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Char. Excuse me: I have done. Being a dream, I thought, at least, it could not give offence.

Agnes. You could not think so, had you thought

at all. But I take nothing ill from thee.—Adieu ! I've tarried longer than I first intended, And my poor husband mourns the while alone, . ... [Erit AGNEs.

Char. She's gone abruptly, and, I fear, displeas'd, The least appearance of advice or caution, Sets her impatient temper in a flame. When grief, that well might humble, swells our pride, And pride, increasing, aggravates our grief, The tempest must prevail till we are lost. Heaven grant a fairer issue to her sorrows! [Exit,

SCENE III,

The Town and Port of Penryn.

Enter YouNg WILMoT and EustacE, in Indian

Habits. Y. Wilm. Welcome, my friend, to Penryn ! Here we're safe. Eust. Then we're deliver'd twice: first from the Sea,

And then from men, who, more remorseless, prey
On shipwreck'd wretches, and who spoil and murder
Those, whom fell tempests, and devouring Waves,
In all their fury, spar'd.

Y. Wilm. It is a scandal,

Though malice must acquit the better sort),
he rude unpolish'd people here, in Cornwall,

Have long lain under, and with too much justice:
For 'tis an evil, grown almost invet'rate,
And asks a bold and skilful hand to cure.

Eust. Your treasure's safe, I hope 2

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 In such a time of terror and confusion.

Y. Wilm. My thoughts were then at home. O

England England 1

Thou seat of plenty, liberty, and health,
With transport I behold thy verdant fields,
Thy lofty mountains rich with useful ore,
Thynum'rous herds, thy flocks, and winding streams.
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 ev'ry wise man's country;
Yet, after having view'd its various nations,
I'm weak enough still to prefer my own
To all I've seen beside—You smile, my friend
And think, perhaps, 'tis instinct more than reason.
Why, be it so: Instinct preceded reason
Ev’n in the wisest men, and may sometimes
Be much the better guide. But, be it either,
I must confess, that even death itself
Appear'd to me with twice its native horrors,
When apprehended in a foreign land.
Death is, no doubt, in ev'ry place the same ;
Yet nature casts a look towards home, and most
Who have it in their power, choose to expire
Where they first drew their breath.

Eust. Believe me, Wilmot, Your grave reflections were not what I smil'd at ; I own the truth. That we're return'd to England, Affords me all the pleasure you can feel. Yet I must think a warmer passion moves you; Thinking of that, I smil’d.

Y. Wilm, O Eustace Eustace' Thou know'st, for I've confess'd 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 pass'd, 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 surpris'd to see me thus. The sinking fortune of our ancient house, Compell'd me, young, to leave my native country, My weeping parents, and my lovely Charlotte, Who rul'd, 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 parents, Griev'd for my absence, and oppress'd with want, Have sunk beneath their burden and expir'd, 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 all that is possible, 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 mot. 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 abundance; 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, Or ever shall, pleasure and pain unmix'd ; And flatter, and torment ourselves by turns, With what shall never be. Y. Wilm. I'll go this instant To seek my Charlotte, and explore my fate, Eust. What, in that foreign habit? Y. Wilm. That's a trifle, Not worth my thoughts. Eust. The hardships you've endur'd, And your long stay beneath the burning zone, Where one eternal sultry summer reigns, Have marr'd the native hue of your complexion : Methinks you look more like a sun-burnt Indian, Than a Briton. Y. Wilm. Well; 'tis no matter, Eustace | I hope my mind's not alter'd for the worse, And for my outside—But inform me, friend, When I may hope to see you. Eust. When you please: You'll find me at the inn.

Y. Wilm. When I have learn'd my doom, expect me there. -

Till then, farewell !
Eust. Farewell ! Success attend you!
[Ereunt severally,

ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE. I.

CHARLoTTE's House.

Enter CHARLoTTE, thoughtful; and soon after, a SERVANT, from the other Side.

Serv. Madam, a stranger, in a foreign habit, desires to see you. Char. In a foreign habit !—

'Tis strange, and unexpected. But admit him. [Erit SERVANT.

Who can this stranger be 2 I know no foreignerEnter 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.

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