Come then, oh! come. Stay not one moment longer. (As she approaches the door, lights appear above.) Reg. Look, look, my child! The beams of distant torches flash through the gloom. Osm. (Above.) Hassan, guard you the door. Follow me, my friends. (The lights disappear.) Ang. Osmond's voice! Undone! Undone! Oh! my father! he comes to seek you, perhaps toReg. Hark! they come! The gloom of yonder cavern may awhile conceal you: fly to it: hide yourself: stir not, I charge you. Ang. What, leave you? Oh! no, no! Has. My lord, all is lost! Percy has surprised the castle, and speeds this way. Osm. Confusion! Then I must be sudden. Aid me, Hassan. (Hassan and Osmond force Angela from her father, who suddenly disengages himself Reg. Dearest, I entreat, I conjure you, fly! from Muley and Alaric.) Fear not for me! Ang. Father! Oh! father! Reg. Farewell! perhaps for ever! (He forces Angela into the cavern, then returns hastily, and throws himself on the bed of straw.) Now, then, to hear my doom. Enter OSMOND, followed by MULEY and ALARIC, with torches. Osm. The door unbarred! Softly; my fears were false! Lo! where stretched on the ground, a stone his pillow, he tastes that repose which flies from my bed of down. Wake, Reginald, and arise! Reg. You here, Osmond? What brings you to this scene of sorrow? Alas! Hope flies while I gaze upon your frowning eye. Have I read its language aright, Osmond? Ösm. Aright, if you have read my hatred. Reg. Have I deserved that hate? See, my brother, the once proud Reginald lies at your feet; for his pride has been humbled by suffering. Hear him adjure you by her ashes, within whose bosom we both have lain, not to stain your hands with the blood of your brother. Kenric has told me that my daughter lives. Restore me to her arms; permit us in obscurity to pass our days together. Then shall my last sigh implore upon your head heaven's forgiveness and Evelina's. Osm. He melts me in my own despite. It shall be so. (Aside.) Rise, Reginald, and hear me. You mentioned, even now, your daughter: know, she is in my power; know, also, that I love her. Reg. How! Osm. She rejects my offers. Your authority can oblige her to accept them. Swear to use it, and this instant will I lead you to her arms. will you give the demanded oath? Say, Reg. I cannot dissemble: Osmond, I never will. Osm. How!-Reflect that your lifeReg. Would be valueless, if purchased by my daughter's tears; would be loathsome if embittered by my daughter's misery. Osmond, I will not take the oath. Osm. (Almost choked with passion.) 'Tis enough! (To the Africans.) You know your duty. Drag him to yonder cavern. Let me not see him die. Reg. (Holding by a fragment of the wall, from which the Africans strive to force him.) Brother, for pity's sake! for your soul's happiness! Osm. Obey me, slaves! Away! ANGELA rushes in wildly, from the cavern. Ang. Hold off! Hurt him not! He is my father! Osm. Angela here! Reg. Daughter, what means— Ang. (Embracing him.) You shall live, father! I will sacrifice all to preserve you. Osmond, release my father, and solemnly I swear Reg. Hold, girl, and first hear me! (Kneeling.) God of nature, to thee I call! If e'er on Osmond's bosom a child of mine rest; if e'er she call him husband, who pierced her hapless mother's heart, that moment shall a wound, by my own hand inflicted Reg. Friends so near? Villains! at least you shall buy my life dearly. (Suddenly seizing Hassan's sword.) Osm. (Employed with Hassan in retaining Angela, while Reginald defends himself against Muley and Alaric.) Down with him! Wrest the sword from him! (Alaric is wounded and falls; Muley gives back; at the same time, Osmond's party appears above, pursued by Percy's.) Hark! they come! Dastardly villains! Nay then, my own hand must- Drawing his sword, he rushes upon Reginald, who is disarmed, and beaten upon his knees; when, at the moment that Osmond lifts his arm to stab him, Evelina's ghost throws herself between them: Osmond starts back, and drops his sword.-Angela disengaging herself from Hassan, springs suddenly forwards, and plunges her dagger in Osmond's bosom, who falls with a loud groan, and faints. The ghost vanishes: Angela and Reginald rush into each other's arms.) Ang. Father, thou art mine again!, Enter PERCY, SAIB, HAROLD, &c. pursuing OSMOND's party. They all stop, on seeing him bleeding upon the ground. the object of our search. Per. Hold, my brave friends! See where lies Ang. Percy! dear Percy! Per. (Flying to her.) Dearest Angela! Ang. My friend, my guardian angel! Come, Percy, come; embrace my father. Father, embrace the protector of your child. Per. Do I then behold Earl Reginald? Reg. (Embracing him.) The same, brave Percy! Welcome to my heart! Live ever next it. Ang. Oh, moment that o'erpays my sufferings! And yet-Percy, that wretched man-he perished by my hand! (Osmond is conveyed away: servants enter with torches.) Per. But say, fair Angela, what have I to hope? Is my love approved by your noble father? Will he Reg. Percy, this is no time to talk of love. Let me hasten to my expiring brother, and soften with forgiveness the pangs of death. Per. Can you forget your sufferings? stately chambers, far greater must have been his Reg. Ah! youth; has he had none? Oh! in his pangs than mine in this gloomy dungeon; for what gave me comfort was his terror, what gave me hope was his despair. And, oh, thou wretch! whom hopeless woes oppress, Whose days no joys, whose nights no slumbers bless, When pale Despair alarms thy phrensied eye, Screams in thine ear, and bids thee heaven deny, Court thou Religion! strive thy faith to save; Bend thy fix'd glance on bliss beyond the grave; Hush guilty murmurs! banish dark mistrust! Think, there's a Power above, nor doubt that Power is just! A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS.-BY ISAAC JACKMAN. SCENE I.-An Inn at Shrewsbury. CHARLES STAN LEY and HARRY STUKELY at breakfast. Har. Faith, Charles, I cannot think as you do on this subject. Cha. I am sorry for it; but, when you have served two or three campaigns more, take my word for it, Harry, you will have the same opinion of the army that I entertain at this moment. Har. Tis impossible; the army is the only profession where a great soul can be completely gratified. After a glorious and well-fought field, the approbation of my sovereign, with the acclamations of my brave countrymen, are rewards amply repaying whole years of service. Cha. True; but the honours we gather very often adorn the head of a commander who has been only an ear-witness to this "well-fought field." Har. Ay, but every individual has his share. Cha. Of the danger, I grant you; and when a return is made of the killed, wounded, &c. you see in every newspaper a list of them in the following order: three captains, seven lieutenants, twelve ensigns, killed; so many wounded; then come, in order, the sergeant-majors, sergeants, deummers, &c. &c. &c. and as to the rank and file, they are given to you in the lump; one hundred, or one thousand, just as it happens. Har. But their memories live for ever in the hearts of their countrymen. How comes it, Charles, that with these sentiments you ever wore a cockade? Cha. I'll tell you: whenever I receive the pay of my sovereign, and am honoured with the cha racter of his trusty and well-beloved, I will faithfully, and I hope bravely, discharge the confidence he reposes in me. But, Harry, you have no serious objection to matrimony if you have, we had better proceed no further: our project has a period. Har. Not in the least, I assure you: I think myself capable of engaging in the fields both of love and war. I will marry, because it has its conveniences. But when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid, foil with wanton dulness Make head against my estimation." There's a touch of Othello for you, and, I think, à-propos. Cha. Egad! Harry, that speech puts me in mind of a letter I received from Miss Kitty Sprightly, the fair ward of my uncle, Sir Gilbert Pumpkin. You must know, we are to have a play acted at the old family mansion for our entertainment, or rather for the entertainment of Miss Kitty; who is so mad after everything that has the appearance of a theatre, that I should not be surprised if she eloped with the first strolling company that visited this part of the country. Har. Let us have the letter by all means. Cha. (reads.) "Miss Kitty Sprightly sends her compliments to Captain Charles, and as she is informed Sir Gilbert has invited him to Strawberryhall, she thinks it necessary to acquaint Captain Charles, that he must shortly perfect himself in the character of Captain Macheath, as the ladies expect him to perform that character at the man 6 sion-house. If he has a good Filch in the circle of his acquaintance, she desires the Captain will not fail to bring him down." Har. Why, what the devil! I'll lay my life, you have brought me down to play this curious character in this very curious family. Cha. You are right, Harry; and if you can filch away the old sister, you will play the part to some advantage: you will have fifty thousand pounds to your benefit, my boy. Har. You mean this as an introduction to the family. Oh! then have at you. But d-n it, I 'can't sing; I can act tolerably. Cha. I'll warrant you. But come, we will repair to the mansion: we are only two miles from it. They expect us to dinner. William, desire the hostler to put the horses to. Waiter, a bill. Enter Waiter. Upon my word, waiter, your charges are intolerable. What! five shillings for a boiled fowl! Wait. We know your honour isn't on half-pay. We always charge to the pockets of our customers, your honour. Har. Well, but, good Mr. Waiter, take back your bill; and, in your charge, consider us on half-pay. Wait. Lord bless your honour! you are in too good flesh for that. Why, your honour looks as fat and as well as myself. Cha. Ha, ha, ha! (Both laugh.) There is halfa-crown above your bill, which you may dispose of as you please. Get you gone. Wait. Your honours, I hope, will remember honest Will Snap, at the Antelope, when you come next to Shrewsbury. [Exit. Cha. Mr. Honesty, your servant. Travelling, Harry, is now become so chargeable, that few gentlemen of our cloth can afford to breathe the fresh air for a day. Enter Hostler, &c. But what's your business? Host. The hostler, your honour. There is not such a pair of bays, your honour, in the country: they'll take you to Sir Gilbert's in ten minutes without turning a hair. I hope I shall drink your honour's health. Har. Get out of my sight, this moment, ye set of scoundrels, or I will knock you down with this chair. (Takes up one.) Landlord! hollo! Why the devil don't you send in all the poor in the parish? This is highway robbery, without the credit of being robbed. Let us get away, Charles, while we have money to pay the turnpikes. Cha. Allons! [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Hall at the Mansion-house. Enter DIGGERY, with a play-book in his hand WAT, CYMON, and a Servant to the family, making a noise. Dig. Hold your d-d tongues! How is it possible I can tell you how to act, when you all open like a kennel of hounds? Listen; but don't say a word. I am to be Alexander; and, Wat, you are to be my friend Clintus; and Wat. Ah! Muster Diggery, you shall see what I'll say. Dig. D-e! hold your tongue, I say once more. You'll say! What can you say? Say only what is in the book, and don't be cramming in your own nonsense. But listen, all of you, and mind. You must know, the man who wrote this play was mad. Wat. Lord! I should like to play mad. Dig. Will nobody stop this fellow's mouth? Why, you blockhead, you have not sense enough to be mad. You'd play the fool well enough; but how can you extort that d-d pudding-face of your's to madness? Why, Wat, your features are as fixed as the man in the moon's. All. Go on, Master Diggery; go on. Dig. Well, let me see. (Turns over the leaves of the play.) You, Wat, I say, is to be Clintus; and am to say, before all of you, that great Almon gave me birth: then, Wat, you are to say "you lie!" Wat. Ah! but then you'll stick me. Dig. Never mind that; button your waistcoat over one of our trenchers. Lord! I forgot to begin right. I am first to come out of a tim-whiskey, which you are to draw; and, when I come down, you are all to fall upon your marrow-bones. And as to you, Wat, if you even look at me, I'll come up and give you such a douse of the chaps, as you never had in your life. Wat. Let us try. Now you shall see, Muster Diggery. Dig. Then do as I bid you. Down, every mother's skin of you. (They all kneel down; Diggery draws back.) Don't stir none, if Miss Bridget was ringing every bell in the house. When I say, "Rise all, my friends!" then do you all get up. Wat. Is that right, Muster Diggery? Dig. Very well; now- (a bell rings)-zounds! here's Miss Bridget. their legs. Sir G. Do then, I desire you; and send them all to the mad-house. Dig. (Goes up to them.) Rise all, my friends! (They all rise.) Lord, sir! we were only acting a play. Sir G. You son of a w! get out of my sight this moment. (They all run away.) Was ever man so plagued with such a set of scoundrels? Morning, noon, and night, is this fellow, Diggery, taking these wretches from their labour; and making Cæsars, Alexanders, and Blackamoors, of them. Miss B. Brother, brother! if you had routed that nest of vagabonds, who were mumming in our barn, about two months ago, none of this would have happened. Sir G. True, true, sister Bridget. It was but a few days ago, I went to take a walk about my fields; when I came back, the first thing I saw, was a large sheet of paper pasted on the street-door, and on it | I love a soldier; and I am informed you support were wrote, in large characters, "This evening will be presented here, THE GREAT ALEXANDER. Alexander, by Mr. Diggery Ducklin; Roxana, by Miss Tippet Busky; And the part of Statira by a young Lady, (being her first appearance on any stage;)" D-e! if I knew my own house. Miss B. That's not all, brother; Diggery had nearly smothered that silly hussy, Tippet, in the oven, a few days ago. Sir G. The oven! What the devil brought her there? Miss B. Why, Diggery prevailed upon her to go in, and he said he would break open the door of it with the kitchen poker, and that would be playing Romo. Sr G. Romo! Romeo, you mean. Why, sister Bridget, you can't speak English. Surely some demon has bewitched our family! (Aside.) But pray what became of Juliet in the oven? Miss B. Hearing a noise, I went down stairs; and the moment he saw me, he dropped the poker, and ran away. But I had no sooner opened the door of the oven, than saw her gasping for breath; and it was as much as I could do to drag her out, and save her from being suffocated. Sir G. Why the devil did you not leave her there? She would have been a good example to the whole family. As to that fellow, Diggery, he will be hanged for the murder of some of these creatures, is sure as he is now alive. I overheard him, the ther day, desiring Cymon to fall on the carvingble, and he would then die like Cato! Miss B. If they continue these pranks, we shall never be able to receive Captain Charles and his friend; they will certainly imagine we are all run mad in good earnest. St G. How can it be otherwise? Miss Kitty Sprightly, forsooth, extorted a promise from me the other day, that when Charles and his friend came down, I would permit the Beggar's Opera to be got up, as she phrased it, in order to entertain them. Miss B. Brother, that girl is worse than the whole gang of them. Sir G. Leave me to manage her: I will endeaTour to release myself from the promise I made her; and instead of this play, a ball may answer the purpose. I hope, sister, you have prepared a good dinner for my nephew and his friend. He informs me in his letter, that the gentleman he brings down with him is a man of family, and a soldier that does honour to his profession. Miss B. I must desire, brother, you will mind your ward, and leave the house to me. Let him be related to the first duchess in the land, he shall say, after he leaves Strawberry-hall, he never feasted until he came there.. Enter DIGGERY. Dig. Lord, sir! Captain Macheath is just arrived. Sir G. Captain Macheath! My nephew, rascal. Enter CHARLES and HARRY. Sir G. Ah, nephew! I am glad to see you. How have you been these two years? I have not seen you since your last campaign. Cha. In very good health, sir; and am sincerely happy to see you so. Permit me, sir, to introduce to your acquaintance, the companion of my dangers and my friendship. Sir G. Sir, you are welcome to Strawberry-hall. the character in all its relations. Har. You do me great honour, Sir Gilbert: I shall study to deserve your good opinion. Dig. He's a better figure than me; and better action too. (Imitates him.) Cha. I was in great hopes, my dear aunt, that when next I visited Strawberry-hall, I should have found you happy in the possession of your old lover, Parson Dosey. I hope you have not banished him? Miss B. Don't talk of the wretch; you know he was always my aversion. (Diggery, at the side, is stabbing himself with a large key.) Sir G. What are you about, Diggery? Sir G. Come, come, I'll tell you the fact, and spare her blushes. Parson Dosey, you must know, some time ago, was playing a pool of quadrille with my sister and three of her elderly maiden acquaintances, who live in the neighbourhood, when, behold ye! to the astonishment of all the ladies, the parson's right eye dropped into the fish-tray! Egad! I was as much astonished as the rest; for none of us had ever discovered the defect, although he has been in the parish for so many years. But, in a twinkling, he whipt it into the socket; and, when I looked him in the face, d-e! if I did not think there was as much meaning in it, as in any eye about the table. Dig. Ha, ha, ha, ha! (Sir G. interrupts him in the middle of his laugh.) Sir G. For shame, Diggery. (Drives him off.) Bless me! I forgot. Give me leave, sir, to introduce you to my sister. Har. (Kisses her, and bows very politely.) Upon my word, madam, such an imposition deserved a very severe chastisement. I hope, madam, you never permitted this made-up gentleman to indulge the eye he had left, with another view of your fair self? Miss B. Dear sir, I hope you don't mind my brother; he is always upon his fagaries. He puts me to the blush a hundred times a day. Faith! a very pretty young fellow; I'll take a more particular view of him presently. (Aside.) Sir G. No, no. My sister's observation was a just one-"that when a woman marries, she ought to have a man naturally complete." Miss B. So, brother, you will go on with your vile conceptions. Sir G. I have no vile conceptions. Why do you suppose them vile, sister Bridget? Miss B. Gentlemen, I cannot stay in the room. Har. Dear madam, I beg—pray madam-(Takes her by the hand.) Miss B. I must go, sir, I am in such a tremble. [Exit. 1 shall certainly drop with confusion, if I stay any longer. Har. Indeed, Sir Gilbert, this canonical gentleman, presuming to address a lady of Miss Pumpkin's qualifications Sir G. Ha, ha, ha! Miss Pumpkin's qualifications! Stick to that, Captain, and you will soon have a regiment. I find the soldier has not spoiled the courtier. Har. I really think what I say, sir. The deception was unpardonable. Sir G. Not at all. The parson was very poor, and he knew she was very rich; and if the fellow was blind with one eye, and squinted with the other, I could not blame him to marry her, if she was fool enough to consent to the union. Indeed, it was my business to prevent it; but the discovery of the glass eye did the business more effectually than I could do, had I the eloquence of a Cicero. Cha. But pray, uncle, where is your fair charge, Miss Kitty Sprightly? She's grown, I suppose, a fine girl by this time. Sir G. A fine girl, quotha! I do not like that warm inquiry. A red coat may spoil my project of marrying her myself. (Considers.) I have it! I'll tell him she's a little crack-brained. (Aside.) Nephew, a word in your ear-the poor girl has got a touch. Cha. A touch! You don't say so. Sir G. As sure as you are in your senses. She's always imagining herself to be either Helen, Cleopatra, Polly Peachum, or some other female of antiquity, that made a noise in the world. Cha. Oh! ho! I smell a rat here; but I'll bumour it. (Aside.) 'Tis a strange species of madness, uncle she's, probably, play-mad. Sir G. You have it; and the contagion has run through the house. There's Diggery, Wat, Cymon, Tippet, and the whole family, except my sister, have got the bite. Why, sometimes you would imagine, from the wooden sceptres, straw crowns, and such like trumpery, that Bedlam was transported to the spot you now stand upon. I give you this hint, that your friend may not be surprised: you will explain the unhappy situation of the poor girl to him. An excellent thought! it will keep her at a distance from him. (Aside.) Cha. Harry, my uncle informs me (winking at him) that his fair ward, the young lady I mentioned to you, has lately had a touch. Har. A touch! I am heartily sorry for it. How came the unlucky accident? I hope no faithless one-eyed lover in the case. Sir G. Zounds! No, no, no! Why, nephew, you describe the girl's disorder abominably. She lately had a touch here, here, sir. (Points to his forehead.) Har. Oh! is that all? I hope, sir, with a little attention, she will be soon restored. Cha. I am very sorry to hear this account of my dear little Kitty. Let us visit her. Where is she, uncle? but I'll have Sir G. Dear little Kitty! Oh, ho! all my senses about me. (Aside.) In her own chamber, I suppose: but follow me, and you shall see her. She is quite another thing to what she was two years ago, when you saw her. But come, gentlemen, dinner will be shortly on the table, and I long to have a bumper with you. [Exit. Har. So! Charles, this is the fair lady you brought me down to run away with? Cha. Even so. Har. Why, what the devil would the world say of me for being such a scoundrel? Cha. Marry the lady, Harry; and, when you have fifty thousand pounds in your pocket, the world will be very glad to shake hands and be friends with you. Har. I would as soon marry Hecate Cha. As my aunt. Very polite, truly! But keep her out of my way, and you may do with her as you please. This girl, who my uncle says is mad, I believe I shall be able to restore in a short time; and it will go hard with me, if you will assist in the project, but I will put her into a postchaise, and set out for London this very night. Har. Command me, dear Charles, in anything that can be of service to you. Have you instructed William? He's a trusty, shrewd fellow. Cha. He has got his lesson. He will soon get into Diggery's good graces, if he can only give him a speech out of a play; however, I hope William will be able to manage him. Oh! here is Diggery. Enter DIGGERY, with a napkin in his hand. Diggery, my honest fellow! I am glad to see you. Why, you are grown out of knowledge. It is some years since I was first favoured with your acquaintance, Diggery. Dig. So it is, your honour. Let me see: (considers) you was first favoured with my acquaintance four years come next Lammas. But I knew nothing then; I was quite a thing, your honour. Cha. You have improved, Diggery, since that time, I see, considerably. Dig. How do you see that, your honour? Cha. Why, your face shews it. There are the lines of good sense, wit, and humour, in every feature; not that insipid face you used to have, no more expression in it than a toasted muffin. Dig. I got all, your honour, by larning to read. You'll see me, when I play, look in a way that will frighten the whole family. No muffin faces; all mispression, your honour. (Harry hums a tune out of the Beggar's Opera, and acts; Diggery looks at him.) Master Charles, who is that gentleman? He's acting, is'nt he? Has he a muffin face? Cha. No, no! Diggery, don't disturb him. He is one of the first actors of the age, and has a face that would frighten the devil, when he pleases. he'll put us all to rights; I brought him down for the purpose. Dig. Suppose your honour desires him to kill himself for a minute or two before dinner. I have tried a thousand times, and never could kill myself to my own satisfaction in all my life. I'll lend him my key. (Bell rings.) Coming!-Oh! Master Charles, I was desired to bid you and the gentleman come to dinner; but I quite forgot it. Run as hard as you can. Cha. Come, Harry, the family waits dinner. [Exeunt singing. Dig. The family waits dinner. (Imitates him.) I can't do it like him. Lord! how he'll do Captain Macheath in the play. I'm glad he's not to be hanged. (Sings.) "Let us take the road-Hark! SIR I hear the sound of coaches, (bell rings.) The hour of attack approaches." [Bell rings till Diggery is off. ACT II. SCENE I.-A Dining Parlour. GILBERT, MISS BRIDGET, MISS KITTY, CHARLES, and HARRY, at dinner: DIGGERY attending at the sideboard. Sir G. I hope, gentlemen, you like your dinner. As to my wine, there is not better in the country, I'll lay a hogshead of claret. Har. Your entertainment is so good, Sir Gilbert, that I shall beg leave to prolong my visit. What shall we do, Charles, when we reach London, that cursed seat of noise and bustle? Cha. Endeavour to reconcile ourselves to it; a soldier must not always expect good quarters. Pray, Miss Kitty, how does your fair friend, Miss Sally Cockle? Kit. Oh! she has been married a long time, and was lately brought to bed of two thumping boys. Miss B. Child, you must not tell that. Kit. What, mustn't I tell the truth? Why then I do say, she was brought to bed of two boys not six months ago; but she will be at our play to-night. Sir G. I told you how it was; but she's not mischievous. (Aside to Charles.) Cha. She has not the appearance of it. Sir G. Come, my young soldiers, let us have a bumper to his majesty: what say you, my boys? Har. A hundred, Sir Gilbert; and I say done first. Sir G. Why, that's rather too many; but while I can stand or sit, have at you. Come, Diggery, let us have three bumpers in a minute here. Diggery! What is that fellow about there? (Diggery is kneel |