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You were his fate. The cruel winds and waves,
Preserve my reason, memory, and sense! O moderate my fierce tumultuous joys, Or their excess will drive me to distraction. 0, 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 thougaze so wildly : Look on me; Turn thy dear eyes this way; observe me well. Have scorching climates, time, and this strange habit, So chang'd and so disguis’d thy faithful Wilmot, That nothing in my voice, my face, or mien, 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 convinc'd? Whence are thy fears? Why art thou silent? Canst thou doubt me still? Char. No, Wilmot no ; I'm blind with too much ... light : occo; with wonder, and oppress'd 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 pierc'd With all the agonies of strong compassion, With all the bitter anguish you must feel, When you shall hear your parent
Y. Wilm. Are no more. Char. You apprehend me wrong. Y. Wilm. Perhaps I do, Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave Was satisfy'd with one, and one is left To bless my longing eyes. But which, my Charlotte? Char. Afflict yourself no more with groundless fears: Your parents both are living. Their distress— The poverty to which they are reduc'd, In spite of my weak aid, was what I mourn'd: That poverty, in age, to them whose youth Was crown'd with full prosperity, I fear, Is worse, much worse, than death. Y. Wilm. My joy's complete! My parents living, and possess'd 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 glute'en 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 misplac'd 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 shipwreck'd with Ille. Char. Shipwreck'd last night!—O, you immortal powers; What have you suffered! How were you preserv'd?
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 tintreat 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, yours, my friends, all will be mine. If such the early hopes, the vernal bloom, The distant prospect of my future bliss, Then what the ruddy autumn f What the fruit, The full possession of thy heavenly charms : [Exeunt severally.
A Street in Penryn.
Rand. Poor' poor! and friendless! whither shall
And to what point direct my views and hopes 2
Turn thy eyes then to the prolific ocean,
Enter YouNG WILMoT.
Y. Wilm. Randal! the dear companion of my youth !— Sure, lavish fortune means to give me all I could desire, or ask, for this blest day, And leave me nothing to expect hereafter 1 Rand. Your pardon, sir! I know but one on earth Could properly salute me by the title You're pleas'd to give me; and I would not think That you are he—that you are Wilmot' Y. Wilm. Why? Rand. Because I could not bear the disappointment, If I should be deceiv'd. Y. Wilm. I am pleas'd to hear it: Thy friendly fears better express thy thoughts Than words could do. Rand. O, Wilmot'—O, my master! Are you return'd? Y. Wilm. I have not yet embrac'd My parents—I shall see you at my father's. Rand. No, I am discharg'd from thence—O, sir, such ruin Y. Wilm. I've heard it all, and hasten to relieve them : Sure, Heaven hath bless'd me to that very end: I've wealth enough—nor shalt thou want a part.