Stuk. (Aside.) Ha! then I may succeed. Redress is in your power.

Mrs. B. What redress?

Stuk. Forgive me, madam, if, in my zeal to serve you, I hazard your displeasure. Think of your wretched state: already want surrounds you. Is it in patience to bear that? To see your helpless little one robbed of his birth-right? A sister, too, with unavailing tears, lamenting her lost fortune? No comfort left you, but ineffectual pity from the few, outweighed by insults from the many.

Mrs. B. Am I so lost a creature? Well, sir, my redress?

Stuk. To be resolved is to secure it. The marriage vow, once violated, is in the sight of heaven dissolved. Start not, but hear me. 'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them: then use your beauty wisely; and, freed by injuries, fly from the cruellest of men for shelter with the kindest.

Mrs. B. And who is he?

Stuk. A friend to the unfortunate; a bold one, too; who, while the storm is bursting on your brow, and lightning flashing from your eyes, dares tell you that he loves you!

Mrs. B. Would that these eyes had Heaven's own lightning, that, with a look, thus I might blast thee! Oh, villain! villain! but now I know thee, and thank thee for the knowledge.

Stuk. If you are wise, you shall have cause to thank me.

Mrs. B. An injured husband, too, shall thank thee.

Stuk. Yet know, proud woman, I have a heart as stubborn as your own; as haughty and imperious; and, as it loves, so it can hate.

Mrs. B. Mean, despicable villain! I scorn thee and thy threats. Was it for this that Beverley was false, that his too credulous wife should, in despair and vengeance, give up her honour to a wretch? But he shall know it, and vengeance shall be his! Stuk. Why, send him for defiance, then. Tell him I love his wife; but, that a worthless husband forbids the union. I'll make a widow of you, and court you honourably.

Mrs. B. O, coward! coward! thy soul will shrink at him! Yet, in the thought of what may happen, I feel a woman's fears. Keep thy own secret, and begone. (Rings a bell.)

Enter LUCY. Your absence, sir, would please me. Stuk. I'll not offend you, madam.

[Exeunt Stukely and Lucy. Mrs. B. Why opens not the earth to swallow such a monster? Be conscience, then, his punisher, till Heaven in mercy give him penitence, or doom him in its justice. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE L-Stukely's Lodgings. Enter STUKELY and BATES. Bates. Your men have done their business, and Beverley is beggared of his last resource. Where have you been?

Stuk. Fooling my time away: playing my tricks, like a tame monkey, to entertain a woman: no matter where. But tell me more of Beverley. How bore he the loss of his last stake?

Bates. Like one, so Dawson says, whose senses

lost, he fixed his eyes upon the ground, and stood some time, with folded arms, stupid and motionless. Then, snatching his sword that hung against the wainscot, he sat him down again by the gaming-table; and, with a look of fixed attention, drew figures on the floor: at last he started up, looked wild, and trembled; then, like a woman seized with her sex's fits, laughed out aloud, while the tears trickled down his face: so left the room. Stuk. Why, this was madness! Bates. The madness of despair. Stuk. We must confine him, then. A prison would do well. (A knocking at the door.) Hark! that knocking may be his. Go that way down. [Exit Bates.] Who's there?

Enter LEWSON.

Lew. (Shuts the door.) He dies, that interrupts us. You should have weighed your strength, sir; and then, instead of climbing to high fortune, the world had marked you for what you are, a little paltry villain.

Stuk. You think, I fear you?

Lew. I know you fear me. This is to prove it. (Pulls him by the sleeve.) You wanted privacy; a lady's presence took up your attention. Now we are alone, sir. Why, what a wretch! (Flings him from him.) The vilest insect in creation will turn, when trampled on. Yet has this thing undone a man; by cunning and mean arts, undone him. But we have found you, sir; traced you through all your labyrinths. If you would save yourself, fall to confession: no mercy will be shown else.

Stuk First, prove me what you think me: Till then, your threatenings are in vain. And for this insult, vengeance may yet be mine.

Lew. Infamous coward! why take it now, then. (Draws and Stukely retires.) Alas! I pity thee. Yet that a wretch like this should overcome a Beverley! it fills me with astonishment! A wretch, so mean of soul, that even desperation cannot animate him to look upon an enemy. You should not thus have towered, sir; unless, like others of your black profession, you had a sword to keep the fools in awe, your villany has ruined.

Stuk. Villany! 'Twere best to curb this licence of your tongue; for know, sir, while there are laws, this outrage on my reputation will not be borne with.

Lew. Laws darest thou seek shelter from the laws; those laws, which thou and thy infernal crew live in the constant violation of? Talkest thou of reputation too-when, under friendship's sacred name, thou hast betrayed, robbed, and destroyed?

Stuk. Ay, rail at gaming; 'tis a rich topic, and

affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city; you'll find a congregation in every tavern: if they should laugh at you, fly to my lord, and sermonise it there; he'll thank you, and

reform.

Lew. And will example sanctify a vice? No, wretch; the custom of my lord, or of the cit that apes him, cannot excuse a breach of law, or make the gamester's calling reputable.

Bates. He has obliged me, and I dare not. Stuk. Why, live to shame, then-to beggary and punishment. You would be privy to the deed, yet want the soul to act it. Nay, more; had my designs been levelled at his fortune, you had stept in the foremost. And what is life without its comforts? those you would rob him of; and, by a linadieu to half-made villains-there is danger in them. What you have got is your's; keep it, and hide with it: I will deal my future bounty to those that merit it.

love of honest Mr. Lewson.

Lew. How I detest thee for the thought! But thou art lost to every human feeling. Yet let me tell thee; and may it wring thy heart! that, though my friend is ruined by thy snares, thou hast unknowingly been kind to me.

Stuk. Have I? It was, indeed, unknowingly. Lew. Thou hast assisted me in love; given me the merit that I wanted; since, but for thee, my Charlotte had not known it was her dear self I sighed for, and not her fortune.

Stuk. Thank me, and take her, then.

Lew. And, as a brother to poor Beverley, I will pursue the robber that has stript him, and snatch him from his gripe.

Stuk. Then know, imprudent man, he is within my gripe; and, should my friendship for him be slandered once again, the hand that has supplied him, shall fall and crush him.

Lew. Why, now there's a spirit in thee! This is indeed to be a villain! But I shall reach thee yet: fly where thou wilt, my vengeance shall pursue thee: and Beverley shall yet be saved, be saved from thee, thou monster; nor owe his rescue to his wife's dishonour. [Exit. Stuk. (Passing.) Then ruin has enclosed me! Curse on my coward heart! I would be bravely villanous; but it is my nature to shrink at danger, and he has found me. Yet fear brings caution, and that, security. More mischief must be done, to hide the past. Look to yourself, officious Lewson; there may be danger stirring. How now, Bates? Enter BATES.

Bates. What is the matter? It was Lewson, and not Beverley, that left you. I heard him loud. You seem alarmed too.

Stuk. Ay, and with reason: we are discovered. Bates. I feared as much, and therefore cautioned you; but you were peremptory.

Stuk. Thus fools talk ever; spending their idle breath on what is past, and trembling at the future. We must be active. Beverley, at worst, is but suspicious; but Lewson's genius, and his hate to me, will lay all open. Means must be found to stop him.

Bates. What means?

Stuk. Despatch him. Nay, start not: desperate occasions call for desperate deeds. We live but by his death.

Bates. You cannot mean it.
Stuk. I do, by heaven!
Bates. Good night' then.

Stuk. Stay, I must be heard-then answered. Perhaps, the motion was too sudden: and human weakness starts at murder, though strong necessity compels it. I have thought long of this, and my first feelings were like yours; a foolish conscience awed me, which soon I conquered. The man that would undo me, nature cries out, undo. Brutes know their foes by instinct; and, where superior

He

Bev. How like an out-cast do I wander! loaded with every curse that drives the soul to desperation! Whither am I going? My home lies there; all that is dear on earth it holds too; yet are the gates of death more welcome to me: I'll enter it no more. Who passes here? 'Tis Lewson. meets me in a gloomy hour; and memory tells me he has been meddling with my fame. Enter LEWSON. Lew. Beverley! Well met. in your affair.

I have been busy

Bev. So I have heard, sir; and now must thank you as I ought.

Lew. To-morrow I may deserve your thanks. Late as it is, I go to Bates. Discoveries are making that an arch villain trembles at.

Bev. Discoveries are made, sir, that you shall tremble at. Where is this boasted spirit, this high demeanour, that was to call me to account? You say I have wronged my sister; now say as much: but first, be ready for defence, as I am for resentment. (Draws.)

Lew. What mean you? I understand you not.

Bev. The coward's stale acquittance; who, when he spreads foul calumny abroad, and dreads just vengeance on him, cries out,-What mean you? I understand you not.

Lew. Coward and calumny? Whence are those words? But I forgive, and pity you.

Bev. Your pity had been kinder to my fame: but you have traduced it;-told a vile story to the public ear, that I had wronged my sister.

Lew. 'Tis false! Shew me the man that dares accuse me.

Bev. I thought you brave, and of a soul superior to low malice; but I have found you, and will have vengeance. This is no place for argument.

Lew. Nor shall it be for violence. Imprudent

Bev. Yes-for the slanderer of my fame? who, under shew of friendship, arraigns me of injustice, buzzing in every ear foul breach of trust, and family dishonour.

Lew. Have I done this? Who told you so? Bev. The world: 'Tis talked of everywhere: it pleased you to add threats, too. You were to call me to account: why, do it now, then; I shall be proud of such an arbiter.

Lew. Put up your sword, and know me better. I never injured you: the base suggestion comes from Stukely: I see him and his aims.

Bev. What aims? I'll not conceal it ;-'twas Stukely that accused you.

Lew. To rid him of an enemy-perhaps, of two. He fears discovery, and frames a tale of falsehood, to ground revenge and murder on.

Bev. I must have proof of this.
Lew. Wait till to-morrow, then.
Bev. I will.

Lew. Good night: I go to serve you. Forget what is past, as I do; and cheer your family with smiles. Oh, that to-morrow may confirm them, and make all happy! [Exit. Bev. (Pausing.) How vile, and how absurd is man! His boasted honour is but another name for pride; which easier bears the consciousness of guilt, than the world's just reproofs. But, 'tis the fashion of the times; and, in defence of falsehood and false honour, men dié martyrs. I knew not that my nature was so bad. (Stands musing.)

Enter JARVIS and BATES. Jar. This way the noise was; and yonder is my poor master.

Bates. I heard him at high words with Lew

son.

Jar. I heard him too. Misfortunes vex him. Bates. Go to him, and lead him home: I'll not be seen by him. [Exit. Bev. What fellow's that? Art thou a murderer, friend? Come, lead the way: I have a hand as mischievous as thine; a heart as desperate, too.-Jarvis! to bed, old man; the cold will chill thee.

Jar. Why are you wandering at this late hour?Your sword drawn, too! - For heaven's sake, sheathe it, sir! The sight distracts me!

Bev. Whose voice was that?

Jar. 'Twas mine sir. Let me entreat you to give the sword to me."

Bev. Ay, take it, quickly, take it. Perhaps I am not so cursed, but heaven may have sent thee at this moment to snatch me from perdition.

Jar. Then I am blessed.

Bev. Continue so, and leave me; my sorrows are contagious: no one is blessed that's near

me.

Jar. I came to seek you, sir.

Bev. And, now thou hast found me, leave me: my thoughts are wild, and will not be disturbed. Jar. Such thoughts are best disturbed.

Bev. I tell thee that they will not. Who sent thee hither?

Jar. My weeping mistress. Forget your griefs, and let me lead you to her: the streets are dangerous.

Bev. Be wise, and leave me, then. The night's black horrors are suited to my thoughts. These stones shall be my resting-place: flies down.) here

Jar. For pity's sake, sir! Upon my knees, I beg you to quit this place, and these sad thoughts! let patience, not despair, possess you! Rise, I beseech you! There's not a moment of your absence, that my poor mistress does not groan for.

Bev. Have I undone her, and is she still so kind? (starting up.) It is too much, my brain cannot hold! O, Jarvis! how desperate is that wretch's state, whom only death or madness can relieve!

Jar. Appease his mind, good heaven, and give him resignation! Alas, sir! if beings in the other world perceive the events of this, how will your parents blessed spirits grieve for you, even in heaven! Let me conjure you, by their honoured memories; by the sweet innocence of your yet helpless child, and by the ceaseless sorrows of my poor mistress, to rouse your manhood, and struggle with these griefs!

Bev. Thou virtuous, good old man! thy tears and thy entreaties have reached my heart, through all its miseries.

Jar. Be but resigned, sir, and happiness may yet be yours. Hark! I hear voices! Come: this way we may reach home unnoticed.

Bev. Well; lead me, then. Unnoticed didst thou say? Alas! I dread no looks, but of those wretches I have made at home! O, had I listened to thy honest warnings, no earthly blessing had been wanting to me! I was so happy, that even a wish for more than I possessed, was arrogant presumption: but I have warred against the power that blessed me, and now am sentenced to the hell I merit.

SCENE III-Stukely's Lodgings.

Exeunt.

Enter STUKELY; meets DAWSON. Stuk. Come hither, Dawson. My limbs are on the rack, and my soul shivers in me, till this night's business be complete. Tell me thy thoughts, is Bates determined, or does he waver?

Daw. At first, he seemed irresolute; wished the employment had been mine; and muttered curses on his coward hand, that trembled at the deed. Stuk. And did he leave you so?

Daw. No; we walked together; and, sheltered by the darkness, saw Beverley and Lewson in warm debate; but soon they cooled, and then I left them, to hasten hither; but not 'till it was resolved Lewson should die.

That

Stuk. Thy words have given me life. quarrel too, was fortunate; for, if my hopes deceive me not, it promises a grave to Beverley. Daw. You misconceive me; Lewson and he were friends.

Stuk. But my prolific brain shall make them enemies. If Lewson fall, he falls by Beverley; an upright jury shall decree it; ask me no question, but do as I direct. This writ (takes out a pocket-book) for some days past, I have treasured here, till a convenient time called for its use: that time is come. Take it, and give it to an officer; it must be served this instant.

Daw. On Beverley?

Stuk. Look at it: 'tis for the sums that I have lent him.

Daw. Must he to prison, then?

Stuk. I ask obedience; not replies. This night, a jail must be his lodging. "Tis probable he's not gone home yet; wait at his door and see it executed. Daw. Upon a beggar? He has no means of payment.

Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON. Bates. Poor Lewson! but I told you enough last night. The thought of him is dreadful to me.

Stuk. In the street, did you say? And no one near him.

Bates. By his own door: he was leading me to his house; I pretended business with him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he was reaching at the bell

Stuk. And did he fall so suddenly? Bates. The reputation pleases you, I see. I told you, he fell without a groan

Stuk. What heard you of him this morning? Bates. That the watch found him, and alarmed the servants. I mingled with the crowd just now, and saw him dead in his own house: the sight terrified me.

Stuk. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise and accuse us. We have no living enemy to fear, unless 'tis Beverley; and him we have safe lodged in prison.

Bates. Must he be murdered, too?

Stuk. No; I have a scheme to make the law his murderer. At what hour did Lewson fall?

Bates. The clock struck twelve, as I turned to leave him. "Twas a melancholy bell, I thought tolling for his death.

Stuk. The time was lucky for us. Beverley was arrested at one, you say.

Daw. Exactly.

I ordered the officers to take away their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would have followed him, but we forbade them. 'Twas then they fell upon their knees, with all the eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften us. I never felt compassion till that moment; and, had the officers been like me, we had left the business undone, and fled with curses on ourselves; but their hearts were steeled by custom, they tore him from their arms, and lodged him in prison, with only Jarvis to comfort him.

Stuk. There let him lie, till we have further business wih him. You saw him quarrelling with Lewson in the street last night?

Bates. I did; his steward, Jarvis, saw him too. Stuk. And shall attest it. Here's matter to work upon; an unwilling evidence carries weight with him. Something of my design I have hinted to you before. Beverley must be the author of this murder; and we the parties to convict him. But how to proceed, will require time and thought Come along with me. But no compassion, sir. (To Dawson.) We want leisure for it. This way. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Beverley's Lodgings.

chairs.

Table and two

MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered
Mrs. B. No news of Lewson yet?
Char. None; he went out early, and knows not
what has happened. (Clock strikes eight.)

Mrs. B. The clock strikes eight; I'll wait no longer. O, what a night was last night! I would not pass another such, to purchase worlds by it. My poor Beverley, too; what must he have felt! the very thought distracts me. To have him torn at midnight from me; a loathsome prison his habitation!-a cold damp room his lodging!-the bleak winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow!-no fond wife to lull him to his rest!-and no reflections but to wound and tear him!-'Tis too horrible. I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me; they should have parted soul and body first. I was too tame.

Cha, You must not talk so. All that we could, we did; and Jarvis did the rest: the faithful creature will give him comfort. See where he comes; his looks are cheerful, too.

Enter JARVIS.

Mrs. B. Are tears then cheerful? Alas, he weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte: I have, no tongue to ask him questions.

Char. How does your master, Jarvis?

Jar, I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my words; but don't you weep; (To Mrs. B.) I have a tale of joy for you.

Mrs. B. Say but he's well, and I have joy enough.

Jar. His mind too shall be well; all shall be well: I have news for him that shall make his poor heart bound again. Fie upon old age! how childish it makes me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it.

Mrs. B. What is it, Jarvis?

Jar. Yet why should I rejoice, when a good man dies? Your unele, madam, died yesterday. Mrs. B. My uncle! O heavens!

Char. How heard you of his death?

Jar. His steward came express, madam: I met him in the street, enquiring for your lodgings. I should not rejoice, perhaps, but he was old, and my poor master a prisoner. Now he shall live again. O, 'tis a brave fortune! and it was death to me, to see him a prisoner.

Char. How did he pass the night, Jarvis ?

Jar. Why now, madam, I can tell you. Like a man dreaming of death and horrors. When they led him to his cell,-for it was a poor apartment for my master,-he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and lay speechless till day-break; then he started from the bed, and, looking wildly at me, asked who I was. I told him, and bade him be of comfort. "Begone, old wretch," says he, "I have sworn, never to know comfort. My wife! my child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no comfort" Then falling upon his knees, he imprecated curses upon himself.

Mrs. B. This is too horrible! But we have staid too long. Let us haste to comfort him, or die with him. [Exeunt. Chair, table, lamp, and book on it. BEVERLEY discovered seated. After a short pause, he starts up.

SCENE III-A prison.

Bev. Why, there's an end, then. I have judged deliberately, and the result is death. How the self-murderer's account may stand, I know not: but this I know, the load of hateful life oppresses me too much. The horrors of my soul are more than I can bear. (Offers to kneel.) Father of Mercy! I cannot pray; despair has laid his iron hand upon me, and sealed me for perdition. Conscience! conscience! thy clamours are too loud: here's that shall silence thee. (Takes a phial of poison out of his pocket.) Thou art most friendly to the miserable. Come, then, thou cordial for sick minds, come to my heart. (Drinks it.) Oh, that the grave would bury memory as well as body; for, if the soul sees and feels the sufferings of those dear ones it leaves behind, the Everlasting has no vengeance to torment it deeper. I'll think no more on it;-reflection comes too late; once there was a time for it, but now 'tis past. Who's there?

Enter JARVIS.

Jar. One that hoped to see you with better looks. Why do you turn so from me? I have brought comfort with me; and see who comes to give it welcome.

Bev. My wife and sister! Why, 'tis but one pang more, then, and farewell, world.

Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE. Mrs. B. Where is he? (Runs and embraces him.) O, I have him! I have him! And now they shall never part us more. I have news, love, to make you happy for ever. Alas! he hears us not. Speak to me, love; I have no heart to see you

thus.

Bev. Do I? The news was unexpected. But has he left me all?

Jar. All, all, sir; he could not leave it from you. Bev. I am sorry for it.

Mrs. B. Why are you disturbed so?

Bev, Has death no terrors in it? Mrs. B. Not an old man's death; yet, if it trouble you, I wish him living.

Bev. And I, with all my heart; for I have a tale to tell, shall turn you into stone; or if the power of speech remain, you shall kneel down and curse me. Why are we to curse you? I'll

Mrs. B. Alas! bless you ever.

Bev. No, I have deserved no blessings. All this large fortune, this second bounty of heaven, that might have healed our sorrows, and satisfied our utmost hopes, in a cursed hour I sold last night. Mrs. B. Impossible!

Bev. That devil Stukely, with all hell to aid him, tempted me to the deed. To pay false debts of honour, and to redeem past errors, I sold the reversion, sold it for a scanty sum, and lost it among villains.

Char. Why, farewell all, then.

Bev. Liberty and life. Come, kneel and curse me.

Mrs. B. Then hear me, heaven. (Kneels.) Look down with mercy on his sorrows! Give softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart! On me, on me, if misery must be the lot of either, multiply misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so he be happy! These hands shall toil for his support; these eyes be lifted up for hourly blessings on him; and every duty of a fond and faithful wife be doubly done, to cheer and comfort him. So hear me! so reward me! (Rises.)

Bev. I would kneel too, but that offended heaven would turn my prayers into curses; for I have done a deed, to make life horrible to you.

Mrs. B. What deed?

Jar. Ask him no questions, madam; this last misfortune has hurt his brain, A little time will give him patience.

Enter STUKELY. Bev. Why is this villain here?

Stuk. To give you liberty and safety. There, madam, is his discharge. (Gives a paper to Charlotte.) The arrest last night was meant in friendship, but came too late.

Char. What mean you, sir?

Stuk. The arrest was too late, I say; I would have kept his hands from blood; but was too late.

Mrs. B. His hands from blood! Whose blood? Stuk. From Lewson's blood.

Char. No, villain! Yet what of Lewson? Speak quickly.

the murderer at confession. Stuk. You are ignorant, then; I thought I heard

Char. What murderer? And who is murdered?

Not Lewson? Say, he lives, and I will kneel and worship you.

Stuk. And so I would; but that the tongues of all cry murder. I came in pity, not in malice; to save the brother, not kill the sister. Your Lewson's dead.

Char. O horrible!

Bev. Silence, I charge you. Proceed, sir.

Stuk. No; justice may stop the tale; and here's

am rich, then?

Mrs. B. And truly so. Why do you look so wildly?

Enter BATES.

Bates. The news, I see, has reached you. But take comfort, madam. (To Charlotte.) There's