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El.

her!

Off-murderer, off! Do not defile me with those crimson hands. (shows the scarf.) This is his winding sheet—I'll wrap him

in it-
I wrought it for my love—there, now I've dressed him.
How brave he looks! my father will forgive him,
He dearly loved him once—but that is over !
See where he comes-beware, my gallant Percy!
Ah! come not here; this is the cave of death,
And there's the dark, dark palace of revenge !
See, the pale king sits on his blood-stained throne !
He points to me-I come, I come, I come.
(she faints; they run to her ; Douglas takes up his sword,

and stabs himself.)
Doug. Thus, thus I follow thee.
Ed.

Hold thy rash hand.
Doug. It is too late. No remedy but this
Could med'cine a disease so desperate.

Raby. Ah! she revives !

Doug. (raising himself.) She lives! bear, bear me to We shall be happy yet.

(he struggles to get to her, but sinks down.)

It will not beO for a last embrace—Alas! I faintShe lives—Now death is terrible indeedFair spirit, how I loved thee_0_Elwina! (dies.)

El. Where have I been? The damps of death are on me.
Raby. Look up, my child! O do not leave me thus :
Pity the anguish of thy aged father.
Hast thou forgotten me?
El.

You are my father ;
O you are kindly come to close my eyes,
And take the kiss of death from my cold lips.

Raby. Do we meet thus?
El.

We soon shall meet in peace.
I've but a faint remembrance of the past-
But something tells me0 these painful struggles !
Raise me a little—there-

(she sees the body of Douglas.)

What sight is that?
A sword, and bloody? Ah! and Douglas murdered?

Ed. Convinced too late of your unequalled virtues,
And wrung with deep compunction for your wrongs,
By his own hand the wretched Douglas fell.

EL This adds another, sharper pang to death.
O thou Eternal ! take him to thy mercy!
Nor let this sin be on his head or mine!

Ramy. I have undone you all—the crime is mine!
O thou poor injured saint, forgive thy father!
He kneels to his wronged child.
El.

Now you are cruel.
Come near, my father, nearer-I would see you,
But mists and darkness cloud my failing sight.
O death! suspend thy rights for one short moment,
'Till I have ta'en a father's last embrace-
A father's blessing. Once-and now 'tis over.
Receive me to thy mercy-gracious Heaven. (she dies.)

Raby. She's gone! forever gone! Cold, dead and cold. Am I a father ? Fathers love their childrenI murder mine! With impious pride I snatched The bolt of vengeance from the hand of Heaven. My soul submissive bows. A righteous God Has made my crime become my chastisement, And pulled those miseries on my guilty head I would have drawn on others. O'tis just! 'Tis righteous retribution !-1 submit.

EPILOGUE.

WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK.

I must, will speak—I hope my dress and air Announce the man of fashion, not the player; Though gentlemen are now forbid the scenes, Yet have I rushed through heroes, kings, and queens; Resolved, in pity to this polished age, To drive these ballad-heroes from the stage.

“ To drive the deer with hound and horn,

Earl Percy took his way;
The child may rue, that is unborn,

The hunting of that day."
A pretty basis, truly, for a modern play!
What! shall a scribbling, senseless woman dare
To your refinements offer such coarse fare?
Is Douglas, or is Percy, fired with passion,
Ready, for love or glory, death to dash on,
Fit company for modern still-life men of fashion ?
Such madness will our hearts but slightly graze;
We've no such frantic nobles now-a-days.
Heart-strings, like fiddle-strings, vibrate no tone,
Unless they're tuned in perfect unison;
And youths of yore with ours can ne'er agree-
They're in too sharp, ours in too flat a key.
Could we believe old stories, those strange fellows
Married for love-could of their wives be jealous-
Nay, constant to 'em too-and, what is worse,
The vulgar souls thought faithless wives a curse.
Most wedded pairs had then one purse, one mind,
One bed too-so preposterously kind :
From such barbarity (thank Heaven) we're much refined.
Old songs their happiness at home record-
From home they separate carriages abhorred-
One horse served both—my lady rode behind my lord.
'Twas death alone could snap their bonds asunder-
Now tacked so slightly, not to snap's the wonder.
Nay, death itself could not their hearts divide;
They mixed their love with monumental pride;
For, cut in stone, they still lie side by side.
But why these Gothic ancestors produce ?
Why scour their rusty armors ? What's the use ?
'Twould not your nicer optics much regale,
To see us beaux bend under coats of mail;
Should we our limbs with iron doublets bruise,
Good Heaven! how much court-plaster we should use !
We wear no armor now, but on our shoes.
Let not with barbarism true taste be blended;
Old vulgar virtues cannot be defended;
Let the dead rest—we living can't be mended.

THE

FATAL FALSEHOOD:

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

TO

THE COUNTESS BATHURST,

This TRAGEDY is very respectfully inscribed, as a small tribute to her many virtues, and as a grateful testimony of the friendship with which she honors her most obedient and most obliged, humble servant,

THE AUTHOR VOL. V.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Earl GUILDFORD.
RIVERS, his son.
ORLANDO, a young Italian Count.
BERTRAND.

EMMELINA.
JULIA

SCENE-Earl GuildFORD's Castle.

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