'Cause done for me, and with a good intent, Deserves the name, I'll answer it myself. If this succeeds, I purpose to defer Discov'ring who I am till Charlotte comes, And thou, and all who love me. Ev'ry friend Who witnesses my happiness to night, Will, by partaking, multiply my joys.
Rand. You grow luxurious in imagination. Could I deny you aught, I would not write This letter. To say true, I ever thought Your boundless curiosity a weakness.
Y. Wilm. What canst thou blame in this? Rand. Your pardon, sir!
Perhaps I spoke too freely;
I'm ready t' obey your orders.
Y. Wilm. I am much thy debtor,
But I shall find a time to quit thy kindness. O, Randal! but imagine to thyself
The floods of transport, the sincere delight, That all my friends will feel, when I disclose To my astonish'd parents my return, And then confess, that I have well contriv'd, By giving others joy t'exalt my own.
OLD WILMOT and AGNES discovered.
O. Wilm. Here, take this Seneca; this haughty
Who, governing the master of mankind,
And awing power imperial, prates of patience; And praises poverty-possess'd of millions : Sell him, and buy us bread. The scantiest meal The vilest copy of his book e'er purchas'd, Will give us more relief in this distress,
Than all his boasted precepts.-Nay, no tears; Keep them to move compassion when you beg. Agnes. My heart may break, but never stoop to
0. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it.-But des
Where must I charge this length of misery, That gathers force each moment as it rolls, And must at last o'erwhelm me, but on hope: Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope, That has for years deceiv'd me?-Had I thought As I do now,-as wise men ever think, When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me, That power to die implies a right to do it, And should be us'd when life becornes a pain, What plagues had I prevented!-True, my wife Is still a slave to prejudice and fear-
I would not leave my better part, the dear [Weeps. Faithful companion of my happier days,
To bear the weight of age and want alone.- I'll try once more.―
Enter AGNES, and after her YOUNG WILMOT. Return'd, my life, so soon-
Agnes. The unexpected coming of this stranger, Prevents my going yet.
Y. Wilm. You're, I presume,
The gentleman to whom this is directed.
What wild neglect, the token of despair, What indigence, what misery appears In this once happy house! What discontent,
What anguish and confusion, fill the faces
Of its dejected owners!
., O. Wilmot. [Having read the Letter.] Sir, such welcome
As this poor house affords, you may command.. Our ever friendly neighbour-once we hop'd T' have call'd fair Charlotte by a dearer name- But we have done with hope-I pray excuse This incoherence.-We had once a son.
[Weeps. Agnes. That you are come from that dear virtuous
Revives in us the mem'ry of a loss,
Which, though long since, we have not learn'd to bear..
Y. Wilm. The joy to see them, and the bitter pain It is to see them thus, touches my soul
With tenderness and grief, that will o'erflow.- They know me not—and yet I shall, I fear, Defeat my purpose, and betray myself.
O. Wilm. The lady calls you, here, her valu'd friend;
Enough, though nothing more should be imply'd, To recommend you to our best esteem,
A worthless acquisition! May she find
Some means that better may express her kindness! But she, perhaps, has purpos'd to enrich You with herself, and end her fruitless sorrow For one, whom death alone can justify For leaving her so long. If it be so, May you repair his loss, and be to Charlotte A second, happier Wilmot! Partial nature, Who only favours youth; as feeble age Were not her offspring, or below her care, Has seal'd our doom: No second hope shall spring To dry our tears, and dissipate despair.
Agnes. The last, and most abandon'd of our kind! 'By Heaven and earth neglected or despis'd!
The loathsome grave, that robb'd us of our son, And all our joys in him must be our refuge.
Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardon'd, or devoted fiends, Fear without hope, and wail in such sad strains; But grace defend the living from despair! The darkest hours precede the rising sun, And mercy may appear when least expected.
O. Wilm. This I have heard a thousand times repeated,
And have, believing, been as oft deceiv'd.
Y. Wilm. Behold in me an instance of its truth. At sea twice shipwreck'd, and as oft the prey Of lawless pirates; by the Arabs thrice
Surpris'd, and robb'd on shore; and once reduc'd To worse than these, the sum of all distress That the most wretched feel on this side hell; Even slavery itself: Yet here I stand, Except one trouble that will quickly end, The happiest of mankind.
O. Wilm. A rare example
Of fortune's changes; apter to surprise Or entertain, than comfort or instruct.
If you would reason from events, be just, And count, when you escap'd, how many perish'd, And draw your inference thence.
Agnes. Alas! who knows,
But we were render'd childless by some storm, In which you, though preserv'd, might bear a part? Y. Wilm. How has my curiosity betray'd me Into superfluous pain! I faint with fondness And shall, if I stay longer, rush upon them; Proclaim myself their son; kiss, and embrace them"; Till, with the excess of pleasure and surprise, Their souls transported, their frail mansions quit, And leave them breathless in my longing arms. By circumstances then, and slow degrees, They must be let into a happiness
Too great for them to bear at once, and live: That Charlotte will perform. I need not feign To ask an hour for rest. [Aside.] Sir, I entreat The favour to retire; where, for a while, I may repose myself. You will excuse
This freedom, and the trouble that I give you : 'Tis long since I have slept, and nature calls.
O. Wilm. I pray, no more: Believe we're only troubled,
you should think any excuse were needful. Y. Wilm. The weight of this, to me is some incumbrance.
[Takes a Casket out of his Bosom, and gives it to his Mother.
And its contents of value: If you please To take the charge of it till I awake, I shall not rest the worse. If I should sleep Till I am ask'd for, as perhaps I may, I beg that you would wake me. Agnes. Doubt it not!
Distracted as I am with various woes, I shall remember that.
Y. Wilm. Merciless grief!
What ravage has it made! how has it chang'd Her lovely form and mind! I feel her anguish, And dread, I know not what, from her despair. My father too-O, grant them patience, Heaven! A little longer, a few short hours more,
And all their cares, and mine, shall end for ever. [Exit.
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