THE Unnatural Brother: A TRAGEDY.  
As it was Acted by His MAJESTY's Servants, AT THE THEATRE in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields.  
LONDON, Printed by J. Orme, for Richard Wilkin, at the Kings-Head in St. Paul's-Church-Yard. MDCXCVII.  
ADVERTISEMENT.  
There are lately published, Ibrahim the XIII. Emperor of the Turks, A Tragedy, and the Spanish Wives a Farce: Both Written by Mrs. Marry Pix.  
The Younger Brother, Or Amorous Jilt: Written by Mrs. A. Behn. Printed and Sold by Richard Wellington.   

THE PREFACE.  
NOT many days after the very cold reception which this Play met with on the Stage, as I was walking up and down my Chamber something discontented, though not much mortified neither, at the unkindness of the Town, I happened to cast my eye on a Book which lay in a Window, and that proving to be the first Volume of Mr. Drydens' Plays, I opened it, by mere chance, just on a Prologue of his which gins thus,  

Self love (which never rightly understood)  
Makes Poets still conclude their Plays are good:  
And malice in all Critics runs so high,  
That for small Errors they whole Plays decry;  
So that to see this Fondness, and that Spite,  
You'd think that none but Madmen Judge or Writ.   
I was both surprised and pleased with that Chance which had so thrown me on those Verses. For whereas before, I had for some time tortured my Brain, to find out those many imperfections which probably might have occasioned the ill success of this Play, I then began to lay aside some part of that care, and to think that the Malice and ill Nature of the Critic, in catching at every little slip, and improving of every inconsiderable fault, might perhaps have an equal hand in that misfortune, with the weakness or fondness of the Poet.  
I had no other way to clear this point, and find out the truth of the matter, but to employ all the Friends and Acquaintance I had about the Town, to inquire into those objections which were generally made against this Play. They did it: and, as I have very good reason to believe, gave me a faithful account of all. And yet all, at last, came to no more than this: That the Play was too grave for the Age, That I had made choice of too few Persons, and that the Stage was never filled; there seldom appearing above two at a time, and never above three, till the end and winding up of the whole.  
These are the mighty faults that have so entirely Damned this Play: and yet if these must be thought faults now in our nicer Age, I am sure they were not thought such heretofore by the Ancients; for they generally made use of but few Persons, and never made it any part of their business to fill the Stage. Nay, we all know that Horace lays it down as a Rule.  — Nec quarta loqui persona laboret. 
Nor were these thought faults by our more modern Critics, about Fifteen or twenty years ago, when that excellent Play of the Orphan first appeared on the Stage. For that, though liable to all the very same exceptions which hitherto have been made against this, yet was received with all the applause imaginable. I must confess, foreseeing part of what has since happened, and merely to gratify the Rabble, after I had finished this Play, I added a Comical part to it. Wherein, so there were but a smart kind of a hurry and confusion, with a Song or two at the end  — His nam plebecula gaudet. 
I thought it would have passed well enough. But the Comedy being altogether independent from the Tragedy, and the whole appearing something too long the first time it was acted, I easily consented to have it all left out, and so threw myself wholly on the Men of sense for my Judges.  
Verum Equitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas  
Omnis, ad incertos oculos & gaudia vana.  
For, to my cost, I find that even our men of Sense, have been so long entertained with the gaudy, glaring splendour of our Operas, that nothing now can please their eyes, but what dazzles 'em: And that their ears have, of late, been so well belaboured with Drums, Kettledrums, Trumpets, and Hautboys, that they are almost become deaf to Sense, or any thing else, conveyed to 'em in a less Noise, than those their darling-Consorts generally are. But no more of this— which may seem a little tart, and to savour strangely of the vanity of a discontented Poet, who will be sure to find out any other reason for the miscarriage of his Play, than that which was perhaps the only true one, I mean the badness of it.  
But I had almost forgot to acquaint the Reader with one objection more, against this Play, than what I have yet mentioned. On the third day, there was a certain Lady in one of the Boxes, who thought she could not more effectually decry it, than by declaring aloud that it was nothing but an old Story taken out of Cassandra. And I readily grant it: yet can by no means allow that to be a fault. Mr. Dryden has said too much in the defence of such an innocent piece of theft, and extremely well justified the thing, both by his Arguments, and Practice. All I desire of that Lady, by way of amends, is, that if ever these Papers have the happiness to reach her hands, she would be pleased to renew her acquaintance with the story of Alcinoe in that Romance, and compare it with this Play: And then I dare be bold to affirm, she will not think me overmuch beholding to it: But may perhaps be so charitable, as to entertain a more favourable opinion both of the Play, and of the Poet.  
I have but one word more to the Reader, and then I shall leave him to the Play, either to read it, or let it alone, which he pleases: And that is, that he would not charge me with any Errors of the Press. The Bookseller in my absence, has undertaken the care of inspecting it, and therefore he only ought to be accountable for all such faults.  
EDW. FILMER.   

PROLOGUE.  

Blessed were these happy days, if ever any,  
When Poets flowed with Wit, and you with Money.  
But now, both Wit and Money run so low,  
They're at the poorest Ebb they e'er can know,  
This Clipped, that dwindled into Farce and Show.  
As for our Coin, the Wisdom of the State,  
May stop our ruin and prevent our Fate;  
What will not pass by Tale, may pass, by Weight.  
But who can our corrupted Wit restore,  
And make that Currant as it was before?  
O! could we but with equal Balance sit,  
And by the nicest scruples weigh out Wit,  
How many pieces good, and fair to sight,  
Would yet be found by many Grains too light?  
In this great dearth of Wit, our Poet here  
Presumes to treat you with his Country far,  
Not that he thinks it better than your own,  
Or what you daily meet with in this Town:  
No, though a Poet, he is not so vain;  
You are to judge, he but to entertain.  
Freedom of Censure he to all allows,  
And with submission to your Judgement bows.  
He only hopes you will be pleased t' excuse,  
Small faults in a raw unexperienced Muse,  
Which trembling comes, full of sad frights and fears,  
And almost naked on the Stage appears,  
No Paint, no Patches, to adorn her brow,  
That is  
No thundering Consort, nor no glareing show;  
Those pretty knacks, so much of late in use,  
To varnish, and set off a homely Muse.  
Good, easy sense, our Poet bade me say,  
Is all that he has aimed at in this Play;  
Well too, he thinks, if he that mark has hit,  
Since the best Sense, is ever the best Wit.    

EPILOGUE.  

THE Poet, with the Soldier shares this fate,  
Courting your favour, he incurs your hate.  
Tho one does for your daily pleasure write,  
The other, for your darling interest fight,  
Yet equally unkind, you both do slight  
The Man of War forsooth's too rough, unfit  
For civil Company; The Man of Wit,  
A mere pretending Fop, a scribbling Tool,  
Made up of Madman half, and half, of Fool.  
What is it then, that thus in every age,  
Draws one tooth field, the other to the Stage?  
No hope of Fame or Profit sure, for they  
In this too like, their harder Stars obey,  
Both drudge for little Honour, and less Pay.  
What e'er it is provokes 'em, yet we see,  
Each fond courts his unkind destiny;  
For as the generous Warrior, void of fear,  
Presses on danger still as it draws near,  
And though he sees thousands before him fall,  
Yet briskly ventures on, and flings at all:  
The Poet so, though daily on the Stage,  
He sees the dire effects o'th' Critics rage,  
Yet fearless dares those doughty foes engage.  
And one's no sooner fairly down, but straight  
Up perks another, careless of his fate.  
As for the Poet of this present night,  
Who spite of all discouragement dares write,  
He neither fears nor does the danger slight.  
If you resolve to kill, he says you may,  
He only begs a very short delay,  
Come all again, and maul him,— the third day:    

The Persons represented,  

MEN.  Beaufort 
Governor of Lions.  Grammount 
Nephew to the Governor.  Dampierre 
Brother to Grammount.  Montigny 
Friend to Grammount.   

WOMEN.  Elvira 
Wife to Grammount.  Leonora 
Sister to Grammount.  Lysette 
Woman to Elivira.   
A Page and other Attendants.  
The Scene is a Castle about a League distance from Lions in France.   

ACT I. SCENE I  Enter Beaufort and Dampierre. Beau. 

NO more: thou hast wrought a secret from my Breast▪  
Which may in time prove fatal to us both.  
For now methinks I do begin to hate  
Thee, Dampierre, as the only Man on Earth  
Who has it in his power to check, and blast  
Those Glories, now in my declining years,  
Which I so justly purchased in my Youth!   Damp. 

The languishing sick Man, without reserve,  
Freely lays open his Infirmities,  
To his Physicians kill in hopes of Cure:  
The hearty Penitent, then only meets  
With true and real comfort, when he dares  
Unload his overcharged Conscience, and expose  
His nicest Scruples to the pious ●●re  
Of some grave Ghostly Father.   Beauf. 

Ah Dampierre!  
Can I with the good Penitent Confess,  
And at the same time quit the darling Sin;  
Or with the afflicted Patient hope for ease  
Of all my pains, by telling my Disease,  
I then were truly happy▪ But alas!  
Elvira's not so fair, as she is good:  
The shining lustre: of her virtuous mind,  
By far surpasses that of her bright Eyes.  
Those Eyes, which yet dart beams resistless  
As the Sun in his full Noon tide Glory,  
Beams, which strike me blind to virtue▪ honour,  
And indeed to all things else but love. Oh—   Damp. 

Reflect not so severely on your faults,  
I do beseech you, Sir, but as a man,  
Allow some grains for humane frailty.   Beauf. 

Have I, in my great Master's service spent  
Full Forty years, and won renown enough  
To glut the most ambitious Hero's hopes?  
Have I passed o'er the boiling heats of youth  
With an untainted reputation?  
And shall I now, now in my riper years,  
Slain all the glories of my former life?  
No, Dampierre, no, it cannot, must not be.   Damp. 

Do you in earnest love Elvira, Sir?   Beauf. 

Love her! does the devout Recluse that has  
Renounced this world aspire to Heaven?  
Does the Ambitious Hero covet Fame?  
Or the old Miser dote on hoarded Gold?  
Love her! By Heaven, I ne'er loved glory  
Half so well, nor so much dreaded the success  
Of doubtful War, as now I do of Love.  
Fearless, I have a thousand times outbraved  
The greatest dangers, and outfaced grim Death  
In the most ugly shape that War could show it;  
Yet now want courage to encounter  
Her fair Eyes, and like an arrant Coward,  
Tremble and quake at her approach for fear.   Damp. 

For fear of what, Sir, of a Woman?  
Elvira is no more, no more than a  
Mere Woman; an imperfect piece of Man,  
Made only for his Pleasure.   Beauf. 

Ha! by Heaven  
She's Nature's Master piece, she's all Divine,  
Fair as an Angel, Virtuous as a Saint.  
But why, alas! do I so much as name  
Her hated Virtue: Would she were a Whore,  
A Common Prostitute, since she is Married:  
Or rather since she is Married to Grammount,  
O! let me wish her Dead, laid in the Grave,  
And hoarded up like some old miser's Wealth,  
In the dark entrails of the happy Earth,  
Where none the mighty Treasure could enjoy,  
Since I cannot.   Damp. 

Nay, now, Sir, I could chide.  
Wish not Elvira Dead, but think her still  
Amongst the living wonders of the Age,  
The fairest much of her bewitching Sex.  
Who, though she may have charms enough to kill,  
Yet may too entertain some soft desires,  
To cure the wounds her fatal Beauty gives:  
And therefore, Sir, you ought at least to hope.   Beauf. 

It is to innocent desires alone,  
That hope dares show a comfortable end;  
But mine are guilty all: How then can hope  
Pretend to flatter him, who were he blessed  
In all the joys successful Love can give  
Must yet be wretched, miserable still,  
Torn with the pains of a too late remorse,  
Sharper than those of disappointed love.   Damp. 

These, Sir, are odd fantastic notions  
Of a working brain, fit for Schools  
Than for a Lover's care, whose Mistress is his all.  
He who dares rifle the industrious Bee,  
Snatches the Honey careless of the Sting:  
And he who briskly plucks the blushing Rose,  
Laughs at those Thorns that would revenge the Rape.   Beauf. 

How powerful do thy arguments appear,  
To a mind wholly prepossessed with love!  
Thou art a Master, sure, in that soft art,  
And may'st assist me: I alas! am rough,  
Grown old in Camps, my Tongue unapt for talk;  
And unaccustomed to those softer terms,  
Which Charm that fair, that dear believing Sex.   Damp. 

Let me but know what you would have me do,  
And think it done: think yourself happy, Sir,  
If in my power it be to make you so.   Beauf. 

Thou then shalt break the Ice, prepare the way.  
Thou hast a tongue, nimble and fluent  
As the well feed Lawyers, soft and smooth  
As the old crafty Courtiers, who denies  
Your suit, yet would persuade you he is still  
Your friend. Speak, wilt thou do it?   Damp. 

Sir, I will.   Beauf. 

But art thou sure thou wilt?   Damp. 

Most certain, Sir.   Beauf. 

Hast thou considered well?   Damp. 

Yes, I have.   Beauf. 

Perhaps already thou forgettest  
Who 'tis I love.   Damp. 

No, it is Elvira, is it not?   Beauf. 

It is indeed Elvira, but then sure  
There should be more of that Dear Name than one▪  
Ha! What sayest thou?   Damp. 

Not that I know of, Sir,  
'Tis Grammount's Wife I mean.   Beauf. 

Thou shouldst have said  
Thy Brothers, thy Brothers▪ Wife, on whom  
Thy Uncle, the unhappy Beanfort dotes.   Damp. 

I should indeed, nor did I wave that word,  
For any such great kindness it imports,  
As might overthrow the resolution  
I have made to serve you, Sir: no, were she mine,  
This fair Elvira mine, as she is now  
Grammont's; I'd not retract one syllable▪  
Of what I have said, but freely sacrifice▪  
My Life, my Honour, all in short, that's dear  
To your repose.   Beauf. 

Come, come to my Arms then,  
Let me embrace and hug thee, Dampierre.  
By Heaven thou art— a most illustrious  
Villain, a rank Pander. Oh Grammount  
How deeply would thy Brother's baseness wound  
Thy generous Soul, couldst thou but guests  
His foul intent. But thou art good, so true  
To Virtue and to Honour, thou canst ne'er  
Think on a crime so Black, as this base wretch  
Dares act; this miserable wretch, who at  
One fatal blow, would strike a Dagger  
To his Brother's Heart, damn both himself and me▪  
And plunge us all into a horrid gulf  
Of everlasting misery.   Damp. 

If my too forward zeal be an offence,  
Punish my giddy rashness as you please:  
Yet do it, Sir, something a gentler way.  
Charge me not with such black and horrid crimes,  
As Heaven knows my very Soul detests.  
Or rathertake my hated Life, see here,  
My naked breast ready to meet the blow,  
My Tongue prepared to bless the hand that strikes.   Beauf. 

I scorn to slain my Sword with such base blood,  
Live, and repent thy rashness if thou canst,  
If not, resolve never to see my face again.  Ex. Beauf.  Damp. 

Not see your face again, but on the terms  
Of penitence, my noble Uncle. Yes,  
Yes, but I shall, or I am much deceived.  
This qualm of Conscience, is in him no more,  
Than a mere aguish fit; the cold one gone,  
A hot one than will certainly succeed.  
O all you black and dismal fiends of Hell,  
Who take delight in mischiefs baneful sport,  
Feed still, and blow up his incestuous flame  
To a resistless height; then from his passion,  
Ill concealed, as from a flowing spring  
Let daily doubts, fears, jealousies, heart burn  
And eternal jars, arise within these walls:  
Let Beaufort hate Grammount, Grammount Elvira,  
And Elvira both, whilst Dampierre hates 'em all,  
And justly too.  
I was the first▪ pretender to Elvira,  
But by the faithless Grammount undermined,  
All my best hopes soon vanished into air,  
And I beheld her circled in his Arms.  
Nor durst I then think of revenge on him  
That did the wrong, he was but too secure,  
Supported by a partial Uncle's power,  
And by Elvira's Friends. But now I know  
That Beaufort dotes on her, from this dear day  
I date my hopes of a severe revenge.  
But see, Grammount appears in close discourse  
With his inseparable friend Montigny:  
My mind at presents strangely ruffled,  
Therefore I'll withdraw, ere they perceive me.  Ex. Damp. Enter Grammount and Montigny.  Gram. 

Blessed in the softest Passion of my Soul,  
Possessing, in my dear Elvira, all  
The world calls Virtuous, or my eyes think fair;  
How can I, friend, without a blush complain,  
Or murmur midst such vast, such charming joys,  
As tasted once, would make an Anchoret  
Forget his way to Heaven, and think to find  
It here below.   Mont. 

Forbear, my dearest friend,  
Take heed, shouldst thou be rash enough to pine,  
Whilst with a liberal hand, kind Heaven  
Pours all it's choicest blessings on thy Head,  
Such black ingratitude, no doubt, would be  
Severely punished by some signal judgement  
From above.   Gram. 

Unkind, cruel Montigny,  
Thou knowst, at each sad thought of losing thee,  
Tho circled in my dear Elvira's Arms,  
I feel such strange distructing pangs of grief,  
As nought but the most perfect friendship  
Can excuse; so vast, so sensible a pain,  
As wounds my very Soul, and damps and sours  
The sweetest joys of a possessing Lover.   Mont. 

Thou best of Men, and dearest too of Friends,  
Let me embrace, and hug, and press thee thus,  
Near to that heart which owns no other bands,  
But those of everlasting friendship for  
The generous Grammount: Heaven knows with what  
Regret I leave thee, Friend; yet must we part.   Gram. 

O say not so, each word's a mortal wound,  
Each syllable a Dagger to my heart.  
Rather recall the hasty sentence, and  
Repenting thy unkindness, give me Life,  
And what I value more, my Friend.   Mont. 

O my Grammount, forbear; thy kindness else  
Will be the ruin of thy friend; do not,  
Oh do not force me to repeat,  
What equally afflicts my Soul as thine,  
It must be so.   Gram. 

It must not, by all that's good,  
Thou art no more that Friend I took thee for,  
If thou canst thus forsake me, leave me thus,  
And not give one poor shadow of a reason  
For so severe a separation.   Mont. 

Honour, my Friend, 'tis honour calls me hence:  
Honour, that Idol to which all must bow.   Gram. 

Honour! whither can Honour call thee friend,  
That Grammount would not go to share the Prize?   Mont. 

Whilst I lie here, supinely surfeiting  
On all the joys of soft bewitching ease;  
My aged Sire, laden with years and fame,  
Plays the young man, and makes the Spaniards feel  
The smart of Wounds, I only should have given.  
Thither I go, thither I fly, my Friend,  
To court fair Honour in the midst of Blood,  
Horror and dire Confusion.   Gram. 

Those Frontier bicker call not for thee,  
Montigny, there's little honour to be gained:  
But if thou art resolved to go, refuse not  
Th' assistance of my Sword, oh let me share  
The Toil, and Glory, with my dearest Friend.   Mont. 

Thou must no more think on the Wars, Grammount,  
But from the Genial bed, reaping the sweet  
Reward of all thy glorious labours passed,  
Raise up a race of Hero's, whose bright fame,  
For early virtues, may soon equal thine.   Gram. 

Since honour's strictest Laws must yield to Love,  
Let Beauty then prevail, though friendship cannot.  
I have a Sister, by the world thought fair,  
Virtuous and young she is: her Fortune's such  
As may at least equal the largest hopes  
Of the most Noble Youths our Age can show:  
If thou canst learn to Love my Friend, she's thine   Mont. 

How Prodigal! how Lavish my Gram.  
Thy Friendship makes thee, with a careless hand  
Thou scatter'st Treasures should be the Reward  
Of a vast merit only: or the price  
Of many great and glorious Services.   Gram. 

Nay now thou triflest—   Mont. 

By Heaven I do not:  
Tho yet my heart a stranger be to Love,  
Yet 'tis with admiration I behold  
The rare perfections of that beauteous Maid,  
But I must study to deserve her, friend.  
Happy, if after all the noblest toils  
I may aspire to such a recompense,  
And with thy leave, my generous Grammount,  
Lay all the Trophies of successful War  
At the fair Charming Leonora's Feet.   Gram. 

Away preach to rough Seamen in a Storm,  
Or whisper to the boisterous Winds when in  
Their loudest fury, and they shall sooner  
Harken to thy tale than I: But see,  
My dear Elvira coming to my aid,  
And Leonora too; thou canst not sure  
Hope to maintain thy ground against us all.  Enter Elvira and Leonora.  Elu. 

From those dark Clouds which in thy Face appear,  
My boding heart foretells a rising Storm  
Of grief within thy Breast, speak, my Grammount,  
what ruder cares, to thy Elvira yet  
Unknown, sit heavy on thy drooping Soul?   Gram. 

Thou best of Women, pardon the guilty cause  
Of this disorder in my troubled mind.   Elu. 

Oh name not pardon, but quickly let me share,  
And bear an equal part of all thy care.   Gram. 

Hast thou not seen some men, extremely Rich,  
Tell me Elvira, 'mongst their dearest store  
Of Gold, and Silver, Jewels, and other things  
Of highest value, lock securely up  
Some pretty, favourite toy:  
Who when returning to review their wealth,  
And missing only that, yet could not bear  
The petty loss, though all the rest were safe?  
The case, my dear Elvira, is my own,  
Thou art the dearest treasure of my Soul,  
Thou art—   Elu. 

Forbear, Grammount, I guess the rest,  
Tho not so much from what thou now hast said,  
As from Montigny's silence, and thy grief.  
Each seems a like concerned, each dreads the loss  
Of a dear friend; yet, you Montigny, will,  
Nay must be gone.   Gram. 

Must, oh no, alas!  
He will be gone, uncalled, unasked, unsent for,  
He will forsake his friend. Oh Elvira,  
Oh Leonora, yet try all you can,  
Your softest Arts, to move this cruel Man.   Elu. 

What may be done let us resolve to do,  
I for a Husband plead, a Brother you.   Leon. 

Sure friendship's cause, argued before a friend,  
Cannot but meet with a successful end.   Mont. 

Such powerful advocates who can withstand?  
Honour! thou strange fantastic airy thing,  
Thou losing bargain to the bravest Souls,  
Thou easy purchase, costly to maintain,  
Thou cloak to bold ambition's restless hopes;  
No more, to thy capricious humours will  
I blindly bow, nor court thee as a slave.  
The present time to friendship I will give,  
And what that spares, shall be entirely thine;  
Still all that man in reason ought, I'll do  
To satisfy my Friend and Honour too.   Elu. 

See my Grammount, the cruel man reputes,  
Friendship has wrought its much desired effect,  
And fixed the Rover here.   Leon. 

What would you more?  
He yields and gives you the glory of the day;   Mont. 

Half vanquished by my friend, I durst not●st and  
The shock of so much Beauty as you brought  
To Storm the Fort: Honour itself durst not  
Pretend to hold it out against such odds.  
Can you, my Friend, pardon a proud Rebel  
Now imploring Grace?   Gram. 

Talk not of Pardon, my Friend,  
Give me thy Hand, Elvira, Montigny thine.  
Thus guarded, I dare challenge all the World,  
To show but one Man more, as happy, as  
Myself. Methinks mankind should envy me,  
Thus blessed in a lasting full fruition  
Of all those glorious Charms, the sweetest love,  
Or truest, dearest friendship can afford.  
Henceforth, be every day, within these Walls,  
By all, kept as a solemn Festival,  
Sacred to Love and Friendship: and to me,  
May both, as now, ever propitious be.   
The End of the First ACT.   

ACT II. SCENE I.  Enter Dampierre pulling in Lysette. Damp 

NAy prithee why so refractory?  
Lyset. I am in haste, or if I were not,  
What business pray can you have with me?  
You, who have scarce vouchsafed  
One look this way, this long, long  
Day or two.   Damp. 

Business of importance Child,  
And such as in the end might prove  
To thy advantage if discreetly managed.  
But—   Lyset. 

But what, nay pray out with it.   Damp. 

Why, thou art a very foolish ignorant  
Young Wench, that ever standest in thy  
Own light.   Lyset. 

Your wisdom's much mistaken in my  
Character, I dare aslure you Sir,  
For I am neither so silly, nor so igonrant,  
I thank my kinder Stars, but that I very  
Well understand the post I am in, with all  
The by-advantages, that may be made by  
One of my profession that has wit.   Damp. 

Wit! prithee of what use is Wit in your  
Commonwealth, hah!   Lyset 

Oh, Sir, believe me, that Waiting-woman  
That wants it, is the greatest slave in  
Nature. Whereas we that have it, rather  
Command than serve, and in a very little  
Time become real Mistresses, whilst  
They, poor Ladies, only enjoy the empty,  
Useless Title.   Damp. 

Good!   Lyset. 

For by our witty, sly, and subtle insinuations,  
We at length become so absolutely necessary to 'em,  
That they live not but in us;  
They see with our Eyes, here with our ears,  
And judge not of any thing but by our wise  
Directions.   Damp. 

Admirable!   Lyset. 

So that if love once fires their tender Hearts,  
'Tis we that either fan the growing flames,  
Or else suppress them quite.  
Wisely, we manage their inclinations  
To our best advantage: and suffer 'em to love,  
But when, and where, as little, or as much,  
As we think fit.   Damp. 

Incomparable!   Lyset. 

In short, Sir,  
It is by our all powerful interest,  
That the ugly, and the awkwerd fool, if liberal,  
Succeeds in his Amours: Whilst the gay,  
Well bred, handsome wit, too oft miscarries  
By his unseasonable thrift.  
'Tis we indeed, do all, gain us, and they are yours;  
Proportion but your gifts, to your desires,  
And you can never fail: Since to confess  
The very truth, 'tis we that set to sale,  
Their favours, and good graces of all sorts  
And sizes, even from a simple, single smile,  
To full fruition, Sir.   Damp 

Hold, hold, enough: the world cannot produce  
Thy equal, here, here's Gold for thee.   Lyset. 

For me, Sir, and why, I pray?   Damp. 

No matter Child, here's yet more take it,  
And deserve it, Girl.   Lyset. 

Let me but know which way,  
And much may be done.   Damp. 

Why, watch Elvira narrowly, let not  
One look, one smile escape thy diligence,  
Never be from her, but be a constant Spy  
On all her actions.   Lyset. 

I'll do't:  
And yet, I doubt, I shall but lose  
My labour, and you your money,  
At least, if you expect any thing  
Extraordinary from my observations.   Damp. 

No matter, I'll venture my money.   Leyst. 

And I my pains: though I am confident  
You will be strangely disappointed,  
When from an exact Diary of all her  
Actions, you will only find, that of  
Sixteen long hours, she daily spends,  
At least twelve in Prayer, or fulsome  
Dalliance with her onws lawful Husband.  
And so I am your Humble Servant, Sir.  Ex Lyset.  Damp. 

Go on, and prosper Girl:  
For if I catch Elvira tripping,  
Or can but find the least appearance of a slip,  
I'll quickly make a Mountain of a Molehill.  
Then to Grammount I'll go, and tell him all,  
Yet seem to leave much more behind untold:  
So make him beg to know, what known shall pinch  
And gall him to the quick. They love too well  
For Man and Wife, and what's yet worse,  
So good an understanding between them,  
Suits not with mine, nor with my Uncle's purposes.  
But he retuns not, as I thought he would,  
And to find out the reason, much perplexes me.  
But see, where he comes, all melancholy,  
Sad and pensive, almost lost in his own  
Wild distracting thoughts. The Devil now works  
Hard, and I'll not be his hindrance: But wait,  
Then take my time to lend a helping hand,  
In this our common Business.  He retires to a corner of the Stage. Enter Beaufort.  Beauf. 

How poor,  
And how contemptible a thing is man,  
Made but more wretched, by those very same  
Distinctive faculties of the Soul,  
Which yet seem to sooth, and flatter him,  
With an imaginary Excellence,  
Above the rest of the Creation.   Damp. 

Good!   Beauf. 

Reason, what art thou, but the very source,  
And spring, from whence flow all our miseries?  
Thou art that glimmering light, by which alone,  
We can discern those crimes, which otherwise,  
We ne'er had understood; at least, as such.  
And so had known no guilt.   Damp. 

Better and better!   Beauf. 

Our phlegmatic dull Priests, have all mistook  
Their errand sure, and grossly hitherto  
Imposed upon the credulous world:  
Whilst with an erring Zeal, 've preached down Lust,  
Yet given a Pass, to more pernicious Love.  
For Lust is, at the worst, but a brisk,  
Generous heat, and natural ferment  
Of the blood, laid by the next dear Child  
Of joy, that dares contribute to the cure.  
But when the Devil tempts us to love one,  
And only one: not all the Sex beside,  
Can quench the hellish flame;  
But be she Mother, Daughter, Aunt, or Niece,  
How near soever tied to us by Blood,  
It matters not: She, she alone can cure,  
That gave the fatal wound.   Damp▪ 

He's fast enough, I am sure, now I'll bolt.  
If I dare venture to approach you, Sir,  
It is with the same awful reverence,  
As penitent sinners do th' offended Gods:  
With the same humble hopes too, that at length  
Your mercy, o'er your justice, may prevail;  
pardoning those crimes I have with tears bewailed,  
And would have expiated with my blood,  
Would you have suffered it.   Beauf. 

Ha! Dampierre,  
And in this humble posture too, nay then,  
No change, to me, can ever appear strange:  
Since in so very, very, small a time,  
Thou art turned Saint, and I a Devil.   Damp. 

Far be it, Sir, from me to assume  
The Glorious title of a Saint, and yet,  
A very little time, may usher in  
Strange alterations. Believe mine real then,  
And make your virtue, as remarkable  
In pardoning, as in censuring, a crime  
Committed but in thought, and hatched there  
Only by too warm a zeal, for the great  
Beaufort's Service.   Beauf. 

Curse on thy ill timed change,  
Which only comes, unseasonably now,  
To upbraid my weakness.  
pardon thee! Yes, withal my heart I pardon thee,  
But on this one condition let it be,  
That thou ne'er talk to me of virtue more.   Damp. 

Alas, what mean you, Sir?   Beauf. 

Be wicked still;  
Be vicious, as thou ever wert,  
Go boldly on, and stop at nothing.  
Thy wanton fancy, represents as pleasing  
To thy senses, but gratifie'em all,  
Even to a loathed satiety.  
Then come, and waving all uneasy qualms,  
Teach by experience the vast pleasure  
Of unbounded vice: gladly I'll hear thee,  
And become thy wanton Proselyte, my great,  
My glorious Master.   Damp. 

Heaven protect you, Sir,  
Now you talk strangely; perhaps you doubt me,  
And this way only hope to learn the truth:  
For you, I know, are eminently good  
And virtuous.   Beauf. 

Ha! that lie will dam thee  
Past all hopes of mercy: I am nor good,  
Nor virtuous, but, by much, more wicked,  
Than an honest heart dares think. I rage,  
I burn in an Unlawful, and Incestuous flame:  
Alas! there's a perpetual tumult  
In my distracted mind, nor can I fix  
One wandering thought, but what still leads me  
To the very brink of Hell. Oh Elvira—   Damp. 

Forget her, Sir, I once dearly loved her,  
Yet when I found she could prefer,  
My Brother's tardy passion before mine,  
I quickly shook the lazy off, and  
With an indiffernt eye, could safely gaze  
On all those Beauties I before adored.   Beauf. 

Forget her! no, too easily alas!  
I can forget that she is Grammount's Wife,  
Or Beaufort's Niece, but that she is fair,  
That she is charming, above all others  
Of her Beauteous Sex, that, that, I never  
Can forget.   Damp. 

If you must think on her,  
Think then, at the same time, on her too rigid  
Virtue, that eternal bar to all your  
Guilty hopes.   Beauf. 

There is no bar to impetuous Love,  
At least, Virtue I'm sure is but a weak one.  
But why do I vainly talk of Virtue?  
I am convinced, there's no such thing on Earth.  
No, all's but pretence, all's mere Hypocrisy.  
Look Dampierre, round this vast Machine the World,  
'Tis but a larger Theatre, on which  
Each skilful Actor, plays that part alone,  
Which, for his profit, he can manage best.  
Come then unmask: thou seest my naked heart,  
To all the world beside, be the reformed,  
The good, the pious Dampierre, but to me,  
Be what thou ever wert.   Damp. 

Ha! what's that, Sir?   Beauf. 

Nay perhaps I may not find a name for't,  
That may please you: But to be plain, and short,  
Help me to the enjoyment of Elvira,  
And I'll disclaim Grammount, I'll cut off all  
His fairer hopes, to make a way for thee,  
My darling, to the possession of my  
Envied Wealth.   Damp. 

Misled, by a too hasty Zeal,  
I made an offer once, not all your wealth,  
Nor even that of the whole world,  
Can e'er prevail with me to make again  
That kindness than was slighted, scorned, repaid  
With cruel injuries, and a boisterous  
Storm of black reproaches.   Beauf. 

Upbraid me not  
With what is past.   Damp. 

By what is past, I but  
Too plainly see, the kind return my best  
Endeavours, for your service, in that kind,  
Are sure to meet with.   Beauf. 

By various and insulting Passions agitated,  
I felt unheard of torments in my mind,  
My very Soul was, as it were, stretched on  
The Rack, and all that storm, was nought but the  
Strong Convulsions of a dying Virtue.   Damp. 

Heaven forbidden, the generous Beaufort  
So much renowned for solid Virtue, should  
In a Storm of Passion, yet make shipwreck  
Of it all: No, to the Wars, Sir, there—   Beauf. 

Talk not to me of War, too long already  
I have toiled i'th' barren Fields of Mars,  
Wasted my Youth and Vigour in rough Camps,  
And bloody broils: Deaf to the Virgin's Plaints,  
The Widow's Curses, or the Orphan's Cries,  
For Lovers, Husbands, Parents, Butchered all  
In hateful War. In short, I loathe that Trade  
Of cutting throats, and am resolved henceforth  
To Love, and that Elvira too.   Damp. 

Oh, Sir, think what the censorious world will say.   Beauf. 

Even let the world say what it will:  
I care not, she, I'm sure, is a mere  
Stranger to my blood. Come then, be once more  
Kind, I know thou lov'st me, Dampierre,  
I know thou dost.   Dam. 

You may be well assured I do.   Beauf. 

O let me embrace, and hold thee in these Arms,  
Till thou hast granted all I can desire.   Damp. 

Had you before been half thus kind?   Beauf. 

It is not now too late.   Damp. 

Fool that I am, to stand here, only to  
Be tempted to my Ruin. Oh! why  
Do I not rather fly, not from you only,  
But, for your sake, from all Mankind?   Beauf. 

Nay, now thou art too cruel: Come, thou must,  
Thou shalt, thou wilt.   Damp. 

Alas! What would you have me do?   Beauf. 

Go to Elvira.   Damp. 

Well, for once I will.   Beauf. 

Tell her— by Heaven I know not what— tell her—  
Yes— if she delights in martial Stories,  
Tell her the many glorious Deeds I've done  
In War, the bloody Battles I have won,  
The Towns I have taken: Tell her, in short,  
All that may make her hearken to the Name  
Of Beaufort with Delight.  
Then, in a gentle Sigh, tell her I die  
For Love, and if, after all that, thou darest  
Proceed yet further, tell her at last  
It is for her I die.   Damp. 

Something like this, I am resolved to do,  
But cannot yet tell what. I▪ ll instantly  
Go to her, and with my utmost Cunning  
Try to dive to the very bottom  
Of her Heart: Where if I find yet any  
Room for a new Passion, you may be well  
Assured, that to your best Advantage,  
I will turn the Weakness of her yielding Mind.   Beauf. 

Go, fly: Oh may we both successful prove,  
Thou in thy subtle Arts, and I in love.   
The End of the Second Act.   

ACT III. SCENE I. A Forest.  Leonora alone. Leon. 

WHilst all rejoice, Montigny, at thy stay, only waste in Tears the time away:  
Uncertain, what to hope, or what to fear,  
I wish thee gone, yet fain would keep thee here.  
All ●ays I try, to chase thee from my mind,  
All Arts I use, yet can no Comfort find:  
For if, t'elude the Torments I endure,  
My Hopes from Absence seem t● expect a Cure;  
Even those Hopes ridiculous appear,  
Since how can he be absent who's lodged here?  Laying her Hand on her Heart. 
A welcome, yet a fatal Guest to me,  
Whilst I the Prisoner am, and he is free.  
What then, poor Leonora, wilt thou do,  
Thou lovest alas! but art forbid to woe,  
That is Man's dear prerogative alone,  
Thou must in secret sigh, in secret moan:  
And taught by stricter Rules of Modesty,  
What most thou lov'st thou must pretend to fly.  
Thus strangely wretched, surely there can be,  
For all thy Woes, but one sad Remedy:  
Die then, yet in thy Death, so lucky prove,  
That all the World may know, thou diedst for love.  
Each Poet then, thy Passion will rehearse,  
Sing thy sad Fate in everlasting Verse,  
And every Lover strew thy passing Hearse.  Enter Elvira and Lysette.  Lyf. 

See Madam, where she is.   Elu. 

Retire a little.  Ex. Lysette  Leon. 

Oh Heavens! I am surprised.   Elu. 

What? in this dismal solitary Place  
Alone, and all in Tears, my Dear?   Leon. 

Those treacherous Teras will be my Ruin.  Aside.  Elu. 

Nay, seek not to hid 'em from your dearest  
Friend, that would be too unkind: Oh! rather,  
Let me know the unhappy Cause of this  
Disorder.   Leon. 

I will, but you shall pass your Word then,  
Not to laugh at me.   Elu. 

My dearest Child, I do,   Leon. 

Nay, but I am confident you will laugh,  
Since I myself indeed, can scarce forbear,  
When I reflect on it.   Elu. 

I will not,  
Nay, I cannot laugh at what moves thee to weep.  
Thy Tears, my Dear, would extort Pity  
From an Enemy, much more from one that loves thee.   Leon. 

This your unmerited Kindness, Madam,  
makes me yet more ashamed than ever,  
To betray my Folly▪ For it was nothing more,  
Believe me, than a mere childish Passion.   Elu. 

Whate'er it was, imparting it to me,  
You will oblige me much.   Leon. 

Were it a Secret,  
Or of the least Importance, I would ne'er  
Try to conceal it from you: Be so kind,  
Dear Madam, as to impute my Folly  
To my tender Years.   Elu. 

Ah Leonora!  
'Tis not your Folly, but your Cunning now,  
That I have reason to complain of.   Leon. 

Were I as capable of Cunning, Madam,  
As you believe I am, yet certainly  
I would not use it to impose on you,  
To whom I stand so many ways engaged.   Elu. 

I know you ought not, yet I'm sure you do.   Leon. 

Suspect it not, indeed you wrong me much.   Elu. 

No, 'tis you that wrong yourself, wrong me,  
And all our mutual Vows of Friendship too.  
For know, that with no small concern of late,  
I have observe▪ d your gayer Humour fade,  
And change into a sad, dull and deadly  
Melancholy: With Grief I have beheld  
You fly all sorts of pleasing Company,  
Only to court Retirement in some Grove.  
This made me set Lysette to watch your Steps,  
By whom, just now informed, That you were gone  
This way alone, I quickly followed you,  
Tho' not without some Apprehensions,  
From the dismal Wildness of this uncouth place,  
Although I knew Montigny and Grammount,  
Were here before, seeking Diversion▪  
In these overgrown Woods. Come then confess,  
What brought you to this unfrequented place?   Leon. 

Ah, what would you have me do?   Elu. 

Tell me the Truth,  
For should you still endeavour to conceal it,  
The swelling Secret would, in time,  
Grow too unruly for your tender Breast,  
And force its way, at last, with much more Noise,  
And eager Violence, than would be fit  
For so much Innocence to own.   Leon. 

I yield:  
Your kind and tender importunity,  
At length has conquer'd all my Fears.   

Share then that fatal secret which, of late,  
Has rob me of my Rest, of all my Peace.  
Yet spare, oh spare my Tongue, th'ungrateful Task,  
Of naming what I still must blush to own:  
But let these Tears convey it to your Breast,  
Whilst on my tender Knees I thus implore  
Your Pity, and your Pardon.   Elu. 

Rise, rise, my Dear,  
Take this Kiss, and with it too my pardon,  
My Pity, and my faithful promise,  
To assist thee in thy Love: For Love it is,  
If I must guests, that has possessed thy Soul.  
If so, my Dear, you must be plainer yet,  
And name the happy object of your Vows   Leon. 

Ah Madam, I doubt I have already  
Said too much, for see, my Brother coming,  
Oh give me Leave to hid my Grief from him,  
And all the World but you.  Enter Dampierre. Leonora runs out, and Elvira offering to follow her, is stayed by Dampierre.  Damp. 

Nay, Madam,  
You must excuse my Rudeness, I but seize  
The next at Hand, to know by what strange fate  
Dampierre of late is grown so terrible,  
As to oblige you with such eager haste,  
To fly him.   Elu. 

You cannot think your Sister should avoid you,  
Nor ought you to believe I would.   Damp. 

But, Madam, may I not believe my Eyes?   Elu. 

You may, for they can only tell you,  
That Leonora fled, and that I followed,  
And all perhaps without one Thought of you.  
But you of late are strangely altered sure,  
You would not else so easily suspect  
Your Friends of so much incivility;  
Believe me 'tis a Fault scarce pard'nable.   Damp. 

Since my too light Suspicion seems a Crime,  
With all Submission I entreat your Pardon:  
Alas! I am no more the Man I was—   Elu. 

Why, what strange Misfortune has befallen you?   Damp. 

So great a one i'th' person of my Friend,  
As Heaven, in all its Anger, scarcely could.  
Have sent a greater. Ah! had those fair Eyes,  
Madam, beheld what these have lately seen,  
How much would they have lost, by this time  
Of their wont lustre: at least, if sorrow,  
Sighs, or frequent tears, could have diminished it.   Elu. 

You think me very tender hearted sure,  
Or else have some strange story to relate,  
Extremely moving.   Damp. 

Believe me, Madam,  
It is a tale would move the hardest heart  
To some compassion: Think then, you see  
A man, completely blessed above all others,  
In the richest gifts of Nature, and of  
Fortune; a Man, renowned abroad for Arms,  
And no less famed at home for goodness,  
And for Virtue.   Elu. 

You have said enough,  
To let me know he is your Friend, who e'er he be:  
But sure a Man of his high Character,  
Can never prove unfortunate enough  
To want our Pity.   Damp. 

Yet, Heaven knows, much more  
Unfortunate he is, than either good,  
Or great: In short, he Loves, Loves where he scarce  
Dares ever hope to be beloved again;  
So, sadly lingers out a hated Life,  
In all the torments of a deep despair.   Elu. 

Believe me, 'tis pity he should so misplace,  
His love on one, who sure deserves it not.   Damp. 

I'll not pretend to rate her mighty worth,  
But only tell you she is wondrous fair,  
Fair as the fairest of her charming Sex;  
Fair as Elvira, as hard hearted too;  
And what's yet worst of all, like her, she is  
Married to another.   Elu. 

How! his passion  
Then is criminal, and should be hopeless.   Damp. 

'Tis criminal indeed, and yet the crime,  
Renders it but the more conspicuous;  
Or if you will give me leave to say so,  
Meritorious; dear Devil tempt me not.  Aside.  Elu. 

I understand you not, or if I did,  
I am not now at leisure to dispute  
The merits of a guilty passion:  
But come, let us move homewards pray,  
And leave the rest to a more fitting time.   Damp. 

No time more fitting; nor no place more free  
Than this.   Elu. 

But I am weary, and want rest.   Damp 

Here you may have it, if you please,  
I beg you would hear me.   Elu. 

I cannot now.   Damp. 

Say rather that you will not.   Elu. 

That would be rude.   Damp. 

And therefore only will not hear, because  
It is th' unlucky Dampierre that entreats.  
Just Gods! must I be still neglected,  
Still despised, and whether for myself I plead,  
Or for another, still cut short? no, stay,  
And though you'll hear no more of his sad tale,  
Be pleased at least to lend an ear to mine.   Elu. 

What mean you, Dampierre?   Damp. 

Since my friend's passion is condemned, oh! give  
Me Leave to entertain you with another;  
Which though not wholly innocent, perhaps,  
Yet owing all it has of guilt in it,  
To you alone, by you at least, should be  
Esteemed as so.   Elu. 

You grow mysterious now,  
Your looks are wild, and you much discomposed.   Damp. 

Behold me well: And in these troubled looks  
Read the disorder of my Soul; springing  
From Love, opposed by hatred and more sweet  
Revenge. Do you not tremble, Madam?   Elu. 

Why should I tremble?  
If Heaven, as I believe, protects  
The Innocent, I am secure enough.   Damp. 

You are indeed, for love at length has got  
The day; that little God, though dispossessed  
Some time by my too just resentment,  
Is now returned Victorious to his Throne,  
And firmly reinstated in the Empire  
Of my heart.   Elu. 

I do begin to understand you now:  
But Dampierre, have a care, desist in time,  
All yet is well: but if you dare proceed,  
Grammount shall surely know your good design.   Damp. 

Tush:  
Mere bugbear words to scare young sinners with;  
You would fain make me angry,  
But I at present want the leisure:  
A sofer, nobler passion rules my Soul.  
I am all Love, all Fire, my wanton blood  
Runs high, ready to force a passage  
Through my distended veins.  
This gloomy place, invites us too to Love,  
Whose kinder shades, not only will conceal  
Our amorous Thefts, but even forbidding  
Entrance to the Sun,  
Will shroud us in an artificial night:  
That all things may be done with greater decency.  
Come then,  Offers to kiss her hand. 
Take this warm earnest of a greater Bliss,  
And think, with how much pleasure to yourself,  
You may in one poor fleeting minutes time,  
Even o'erpay me for an age of sufferings.   Elu. 

Monster of a Man, Villain unhand me,  
Let me quickly go, or I will fill these Woods  
With cries, such moving cries, as shall awake,  
And from their dismal hollow caverns draw,  
Each nobler Beast of prey to be a Guard  
To me, to thee base wretch, a shame and terror.   Damp. 

Come, come you need not use these common arts,  
These faint denials, little struggling fits  
May serve indeed as whets, to a weak  
And puling appetite: But mine is sharp, wound  
To the utmost pitch, keen as the greedy Hawks,  
That's ready just to seize his longed for prey.   Elu. 

Lysette, Lysette:  
Rash, heedless Girl, oh whither art thou fled?  
And thou, my dear Grammount, where art thou  
Now? the distressed Elvira wants thy help.   Damp. 

Call louder yet, he answers not, perhaps  
He may not now so much as think of you:  
At least you see he is not here to help you,  
Therefore be wise, and what you cannot  
Hope to avoid, submit to patiently.   Elu. 

Villain thou liest, he's in these very Woods.  
Tremble, base wretch, at the bare thoughts  
Of his approach; for though he be not yet  
Within the reach of my too feeble voice,  
I doubt not but just Heaven will send him,  
Either to rescue, or revenge his dear Elvira:  
And either way, to thy Confusion Monster.   Damp. 

Ha! say you so, what must be done then,  
Must be quickly done: and when 'tis done,  
I'll trust thee for betraying thy own shame  
Scarce forty paces hence, there is a gloomy  
Place so private, as if kind nature had  
Contrived it only for our use: There at  
Thy beauteous shrine, I ll offer up my best  
Devotions; and fill thee with such melting  
Joys, as first shall tempt thee to forgive,  
Then make thee beg me to renew the Offence.  
Nay hang not back, for if you do, by Heaven  
I'll drag you thither.  Offers to force her.  Elu. 

Oh all you juster  
Powers above, send some relief: or give me  
Strength enough to punish the base Villain.  
Help, help, for Heaven's sake help.   Damp. 

Ha! what envious Devil has sent him?  
Oh, Madam, dry up those precious Tears,  
Forbear those Cries, whilst Dampierre lives  
You're safe enough.  He discovers Montigny at a distance. Enter Montigny.  Mont. 

Whence came those dismal Cries?  
Ha; was it you, Madam, that so loudly  
Called for help, speak, Madam, speak I beg you,  
What means this strange disorder in your looks,  
Or do thou Dampierre, I conjure thee, tell me  
What was the matter?   Damp. 

I know not I,  
She surely best can tell what caused her fear:  
Fortune, and her loud cries, directed me,  
Montigny, as they have brought you hither.   Elu. 

Generous Montigny, waste not the time  
In fruitless questions, but rather  
If you have any friendship for Grammount,  
Help, O quickly help me hence,  
Whilst I have yet some little strength  
Remaining.   Damp. 

If Dampierre, Madam,  
May in any thing be serviceable,  
Pray be so free as to command him too.   Elu. 

Monster, avoid my sight.   Damp. 

Hear you that, Montigny,  
Look to her well, for much I fear she's crazed.   Elu. 

Oh horrid impudence! but come, let us,  
Montigny, fly this fatal place:  
And yet my trembling joints answer my haste  
But ill.   Mont. 

Fear nothing, Madam, but accept this hard  
For your support.  Ex. Mont. and Elu.  Damp. 

Impudence assist me now,  
Or else this one reverse of Fortune  
Ruins all, renders abortive all the  
Hopeful projects of my labouring brain,  
And leaves me naked to the mercy  
Of offended justice. Curse on my rebellious Blood,  
Curse on that flattering opportunity,  
Which smiled on, yet betrayed, my dearest hopes.  Enter Grammount.  Gram. 

Well met Brother, saw you Montigny?  
I lost him strangely.   Dam. 

Yes, just now I saw him.   Gram. 

Where, which way is he gone?   Dam. 

Homewards I think,  
But make not too much haste to overtake  
Him, lest you should chance to come  
Before you are welcome.   Gram. 

What mean you, Dampierre?   Damp. 

I mean, that he's already in good Company,  
And would not willingly admit of more.   Gram. 

I fear it not, my friend to me is ever  
Welcome, and by myself I judge of him.   Damp. 

You may, and yet may be mistaken too:  
There are some certain times and seasons,  
When even the very best of friends  
Are but importunate.   Gram. 

That very minute,  
My friend should think me so, I should think him  
No more my friend.   Damp. 

Be not too positive:  
Suppose an assignation made by thee  
Grammount, to meet some kind, some yielding fair,  
Here in this very favourable place;  
And when that you were ready just to reap,  
The dearest fruits of many waking nights,  
And painful days, your friend should then, just then  
Rudely rush in to interrupt your joys.   Gram. 

You are wanton, Dampierre, but at present  
That's not Montigny's case I'm sure.   Damp. 

I hope it is not, yet I'll not swear  
For any one.   Gram. 

Why, hope it is not?  
Pray tell me, what from Montigny's Conduct,  
Can you, Dampierre, have, either to hope,  
Or fear?   Damp. 

Oh much, too much indeed,  
Or else these eyes are shamefully mistaken.   Gram. 

This is all riddle, prithee be plainer.   Damp. 

You will allow, Grammount,  
That when two equal Gamesters meet to play  
Upon the square, each with a high opinion  
Of the others honour, if in that case,  
The one play foul, the other is thereby  
Exposed to a more certain loss,  
Than if he played with one he knew to be  
The most notorious Cheat alive?   Gram. 

No doubt on'nt, his confidence in th' others  
Honour, makes him careless, blind to all  
Those little tricks, which in another,  
He would soon discover.   Damp. 

Well then, there's none so likely to discern the fraud;  
As some good skilful honest slander by▪   Gram. 

'Tis granted.   Damp. 

I am that honest slander by,  
Who in a strange unequal game, see thee,  
Grammount, most miserably cheated:  
You more, I am your Brother, which ought  
At least to add some weight to what I say.  
Take my advice then,  it be too late,  
And of all men beware Montigny,  
By whom you are betrayed, wronged, and abused,  
Beyond all patience.  
In short, all in this world you hold most dear,  
Eyes now at stake, whilst he, that treacherous friend,  
Plays foul, shamefully foul, thinking at one  
Well managed throw, to rob you of your rest,  
Your honour, fixing an everlasting stain  
On you, and all your injured family;   Gram. 

My honour, Dampierre? Montigny seek to  
Rob me of my Honour? Have a care,  
And it thou lov▪ saint thy self-proceed no farther.  
By heaven, thou art not safe, unless thou canst  
So plainly prove each guilty circumstance  
Against him, as can leave no room for doubt.   Damp. 

Having discharged my duty I have done▪  
If you are careless, well may I be so:  
For though I firmly do believe you wrong▪ d,  
Yet is it not impossible for me  
To be mistaken, since chance perhaps,  
Not assignation, may have brought them hither.   Gram. 

Curse on thy double Tongue, hold me not thus  
In doubt: but tell me quickly, what chance,  
What assignation dost thou dream of, Ha!  
Tell me, who were they thou saw'st here?  
Speak, wretch, speak, or by all that's sacred  
I shall forget thou art my Brother.   Damp. 

You are strangely passionate, though all at last  
May come to nothing: I only say  
I saw 'em here, I mean Montigny and Elvira,  
Here in this dismal solitary place,  
Alone too, but what of that, all places  
Are alike, company, or no company,  
'Tis all one, you now, to persons that  
Are virtuously inclined. And if you can  
Believe them such, why, there's an end of all.   Gram. 

Just Gods! that I should ever live to hear,  
The softest, tenderest Wife, and truest friend  
Thus to my face abused, yet must not punish  
The offender.   Damp. 

You wrong yourself, Grammount,  
In rashly blaming me, who jealous of  
Your Honour, do in pure kindness only,  
Speak my reasonable fears.   Gram. 

True:  
I wrong myself, my Wife, my Friend, and thee,  
In blaming thee good, honest Dampierre:  
Indeed I am ashamed, that by too prompt  
A passion, I should seem to give thee so  
Much credit, as should make me entertain  
The least suspicion, either of Elvira  
Or Montigny. Farewell unworthy man,  
Be not hereafter so extremely jealous  
Of my honour, but consult your own.  
And know, I wear a Sword, will do me right  
Against all the world except a Brother.  Ex. Gram.  Damp. 

So, now 'tis all against Dampierre,  
Dampierre against all: no matter,  
Thanks be to Fortune, and my lucky brain,  
All things do yet go reasonably well.  
I have, by way of accusation,  
Got the start both of Montigny and Elvira,  
And that's no small advantage, in my case.  
For now whether Grammount gins with them,  
Or they to him complain; in all appearance,  
I am equally secure, since either way,  
whate'er is said of me, will seem contrived  
Only to blast my reputation,  
And so be all suspected: Wondrous good▪  
Go bravely on then, Dampierre, push at all,  
Honour attends th' attempt, though thou shouldst fall.  
The end of the Third ACT.    

ACT iv SCENE I.  Enter Elvira and Leonora. E 〈…〉 

'TIs true, my Dear, your inconsiderate  
And hasty flight, was tho the innocent,  
〈◊〉 the only cause of that adventure.  
Alas! I tremble when I reflect  
〈◊〉 the great danger you were in, and blush  
〈◊〉 I consider I must call him Brother,  
Who could be guilty of so barbarous  
An attempt.   Elu. 

No more of that, for if you  
Call him Brother, so does my dear Grammount,  
From whom with care this secret must be kept,  
Lest a too just resentment should transport,  
And hurry him beyond the limits of  
His usual moderation, so engage  
The family in sad and endless broils.   Leon. 

Your goodness, Madam, is beyond example,  
But may there not be danger in it?  
Some men are of so base a temper,  
That a pardon, proves but a new inducement  
To 'em, to offend again.   Elu. 

'Tis in my power  
To hinder his offending in that kind.   Leon. 

'Tis true, and yet I cannot choose but fear,  
Tho what, or why, I must confess I know not.   Elv 

Prithee no more of thy kind fears,  
I apprehend not any thing, my dear,  
Nor can I at the present think of aught  
But of thy Passion, Child, 'tis a noble one,  
Discreetly placed grounded on rational hopes.   Leon. 

For Heaven's sake, Madam—   Elu. 

Nay, do not blush:  
Montigny's one of such undoubted worth,  
As justly may— but see where he comes,  
Where is Grammount?  Enter Montigny.  Mont. 

Gone, Madam, to the Governors' Apartment,  
Where he continues very busy in  
Dispatching some affairs of great Concern.   Elu. 

It has been still his chiefest care to ease  
The Governor in all he could, and I  
Am glad he studies to oblige so good  
And generous a Kinsman.   Mont. 

His merit justly, Madam, claims that service.   Elu. 

And my Grammount pays it most willingly.  
Would he were here.   Mont. 

I, Madam, wish it too,  
Yet something within me, what I know not,  
Checks the fond wish, and makes me almost dread  
Th' encounter of my dearest friend. Alas!  
How can I ever look him in the Face  
Again, or hear him call me by the name  
Of friend, whilst Dampierre lives.   Elu. 

Can you believe you should oblige Grammount,  
In spilling of his only Brothers Blood.   Mont. 

In punishing so exquisite a Villain,  
I do most certainly believe I should.   Leon. 

Yet that Villain still, is Grammount's Brother;   Mont. 

Brother, alas! what signifies the name  
Or empty title of a Brother?  
He who by virtue, or by kindness merits  
The name of friend, is not a friend alone,  
But even a Brother too, and much more so,  
Than is the wretch that only claims by blood.   Elu. 

Too low methinks, Montigny, you depress  
Those sacred ties of blood, on which the world  
Seems to rely so much.   Leon. 

Brother's a name  
So dear, that the mere title only seems  
Enough to justify our kindness  
For the very worst of men.   Mont. 

'Tis true,  
Much is by custom given to the name  
Of Brother, and therefore only, 'tis,  
Since decency disarms my Friend  
And will not suffer him to use his Sword,  
That I believe myself engaged in honour  
To draw mine.   Elu. 

Equally impious  
In Grammount 'twould be to wish revenge,  
As act it.   Leon. 

And what he cannot wish without  
A crime, you cannot do without a greater.   Elu. 

No more of this, I know Montigny  
You are my Grammount's dearest Friend,  
Consult not then his Honour only,  
But his repose, and that of all his Family.   Mont. 

Believe me, Madam, that's my only aim.   Elu. 

I do; and therefore beg you to conceal  
This shameful story. Oh bury it  
In eternal silence, let not Beaufort,  
Let not Grammount, suspect the least of Dampierre's  
Villainy: but above all, beware of  
Making it more public by a quarrel.   Mont. 

Ah, Madam—   Elu. 

I must not be denied, unless you have  
A mind to ruin him you call your friend,  
And ever rob him of his sweetest rest.  
I do conjure you then by all your Vows  
Of friendship to my dear Grammount,  
By all that's dearest to you in this World—   Elu. 

Press it no further, Madam I Obey,  
Tho Heaven knows I do it with regret.   Elu. 

We'll leave you to your cooler thoughts, Montigny,  
Commending moderation still, as best,  
In this and all other cases between friends.  
Come Leonora.  Ex. Elu. Leon.  Mont. 

Just Heaven! how much  
Beauty, how much goodness have you bestowed  
On this one Woman.  Ex. Montigny. Enter Lysette followed by Dampierre.  Dam. 

What! threaten to turn thee out of Doors,  
Basely expose thee to the scorn  
Of all thy laughing tribe, rail at,  
And revile thee for a matter of just nothing?   Lyset. 

Nay, 'tis a fault not to be pardoned,  
And therefore I'm resolved to be revenged.   Damp. 

Fault! that's a name too soft, too mild,  
For such a crime: Why, 'tis Treason,  
Downright Treason, a flat Conspiracy  
Against thy Empire Child.   Lyset. 

Right, therefore once more I do pronounce  
She sinks under the mighty weight  
Of my displeasure.   Damp. 

Thou hast it in thy power, my Girl,  
To crush her into nothing.   Lyset. 

I have indeed, thanks to the dear delight  
You take in mischief, Sir.  
But hark ye now, in cooler blood,  
Pray tell me what mad pranks  
You played i th' Forest, to put  
My Saintlike Lady into such Devilish Passion.  
For when all▪ s done, my being out  
Of the way so small a time, was but an  
Inconsiderable fault, too slight  
To draw on so much anger.   Damp. 

No Pranks at all my Child,  
Only an Argument arose by chance,  
And I unluckily▪ maintained my part  
With something too much heat,  
Which put her Ladyship into a horrid pelt,  
And made her rail at me, at thee,  
And every body else I think.   Lyset. 

Yet, out of her abundant kindness,  
She has forgiven me forsooth,  
And once again received me into favour.  
But that's no matter, I have not yet  
Forgiven her: Nor will I, till to her cost▪  
I have made her know me better.  
What! Pretend to turn me out of Doors,  
No, my blood rises at the very thoughts on't,  
Say when shall I be Revenged?   Damp. 

This night, this very hopeful night,  
Nay if you let slip this night,  
You may perhaps look long enuff  
For such another opportunity.   Lyset. 

With all my heart then, let it be this night:  
For now, methinks, I am prepared for any thing  
That looks like mischief.   Damp. 

Bravely resolved.  
Know then, Grammount at present  
Is at the Governors' apartment,  
Where multiplicity of business,  
Committed to his care alone,  
By the uneasy Beaufort, will certainly  
Detain him longer than ordinary:  
So that the Night, which now draws on a pace,  
Will in all probability be far spent,  
 he returns to his own Lodgings;  
And then, than my Girl.   Lyset. 

Ay, then will be the time, when I  
Poor inconsiderable fool, will with  
Such cunning play my Treacherous part,  
As shall with ease impose upon the good Grammount,  
Pluck from his faithful breast  
Deep-rooted Love, and in its room  
Plant the rank weed of Jealousy,  
Turn dearest Friendship into mortal Hate,  
And so give birth to general Confusion.   Dam. 

Revenge, how sweet thou art! Revenge now makes  
Thee undertake a part, the Devil himself  
Would bogle at: No Woman sure e'er suckled thee,  
Or something more than man clubbed to thy getting.  
But see, the Governor appears,  
Away, and fail not when it comes to th' push  
Be sure.   Lyset. 

Fear me not.  Exit Lyset. Enter Beaufort.  Damp. 

This Wench is ripe for Hell.   Beauf. 

Well, what News Dampierre from Elvira?  
Knows she my Love, does she speak Life or Death?   Damp. 

Hear the story, then be yourself the Judge.   Beauf. 

Proceed.   Damp. 

Know then, that leaving you  
I went directly to Elvira's Lodgings,  
But missing of her there, and being told,  
That she was gone, attended by Lysette,  
To take a turn i'th' Neighbouring Forest,  
Thither I followed her, where I first met  
Lysette, and quickly managed her so well,  
As not to stand in awe of her too near  
Attendance: The Woman so secured,  
I boldly ventured to attack the Lady,  
Whom, as I could have wished, I found alone.  
Our first discourse was of indifferent things,  
Which yet I managed with such curious Art,  
As drew her on at length to that of Love.   Beauf. 

Thy boldness makes me tremble, Dampierre.   Damp. 

From Love in general, we quickly came  
Down to particulars, and then you may  
Believe I failed not to describe your flame  
As you yourself could wish.   Beauf. 

named you my name?   Damp. 

Not yet, nor did I at first let her know  
She was the person Loved: But still made 〈◊〉  
Of borrowed names, till finding that my art  
Prevailed, and that the soft and moving Terms,  
In which I told the story of your Love,  
Had touched her tender heart with pity of  
Your case, than I revealed the secret,  
told her all.   Beauf. 

And how did she receive it ha'!   Damp. 

Why Sir, with all the haughty marks of Pride,  
And Scorn, she could put on; 'tis true, she said  
Not much, and fain would have been gone, but I  
Made bold by the advantage of the place,  
Stopped her, and would have made her hear me out,  
When on the sudden in stepped—   Beauf. 

Lysette.   Damp. 

No, Sir, Montigny.   Beauf. 

Montigny sayest thou!  
Hell and Confusion! but say what followed.   Damp. 

Only this, as soon as he appeared,  
With eager haste she flew into his arms,  
Then with a scornful smile, and slighting toss  
O'th' head, she took her leave of me, and so  
Triumphantly went off with her Gallant.   Beauf. 

Just Gods! How can you wink at so much base  
And rank Hypocrisy: If such crimes as these  
Meet with impunity, the world will grow  
too wicked by the bad example.  
Rather assert, assert your Sovereign Power,  
And darting Thunder at her devoted head,  
Let her, oh let her unpitied fall  
A wretched instance of offended Justice.  
But, tell me, dost thou believe Montigny  
Over heard thee?   Damp. 

Most certainly he did.   Beauf. 

What then in this unlucky case is to be done.  
For sure if once Montigny knows I love,  
'Twill not be long a secret to Grammount.  
Advise me Dampierre.   Damp. 

Excuse me, Sir, I know no way but one  
That can effectually secure men's Tongues.   Beauf. 

And what way's that?   Damp. 

Faith, Sir, an easy one.  
Cut but the Throat, the Tongue will tell no tales.   Beauf. 

No, that's a way too rough, I like it not.   Damp. 

Why now I think on't better there may be  
Yet one way more, not quite so safe perhaps  
As tother, but—   Beauf. 

Name it and I am thine  
For ever, but no blood I charge you.   Damp. 

No, this is a Gentler way, it is but  
Subtly loosening that firm tie of Friendship,  
Which seems so well and firmly knit, between  
Montigny and Grammount, and you have done  
Your business: For if they are not Friends,  
Most certain 'tis they will be Enemies,  
There is no mean, and then you need not fear   Beauf. 

Most true: but then the difficulty is,  
How to divide two souls so strictly, and  
So long united, in the dearest bands  
Of Friendship's sacred, and severest Laws.   Damp. 

Let me alone to manage that affair,  
If Grammount Loves Elvira, before  
To morrows Sun he shall as surely hate  
Montigny to the death: Distrust me not,  
But if you like the project—   Beauf. 

Like it, yes,  
I guess at thy design, and like it well:  
Grammount I pity thee, tho' it is but just  
To let thee see thy danger,  thou art  
Too far imposed on by a Treacherous friend,  
And wanton Wife. But it grows late,  
And I am strangely discomposed. Farewell.  Exit Beauf.  Damp. 

Go, go to bed old man, sleep if thou canst,  
And dream of happy hours thou ne'er shalt see.  
So, he's well prepared I think, and I have  
Gained a mighty Patron to protect me  
Whatever mischief happens; the more  
the better now, since he is like to Answer all.  
Poor I am but his humble Instrument,  
Ha! Ha! Ha!  
I could even kill myself with Laughing now,  
To see how strangely all things have conspired,  
To Crown my Roguery with Success,  
And me with Safety.  Exit Damp. Enter Grammount and a Page before him with a Flambeau.  Gram. 

Business, unlucky business long has kept  
Me from Elvira: Tho' all late as 'tis,  
Methinks some dark, illboding fancy seems  
to tell me, 'tis too early yet, to seek  
Those Joys I ever found in her dear Arms.  
A strange unusual damp has seized my soul,  
And I who use, with eager Joy to fly  
To my Elvira, have now scarce the strength,  
Or Will indeed, to move one step that way.  
Oh Dampierre, Dampierre, what was thy design?  
Since I left thee, my working thoughts have been  
In a perpetual hurry; thou, alas!  
Hast poisoned all my dearest Joys, and in  
My troubled mind, laid the foundation  
Of Eternal Doubts, Perplexing, Gnawing,  
Killing Doubts. And yet I know thee, Dampierre,  
Base, of a Poor, Mean, Low spirit too,  
And so, capable of any mischief.  
Why then shouldst thou gain credit with Grammount,  
Who knows thou hat'st both him and his Elvira.  
No, from my memory henceforth I chase  
Thee, and each thought of thy base Treachery.  
Grammount's too happy in a virtuous Wife,  
And Generous Friend; tho' cursed indeed, in thee,  
Thou Cruel, and Unatural Brother.  
But hark, what noise is that?  A noise of opening a door and Lysette Enters who seeing Grammount pretends to avoid him. He stops her and turning up her hood sees her tearing a Letter with her Teeth. 
O, 'tis the door opens. Ha!  
Who art thou that stealest  
Away so guiltily?  
Nay, I must see, Lysette!  
Whither away at this  
Unseasonable time of night,  
And what paper's that thou  
Mumblest so?   Lyset. 

Alas! I am undone, Pardon me; sir,  
Oh Pardon me I beseech you.   Gram. 

Wouldst have me pardon thee e'er I know thy fault,  
Confess, and then perhaps thou may'st deserve it.   Lyset. 

Oh never, never, all that I desire,  
Is that you would be so just, as to believe  
Me only guilty, for on my life  
My Lady's innocent.   Gram. 

Ha! thy Lady, speak, what of her?   Lyset. 

Why, she I do declare to all the world  
Is innocent, by all that's good she is,  
Nay were I to die next minute,  
My Tongue should end my story with that truth.   Gram. 

I ask not of her innocence, but tell me,  
And tell me truly, as thou hop'st for any  
Mercy from me, whither wert thou  
Stealing with that Letter, and what  
Were the contents of it?   Lyset. 

For Heaven sake, and for your own, Sir,  
Press me no further, here on my knees  
I beg you would not.   Gram. 

Ha! dost thou dally with me?  
Come, speak quickly, or by heaven thou diest.   Lyset. 

Do with me what you please,  
But force me not, I do beseech you,  
To a Confession that—   Gram. 

What! Speak I say, tell me,  
What was that Paper, to whom directed,  
And from whom?   Lyset. 

Alas I die for fear—   Gram. 

If thou continuest obstinate,  
Not all the world shall save thee from my Fury.   Lyset. 

It was—   Gram. 

What was it, speak I say?   Lyset. 

It was a Letter—   Gram. 

From whom?   Lyset. 

It was a Letter from my Lady—   Gram. 

Well said, to whom?   Lyset. 

To— Yet, Sir, excuse me I conjure you.   Gram. 

Ha more trifling, out with it boldy, or—   Lyset. 

'Twas to Montigny, Sir,  
Your best, and dearest friend, Montigny.   Gram. 

To Montigny!  
Was it to Montigny, that Elvira sent thee  
With that Letter at this unseasonable hour?   Lyset 

It was: But why should that so much disturb you?  
A petty quarrel parted 'em in the evening,  
When tho' Montigny humbly sued for pardon,  
She would not grant it, till at the last, good Lady,  
Repenting her severity, she could not rest,  
Till she had given him an assurance, under  
Her hand, that what he then so earnestly  
Desired, was now as freely granted, and—   Gram. 

Peace Screech-Owl,  
Peace, thou rank messenger of lust:  
By heaven, I know not why I do not kill thee,  
Hence from my sight I say, away.  Exit Lysette. 
But which way now, wretched Grammount, wilt thou  
Direct thy wand'ring steps, where e'er thou goest,  
Destruction, Horror, and Amazament will attend thee.  
Thy faithful cares, deaf to all other tales,  
Will turn each sound into this one sad story,  
Elvira's false, Montigny's false, and now  
Grammount's become, the scorn of all the world,  
Oh 'tis too much for mortal man to bear,  
By heaven, I'll make my sad, and just Revenge  
As signally notorious as my wrongs.  
But hush, be still ye unruly passions of  
My mind, and think Grammount, that to revenge  
is but the way to publish thy disgrace.  
Patience then, oh patience, grant me just heaven  
More patience, or take from me that little  
I am yet master of, and in return  
Bless me with madness, eternal madness,  
Madness without one minutes interval of sense.  
Grief, Rage, Despair possess my totured mind,  
Make me but mad, ye Gods, and you'll be kind.   
The end of the fourth Act.   

ACT V SCENE I.  Enter Elvira and Leonora. Elu. 

NO more, no more; my Grammount is unkind,  
Fickle, inconstant, wavering, and false;  
Some fatal Beauty has surprised his Heart,  
And chased th' unfortunate Elvira thence  
For ever, as a stranger to his Love.   Leon. 

Judge not so hardly, Madam, of a Flame  
So pure, so exemplary, and so chaste  
As his.   Elu. 

What other Judgement can I make?  
In vain I have wept, in vain I have prayed,  
In vain all night pursued his flying steps  
From place to place, yet cannot get one Look  
That may seem kind, nor one poor Word  
By which I might but guests at the sad Cause  
Of his pretended Grief.   Leon. 

This his proceeding  
Seems to me most strange, I must confess,  
But yet—   Elu. 

Seek not, dear Leonora,  
To excuse him, but rather pity me.  
Ah! hadst thou been a Witness of my grief,  
And of those rough returns he last night made  
To all the softest and engaging Arts  
My Love could then invent, or his desire,  
Thou wouldst with Tears lament, not doubt his change.   Leon. 

What strange Unkindness was he guilty of!   Elu. 

Long had I wished my dear Grammount's return,  
With all th' impatience of a loving Wife,  
Ready to share and soothe his nearest Cares,  
And lull his wearied Body in these Arms  
To gentle Rest. The Night far spent, at length  
He came; but when with open Arms I ran  
To meet him, alas! how was I surprised,  
When I read nought but Fury in his Face!  
Doubting his Health, and venturing yet nearer  
To him, he frowned, and rudely fling me off:  
Yet by degrees his Rage began to waste;  
And giving place to some more gentle Thoughts,  
A sullen deadly Grief seemed to succeed it:  
When I, once more, attempting to draw near,  
He gently only put me by, then with  
A deep and dismal sigh turned short away,  
Leaving me all in tears, and almost dead  
With grief. Yet I resolved to follow him;  
And so indeed we passed the tedious Night,  
He flying still, I still pursuing, tho' in vain.   Leon. 

With all my Heart I pity you, and wish  
'tTwere in my power to serve you, Madam.   Elu. 

Ah, my dear Child, what can thy Kindness do  
For miserable me, unless perhaps  
It teach thee now to bear me company  
In tears, to echo forth my sighs from thy  
Compassionate Breast, and kindly share  
The sharpest Pangs of a too just Despair?  
All this, my Dear, I dare expect from thee,  
And from thy Love; and yet even all this  
Would but augment, not ease my Misery.   Leon. 

Yet something more I'll do, I'll to Grammount,  
And force that fatal Secret from his Breast,  
Which he yet keeps so close.   Elu. 

But can you think.  
That he will hear a Sister, who is deaf  
To all the sighs of a once dear-loved Wife?  
No, no; too much you wrong my dear Grammount▪  
Were he the Man he was, with Joy he'd hear  
His dear Elvira; but not being so,  
Be yet so just as to believe him deaf  
To all the World beside, as well as her.   Leon. 

Whither will your distempered Fancy lead  
You, Madam? Oh, think—   Elu. 

Alas, I know not.  
Ah my Grammount! couldst thou but guests to what  
A wretched state thy cruel usage has  
Reduced the poor unfortunate Elvira,  
'Twould make thee soon repent, and give new life  
To thy expiring Love.   Leon. 

Madam, once more  
I do beseech you give me leave to try  
My Fortune with Grammount; I may prevail.   Elu. 

Never: alas, he will despise thy Sex,  
And slight thy tender age. No, were he to be  
Prevailed on by Entreaties, Montigny  
Best of all the World might hope to do it.  
But—   Leon. 

Despair not, Madam, Friendship, perhaps,  
May do what Love at present cannot.   Elu. 

Ah, tempt me not to entertain a Hope  
Which, once deceived, will but increase my Pain.  
Yet for thy sake, my Dear, I do submit.  
Go to Montigny then, and faithfully  
Relate my Story; but leave the rest to him,  
Whose Generosity will better teach  
Him how to act, than all that we can say.   Leon. 

Madam, I fly.  Exit Leon.  Elu. 

And I in the mean time will once more seek  
My Dear, my false, ungrateful Fugitive  
Grammount.  Exit Elvira. Enter Dampierre and Lysette.  Damp. 

Well met; what News, my little Fury,  
From thy Quarters?   Lys. 

News, my great Lord of Mischief, worthy of  
Thy Ear. In short, I've played my part  
Most rarely well, and now the Devil, I think,  
Is playing his.   Damp. 

As how, I pray? What, is the wise virtuous  
Grammount caught at last? Does he begin to pout?   Lys. 

Oh, extremely.   Damp. 

And Elvira, what does she? ha'!   Lys. 

Why, she even whines, and pines, and blubbers,  
Like any overgrown Girl that had been  
Newly whipped.   Damp. 

Good, wondrous good.   Lys. 

Yes, yes; all yet goes wondrous well indeed;  
But what the end will be, for my part,  
I cannot guests.   Damp. 

No matter, let there be no end at all,  
But that which puts an end to all things, Death.  
Oh, may Confusion, Rage, Despair, and  
Everlasting Jealousy attend 'em to their Graves.   Lys. 

Amen, say I: but yet suppose they should  
At last come to a right Understanding,  
What would become of me, I pray?  
Were it not better, think you, to decamp  
In time, and leave them to themselves?   Damp. 

By no means; that would make 'em presently  
Smell out thy Roguery and their own Error:  
Rather be more diligent, and more assiduous  
In your attendance now than ever:  
Consult their Looks, for till you find the weather  
Clearing there, you need not fear a Storm;  
And then at last it will be time enough to fly.  
In the mean time, here; thou hast been  Offers a pair of Gloves. 
Industrious, and dost deserve Encouragement.   Lys. 

A nasty dirty pair of Gloves, I warrant you;  
Foh! I'll have none of 'em.   Damp. 

Away, thou'rt a Fool, and know'st not what  
Thou hast refused: they are, I tell thee,  
Gloves of the richest scent; besides, each Finger's  
Lined with Gold; here, wear 'em for my sake.   Lys. 

Well, for once I care not if I do, the cordial Gold  
Perhaps may keep my Spirits up, and give me  
Strength to bear the brunt of all. Adieu, Sir.  Exit Lys.  Damp. 

Go thy ways, thou art a dainty Girl, and dost love  
Mischief well, for which I love thee, tho' I dare not  
Trust thee. Thou art indeed a thought too mercenary,  
And may'st at last, for Gold, sell me, as thou already hast  
Thy Mistress; therefore I can but pity thee. Those Gloves,  
How rich so▪ o and sweet their scent may seem,  
Yet once well heated on the Hand, will cast a strong  
And deadly smell, most fatal to the Brain, a Poison  
Not only certain, but strangely sudden in its operation,  
As I was told, at least, by an Italian famous in that hellish  
Art, from whom I had 'em. If it be so, my business is  
Completely done, and thou, poor fool, Lysette, hast  
The Reward of all thy Services.  Exit Damp. Enter Grammount.  Gram. 

What is that thing called Happiness, which Men  
With so much noise and eager zeal pursue  
So many several ways, each hoping to  
Attain it in the possession of some  
Distant longed-for Blessing, tho' all alike  
In vain? For even that darling Blessing  
Placed in a nearer light, and once enjoyed,  
Loses but too much of its wont lustre;  
Or else, encountered with rude Crosses from  
Abroad, is lost and buried in a thick  
And dismal Cloud of rank uneasy Cares.  
There's no such thing then as a happy man  
On this side of the Grave. Look on me, all  
You vain Pretenders, look on me, and own  
At last this Truth; for all the dearest Joys  
Of Life did seem to court and flatter me:  
Yet all those Joys are in one moment dampt,  
All vanished, all lost to me for ever.  
Friendship and Love, which once made up  
The sweetest part of 'em, do now conspire  
My ruin. Oh Elvira!  Enter Elvira.  Elu. 

Oh Grammount!  He turns from her. 
Nay, turn not, turn not, cruel man, away,  
But look upon thy poor disconsolate  
Elvira, almost drown▪ d in tears: speak,  
Oh speak at last, and let her know wherein  
She has been faulty or unfortunate  
Enough to merit this hard usage from  
Her much-loved Grammount.   Gram. 

Art thou Elvira?   Elu. 

Why dost thou ask that unkind Question?   Gram. 

Because Elvira ever loved Grammount,  
And so could never be a trouble to him.  
But thou, alas! art most importunate;  
Prithee be gone, thou art not Elvira,  
Not the same Elvira, that I'm sure of.   Elu. 

Yes, I am the very same I ever was,  
The very same Elvira still, on whom  
With dearest Transports thou didst once bestow  
Ten thousand Vows of everlasting Love:  
The same unfortunate Elvira▪  
Who, charmed by thy sweet, soft, bewitching Arts,  
Herd with delight those many treacherous Vows  
By thee intended for her ruin.  
In short, I am the same Elvira that  
At last crowned all thy hopes▪ paying down Love  
For Love, as I then thought, tho' since I find,  
With purest Gold I only purchas▪ d Dross.   Gram. 

Forbear, forbear Elvira, and recall  
Not to my Memory those happy days  
In which I dearly loved, and thou wert kind;  
Too much, alas! 'twill aggravate my Grief,  
Since I within this Breast already feel  
Torments, to which nothing, I'm sure, can add  
New Pains, but a reflection on that Heaven  
I once enjoyed in thee and thy dear Love.   〈◊〉. 

If in Elvira's Love thou once wert blessed,  
Why art thou not so still▪   Gram. 

Oh Elvira!  
All things are strangely altered since that time;  
Love once was pure, and Friendship sacred held,  
Yet now the one is little else but Lust,  
The other all design. Virtue is fled,  
And Vice Reigns now Triumphant in each sex,  
We are all wondrous weak alas, and frail. Oh—   Elu. 

'Tis true, most true my dear Grammount, and yet  
What weakness canst thou justly tax me with;  
Unless perhaps my loving thee too well,  
Be an infirmity unpardonable  
In the unfortunate Elvira.   Gram. 

Oh—   Elu. 

Alas! what means that sad and dismal groan,  
By grief extorted from thy manly breast:  
Thou canst not sure be so unjust, as to  
Suspect my Love. Yet if thou art, speak  
I conjure thee, but speak plainly then,  
And not in un-intelligible groans.  
Speak, cruel man, oh speak, do I not love thee?  
Am I false? oh may Elvira live no longer,  
Than with a passion Innocent and Pure  
She loves her dear Grammount.   Gram. 

What pity 'tis our hearts are not exposed  
To open view, as are our faces, that  
So, even our most private thoughts might all  
Appear, naked and bear as at their first  
Conception, e'er dressed up in ornamental  
Words, of a much different import.   Elu. 

Ah, couldst thou but see into my heart,  
Thou there wouldst soon perceive thy error  
And my innocence. But since, my dear Grammount,  
That cannot be, believe my words, believe  
These tears, believe my Actions, oh see,  
I am here ready to receive thee still,  
Rude and Unkind, Ungrateful and Inhuman  
As thou art. Come then, come to these arms,  
ne'er yet stretched out to thee in vain.  
Wilt thou not come, not yet? thou canst not sure  
Deny me now, when all I beg of thee,  
Is, that once more thou wouldst be happy.   Gram. 

Why shouldst thou desire impossibilities?  
Alas! I never can be happy more.   Elu. 

If thou Grammount canst ne'er be happy more,  
Then must I be for ever miserable.  
Cruel man, show yet some small remainder  
Of humanity; be not so rash,  
Either accuse, or else acquit me,  
But pass not sentence on me  I'm heard,   Gram. 

No, fear not too hasty, or too hard  
A sentence from my mouth. False as thou art,  
I cannot hate, where once I loved so well.  
Live then Elvira, live long, but live a  
Stranger to Grammount. And that thou may'st live  
Happily, wipe from thy memory the  
Dearest passages of some few past years,  
And see thou quite forget, there e'er was such  
A wretch i'th' world as I am.   Elu. 

Hold, oh hold!  
It is too much, alas! insult not poorly  
O'er my weakness, nor play the wanton  
With my grief: Why dost thou bid me live,  
I fit must be without Grammount?  
Why dost thou wish me happy? when all my happiness,  
Thou knowst depends upon thy love,  
Yet that thou sayest is forfeited, is lost  
To me for ever, oh my Grammount.  
It is emiff thou art unkind,  
Be not unjust to thy Elvira.  
For pity's sake grant something to the dear  
Memory of our mutual Love,  
And if thou knowst me false, tell me wherein,  
When, or with whom I have offended.   Gram. 

What satisfaction would it be to thee  
Elvira, should I tell thee all: since all  
Alas! can be no more, than what thou knowst,  
As well at least, if not much better than  
Myself. In short, I am convinced thou canst not  
Clear thyself; and if so, consider that  
A weak defence is worse than none at all.  
Tempt me not then to speak, since 'twill but add  
To thy Confusion, and my Shame:  
But I would willingly spare both, as much  
As may be with my honour.   Elu. 

Confusion,  
Shame, Contempt, and everlasting Infamy,  
For ever be my Lot, if e'er I wronged  
Thy Love so much as in one guilty thought.  
Oh my Grammount my dear, my Loved Grammount,  
See thy Elvira on her tender knees,  
From whence she ne'er will rise, till she has learned  
The strange and fatal cause of her disgrace.   Gram. 

Away, this thy affected obstinacy,  
Would make me hate thee, were it possible.  
Elvira, is it not enough that thou hast  
Wronged my Honour? but that I myself  
Must here repeat the shameful Tale  
Only to gratify thy wanton curiosity.  
Perhaps indeed, I know not half thy brave  
Exploits, so my imperfect tale may yield.  
Thee some diversion: But have a care,  
The Cuckold yet bears his misfortune  
Patiently enough, make him not then thy sport,  
For if thou dost, by Heaven away, away  
Elvira, I would not be provoked, away I say,  
Whilst yet I'm Master of my growing Passion.   Elu. 

Do what thou wilt, be rude, be cruel,  
Be inhuman as thou hast been, to the Poor  
Elvira, yet whilst she has any strength,  
She never will let go this hold, unless  
Thou first communicate the fatal secret.   Gram. 

Away, thou'lt force me to be rude.  
Be not so strangely obstinate, alas!  
I would be civil, though I can't be kind.   Elu. 

Barbarous man! yet speak, what have I done?   Gram. 

Will nothing else content thee? then thus  
I throw thee off, and force my way.  Strives to get from her, and drags her about the Stage.  Elu. 

And thus  
I cling to thee, close as the tender Ivy  
To the sturdy Elm. Do, do merciless  
Grammount, do, pull, hale, tear, drag, nay kill me,  
Yet I'll not willingly let go: But oh!  
His cruel strength prevails.  He breaks from her.  Gram. 

Farewell thou most importunate of Women.   Elu. 

Stay, stay my Grammount, give me but one poor  
Minute more, and all is done: Fear not,  
I will no longer urge my innocence,  
It is enough that thou believest me false:  
Oh, for thy own repose, may'st thou for ever  
Think me so. Farewell, methinks I feel,  
My labouring soul striving, and strug'ling,  
With its utmost force, to break its wretched  
Prison, yet something, I know not what, still  
Makes resistance and obstructs its passage.  
I see Grammount, thou likest not the delay,  
I will dispatch then, and for thy sake,  
Hasten the slow approaches of my fate.  
Art thou then fled, art thou then gone for ever?  
Farewell my dear, unkind, Grammount, farewell  
And when I'm dead, think what the poor Elvira  
Would have done to have kept thy love, who on  
Her own tender breast dares thus revenge  
The fatal loss.  She pulls out a Dagger and stabs herself.  Gram. 

Hold, hold, Elvira hold!  
By Heaven 'twas boldly done, and nothing could  
Have given so sure a blow but Innocence  
Itself. Yes my Elvira, every drop  
Of that dear blood, loudly procliams to all  
The world, thy innocence and my sad guilt.  
Oh ye just powers above! to what strange fate  
Am I at length reserved! see, at thy feet  
My dear Elvira, the wretched'st thing alive,  
A thing, unworthy of the name of Man,  
A Penitent, who dares not hope for pardon  
Either from Heaven or thee, though both alas!  
Are infinitely good, and merciful.  Enter Montigny.  Mont. 

Where is Grammount, where is my dearest Friend?   Gram. 

Who is it names Grammount, hah!  Starting up.  Mont. 

Elvira all in blood! Oh Heavens!  
I hardly dare believe my Eyes, what wretch  
Can have the heart to do so Villainous  
A deed?   Gram. 

See here that miserable wretch,  
That bloody Villain thou wast speaking of.  
He was thy friend, oh, if thou still art his,  
Do him one friendly office, draw, and sheathe  
Thy Sword in this disloyal Breast; strike home  
Be sure, and with one kind obliging blow  
At once deliver me, from the too just  
Reproaches of the world, from this dear, yet  
Killing spectacle, and from my hated self.   Elu. 

This wound, believe me, came not from his hand,  
Elvira's arm, assisted by despair,  
Had strength enough to give the fatal blow.   Mont. 

Oh my Grammount, oh my dear friend,  
What a vast Treasure hast thou lost.  
Alas! what can I do but pity thee,  
Thy crime carries its own punishment  
Along with it, a punishment beyond  
What the severest justice can inflict.   Enter Beaufort Beauf. 

Tell me what means this general mourning,  
A sad confusion seems to reign within  
These walls, where e'er I go I meet with deep  
Despair, and if I chance to ask the cause,  
I'm answered only with a sigh, some tears,  
And a distracted ghastly look, and that  
Is all th' intelligence I can get.   Gram. 

Here be informed then, oh see here a Sight,  
Will shake thy generous soul with horror:  
A Sight, will make even thee look pale,  
And tremble, tho' long ennured to slaughter,  
And brought up in blood. Nay, start not Sir,  
It is Elvira weltering in her gore,  
Elvira fallen by her own hand,  
But murdered by Grammount.  Enter Leonora.  Leon. 

Never did so much joy, as here I bring  
Spring from so sad a cause.   Beauf. 

Ha! who's that unseasonably mentions joy  
Here in this place of everlasting Woe.   Leon. 

Oh heavens! are all my dearest hopes thus dashed?  
Oh Madam, who has done this bloody deed?   Elu. 

'Twas I, 'twas I myself▪ my dear, weep not  
For me, but rather go, and comfort  
If thou canst the poor Grammount.   Leon. 

Oh Grammount!  
Unfortunate Grammount, most grossly hast  
Thou been imposed on, strangely abused  
By that prodigious Monster Dampierre.  
Know then, that Letter, thought directed  
By Elvira to Montigny,  
And sent, at that dead guilty time of night,  
Was but a trick, a mere device, the whole,  
Only a scene contrived by Dampierre,  
Acted by Lysette.  
This truth, from her own mouth I just now learned,  
And she confirmed it with her latest breath.  
For she is dead, poisoned by Dampierre.  
This confession was to me, I must confess,  
Most welcome, and welcome sure it would have been  
To all, had it been made but some few minutes  
Sooner.   Gram. 

Gods! what has this miserable Caitif done.  
To draw down all your anger on his head?  
What horrid crimes before had stained his Soul  
That you should thus, all at one fatal blow,  
Oppress the wretch with your severest Judgements?  
Oh, that some Mountain now would fall on me,  
And in its dreadful ruins hid my head.  
But hark methinks the Gods grow loud; hark, how  
Their awful thunder grumbles in the Sky,  
See how the fiery balls fly whizzing by!  
Dealing amazement, and destruction all a round.  
Ha', ha', ha', ha'.  
See you old miser, laden with swelling bags  
Of illgot Gold, with how much awkared haste,  
He limps away to shelter: see how he ducks,  
And dives, and dodges with the Gods, and all  
Only in hope t' avoid, for some few days  
Perhaps, the just reward of his accursed extortion.  
The hot Adulterer now, all i'll and impotent  
With fear, leaps from the polluted bed,  
And crams himself into a cranny,  
Those mighty men of blood, who make a Trade  
Of murder, forget their wont fierceness:  
Outnoised they shrink aside, and shake for fear  
O'th' louder threaten of the angry Gods.  
Whilst I, I only, tho' the wickedest wretch of all,  
with an erected countenance stand to't,  
Courting those danger's others seek to avoid.  
And yet there's not one dart one ball for me,  
Tho I, Heaven knows, deserve 'em all. Oh  He throws himself on the ground.  Elu. 

Let not the knowledge of my innocence,  
My dear Grammount, add to thy grief,  
Rather believe me guilty still, alas!  
Thy generous easy nature was abused,  
Imposed on by a Brother's wicked arts.  
Thou still art innocent, and so am I,  
Who freely can forgive thy greatest faults.  
Come then Grammount, come to thy Elvira,  
And with a kiss, a cold and dying kiss,  
I'll seal thy pardon.   Gram. 

My dear Elvira, this thy prodigious  
Goodness, does but increase my misery.  
Yet I will come, yes my Elvira,  
With a down dejected countenance,  
Not daring to look up, but creeping thus,  
And crawling on the earth, I do approach  
Thy feet, here, spurn the vile thing, tread, trample  
The miserable insect into nothing.   Elu. 

Oh my Grammount, yield not too much to grief.  
It is a fatal, though a slow disease.   Gram. 

I thank thee, dear Elvira, for that hint.  
Now thou art kind, and giv'st me good advice.  
Whoever would endure an age of pain,  
When one such blow as this, might give him present ease?  Stabs himself.  Beauf. 

Hold, oh hold Grammount.   Leon. 

Oh heavens what has he done?   Mont. 

Too much alas! altho' no more than what  
I apprehended from his just despair.   Gram. 

Help me, my friend, and place me near that Saint.  
So, now 'tis pretty well, pardon me my dear  
Elvira, that so long I have deferred  
This piece of Justice, or rather pardon me,  
That at last I durst presume to mingle.  
My polluted blood, with those pure streams of thine.   Elu. 

Oh my Grammount!  
My Love can pardon thee any thing,  
Yet 'twas unkind, to give me thus  
A second wound, a wound more grievous  
To the poor Elvira, than the first  
Which gave her death.   Elu. 

Where, where art thou my Grammount  
A rising mist has on a sudden snatched  
Thee from my sight, alas! I faint, I die,  
Death seizes now on every part, and my  
Affrighted Soul sits hover on my pale  
And trembling lips, just ready to begin  
Its flight.   Gram. 

Oh stay, Elvira, for thy dear Grammount,  
Stay yet, but one poor minute, then,  
As we have long lived and loved,  
So let us still Love, and launch together  
Into a vast eternity, where we may Love  
For ever.   Elu. 

Oh no, imperious death commands  
And I must needs obey. But do thou live,  
Live yet, if it be possible, and Love  
The memory of the poor Elvira,  
Farewell— Farewell— my dear Grammount— For ever  She dies.  Gram. 

She's gone, and all my comfort is, that I  
Shall quickly follow her. Yes, this sight wounds  
Deeper than the sharpest dagger. And yet  
How many Charms remain Unconquered still,  
As Beauty lies Triumphant over Fate,  
And seems to flourish in the arms of death.  
Oh let me steal one parting kiss, at least,  
From those cold lips.  
But e'er I go, my Friend  
On thee I here bestow all I have left  
Of value in the world, this weeping Maid.   Mont. 

If the fair Leonora will confirm  
The gift, I shall be but too happy.  
Oh, my Grammount I beg thee to believe  
Since Fate deprives me of my dearest Friend,  
Nought but so rich a present from his hand  
Can bribe me to survive so sensible a loss,   Gram. 

Here take her then.   Beauf. 

And with her all my wealth,   Gram. 

The poor Grammount can only thank you Sir.  
Come Leonora—   Leon. 

For Heaven's sake—   Gram. 

This modesty's unseasonable now.  
Deny me not the satisfaction  
To see thee e'er I die so well bestowed,  
Give me thy hand. Take her Montigny.  
And may this saithful Wise abundantly  
Supply the want of an Unfortunate  
But real Friend—  
Farewell! a long farewell to all. Hark, hark  
Methinks I hear Elvira call. I come,  
I come Elvira, my aspiring Soul  
Gins to mount, not to o'ertake, but at  
An awful distance to attend and wait  
On thine above, in those blessed Regions  
Of eternal peace.  He dyes  Beauf. 

Fate now has done its worst, and from me torn  
All the delight and comfort of my age.  
Who waits there? hah!  Enter Servant's at one door, Damp, at the other. 
But see, just Heaven has sent him to receive  
The due reward of all his crimes. Seize,  
Seize on that Villain Dampierre instantly.  they seize him.  Damp. 

What means this rudeness, hah!   Beauf. 

Look there, Grammount is dead, Elvira's dead,  
And all this mischief is but the effect  
Of thy black hellish arts.   Damp. 

Why, if they are dead,  
Let 'em be buried: What is't to me?  
They might have longer lived, or sooner died  
For ought I know, who is it dares blame me?   Leon. 

I, though thy Sister, must accuse thee wretch  
Think, think on Lysette, poisoned by thee,  
She with her latest breath discovered all  
Thy arts.   Damp. 

Then my Italian was a Rascal,  
Away, thou art a Girl, and shouldst be whipped  
For prating.   Leon. 

Ah! was't not enough, that in the Forest  
Thou on Elvira's honour madest a base  
Attempt, but to reward her goodness  
In concealing thy black crime,  
Thou must Conspire her death too?   Beauf. 

Ha! how's that, can that be true?   Mont. 

Most true, believe me Sir, and had not I,  
Directed by her cries, come in by chance,  
The Villain had accomplished his design.   Beauf. 

Heavens I is it possible?   Damp. 

Yes, employed by thee,  
I would have been thy taster Beaufort.  
I would have wantoned with her, stroked, and tamed  
The virtuous fool, than brought her gentle,  
To thy longing arms.  
Dost thou not Love me for't? yes in thy heart  
I know thou dost, for who but I, would e'er  
Have taken so much pains to serve thy Lust?   Beauf. 

Justly thou dost reproach me Dampierre  
We are both Villains, and on both I will  
Myself see speedy Justice done. Thou who  
In spite of all my caution, hast yet dipped  
Thy hands in blood, shalt suffer death with the  
Most cruel tortures our severest Laws  
Inflict on murderers. As for myself,  
Here I renounce the world, and all its joys,  
Resolved henceforth in some Remote  
And Unfrequented Hermitage to spend  
The small remainder of my wretched days  
At Nature's charge: Where the cold clammy earth  
Shall be my bed: homely, but wholesome roots  
My daily food, and water from the  
Nearest Spring my only drink. There on my  
bended knees I'll try to appease the anger  
Of offended Heaven, and with repeated  
Earnest vows solicit pardon for all my faults.   Damp 

Ha' ha' ha'!   Beauf. 

Canst thou laugh wretch?   Damp. 

Yes hearty, at thee and thy pretended penance.   Beauf. 

Away with him, and load him well with Irons.   Damp. 

Do thy worst old man, I fear not thee, nor death.  Damp. is led out  Beauf. 

Now there is little left for me to do,  
But to discharge my duty to the dead.  
In sad and solemn pomp I will attend  
Them to the earth, and give them both one grave.  
There, when in peace their dear lov▪ d Ashes lie,  
From Treacherous ease, from all vain joys I'll fly,  
And though I live, yet to the world I'll die.   
FINIS   

THe Inhuman Cardinal, or Innocence Betrayed. A Novel by Mrs. Mary Pix:  
Now in the Press and will suddenly be published, the second part of the proposal to the Ladies, wherein a Method is offered for the improvement of their minds. By the Author of the first part, 12o. Printed for R. Wilkin.  
OVid travesty, or a Burlesque on Ovid' s Epistles; by Captain Alexander Radcliff, of Grayes-Inn.  
The Old Bachelor: A Comedy, by Mr. Congreve.  
The Family Physician, being a Choice Collection of the best Remedies for the Cure of all Diseases incident to humane Bodies; very useful in Families, and serviceable to Country People. To which is added the true English Wine-Cellar, being the best method to make all English Wines, and Metheglin; with a Collection of the Choicest Cosmetick Remedies to preserve the Complexion of Ladies▪ Published by George Hartman Phylo-Chymist, and Servant to Sir Kenelm Digby till he Died. Price 2 s. 6 d. Printed for Richard Wellington, at the Lute in St. Paul ' s Churchyard.