Isa. Do I deserve to be this outcast wretch; Abandoned thus, and lost? But 'tis my lot, The will of Heaven, and I must not complain: I will not for myself: let me bear all

The violence of your wrath; but spare my child!
Let not my sins be visited on him!
They are, they must; a general ruin falls
On every thing about me: thou art lost,
Poor nurse, by being near me.

Nurse. I can work, or beg, to do you service.
Isa. Could I forget

What I have been, I might the better bear
What I am destined to: I am not the first

That have been wretched: but to think how much
I have been happier! Wild hurrying thoughts
Start every way from my distracted soul,
To find out hope, and only meet despair.
What answer have I?

Enter SAMPSON.

Samp. Why truly, very little to the purpose: like a Jew as he is, he says you have had more already than the jewels are worth: he wishes you would rather think of redeeming them, than expect any more money upon them.

[Exit SAMPSON.

Isu. 'Tis very well-
So: poverty at home, and debts abroad!
My present fortune bad; my hopes yet worse!
What will become of me?

This ring is all I have left of value now:
'Twas given me by my husband: his first gift
Upon our marriage: I have always kept it,
With my best care, the treasure next my life,
And now but part with it to support life,
Which only can be dearer. Take it, nurse;
"Twill stop the cries of hunger for a time,
Provide us bread, and bring a short reprieve,
To put off the bad day of beggary,
That will come on too soon. Take care of it:
Manage it as the last remaining friend
That would relieve us. [Exit Nurse. Heaven
can only tell

Where we shall find another- -My dear boy!
The labour of his birth was lighter to me

Than of my fondness now; my fears for him
Are more, than in that hour of hovering death,
They could be for myself-He minds me not,
His little sports have taken up his thoughts:
Oh, may they never feel the pangs of mine!
Thinking will make me mad: why must I think,
When no thought brings me comfort?

Nurse returns.

Nurse. Oh, madam! you are utterly ruined and undone; your creditors of all kinds are come in upon you: they have mustered up a regiment of rogues, that are come to plunder your house, and

Car. Oh, sister! can I call you by that name,
And be the son of this inhuman man,
Inveterate to your ruin? Do not think
I am a-kin to his barbarity:

I must abhor my father's usage of you,
And from my bleeding honest heart must pity,
Pity your lost condition. Can you think
Of any way that I may serve you in?
But what enrages most my sense of grief,
My sorrow for your wrongs, is, that my father,
Fore-knowing well the storm that was to fall,
Has ordered me not to appear for you.

Isa. I thank your pity; my poor husband fell
For disobeying him; do not you stay
To venture his displeasure too for me.
Car. You must resolve on something-

[Exit.

Isa. Let my fate Determine for me; I shall be prepared. The worst that can befall me, is to die: [Ancise. When once it comes to that, it matters not Which way 'tis brought about: whether I starve, Or hang, or drown, the end is still the same; Plagues, poison, famine, are but several names Of the same thing, and all conclude in death But sudden death; Oh, for a sudden death, To cheat my persecutors of their hopes, The expected pleasure of beholding me Long in my pains, lingering in misery! It will not be, that is denied me too. Hark! they are coming; let the torrent roar ! It can but overwhelm me in its fall; And life and death are now alike to me.

[Exeunt, the Nurse leading the Child.

SCENE III.-Opens, and shews CARLOS eri VILLEROY with the Officers.

Vil. No farther violence

The debt in all is but four thousand crowns:
Were it ten times the sum, I think you know
My fortune very well can answer it.
You have my word for this: I will see you paid

Offi. That's as much as we can desire: so we
have the money, no matter whence it comes.
Vil. To-morrow you shall have it.
Car. Thus far all's well-

Enter ISABELLA, and Nurse, with the Child. And now my sister comes to crown the work.

Isa. Where are the raving blood-hounds, that pursue

In a full cry, gaping to swallow me?
I meet your rage, and come to be devoured:
Say, which way are you to dispose of me?
To dungeons, darkness, death!

Car. Have patience.

I am ready for my trial.

Car. Pray be calm,

And know your friends.

Isa. My friends! Have I a friend?

Though now you have a friend, the time must

come

That you will want one; him you may secure
To be a friend, a father, husband to you,
Isa. A husband!

Car, You have discharged your duty to the dead,

And to the living; 'tis a wilfulness
Not to give way to your necessities,
That force you to this marriage.

Nurse. What must become of this poor inno-
cence?
[To the child,
Car. He wants a father to protect his youth,
And rear him up to virtue: you must bear
The future blame, and answer to the world,
When you refuse the easy honest means
Of taking care of him.

Nurse. Of him and me,

And every one that must depend upon you: Unless you please now to provide for us, We must all perish.

Car. Nor would I press you—

Isa. Do not think I need

Your reasons, to confirm my gratitude;
I have a soul that's truly sensible

Villeroy came in to save you

Isa. Save me! How?

Car. By satisfying all your creditors.
Isa. Which way? For what?

Vil. Let me be understood,

[Aside.

And then condemn me: you have given me leave
To be your friend; and in that only name
I now appear before you. I could wish
There had been no occasion for a friend,
Because I know you hate to be obliged;
And still more loth to be obliged by me.
Isa. 'Twas that I would avoid-
Vil. I am most unhappy that my services
Can be suspected to design upon you;
I have no farther ends than to redeem you
From fortune's wrongs; to shew myself at last,
What I have long professed to be, your friend:
Allow me that; and to convince you more
That I intend only your interest,
Forgive what I have done, and in amends
(If that can make you any, that can please you)
I'll tear myself for ever from my hopes,
Stifle this flaming passion in my soul,
That has so long broke out to trouble you,
And mention my unlucky love no more.
Isa. This generosity will ruin me.
[Aside.
Vil. Nay, if the blessing of my looking on you
Disturbs your peace, I will do all I can
To keep away, and never see you more,

Car, You must not go.
Vil. Could Isabella speak
Those few short words, I should be rooted here,
And never move but upon her commands.
Car. Speak to him, sister; do not throw away
A fortune that invites you to be happy.
In your extremity he begs your love;
And has deserved it nobly. Think upon
Your lost condition, helpless and alone.

[TO VILLEROY. If possible, to make you a return. Vil. Oh! easily possible!

Isa. It cannot be your way: my pleasures are Buried, and cold in my dead husband's grave; And I should wrong the truth, myself, and you, To say that I can ever love again.

I owe this declaration to myself:

But, as a proof that I owe all to you,

If, after what I have said, you can resolve
To think me worth your love-Where am I
going?

You cannot think it; 'tis impossible.
Vil. Impossible!

Isa. You should not ask me now, nor should I

grant;

I am so much obliged, that to consent
Would want a name to recommend the gift:
'Twould show me poor, indebted, and compelled,
Designing, mercenary; and I know

You would not wish to think I could be bought, Vil. Be bought! where is the price that can pretend

To bargain for you! Not in fortune's power. The joys of Heaven and love must be bestowed; They are not to be sold, and cannot be descrved. Isa. Some other time I will hear you on this

Isa. I give you all

My hand; and would I had a heart to give! But if it ever can return again,

'Tis wholly yours.

Vil. Oh, ecstacy of joy!

Leave that to me. If all my services,

If prosperous days, and kind indulging nights,
If all that man can fondly say or do,
Can beget love, love shall be born again.-
Oh, Carlos! now my friend, and brother too!
And, nurse, I have eternal thanks for thee.
Send for the priest-

[Nurse goes out in haste.

This night you must be mine.
Let me command in this, and all my life

SCENE I.-Count BALDWIN'S House.
Enter COUNT BALDWIN and CARLOS.
C. Bald. Married to Villeroy, say'st thou ?
Car. Yes, my lord.

Last night the priest performed his holy office,
And made them one.

C. Bald. Misfortune join them!
And may her violated vows pull down
A lasting curse, a constancy of sorrow,
On both their heads!-I have not yet forgot
Thy slighted passion, the refused alliance;
But having her, we are revenged at full.
Heaven will pursue her still, and Villeroy
Share the judgments she calls down.

Car. Soon he'll hate her,

Though warm and violent in his raptures now. When full enjoyment palls his sickened sense, And reason, with satiety, returns,

Her cold constrained acceptance of his hand Will gall his pride, which (though of late o'erpowered

By stronger passions) will, as they grow weak, Rise in full force, and pour its vengeance on her. C. Bald. Now, Carlos, take example to thy

aid!

Let Biron's disobedience, and the curse
He took into his bosom, prove a warning,
A monitor to thee, to keep thy duty
Firm and unshaken.

Car, May those rankling wounds,
Which Biron's disobedience gave my father,
Be healed by me!

C. Bald. With tears I thank thee, CarlosAnd may'st thou ever feel those inward joys, Thy duty gives thy father-but, my son, We must not let resentment choak our justice; 'Tis fit that Villeroy know he has no claim From me, in right of Isabella, Biron (Whose name brings tears), when wedded to this

woman,

By me abandoned, sunk the little fortune
His uncle left, in vanity and fondness:
I am possest of those your brother's papers,

with them,

I will be sure my interest will not suffer
By these his high, refined, fantastic notions
Of equity and right.—What a paradox

Is man! My father here, who boasts his honour,
And even but now was warm in praise of justice,
Can steel his heart against the widow's tears,
And infant's wants; the widow and the infant
Of Biron; of his son, his favourite son.
'Tis ever thus weak minds, who court opinion,
And dead to virtuous feeling, hide their wants
In pompous affectation.-Now to Villeroy-
Ere this his friends, for he is much beloved,
Crowd to his house, and with their nuptial songs
Awake the wedded pair: I'll join the throng,
And in my face, at least, bear joy and friendship.

[Erit.

SCENE II.-A hall in VILLEROY's house. A band of music, with the friends of VILLEROY.

Enter a Servant.

1 F. Where's your master, my good friend? Ser. Within, sir,

Preparing for the welcome of his friends.

1 F. Acquaint him we are here: yet stay, The voice of music gently shall surprise him, And breathe our salutations to his ear. Strike up the strain to Villeroy's happiness, To Isabella's-But he's here already.

Enter VILLEROY.

Vil. My friends, let me embrace you: Welcome all

What means this preparation? [Seeing the music. 1 F. A slight token

Of our best wishes for your growing happinessYou must permit our friendship—

mine!

My Isabella! Oh, the joy of my heart,
That I have leave, at last, to call you
When I give up that title to the charms
Of any other wish, be nothing mine!—
But let me look upon you, view you well.
This is a welcome gallantry indeed!

I durst not ask, but it was kind to grant,
Just at this time; dispensing with your dress
Upon this second day to greet our friends.
Isa. Black might be ominous;

I would not bring ill luck along with me.
Vil. Oh! if your melancholy thoughts could
change

With shifting of your dress-Time has done cures Incredible this way, and may again.

Isa. I could have wished if you had thought it fit,

Our marriage had not been so public.

Vil. Do not you grudge me my excess of love; That was a cause it could not be concealed: Besides, 'twould injure the opinion

I have of my good fortune. having you,
And lessen it in other people's thoughts,
Busy, on such occasions, to enquire,
Had it been private.

Isa. I have no more to say.

Enter CARLOS.

Vil. My Carlos too, who came in to the support

Of our bad fortune, has an honest right,

In better times, to share the good with us.

Car. I come to claim that right, to share your

joy;

To wish you joy; and find it in myself:
For a friend's happiness reflects a warmth,
A kindly comfort, into every heart
That is not envious.

Vil. He must be a friend, Who is not envious of a happiness So absolute as mine; but if you are (As I have reason to believe you are) Concerned for my well-being, there's the cause; Thank her for what I am, and what must be. [Music flourish.

I see you mean a second entertainment.
My dearest Isabella, you must hear
The raptures of my friends;
spring;

from thee they

Thy virtues have diffused themselves around,
And made them all as happy as myself.
Isa. I feel their favours with a grateful heart,
And willingly comply.

Enter SAMPSON and Nurse.

Samp. Ay, marry, nurse, here's a master indeed! He will double our wages for us! If he comes on as fast with my lady, as he does with his servants, we are all in the way to be well pleased.

Nurse. He is in a rare humour; if she be in as good a one

Sump. If she be, marry, we may even say, they have begot it upon one another.

Nurse. Well; why do not you go back again to your old count? You thought your throat cut, I warrant you, to be turned out of a nobleman's service.

Samp. For the future, I will never serve in a house where the master or mistress of it lie single: they are out of humour with every body when they are not pleased themselves. Now, this matrimony makes every thing go well. There's mirth and money stirring about, when these matters go as they should do.

Nurse. Indeed, this matrimony, SampsonSamp. Ah, nurse! this matrimony is a very good thing-but, what, now my lady is married, I hope we shall have company come to the house: there's something always coming from one gentleman or other upon those occasions, if my lady loves company. This feasting looks well, nurse.

Nurse. Odso, my master! we must not be [Exeunt.

seen.

My heart would dance, spite of the sad occa sion,

And be a gay companion in my journey;
But-

Enter CARLOS from supper.

My good Carlos, why have you left my friends?
Car. They are departed home.
They saw some sudden melancholy news
Had stolen the lively colour from your cheek—
You had withdrawn, the bride, alarmed, had fol-
lowed:

Mere ceremony had been constraint; and this
Good-natured rudeness—

Vil. Was the more obliging. There, Carlos, is the cause. Car. Unlucky accident!

[Gives the letter.

The Archbishop of Malins, your worthy bro

ther

With him to-night! Sister, will you permit it?
Vil. It must be so.

Isa. You hear it must be so.
Vil. Oh, that it must!

Car. To leave your bride so soon!

Vil. But having the possession of my love,
I am the better able to support
My absence, in the hopes of my return.
Car. Your stay will be but short?
Vil. It will seem long;

The longer that my Isabella sighs:
I shall be jealous of this rival, grief,
That you indulge and fondle in my absence.
It takes so full possession of thy heart,
There is not room enough for mighty love.

Enter Servant, and bows.

My horses wait: farewell, my love! You,
Carlos,

Will act a brother's part, 'till I return,
And be the guardian here. All, all I have,
That's dear to me, I give up to your care.

Car. And I receive her as a friend and bro