And lost like Lucifer, my name above.

Seb. Yet twice this day I ow'd my life to Dorax. Dor. I saved you but to kill you: there's my grief. Seb. Nay, if thou canst be grieved, thou canst repent: Thou couldst not be a villain, though thou wouldst: Thou ownst too much in owning thou hast erred: And I too little, who provoked thy crime.

Dor. O stop this headlong torrent of your goodness; It comes too fast upon a feeble soul,

Half drowned in tears before; spare my confusion,
For pity spare, and say not, first you erred.

[Kneels.

For yet I have not dared, through guilt and shame,
To throw myself beneath your royal feet.
Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade ;
'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.
Seb. Indeed thou should'st not ask forgiveness first,
[Raises him up.
But thou prevent'st me still in all that's noble.
Thou canst not speak, and I can ne'er be silent.
Some strange reverse of fate must sure attend
This vast profusion, this extravagance

Of heaven to bless me thus. 'Tis gold so pure,
It cannot bear the stamp without allay.

Be kind, ye powers, and take but half away:
With ease the gifts of fortune I resign:

But let my love and friend be ever mine,

DRYDEN.

SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD.
THE IRON CHEST.

Sir E. Wilford, is no one in the picture-gallery?
Wil. No-not a soul, sir-not a human soul;
None within hearing if I were to bawl

Ever so loud.

Sir E. Wilford, approach me.

For aiming at your life?

Despise me for it?

Wil. I!-Oh, sir.

Sir E. You must;

-What am I to say

Do you not scorn me,

For I am singled from the herd of men,

A vile heart-broken wretch !

Wil. Indeed, indeed, sir,

You deeply wrong yourself.-Your equal's love,
The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude,
All follow you; and I-I owe you all,-

I am most bound to bless you!

Sir E. Mark me, Wilford.

I know the value of the orphan's tear,

The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected;
I feel to merit these, and to obtain them,
Is to taste here below that thrilling cordial,
Which the remunerating angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,

To pour on blessèd souls that enter heaven.
I feel this-I! How must my nature, then,

Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand

In human blood? And yet, it seems, this day
I sought your life. Oh, I have suffered madness!
None know my tortures-pangs; but I can end them,—
End them as far as appertains to thee.

I have resolved it: fearful struggles tear me;

But I have pondered on't, and I must trust thee.

Wil. Your confidence shall not be

Sir E. You must swear.

Wil. Swear, sir!

Will nothing but an oath, then

Sir E. No retreating.

Wil. [After a pause.] I swear, by all the ties that bind

a man,

Divine or human, never to divulge !

Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret,-yes, Extorted it. I have not thrust it on you.

Tis big with danger to you; and to me,
While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable.
Know, Wilford, that-

Wil. Dearest sir,

Collect yourself; this shakes you horribly.-
You had this trembling, it is scarce a week,

Sir E. Him -She knows it not,-none know it: are the first ordained to hear me say,

Wil. What! You that-mur-the murder-I am choked! Sir E. Honour-thou blood-stained god! at whose red altar

Sit war and homicide, oh! to what madness

Will insult drive thy votaries! By heaven!

In the world's range there does not breathe a man,
Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe,
With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy,
Than his who fell by me.-But he disgraced me,

Stained me!-Oh, death and shame! the world looked on
And saw this sinewy savage strike me down;
Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro
On the base earth, like carrion.-Desperation,
In every fibre of my frame, cried Vengeance!
I left the room which he had quitted. Chance
(Curse on the chance!) while boiling with my wrongs,
Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street.—
I stabbed him to the heart; and my oppressor

Rolled lifeless at my foot!

Wil. Oh, mercy on me!

How could this deed be covered?
Sir E. Would you think it ?

E'en at the moment when I gave the blow,
Butchered a fellow-creature in the dark,

I had all good men's love.—But my disgrace,
And my opponent's death thus linked with it,
Demanded notice of the magistracy.

They summoned me, as friend would summon friend,
To acts of import and communication.—

We met; and 'twas resolved, to stifle rumour,

To put me on my trial. No accuser,

No evidence appeared, to urge it on ;

Twas meant to clear my fame. How clear it, then?
How cover it? you say.-Why, by a lie,—

Guilt's offspring and its guard! I taught this breast,
Which truth once made her throne, to forge a lie,-
This tongue to utter it; rounded a tale,

Smooth as a Seraph's song from Satan's mouth;

So well compacted, that the o'er-thronged court
Disturbed cool justice in her judgment-seat,
By shouting "Innocence!" ere I had finished.—
The court enlarged me; and the giddy rabble
Bore me in triumph home.—Ay, look upon me!
I know thy sight aches at me.

Wil. Heaven forgive you!

It may be wrong: indeed, I pity you.
Sir E. I disdain all pity,

I ask no consolation! Idle boy!

Thinkst thou that this compulsive confidence
Was given to move thy pity? Love of fame
(For still I cling to it) has urged me thus
To quash the curious mischief in its birth:
Hurt honour, in an evil, cursed hour,
Drove me to murder,-lying ;-'twould again!
My honesty-sweet peace of mind—all, all
Are bartered for a name.—I will maintain it!
Should slander whisper o'er my sepulchre,
And my soul's agency survive in death,
I could embody it with heaven's lightning,
And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit
Should strike the blaster of my memory

Dead in the churchyard! Boy, I would not kill thee:
Thy rashness and discernment threatened danger;
To check them, there was no way left but this,
Save one - your death. You shall not be my victim.
Wil. My death!-What! take my life—my life, to prop
This empty honour !

Sir E. Empty!—Grovelling fool!

Wil. I am your servant, sir; child of your bounty, And know my obligation.—I have been

Too curious haply.—'Tis the fault of youth;

I ne'er meant injury. If it would serve you,

I would lay down my life—I'd give it freely.

Could you, then, have the heart to rob me of it?
You could not-should not.

Sir E. How!

Wil. You dare not.

Sir E. Dare not!

Wil. Some hours ago you durst not. Passion moved

you;

Reflection interposed, and held your arm.
But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it,
My innocence would give me strength to struggle,
And wrest the murderous weapon from your hand,
How would you look to find a peasant boy
Return the knife you levelled at his heart;
And ask you which in heaven would shew the best,-
A rich man's honour, or a poor man's honesty?
Sir E. Tis plain I dare not take your life. To spare it,
I have endangered mine.-But dread my power:
You know not its extent.-Be warned in time,
Trifle not with my feelings.-Listen, sir:
Myriads of engines, which my secret working
Can rouse to action, now encircle you.

Your ruin hangs upon a thread; provoke me,
And it shall fall upon you.
Dare to make
The slightest movement to awake my fears,
And the gaunt criminal, naked and stake-tied,
Left on the heath to blister in the sun,
Till lingering death shall end his agony,
Compared to thee, shall seem more enviable
Than cherubs to the cursed!

Wil. Oh, misery!

Discard me, sir; I must be hateful to you.
Banish me hence: I will be mute as death ;
But let me quit your service,

Sir E. Never! Fool!

To buy this secret, you have sold yourself,—

Your movements, eyes, and most of all your breath,
From this time forth, are fettered to my will.

COLMAN.

VANOC AND VALENS. THE BRiton.

Van. Now, Tribune: :

Val. Health to Vanoc.

Van. Speak your business.

Val. I come not as a herald, but a friend :

And I rejoice that Didius chose out me

To greet a prince in my esteem the foremost.

Van. So much for words.-Now to your purpose,

Tribune.