Dear cause of all my pain, Maid e'er deplored. Char. What's this?—A letter superscribed to me! None could convey it here, but you, Maria. To join with flatt'ring men, to break my peace, And persecute me to the last retreat! Agnes. Few else would think it so: By the least favour, though 'twere but a look, Mar. Why should it break your peace, to But 'tis the curse of curses to endure hear the sighs Of honourable love? This letter is Char. No matter whence: return it back unopen'd: [mot, I have no love, no charms, but for my WilNor would have any. Mar. Alas! Wilmot's dead; Or, living, dead to you. [rish hope; Can witness, they were made without reserve: His haughty parents, to your utter ruin?- them? The hoary, helpless, miserable pair! Mar. What I can't praise, you force me to admire, And mourn for you, as you lament for them. Char. So pride would tell me, Mar. You have the heavenly art still to improve [one, Your mind by all events-But here comes Whose pride seems to increase with her mis fortunes. The insolent contempt of those we scorn. Char. By scorning, we provoke them to And thus offend, and suffer in our turns: Agnes. No, 1 scorn them yet; But there's no end of suff'ring: Who can say Their sorrows are complete? My wretched husband, Tired with our woes, and hopeless of relief, And, urged by indignation and despair, Char. Gracious Heaven support him! Whom he would fain persuade to share his fate, Char. And may it ever! [tremes of life, Agnes. I've known with him, the two exThe highest happiness, and deepest woe, With all the sharp and bitter aggravations Of such a vast transition-Such a fall In the decline of life!-I have as quick, As exquisite a sense of pain, as he, And would do any thing, but die, to end it; But there my courage fails. Death is the worst That fate can bring, and cuts off ev'ry hope. Char. We must not chuse but strive to bear our lot Without reproach or guilt, By one rash act Of desperation, we may overthrow The merit we've been raising all our days, And lose our own reward. And now, methinks, Now, more than ever, we have cause to fear, And be upon our guard. The hand of Heaven Spreads clouds on clouds o'er our benighted heads, Char. I would not stake my happiness or | The least appearance of advice or caution, On their uncertain credit, nor on aught [duty. Sets her impatient temper in a flame. But reason, and the known decrees of Heaven. When grief, that well might humble, swells Yet dreams have sometimes shown events to our pride, come, And may excite to vigilance and care. Agnes. Well, to your dream. [night, Char. Methought, I sat, in a dark winter's On the wide summit of a barren mountain; The sharp, bleak winds, pierced through my shiv'ring frame, And storms of hail, and sleet, and driving rains, On one hand, ever-gentle Patience sat, And I beheld a man, an utter stranger, Char. But what's to come, You and his father-(yes, you both were there) Strove to conceal him from me. I pursued you [earth Both with my cries, and call'd on heaven and To judge my wrongs, and force you to reveal Where you had hid my love, my life, my Wil[the rest. Agnes. Unless you mean to offend me, spare "Tis just as likely Wilmot should return, As we become your foes. mot! Char. Far be such thought [you name From Charlotte's breast: but when I heard Self-murder, it revived the frightful image Of such a dreadful scene! Agnes. You will persist!Char. Excuse me: I have done. I thought, at least, it could not give offence. Agnes. You could not think so, had you thought at all. [dream, Being a But I take nothing ill from thee.-Adieu! I've tarried longer than I first intended, And my poor husband mourns the while, alone. [Exit Agnes. Char. She's gone abruptly, and I fear, displeased. And pride, increasing, aggravates our grief, The tempest must prevail till we are lost. Heaven grant a fairer issue to her sorrows! [Exit. SCENE III.-The Town and Port of Penryn. Enter Young Wilmot and Eustace, in Indian Habits. Y. Wilm. Welcome, my friend, to Penryn! Here we're safe. [the sea, Eust. Then we're deliver'd twice: first from And then from men, who, more remorseless, prey [murder On shipwreck'd wretches, and who spoil, and Those, whom fell tempests, and devouring waves, In all their fury, spared. Y. Wilmot. It is a scandal, (Though malice must acquit the better sort,) The rude, unpolish'd people here, in Cornwall, Have long lain under, and with too much justice: For 'tis an evil, grown almost invet'rate, Eust. Your treasure's safe, I hope. Eust. I observed you, Y. Wilm. My thoughts were then at home. Thou seat of plenty, liberty, and health, streams. Y. Wilm. O Eustace! Eustace! Thou know'st, for I've confess'd to thee, I love; But having never seen the charming maid, Thou canst not know the fierceness of my flame. My hopes and fears, like the tempestuous seas That we have pass'd, now mount me to the skies, Now hurl me down from that stupendous height, And drive me to the centre. Did you know How much depends on this important hour, You would not be surprised to see me thus. The sinking fortune of our ancient house Compell'd me, young, to leave my native country, My weeping parents, and my lovely Charlotte, Who ruled, and must for ever rule, my fate. O, should my Charlotte, doubtful of my truth, Or in despair ever to see me more, Have given herself to some more happy lover!— Distraction's in the thought!-Or, should my parents, Griev'd for my absence, and oppress'd with want, Have sunk beneath their burden, and expired, Eust. The wretch who fears all that is pos- Must suffer more than he who feels the worst Y.Wilm. True, they may; I doubt, but I despair not. No, my friend! And drive that gaping phantom, meagre want, Receive their fond embraces and their blessings, And be a blessing to them. Eust. Tis our weakness: Blind to events, we reason in the dark, And fondly apprehend, what none e'er found Or ever shall, pleasure and pain unmix'd; And flatter and torment ourselves by turns, With what shall never be. Y. Wilm. I'll go this instant To seek my Charlotte, and explore my fate. Not worth my thoughts. Eust. The hardships you've endured, And your long stay beneath the burning zone, Where one eternal sultry summer reigns, Have marr'd the native hue of your compexion: Methinks you look more like a sun-burnt InThan a Briton. [dian, Char. Can I forget a man I never knew? Y. Wilm. My fears are true; some other has her heart: She's lost my fatal absence has undone me! [Aside. O! could thy Wilmot have forgot thee, Char[words import? lotte! Char. Ha! Wilmot! say, what do your O, gentle stranger, ease my swelling heart! What dost thou know of Wilmot? Y. Wilm. This I know [spire When all the winds of heaven seem'd to conAgainst the stormy main, and dreadful peals Of rattling thunder deafen'd ev'ry car, And drown'd the affrighten'd mariners' loud cries; [flames When livid lightning spread its sulphurous Through all the dark horizon, and disclosed The raging seas incensed to his destruction; When the good ship, in which he was embark'd, [surge, Broke, and, o'erwhelm'd by the impetuous Sunk to the oozy bottom of the deep, And left him struggling with the warring waves; In that dread moment, in the jaws of death, When his strength fail'd, and ev'ry hope forsook him, [bling lips, And his last breath press'd towards his tremThe neighbouring rocks that echo'd to his moan, Return'd no sound articulate but-Charlotte. Char. The fatal tempest, whose description strikes The hearer with astonishment, is ceased; Char. If, as some teach, the spirit after death, Y. Wilm. Assist me, Heaven! sence, Remain unshaken, and support its truth; Why dost thou gaze so wildly? Look on me; So changed and so disguised thy faithful Wilmot, [After viewing him some time, she approaches weeping, and gives him her hand; and then, turning towards him, sinks upon his bosom. Why dost thou weep? Why dost thou tremble thus ? Why doth thy panting heart, and cautious Char. No, Wilmot! no; I'm blind with O'ercome with wonder, and oppress'd with joy. Y. Wilm. Let me know it: They flow for thy misfortunes. I am pierced Y. Wilm. Are no more. Char. You apprehend me wrong. Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave Char. Afflict yourself no more with ground less fears: Your parents both are living. Their distress- In spite of my weak aid, was what I mourn'd: Y. Wilm. My joy's complete! Enough to glut e'en avarice itself: No more shall cruel want, or proud contempt, The hoary heads of those who gave me being. worth: You are not base, nor can you be superfluous, Y. Wilm. I have a friend, the partner of my voyage, Who, in the storm last night, was shipwreek'd with me. Char. Shipwreck'd last night!-O, you immortal powers! [ed? What have you suffer'd! How were you preservY. Wilm. Let that, and all my other strange escapes, And perilous adventures, be the theme I'll send him to thee. Char. I consent with pleasure. Y. Wilm. Heavens! what a sight! How shall I bear my joy! My parents, yours, my friends, all will be mine. SCENE. II.—A Street in Penryn. Enter Randal. Rand. Poor! poor! and friendless! whither shall I wander? And to what point direct my views and hopes? To swell his useless train for broken fragments, A long farewell to Cornwall, and to England! Y. Wilm, Randal! the dear companion of my youth! Sure, lavish fortune means to give me all Could properly salute me by the title think That you are he--that you are Wilmot ! Rand. Because I could not bear the disappointment, If I should be deceived. Y. Wilm. I am pleased to hear it: Thy friendly fears better express thy thoughts Than words could do. you return'd? Y. Wilm. I have not yet embraced My parents-I shall see you at my father's. Rand. No, I am discharged from thenceO, sir, such ruin— Y. Wilm. I've heard it all, and hasten to relieve them; Sure, Heaven hath bless'd me to that My parents not suspecting my return, Grown so familiar to me, that I wonder dead. Y. Wilm. This is certain; Charlotte beheld me long, And heard my loud reproaches and complaints, Rand. It may, indeed, Enhance your own, to see from what despair Your timely coming, and unhoped success, Have given you power to raise them. Y. Wilm. I remember, E'er since we learn'd together, you excell'd Rand. Sir, if you desire it— Y. Wilm. Nay, no objections! "Twill save Most precious with me now. For the decep- Rand. You grow luxurious in imagination. Could I deny you aught, I would not write This letter. To say true, I ever thought Your boundless curiosity a weakness. Y. Wilm. What canst thou blame in this? Rand. Your pardon, sir! Perhaps I spoke too freely; I'm ready to obey your orders. Y. Wilm. I am much thy debtor, But I shall find a time to quit thy kindness. |