Enter AGNES.

Char. This visit's kind.

Agn. Few else would think it so :

Those who would once have thought themselves much honoured

By the least favour, though 'twere but a look,
I could have shewn them, now refuse to see me.
'Tis misery enough to be reduced

To the low level of the common herd,
Who, born to beggary, envy all above them;
But 'tis the curse of curses, to endure
The insolent contempt of those we scorn.

Char. By scorning, we provoke them to con-
tempt,

And thus offend, and suffer in our turns.
We must have patience.

Agn. No, I scorn them yet!

But there's no end of suffering: Who can say, Their sorrows are complete? My wretched husband,

Tired with our woes, and hopeless of relief,
Grows sick of life,

And, urged by indignation and despair,
Would plunge into eternity at once,
By foul self-murder!

Char. Gracious Heaven support him!
Agn. His fixed love for me,

Whom he would fain persuade to share his fate,
And take the same, uncertain, dreadful course,
Alone withholds his hand.

Char. And may it ever!

Agn. I've known with him the two extremes
of life,

The 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 every 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 whole 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,
And, wrapt in darkness, doubles our distresses.
I had, the night last past, repeated twice,

A strange and awful dream. I would not yield
To fearful superstition, nor despise
The admonition of a friendly power,
That wished my good.

Agn. I have certain plagues enough,

Without the help of dreams, to make me wretched.

Char. I would not stake my happiness or duty On their uncertain credit, nor on aught

But reason, and the known decrees of Heaven. Yet dreams have sometimes shewn events to

come,

And may excite to vigilance and care.
My vision may be such, and sent to warn us
(Now we are tried by multiplied afflictions),
To mark each motion of our swelling hearts,
Lest we attempt to extricate ourselves,
And seek deliverance by forbidden ways-
To keep our hopes and innocence entire,
Till we're dismist to join the happy dead,
Or Heaven relieves us here.

Agn. Well, to your dream.

Char. Methought I sat, in a dark winter's night,

On the wide summit of a barren mountain; The sharp bleak winds pierced through my shivering frame,

And storms of hail, and sleet, and driving rains,
Beat, with impetuous fury, on my head,
Drenched my chilled limbs, and poured a deluge
round me.

On one hand, ever-gentle Patience sat,
On whose calm bosom I reclined my head;
And, on the other, silent Contemplation.
At length, to my unclosed and watchful eyes,
That long had rolled in darkness, dawn appeared;
And I beheld a man, an utter stranger,
But of a graceful and exalted mien,

Who pressed, with eager transport, to embrace

me.

I shunned his arms. But at some words he spoke,
Which I have now forgot, I turned again;
But he was gone. And, oh! transporting sight!
Your son, my dearest Wilmot! filled his place.

Agn. If I regarded dreams, I should expect Some fair event from yours.

Char. But what's to come, Though more obscure, is terrible indeed. Methought we parted soon, and when I sought hiin,

You, and his father-Yes, you both were thereStrove to conceal him from me. I pursued you Both with my cries, and called on Heaven and

Y. Wilmot. Welcome, my friend, to Penryn! Here we're safe.

Eust. Then we're delivered twice: first from the sea,

And then from men, who, more remorseless, prey On shipwrecked wretches, and who spoil, and murder

Those, whom fell tempests and devouring waves, In all their fury, spared.

Y. Wilm. It is a scandal,

(Though malice must acquit the better sort)
The rude unpolished people here in Cornwall
Have long lain under, and with too much justice:
For 'tis an evil grown almost inveterate,
And asks a bold and skilful hand to cure.
Eust. Your treasure's safe, I hope.
Y. Wilm. 'Tis here, thank Heaven!
Being in jewels, when I saw our danger,
I hid it in my bosom.

Eust. I observed you,

And wonder how you could command your

thoughts,

After a long and tedious absence, Eustace!
With what delight we breathe our native air,
And tread the genial soil that bore us first!
'Tis said, the world is every wise man's country;
Yet after having viewed its various nations,
I am weak enough still to prefer my own
To all I've seen beside You smile, iny friend!
And think, perhaps, 'tis instinct more than reason.
Why be it so: Instinct preceded reason,
Even in the wisest men, and may sometimes
Be much the better guide. But be it either,
I must confess, that even death itself
Appeared to me with twice its native horrors,
When apprehended in a foreign land.

Death is, no doubt, in every place the same; Yet nature casts a look towards home, and most, Who have it in their power, chuse to expire Where they first drew their breath.

Eust. Believe me, Wilmot,

Your grave reflections were not what I smiled at; I own the truth. That we're returned to England

Affords me all the pleasure you can feel.
Yet I must think a warmer passion moves you:
Thinking of that I smiled.

Y. Wilm. O Eustace! Eustace!
Thou knowest, for I have confest 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 past, 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
Compelled 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 pa

rents,

Grieved for my absence, and opprest with want,
Have sunk beneath their burden and expired,
While I too late was flying to relieve them;
The end of all my long and weary travels,
The hope that made success itself a blessing,
Being defeated and for ever lost

What were the riches of the world to me?

Eust. The wretch, who fears alì that is pos

sible,

Must suffer more than he, who feels the worst
A man can feel, yet lives exempt from fear.
A woman may be false, and friends are mortal;
And yet your aged parents may be living,
And your fair mistress constant.

Y. Wilm. True, they may;

I doubt, but I despair not. No, my friend!
My hopes are strong and lively as my fears;
They tell me, Charlotte is as true as fair;
That we shall meet never to part again;
That I shall see my parents, kiss the tears
From their pale hollow cheeks, cheer their sad
hearts,

And drive that gaping phantom, meagre want,
For ever from their board; their days to come
Crown all with peace, with pleasure and abun-

dance;

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,

SCENE I.-Charlotte's House.

Enter Charlotte thoughtful; and soon after a Servant from the other side.

desires to see you.

But admit him. [Exit Servant.

Char. In a foreign habit! Tis strange, and unexpected.

I know no fo

Who can this stranger be! reigner

Enter Young WILMOT.

Nor any man like this.
Y. Wilm. Ten thousand joys!

[Going to embrace her. Char. Sir, you are too bold-Forbear, and let me know

What business brought you here, or leave the place.

Y. Wilm. Perfidious maid! Am I forgot, or scorned?

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, Charlotte!

Char. Ha! Wilmot! say! what do your words import ?

O gentle stranger! ease my swelling heart;
What dost thou know of Wilmot?

Y. Wilm. This I know:

bling lips,

The neighbouring rocks, that echoed to his moan,
Returned no sound articulate but-Charlotte.
Char. The fatal tempest, whose description
strikes

The hearer with astonishment, is ceased;
And Wilmot is at rest. The fiercer storm
Of swelling passions, that o'erwhelms the soul,
And rages worse than the mad foaming seas
In which he perished, ne'er shall vex him more.
Y. Wilm. Thou seemest to think he's dead;

enjoy that thought;

Persuade yourself that what you wish is true, And triumph in your falsehood. Yes, he's dead; You were his fate. The cruel winds and waves, That cast him pale and breathless on the shore, Spared him for greater woes-to know his Charlotte,

Forgetting all her vows to him and heaven,
Had cast him from her thoughts-Then, then he
died;

But never can have rest. Even now he wanders,
A sad, repining, discontented ghost,
The unsubstantial shadow of himself,
And pours his plaintive groans in thy deaf ears,
And stalks, unseen, before thee.

Char. 'Tis enough:

Detested falsehood now has done its worst.
And art thou dead? And wouldst thou die, my
Wilmot!

For one thou thought'st unjust? Thou soul of truth!

What must be done? Which way shall I express
Unutterable woe? Or how convince
Thy dear departed spirit of the love,
The eternal love, and never-failing faith,
Of thy much injured, lost, despairing Charlotte?
Y. Wilm. Be still, my fluttering heart; hope
not too soon!

Perhaps I dream, and this is all illusion. [Aside. 3 N

Free from the bounds and ties of sordid earth,

Can trace us to our most concealed retreat,
See all we act, and read our very thoughts;
To thee, O Wilmot! kneeling I appeal.
If e'er I swerved in action, word, or thought,
Or ever wished to taste a joy on earth
That centred not in thee, since last we parted;
May we ne'er meet again, but thy loud wrongs
So close the ear of mercy to my cries,
That I may never see those bright abodes,
Where truth and virtue only have admission,
And thou inhabitest now !

Y. Wilm. Assist me, Heaven!
Preserve my reason, memory, and sense!
O moderate my fierce tumultuous joys,
Or their excess will drive me to distraction.
O Charlotte! Charlotte! lovely, virtuous maid!
Can thy firm mind, in spite of time and absence,
Remain unshaken, and support its truth;
And yet thy frailer memory retain
No image, no idea of thy lover?
Why dost thou gaze so wildly? Look on me;
Turn thy dear eyes this way;
observe me well.
Have scorching climates, time, and this strange
habit,

So changed and so disguised thy faithful Wilmot, That nothing in my voice, my face, or mein, Remains to tell my Charlotte I am he!

[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 touch Speak thee but half convinced? Whence are thy fears?

Why art thou silent? Canst thou doubt me still? Char. No, Wilmot! no; I'm blind with too much light,

O'ercome with wonder, and oppressed with joy.
This vast profusion of extreme delight,
Rising at once, and bursting from despair,
Defies the aid of words, and mocks description.
But for one sorrow, one sad scene of anguish,
That checks the swelling torrent of my joys,
I could not bear the transport.

Y. Wilm. Let me know it:

Give me my portion of thy sorrow, Charlotte!
Let me partake thy grief, or bear it for thee.
Char. Alas! my Wilmot! these sad tears are
thine;

They flow for thy misfortunes. I am pierced
With all the agonies of strong compassion,
With all the bitter anguish you must feel,
When you shall hear your parents-
Y. Wilm. Are no more!

Char. You apprehend me wrong.
Y. Wilm. Perhaps I do;

Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave
Was satisfied with one, and one is left

lotte?

Char. Afflict yourself no more with groundless fears:

Your parents both are living. Their distress,
The poverty, to which they are reduced,
In spite of my weak aid, was what I mourned:
That poverty in age, to them whose youth
Was crowned with full prosperity, I fear,
Is worse, much worse, than death.

Y. Wilm. My joy's complete!

My parents living, and possessed of thee !—
From this blest hour, the happiest of my life,
I'll date my rest. My anxious hopes and fears,
My weary travels, and my dangers past,
Are now rewarded all: Now I rejoice
In my success, and count my riches gain.
For know, my soul's best treasure! I have wealth
Enough to glut even avarice itself:

No more shall cruel want, or proud contempt,
Oppress the sinking spirits, or insult
The hoary heads, of those who gave me being.
Char. Tis now, O riches, I conceive your

worth :

You are not base, nor can you be superfluous, But when misplaced in base and sordid hands. Fly, fly, my Wilmot! leave thy happy Charlotte! Thy filial piety, the sighs and tears

Of thy lamenting parents, call thee hence.

Y. Wilm. I have a friend, the partner of my

voyage,

Who, in the storm last night, was shipwrecked with me.

Char. Shipwrecked last night!—O you immortal powers!

What have you suffered! How were you preserved?

Y. Wilm. Let that, and all my other strange

escapes

And perilous adventures, be the theme
Of many a happy winter night to come.
My present purpose was to intreat my angel,
To know this friend, this other better Wilmot,
And come with him this evening to my father's:
I'll send him to thee.

Char. I consent with pleasure.

Y. Wilm. Heavens! what a night! How shall
I bear my joy!

My parents', your's, my friend's, all will be mine.
If such the early hopes, the vernal bloom,
The distant prospect of my future bliss,
Then what the ruddy autumn! What the fruit,
The full possession of thy heavenly charms!
[Exeunt severally.

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? A menial servant!-No-What! shall I live,