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Declares his guilt. Most bloody embassy! Will never cease; for I was born to grieve.
Most unexampled deeds! Where, where, ye gods, Give present orders for the funeral pomp.
Is majesty secure, if in your temples

[To Phoeni.r. You give it no protection? See, the queen.

Let him be rob'd in all his regal state;
A Flourish of Trumpets. Enter ANDROMACHE Place round him every shining mark of honour;

and CEPHISA with Attendants. And let the pile that consecrates bis ashes, Andro. Yes, ye inhuman Greeks! the time Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds. will come

[Exit Phoenix. A Flourish of Trumpets. When

you shall dearly pay your bloody deeds! Ceph. The sound proclaims th' arrival of llow should theTrojans hope for mercy from you,

the prince, When thus you turn your impious rage on The guards conduct him from the citadel. Pyrrhus?

Andro. With open arms I'll meet him!Pyrrhus, the bravest man in all your league;

o Cepbisa ! The man, whose single valour made you triumph. A springing joy, inix'd with a soft concern,

[4 dead March behind. A pleasure, which no language can express,
Is
ту
child there?

An ecstasy that mothers only feel,
Ceph. It is the corpse of Pyrrhus; Plays round my heart, and brightens up my
The weeping soldiers hear him on their shields.

sorrow,
Andro. Il-fated prince! too negligent of life, Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring, sky.
And too unwary of the faithless Greeks! Though plung'd in ills, and exercis'din care,
Cut off in the fresh rip'ning prime of manhood, Yet never let the noble mind despair.
E'en in the prime of life! thy triumphs new, When press'd by dangers, and beset with foes,
And all thy glories in full blossom round thee! The gods their timely succour interpose;
The very Trojans would bewail thy fate. And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with
Ceph. Alas! ihen will your sorrows never end?

grief, Andro. Oh, never, 'never! - While I live, By unforeseen expedients bring relief. [Exeunt.

my tears

ROWE. Nicholas ROWE, son of John Rowe, Esq. sergeant at law, was born al Little Berkford, in Bedfordshire, anno 1675. His education was begun at a privalo seminary in Highgate, from whence he was removed to Westminster school, where he was perfected in classical literature under Doctor Bushy. His father, designing him for his own profession, entered him, al sixteen years of age, a student of the Middle Temple. He soon made considerable progress in the law, aud might have cat a figure in that profession, if the love of poetry and the belles lettros liad not io much attracted his attention. At the age of twenty-five he wrote his first tragedy, T'he Ambitious Step-mother, the great success of which made him entircly lay aside all thoughts of the law. Dr. Johnson demands : “Whence then has Rowe his reputation ? From the reasonablenca and propriety of some of his scenen, from the elegance of his diction, and the suavily of his verse. He seldom moves cither pily or terror, but he often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he always delights the car, and often improves the understanding." Being a great admirer of Shekspeare, he gave the public an edition of his plays, to which he prefixed an account of that greal man's life. But the most considerable of Mr. Rowe's performances, was a translation of Lucan's Pharsalia, which he just lived to finish, - but not to publish; for it did not appear in print till den years after his death, His attachment to the Muses, however, did not entirely unfit him for business; for when the Duke of Queensberry was secretary of state, he made Mr. Rowe his under-secretary for public affairs; but, after the Duke's death, the avenues to his preferment being stopped, he passed his time in retirement during the rest of Queen Anne's reign. On the accession of George I, he was made poet laureat, and one of the land-surveyors of the customs in the port of London. He was also Clerk of the council to the Prince of Wales, and the Lord Chancellor Parket made him his secretary for the presentations; but he did not long enjoy these promotions, for he died Dee. 6. 1718 in the 45th year of his age.

THE FAIR PENITENT: Acted at Lincoln's Inn Fields 1703. This, as Dr. Johnson observes, 'is one of the most pleasing tragedies on the stage, where it still keeps its turns of appearing, and probably will long keep thein; for there is scarcely any work of any poet at once so interesting by the fable, and so delightful hy the language. The story is domestic, and therefore easily received by the imagination, and assimilated to common life; the diction is exquisitely harmonious, and solut sprightly as occasion requires. The character of Lothario seems to have been expanded by Richardson into Lovelace but he has excelled his original in the moral ellect of the fiction. Lothario, with gaiety which can not be haled, and bravery which cannot be dess sed, retain too much of the spectators kindness. It was in the rower of Richardson alone to teach us at once esteem and detestation, to make virtuous resentment overpower all the benevolence which wit, and elegance, and courage, naturally excite ; and to loose at last the hero in the villain. In the year 1699 Mr. Powell played Lothario, and his dresser Warren performed the dead Lothario, unknown to Powell. About the middle of the distress ful scene, Powell called aloud for his man, who answered him as loudly from the bier on the stage, “ Here, Sir!" Poud! ignorant of the part his man was acting, repeated immediately, “Come here this moment, you rascal! or l'll break all the bones in your skin." Warren knew his hasty temper; therefore, without any reply, jumped off, with all his ssble about him, which unfortunately were lied fast to the handles of the bier, and dragged it after him. But this was no all; the laugh and roar began in the audience, till it frightened poor Warren so much, that, with the bier at lus tai! he 'drew down Calista, and overwhelmed her with the table, lamp, book, bones, together with all the lumber of the charnel-house. He lugged, till he broke off his trammels, and made his escape; and the play, at once, ended with in moderate fits of laughter

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SCIOLTO
LOTHARIO.

LAVINIA
ALTAMONT.
ROSSANO.

LUCILLA.
HORATIO.
CALISTA.

Servants to Sciolto etc.
Scene.-Sciolto's Palace and the Garden, with some Part of the Street near it, in Genoa

ACT I.

| That kindly grants what nature bad deny'd me, Scene l.A Garden belonging lo Sciolto's And makes me father of a son like thee. Palace.

Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast,

Pour out the fulness of my soul before you; Enter ALTAMONT and HORATIO.

Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful thought, All. Let this auspicious day be ever sacred, This wondrous goodness stirs. But'tis impossible, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it: And utterance all is vile; since I can only Let it be mark'd for triumpbs and rejoicings; Swear you reign here, but never tell how much. Let bappy lovers ever make it holy,

Sci. O, noble youth! I swear, since first I Choose it to bless their bopes, and crown their

knew thee, wishes.

Ev'n from that day of sorrow when I saw thee This bappy day, that gives me my Calista. Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial tears,

Hor. YesAltamont; to-day thy better stars The mourner and redeemer of thy father, Are joind to shed their kindest influence on thee; I set thee down and seal'd thee for my own: Scioto's noble hand, that rais'd thee first, Thou art my son, ev'n near me as Calista. Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, Horatio and Lavinia too are mine; Completes its bounty, and restores thy name

[Embraces Hor. To that high rank and lustre which it boasted, All are my children, and shall share

my

heart. Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot

But wherefore waste we thus this happy day? The merit of thy god-like father's arms; The laughing minules summon thee to joy, Before that country, which he long bad serv'd And with new pleasures court thee as they pass; In walchful councils and in winter camps, Thy waiting bride ev'n chides thee for delaying, llad cast off bis while age to want and wretch- And swears thou com'st not with a bridegroom's edness,

baste. And made their court to factions by his ruin. Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one thought All. Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than

of Altamont, father!

One kind remembrance in Calista's breast, Let me not live, but at thy very name The winds, with all their wings, would be too Mi eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy.

slow "benl forget the vast, vast debt I owe thee- To bear me to her feet. For, oh, my father! Forget! (but 'tis impossible) then let me Amidst the stream of joy that bears me on, For at the use and privilege of reason, Blest as I am, and honour'd in

your

friendship, Be driven from the commerce of mankind, There is one pain that hangs upon my heart. To wander in the desert among brutes,

Sci. What means my son?
To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heav'n! Alt. When, at your intercession,

Hor Soopen, so unbounded was his goodness, Last night, Calista yielded to my happiness,
It reach'd even me, because I was thy friend. Just ere we parted, as I seal'd my vows
When that great man I lov’d, thy noble father, With rapture on her lips, I found her cold,
Bequeath'd ihy gende sister to my arms,

As a dead lover's statue on bis tomb; is lust dear pledge and legacy of friendship, A rising storm of passion shook her breast, Stat happy tie made me Sciolto's son; Her eyes a piteous show'r of tears let fall, fle alid us his, and with a parent's fondness, And ihen she sigh'd as if her heart were fakula'd us in his wealth, bless'd us with plenty:

breaking lauld all our cares, and sweeten'd love itself. With all the tend'rest eloquence of love Ali. By heav'n, he found my fortunes so I begg'd to be a sharer in her grief: abandond,

But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze me, T? at nothing but a miracle could raise 'em: Sadly reply'd, her sorrows were her own, W father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude, Nor in a father's power to dispose of. Bastuipp'd him bare, nor left him e'en a grave. Sci. Away! it is the coz'nage of their sex; Indone myself, and sinking with his ruin,

One of the common arts they practise on us: usd no wealth to bring, nothing to succour bim, To sigh and weep then when their hearts beat high

With expectation of the coming joy. Hor. Yet what thou couldst thou didst, Thou hasi in camps and fighting fields been bred, Aud didst it like a son; when his hard creditors, Unknowing in the subtleties of women; Lig'd and assisted by Lothario's father The virgin bride, who swoons with deadly fear,

je to thy house, and rival of their greatness), To see the end of all her wishes near, Be sentence of the crucl law forbade When blushing from the light and public eyes, is renerable corpse to rest in earth,

To the kind covert of the night she flies, o gar'st thyself a ransom for his bones; With equal fires to meet the bridegroom moves, on who beheld the pious act, approv'd it, Melts in his arms, and with a loose she loves. bad bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy,

[Ereunt. Ti bless thy filial virtue with abundance.

Enter LOTHARIO and RossANO. 4. But see, he comes, the author of my happiness,

Loth. The father, and the husband! Ton who sar'd my life from deadly sorrow,

Ros. Let them pass. to bids my days be blest with peace and plenty, They saw us not. bu satisfies my soul with love and beauty. Lot. I care not if they did;

Ere long I mean to meet 'em face to face, uter SCIOLTO; he runs to Altamont, and And gall 'em with my triumph o'er Calista. embraces him.

Ros. You lov'd her once. Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont ! Joy to myself! Loth. I lik'd her, would have marry'd her, key to this happy morn, that makes thee mine; But that it pleas'd her father to refuse me,

Bet fruitless tears.

person whom

To make this honourable fool her husband; Never to load it with the marriage chain:
For which, if I forget him, may the shame That I would still retain her in my heart,
I mean to brand his name with, stick on mine. My ever gentle mistress and my friend;
Ros. She, gentle soul, was kinder than her But for those other names of wife and husband,
father.

They only meant ill nature, cares, and quarrels. Loth. She was, and oft in private gave me Ros. How bore she this reply ? hearing;

Loth. At first her rage was dumb, and Till , by long list’ning to the soothing tale,

wanted words; At length her easy heart was wholly mine. But when the storm found way, 'twas wild and Ros. I've heard you oft describe her haughty,

loud: insolent,

Mad as the priestess of the Delphic god, And fierce with high disdain: it moves my Enthusiastic passion swelld her breast

, wonder,

Enlarg'd her voice, and ruffled all her form. That virtue thus defended, should be yielded Proud, and disdainful of the love I proffer'd, A prey to loose desires.

She call'd me villain! monster! base betrayer! Loth. Hear then I'll tell thee:

At last, in very bitterness of soul, Once in a lone and secret hour of night, With deadly imprecations on herself, When ev'ry eye was clos'd, and the pale moon She vow'd severely ne'er to see me more; And stars alone shone conscious of the theft, Then bid me fly that minute: I obey'd, Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood, And, bowing, left her to grow cool at leisure. Hap'ly I stole unheeded to her chamber. Ros. She has relented since, else why this Ros. That minule sure was lucky.

message, Loth. Oh, 'twas great!

To meet the keeper of her secrets here
I found the fond, believing, love-sick maid, This morning?
Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of wishes; Loth. See the

you

nam'd. Fierceness and pride, the guardians of her honour,

Enter LUCILLA. Were charm'd to rest, and love alone was waking. Well, my ambassadress, what must we treat of? Within her rising bosom all was calm, Come you to menace war and proud defiance, As peaceful seas that know no storms, and only Or does the peaceful olive grace your message Are gently lifted

up

and down by tides. Is your fair mistress calmer? Does she soften? I snatch'd the glorious, golden opportunity, And must we love again? Perhaps she means And with prevailing, youthful ardour press’d her; To treat in juncture with her new ally, Till, with short sighs, and murmuring reluctance, And make her husband party to th' agreement

. The yielding fair one gave me perfect happiness. Luc. Is this well done, my lord? Have you Ev'n all the live-long night we pass'd in bliss, In ecstasies too fierce to last for ever; All sense of human nature? Keep a little, At length the morn and cold indiff'rence came; A little pity, to distinguish manhood. When, fully sated with the luscious banquet, Lest other men,though cruel,should disclaim you, I hastily took leave, and left the nymph And judge you to be number'd with the brutes. To think on what was past, and sigh alone, Loth. I see thou'st learn'd to rail. Ros. You saw her soon again?

Luc. I've learn'd to weep: Loth. Too soon I saw her:

That lesson my sad mistress often gives me: For, oh! that meeting was not like the former: By day she seeks some melancholy shade, I found my heart no more beat high with trans- To hide her sorrows from the prying world; port,

At night she watches all the long, long hours, No more I sigh'd and languish'd for enjoyment; And listens to the winds and beating rain, 'Twas past, and reason took her turn to reign, With sighs as loud, and tears that fall as fast While ev'ry weakness fell before ber throne. Then ever and anon she wrings her hands, Ros. What of the lady?

And cries, false, false Lothario ! Loth. With uneasy fondness

Loth. Ob, no more! She hung upon me, wept, and, sigh'd and swore I swear thou'lt spoil thy pretty face with crying She was undone; talk'd of a priest and marriage; And thou hast beauty that may make thy fortune Of flying with me from her father's pow'r; Some keeping cardinal shall dote upon thee, Call'd ev'ry saint and blessed angel down, And barter bis church treasure for thy freshoess To witness for her that she was my wise. Luc. What! shall I sell my innocence a I started at that name.

youth, Ros. What answer made you? For wealth or titles, to perfidious man? Loth. None; but pretending sudden pain To man, who makes his mirth of our undoing and illness,

The base, profess'd betrayer of our sex! Escap'd the persecution. Two nights since, Let me grow old in all misfortunes else, By message urg'd and frequent importunity, Rather than know the sorrows of Calista! Again I saw her. Straight with tears and sighs, Loth. Does she send thee to chide in her bebalf With swelling breasts, with swooning and I swear thou dost it with so good a grace, distraction,

That I could almost love thee for thy frowning With all the subtleties and pow'rful arts Luc. Read there, my lord, there, in her owns Of wilful woman lab'ring for her purpose,

lines, (Giving a Letter Again she told the same dull, nauseous tale. Which best can tell the story of her woes, Unmor'd, I begg'd her spare th' ungrateful That grief of heart which your unkiodnes

subject, Since I resolv'd, that love and peace of mind Loth. [Reads] Your cruelty Obedienc Might flourish long inviolate betwixt us, to my father-give my hand to Altamoni

put off

gives her.

another.

Br hear'n, ris well! such ever be the gifts And never grace the public with his virtues.With which I greet the man whom my soul What if I give this paper to her father? hates.

[Aside. It follows that his justice dooms her dead, But to go on

And breaks his heart with sorrow; hard return -wish-heart- honour - too faithless - For all the good his hand has heap'd on us! weakness -- to-morrow - last trouble -- lost Hold, let me take a moment's thoughtCalista. Women, I see, can change as well as men.

Enter LAVINIA. She writes me here, forsaken as I am, Lao. My lord! That I should bind my brows with mournful Trust me il joys my heart that I have found you. willow,

Inquiring wherefore you had left the company, For she has giv'n her hand to Altamont:

Before my brother's nuptial rites were ended, Yet tell the fair inconstant

They told me you had felt some sudden illness. Luc. How, my lord!

Hor. It were unjust-No, let me spare my Loth. Nay, no more angry words: say to

friend, Calista,

Lock up the fatal secret in my breast, The humblestof ber slaves shall wait her pleasure; Nor tell him that which will undo his quiet. If she can leave her happy husband's arms,

Lav. What means my lord ? To think upon so lost a thing as I am.

Hor. Ha! said'st thou, my Lavinia ? Luc . Alas! for pity, come with gentler looks :

Lav. Alas! you know not what you make Woand not her heart with this unmanly triumph;

me suffer. And though you love her not, yet swear you do; Whence is that sigh? And wherefore are your So stall dissembling once be virtuous in you.

eyes Loth. Ha! who comes here?

Severely rais'd to heav'n? The sick man thus, Luc. The bridegroom's friend, Horatio. Acknowledging the summons of his fato, He must not see us here. To morrow early Lifts up his feeble hands and eyes

for mercy, Be at the garden gate.

And with confusion thinks upon his exit. Loth. Bear to my love

Hor. Oh, no! thou hast mistook my sickMy kindest tboughts, and swear I will not fail her.

ness quite; (Lothario putting up the Letter hastily, These pangs are of the soul. Would I had met drops it as he goes out. Exeunt Lo- Sharpest convulsions, spotted pestilence, thario and Rossano one Way, Lucilla or any other, deadly foe to life,

Rather than heave beneath this load of thought!

Lav. Alas! what is it? Wherefore turn you Enter HORATIO.

from me? Her. Sare 'tis the very error of my eyes; Why did you falsely call me your Lavinia, Waking I dream, or I beheld Lothario; And swear I was floratio's better half, He seem'd conferring with Calista's woman: Since now you mourn unkindly by yourself

, At my approach they started and retir’d. And rob me of my partnership of sadness? What business could he have here, and with her? Hor. Seek not to know what I would hide I know be bears the noble Altamort

from all, Profess'd and deadly hate-What paper's this? But most from thee. I never knew a pleasure,

[Taking up the Letter. Aught that was joyful, fortunate, or good, Ha! To Lothario!-'Sdeath! Calista's name! But straight I ran to bless thee with the tidings,

[Opens it and reads. And laid up all my happiness with thee: Four cruelty has at length determined me; But wherefore, wherefore should I give thee and I have resolu'd this morning to yield

pain? o perfect obedience to my father, and to Then spare me, I conjure thee; ask no further; give my hand to Altamont, in spite of my

Allow

my melancholy thoughts this privilege, weakness for the false Lothario. I could And let 'em brood in secret o'er their sorrows. almost wish I had that heart and that honour Lav. It is enough; chide not, and all is well! 5 bestow with it, which you have robbed Forgive me if I saw you sad, Horatio,

And ask'd to weep out part of your misfortunes: Damnation! to the rest

I wo'not press to know what you

forbid me. But

, oh! I fear, could I retrieve 'em, 1 Yet, my lov'd lord, yet you must grant me this, should again be undone by the too faithless, Forget your cares for this one happy day, jet the lovely Lothario. This is the last Devote this day to mirth, and to your Altamont; weakness of my pen, and to-morrow shall For his dear sake, let peace be in your looks. on the last in which 'I will indulge my eyes

. Ev'n now the jocund bridegroom waits your Lucila shall conduct you, if you are kind

wishes. much to let me see you; it shall be the He thinks the priest has but half bless'd 'his bait trouble you shall meet with from the

marriage,

Calista. Till his friend hails him with the sound of joy. The lost, indeed! for thou art gone as far Hor. Oh, never, never, never! Thou art As there can be perdition. Fire and sulphur!

innocent: Hell is the sole avenger of such crimes. Simplicity from ill, pure native truth, Ot

, that the ruin were but all thy own! And candour of the mind, adorn thee ever; Thou wilt es'a make thy

father curse his age : But there are such, such false ones, in the world, Ai sight of this black scroll

, the gentle Altamont "Twould fill thy gentle soul with wild amazemeni for, oh! I know his heart is set upon thee) To hear their story told. Shall droop and hang his discontented head, Like merit scorn'd by insolent authority,

Lav. False ones, my lord!
Hor. Fatally fair they are, and in their smiles

me of:

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The graces, little loves, and young desires inhabit;/ Luc. Ob, hear me, hear your ever faithful
But all that gaze upon 'em are undone;

creature!
For they are false, luxurious in their appetites, By all the good I wish, by all the ill
And all the heav'n they hope for is variety: My trembling beart forebodes, let me entreat you
One lover to another still succeeds,

Never to see this faithless man again;
Another, and another after that,

Let me forbid his coming.
And the last fool is welcome as the former; Cal. On thy life
Till having lov'd his hour out, he gives place, ! charge thee no: my genius drives me on;
And mingles with the herd that went before him. I musi, I will behold him once again:
Lav. Can there be such, and have they peace Perhaps it is the crisis of my fate,
of mind?

And this one interview shall end my cares.
Have they, in all the series of their changing, My lab’ring heart, that swells with indignation,
One happy hour? If women are such things, Heaves to discharge the burden; that once done,
How. was T form'd so diff'rent from my sex? The busy thing shall rest within its cell,
My little heart is satisfy'd with you ; And never beat again.
You take up all her room as in a cottage

Luc. Trust not to that:
Which barbours some benighted princely Rage is the shortest passion of our souls:
stranger,

Like narrow brooks that rise with sudden show'rs. Where the good man, proud of his hospitality, I swells in haste, and falls again as soon;

it , And hardly keeps a corner for himself. And the deceiver, love, supplies its place. Hor. Oh, were they all like thee, men would Cal. I have been wrongd enough to arm adore 'em,

my temper
And all the business of their lives be loving; Against the smooth delusion; but, alas!
The nuptial band should be the pledge of peace, (Chide not my weakness, gentle maid, but
And all doinestic cares and quarrels.cease!

pity me) The world should learn to love by virtuous rules, A woman's softness hangs about me still; And marriage be no more the jest of fools. Then let me blush, and tell thee all my folly.

[Exeunt. I swear I could not see the dear betrayer АСТ II.

Kneel at my feet and sigh to be forgiv'n,

But my relenting, heart would pardon all,
SCENE I.--A Hall.

And quite forget 'twas he that had undone me.
Enter Calista and LUCILLA.

[Exit Lucilla. Cal. Be dumb for ever, silent as the grave, Ha! Altamont! Calista, now be wary, Nor let thy fond, officious love disturb And guard thy soul's excesses with dissembling: My solemn sadness with the sound of joy. Nor let this hostile busband's eyes explore If 'thou wilt sooth me, tell some dismal tale The warring, passions and tumultuous thoughts Of pining discontent, and black despair; That rage within thee, and deform thy reason. For, oh! I've gone around through all my thoughts,

Enter ALTAMONT. But all are indignation, love, or shame, All. Be gone, my cares, I give you to the winds, And my dear peace of mind is lost for ever. Far to be borne, far from the happy Altamont; Luc. Why do you follow still that wand- Calista is the mistress of the year;

She crowns the seasons with suspicious beauty, That has misled your weary steps, and leaves you And bids ev'n all my hours be good and joyful. Benighted in a wilderness of woe,

Cal. If I were ever mistress of such happiness, That'false Lothario ? Turn from the deceiver; Oh! wherefore did I play th’unthrifty fool, Turn, and behold where gentle Altamont, And, wasting all on others, leave myself Sighs at your feet, and woos you to be happy: Without one thought of joy to give me comfort?

Cal. Away! I think not of him. My sad soul Alt. Oh, mighty love! Shall that fair face Has form'd a dismal, melancholy scene,

profane Such a retreat as I would wish to find; This thy great festival with frowns and sadness? An unfrequented vale, o'ergrown with trees I swear it sba'not be, for I will woo thee Mossy and old, within whose lonesome shade With sighs so moving, with so warm a transport, Ravens and birds ill-omen'd only dwell: That thou shalt catch the gentle flame from me, No sound to break the silence, but a brook And kindle into joy. That bubbling winds among the weeds: no mark Cal. I tell thee, Altamont, Of any human shape that had been there, Such hearts as ours were never pair'd above: Unless a skeleton of some poor wretch, Ill suited to each other: join'd, not match'd; Who had long since, like me, by love undone, Some sullen influence, a foe to both, Sought that sad place out to despair and die in. Has wrought this fatal marriage to undo us. Luc. Alas, for pity!

Mark but the frame and temper of our minds, Cal. There I fain would hide me

How very much we differ. Er'n this day, From the base world, from malice, and from That fills thee with such ecstacy and transperk shame;

To me brings nothing that should make me For 'tis the solemn counsel of my soul

bless it, Never to live with public loss of honour: Or think it better than the day before, 'Tis fix'd to die, rather than bear the insolence Or any other in the course of time, Of each affected she that tells my story,

That duly took its turn, and was forgotten. And blesses her good stars that she is virtuous. Alt. If to behold thee as my pledge To be a tale for fools! Scorn'd by the women,

happiness, And pity'd by the men! Oh, insupportable! To know none fair, none excellent, but thee

ring fire,

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