Joy came before but like a quick'ning Shower  
On a parched Soil, and greedily I drunk it;  
But now I'm overwhelmed, and drowned in Joy—  
Thus now all Lovers lie to one another.  [Aside. Lau. 
Dear Man, thou'rt doubly pleased  
Now thou canst raise me  
As I would thee, were but thy Fortune mine;  
For thou'rt no needy younger Brother now,  
Thy Laura shall no longer have the Pleasure  
Of lavishing her Wealth on Love, and thee.  
Indeed she could not.  Ri. 
Extravagance of Goodness!  Lau. 
Alas! I feared that Lisbon would have seen me  
With those two little Orphans, my poor Children,  
A forced dependent on the cold loathed Alms  
Of proud upbraiding Friends: For all I've left  
Is threatened to be seized. The Thought on't damps my Joy; Wealth  
But let it die with all our former Sorrows.  
I'm rich enough, since I've thy Love, that can command thy  
Soon as the Priest has ratified our Contract,  
Which now now your Brother's dead, and my first Year  
Of Widowhood expired, need be no Secret.  
We'll live like Gods. Say, shall we not? Methinks  
Thou art not glad enough.  Ri. 
Excess of Joy, like that of Grief, is dumb;  
" And, like vast Streams, too deep for Noise, flows silent,  
" While shallow Torrents roar, then cease to be.  
I fear she'll find me out.  [Aside. Lau. 
" But tell me, when shall be the happy Day?  Ri. 
" Soon as some short Formalities of Law  
" Have given me full Possession of th' Estate,  
" The best Artificers shall strain, to hasten  
" The wished-for Time, and make our Nuptials sumptuous.  Lau. 
" Then, like a Palace, we'll this House adorn.  
" The Walls shall scorn with Arras to be clothed,  
" Unless the Gold shames there the shading Silk.  
" Amazing Wonders that dissemble Life  
" In each Apartment, shall beguile the Gazers.  
" The Spoils of India, and more distant Climes  
" Shall crowd, and rear their Fronts on rival Rarities,  
" In antique Order, various as their Make;  
" And even the fragrant Wood, which in Compartments  
" Floors the vast Rooms, seem proud to bear the Load.  Ri. 
" Oh! Elegance in Luxury! Oh! Sex resined in Fancy—  Aside.] 
" To undo the other.  Lau. 
Oh! now methinks we solemnize our Nuptials,  
A numerous Train with all melodious Sounds  
Salute us and the Morn. Then we, far brighter,  
Ascend our Coach, or Love's Triumphal Chariot.  
Garlands and Arches grace and roof our way,  
And flowery Sweets, profusely strewed, perfume it.  
Joy in each Face, and Blessings in each Mouth.  Ri. 
Oh! Theme for ever charming— To a Widow.  [Aside. Lau. 
Then, my Ricardo, then—  Ri. 
Oh! than my Laura—  Lau. 
The crowded Board shall tempt our numerous Guests  
With all that can indulge Luxuriant Taste.  
" Conduits shall lavish Wine, and richer liquours,  
And all the Muse's labour to Enchant us.  Ri. 
And then at Night my Goddess—  Lau. 
Ten thousand Tapers shall revive the Day,  
While at a solemn Ball, the Pride of Lisbon  
Shall shine and revel—  Ri. 
And tired at last with all these smaller Joys,  
Leave us to perfect Pleasure. Thus, my Goddess,  
Thus will Ricardo ravish all thy Senses;  
Unpeople th' Elements to Feast thy Taste,  
To charm thy Ears, rob even the Spheres of Music,  
Tire Art and Nature to regale thy Sight,  
Inform thy Brain with every grateful Odour,  
Thy Touch with Bliss, and ravish every Power,  
Till in one sense we lose the other four.  [Embraces her. Enter two Monks. 1. Monk. 
My Lord.  Ri. 
What mean these Monks?  1. Monk. 
My Lord, We've weighty Business,  
That claims your private Ear with utmost speed.  Lau. 
Some dead Man's Alms—  1. Monk. 
Hear us this Moment, if you love yourself.  Ri. 
Then follow me— pray pardon me, dear Madam.  
I'll strive to meet you here again this Moment—  
Or at your own House rather.  To himself.] 
'Twas well dissembled: But I'm glad I'm eased.  
How loathed a thing must a fond Woman be!  
Even Monks are welcome, when from her they free.  [Ex. Ric. and Monks▪ Lau. 
Cursed be the Holy Duns! Those bold Intruders  
Into the Privacies of blinded Mortals,  
Self-privileged to break-in on the Great!  
Those craving Idlers, who preach Charity,  
Yet never had one Spark for one another!  
Presumptuous Beggars, who with Saintlike Mein,  
With proud Humility, and saucy Meekness  
Can seem at best but impudently good.  
The Doatards know (for well they know our Sex)  
That what a Woman never will forgive  
Is an Intruder, whose preventing Words  
Force from her Arms her Lover to remove,  
In the wild Sallies of unfinished Love.  Exit. 
The End of the First Act.   

ACT II.  Enter Morella and Melinda. Mel. 
WHy do we leave Fabiano with Placentia?  
I dare trust all his Virtues, but his Prudence.  
He loves— he'll stay too long, and be discovered.  Morel. 
Fear not, my Brother's busy with two Fathers;  
And tho' Placentia loves, she shuns her Lover;  
Like him she languishes, unhappy Maid;  
But her Discretion, and yet more her Vow,  
Force that despairing Lord for ever from her—  
And see, she comes; he follows;— both in Tears!  
In pity let's avoid 'em.  Enter Placentia, followed by Fabiano. [Exeunt Morel. and Mel. Fab. 
Stay, cruel Maid! Oh turn, and cast one look!  
One look, tho' 'twere a Frown, and but to see me die.  Pla. 
Alas, I dare not, must not meet your Eyes:  
They must not see how mine partake their Sorrows.  
Fly, fly, my Lord, where equal Greatness calls  
Leave poor Placentia to her humble Fate.  Fab. 
Not hear me!  Pla. 
I dread those Words that make even ruin please,  
The tempting Music of your Siren Love.  Fab. 
Can it bring ruin to be matched to Greatness?  Pla. 
When by the Match that Greatness is debased.  Fab. 
Why will you still urge this, too humble fair?  
Oh! wrong not thus your Merit, and my Love.  Pla. 
Witness, ye sacred Powers that read my Soul!  
Witness, my Blushes, and these grateful Tears,  
How much I prize you, generous, dear Fabiano!  
For every Sigh you breath, I Sigh another.  
Oh! had our Births been equal as our Passions,  
We might have loved on still.  
I see the Heaven of Joy, your Love, would give me;  
But, like a Wretch condemned to endless Torments,  
The vast abyss between, adds to my Pain:  
I wish, I sigh, I grieve, I rage in vain;  
I would ascend, but cannot break my Chain.  Fab. 
Love equal all, and you're most sure of mine.  Pla. 
I still should fear to lose what I deserve not,  
Still dread my Equal's Envy, and the Scorn of yours:  
And thus should live more wretched yet than now,  
This fatal now, that sees me tear my Heart,  
While thus I tear myself for ever from you.  [going. Fa. 
You tear my Heart, but shall not tear me from you.  [kneels 
Thus you shall drag me, while I suffer Life;  
And when I've eased my wretched Soul with this,  [Draws a Dagger. 
'Twill hover o'er you still, to wait for yours.  
For sure in Death we're equal, and may join.  Pla. 
Oh! hold! and rise! fright me not with your Danger,  
Nor humble me yet more with your Submissions.  Fab. 
Raise then at once a Wretch to Love and You.  
To rise thus, I'll descend, and mix with humble Swains,  
In lowly Cottages, and rustic Weeds,  
And there forget that fatal thing called Greatness.  Pla. 
Oh! rise, degrade it not by kneeling thus.  Fab. 
No, let your Answer make me rise or fall.  Pla. 
Alas! my Lord, I know this would but prove  
A Dream, that might a while indulge your Fancy,  
While Memory would lie locked in the first sleep  
That Love might lull it too; but too too soon  
You'd wake to hatred of yourself and me.  Enter D. Ferdinand. Fab. starts and rises. Ferd. 
My Son!  
Base Man! I thought t'have found you with Morella!  
But hear me swear; By my great Ancestors!  
That Hour Fabiano weds below his Rank  
Makes him a Stranger to my Blood for ever.  Pla. 
You might have spared that just, but rigid Doom,  
And left my Love the Glory of our parting.  
For, Sir, I love your Son; so well I love him,  
That rather than I'll curse his generous Passion,  
By suffering him to bless me with himself,  
I'll leave my Wealth, Friends, nay, the dear Man for ever.  
Bear witness, you whose Breasts confess the Pangs  
Of truest, te nd'rest, fondest, fiercest Love!  
Bear witness, Heaven! and all that hear me swear!  
I leave even him, even all that's kind and dear,  
For endless Grief, a Cloister and Despair.  [Exit. Fab. 
My Love!— my Father!— both conspire my Ruin!  
Some Angel stop her, and recall your Vows!  
No pity— yes, you're kind, at once you kill me,  
And thus will quickly end the worst of Pains.  Fer. 
Unequal Nuptials show not Love, but Madness.  
If you're my Son, leave this ignoble Creature.  Fab. 
Leave her! ignoble! give me Patience, Heaven!  
And Duty check my Rage! a Father said it.  
Oh! that you knew her, Sir! you'd see in her,  
That Worth, whence true Nobility began:  
She claims a Birth immediately from Heaven.  Fer. 
No more. She never shall be yours.  
Haste to Morella, Noble, and more Charming.  Fab. 
Ah Sir! I can love nothing but Placentia.  
Rather take back the wretched Life you gave me!  [kneels. 
Draw, draw your Sword, rip up my panting Bosom;  
You'll find a Heart where that sad Truth is written.  
Pity my Youth! pity your Son!—  Fer. 
'Tis vain— Reason and Time will bring you to yourself.  Fab. 
Oh stay!  [follows him crawling on his Knees. Fer. 
Away— comply, or never see me more.  [Ferd. breaks from Fabiano, and Exit. Fab. 
Yes, cruel Father; yes, unkind Placentia,  
I'll never see you more—  
You shall not see how wretched you have made me.  
I've one Friend yet, I hope; his Ship shall cast me  
On some abandoned Shore: There I will die;  
Pitied, perhaps, by Beasts more kind than Man.  
More wise, more happy Brutes, I envy you!  
With you 'tis Will and Beauty make the choice,  
ne'er crossed by the loved Female, nor your Sires.  
No dream of Greatness bars your amorous Joys.  
Cursed be the first who made the vain distinction,  
Taught to boast borrowed Fame from ancient Dust,  
That fancied Distance between equal Emmets!  
Cursed be the poisonous Notion, and may he  
That slights true Merit for a vain Degree,  
Love humble Worth, be scorned, or cursed like me.  
And that the Vice an ampler Curse may find,  
Cursed be th' Ambitious, which is all Mankind.  [Exit. Enter Placentia, as Fabiano goes off. Pla. 
His busy Grief usurped his very Sight.  
He's gone, and could not see me; would he had!  
Alas! I should, I would have called, but could not.  
Who will protect me now?— Oh! noble Moor,  
Assist me to preserve my threatened Honour.  Enter Morat and Zemet. Mor. 
Can worth, like yours, want a Protector, Madam?  
My best Friend used me so to echo back his Sighs,  
When he repeated dying Tales of you,  
That he has filled my Breast with the like Zeal  
Of serving you: That Zeal may look like Love;  
But, fear not, Madam, rarely Love gets in  
But at some Chink where Hope had crept in first,  
And I who know how you used Don Vincentio  
Can never hope this Figure could prevail.  
Then give me leave to serve you, and my Actions  
Shall ne'er oppose the Dictates of your Will.  Pla. 
It were a Sin to doubt your Honour, Sir.  
Let your Man wait— and I will tell you Things  
That are yet Secrets to all Souls but mine.  Mor. 
Zemet observe who comes, and give us notice.  [Exit Zemet. Pla. 
Let guilty Persons blush: I have no Cause:  
The Passion I must own admits no Shame;  
Tho' I confess, I Love: Oh Noble Moor!  
You will have Cause to pity me as much  
As e'er you did Vincentio.  Mor. 
Do I live?—  [Aside, and starting. 
Or have I changed my Being with my Form?  Pla. 
What should surprise the Moor?— Sir, tho' I want  
Your help, or such a Friend's, yet let not that  
Divert your Thoughts from your own great Concerns.  Morat. 
No, Madam, these are Fits that sometimes shake me:  
My Soul and Body are by turns at odds,  
And fain would part;  
Yet, like false Friends, each strives not to be thought  
To give most Cause for such a Separation:  
But now I'm well again— you say you Love, Madam,  
And that I shall have Cause to pity you.  
Sure, he that is the Cause, is Deaf and Blind;  
Else either Sense, and You, might teach him Love.  Pla. 
Nay, I'm so miserable, worthy Moor,  
That 'twas his Passion that gave birth to mine:  
But, as Fate orders it, all I've to beg,  
Is that you would convey me to some Cloister,  
Where I may ever weep and pray for him.  Mor. aside.] 
Sure 'tis for me, 'tis for the poor Vincentio  
She thus would weep and pray. Oh would it were!  To Pla.] 
Madam, I'm bound to wait on your Commands;  
But can there be a Cause for such Despair?  Pla. 
Too many, Sir, for had not Fate contrived  
To snatch him, and all Hopes, for ever from me,  
Yet I too well regard his future Glory,  
ere to have fullied it with my mean Blood.  Mor. aside.] 
'Tis myself—  
It can be no Man else she thus despairs for.  
First she shall name me, then I'll own myself.  To Pla.] 
Madam, you may well trust me with his Name,  
That can be happy thus in spite of Fate.  Pla. 
I will not hide his Name, from one that knows  
So much of his Concerns: 'Tis—  Enter Zemet. Zem. 
Ricardo's coming.  Pla. 
Heaven guard me from his sight!—  Morat. 
I'll strive to meet you here again with speed.  
Curse on his coming! But why am I troubled?  [Exit Plac. 
By what she said, 'tis plain 'tis me she means.  
Revive, Vincentio! Doubts and Fears remove!  
She must be mine, since she confesses Love.  
The Man that's loved, of Conquest never fails:  
Love pleads, and bribes, and forces, and prevails.  [Ex. Morat. Zem. 
Ricardo seemed dejected; I'll observe him.  Enter Ricardo. Ri. 
This Mine brings Instant ruin when 'tis sprung;  
It rends the main Foundation of my Greatness.  Sees Zemet.] 
Ha! thou black Imp, what dost thou here?  
Hence vanish!  [Exit Zemet. 
They and their Papers will so prove the Thing,  
There will be no outfacing it— Oh cursed Discovery!  
This Morning in the Sanctuary I trembled.  
ere Noon I revealed as sole Master here:  
Yet now, e'er Six at Night, these Monks have rung  
A fatal Knell to all my newborn Joys.  
With this Day's Sun my Fortune rose and falls.  
But with the next may it not rise again?  
They've given me time to get my Pardon sealed,  
ere they divulge the Truth— I'll have them killed—  
But how? by this they're in their Cells at Prayers.  
No, I must think again— assist me, Hell,— I have it.  
At Night for Africa I'll Ship the Sisters,  
Where I will marry one, and then return.  
But why not get Placentia? There I'll fix:  
Placentia shall be mine.  Enter Morat and Zemet. Ri. 
Ha!—  [Starts seeing Morat. Mor. 
Does your Guilt make you start?  Ri. 
Art thou Immortal, Moor?  Mor. 
Yes, Ravisher, all good Men are Immortal.  
Death is entailed on none but such as you,  
Who wear him still about you in your Crimes,  
Yet justly fear him as the greatest Evil.  Ric. 
Placentia has informed him of my Threats.  [Aside. Mor. 
Base Man, with Giant Blood, and Pigmy Honour,  
I hear thou talk'st of Ravishing Placentia,  
But if thou dar'st but wish it, that bad Soul,  
That Soul of thine, hard and impenetrable  
To every thing that's good, shall be let out  
To seek its place among relentless Devils.  Ri. aside.] 
Sleep my Resentments! now my Fortune's changed.  To him.] 
I loathe the Thought, tho' once I threatened it,  
To try her Virtue; but, since that, my Doubts  
Are changed to admiration of her Worth.  Mor. 
Oh that there were but hopes you yet would mend!  
I'm bound, and strive to love you, as you're called  
Vincentio's Brother, and his Father's Son.  
In War's brave School, your Father was my Master;  
Who bade me dare, and taught me how to Fight.  
He rushed like lightning on firm Troops of Foes,  
Unnerved their Ranks, and shattered them to Ruin,  
And floored the Field with honourable Slaughter:  
But after Conquest, mild as tender Virgins,  
Protected Virtue in his very Foes—  
If you'll be Noble, learn to act like him.  Ri. 
I'll learn of you, brave Moor, if you will teach me,  
Your words can shame and charm us into Virtue.  
Methinks your Tongue, like glorious Victory,  
Instils a Soul of Valour through my Veins,  
And all my Nerves seem knit with double force.  
I'm now engaged, but in an Hour,  
I shall be proud of being taught by you,  
And fixing you my Friend.  Mor. 
Till then, farewell.  
Love truly, and I ll give you leave to hope;  
For as your Love increases, Virtue will.  
'Twas Love alone first Civilised Mankind,  
And dull Instinct to sprightly sense refined.  
In Savage Nakedness Man lived and toiled,  
Uglier than Brutes, more wretched, and as wild;  
Till Emulation to be liked and loved,  
Started Invention, and the Man improved:  
But 'tis not Love, weak Bodies to control,  
Love only triumphs o'er the stronger Soul.  [Exit Morat. and Min. Ri. 
I'll strive to work thee to my purpose, Moor.  
Thou'rt brave, but free and credulous to a Fault—  
For ruined Laura's good, and more for mine,  
I wish Placentia may with equal ease  
Be wheadled into Marriage! startling change!  
She little thinks she's great, and I am nothing;  
Oh! I could rave and bellow Execrations.  
Hell curse these Monks, emphatically curse 'em—  Enter Four Bravoes. Ri. 
My Bravoes!  1. Bravo. 
Your Lordship's Servants.  Ri. 
I sent for you to punish a rude Moor,  
But I'll suspend a while my just Revenge:  
I've business of more Moment. There's Gold for you.  [Ric. gives 'em Money. 1. Br. 
Thanks, my good Lord, whose Throat must we cut now?  Ri. 
There's milder mischief Brooding.  
Hire me a Ship, that by use of Oars  
As well as Sails, may put to Sea this Night.  
At any rate, by any means I must  
Have it to Night, and you shall go with me.  
Succeed, and your Reward shall be so great  
You shall no longer skulk disguised; but live  
At large, above the scandal of your Lives.  1. Br. 
Conclude this done, my Lord; our Friends will help us.  
If by fair means we cannot get a Ship, we'll seize on one.  Ri. 
Success wait on my Friends!  [Exit Bravoes. Enter a Servant, with a Letter in his Hand. Ri. 
What Letter's this?  Seru. 
My Lord, 'tis for Placentia.  [Exit Servant, Ric. opens and reads the Letter Ri. 
Go, I'll deliver it— ha! from Fabiano!—  
How? leaving Portugal for ever! Embark this Moment!  
By my hopes 'tis well!  Enter Laura. [Ricardo seems surprised, and puts up the Letter hastily. Ri. 
Ha!— my Soul's Joy, I did not expect you here.  LaU. 
I read that in your Eyes, my Lord, but I  
Expected you, tho' 'twas in vain, I fear.  
What Letter were you reading?  Ri. 
'Tis private business.  Lau. 
I desire to see it.  Ri. 
Would you be made uneasy with my Cares?  Lau. 
Unless I see't, I shall be more uneasy.  Ri. 
Trust me, my Love, you need not, nay you shall not,  
Tho' even from you I must a while conceal it.  Lau. 
From me! Can you conceal it then from me?  Ri. 
Suppose it were a Challenge from a Foe,  
Or a more dangerous Secret from a Friend?  Lau. 
Say rather from a Mistress: false Ricardo.  Ri. 
Will you still chide, and without Reason still?  Lau. 
False and Ingrate, I have but too much reason;  
Yet if I chide, I chide but like a Dove,  
In gentle Murmurs. But urge me no longer.  
Give me the Letter, for I rave to see it.  Ri. 
What, will you still control me like a Slave?  
Will you still claim so insolent a Right?  Lau. 
Traitor to Gratitude, to Love, and me,  
What is't I claim, but leave to be assured  
Of thy Heart's Truth, or of its Falsehood rather?  
For now I've too much Cause to think thee false.  Ri. 
Your Jealousy, that Jaundice of your Mind,  
Perverts all Objects to its sickly Colour.  Lau. 
What, are my Charms then vanished with my Fortune?—  
'Twas otherwise when this base Rebel languished at my Feet,  
Trembling as Guilt, humble as begging Want;  
Charmed with a Look, transported with a smile,  
And ecstasied with a reviving Word.  
Love gently racked all Secrets from his Breast,  
Made him live more in me than in himself,  
Prevent my very Wish, and open all his Soul.  
Did it not Traitor?  Ri. 
It did, it shall, my Life, then pray be calmer.  Lau. 
And have I made thee Lord of all my Wishes,  
Given thee my Wealth, and my more valued Love,  
To be denied a Triste?  
Base Man, dare but be false, dare but deny me,  
I'll Sacrifice thee to my injured Charms,  
Tho' thou wert kneeling at the very Altar—  
Give me the Letter.  Ri. 
Since nothing else will satisfy you, take it.  
'Tis only from Fabiano to Placentia;  
For whom he's leaving Portugal by stealth.  
You see, he begs this may not yet be known—  
Puzzled.] Then— I'd a mind— to try your Jealous Temper—  
And feared— it might incline you— to misconstrue  
My Caution in thus opening a Love-Letter  
To one that's a dependent on my House.  Lau. 
Ha! sure you love her, or your guilty Mind,  
Which so long laboured for a faint Excuse,  
Had ne'er suggested such preposterous Doubts.  
You seemed surprised too at my sight; your Face  
Had scarce the Power to shape a gay Disguise.  Ri. 
To clear at once my Innocence, permit me  
To send for her— Who waits?  Enter Servant. Seru. 
My Lord—  Ri. 
Acquaint Placentia, that I'm here, and have a Letter for her.  [Exit Servant. 
My Life, from yonder Closet if you please,  
You may behold unseen  
Our mutual hatred in her looks and mine.  [Lau. steps aside. Enter Placentia, Morella, Melinda. Ri. aside.] 
She's here! This news will strangely grieve her—  To Pla.] 
You're well attended.  Pla. 
So we should be to come to you, my Lord.  
Your Pleasure?  Ri. 
Here's a Letter from Fabiano,— who's fled by Sea.  [Gives her the Letter, she reads it. Pla. 
Oh killing News!  Morel. 
Poor parted Lovers! how I pity them!  Pla. 
Is he then fled? fled without seeing me?  
Fled my Fabiano? Oh! 'twas too too cruel.  
Thy last farewell would pain me worse than Death;  
Yet I would suffer more for one dear parting look—  
But sure I wrong thee; we could ne'er have born it.  
How my Soul mourns, Some Dream or Angel tell thee!  
My Soul! oh no! 'tis fled with thee, and Grief  
Alone informs this Widowed falling Body.  [falls. Morel. 
Rise, rise, my Dear.  Mel. 
Sink not beneath your Sorrows.  Pla. 
Let me die here; for I've outlived myself.  
Break, throbbing Heart! break now! break! what, not yet!  
Well, stubborn Life, I'll punish thee for lasting,  
Melt thee away in Tears, and breathe thee out in Sighs;  
Till I'm grown of one Substance with my Grave.  She's raised] 
I'll drag thee where thou shalt converse with nothing  
But Walls, and Heaven, and Sorrow, and his Image.  
Off then, gay Dress! vain Pageantry, away!  
Thou once loved House, where my Years rolled so smoothly,  
Adieu for ever!— adieu, my dear, my only Friends!  
Adieu to all but Grief, and the dear thoughts of him.  
He's lost, he's lost, and Pleasure is no more.  Morel. 
Let's follow her, and strive to calm her Mind.  [Ex. Placentia, Morel. and Mel. Ri. 
Prevent her going out.  [Aside to a Servant. Seru. 
I will, my Lord.  [Exit Servant. Ri. to Laura, who comes forward.] 
You see the Love between us.  Lau. 
Did I not dread her, I could pity her,  Ri. 
Grieve not for her, my Love.  
A Widowed Nymph of Course a while Despairs,  
But nothing dries so soon as Woman's Tears.  
Clouds dull the Sun, then fall apace in Rain,  
And sprightlier Smiles adorn his Face again.  
Such, now your doubts are cleared, you should appear,  
And with kind Looks your Injured Lover cheer.  Lau. 
Were those Doubts cleared—  Ri. 
Unkind! now I must chide. What, Jealous still?  Lau. 
Still Jealous, since still Loving.  Ri. 
But I've a sure way left to ease your Mind.  Lau. 
How?—  Ri. 
Let to Morrow be our Nuptial Day.  Lau. 
To Morrow!  Ri. 
Yes, we'll wave tedious State. Hymen shall bless us.  
Oh! let me seal that Promise on your Lips;  
Thus, thus your Doubts shall all be lost in Joys,  
And kissed away as oft as they return.  Lau. 
Shall I still doubt— no, tho' I still had Cause,  
I must believe thy dear bewitching Tongue.  
Conduct me home, and oh! forgive me, my Ricardo.  
I cannot bear a Rival in your Heart.  
While Woman must to one confine her Love,  
Why should Man claim the Privilege to rove?  
We could dispense with Change as well as you:  
Women lose more than Men by being true.  
Yet tho' you blame our Sex, yours most deceives;  
Man leaves us oft, but Woman seldom leaves.  
Be just then, urge us not to change of Mind!  
Or give us leave to rove, or be yourselves confined.  [Exeunt. 
The End of the Second Act.   

ACT III.  Enter Placentia in a plain white Dress— Morella and Melinda. Pla. 
WHy am I thus detained? Now in this Dress  
I'm fitted for a Cloister: Oh! Fabiano!  
Thou leav'st the Land, I'll leave the World for thee.  Morel. 
Oh! grieve us not, by grieving thus yourself.  
Society in Woes will make them lighter,  
But ours grow heavier while we share your Load.  Pla. 
I'd silence my rude Grief, would it be silenced;  
But tender Love, Love newly weaned, and hopeless  
Will, like all other Infants, pine and rage,  
Tho' checked by Reason that denies the Food.  Enter Ricardo. Ri. 
Where, where's the Chaste Placentia? Sisters, tell her  
I'll crown at last the Virtue which I tried.  
What, all in Tears? She too in this mean Dress?  
You feed her Grief. Away! I say, be gone.  [Ex. Mor. and Mel. 
Leave Tears and Cloisters, Madam, to those Wretches  
Whom the World leaves, and who must leave the World;  
Who surfeit first, than practice Abstinence,  
Turn Nuns, and then repent their rash Repentance.  
'Tis true, my Brother's dead, Fabiano's gone;  
But I am left more charmed with your Perfections.  Plam, 
I pray you, leave me.  Ri. 
Look not on me as being still the same;  
Behold your Convert, Madam, 'twas impossible  
To love you, and love Vice, which you detest.  
You, and my change of Fortune, have at last,  
Made me reflect, and roused me into Virtue.  
My Threats were but to try you.  Pla. 
I shall rejoice, my Lord, to find the Change,  
Tho' 'tis ill jesting in the shape of Vice;  
" For 'twill be long before I shall shake off,  
" The horror that surprise stamped on my Soul.  
In the mean time, I beg you'll give me leave  
In some Retirement to compose my Mind.  Ri. 
Oh! leave me not, blessed Maid," You're my good Angel,  
" That bear me upwards, govern my best Thoughts,  
" And bid me think of Heaven, and view it in you.  
" But, if you leave me, ere my Callow Virtue  
" Grows fledged, and strong to soar with outstretched Wings,  
" Too soon my dead habitual weight of Vice  
" Will make me flag, and fall to worse Perdition.  
" Take me now, save a Soul, confirm me yours.  
" O save me, lest you answer it to Heaven.  
A Priest, a known Priest, waits to join our Hands.  
Oh come! I will not leave you till you've blessed me.  Pla. 
What means my Lord! Oh heavens'! what shall I say!  
Yes, I will bless you— if you'll let me go.  
But as for marrying you, forbid it Love!  
Forbid it Honour! and forbid it Heaven!  
" This would be cursing you, and then myself.  
" Change, rather change this dreadful Love to Hatred!  Ri. 
I've played the Tyrant, but I know you're mild  
As a forgiving Saint. Here on my Knees,  
(But that's too proud a Posture) thus then falling  
With prostrate Body, and more humbled Mind,  
Repentant, changed Ricardo, begs your Pardon.  Pla. 
Oh rise, my Lord! 'twas granted ere you asked it.  Ri. 
Oh! add your Love, or let me sink for ever.  Pla. 
My Lord▪ I must not, cannot hear you thus.  Ri. 
Thus have I sworn to kiss your Steps, and die,  
Unless this Day, this very Day you're kind,  
Stoop to be mine, and condescend to rise.  Pla. 
Alas! I too have sworn, this ne'er shall be.  Ri. 
I'll beg so earnestly, so humbly,—  Pla. 
My Lord, I thought you knew Placentia better.  
Spare this affected Cringing! 'twould be vain,  
Tho' 'twere not feigned; for such a whirl of Humour,  
So quick a fall from one extreme to t'other,  
Betrays less Love than a Distempered Mind.  Ri. rises.] 
'Tis true, I'm crazed, I'm mad, mad as wild Frenzy,  
To starve my noble Pride, to glut a Slave's.  
Why, cruel Stars, why do I court this Creature,  
This Infect, born to crawl and lick the Dust,  
Till fostered here, ungratefully to sting me?  
Oh! I could burst, and tear my Flesh with Rage.  
But why do I not rather crush it dead?  Pla. 
Murder! Oh save me!—  [She would run off, he stops her. Ri. 
None but yourself can save, or you or me.  
You shall be wretched, if you'll make me so:  
" For, good or bad, you now must share my Fate.  
This Steel, or else this Juice, shall end us both.  [Shows her a Bottle and a Dagger. 
'Tis like the poisonous Love I sucked from thee;  
No Antidote can stop the Bane's Progression;  
It creeps through every Vein, preys on the Blood,  
And lingering gives a sure, tho' lazy Death.  
Relent, or now I drink, and thou shalt pledge me.  Pla. 
Oh Horror! hold! let's parley o'er our Fate.  
Give me some time, my Lord, I beg it on my Knees,  
A Month, a Week, a Day; Oh Mercy! Mercy!—  Ri. 
No, it must be this Instant now.  Pla. 
What shall I say? I die with Terror.  
O hold! oh think of Hell, my Lord—  Ri. 
Hell's mild to what I feel.  Pla. 
I can but die  [He keeps the Bottle close to his Mouth. Ri. 
I've drank the Liquid Death. Now choose thy Fate.  Pla. 
Oh lost! lost!  Ri. 
Choose quickly, or—  Pla. 
Oh! give me time to pray.  Ri. 
The Poison will do that.  Pla. 
I thought 'twas but to try me.  
But give it me. 'Tis th' only welcome present  
You could have made me, and I thank you for't.  
I only wish my dear, my lost Fabiano,  
Thou couldst have seen these Tears, the best return,  
My niggard Fate would suffer me to make thee.  
Oh! if a helpless, friendless, dying Maid  
May form a wish! oh hear me, hear me Heaven!  
Let all the dear Man's Sorrows die with me.  
And, if another ere can love so well,  
Let some chaste noble Beauty love him thus,  
And make him happier than I've made him wretched.  Enter Fabiano, thrusting away some Servants, and runs to Placentia. Fab. 
Hence! Slaves! she's here.  Pla. 
Ha!—  Ri. 
Returned!  Fab. 
Yes, here to die. Look up, my Life, my Soul,  [He Embraces her. 
Placentia, see 'tis I, 'tis thy Fabiano,  Pla. 
'Tis he; some Angel brings him— my loved Lord—  [She drops the Bottle. Fab. 
My Fate—  [They Embrace. Pla. 
Oh! I forget my Fears, my Grief, my very self,  
At this dear sight.  Fab. 
Senses awake! and thou my wandering Soul,  
Unwind thyself out of this maze of Joy.  
Art thou at large, or in Placentia's Arms?  Ri. 
Must I bear this? my Lord, what do you mean?  Fab. 
To kill you, if you dare once more disturb me.  Ri. 
You're in my House, but—  Fab. 
What?  Ri. 
I'll say no more— I fear his Greatness now, tho' not  
His Sword  [Aside. Pla. 
Tho' Love had not betrayed me into Fondness,  
Revenge itself had done't, to plague this Monster;  
To make his Eyes drink Jealousies worst Poison,  
More gnawing than the Draught he swallowed now,  
Or that which he designed me.  Fab. 
How!—  Ri. 
No Poison, Madam, nothing but a Philtre,  
A Lover's harmless Trick to fright and win you.  
To ease your Mind, I'll send for her that made it.—  
And for some others too—  (Aside.) [Exit Ricardo. Pla. 
I dread his coming back.  Fab. 
Fear nothing, Madam,  
I've a Friend waits without with some choice Men.  Pla. 
I thought I never should have seen you more.  
Where have you been? Why did you write that Letter?  
Was it to break my Heart? 'twas too unkind, yet I prayed for you.  
I would have died, but pitying Heaven reserved me  
For this blessed Moment, ere we part for ever,  
For we must part.  Fab. 
Part! no, first let the Monarch part with Crowns,  
The Brave with Honour, and the Saint with Heaven.  Pla. 
Oh Reason, Honour, Duty!—  Fab. 
Oh Love! Love! Love! great Love against them all.  Pla. 
I've sworn to leave you; nor must I examine  
Whether I shall outlive the killing loss.  Fab. 
No, you will not leave me: I will ne'er believe it:  
Placentia loves me— Placentia will not let me die.  Pla. 
Sure Heaven will forgive this Sally of a Heart,  
Startled and wild with Joy, this Riot of starved Love,  
Tho' rigid Honour dares not warrant it.  
Oh! lead me quickly to the Convent, that—  Re-enter Ricardo. Ri. 
She whom I sent for, Madam, will soon tell you—  Fab. 
Nothing that can deserve our stay— farewell—  Leading out Placentia. Ri. 
Stay, do not lead my beauteous Charge to Ruin.  Fab. 
She's led from Ruin, when she's led from you.  Ri. 
Hold! hear me! for I'll here dispute my Right.  Fab. 
Then somewhere else, and not with Words dispute it.  Ri. 
Tho' now with Words, some fitter time with this.  [Shows his Sword. 
I claim her as my due. I best deserve her.  Fab. 
Who e'er pretends Desert, deserves her least.  Ri. 
She's obliged to my Family.  Fab. 
But I'm obliged to her.  Ri. 
You've nothing; but I've an Estate to give her.  Fab. 
I choose to lose one for her. But that's little;  
I'd give the Globe to bribe her to a Smile.  Pla. 
Oh! cease so needless a Debate, my Lords;  
Nor rate so high a worthless Maid's Esteem.  
Know both, I'd sworn, before I knew your Love,  
Never to wed above my Rank— I'm going to a Cloister.  
Then, if you love me, show it now, my Lords.  
Be pleased to leave me there.  Ri. 
No, Madam, I'll sooner leave the World.  Fab. 
Let me conduct you, Madam.  Ri. 
Hold!  Fab. 
Forbear, or in your very House I'll kill you.  Ri. 
Ha! Will you break the Laws of Hospitality?  Fab. 
Talk'st thou of Hospitality, and dar'st  
Detain her there? 'tis Sacrilege and Death.  
Draw, Fight, and die.  [He draws. Pla. 
Oh hold!  Ri. 
Tho' I dare fight, why should I leave to Chance  
What Prudence can secure?  [Aside. 
The shortness of my Sword makes you insult, but—  Fab. 
Give it me, and take mine.  [Fabiano gives him his Sword, and takes his in the Scabbard. Ri. 
Take it, and use it if you can.—  Pla. 
Oh! hold, my Lords!  Fab. 
A broken Sword! hah! Villain!  [He draws the Sword, which appears to be a broken Blade. Ri. 
Stir not, be silent, hear me, and you're safe.  
Live happy with my Sister, I with her;  
But die, if you persist t'obstruct my Bliss.  Pla. 
Oh! wed her, wed her, tho' I die my Lord.  Fab. 
I'll yet disarm thee, Traitor.  [Fabiano with the broken Sword strives to close with Ricardo. Ri. 
I would not kill thee! Who waits!—  Enter four Servants, with Swords. Ri. 
Seize that Madman.  [Fabiano snatches a Sword from one of 'em, and keeps 'em off. Fab. 
What, hoa! my Friends!  Pla. 
Help, Murder! help!—  Enter Captain, with two others, who fight Ricardo's Party. Cap. 
Courage, my Lord, we're here! Slaves! Villains! die.  Enter Don Ferdinand, with Musqueteers, who present, and all the Combatants cease Fighting. Fer. 
Hold! or my Guards shall fire among you.  Ri. 
'Tis well you're come at last, my Lord, your Son  
Was forcing his way out with this ungrateful Maid,  
To wed her, and leave Portugal by Sea.  Fer. 
I scarce believed the Messenger you sent me:  
Nay, now I scarce believe my very Eyes.  
What, my Reproof, my Counsel, my Commands,  
My Prayers, my Threats, my Oaths, all unregarded?  
It cannot be; Fabiano is my Son:  
My Son would not at once lose Wealth, lose Honour,  
Lose my Love, lose my Blessing,  
A Father's Love, and Blessing, for a Trifle;  
For all this he must lose, or leave this Maid,  
To wed my nobler choice, the fair Morella.  Fab. 
Thus, as to Heaven, to you, Sir, kneels your Son;  
And that Heaven knows, I scarce can reverence it,  
More than I do my Father. Oh! I'd lose  
The Life you gave me, rather than your Blessing.  
But Love, like mine, is deaf Necessity;  
'Tis Fate itself, and who can alter Fate?  
If Love's a Crime in me, 'tis its own Punishment:  
For hope, that softened all its Pains, is lost.  
Then curse me not yet more: alas! your Blessing  
Is all your wretched Son has left to lose.  
For soon he'll take his everlasting leave  
Of Friends, of you, of her, and Life, I hope.  Fer. 
Rise, hear Age speak! Fabiana! Wisdom's old.  Fab. 
My Lord, my Father,  
Oh! let me kneeling thus attend your Will.  Fer. 
Rise, rise, my Son, nor let thy poor old Father  
Lose the sole Comfort of his widowed Years.  
Thou art my only Child. Alas! I lived  
But by the hopes of seeing thee renew  
The Glories of our Race, by equal Marriage.  
Have I for this declined a second Choice,  
And lived in solitary Widowhood?  
Oh! do not hurry thus thyself and me  
To the dark Grave, and worse Oblivion's Death.  
I beg it, 'tis thy Father begs it. See these Tears,  
They're the last drops, the dying hand of Age  
Has left to due this drooping withering Plant— Oh speak!  Fab. 
Can Nature plead against itself?  
I cannot speak: my throbbing Heart's too full.  Fer. 
Then kill me, cruel Son; that Parricide  
Will be less barbarous than the other— speak!  Fab. 
Then with obedient boldness I must own, I cannot wed Morella.  Fer. 
Just Heaven! what have I done? what are my Crimes?  
That I must thus be punished with this Son?—  
But sure he's not my Son: Such Disobedience,  
Such Meanness, must and shall be Strangers to my Blood.  
Now, as I hate base Thoughts, he's roused my Rage.  
Degenerate Boy, thou scandal to my Race,  
Retract thy words, consent, lest, in my Fury,  
I wrong the dead, and even suspect thy Mother.  Fab. 
Oh! use me as you please; but spare my Mother!  
For your own sake, for hers, tread gently on her Grave.  Fer. 
No, she was virtue's self, but sure some Peasant  
Imposed thee on me, and displaced the Heir.  
Be banished then my House, my Heart, my Thoughts!  
Be stripped of all—  Fab. 
But my Placentia's Love:  
You cannot take that from me.  Fer. 
Tortures and Daggers! Wretch, lose all but that.  Ri. aside to Ferd.] 
My Lord, let him rave on.  
He's lost all use of Reason in this Fit  
Of Love's high Fever; but it cannot last.  
Leave him with me, I'll watch its Crisis and Declension.  
First, I'll remove the Cause, this fatal Charmer,  
Then soon my Sister shall restore his Reason.  Fer. 
'Tis well advised— Guards stay— obey my Lord.  
Cursed be this Frantic Love, that rashly hurries  
Unequal Pairs into the Nuptial Noose!  
How bitter proves the fair forbidden Fruit!  
How lost, how naked Man than finds himself!  
How short, how false the Bliss, how long the Woe;  
A few good Nights, a thousand dismal Days.  
Then the fierce Lover grows a tame dull Husband,  
And the kind Mistress a vexatious Wife.  
How like an Ass, how like himself he looks,  
Wishing to part, more than he did to join;  
While Wife and Husband curse th' unequal state,  
Wedded for Love, then Cuckolded for Hate.  [Exit Ferd. Ri. 
Retire you tempting Mischief to your Chamber.  Pla. 
Oh! rather to a Cell.  Ri. 
Leave that to me.  Pla. 
Oh! once more let me see him.  Ri. 
You shall not see him more.  [Fabiano who was talking to the Captain, runs suddenly to prevent her going out. Fab. 
See me no more? then I'm poor indeed;  
Yes, I will see her, tho' her sight were Death.  Ri. 
Hold! my Lord.  Fab. 
Forbear! Despair is frantic; play not with it;  
I've lost all hopes but of one parting look;  
Rob me not of that last, that cruel pleasure.  Pla. 
Oh rigid Fate, why must I thus undo him▪  
" But I myself shall soon be more than punished,  
" Lonesome, self-banished, buried to the World,  
" My Life shall be a kind of lingering Death.  
" Course Weeds my Clothing, a poor Cell my Lodging,  
" Bare Walls my only prospect, the cold Ground,  
" Or harder Floor, my Bed; and Grief my End.  Fab. 
" Oh! why did I come back! why would I see her!  Pla. 
" Then, if at dead at Night you chance to wake,  
" Oh! think of me, and say, now poor Placentia  
" Is risen in the Dark, and in the Cold,  
" To pray for me, to pray for her Fabiano:  
" For then will I be praying on my Knees,  
" That Heaven may bless you and your future Bride.  Fab. 
Too generous Fair, Oh! spare your Grief's Profusion;  
Show me less Love, be cruel out of Pity;  
Tell me you hate me, I shall be less wretched.  Pla. 
I cannot; Oh! then leave me, quickly leave me;  
Fly my Contagious Grief. Oh! 'twill infect you.  
I merit not your Care, much less your Love.  
And yet forgive, and let me Love you still.  
As for your Grief, impose it on me, Heaven!  
For I am grown familiar with Affliction.  
But live, and think your Death my greatest dread.  Fab. 
Then I must strive to live: But oh! Placentia,  
'Twill cost my Love much dearer than to die.  
If one Hour's Absence made me wild with Sorrow,  
How shall I live, for ever parted from you,  
By Hills and Seas, and the more fatal Cloister?  
How bear the Sun should rise, the Sun should set,  
And I ne'er blessed with my Placentia's sight?  
Yet fear not, my Complaints should reach your Cell.  
No, not so much as the Tidings of my Death  
Shall give you cause to think there lived on Earth  
So lost a Wretch as I  Ri. 
Take her away, she heightens his Distraction.  Fab. 
Oh! stay one moment more, then tear me from myself,  
Here let me seal my everlasting Leave.  [Kisses her Hand. 
Farewell, thou Innocent, thou blessed Destruction!  
Kind Cruelty, sweet Torment of my Soul;  
All that's Delight and Pain transcending Thought;  
My Soul, my Blessing, and my earthly Heaven.  Pla. 
Farewell.  Ric. 
Part them.  Fab. 
Oh! let me take another parting Look.  Ri. 
Force 'em asunder.  [Ricardo's Servants strive to part 'em. Capt. 
I cannot bear—  Ri. 
Hold, stir not, on your Lives.  [To the Captain and his Attendants. Fab. 
Hold, impious, sacrilegious Villains, hold!  
Pull, hale, drag, cut, part, tear me Limb from Limb,  
Yet still I'll hold— she's gone.  [Struggles with Ricardo's Men. Pla. 
Farewell, thou dear unhappy Man, farewell.  [Placentia is led off. Fab. 
Wolves, Tigers, Fiends, you shall not 'scape unpunished.  Ri. aside.] 
He'll but obstruct me, if he stays— I'll free him.  To Fab.] 
My Lord, 'twas needful Cruelty to force you from her.  
But I'll yet prove your Friend, and free you instantly.  
Go travel when you please; I'll not impose  
My Sister on you, tho' your Father would.  
This private way you may get out unseen.  Fa. to Ri.] 
Tho' I can't thank you, I accept the offer.  To the Captain aside.] 
Captain, once more I'll try to see Placentia;  
Then I'll aboard your Brigantine again.  Capt. 
My Lord, part of my Men ashore keep close together,  
The rest aboard wait for us: All the Slaves  
Sit ready at their Oars.  Fa. 
Alas! poor Men!  
Tho' they're not half so wretched as myself.  Ri. 
Guards I dismiss you.  [Ex. Fabiano, Captain, and his Attendants one way, and the Guards another way. 
He's gone, and she's secured— so far 'tis well—  
Page, tell Placentia, that Fabiano's here,  
And has prevailed with me to let him see her.  [Exit Servant. 
This may decoy her hither— my Time's short,  
Yet I will fetch thee back, and tug with thee,  
Thou shifting Fortune— ere thou partest from me,  
Resolve to leave some of the spoils I hold;  
I will not be left naked—  Enter Placentia hastily. Pla. 
Ha! deceived—  Ri. 
Nay, start not back, he's gone for ever now.  Pla. 
And do you think to keep me here by force?  Ri. 
Yes, force must act, when kinder usage fails:  
I'll give you still an hour: But then resolve  
To wed me, or appease my amorous Rage.  Pla. 
Were't thou as great, as Lawless Power could make thee,  
And I as poor as Nature first designed me,  
Know, rather than I'd serve thy horrid pleasures,  
I'd Fly to Deserts, to the Land of Sorrow,  
Bear with the want of freedom, light and food.  
Nay, I would plunge in Seas, and even in Hell,  
But that, I know, thou wouldst torment me there.  
Such is my hate, I'll desperately dare,  
And, to shun Thee, all other Curses bear.  Ri. 
Then hear thy Doom. Out of mere Spite I love thee,  
Love thee with most inveterate bent of mind.  
And thus will hate thee worse; yes worse I'll hate thee,  
When force has gained what thou deniest my Love.  
That which will quench my Flame, shall kindle thine;  
Then for the Pleasing Cure to me thou'lt run,  
Still close thou'lt follow, but as fast I'll shun:  
From wealth, from me, I'll calmly see thee torn,  
And leave thee nothing but thy naked scorn.  Pla. 
Hear thou, the surer fate attends thy Crimes;  
In sudden wealth, as sudden a decay:  
Then universal hate, in pressing want;  
And, in that want, sickness without Relief.  
Thus lingering, thou shalt envy starving beggars;  
Shame and Reproach clogging thy heavy hours.  
Then, guilty conscience hurrying on despair,  
Hang between Heaven and Earth, as fit for neither;  
And none endeavouring thy cursed life to save,  
die without Tears or Prayers, and want a Grave.  Exit. Ri. 
'Tis well thou'rt gone, proud Thing. I'm urged so far,  
I scarce could hold from making good my Threats.  
'Tis yet too soon, but if my plot succeeds  
Thou shalt be mine, or bear thy share of Ruin.  
If I'm left hopeless, hope not to be spared.  
No, when I fall unpitied, perish Nature;  
die all that's humane in me but Revenge;  
Like a fallen spirit to desperation driven,  
I'd be more damned to keep my Foes from heaven;  
With powerful spite I'll all their hopes destroy,  
And drag 'em downwards with a dismal Joy.  Exit.  

ACT IU.  Enter Morat, and Zemet, who keeps at a distance. Morat. 
THe Day's grown old, and almost lost in night:  
Work in each Street gives way to soft amusements:  
All Nature's business seems now to be Love.  
The wind with stronger sighs salutes the Flowers,  
Descending Clouds embrace and kiss the Earth.  
And, while the Sun on the Sea's bosom Rests,  
Th' officious Moon, who winks, with half a face,  
Lends a securer light to meeting Lovers.  
For now they meet; Th' impatient happy youth  
Sees his kind Nymph come tripping o'er the Plain:  
They fly, they rush into each others arms,  
The Lover's Blessed and rifles all her Charms.  
Thus eager, but less certain, here I come  
To seek my better Fate, my loved Placentia.  
Make haste, O night, extend thy sable Wings!  
Let Nature wear a blacker Face than mine,  
When the Fair owns her Love, and I myself,  
When with kind Rudeness, I force willing Kisses,  
Hide, hide Placentia's blushes from my Eyes,  
Or with Excess of joy, the blessed Vincentio dies.  Enter Ricardo, and two Bravoes. Ri. 
But are you sure the Ship's at your disposal.  1 Bra. 
The Brigantine is ours, my Lord; we could not  
Get one sor any hire; but seized on this with ease.  
Most of the men were gone ashore. Besides  
The Captain is a new revolted Pirate,  
Who was as glad of us as we of him.  Enter Servants with Lights, which they set upon the Table. 
Hush! here's the Moor!— In half an hour attend me.  Morat aside. 
Whispering and Bravoes! sure there's mischief hatching.  
For once I'll force myself to seem a Villain,  
To sift out, and prevent it—  Ri. 
You're punctual, worthy Moor, but why so thoughtful?  Morat. 
I was but thinking  
Why men, who know each other to be Cheats,  
Should to their prejudice strive to seem honest.  Ri. 
What, do you think I now dissemble with you?  Morat. 
Why not, my Lord? since I myself dissembled.  Ri. 
How! you? plain-dealing blunt Morat dissemble?  Mor. 
We all for Love, Revenge, or Interest feign,  
And all, for different ends, seem different men,  
Then shift like players, and are ourselves again.  
Even the most wise, with studied labour, hide,  
When flattered, Joy; and when exalted, Pride.  
Old Maids, if such there be, dissemble youth;  
Young Widows, sorrow; Wives and Husbands, truth.  
The heir feigns Joy, if his sick friends revive,  
Yet almost dies for grief that they're alive;  
The Trader rails at Thiefs who Forests range,  
Cants, preys, yet cheats, and shakes a whole Exchange.  
The Common Jilt, with face and passion feigned,  
Hugs some rich fool, nor leaves him, till he's drained.  
Dissembling's all Mankind's Prerogative  
We know 'tis used by all, yet still believe,  
And thus are all deceived, and all alike deceive.  Ri. 
I've been deceived indeed. What, would you tempt  
Your Convert to relapse?  Mor. 
Come, come, unmask my Lord, I'm barefaced now,  
And know you; know me too; I'm left Executor,  
And the Will gives your Sisters and Placentia  
Most of th' Estate. I've nothing but my Sword;  
Command it, and my Power, so I may share  
Some of the gain you by my means may reap.  Ri. 
Shall I believe thee true?  Mor. 
Like all mankind, true to my Interest.  Ri. 
Than thou'lt be true to me—  
Come to my arms, thou surest, best of friends.  
With feeble Oaths we'll not each other bind;  
No tie but Interest strongly links mankind.  Mor. 
You love Placentia?  Ri. 
I love no Woman, but I lust for all;  
And her above the rest; though hopeless yet:  
But now I've a design, you soon shall know—  A flourish for a Serenade. 
Hark, Music!— sure this Serenades for her;  
'Tis given so near her Window; let's put out  
The lights; perhaps we may know more.  They put out the Lights. Morat. 
Placentia! hah! I find I am not proof  
Against th'intruding Monster Jealousy.  
Out of my heart, thou gnawing envious passion!  
Tho look'st so like a Vice, I will not lodge Thee.  A Serenading Symphony is heard, as from without. Enter Placentia while 'tis performed. Pla. 
What wretch has chosen this night for Serenades?  
Alas! my only Charmer's gone for ever,  
And with him all the Joys these Notes would summon.  
They might as well before Church-windows revel,  
And with unheeded Numbers tempt the Dead.  
Yet have my hopeless wishes drawn me hither,  
Where I unseen may best inform myself,  
Whether, as I suspect, these are not this Musicians.  
Perhaps he's not gone yet, but stays to free me.  
Time was I should have trembled thus alone,  
But Grief and Fear itself have made me bold.  Enter Fabiano, Captain, a Servant, with a dark Lantern. 
Ha! who are these?  Fa. 
She's here; fear not, my Soul. 'Tis your adorer.  Morat. 
Ha!  (starting. Ri. 
Stir not yet.  (aside to Mor. Fa. 
Take this, thou friendly guide, with my best Thanks,  
And watch to let us out.  Gives the Servant Money. Ex. Servant. Pla. 
Oh! I am all surprise. Why would you venture thus?  
Why, with this Music? Is't to punish me?  Fa. 
Think not those accents meant to move the Soul.  
Oh! lovely Maid, more music's in your name;  
They're but the mournful Prelude to my Dirge;  
And serve t'amuse observing Spies one way,  
That we more safely may escape another:  
For I am come once more to see and free you,  
Then go, where my despair shall near torment you.  Pla. 
Oh I must share your grief where ere you go;  
You never can be absent from my heart.  Morat. 
I hope, I dream.  (aside▪) 
Is this the love I blessed myself withal!  Fa. 
Sighs stop my words.  Pla. 
And Tears obstruct my sight.  Fa. 
Oh! if you loved!  Pla. 
I love you but too well,  
For my Soul's quiet, dear unhappy man.  Morat, 
Oh cursed sound! he's loved! he's but too happy.  aside. Pla. 
Go prosecute your generous Design,  
See foreign Lands, and visit distant Courts!  Fa. 
Since you will have me go, I will Placentia:  
But not to Courts. No, I will find some Desert:  
There will I linger out a wretched Being,  
Till grief that nurse of Sighs, can yield no more,  
And with your name upon my Lips, I die.  Pla. 
Alas, my Wishes contradict themselves;  
I wish you'd loved me still, I wish you would forget me.  
Yet love me, love me still, where e'er you go.  Morat. 
Racks, Wheels, and Vultures!—  (aside.) Pla. 
Stay, but one moment, I will fetch some Jewels;  
" To pay my Portion to the Monastery,  
" Then I'll fly thither under your conduct,  
For there's no safety here, now brave Vincentio's Dead.  Ex: Pla. Morat. 
Oh! that he were!— (aside.) I can forbear no longer.  
Who are you there, that with false Lights and Vows  
Seek to dishonour noble families,  Zemet comes up to Morat.) 
By ravishing young Virgins from their Houses?  Fa. 
whoever thou art, I justly fling the lie back in thy face.  Mor. 
Our quarrel's just o' both sides, if 't be so:  
Then let not odds on mine ere make it less.  
How many are you armed?  Fa. 
We're only two, yet dare defy you all;  
Tho, if the Moon's faint light deceives me not, you're three.  Mor. 
That shall not be; Ricardo, now stand by. Draw, Zemet▪  Ri. aside. 
No, I'll get lights— I hope they'll rid me of a Rival.  Exit Ricardo. Fa. 
whoever thou art, though thy Reproach was base,  
Yet this proceeding's noble. Would we had  
The Sun to light us to each other's face. I would see thine  
Let's to some fitter place to sight this quarrel,  
For which I know no motive but thy Rudeness.  Mor. 
Yes, there are many; but my face would show  
By light but little otherwise than now.  
I am the Moor, deceased Vincentio's friend.  Fa. 
I ever loved him;  
And, for his sake, I would not kill thee, Moor.  Mor. 
But he would thee, if he were in my place,  
For stealing thus from him Placentia's love.  
But I'll revenge at once his wrongs and mine.  Fa. 
Were he alive. I'd not invade his right;  
And as for thee, how canst thou say I wronged thee?  Mor. 
Oh! ye immortal Powers! What, have I got  
A talking syllogistick Enemy?  
And for a prize great as Placentia's heart?  
Know, whosoever thou art, I love Placentia.  
Will that yet rouse thy Courage?  Fa. 
Ha! Thou love her!  
Vile Black! I'll free her from that shame, or die.  Morat fights Fabiano, the Capt. fights Zemet, and disarms him out of sight, than (to join with Fabiano,) he Reenters, supporting himself on his Sword. Zem. (without.) 
Disarmed! Cursed Chance! Help! Help!  Capt. 
Unlucky Wound! he has hurt me in the Thigh,  
And now I'm useless.  [Falls. Enter Placentia, who offers to step between them. Pla. 
Oh! hold! or know you kill a harmless Maid.  [They stop. Morat. 
Madam, retire.  Fa. 
Leave us a while, dear Madam.  Pla. 
No, here I'll take my death, or hinder yours.  Fa. 
Oh! fly! while this Moor lives, I cannot free you.  Pla. 
Ah! why so cruel, Moor!  Morat. 
I love and will not lose you.  Pla. 
The name of love is posioned on thy Tongue.  
Oh! sully not my Virtue with thy passion.  
Can you now think me worth your care, my Lord?  Fa. 
Heaven can receive no spots from Blasphemy;  
But, spite of that, the pious pay their duty,  
And mine's to die or free you.  (offers to fight again.) Pla. 
Oh! stay! hold! if you love yourselves or me,  
Who first desists, I'll think the truest lover.  Fa. 
Must I not punish him?  She suddenly interposes and holds Fabiano. Pla. 
Yes in my arms— Thus punish him more safely.  
Now, Moor, if thou wouldst kill him, kill me too.  Enter Ricardo, Zemet, and Servantsses with lights. Mor. 
Fabiano!  Ri. 
How does my worthy friend?  Mor. 
Oh! never worse.  Ri. 
Where are you wounded, Sir?  Mor. 
Oh! at the heart— by killing jealousy.  Fa. 
Madam, till morning I must leave you here,  
And then I'll wait on you.  Pla. 
Oh that's too long, where honour is unsafe.  Mor. 
Let him protect you there, if I am grown  
So feared a Ravisher.  Fa. 
Madam, we will: my wounded friend wants help,  
The Moor is brave, and thus we must be safe.  Mor. 
Zemet, While I retire, stay and observe 'em.  Ex. Morat. Ri. 
O do not fear me, Madam: what I threatened  
Is far from my intent, 'twas but to fright you  
Into complying. I adore your virtue.  [The Captain is carried in. 
Oh pardon me, be blessed, and make me so.  [He kneels to Placentia. Enter Laura, with her two Children led by Servants. Lau. 
Confusion!  Ri. 
Ha!  They start and look amazedly at each other. Lau. 
Ruined!  Ri. 
Both, if you stay.  (Aside to Laura.) 
You found me begging here a reconcilement  
Of this fair Enemy, who's wedded to a Cloister;  
But I'll withdraw with you, to know what fit  
Usurps your patience, Madam.  Lau. 
No, learn that here.  Ri. 
Oh hold! retire, or we're undone.  (Aside to Laura. Lau. 
No, perjured man. All here shall known my wrongs.  
Despair disclaims Reserves: 'tis as I feared;  
Impatient Creditors drive me from home,  
Just now my goods were seized, and here thy heart.  
All, all, I find, is lost▪ of what the fondness  
Of my late Husband left me when he died,  
I've nothing now, but these his helpless Infants;  
These Innocents, deprived like their poor Mother,  
Even of a place to lay their little heads.  1 Child. 
Oh sad! have we than ne'er another home?  
I'm hungry, cold, and tired, indeed I am.  Lau. 
Oh wretched Children, but more wretched Mother!  Fa. 
This Scene adds grief to grief, yet tempts to stay:  Ri. 
I share your sorrows, Madam: Let's withdraw,  
You may expect to find a friend in me.  Lau. 
A friend! how cold, how unlike one he talks!  
And looks, as if I were his Wife already.  
I'm lost, he's false! I saw it. This confirms it.  
I can no longer doubt the dreadful truth.  
But if Revenge—  [Looks angrily upon Placentia Going. Pla. 
I dare no longer stay.  Lau. 
Stay, thou invader of my right.  Fa. 
Hold, Madam.  (Interposing. Lau. 
Stay, I'm all patience yet!  
Let me peruse you, Madam—  
Thou vulgar thing, thou Face mean as thy Birth,  
How durst thou tempt the Creature of my Love?  
I'm now convinced that nothing but a Philtre  
Could thus divert his choice from me to thee.  
But were't thou Beauty's Queen, thy charms are vain,  
I'd blast them all, my conquest to maintain.  
Dare but to hope my slave to disengage,  
Not heaven itself shall shield thee from my Rage.  Pla. 
If Don Ricardo's yours, pray keep him, Madam.  
I could even hate myself for pleasing him;  
Then think not I'll e'er court his odious Love,  
Sooner shall freedom dote on Tyranny,  
Sooner will I be perjured, or he true.  [Ex. Plac. led by Fabiano. Zem. after 'em Lau. 
By her Disdain, it should be so.— Just Powers!  
Should he shun me, to dote on one who shuns him,  
'Twould be Revenge, yet heighten my Disgrace.  
Am I then fallen so low to seek him whom she scorns?  Ri. 
I still am true— But hear me.  [aside to Laura. Lau. 
No, thou canst only be thyself, and false.  
I've heard too much, I'm cured at once and loathe thee.  
I thought not, I so tamely could have born  
Thy change; but 'tis so poor, I scorn thee now.  
Raise my fortunes  
High as they stood, our contract shall be void.  Ri. 
Can you mean this?  Lan. 
Witness it, all that hear me!  Ri. 
Then be it so.  Lau. 
Do you consent?  Ri. 
I do.  Lau. 
First perish she, thou, I and all the World.  
Perfidious Fool! couldst thou presume to think  
I'd give thee leave to live and be another's?  Ri. 
I was a fool,— for I believed a Woman!  Lau. 
And I a greater, I believed a Man—  Ri. 
What shall I do? out of mere pity I must use her ill.  (aside 
Cursed be your Love, and your assuming Pride,  
Still thus Vexatious, but most cursed your Cunning!  
Thus do too many of your Sex deceive us;  
For they can feign and lie and weep at will.—  
Reservedness is a Bawd to their stolen pleasures.  
For, as some wear fine clothes with empty purses,  
They 've but the dress of virtue, not the substance.  
Their modesty's as thin, as are their Veils,  
Worn alike every where, but in their Chambers.  
Their Reason is a Slave to their wild Passions,  
Their honesty to the Desires of Men,  
And their best virtue's damned Hypocrisy▪  Lau. 
And what's your Sexe's who thus rail at ours,  
To hide your worse dissembling, which all ours  
Is but to Counterplot; while all the faults,  
For which you blame us, are still caused by you?  
You, who all promise, and who all betray;  
Who use your stronger sense to ruin our weakness:  
And take a greater freedom to be bad,  
Nay, boast even of more vice than you can act;  
Force us to feign, and live recluse like Slaves,  
Yet damn us for a slip, of which you glory.  
You, proud, deluding, treacherous Tyrant— Men:  
Your very Heroes are but bold Destroyer's,  
Your good Companions are but Libertines,  (Walks about discontentedly. 
And your fond Lovers but designing Traitors.  Ri. to himself. 
I find 'tis vain to think t'outrail a Woman.  
I must try softer means.  
Trust me, were both undone, if you rave on;  To Laura following her. 
But if you're calm, I'll double your Estate.  Lau. 
Cruel, how durst thou thus affront my Love?  
What did I ever wish for, but thy heart?  
Did I desire thy wealth? Did I not give thee  
All I possessed and beggar these young wretches,  
Whose sight now fills my drooping Soul with Grief,  (weeps) 
And sinks my spirits to the lowest ebb;  
For, with our Wealth, our Spirits sink, I find.  Ri. 
Oh check that Love— You know not what you ask.  
whate'er I seem, I scorn t' undo you more.  
I am— Oh! I shall say too much! I swear,  (aside 
The dismal truth was on my lips— Farewell—  (Going Lau. 
Stay! Oh! I die with shame, but cannot leave him.  
heavens', is this he who swore eternal truth!  (Holds him Ri. 
Do, rail on, curse me, hate me, scorn me, spurn me,  
That I may dare to wrong you, or we're ruined!  
Heaven knows 'tis fate, more than my falsehood, parts us—  Lau. 
Oh racks! oh pangs! oh that we could but deal  
With love, when slighted, as we can with friendship,  
Part company, and love and friendship too.  
But 'twill not be— I burst with grief and rage.  
Must I bear this? Is there no way to ease?  
My Rival— I'll find her out, and give her instant death.  (Going Ri. 
Hold Madam—  (Ricardo hinders her. Lau. 
Let me go.  Ri. 
You must not.  Lau. 
Prevented! and by thee? Oh my heart breaks!  
My Rage works inwards— help; I faint— I die!  Swoons in her womens' arms, and is laid in an Arm-Chair. Wom. 
Oh help my Lady!  Ri. 
Run to my Closet! I've rich Cordials there—  
By heavens I pity her!  Exit Ricardo's Servant. 
Yes, from my Soul I do. Her Charms, her Love  
Deserve a better fate! Oh! I could kill myself,  
My most unhappy fickle self! but hold!  
Would that relieve her? No: Then live, Ricardo,  
Live to supply her wants out of Placentia's fortune▪  
But how? while Laura lives, she'll still obstruct thee.  
" Oh! whither am I driven? Thoughts not so far!  
" But if she lives we're ruined both! a dreadful truth!  
" I feel a strange Remorse.  
Stay, Life's to her a greater pain than Death.  
Then let her die—  
" Down checking scruples. Let me tell my Soul  
" 'Tis a kind act, and necessary mischief.  Re-enter Servant with a Case of Bottles, Ri. opens it, takes out one, and causes some drops to be poured into Laura's mouth. 
Few drops of this will soon restore her senses—  
And in few hours give her eternal rest.  [aside.] Woman. 
How your hand shakes, my Lord.  Ri. 
Alas! I'm much concerned for her, poor Lady—  
See, she revives.  Lau. 
More cruelly to die.  
For, to the wretched, Life's a punishment,  
And most to me, lost, hopeless, yet still loving.  
Oh women, women, boast your power no more.  
How soon our pride is humbled! first we triumph,  
But oh 'tis only with more weight to feel  
Th' insulting scorn of our Rebellious Slaves.  
Weep, Laura weep! Think how with this false Charmer  
(Checking thy native haughtiness of Soul)  
Thou couldst have lived an humble Cottage mate,  
A pattern to all Wives. Yet now he slights thee;  
Tho ruined for his sake, and unpossessed.  
Oh let me rave, be mad, tear, tear my hair,  
My face, my eyes, curse their weak Charms,  
Groan on the ground, and grovel till at last  
It hides me in a Grave.  Throws-herself on the ground▪ Ri. 
Pray, Madam, rise.  
There's an apartment ready to receive you.  Lau. 
Away!— Think not I'll stay in this ungrateful House▪  
No, let me lie exposed to the bleak Air,  
On the cold pavement, in some lonesome street;  
A Lodging fit for my forlorn condition;  
While my poor Children, freezing, tired, half famished,  
With tears and moans pierce the most cruel hearts,  
And with cold scraps feed miserable life.  
Oh dismal, dismal thought! But 'twill not long torment me:  
I shall run mad, I hope. Yet then, I fear,  
As on my Straw I rave, a doleful spectacle,  
Still with a sigh to all my Sex I'll cry,  
Thus, thus, poor Laura fares for being true.  Ri. 
Oh! how this shakes my Soul! she shall not die.  (aside. 
Run, fetch Physicians— But hold, I'm mad too.  
How will that help her?— Gently raise her up,  
Then lead her hence to rest.  They raise her up▪ Lau. 
It must be to the Grave then. Would it were,  
So my cursed Rival were but there with me!  
Oh how the thoughts of her inflame my Soul!  
May a wronged woman's Curses soon o'ertake her,  
Wrinkles, Deformity, Desires, and Scorn,  
Detracting blast her fame, worst plagues her Charms,  
Eternal Disappointments, Grief, Disquiet,  
Confusion Shame, and Misery like mine  
Pursue her, and the cause of my Despair.  (Ex. Lau. cum suis. Ri. to himself. 
How my Soul's racked; shame combating with pity!  
Methinks I see her still, and the Bane's working—  
I feel her Pangs, I hear her Groans— Oh horror!  Enter Bravoes, and Lieutenant. Brau. 
My Lord—  Ri. to himself. 
It shall not be; I'll save her, though I perish—  Bra. 
My Lord! He's lost in thought.  Ri. to himself. 
But will that ease her?  Bra. 
My Lord—  Ri. 
Ha!—  (Starting Bra. 
I've brought the Captain of the Ship: our friends  
Wait with his men without.  Ri. 
I thank thee, Hell! thou hast determined me.  aside 
Plate, Money, Jewels, and the chief, the Women,  
This very night shall all be shipped for Afric.  To the Bravo. 
Come, let's make all things ready for our flight;  
Then in Placentia's Lodgings seize Fabiano;  
He'll be an Hostage for our future Pardon,  
Oh Laura!— But I cannot help thy Fall.  
Necessity makes. Villains of us all.  Exeunt  

ACT V.  Enter Placentia, Fabiano. Pla. 
OH haste, let's fly, my Lord!— Ricardo's Threats,  
His busy gloomy Looks, his odd Expressions,  
That Lady's wrongs, her Rage, and all things here,  
Must have convinced you, 'tis unsafe to stay.  Fa. 
But oh my Captain?  Pla. 
The danger cannot reach him.  Enter three Bravoes, who surprise Fab. take his Sword, throw it by, and bind him. Fa. 
Ha! Villains! by whose orders am I seized?  1 Bra. 
By Don Ricardo's hedesigns no hurt:  
As for you, Madam, you must now deliver  
Your Money, Plate, and Jewels; else we've orders  
To take 'em all by force.  Pla. 
Assist me then, Despair!  (aside.) 
If there's no Remedy, go with me yonder;  To them 
You'll find much more than e'er your hearts could wish:  1 Bra. 
Search every where, while I attend Ricardo.  Exit. Two of the Bravoes run to the place pointed to 'em by Placentia, she steps out after 'em, locks a door, and reenters immediately. Pla. 
By happy Chance I've locked the Villains in,  
While eagerly they rushed to seize their Prey—  
I must unbind you, but I tremble so,  
I scarce have power to do it.  She begins to unbind him. Enter Ricardo hastily, with a Dagger in his hand. Ri. 
Hold!  Pla. and Fa. 
Ha!  Ri. 
Attempt to free him, and he dies.  Fa. 
Thus Robbers steal our wealth, then leave us bound.  Ri. 
You're robbed of nothing since she'd be a Nun;  
Neither shall you be left, but go with us.  Fa. 
She shall not go.  Pla. 
Villain, I will not go;  
And rather would be wedded to the Plague.  Ri. 
Oh! how that blush of Rage, that sullen Grace,  
That scornful smile, now blended with a frown,  
That soft Emotion, and that wild of Beauty  
Fire my hot blood! It mantles, bubbles, boils!  
My full Veins swell, and the revulsive Red  
Whirls flushing o'er my face. Oh I'm all transport!  
I must, I will be blessed, The coy Placentia,  
Since she'll not be my Wife, shall be my Mistress.  
Come, quickly yield! for I'll this very moment.  
Secure my bliss, lest my design should fail.  Fa. 
If thou'rt a man, unbind and kill me first.  Ri. 
Rave on, and like the damned now feel a hell,  
To see me seize the Heaven of love by force.  Pla. 
Oh save me, heaven! Ricardo, think of heaven.  Fa. 
Hold! Is the man lost in the lustful Brute?  
Thou look'st a man, then bear thee now like one,  Ri. 
So I intent— Come, with me, or I'll force you.  Pulls Pla. while Fabiano is striving privately to unbind himself. Pla. 
Can fruit while immature indulge the Taste?  
Oh! stay! do not profane th' unyielding Tree;  
Kind usage and necessity at last  
May ripen crabbed hate to generous Love.  Ri. 
I scorn the fruit which of itself does fall,  
I love a pleasure I must struggle for.  Pla. 
Your appetite's depraved, your Love distempered.  Ri. 
If 'tis depraved, and t'other a disease,  
Then, sweet or sour, the Physic must be taken;  
Besides, Resistance will enhance the blessing;  
Insatiate in the Riot of my Joys,  
I'll bribe, or teach, or force you to be pleased.  
I'll grasp the trembling, panting, struggling Maid,  
Graced with variety of new disorder;  
Her dress, her tresses lose, and in her face  
Roses, and Lilies in alternate chase.  
I'll see her beg, and beg, to be denied,  
With heaving breasts, soft looks, short balmy Sighs,  
Kind broken words, and trickling pearly Tears,  
While my proud Rival by, seas, rages, and despairs.  Fa. 
Racks, Wheels, and Fires, must I be still restrained!  [striving to unbind his legs. Ri. 
Comply!  Pla. 
I must not.  Ri. 
Marry me then.  Pla. 
Hope.  Ri. 
I hate long Sieges— 'Tis Soldierlike to Storm.  Pla. 
But not to storm weak woman! Oh! forbear!  [kneels. Ri. 
I'll stab thee then.  [In a threatning posture, then suddenly embraces her: Pla. 
I'll thank you.  Ri. 
When 'tis done— thou charming stubborn Folly.  
Thou Foe to thy own Pleasure— what still foolish?—  
Sure I can grapple with you.  Pla. 
Oh Heaven! Crush, crush us both with Thunder! oh! my Lord!  Fa. 
Cursed Sight! Death to my Eyes! Hell to my Soul!  
I cannot bear it  
Blast, Thunder, striek, burn, tear me or my bands!—  
Ha!— Now, Fate, I half forgive thee—  Rises, having freed his Legs, comes up to Ricardo. 
Turn, Monster!  Ri. 
Away! fly instant Fate! 'tis in my hand.  
" Thou mayst more safely tempt the greedy Lion,  
" When with contracted Paws he grumbles o'er his prey.  
Be gone! I never threaten twice.  
Villain, stab, or desist.  bushes Ric. roughly. Offers to stab him. Pla. steps between. Ri. 
Fond, rash fool, take thy wish!  Fa. 
Ha! What means Placentia?  Pla. 
To rob you of that blow; I want it most.  Fa. 
Restraint, your danger, check, distract, unman me—  
Oh! my Placentia! Oh Ricardo spare her!  Pla. 
Oh! my Fabiano! Oh Ricardo, spare him!  Ri. 
Too long I've trifled— stand out of Death's way.  Pla. 
No, strike, strike thro' my Heart! still thus I'll stand,  
Between the dear unhappy Man and Fate.  Ri. 
The dearer he's, the sooner he shall die.  Pla. 
Oh! take the wealth I now was leaving! kill me!  
" Alas my Death will mend my wretched state,  
" And I, instead of burying myself living  
" Within the lonesom Walls of some poor Cloister,  
" Will lie more quiet in the silent Grave,  
" Forgot among the solitary Tombs.  
But on my knees, which fear has scarce left able  
To bear my Trembling body, by your Love,  
By the remaining Tears of this sad day,  
By your best hopes, and by your future safety,  
Let me adjure you, spare him, spare my honour,  
Nor act a Crime you'd wish undone too late.  Fa. 
Down Stubborn Heart! bend knees!  Placentia kneels. 
A Goddess kneels; but see a greater wonder,  
Ricardo! see thy Rival at thy Feet!  
Not to beg life! ah no! I wish to die:  
Spare her! oh spare her! Let my blood atone.  Ri. 
Something I feel like Pity; but I'll hide it—  [aside.] 
Or yield, or wed me now, or both shall die.  To Pla. who holds him by the arm. 
Let go your hold—  Pla. 
Oh do no drag me thus!  Fa. 
Bound as I am, I'll strive to snatch thy Dagger.  Fa. with both his hands seizes Ricardo's Dagger. They struggle. Ri. falls. She gets his Sword, and points it to his breast. Ri. 
Ha!  Pla. 
" Now, Villain, tremble! Stir, and thou diest.  Ri. 
" Oh do not kill me— I'm not fit to die—  Pla. 
" Nor ever with'lt; therefore unfit to live:  
" What shouldst thou fear, thou'rt all a Devil already.  
" Thy lowest fall can be but into Hell.  Ri. 
" Oh, that's uncharitable!  Pla. 
" Then that's like thee:  
" Infection's busy where you breathe! die—  Pla. offers to kill Ri. Fa. hinders her. Fa. 
" Hold, dear Placentia, let me interpose:  
" I'll shield him, but to punish him myself.  Pla. 
" No, his Sword must let out his tainted blood.  Ri. 
" Let not blood stain your Innocence.  Pla. 
" A Monster's blood ne'er stains the hand that sheds it.  Ri. 
" Can a Virgin do this?  Pla. 
" A Virgin wronged can more.  Ri. 
" 'Tis not her office to be cruel.  Pla. 
" But 'tis every one's office to do justice.  Ri. 
" Oh! you are pious, and you must forgive.  Pla. 
" Now you can preach that pity you denied.  Ri. 
" Oh! 'twas excess of Love that urged my Crime.  Pla. 
" Thou never hadst that goodness as to love.  
die, Virtue strikes, not I  Fa. 
Hold, Madam, free my hands; I'll kill him then.  Pla. 
Why venture twice your life against a Villain?  Fa. 
What can I have to lose, when you are lost?  Ri. 
aside. I hate this lingering— Thus I'll scape or die.  Starts up suddenly, and runs out. Pla. 
Ha! now he's scaped, and 'tis our turn to fear.  Fa. 
I'll fly for help, unbind me.  Enter Morella, Melinda, and two of their women. Morel. 
We've heard a dismal noise— Fabiano bound!  Pla. 
'Tis now no time to talk; secure that door.  They bar the doors on the side where Ri. came out. 
Theft, Rape and Murder are at hand—  
Some of you, ring the Bell, it may bring help.  They unbind Fabiano, who takes up the Sword. Fa. 
Quick, call the Captain: now his wound is bound,  
Tho lame, he may assist.  Exit Seru. Ri. 
without. Open the door.  Fa. 
No, not to Thiefs and Ravishers.  Ri. 
without. We'll break 'em open then.  (Knocks and wrenches without. Morel. 
Heaven send us succour first.  Pla. 
I fear it much.  The Bell is rung. Enter Captain, supporting himself on a stick. Fa. 
Why, then I can but die for you, Placentia.  Cap. 
Talk not of dying, Sir, but of defence.  
Let's keep close by the passage,  
There we shall better make our party good.  The door is burst open, the Women shriek. Enter Ricardo, Bravoes, Sailors and Lieutenant. Ri. 
Fall on!  Ri. and the Bravoes fight, Fa. and the Capt. who give way by degrees, till the Lieutenant finding his Capt. there, falls on the Bravoes, and with the help of the Sailors disarms them and Ricardo. Lieu. 
Our Captain's here! fall on the Rogues.  Cap. 
My men are here, beyond my expectation.  Ri. 
Betrayed by cursed Pirates!  Cap. 
Lieutenant, what's the matter?  Lieu. 
Our Brigantine, Sir, was o're-pow'red by Villains;  
So many of our men being on shore.  
They came upon us so at unawares,  
There was no other help but joining with them.  
I told them I was a revolted Pirate,  
Who would be glad of such good company;  
And thus, since that, I've traced them in their mischiefs,  
Being resolved to seize 'em, when my men  
Were got together, as they are now.  Fa. 
Where is the Moor?  Lieu 
We cannot find him yet.  Fa. 
Bind all the Villains, and confine Ricardo.  Enter Don Vincentio undisguised, with Attendants. Vin. 
Forbear, presumptuous Lord!  Fa. 
How! Don Vincentio living!  Mol. and Mar. 
Ha! 'tis my Brother's Ghost!  Ri. 
Risen from the Grave;  Vin. 
Why d' you all shun me? But perhaps you ought.  
Yet, tho much changed, I am Vincentio still.  Pla. 
Alive! oh grant it heaven.  Vin. 
You've been imposed upon, I find.  Ri. 
Oh my dear Brother, how I mourned for you!  [Runs to embrace him. Pla. 
" Come I'll believe he lives, though 'twere a Dream,  
" That I may know one joyful Moment more.  [The Ladies and Ri. run to embrace him, he makes 'em sign to forbear. Vin. 
Spare Compliments! It is your love I'd have;  
When I am sure of that, the rest is needless.  Ri. 
My Lord, your Ear a moment.  (Ri. whispers Vin.) Vinc. 
I find, there have been strange disorders here.  
Placentia, as for you, I hear you're grown  
An absolute disposer of yourself.  Pla. 
Ah can your Soul more than your face be changed!  
You did not use to meet our joys this way.  
Oh! my best Lord! upon my knees I beg  
That Calumny may not possess your Soul!  Vin. (aside.) 
How am I changed indeed; I can stand by,  
And see Placentia kneel. Oh! jealousy,  
Thou hast perverted all my noble nature:  
Thou drov'st out flattering hope when most secure,  
And all my Generous passions followed it.  Fa. 
Does it become Placentia thus to kneel, my Lord?  Vin. 
If you dislike her low Condition, raise her!  Fa. 
So, I can, Sir, and to as high a pitch  
As yours, though mounted thus in all its pride.  Vin. 
My Lord, you've in my absence stolen a Jewel  (To F. aside. 
I prized above my life, my very being.  
Restore it me again on your Sword's point;  
And by the Grove where I killed rash Don John.  Fa. 
to him.] I'll meet you; say no more— Rise, noble Maid.  Pla. 
No, I will grow to Earth, except my Lord  
Turns merciful again, and hears me speak!  Vin. 
aside. Hopes of Revenge have beat out jealousy,  
And I'm myself again— Ah lovely Maid,  
To what but Heaven should so much Beauty kneel?  
Oh! I was mad, Placentia! quickly rise,  
Or I shall sink into the Earth for shame:  
His words made no impression on my Mind.  Ri. 
My Lord, pray keep your Temper, nor suspect me;  
For I have proofs, I wish the Moor were here!  
He first betrayed their ill designs to me.  Vin. 
Why then, ye equal judges, hear him speak!  
I am the Moor— do you start, base Traducer?  
But thou'rt below my Thoughts? 'Tis you, Placentia,  
I now must chide.  
" Why, Cruel fair,  
" Why will you thus shut out your lovely self  
" From all the World? I prize no other Wealth,  
" And would you, would you steal yourself from him  
" Who without you must die? for o Placentia,  
" None can divide the Body from the Soul.  
" Yet make that Body live.  Pla. 
" Alas! Vows firm as fate for ever part us.  Vin. 
" Yet stay, That I may see you shine at Court.  Pla. 
" Ah no! my Lord, virtue shines best in Cloisters.  Vin. 
" But oh! if you're resolved to live recluse,  
" And make your fond Vincentio miserable,  
" Why must another offer you to Heaven?  Pla. 
" You shall dispose of me,  
My Lord, my heart  
Is by a secret charm bound to Fabiano,  
But yet, its Duty must be wholly yours.  Vin. 
Oh! break that cursed charm, or else deny  
All thoughts that prompt a friendship or respect.  
Respect was welcome from you, when I thought  
None had a stronger tie upon your Soul.  
But that respect▪ is now below contempt.  Pla. 
Oh! though I love him—  Vin. 
Oh unspeak those words.  
Ten thousand Vipers stung me at the sound;  
Ten thousand thoughts, all wild, all black, all dismal,  
Work my mad Brain. Oh, say you love him not.  
You weep— you are dumb— you will not? Cruel Maid!  
Teach me, yet Powers to move her— Oh I would invoke  
Men, Angels, Friends, to wrest him from her heart:  
But 'twill be vain: how long have I not sued?  
Hours, Days, Months, Years, are past; yet still she's Marble.  
I'll die then— yes; but first my Rival shall.  
I'm ripe for ruin, like some battered wall,  
But haughty Foe, I'll crush thee with my fall.  Fa. 
Kill me, I'll thank you; for I'm hopeless too.  
But live, my Lord, and think me not your foe.  
Nothing but barbarous wrong done to Placentia  
Could make me draw my Sword against my friend.  Vin. 
Must I be wicked ere I can be eased?  
Take, take your friendship back. Oh why am I thus cursed.  
My Brother a base wretch, my Friend my Rival,  
And what's yet worse, a Rival loved! Oh Tortures!  
But what most racks my Soul, this very evening  
I thought myself the happi'st man on earth.  
From such a hope, in full career to bliss,  
Thus to be hurried down a precipice  
To dash on deep despair! It kills my reason,  
Confounds my Brains, my Heart, and tears my very Soul.  Flings himself on the ground. Pla. 
Compose his mind, good Heaven!  Morel. 
Rise, my dear Brother.  Mel. 
Oh why will you lie thus?  Vin. 
Oh why indeed indeed! my sword, my sword should end me and my pain.  [rises and draws his Sword. Fa. 
Hold! are you mad?  [Takes his Sword from him, and others hold him. 
Let Reason end 'em, and preserve your Life.  Vin. 
Away; Life's my worst foe, and you the next;  
Think not t'impose it on me. Reason's self,  
Nay Patience, says my ills are past her cure.  
Oh harship! I'm even denied the privilege of dying.  
Then hear, thou heaven! why sleeps thy thunder? end me!  
Delay not thus my wished for Dissolution.  
Oh rid me of Intolerable Life.  Fa. 
Forgive your Friends, and live my Lord.  Vin 
My Friends! would you be thought my Friend?  Fa. 
Yes, from my Soul.  Vin. 
Then dare be such, and rid me now of Life.  Fa. 
Would that be like a Friend? Reflect, my Lord:  
Exert your Soul, and bear like your great self.  Vin. 
Will you not kill me then?  Fa. 
Were every door to ease shut up but Death,  
Unwillingly I would.  Vin. 
There's no other.  Fa. 
Then I must be cruelly kind.  (draws his Sword.) Pla. 
My Lord—  Fa. 
Madam forbear? Let one friend ease another.  Vin. 
Well said?  
Come, take your Sword my Friend, and lay its point close to my Breast?  (Fa. gives him back his Sword. 
That when I do you the same hated Office,  
We both may fall at once.  Vin. 
What, both! forbid it friendship!  
I dare not buy my ease at your Life's Cost.  Fa. 
See, whither passion hurried you, my Lord!  
Were wilful Death an ease, should you deny it him  
That gives it you? for I too am most wretched.  
But Life's the Gift of Heaven, and we must wait  
Till heaven commands it back, to gain a better.  Vin. 
Oh! you have touched my Soul! Come to my Arms!  
I'm reconciled to wretchedness, to Life,  
Nay, even to you: Tho Rivals we'll agree:  
Let's all three join as partners in affliction.  
Till heaven be moved, while nature mourns to find  
Three hearts so wretched, yet so truly kind.  Enter Zemet. Zem. 
My Ld, Don Ferdinand, with guards was forcing Entrance,  
But, hearing you're returned, would only kiss your hand.  Fa. 
My Lord conceal me, lest I be detained.  Vin. 
to Fab. Retire into that Room▪ Go bring him in.  (To Zem. [Exit. Fa. and Zemet severally. Enter Don Ferdinand, with Zemet with him. Fer. 
Welcome, my Lord, to Portugal, that mourned  
The brave Vincentio's loss! The King himself  
Has worn a noble sorrow for your Death;  
And doubtless will rejoice, to see you contradict  
That most unwelcome news.  Vin. 
I must employ my Friends, my Lord, for a new pardon,  
'Twas I that caused the Rumour to be spread;  
But 'twas to save a Brother.  Fer. 
He's no Brother.  Vin. 
My Lord, he's but an ill one, I confess:  
Yet, nature still will work.  Fer. 
I'll say no more, till I have got your promise, of one thing.  Vin. 
Name it, my Lord; a gift that you can ask  
Must needs be too well placed to be denied.  Fer. 
I had a Son, and hope once more to have him,  
If this fair Lady will restore him to me,  
Once I despised her, but admire her now.  
I ask her for his Wife, my Lord, that's all.  Vin. 
All!— ask me my Lord, to rip my breast myself,  
And give you thence my heart. Ask any thing,  
Rather than ask Placentia for your Son.  
She must be mine, or no man's in the World.  Fer. 
My Lord, she is your Sister.  Vin. 
Ha! my Sister.  Ri. aside.] 
Nay then 'tis time to fly: These perjured Monks,  
Tho he's not dead have made the secret known.  Fer. 
Lay hold on him!—  (going is stopped by the Lieutenant.) Enter the 2 Monks. 
This Villain, shall no longer be your plague.  1. Monk. 
No, he's a peasant's Son, and she your Sister.  Vin. 
Can Heaven and Earth conspire to make me wretched?  
Sister, that word ne'er sounded ill till now.  
Sister brings in't eternal separation.  
Fathers, you should be Messengers of joy.  1. Monk. 
I hope, My Lord, we shall, if you'll but hear.  Vin 
Let me hear any thing but Sister from you.  
That fatal sound will murder me at once;  
I dare not understand you.  
But since I'm doomed to hear some dreadful story;  
'Tis fit I should possess my Soul with Thoughts  
Of the most dismal kind!— I need not study.  
Placentia Loves another— That's enough.  
Alas! what Racks, what tortures can be worse!  
Now tell the rest— yet on the Ground I'll lie  
Lest I drop down, when she is proved my Sister. '  
There, wretched Lover, measure out thy Grave.  [Throws him on the ground. 
Now strike the blow that must cut off all hopes.  1. Monk. 
Read that, my Lord! It is a declaration  
Under his Parents hands.  Gives Vinc. a paper. Vin. 
This is enough— Placentia is my Sister. Oh! my heart!  
Turn, turn thyself about, that I may ask  
Why this was done?  1 Monk. 
My Lord, you've heard your sickly Infancy  
Gave but a doubtful promise of your Life.  
This made your Father wish another Son.  
But Daughters still deceived him. Now your Mother  
Then big with Child, had heard him rashly say,  
If that too proved a Daughter, he should wish  
She never had been his.  
This made such an impression on her mind,  
That to preserve his Love, he being absent,  
Seeing it proved a Girl, she changed the Child.  
This fault her youth committed, and her age repented.  
So she with us deposited this Trust,  
To be revealed, if you died without Issue.  
If not, to be kept secret. But just heaven  
Has brought the secret out before its time.  
Yet with no breach of trust on our-side neither,  
Since we believed you dead, when we revealed it.  Vin. 
Have I not patience, fathers, thus to hear  
Such killing news, yet lie here without raving?  
But I'll do something too.  [starts up and Exit. Monks and Servant▪ after him. Pla. 
Look to my Lord!  Fer. 
Alas! he's much disturbed— As for these Villains,  
To dungeons with them. But for this mock-Lord—  
Degrade him first. Strip of this rich garb,  
Then clothe him as befits his state and Birth.  [Ex. Saylors, Bravoes and Ricardo. 
That thus my Lord may see him dragged to prison.  Morel. 
Oh Sister; 'tis more joy to find you thus,  
Than 'tis to lose that wretch.  Pla. 
This doubles the delight I took in Friendship,  
But my Love for you was so great before, it cannot now increase.  Re-enter Ricardo, in an old Gown with Attendants. Ri. 
Now, Fortune, Nature,  
I owe you nothing but a wretched Being.  
Take back the thankless gift, and then we're even,  
" Nor rack my Soul with dread of endless Flames.  
There's Hell enough on Earth in guilty minds.  
" To lose at once the heaven of Love and Greatness,  
" Then be condemned to Life, or die a branded Villain!  
" Cursed Thought! a branded Villain. Ha! I feel  
" A warmth new to my heart, thaw the hard lump,  
" And shake my shudd'ring frame.  
Oh my past Life, thou mak'st me doubt the future.  
Alas, I dare not hope I may repent▪  Laura▪ 
Oh run, for pity's sake! she is poisoned.  
Get Antidotes! But tell her not, I did it.  Fer. 
Run, help the Lady.  (Exit Servant.) Ri. 
Oh! lead me from her Sight, to Chains and Galleys,  
To toil, to shame, to want, to pinching cold,  
To scorching heat, to stripes, to worse Remorse,  
And evernew variety of Woes.  
All, all these pains are slight, to those I bear,  
Struggling for hope with horror and despair.  Laura in the passage.] 
Stay! Poys'ner Fiend,! take this and this.  (Exit Ricardo bloody, Guarded by the Lieutenant, etc. Ser. 
Hold, Madam.  Pla. 
More horrors yet! oh let's avoid that Sight.  Ex. Pla. with Fer. Morel. and Mel. Enter Laura and Richardo. She holds a Dagger in her hand, and drops it as she struggles with the Servants. Lau. 
Why do you hold me? let me end that Monster!  Ri. 
Strike, injured Goodness; strike again; I'll thank you.  
" Complete the work of Death, that moves too slow.  
" But oh! first hear me, take some Antidote.  Lau. 
Must I be held, and punished with his sight?  
" Free me, or take him hence, for horror shakes me  
Even at the thoughts that he's of humane form.  Ri. he kneels) 
Oh stay; look on the most undone of Creatures,  
A Devil in guilt, but a repenting Devil.  
Oh! could but heaven and you forgive.  Lau. 
Avaunt— Devils can't repent, nor be forgiven.  Ri. 
But even the worst of Men, thus prostrate trembling,  
Not daring to look up, near death, will sigh to heaven.  
" Oh! you're so much its likeness,  
" Sure its best attribute, Divine forgiveness  
" May yet be show'red even on a wretch like me.  
" A Wretch, more, more than a wretch, there's not a name  
" That can express my miserable state.  Lau. 
Let go my Robes.  Ri. 
Oh never, never,  
The drowning wretch cannot forego his hold;  
That lost, I sink for ever.  Lau. 
" I'd sink with thee, that thou might'st sink yet lower.  
" Think on my wrongs, thou Fiend, thy breach of Vows,  
" Ingratitude, that even thy Sex must startle,  
" Poison thy kind return for all my wealth,  
" For all my Love, and what cries most for Vengeance,  
" Those poor young Orphans! Oh my ruined Children.  Ri. 
Oh! take some Antidote!  Lau. 
No, I would die: what should I live for now?  
see behind me nothing left in Life  
but misery, terrible misery.  Ri. 
Oh Laura—  Lau. 
wilt thou still plague me? die, and let me die.  Ri. 
" Oh! had you heard me, but an hour ago,  
" We might have lived. Alas you little know  
" What's now divulged; I'm not Vincentio's Brother.  
Death to a wretch like me has lost its horror;  
Death should have snatched me in my fancied greatness;  
But now my base original, my Crimes,  
My shame call for severer punishments.  
The Rack should stretch my Limbs, and show me death in view,  
Then pull the blessing back, that I might long be tortured.  
Then let me starve with those poor helpless Orphans,  
Whom I have robbed of the support their dying Father left.  Lau. 
" Oh now thou'st touched my Soul,  
" And laid my Crimes as well as thine in view.  
" I, I, was left entrusted with the Care.  
" How shall I meet my Husband's shade? methinks  
" I see his angry Ghost! he frowns— oh hide me.  
" Forgive, blessed soul; forgive a poor deluded Woman!—  
" But oh! my Children, how can you forgive me?—  
" Yet once more let me see 'em— stay; I dare not,—  
" Oh dismal f●●e; a dying mother dreads to see her Children.  Ri. 
" Oh not to you, to me they owe their Ruin;  
" Oh me, on me alone should Vengeance fall.  
" Add to my torments, heaven, so they have ease.  
" Oh! tho' she cursed me still, tho' she ne'er knew  
" 'Twas for their good I strove to wed Placentia,  
I'd bear an age of Hell to mend your fates.  Lau. 
Amazement! his guilt lessens. Can it be?  
He pities me, pities my Children too.  
Take back thy pity, take it back, Ricardo.  
It gains so much upon my easy heart  
That I shall wrong myself, and give thee mine.  Ri. 
Pitied! am I then pityd? oh! thou goodness,  
If thou canst pity, sure thou canst forgive,—  
But oh the poison! That must wake heavens' Vengeance,  
And seal the ears of mercy;  Lau. 
'twas Charity to kill me: but thy falsehood  
Was a worse poison to my doting heart—  
Yet we've all faults. Alas, we all want mercy—  
We must forgive,— heaven pardon thee, and me!  Ri. 
What do I hear?  Lau. 
But fly! my Child's sight may force forgiveness back.  Ri. 
Is that forgiveness? see, I bleed apace.  
Oh pardon, ere I die.  Lau. 
Oh! I've a vice of mercy in me.  Ri. 
Let me Embrace your Knees, breath out my Soul.  [Embraces her knees. Enter Children. Lau. 
My Children! off, away.  [pushes him away. Ri. 
I dare not see 'em, and I cannot leave her!  throws himself on his Face. Lau. 
" Away, you dearfond wretches. Why d' you cling?  
" I've ruined you; but oh! I'm ruined worse.  
" Poor Innocents, they little know their misery,  
" I feel it double for them, wretched Mother.  
Oh had my Woes fallen only on myself,  
I'd think 'em gentle, but this worse affliction  
Entailed on you, poor helpless guiltless Orphans,  
It turns my Brains, distracts me— 'Tis too much.  
Oh dreadful change! oh vanity of life!  
Death is the only blessing a fond Mother  [She falls, and then she sees the Dagger by her and takes it up privately. 
Can wish her dearest Children— ha! the Dagger.  
Does not Fate hint by this, I ought to ease 'em?  
Must they be left, to want? to beg? to starve?  
I'll do't; but oh what Arm can hurt such sweetness?  
I cannot strike— I cannot bear their Looks—  
But must they live to curse me, shame their name,  
And die perhaps an ignominious Death?  
No, I must strike—  1. Child. 
Pray, mother, don't look so, indeed it frights me  
Oh pray ben't angry! oh I'll hug and kiss you.  Lau. 
Away, we're ruined, and we ought to die.  1. Child. 
Oh my dear Mother, live; We'll beg for you.  Lau. 
Beg! could you Beg?  1. Child. 
Yes, for our dearest mother.  Lau. 
Oh this disarms me. Live, my dearest Children—  
Live and be happier, you instruct your Mother,  (She throws away the Dagger and embraces her Children. 
And I too ought to Live— If there be means— but oh the poison  
It works, hah! it shoots Hell into my Blood!  
I am all wound. My head; my breast! I burn!  
Heart, I cleave my sides! Brains, burst my skull! help! help!  
Oh gently, gently!—  (They offer to help her. Ri. 
" Oh horror! Curse thy sufferings off on me,  
" Thou martyred Goodness— hurl your Bolts, you Powers!  
" Grind, grind me into dust,  
" And on each atom double all her pains.  
" So Laura's eased, Ricardo will not murmur!  Lau. 
Oh! give me ease! where's Death?  
The Coward dares not come, affrighted at my torments.  
My Breath's a fire. Help! Water, Ice! Heaven, pity me.  
Give 〈◊〉 some of the cold my Children are to suffer.  Lieut. 
Take hence these innocents, too much they move.  Lau. 
Oh pity them— I called on Death, and lo, he's come at last.  
But oh the thoughts of them, makes me now welcome him  
With that sad heaviness that sinks despairing Sinners.  
Oh Heaven!— Oh my Children!—  (Dies. Wom. 
She's dead, she's dead.  Ri. 
" Ha! and do I still live?  
" Be dry my Eyes, and you, my Wounds, weep faster.  
" Oh let me look, and sigh my last at once.  
Oh killing sight when shall I overtake thee,  
Thou only fair? Oh! never, never, never.  
'Tis not for guilt like mine to mount with thee:  
I feel myself in Hell, and mercy's self  
Can never stoop so low.  
" Fain would I pray— ha! a Grim Vision frights me.  
" Oh heaven! oh save me! hah! a hand is stretched  
" To raise me up to heaven, let me get hold—  
" But oh! dark vapours rise between— I cannot see it  Re-enter Ferdinand, and a Servant. 
No News yet of Vincentio?— Oh most dismal sight!  Fer. 
Remove that Scene of Grief— force off that wretch.  Ri. 
Oh you shall never part us— No, I will, I will  
Be joined with her at least in Death!— Oh Laura! Laura,  (Laura is carried off, Ricardo follows, bolding by the garments, but is forced off, faints, falls and is carried off. Fer. 
A doleful Scene! but where's my Lord Vincentio.  
I dread some greater mischief from his Stay.  Enter Zemet. Zem. 
Run, find Placentia? Don Vincentio's coming,  
A conqueror o'er his noble self at last.  (Exit Servant 
He brings my Lord Fabiano to be blessed.  Fer. 
My Son!  Enter Vincentio and Fabiano at one Door▪ Placentia, Morella, and Melinda at the other. Vin. 
Love's sacrificed at last to Reason, Take her,  
She's yours, my Lord.  Fa. 
Oh 'tis too much at once— oh rapture— oh Placentia.  Pla. 
Oh my loved Lord!—  [He embraces her. Fa. 
My Life! my Soul! oh I am lost in Bliss, and suffer with delight.  
Thou kind omnipotence, forgive my doubts,  
I thought thou couldst not thus have blessed a mortal—  
My Lord, my Father!  [kneels to his Father. Fer. 
Oh my dear Son, be blessed, and let my tears  
Now speak my Joy as once they did my Grief.  Vin. 
Thus Providence has wrought my desperate cure.  
Oh! you, no more my Mistress nor my Rival,  
Live happy. Long be crowned  
With blessings which no single state can give.  
My heart has fed so long on hopeless Love  
That it would surfeit, should it feed on other.  
Glory shall be my Darling Mistress now.  
Off then, soft frenzy! let me rouse my Soul.  
In martial Fields let Fame possess it whole:  
While all who know, whence sprung these dangers here,  
Learn from small Crimes great mischiefs to beware.  Ex. Omnes. 
FINIS.   


Books Printed for D. Brown, at the Black Swan and Bible, without Temple-bar.  
1 THe Canterbury Guess: Or, a Bargain broken. A Comedy, Acted at the Theatre Royal. Written by Mr Ravenscroft.  
2 The Sullen Lovers: Or, the Curious Impertinents. A Comedy, written by Tho. Shadwel.  
3 The Cornish Comedy, as it is acted at the Royal Theatre in Dorset Garden, by his Majesties Servants.  
4 Dr Colbatch's 4 Tracts His Treatise of the Gout, and Doctrine of Asids' further asserted.  
5 A late Voyage to St Kilda, the remotest of all the Herbrides or Western Isles of Scotland, with a history of the Island natural, moral, etc. By Mr Martin, Gent.   

Books Printed for R. Parker, under the Royal Exchange in Cornhill.  
1. OF wisdom 3 Books, written originally in French by the Sieur de Charron, with an account of the Author, made English by George Stanhope, D. D. late Fellow of King's College in Cambridge, from the best edition. Corrected and enlarged by the Author a little before his death.  
2 The Roman History, from the building of the City to the perfect settlement of the Empire. By Augustus Caesar; containing the space of 727 years, designed as well for the understanding the Roman Authors as the Roman Affairs. By Laurence Echard, A. M.  
3 The Roman History from the settlement of the Empire by Augustus Caesar, to the removal of the Imperial Seat by Constantine the Great, containing the space of 355 years, Vol. 2. for the use of his Highness the Duke of Gloucester. By Laurence Echard, A M.  
4 The History of the Revolution in Sweden, etc.  
5 The history of the Revolutions in Sweden, occasioned by the change of Religion, and alteration of the Government in that Kingdom. Written originally in French, by the Abbot Vertot: Printed at Paris; and done into English by J. Mitchel, M. D. With a Map of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway. The Second Edition. In which the whole Work is revised and corrected; and almost the whole second Part, which was done by another Hand, newly Translated.  
6. A Relation of a Voyage made in the years 1695, 1696, 1697. On the Coast of Africa, Streights of Magellan, Brasil, Cagenna, and the Antilles, by a Squadron of French Men of War, under the Command of M. de Gennes. By the Sieur Froger, Voluntier-Engineer on board the English Falcon. Illustrated with divers strange Figures, drawn to the Life.  
7. The Modest Critic, or Remarks on the most eminent Historians, ancient and modern; with useful cautions and instructions as well for writing as reading History; wherein the sense of the greatest men on this subject is faithfully abridged, by one of the Society of the Port Royal.  
8. Poems on several occasions, written in imitation of the manner of Anacreon, with other Poems, Letters, and Translations, by Mr Oldmixon.  
9 The Centlemans' Journal, or the monthly Miscellany, by way of Letter to a Gentleman in the Country; consisting of News, History, Philosophy, Poetry, Musics etc. Complete Sets, or single ones. By Mr. Motteux.  
10. Busby's Greek Grammar.  
11. Cambridge Phrases.  
12. Dr. Sydenham's complete method of curing almost all diseases, and description of their Symptoms; to which are now added, 5 discourses of the same Author concerning the Pleurisy, Gout, Hystorical Passion, Dropsy, and Rheumatism. Abridged and faithfully translated out of the Original Latin, with short and useful notes on the former part, written by a Learned Physician, and never before printed; the Third Edition.  
13. The art of preserving and restoring Health, explaining the Nature and Causes of the distempers that afflict Mankind. Also showing that every man is, or may be his own Physician. To which is added, a Treatise of the most simple and effectual Remedies for the diseases of Men and Women. Written in French by J. Hammond M. D. and faithfully translated into English.  
The Novelty, every Act a Play, being a short Pastoral Comedy, Masque, Tragedy, and Farce, after the Italian manner▪ Written by Mr Motteux, and others.   
FINIS.