Knows any thing, which he's ashamed to tell me; Or didst thou e'er conceal thy thoughts from Polydore ?

Cast. Oh, much too oft!

But let me here conjure thee,

By all the kind affection of a brother,

(For I'm ashamed to call myself thy friend) Forgive me

Pol. Well, go on.

Cast. Our destiny contrived

To plague us both with one unhappy love.
Thou, like a friend, a constant, generous friend,
In its first pangs didst trust me with thy passion,
Whilst I still smoothed my pain with smiles be-
fore thee,

And made a contract I ne'er meant to keep.
Pol. How!

Cust. Still new ways I studied to abuse thee, And kept thee as a stranger to my passion, 'Till yesterday I wedded with Monimia.

Pol. Ah, Castalio, was that well done!
Cust. No; to conceal it from thee was much
a fault.

Pol. A fault! when thou hast heard
The tale I tell, what wilt thou call it then?
Cast. How my heart throbs!

Pol. First for thy friendship, traitor,
I cancel't thus; after this day, I'll ne'er
Hold trust or converse with the false Castalio:
This witness Heaven!

Cast. What will my fate do with me? I've lost all happiness, and know not why. What means this, brother?

Pol. Perjured, treacherous wretch, Farewell!

Cast. I'll be thy slave, and thou shalt usc me Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me.

Pol. Never.

Gast. Oh! think a little what thy heart is doing:

VOL. I.

How from our infancy, we, hand in hand,
Have trod the path of life and love together;
One bed hath held us, and the same desires,
The same aversions, still employed our thoughts:
When e'er had 1 a friend, that was not Polydore's,
Or Polydore a foe, that was not mine?
Even in the womb we embraced; and wilt thou now,
For the first fault, abandon and forsake .ne,
Leave me, amidst afflictions, to myself,
Plunged in the gulf of grief, and none to help me?
Pol. Go to Monimia, in her arms thou'lt find
Repose; she has the art of healing sorrows.
Cast. What arts?

Pol. Blind wretch! thou husband! there's a

whisper

What thou proclaim'st, he were the worst of liars: My friend may be mistaken.

Pol. Damn the evasion!

Thou mean'st the worst; and he's a base-born villain, That said I lied.

Cast. Do draw thy sword, and thrust it through my heart;

There is no joy in life, if thou art lost.—
A base-born villain!

Pol. Yes; thou never cam'st
From old Acasto's loins; the midwife put
A cheat upon my mother, and instead
Of a true brother, in a cradle by me,
Placed some coarse peasant's cub, and thou art he.
Cust. Thou art my brother still.
Pol. Thou liest.

Cast. Ah!-ah-that stings home-Coward! Pol. Ay, base-born coward! villain!

Cast. This to thy heart, then, though my mother bore thee.

[Fight; POLYDORE drops his sword, and runs on CASTALIO'S.

Pol. Now, my Castalio is again my friend. Cust. What have I done? my sword is in thy breast!

Pol. So I would have it be, thou best of men, Thou kindest brother, and thou truest friend. Cast. Ye gods, we're taught, that all your works are justice,

2 E

You're painted merciful, and friends to innocence: If so, then why these plagues upon my head? Pol. Blame not the heavens; here lies thy fate, Castalio;

They're not the gods, 'tis Polydore has wronged

thee;

I've stained thy bed; thy spotless marriage joys Have been polluted by thy brother's lust.

Cast. By thee!

Pol. By me, last night, the horrid deed

incest.

Cast. Now, where's Monimia? Oh!

Enter MONIMIA.

Mon. I'm here, who calls me? Methought I heard a voice,

Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains, When all his little flock's at feed before him. But what means this? Here's blood.

Cast. Ay, brother's blood.

Art thou prepared for everlasting pains?

Pol. Oh, let me charge thee, by the eternal justice,

Hurt not her tender life!

Cast. Not kill her? Rack me,

Ye powers above, with all your choicest torments,
Horror of mind, and pains yet uninvented,
If I not practise cruelty upon her,

And wreak revenge some way yet never known. Mon. That task myself have finished; I shall die

Before we part; I have drank a healing draught For all my cares, and never more shall wrong thee.

Pol. O she's innocent!

Cast. Tell me that story,

And thou wilt make a wretch of me indeed.

Pol. Hadst thou, Castalio, used me like a friend,

This ne'er had happened; hadst thou let me know

Thy marriage, we had all now met in joy;
But, ignorant of that,

Hearing the appointment made, enraged to think
Thou hadst outdone me in successful love,
I, in the dark, went and supplied thy place;
Whilst, all the night, 'midst our triumphant joys,
The trembling, tender, kind, deceived Monimia,
Embraced, caressed, and called me her Castalio.

Cast. And all this is the work of my own fortune;

None but myself could e'er have been so cursed!
My fatal love, alas! has ruined thee,

Thou fairest, goodliest frame the gods e'er made,
Or ever human eyes and hearts adored.
I've murdered too my brother.

Mon. When I'm laid low i' th' grave, and quite

forgotten,

May'st thou be happy in a fairer bride; But none can ever love thee like Monimia. When I am dead, as presently I shall be, (For the grim tyrant grasps my heart already) Speak well of me; and, if thou find ill tongues Too busy with my fame, don't hear me wronged; "Twill be a noble justice to the memory

Of a poor wretch, once honoured with thy love. How my head swims! 'tis very dark. Goodnight. [Dies. Cast. If I survive thee-what a thought was that?

Thank heaven, I go prepared against that curse. Enter CHAMONT, disarmed and seized by ACASTO and Servants.

Chu. Gape hell, and swallow me to quick damnation,

If I forgive your house! if I not live
An everlasting plague to thee, Acasto,
And all thy race! Ye've overpowered me now;
But hear me, Heaven -Ah, here's a scene of
death!

My sister, my Monimia breathless!—Now,
Ye powers above, if ye have justice, strike,
Strike bolts through me, and through the cursed
Castalio!

Acast. My Polydore!
Pol. Who calls?

Acast. How com'st thou wounded?

Cast. Stand off, thou hot-brained, boisterous, noisy ruffian,

And leave me to my sorrows!

Cha. By the love

I bore her living, I will ne'er forsake her;
But here remain, till my heart burst with sobbing.
Cust. Vanish, I charge thee, or

[Draws a dagger. Cha. Thou canst not kill me ;

That would be kindness, and against thy nature. Acast. What means Castalio? Sure thou wilt

not pull

More sorrows on thy aged father's head. Tell me, I beg you, tell me the sad cause

ther,

And force the sin of parricide upon me?

Pol. 'Twas my own fault, and thou art inno

cent:

Forgive the barbarous trespass of my tongue; 'Twas a hard violence: I could have died With love of thee, even when I used thee worst:

Unjustly hast pursued me with thy hate, And sought the life of him, that never wronged thee;

Now, if thou wilt embrace a nobler vengeance, Come, join with me, and curse

Cha. What?

Cast. First, thyself,

As I do, and the hour that gave thee birth:
Confusion and disorder seize the world,
To spoil all trust and converse amongst men!
'Twixt families engender endless feuds,
In countries needless fears, in cities factions,
In states rebellion, and in churches schism!
Till all things move against the course of nature,
Till form's dissolved, the chain of causes broken,
And the original of being lost!
Acast. Have patience.

Cast. Patience! preach it to the winds,
The roaring seas, or raging fires! the knaves
That teach it, laugh at ye, when ye believe them.
Strip me of all the common needs of life,
Scald me with leprosy, let friends forsake me,

I'll bear it all; but cursed to the degree
That I am now, 'tis this must give me patience:
Thus I find rest, and shall complain no more.
[Stabs himself.

Pol. Castalio! oh!
Cast. I come.
Chamont, to thee my birth-right I bequeath;
Comfort my mourning father, heal his griefs,

[ACAS. faints into the arms of a servant. For I perceive they fall with weight upon him. And, for Monimia's sake, whom thou wilt find I never wronged, be kind to poor Serina. Now, all I beg, is, lay me in one grave Thus with my love. Farewell. I now am-nothing.

[Dies. Cha. Take care of good Acasto, whilst I go To search the means, by which the fates have plagued us.

'Tis thus that heaven its empire does maintain; It may afflict, but man must not complain. [Exeunt omnes.

YOU'VE seen one Orphan ruin'd here, and I
May be the next, if old Acasto die;
Should it prove so, I'd fain amongst you find,
Who 'tis would to the fatherless be kind.
To whose protection might I safely go?
Is there amongst you no good nature? No.
What should I do? should I the godly seek,
And go a conventicling twice a week?
Quit the lewd stage, and its prophane pollution,
Affect each form and saint-like institution,
So draw the brethren all to contribution?

Or shall I (as I guess the poet may
Within these three days) fairly run away?
No, to some city-lodging I'll retire,
Seem very grave, and privacy desire:
Till I am thought some heiress rich in lands,
Fled to escape a cruel guardian's hands;
Which may produce a story worth the telling,
Of the next sparks that go a fortune-stealing.

IN these distracted times, when each man dreads
The bloody stratagems of busy heads;
When we have feared three years we know not
what,

Till witnesses begin to die o'th' rot,
What made our poet meddle with a plot?
Was't that he fancied, for the very sake
And name of plot, his trifling play might take?
For there's not in't one inch-broad evidence,
But 'tis, he says, to reason plain and sense,
And that he thinks a plausible defence.
Were truth by sense and reason to be tried,
Sure all our swearers might be laid aside.
No, of such tools our author has no need,
To make his plot, or make his play succeed.
He, of black bills, has no prodigious tales,
Or, Spanish pilgrims cast ashore in Wales;
Here's not one murdered magistrate at least:
Kept rank like ven'son for a city feast:

Grown four days stiff, the better to prepare,
And fit his pliant limbs to ride in chair:
Yet here's an army raised, though under ground,
But no man seen, nor one commission found:
Here is a traitor too, that's very old,
Turbulent, subtle, mischievous, and bold,
Bloody, revengeful, and, to crown his part,
Loves fumbling with a wench, with all his heart;
Till after having many changes past,

In spite of age, (thanks t'heaven) is hang'd at last.
Next is a senator that keeps a whore;
In Venice none a higher office bore;
To lewdness every night the letcher ran,
Shew me, all London, such another man,
Match him at Mother Creswold's, if you can.
Oh Poland! Poland! had it been thy lot,
T'have heard in time of this Venetian plot,
Thou surely chosen had'st one king from thence,
And honour'd them as thou hast England since.

SCENE I.-A Street in Venice.

Enter PRIULI and JAFFIER. Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! Begone and leave me.

Jaf. Not hear me! By my suffering but you shall! My lord, my lord, I'm not that abject wretch You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws

Me back so far, but I may boldly speak
In right, though proud oppression will not hear me?
Pri. Have you not wronged me?
Jaf. Could my nature e'er

Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrongs,
I need not now thus low have bent myself,
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.
Wronged you!

Pri. Yes, wronged me! In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you have done me wrong.
You may remember (for I now will speak,
And urge its baseness) when you first came home
From travel, with such hopes as made you look-

ed on,

By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation,
Pleased with your growing virtue, I received you,
Courted, and sought to raise you to your merits:
My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours; you might have used me
To your best service; like an open friend
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine:
When, in requital of my best endeavours,
You treacherously practised to undo me;
Seduced the weakness of my age's darling,
My only child, and stole her from my bosom.
Oh Belvidera!

Jaf. 'Tis to me you owe her!
Childless you had been else, and in the grave
Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of.
You may remember, scarce five years are past,
Since in your brigantine you sailed to see
The Adriatic wedded by our duke;
And I was with you: your unskilful pilot
Dashed us upon a rock; when to your boat
You made for safety; entered first yourself;
The affrighted Belvidera, following next,
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side,
Was by a wave washed off into the deep;
When instantly I plunged into the sea,
And, buffetting the billows to her rescue,
Redeemed her life with half the loss of mine.
Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her,
And with the other dashed the saucy waves,
That thronged and pressed to rob me of my prize.
I brought her, gave her to your despairing arms:
Indeed you thanked me; but a nobler gratitude
Rose in her soul: for from that hour she loved me,
Till for her life she paid me with herself.

Pri. You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her,

At dead of night! that cursed hour you chose,

To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears
With hungry cries; whilst his unhappy mother
Sits down and weeps in bitterness of want.
Jaf. You talk as if 'twould please you.
Pri. 'Twould, by heaven!

Once she was dear indeed; the drops that fell
From my sad heart, when she forgot her duty,
The fountain of my life was not so precious-
But she is gone, and, if I am a man,
I will forget her.

Jaf. Would I were in my grave!
Pri. And she too with thee:

For, living here, you're but my cursed remem brancers,

I once was happy.

Jaf. You use me thus, because you know my soul Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat me. Oh! could my soul ever have known satiety, Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs As you upbraid me with, what hinders me But I might send her back to you with contumely, And court my fortune, where she would be kinder? Pri. You dare not do it,

Juf. Indeed, my lord, I dare not.

My heart, that awes me, is too much my master: Three years are past, since first our vows were plighted,

During which time, the world must bear me wit

ness,

I've treated Belvidera like your daughter,
The daughter of a senator of Venice:
Distinction, place, attendance, and observance,
Due to her birth, she always has commanded.
Out of my little fortune I've done this;
Because (though hopeless e'er to win your na-
ture)

The world might see I loved her for herself;
Not as the heiress of the great Priuli.
Pri. No more.

Jaf. Yes, all, and then adieu for ever. There's not a wretch, that lives on common cha