That he may never dream I may return.
Alonzo, I am now no more thy king,
But still thy friend, and by that holy name,
Adjure thee to perform my last request.
Make our conditions with yon captive king,
Secure me but my solitary cell;
'Tis all I ask him for a crown restor❜d.
Dor. I will do more:

But fear not Muley-Zeydan: his soft metal
Melts down with easy warmth; runs in the mould,
And needs no farther forge. [Exit DORAX.
Re-enter ALMEYDA, led by MORAYMA, and fol-
lowed by her Attendants.

Seb. See where she comes again!

By heav'n, when I behold those beauteous eyes, Repentance lags, and sin comes hurrying on. Alm. This is too cruel!

Seb. Speak'st thou of love, of fortune, or of
death,

Or double death? for we must part, Almeyda.
Alm. I speak of all;

For all things that belong to us are cruel ;
But what's most cruel, we must love no more.
O'tis too much that I must never see you,
But not to love you is impossible:

No, I must love you: Heav'n may bate me that,
And charge that sinful sympathy of souls
Upon our parents, when they lov'd too well.
Seb. Good heav'n, thou speak'st my thoughts,
and I speak thine.

Nay, then there's incest in our very souls,
For we were form'd too like.

Alm. Too like indeed,
And yet not for each other.

Sure, when we part (for I resolv'd it too,
Though you propos'd it first,) however distant,
We shall be ever thinking of each other,
And, the same moment, for each other pray.
Seb. But if a wish should come athwart our
prayers!

Alm. It would do well to curb it, if we could.
Seb. We cannot look upon each other's face,
But, when we read our love, we read our guilt;
And yet methinks I cannot chuse but love.
Alm. I would have ask'd you, if I durst for
shame,

If still you lov'd? you gave it air before me.
Ah, why were we not born both of a sex;
For then we might have lov'd without a crime!
Why was not I your brother? though that wish
Involv'd our parents' guilt, we had not parted;
We had been friends, and friendship is not incest.
Seb. Alas, I know not by what name to call
thee!

Sister and wife are the two dearest names;
And I would call thee both, and both are sin.
Unhappy we, that still we must confound
The dearest names into a common curse!

Alm. To love, and be belov'd, and yet be
wretched!

Seb. To have but one poor night of all our
lives!

It was indeed a glorious, guilty night;
Se happy, that, forgive me heav'n, I wish,

With all its guilt, it were to come again. Why did we know so soon, or why at all, That sin could be conceal'd in such a bliss ?

Alm. Men have a larger privilege of words, Else I should speak: but we must part, Sebastian; That's all the name that I have left to call thee: I must not call thee by the name I would; But when I say Sebastian, dear Sebastian, I kiss the name I speak.

Seb. We must make haste, or we shall never part.

I would say something that's as dear as this; Nay, would do more than say: one moment longer,

And I should break through laws divine and hu

Alm. Here comes the sad denouncer of iny fate,

To toll the mournful knell of separation:
While I, as on my death-bed, hear the sound,
That warns me hence for ever.

Seb. [To DOR.] Now be brief,
And I will try to listen,

And share the minute that remains betwixt
The care I owe my subjects and my love.

Dor. Your fate has gratified you all she can,
Gives easy misery, and makes exile pleasing.
I trusted Muley Zeydan, as a friend,
But swore him first to secresy: he wept
Your fortune, and with tears not squeez'd by art,
But shed from nature, like a kindly shower:
In short, he proffer'd more than I demanded;
A safe retreat, a gentle solitude,

Unvex'd with noise, and undisturb'd with fears:
I chose you one.-

Alm. O do not tell me where!
For if I knew the place of his abode,
I should be tempted to pursue his steps,
And then we both were lost.

Seb. Ev'n past redemption :
For, if I knew thou wert on that design,
(As I must know, because our souls are one,)
I should not wander, but, by sure instinct,
Should meet thee just half-way, in pilgrimage,
And close for ever: for I know my love
More strong than thine, and I more frail than
thou.

Alm. Tell me not that: for I must boast my

Dor. Your subjects, conscious of your life, are few,

But all desirous to partake your exile,
And to do office to your sacred person;
The rest, who think you dead, shall be dismiss'd,
Under safe convoy, till they reach your fleet.

Alm. But how am wretched I to be dispos'd?
A vain enquiry, since I leave my lord;
For all the world beside is banishment!

Dor. I have a sister, abbess in Terceras, Who lost her lover on her bridal day.

Alm. There fate provided me a fellow-turtle, To mingle sighs with sighs, and tears with tears. Dor. Last, for myself, if I have well fulfill'd My sad commission, let me beg the boon, To share the sorrows of your last recess, And mourn the common losses of our loves.

Alv. And what becomes of me? must I be left, As age and time had worn me out of use? These sinews are not yet so much unstrung, To fail me when my master should be serv'd; And when they are, then will I steal to death, Silent, and unobserv'd, to save his tears.

Seb. I've heard you both: Alvarez, have thy wish; But thine, Alonzo, thine, is too unjust. I charge thee with my last commands, return, And bless thy Violante with thy vows. Antonio, be thou happy too in thine.

It would be still farewell, a thousand times,
And, multiply'd in echos, still farewell.
I will not speak, but think a thousand thousand.
And be thou silent too, my last Sebastian;
So let us part in the dumb pomp of grief.
My heart's too great, or I would die this moment:
But death, I thank him, in an hour, has made
A mighty journey, and I haste to meet him.

[She staggers, and her women hold her up. Seb. Help to support this feeble, drooping flower;

This tender sweet, so shaken by the storm;
For these fond arms must thus be stretch'd in

vain,

And never, never must embrace her more.
'Tis past my soul goes in that word;-
farewell.

[ALVAREZ goes with SEBASTIAN to one end of the Stage; women with ALMEYDA to the other.

DORAX, coming up to ANTONIO and MORAYMA,

who stand on the middle of the stage. Dor. Haste to attend Almeyda: for your sake Your father is forgiven: but to Antonio He forfeits half his wealth: be happy both. And let Sebastian's and Almeyda's fate This dreadful sentence to the world relate, That unrepented crimes of parents dead, Are justly punish'd on their children's head. [Exeunt omnes.

shion

Mor. Beast as you are, on nature's laws to

trample !

'Twere fitter that we follow'd their example; And since all marriage in repentance ends, 'Tis good for us to part while we are friends. To save a maid's remorses and confusions, E'en leave me now before we try conclusions.

Ant. To copy their example, first make certain Of one good hour, like theirs, before our parting; Make a debauch o'er night of love and madness, And marry when we wake in sober sadness.

Mor. I'll follow no new sects of your inventing, One night might cost me nine long months repenting:

First wed, and if you find that life a fetter,
Die when you please, the sooner, sir, the better:
My wealth would get me love ere I could ask it:
Oh, there's a strange temptation in the casket!
All these young sharpers would my grace impor-
tune,

And make me thund'ring votes of lives and for

tune.

To you, great judges in this writing age,
The sons of wit, and patrons of the stage,
With all those humble thoughts, which still have
sway'd,

His pride much doubting, trembling and afraid
Of what is to his want of merit due,
And aw'd by every excellence in you,
The author sends; to beg you would be kind,
And spare those many faults you needs must
find.

You, to whom wit a common foe is grown,
The thing ye scorn and publicly disown;
Though now perhaps ye're here for other ends,
He swears to me ye ought to be his friends:
For he ne'er called ye yet insipid tools;
Nor wrote one line to tell ye you were fools:
But says of wit you have so large a store,
So very much, you never will have more.
He ne'er with libel treated yet the town,
The names of honest men bedaub'd and shown;

Nay, never once lampoon'd the harmless life
Of suburb virgin, or of city wife.
Satire's the effect of poetry's disease,
Which, sick of a lewd age, she vents for ease;
But now her only strife should be to please:
Since of ill fate the baneful cloud's withdrawn,
And happiness again begins to dawn,
Since back with joy and triumph he is come,
That always drove fears hence, ne'er brought 'em
home.

Oft has he plough'd the boisterous ocean o'er,
Yet ne'er more welcome to the longing shore,
Not when he brought home victories before;
For then fresh laurels flourish'd on his brow,
And he comes crown'd with olive branches now.
Receive him! Oh receive him, as his friends,
Embrace the blessings which he recommends;
Such quiet as your foes shall ne'er destroy;
Then shake off fears, and clap your hands for
joy.

CASTALIO, his sons.

POLYDORE,

Servant.

WOMEN.

Monimia.

ship of old Acasto.

SERINA, Acasto's daughter.

FLORELLA, Monimia's woman.

SCENE I.

Enter PAULINO and ERNESTO.

Paul. "Tis strange, Ernesto, this severity Should still reign powerful in Acasto's mind, To hate the court, where he was bred and lived, All honours heaped on him, that power could give.

But

Ern. 'Tis true, he came hither a private gen-
tleman,

young and brave, and of a family
Ancient and noble as the empire holds.
The honours he has gained are justly his;
He purchased them in war: thrice has he led
An army 'gainst the rebels, and as often
Returned with victory. The world has not
A truer soldier, or a better subject.

Paul. It was his virtue at first made me serve him;

He is the best of masters as of friends:
I know he has lately been invited thither,
Yet still he keeps his stubborn purpose; cries
He's old, and willingly would be at rest.
I doubt there's deep resentment in his mind,
For the late slight his honour suffered there.
Ern. Has he not reason? When, for what he
had borne,

Long, hard, and painful toil, he might have claimed

Places in honour and employment high;
A huffing, shining, flattering, cringing coward,
A canker-worm of peace, was raised above him.
Paul. Yet still he holds just value for the king,
Nor ever names him but with highest reverence.
'Tis noble that.

Ern. Oh! I have heard him wanton in his
praise,

Speak things of him might charm the ears of envy.

Paul. Oh, may he live, till nature's self grow
old,

And from her womb no more can bless the earth!
For, when he dies, farewell all honour, bounty,
All generous encouragement of arts;
For charity herself becomes a widow.

Ern. No; he has two sons, that were ordained
to be

As well his virtues' as his fortune's heirs.

Paul. They're both of nature mild, and full of sweetness;

They came twins from the womb, and still they live,

As if they would go twins too to the grave:
Neither has any thing he calls his own,
But of each other's joys, as griefs partaking;
So very honestly, so well they love,
As they were only for each other born.

Ern. Never was parent in an offspring hap

pier;

He has a daughter too, whose blooming age
Promises goodness equal to her beauty.

Paul. And as there is a friendship 'twixt the
brethren,

So has her infant nature chosen too

A faithful partner of her thoughts and wishes,
And kind companion of her harmless pleasures.
Ern. You mean the beauteous orphan, fair
Monimia.

Paul. The same, the daughter of the brave
Chamont;

He was our lord's companion in the wars; Where such a wondrous friendship grew between them,

As only death could end. Chamont's estate
Was ruined in our late and civil discords;
Therefore, unable to advance her fortune,
He left his daughter to our master's care;
To such a care, as she scarce lost a father.

Ern. Her brother to the emperor's wars went
early,

To seek a fortune, or a noble fate;
Whence he, with honour, is expected back,
And mighty marks of that great prince's favour.

Paul. Our master never would permit his sons
To launch for fortune in the uncertain world;
But warns them to avoid both courts and camps,
Where dilatory Fortune plays the jilt
With the brave, noble, honest, gallant man,
To throw herself away on fools and knaves.
Ern. They both have forward, generous, ac-
tive spirits.

'Tis daily their petition to their father,
To send them forth where glory's to be gotten:
They cry, they're weary of their lazy home,
Restless to do something, that fame may talk of.
To-day they chased the boar, and near this time
Should be returned.

Paul. Oh, that's a royal sport!
We yet may see the old man in a morning,
Lusty as health, come ruddy to the field,
And there pursue the chase, as if he meant
To o'ertake time, and bring back youth again.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Garden.

Enter CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and Page. Cast. Polydore, our sport

Has been to-day much better for the danger; When, on the brink, the foaming boar I met, And in his side thought to have lodged my

spear,

The desperate savage rushed within my force, And bore me headlong with him down the rock. Pol. But then