The Tragedy of Jane Shore

Front matter

TRAGEDY

JANE SHORE.

Written in Imitation of

Dedication

To His Grace the Duke of Queensberry and Dover, Marquis of Beverly, &c.

My Lord, I have long lain under the greatest Obligations to Your Grace's Family, and nothing has been more in my Wishes, than that I might be able to discharge some part, at least, of so large a Debt. But Your Noble Birth and Fortune, the Power, Number and Goodness of those Friends You have already, have plac'd You in such an Independency on the rest of the World, that the Services I am able to render to Your Grace can never be advantageous, I am sure, not necessary to You in any Part of Your Life. However, the next Piece of Gratitude, and the only one I am capable of, is the Acknowledgment of what I owe: And as this is the most publick, and indeed the only way I have of doing it, Your Grace will pardon me if I take this Opportunity to let the World know the Duty and Honour I had for your illustrious Father. It is, I must confess, a very tender Point to touch upon; and at the first sight may seem an ill chosen Compliment, to renew the Memory of such a Loss, especially to a Disposition so sweet and gentle, and to a Heart so sensible of filial Piety as Your Grace's has been, even from Your earliest Childhood. But perhaps this is one of those Griefs by which the Heart may be made better; and if the Remembrance of his Death bring Heaviness along with it, the Honour that is paid to his Memory by all good Men, shall wipe away those Tears, and the Example of his Life set before Your Eyes, shall be of the greatest Advantage to Your Grace in the Conduct and future Disposition of Your Own.

In a Character so amiable as that of the Duke of Queensberry was, there can be no Part so proper to begin with as that, which was in him, and is in all good Men, the Foundation of all other Vertues, either Religious or Civil, I mean good Nature. Good Nature, which is Friendship between Man and Man, good Breeding in Courts, Charity in Religion, and the true Spring of all Beneficence in general. This was a Quality he possess'd in as great a Measure as any Gentleman I ever had the Honour to know. It was this natu- ral Sweetness of Temper, which made him the best Man in the World to live with, in any kind of Relation. It was this, made him a good Master to his Servants, a good Friend to his Friends, and the tenderest Father to his Children. For the last, I can have no better Voucher than your Grace; and for the rest I may appeal to all that have had the Honour to know him. There was a Spirit and Pleasure in his Conversation, which always enliven'd the Company he was in, which, together with a certain Easiness and Frankness in his Disposition, that did not at all derogate from the Dignity of his Birth and Character, render'd him infinitely agreeable. And as no Man had a more delicate taste of natural Wit, his Conversations always abounded in good Humour.

Prologue spoken by Mr. Wilks

PROLOGUE spoken by ,

T Night, if you have brought your good old Taste, We'll treat you with a downright English Feast. A Tale, which told long since in homely Wise, Have never fail'd of melting gentle Eyes: Let no nice Sir despise our hapless Dame, Because recording Ballads chaunt her Name; Those venerable ancient Song-Enditers Soar'd many a Pitch above our modern Writers: They caterwaul'd in no Romantick Ditty, Sighing for Phillis's, or Chloe's Pity. Justly they drew the Fair, and poke her plain, And sung her by her Christ'an Name—'twas Jane. Our Numbers may be more refin'd than those, But what we've gain'd in Verse, we've lost in Prose. Their Words no shuffling, double-meaning knew, Their Speech was homely, but their Hearts were true. In such an Age, Immortal Shakespear wrote, By no quaint Rules, nor hampering Criticks taught; With rough, majestick Force he mov'd the Heart, And Strength, and Nature made amends for Art. Our humble Author does his Steps pursue, He owns be had the mighty Bard in View; And in these Scenes has made it more his Care To rouse the Passions, than to charm the Ear. Yet for those gentle Beaux who love the Chime, The Ends of Acts still gingle into Rhime. The Ladies too, he hopes, will not complain, >>> Here are some Subjects for a softer Strain, A Nymph forsaken, and a perjur'd Swain. What most he fears, is, least the Dames shou'd frown, >>> The Dames of Wit and Pleasure about Town. To see our Picture drawn, unlike their own. But lest that Error shou'd provoke to Fury The Hospitable Hundreds of Old Drury, He bid me say, in our Jane Shore's Defence, >>> She dol'd about the charitable Pence, Built Hospitals, turn'd Saint, and dy'd long since, For her Example, whatsoe'er we make it, They have their Choice to let alone, or take it. Tho', few, as I conceive, will think it meet, To weep so sorely, for a Sin so sweet: Or mourn and mortify the pleasant Sense, To rise in Tragedy two Ages hence.

Epilogue; spoken by Mrs. Oldfield

EPILOGUE; spoken by

Y modest Matrons all, ye virtuous Wives, Who lead with horrid Husbands, decent Lives, You who for all you are in such a taking, >>> To see your Spouses Drinking, Gaming, Raking, Yet make a Conscience still of Cuckold-making, What can we say your Pardon to obtain? This Matter here was prov'd against poor Jane: She never once deny'd it, but in short, Whimper'd,—and Cry'd,—sweet Sir,—I'm sorry for't, 'Twas well he met a kind, good natur'd Soul, We are not all so easy to controul: I fancy one might find in this good Town Some wou'd ha' told the Gentleman his own; Have answer'd smart,—To what do you pretend, Blockhead!—As if I must n't see a Friend: Tell me of Hackney-Coaches—Jaunts to th'City— Where shou'd I buy my China—Faith, I'll fit ye— Our Wife was of a milder, meeker Spirit: You!—Lords and Masters!—was not that some Merit? Don't you allow it to be virtuous Bearing, When we submit thus to your Domineering. Well, peace be with her, he did Wrong most surely; But so do many more who look demurely: Nor shou'd our mourning Madam weep alone, There are more Ways of Wickedness than one. If the reforming Stage shou'd fall to shaming Ill-nature, Pride, Hypocrisy, and Gaming; The Poets frequently might move Compassion, And with She Tragedies o'er-run the Nation. Then judge the fair Offender, with good Nature; And let your Fellow-feeling curb your Satyr. What if our Neighbours have some little Failing, Must we needs fall to damning and to railing: For Her Excuse too, be it understood, >>> That if the Woman was not quite so good, Her Lover was a King, she Flesh and Blood. And since she has dearly paid the sinful Score, Be kind at last, and pity poor Jane Shore.

Dramatis Personæ

Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.

| Duke of Gloster. | Mr. Cibber.

| Lord Hastings. | Mr. Booth.

| Catesby. | Mr. Husbands.

| Sir Richard Ratcliff. | Mr. Bowman.

| Bellmour. | Mr. Mills.

| Dumont. | Mr. Wilks.

WOMEN.

| Alicia. | Mrs. Porter.

| Jane Shore. | Mrs. Oldfield.

Several Lords of the Council, Guards, and Attendants.

SCENE LONDON.

Act I, Scene I.

THE

TRAGEDY

OF

Jane Shore.

ACT I. SCENE I.

SCENE the Tower.

Enter the Duke of Gloster, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, and Catesby.

Thus far success attends upon our Councils, And each Event has answer'd to my Wish; The Queen and all her upstart Race are quell'd; Dorset is banish'd, and her brother Rivers, 'Ere this lies shorter by the Head at Pomfret. The Nobles have with joint Concurrence, nam'd me Protector of the Realm: My Brother's Children, Young Edward and the little York, are lodg'd

Here, safe within the Tower. How say you, Sirs, Does not this business wear a lucky Face? The Scepter and the Golden Wreath of Royalty Seem hung within my Reach.

Ratcl. Then take 'em to you, And wear them long and worthily: you are The last remaining Male of princely York: (For Edwards Boys, the State Esteems not of 'em,) And therefore on your Sovereignty and Rule The Common-Weal does her Dependence make, And leans upon your Highness's able Hand.

Cat. And yet to Morrow does the Council meet To fix a day for Edwards Coronation: Who can expound this Riddle?

Glost. That can I. Those Lords are each one my approv'd good Friends, Of special Trust and Nearness to my Bosom; And howsoever busie they may seem, And diligent to bustle in the State, Their Zeal goes on no further than we lead, And at our bidding stays.

Cat. Yet there is one, And he amongst the foremost in his Power, Of whom I wish your Highness were assur'd: For me, perhaps it is my Nature's Fault, I own, I doubt of his inclining, much.

Glost. I guess the Man at whom your Mords would point: Hastings—

Cat. The same.

Glost. He bears me great Good Will.

Cat. 'Tis true, to you, as to the Lord Protector, And Glosters duke, he bows with lowly service: But were he bid to cry, God save King Richard, Then tell me in what Terms he would reply.

Believe me, I have prov'd the Man, and found him: I know he bears a most religious Reverence To his dead Master Edwards Royal Memory. And whither that may lead him is most plain; Yet more—One of that stubborn sort he is Who, if they once grow fond of an Opinion, They call it Honour, Honesty, and Faith, And sooner part with Life than let it go.

Glost. And yet, this tough impracticable Heart, Is govern'd by a dainty-finger'd Girl; Such Flaws are found in the most worthy Natures; A laughing, toying, wheadling, whimpering she, Shall make him amble on a Gossips Message, And take the Distaff with a Hand as patient As e'er did Hercules.

Ratcl. The fair Alicia Of noble Birth, and exquisite of Feature, Has held him long a Vassal to her Beauty.

Cat. I fear, he fails in his Allegiance there; Or my Intelligence is false, or else The Dame has been too lavish of her Feast, And fed him 'till he loaths.

Glost. No more, he comes.

<>Enter Lord Hastings.

L. Hast. Health and the Happiness of many Days Attend upon your Grace.

Glost. My good Lord Chamberlain! W'are much beholden to your gentle Friendship.

L. Hast. My Lord, I come an humble Suitor to you.

Glost. In right good time. Speak out your Pleasure freely.

L. Hast. I am to move your Highness in behalf Of Shores unhappy Wife.

Glost. Say you? of Shore?

L. Hast. Once a bright Star that held her Place on high The first and fairest of our English Dames While Royal Edward held the Sovereign Rule. Now sunk in Grief, and pining with Despair, Her waining Form no longer shall incite Envy in Woman, or Desire in Man. She never sees the Sun but thro' her Tears, And wakes to sigh the live-long Night away.

Glost. Marry! the Times are badly chang'd with her From Edwards Days to these. Then all was Jollity, Feasting, and Mirth, light Wantonness and Laughter, Piping and Playing, Minstrelsie and Masquing, Till Life fled from us like an idle Dream, A Shew of Mommery without a Meaning. My Brother, Rest and Pardon to his Soul, Is gone to his Account; For this his Minion The Revel-rout is done—But you were speaking Concerning her—I have been told that you, Are frequent in your Visitation to her.

L. Hast. No farther, my good Lord, than friendly Pity And tender hearted Charity allow.

Glost. Go to. I did not mean to chide you for it. For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you To cherish the Distress'd—On with your Tale.

L. Hast. Thus is it, gracious Sir, that certain Officers Using the Warrant of your mighty Name, With Insolence unjust, and lawless Power, Have seiz'd upon the Lands, which late she held By Grant from her great Master Edwards Bounty.

Glost. Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I heard; And tho' some Counsellors of forward Zeal, Some of most ceremonious Sanctity, And bearded Wisdom, often have provok'd

The Hand of Justice to fall heavy on her, Yet still in kind Compassion of her Weakness, And tender Memory of Edwards Love, I have withheld the merciless stern Law, From doing Outrage on her helpless Beauty.

L. Hast. Good Heav'n, who renders Mercy back for Mercy, With open-handed Bounty shall repay you: This gentle Deed shall fairly be set foremost, To screen the wild escapes of lawless Passion, And the long Train of Frailties Flesh is Heir to.

Glost. Thus far, the Voice of Pity pleaded only; Our farther and more full Extent of Grace Is given to your Request. Let her attend, And to our self deliver up her Griefs. She shall be heard with Patience, and each Wrong At full redrest. But I have other News Which much import us both, for still my Fortunes Go hand in hand with yours; Our common Foes, The Queen's Relations, our new fangl'd Gentry, Have fall'n their haughty Crests—That for your Privacy.

Act I, Scene II.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Jane Shores House.

<>Enter Bellmour and Dumont.

Bell. How she has liv'd you've heard my Tale already; The rest your own Attendance in her Family, Where I have found the Means this Day to place you, And nearer Observation best will tell you. See! with what sad and sober Cheer he comes.

<>Enter Jane Shore.

Sure, or I read her Visage much amiss, Or Grief besets her hard. Save you fair Lady, The Blessings of the chearful Morn be on you, And greet your Beauty with its opening Sweets.

J. Sh. My gentle Neighbour! your good Wishes still Pursue my hapless Fortunes: Ah! good Bellmour! How few, like thee, enquire the wretched out, And court the Offices of soft Humanity; Like thee, reserve their Raiment for the Naked, Reach out their Bread, to feed the crying Orphan, Or mix their pitying Tears with those that Weep: Thy praise deserves a better Tongue than mine To speak and bless thy Name. Is this the Gentleman, Whose friendly Service you commended to me?

Bell. Madam! it is.

J. Sh. A venerable Aspect! Age sits with decent Grace upon his Visage, And worthily becomes his Silver Locks; He wears the Marks of many Years well spent, Of Virtue, Truth well try'd, and wise Experience; A Friend like this, would suit my Sorrows well. Fortune, I fear me, Sir, has meant you ill, Who pays your Merit with that scanty Pittance, Which my poor hand and humble Roof can give. But to supply those golden Vantages, Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet A just Regard and Value for your Worth, The Welcome of a Friend, and the free Partnership Of all that little Good the World allows me.

Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my Answer Must be my future Truth; let that speak for me, And make up my deserving.

J. Sh. Are you of England?

Dum. No, gracious Lady, Flanders claims my Birth; At Antwerp has my constant biding been, Where sometimes I have known more plenteous Days Than those which now my failing Age affords.

J. Sh. Alas! at Antwerp!—Oh forgive my Tears!

They fall for my Offences—and must fall Long, Long e'er they shall wash my Stains away. You knew perhaps—oh Grief! oh Shame!—my Husband.

Dum. I knew him well—but stay this Flood of Anguish, The Senseless Grave feels not your pious Sorrows: Three Years and more are past, since I was bid, With many of our common Friends, to wait him, To his last peaceful Mansion. I attended, Sprinkled his Clay-cold Coarse with holy Drops, According to our Church's Reverend Rite, And saw him laid, in hallow'd Ground, to rest.

J. Sh. Oh! that my Soul had known no Joy but him, That I had liv'd within his guiltless Arms, And dying slept in Innocence beside him! But now his honest Dust abhors the Fellowship, And scorns to mix with mine.

<>Enter a Servant.

Serv. The Lady Alicia, Attends your Leisure.

J. Sh. Say I wish to see her. Please, gentle Sir, one Moment to retire, I'll wait you on the instant; and inform you

Of each unhappy Circumstance, in which Your friendly Aid and Counsel much may stead me,

<>Enter Alicia.

Alic. Still, my fair Friend, still shall I find you thus, Still shall these Sighs heave after one another, These trickling Drops chase one another still, As if the posting Messengers of Grief Could overtake the Hours fled far away, And make old Time come back.

J. Sh. No, my Alicia, Heaven and its Saints be witness to my Thoughts, There is no Hour of all my Life o'er past, That I could wish should take its turn again.

Alic. And yet some of those Days my Friend has known, Some of those Years, might pass for golden ones, At least, if Womankind can judge of Happiness. What could we wish, we who delight in Empire, Whose Beauty is our Sovereign Good, and gives us Our Reasons to Rebel, and Power to Reign, What could we more than to behold a Monarch, Lovely, Renown'd, a Conqueror, and Young, Bound in our Chains, and sighing at our Feet.

J. Sh. 'Tis true, the Royal Edward was a Wonder, The goodly Pride of all our English Youth; He was the very Joy of all that saw him, Form'd to delight, to love, and to persuade. Impassive Spirits, and angelick Natures Might have been charm'd, like yielding human Weakness, Stoop'd from their Heav'n, and listen'd to his talking. But what had I to do with Kings and Courts?

My humble Lot had cast me far beneath him; And that he was the first of all Mankind, The bravest and most lovely was my Curse.

Alic. Sure, something more than Fortune join'd your Loves; Nor could his Greatness, and his gracious Form, Be elsewhere match'd so well, as to the Sweetness And Beauty of my Friend.

J. Sh. Name him no more: He was the Bane and Ruin of my Peace. This Anguish and these Tears, These are the Legacies, His fatal Love has left me. Thou wilt see me, Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me, E'er yet a few short Days pass o'er my Head, Abandon'd to the very utmost Wretchedness. The Hand of Pow'r has seiz'd almost the whole, Of what was left for needy Life's Support; Shortly thou wilt behold me poor, and kneeling Before thy charitable Door for Bread.

Alic. Joy of my Life, my dearest Shore, forbear To wound my Heart with thy foreboding Sorrows. Raise thy sad Soul to better Hopes than these, Lift up thy Eyes, and let 'em shine once more, Bright as the Morning Sun above the Mists. Exert thy Charms, seek out the stern Protector, And sooth his savage Temper, with thy Beauty: Spite of his deadly unrelenting Nature, He shall be mov'd to pity and redress Thee.

J. Sh. My Form, alas! has long forgot to please; The Scene of Beauty and Delight is chang'd, No Roses bloom upon my fading Cheek, Nor laughing Graces wanton in my Eyes; But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care, And pining Discontent, a rueful Train, Dwell on my Brow all hideous and forlorn.

One only Shadow of a Hope is left me; The noble-minded Hastings, of his Goodness, Has kindly underta'en to be my Advocate, And move my humble Suit to angry Gloster.

Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead your Cause? But wherefore should he not? Hastings has Eyes; The gentle Lord has a right tender Heart, Melting and easy, yielding to Impression, And catching the soft Flame from each new Beauty. But yours shall charm him long.

J. Sh. Away, you Flatterer! Nor charge his generous Meaning with a Weakness, Which his great Soul and Vertue must disdain. Too much of Love thy hapless Friend has prov'd, Too many giddy foolish Hours are gone, And in fantastick Measures danc'd away: May the remaining few know only Friendship. So thou, my dearest, truest, best Alicia, Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle Heart, A Partner there; I will give up Mankind, Forget the Transports of encreasing Passion, And all the Pangs we feel for its Decay.

Alic. Live! live and Reign for ever in my Bosom, Safe and unrivall'd there possess thy own; And you, ye brightest of the Stars above, Ye Saints that once were Women here below, Be witness of the Truth, the holy Friendship, Which here to this my other self I vow. If I not hold her nearer to my Soul, Then ev'ry other Joy the World can give, Let Poverty, Deformity and Shame, Distraction and Despair seize me on Earth, Let not my faithless Ghost have Peace hereafter, Nor Tast the Bliss of your cœlestial Fellowship.

J. Sh. Yes, thou art true, and only thou art true; Therefore these Jewels, once the lavish Bounty. Of Royal Edwards Love, I trust to thee; Receive this all, that I can call my own, And let it rest unknown and safe with thee: That if the State's Injustice should oppress me, Strip me of all, and turn me out a Wanderer, My Wretchedness may find Relief from thee, And Shelter from the Storm.

Alic. My all is thine; One common Hazard shall attend us both, And both be fortunate, or both be wretched: But let thy fearful doubting Heart be still, The Saints and Angels have thee in their Charge, And all things shall be well. Think not, the good, The gentle Deeds of Mercy thou hast done, Shall dye forgotten all; the Poor, the Pris'ner, The Fatherless, the Friendless, and the Widow, Who daily own the Bounty of thy Hand, Shall cry to Heav'n, and pull a Blessing on thee; Ev'n Man, the merciless Insulter, Man, Man, who rejoices in our Sex's Weakness, Shall pity thee, and with unwonted Goodness, Forget thy Failings, and record thy Praise.

J. Sh. Why should I think that Man will do for me. What yet he never did for Wretches like me. Mark by what partial Justice we are judg'd; Such is the Fate unhappy Women find, And such the Curse intail'd upon our kind, TheMagdalenCh2That Man, the lawless Libertine may rove, Free and unquestion'd through the Wilds of Love; While Woman, Sense and Nature's easy Fool, If poor weak Woman swerve from Virtue's Rule,

If strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way, And in the softer Paths of Pleasure stray; Ruin ensues, Reproach and endless Shame, And one false Step entirely damns her Fame. In vain with Tears the Loss she may deplore, >>> In vain look back to what she was before, She sets, like Stars that fall, to rise no more.

End of the First ACT.

Act II, Scene I.

ACT II. SCENE I.

SCENE Continues.

<>Enter Alicia.

N farther, gentle Friend; good Angels guard you, And spread their gracious Wings about your Slumbers. The drowzy Night grows on the World, and now The busie Craftsman and o'er-labour'd Hind Forget the Travail of the Day in Sleep: Care only wakes, and moping Pensiveness, With meagre discontented Looks they sit, And watch the wafting of the Midnight Taper. Such Vigils must I keep, so wakes my Soul, Restless and self-tormented! Oh false Hastings! Thou haft deftroy'd my Peace. What Noise is that? What Visitor is this, who with bold Freedom Breaks in upon the peaceful Night and Rest, With such a rude Approach?

<>Enter a Servant.

Serv. One from the Court, Lord Hastings, (as I think) demands my Lady.

Alic. Hastings! Be still my Heart, and try to meet him With his own Arts: With Falshood— But he comes.

<>Enter Lord Hastings.

Hast. Dismiss my Train, and wait alone without. Alicia here! Unfortunate Encounter! But, be it as it may.

Alic. When humbly, thus, The great descend to visit the afflicted, When thus unmindful of their Rest, they come To sooth the Sorrows of the Midnight Mourner; Comfort comes with them, like the golden Sun, Dispels the sullen Shades with her sweet Influence, And chears the melancholy House of Care.

L. Hast. 'Tis true I wou'd not over-rate a Curtesie, Nor let the Coldness of Delay hang on it To nip and blast its Favour, like a Frost; But rather chose, at this late Hour, to come, That your fair Friend may know I have prevail'd: The Lord Protector has receiv'd her Suit, And means to shew her Grace.

Alic. My Friend! my Lord!

L. Hast. Yes, Lady, yours: None has a Right more ample To task my Power than you.

Alic. I want the Words, To pay you back a Compliment so courtly; But my Heart guesses at the friendly meaning, And wo'not die your Debtor.

L. Hast. 'Tis well, Madam. But I wou'd see your Friend.

Alic. Oh thou false Lord! I wou'd be Mistress of my heaving Heart,

Stifle this rising Rage, and learn from thee To dress my Face in easie dull Indifference: But two'not be, my Wrongs will tear their Way, And rush at once upon thee.

L. Hast. Are you wise! Have you the use of Reason? Do you wake? What means this raving! this transporting Passion?

Alic. O thou cool Traitor! thou insulting Tyrant! Dost thou behold my poor distracted Heart, Thus rent with agonizing Love and Rage, And ask me what it means? Art thou not false? Am I not scorn'd, forsaken and abandon'd, Lest, like a common Wretch, to Shame and Infamy; Giv'n up to be the Sport of Villains Tongues, Of Laughing Parasites, and lewd Buffoons; And all because my Soul has doated on thee With Love, with Truth, and Tenderness unutterable?

L. Hast. Are these the Proofs of Tenderness and Love? These endless Quarrels, Discontents, and Jealousies, These never ceasing Wailings and Complainings, These furious Starts, these Whirlwinds of the Soul, Which every other Moment rise to Madness?

Alic. What Proof, alas! have I not given of Love? What have I not abandon'd to thy Arms? Have I not set at nought my noble Birth, A spotless Fame, and an unblemish'd Race, The Peace of Innocence, and Pride of Virtue? My Prodigality has giv'n thee all, And now I have nothing left me to bestow; You hate the wretched Bankrupt you have made.

L. Hast. Why am I thus pursu'd from Place to Place, Kept in the View, and cross'd at every turn? In vain I flie, and like a hunted Deer,

Scud o'er the Lawns, and hasten to the Covert; 'Ere I can reach my Safety, you o'ertake me With the swift Malice of some keen Reproach, And drive the winged Shaft deep in my Heart.

Alic. Hither you fly, and here you seek Repose, Spite of the poor Deceit, your Arts are known, Your Pious, Charitable, Midnight Visits.

L. Hast. If you are wise, and prize your Peace of Mind, Yet take the friendly Counsel of my Love; Believe me true, nor listen to your jealousie, Let not that Devil, which undo's your Sex, That cursed Curiosity seduce you, To hunt for needless Secrets, which neglected, Shall never hurt your Quiet, but once known, Shall sit upon your Heart, pinch it with Pain, And banish the sweet Sleep for ever from you. Go too,—be yet advis'd,——

Alic. Dost thou in Scorn, Preach Patience to my Rage? And bid me tamely Sit like a poor contented Ideot down, Nor dare to think thou haft wrong'd me—Ruin seize thee, And swift Perdition overtake thy Treachery! Have I the least remaining Cause to Doubt? Hast thou endeavour'd once to hide thy Falshood? To hide it, might have spoke some little Tenderness, And shewn thee half unwilling to undoe me. But thou disdain'st the Weakness of Humanity, Thy Words, and all thy Actions, have confess'd it; Ev'n now thy Eyes avow it, now they speak, And insolently own the Glorious Villany.

L. Hast. Well then, I own my Heart has broke your Chains. Patient I bore the painful Bondage long, At length my generous Love disdains your Tyranny;

The Bitterness and Stings of taunting Jealousie, Vexatious Days, and jarring joyless Nights, Have driv'n him forth to seek some safer Shelter, Where he may rest his weary Wings in Peace.

Alic. You Triumph! do! And with Gigantick Pride, Defie impending Vengeance. Heav'n shall wink; No more his Arm shall roll the dreadful Thunder, Nor send his Light'nings forth. No more his Justice Shall visit the presuming Sons of Men, But Perjury, like thine, shall dwell in Safety.

L. Hast. Whate'er my Fate decrees for me hereafter, Be present to me now, my better Angel! Preserve me from the Storm which threatens now, And if I have beyond Attonement sinn'd, Let any other kind of Plague o'ertake me, So I escape the Fury of that Tongue.

Alic. Thy Pray'r is heard,—I go,—but know, proud Lord, Howe'er thou scorn'st the Weakness of my Sex, This feeble Hand may find the Means to reach thee, Howe'er sublime in Pow'r, and Greatness plac'd, With Royal Favour guarded round, and grac'd; On Eagles Wings, my Rage shall urge her Flight, And hurl thee Headlong from thy topmost Height; Then like thy Fate, Superior will I sit, And view thee fall'n, and groveling at my Feet; See thy last Breath with Indignation go, And tread thee sinking to the Shades below.

L. Hast. How fierce a Fiend is Passion? With what Wildness, What Tyranny untam'd, it Reigns in Woman. Unhappy Sex! Whose easie yielding Temper Gives Way to every Appetite alike;

Each gust of Inclination, uncontroul'd, Sweeps thro' their Souls, and sets 'em in an uproar; Each Motion of their Heart rises to Fury, And Love in their weak Bosoms is a Rage As terrible as Hate, and as destructive. So the Wind roars o'er the wide fenceless Ocean, And heaves the Billows of the boiling Deep, Alike from North, from South, from East, and West; With equal Force the Tempest blows by turns From every Corner of the Seaman's Compass. But soft ye now—for here comes one, disclaims Strife, and her wrangling Train. Of equal Elements, Without one jarring Atom was she form'd And Gentleness, and Joy, make up her Being.