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ry your errand back again; she never pleases to see any bo dy at this time of night, that she does not know; and by your dress and appearance, I am sure you must be a stranger to her.

Bir. But I have business; and you don't know how that may please her.

Samp. Nay, if you have business, she is the best judge, whether your business will please her or no: therefore I will proceed in my office, and know of my lady, whether or no she is pleas'd to be at home, or no[Going.

Enter Nurse to him.

Nurse. Who's that you are so busy withal? Methinks you might have found out an answer in fewer words: but, Sampson, you love to hear yourself prate sometimes, as well as your betters, that I must say for you. Let me come to him. Who wou'd you speak with, stranger?

Bir. With you, mistress, if you can help me to speak to your lady.

Nurse. Yes, Sir, I can help you in a civil way: but can no body do your business but my lady?

Bir. Not so well; but if you'll carry her this ring, she'll know my business better.

Nurse. There's no love-letter in it, I hope : you look like a civil gentleman. In an honest way, I may bring you an

answer.

Bir. My old nurse, only a little older! they say the tongue grows always. Mercy on me! then here is seven years longer, since I left her. Yet there's something in these servant's folly pleases me: the cautious conduct of the family appears and speaks in their impertinence. Well, mis

ress

Nurse returns.

Nurse. I have deliver'd your ring, sir; pray heav'n, you bring no bad news along with you.

Bir. Quite the contrary, I hope.

Nurse. Nay, I hope so too; but my lady was very much surpriz'd when I gave it her. Sir, I am but a servant as a body may say; but if you'll walk in, that I may shut the doors, for we keep very orderly hours, I can show you into the parlour, and help you to an answer, perhaps as soon as those that are wiser. [Exit.

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Bir.

Bir. I'll follow you

Now all my spirits hurry to my heart,
And every sense has taken the alarm
At this approaching interview!
Heav'ns! how I tremble!

[Exit into the house.

SCENE, A Chamber.

Enter ISABELla.

Isa. I've heard of witches, magic spells, and charms,
That have made nature start from her old course:
The sun has been eclips'd, the moon drawn down
From her career, still paler, and subdu'd

To the abuses of this under world:
Now I believe all possible. This ring,
This little ring, with necromantic force,
Has rais'd the ghost of pleasure to my fears:
Conjur'd the sense of honour, and of love,
Into such shapes, they fright me from myself:
I dare not think of them-

I'll call you when I want you.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Madam, the gentleman's below.

[Servant goes out.

Isa. I had forgot; pray let me speak with him.

[Exit Nurse.

This ring was the first present of my love
To Biron, my first husband: I must blush
To think I have a second. Biron dy'd
(Still to my loss) at Candy; there's my hope
O! do I live to hope that he dy'd there!
It must be so: he's dead; and this ring left
By his last breath, to some known faithful friend,

To bring me back again; [Biron introduc'd-Nurse retires.
That's all I have to trust to-

My tears were woman's. I have view'd him all :

And let me, let me say it to myself,

I live again, and rise but from his tomb.

Bir. Have you forgot me quite?

Isa. Forgot you!

Bir. Then farewel my disguise, and my misfortunes.

My

My Isabella! [He goes to ber; she shrieks, and falls in a

swoon.

Isa. Ha!

Bir. O! come again :

Thy Biron summons thee to life and love;
Once I had charms to wake thee:

Thy once lov'd, ever loving husband calls
The Biron speaks to thee.

Isa. My husband! Biron?

Bir. Excess of love and joy, for my return,
was to blame

Has overpower'd her

To take thy sex's softness unprepar'd;

But sinking thus, thus dying in my arms,
This exstasy has made my welcome more

Than words could say: words may be counterfeit
False coin'd, and current only from the tongue,
Without the mind; but passions in the soul,
And always speaks the heart.

Isa. Where have I been? why do you keep him from me? I know his voice; my life upon the wing,

Hears the soft lure that brings me back again :
Tis he himself, my Biron, the dear man!
My true lov'd husband! do I hold you fast,
Never to part again? can I believe it?
Nothing but you could work so great a change,
There's more than life itself in dying here:
If I must fall, 'tis welcome in these arms.
Bir. Live ever in these arms.

Isa. But pardon me,

Excuse the wild disorder of my soul;
The strange, surprising joy of seeing you,
Of seeing you again, distracted me→→
Bir. Thou everlasting goodness!

Isa. Answer me:

What hand of goodness has brought you back
To your own home again? O satisfy

Th' impatience of my heart: I long to know
The story of your sufferings. You wou'd think
Your pleasure's sufferings, so long remov'd
From Isabella's love: but tell me all,

For every thought confounds me.

Bir My best life; at leisure, all

Isa. We thought you dead; kill'd at the siege of Candy.

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Bir.

Bir. There I fell among the dead;

But hopes of life reviving from my wounds,
I was preserv'd, but to be made a slave:

I often writ to my hard father, but never had
An answer. I writ to thee too-

Isa. What a world of woe

Had been prevented, but in hearing from you!

Bir. Alas! thou could'st not help me.

Isa. You do not know how much I cou'd ha' done; At least, I'm sure I cou'd have suffer'd all:

I wou'd have sold myself to slavery,

Without redemption; giv'n up my child,
The dearest part of me, to basest wants-
Bir. My little boy!

Isa. My life, but to have heard

You were alive-which now too late I find.

[Aside.

Bir. No more, my love; complaining of the past,

We lose the present joy. 'Tis over price

Of all my pains, that thus we meet again

I have a thousand things to say to thee-
Isa. Wou'd I were past the hearing.

[Aside.

Bir. How does my child, my boy, my father too?

I hear he's living still.

Isa. Well both, both well;

And may he prove a father to your hopes,

Though we have found him none.

Bir. Come, no more tears.

Isa. Seven long years of sorrow for your loss,

Have mourn'd with me

Bir. And all my days behind

Shall be employ'd in a kind recompence

For thy afflictions-can't I see my boy?

Isa. He's gone to bed; I'll have him brought to you. Bir. To-morrow I shall see him; I want rest

Myself, after my weary pilgrimage.

Isa. Alas! what shall I get for you?

Bir. Nothing but rest, my love! to-night I would not

Be known, if possible, to your family;

I see my nurse is with you; her welcome

Wou'd be tedious at this time;

To-morrow will do better.

Isa. I'll dispose of her, and order every thing

As you wou'd have it.

[Exit.

Bir. Grant me but life, good heav'n, and give the means

To make this wond'rous goodness some amends;

And let me then forget her, if I can!

O! she deserves of me much more, than I

Can lose for her, though I again cou'd venture
A father, and his fortune, for her love!
You wretched fathers, blind as fortune all !
Not to perceive that such a woman's worth
Weighs dowu the portions you provide your sons:
What is your trash, what all your heaps of gold,
Compar'd to this, my heart-felt happiness?

What has she, in my absence, undergone?
I must not think of that; it drives me back
Upon myself, the fated cause of all.

ISABELLA returns.

Isa. I have obey'd your pleasure; Every thing is ready for you.

[Bursts into tears.

Bir. I can want nothing here; possessing thee,
All my desires are carried to their aim

Of happiness, there's no room for a wish,
But to continue still this blessing to me;

I know the way, my love, I shall sleep sound.
Isa. Shall I help to undress you?

Bir. By no means;

I've been so long a slave to others pride,
To learn, at least, to wait upon myself;

You'll make haste after

Isa. I'll but say my prayers, and follow you

[Going in.

My prayers! no, I must never pray again,
Prayers have their blessings to reward our hopes:

But I have nothing left to hope for more.

What heav'n cou'd give, I have enjoy'd; but now
The baneful planet rises on my fate,

And what's to come, is a long line of woe:

Yet I may shorten it

I promis'd him to follow. -him!

Is he without a name? Biron, my husband! ha!
What then is Villeroy? But yesterday
That very bed receiv'd him for its lord;
Yet a warm witness of my broken vows.
O Biron! hadst thou conie but one day sooner,

I wou'd

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