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In the grim court of death, whose senses taste And after breath'd a jealousy upon thee,
I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon, The duke shali fis his lips upon thy hand, Which was— to kill an innocent. Hold fast the poison'd herb, till the fond fool Sfor. Call forth the tortures llas drunk his death-draught from thy hand For all that flesh can feel. be spurn'd.
Fran. I dare the worst. Eug. I yield myself and cause up, to be Only, to yield some reason to the world dispos'd
Why I pursu'd this course-look on this face, As thou think'st fit. [Sits down veiled. Made old by thy base falsehood! 'tis Eugenia. Fran. low to the upshot;
Sfor. Eugenia! And, as it proves, applaud it.-My lord the Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister, duke!
Seduc'd and fool'd by thee; but thou must Enter with joy, and see the sudden change,
pay Yoar servant's band hath wrought.
The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not
work yet? Re-enter Ludovico SFORZA and the Rest. Whale'er becomes of me, which I esteem not, Sfor. I live again
Thou art mark'd for the grave: I've given thee In my ful confidence that Marcelia may
poison Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet? In this cup; now observe me: which, thy lust Fran No:
Carousing deeply of, made thee forget
Pes. O damn'd villain! Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had How do you, sir? [To Ludovico Sforza. from ber,
Sfor. Like one This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it. That learns to know in death what punish[Kisses her Hand.
ment Pes. Tis wondrous strange!
Waits on the breach of faith! Oh! now I feel Sfor. This act will bind e'en heaven your An Aetna in my entrails. I have liv’d debtor:
A prince, and my last breath shall be command. The saints will smile and look on't.
I burn! í burn!' yet, ere life be consum'd, Oh, I cald ever feed upon this native Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture Sweeters
That witty cruelty can invent.
throws away the Flower, and Tib. In all things we will serve you.
Fran. Farewell, sister!
[She lifts up her l'eil. I leave the world with glory. They are men, Od! borror! shield me from that face. And leave behind them name and memory,
Eug. I can no more-thou'rt mark'd for death. That, wrong'd, do right themselves before they Pes. Treason, treason!
die. Ti). Call up the guard.
[Exeunt Guard, with Francisco. Fran. Then we are lost.
Steph. A desperale wretch! Sfor. Speak.
Sfor. I come: death! I obey thee. Eug. This is
Yet I will not die raging; for, alas!
My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia,
love Fran. Francisco.
her Pes Monster of men!
To some religious house, there let her spend Frun. Give me all attributes
The remnant of her life: when I am ashes, Of au you can imagine, yet I glory Perhaps she'll be appeas'd, and spare a prayer is be ibe thing I was born. I am Francisco; For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia, I zacisco, that was rais'd by you, and made And let our epitaph bedve minion of the time; the same Francisco,
[Dies. Curtain falls. 1-at would have us'd thy wife wbile she bad life,
MO O R E. LD MOORE a bred a linen.draper; but having a stronger attachment to Pegasus than the yard, and, * * * bal in the pursuit of fame than in the hunt after fortune, he quilted business and applied to the Muscs
la verse he had certainly a very happy and pleasing manner; in his Trial of Selim the Persian, which *ent to the ingenious Lord Lyttelton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of hty vz. ta which is couched under the appearance of accusation ; and his Fables for the female Sex seem,
the freedom and case of the versification, but also in the forcibleness of the moral and poignancy of the
sach newer to the manner of Mr. Gay, than any of the numerous imitations of that author which have sted since the publication of his Fables. As a dramatic writer, Mr. Moorc has, by no means, met will the
success his works had meriled: since, out of three plays that he wrote, one of them, The Foundling, has been con-
Would you think it, my Duck, for the fault I must own
Though millions if fortune should lavishly pour,
I still should be wretched if I had not More.
You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, But you shan't know his name; though I told you before,
It begins with an M.; but I dare not say MORE. Mr. Moore died the 28. of Febr. 1757, soon after his celebrated papers, entitled The World, were collected into volames.
THE GAMESTER. ACTED at Drury Lane 1753. This tragedy is written in prose, and is the best drama that Mr. Moore produced, The language is nervous, and yet pathetic ; the plot is artful, yet clearly conducted; the characters are highly marked, yet not annatural ; and the catastrophe is truly tragic, yet not unjust. still with all these merits it met with but middling, success, the general cry against it being, that the distress was too deep to be borne ; yet we are rather apt to imagine its want of perfect approbation arose in one part, and that no inconsiderable one, of the audience, from a tenderness of another kind than that of compassion ; and that they were less hurt by the distress of Beverley, than by finding their darling vice, their favourite folly, thus vehemently allacked hy the strong lance of reason and dramatic execution. It has often been dispuled, whether plays, in which the plots are taken from domestic life, should be written in prose or metre; and the success of the present performance and George Barnwell must incline'one very strongly in favour of the former. A great author, however, appears to be of a different opinion. Mr. Howard says, that having communicated his play of The Female Gamester to Dr. Samuel Johnson, that gentleman observed that he could hardly consider a prose tragedy as dramatic ; that it was difficult to performers to speak it; that, lot it be either in the middling or in low life, it may, though in 'metre and spirited, be properly familiar and colloquial; that many in the middling rank are not without erudition; that they have the feelings and sensations of nature, and every emotion in consequence thereof
, as well as the great; that even the lowest, when impassioned, raise their language ; and that the writing of prose is nerally the plea and excuse of poverty of genius.” We have heard that the interview between Lewson and Stakels, in the fourth act, was the production of Mr. Garrick's pen. When the play was shown in manuscript to Dr. You he remarked, that “Gaming wanted such a caustic as the concluding scene of the play presented."
one vice driven him from every virtue!-Nay, Scene I.-BEVERLEY's Lodgings.
from his affections too!—The time was, sister
Mrs. B. And is. I have no fear of his af Mrs. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered. fections. Would I knew that he were safe!
Mrs. B. Be comforted, my dear, all may be Char. From ruin and bis companions. Bu well yet. And now, methinks, the lodging that's impossible. — His poor little boy too begins to look with another face. Oh, sister! What must become of him? sister! if these were all my hardships; if all I Mrs. B. Why, want shall teach him indus had to complain of were no more than quit- try. From his father's mistakes he shall leari ting my house, servants, equipage, and show, prudence, and from his mother's resignation your pity would be weakness.
patience. Poverty has no such terrors in Char. Is poverty nothing, then?
as you imagine. There's no condition of lifi Mrs. B. Nothing in the world, if it affected sickness and pain excepted, where happines only me. While we had a fortune, I was is excluded. The husbandman, who rises earl the happiest of the rich; and now 'lis gone, to his labour, enjoys more welcome rest give me but a bare subsistence and my hus- night for't
. His bread is sweeter to him; h band's smiles, and I shall be the happiest of home happier; his family dearer; his enjoy the poor. VVky do you look at me? ments surer. The sun that rouses him in tl Char, That I
brother. morning, sets in the evening to release bir Mrs. B. Don't talk so, Charlotte.
All situations have their comforts if swe Char. Ilas 'he not undone you?-Oh, this contentment dwell in the heart. But my por pernicious vice of gaming! But methinks his Beverley has none. The thought of havir usual hours of four or five in the morning ruined those he loves is misery for ever might have contented him. Need he have him. Would I could ease his mind of tha staid out all night?-I shall learn to detest him. Char. If he alone were ruined 'twere ju
Mrs. B. Not for the first fault. He never he should be punished. He is my broth slept from me before.
'tis true; but when I think of what he h Char. Slept from you! No, no, his nights done-of the fortune you brought him-of] have nothing to do with sleep. Now has this own large estate too, squandered away up
I bave my
this vilest of passions, and among the vilest of Jar. Is he indeed so poor, then?-Oh! he wreicbes! Oh, I have no patience !--My own was the joy of my old beart-But must his httle fortune is untouched, he says. Would creditors have all?-And have they sold bis I were sure on't.
house too? His father built it when he was Mrs. B. And so you may—'Iwould be a but a prating boy. The times that I have sin to doubt it.
carried' him in these arms! And, Jarvis, says Char. I will be sure on't—'twas madness he, when a beggar has asked charity of me, in me to give it to his management. But I'll why should people be poor? You shan't be demand it from him this morning. I bave a poor, Jarvis; if I were a king nobody should melancholy occasion for it.
be poor. Yet he is poor. And then he was Mrs. B. What occasion?
so brave!-Oh, he was a brave little boy! And Char. To support a sister.
yet so merciful, he'd not have killed the goat Mrs. B. No; I have no need on't. Take ibat slung him. it, and reward a lover with it. The generous Mrs. B. Speak to bim, Charlotte, for I cannot. Leon deserves much more – Why won't Jar. I have a little money, madam; it might you make him happy? have been more, but I have loved the
poor. Char. Because my sister's miserable. All that I have is yours. Mrs. B. You must not think so.
Mrs. B. No, Jarvis; we have enough yet. jewels left yet. And when all's gone, these I thank you though, and I will deserve your : bands shall
' toil for our support. The poor goodness. sbould be industrious – Why those tears, Jar. But shall I see my master? And will Charlotte?
he let me attend him in his distresses; I'll be Char. They flow in pity for you. no expense to bim; and, 'twill kill me to be
Mrs. B. All may be well yet. When he refused. Where is he, madam ? kus nothing to lose, I shall fetter bim in these Mrs. B. Not at home, Jarvis. You shall arms again; and then what is it to be poor? see him another time.
Char Cure him but of this destructive pas- Char. To-morrow, or the next day – Oh, sion, and my uncle's death may retrieve all yet. Jarvis! what a change is here!
Mrs. B. Ar, Charlotte, could we cure him! Jar. A change indeed, madam! my old heart – But the disease of play admits no cure but aches at it. And yet, methinks—But here's poverty; and the loss of another fortune would somebody coming. but increase bis shame and his affliction.WI Mr. Lewson call this morning?
Re-enter Lucy, with StukeLY. Char. He said so last night. He gave me Lucy. Mr. Stukely, madam. [Exit. hints too, that he had suspicions of our friend Stuke. Good morning to you, ladies. Mr. Stukely.
Jarvis, your servant. Where's my friend, Mrs. B. Not of treachery to my husband ? madam?
[To Mrs. Beverley That be loves play I know, but surely he's Mrs. B. I should have asked that question
you seen him to-day ?
Char. Nor last night? to set itself off.
Stuke. Last night! Did he not come home then?
Mrs. B. No.-Were you not together? Enter Lucy.
Stuke. At the beginning of the evening, but Lucy. Your old steward, madam. I had not since.—Where can he have staid ? 20 the beart to deny him admittance, the Char. You call yourself his friend, sir--why and old man begged so hard for't. [Exit
. do you encourage him in this madness of
gaming ? Enter JARVIS.
Stuke. You have asked me that question Urs. B. Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you before, madam; and I told you my concern 1Itoid me.
was that I could not save him; Mr. Beverley Jar. Did you, madam? I am an old man, is a man, madam; and if the most friendly 4 bad forgot Perbaps, too, you forbade entreaties have no effect upon him, I have no
tears; but I am old, madam, and age will other means. My purse has been his, even forgetful.
to the injury of my fortune. If that has been Mrs. B. The faithful creature! how he moves encouragement I deserve censure; but I meant
[To Charlotte, it to retrieve him. Jar. I have forgot these apartments too. I Mrs. B. I don't doubt it, sir, and I thank ** ember pone such in my young, master's ycu-But where did you leave him last night?
se; and yet I have lived in't ihese five- Stuke. At Wilson's, madam, if I ought to mgtwenty years. His good father would not tell, in company I did not like. Possibly he wie dismissed ine.
may be there still.
Mr. Jarvis knows the Mrs. B. He had no reason, Jarvis. house, I believe. Jar. I was faithful to him while he lived, Jar. Shall I
madam? sd when he died he bequeathed me to his Mrs. B. No; be may take it ill. *I have been faitbful to him too.
Char. He may go as from himself. Mrs. B. I know it, I know it, Jarvis. Stuke. And if he pleases, madam, without Jar. I bave pot a long time to live. I ask- naming me. I am faulty myself, and should but to have died with him, and be dis- conceal the errors of a friend. But I can re
fuse nothing here. [Bowing to the Ladies. Ins. B. Pr'ythee no more of this! 'Twas Jar. I would fain see him, methinks. porerty that dismissed you.
Mrs. B. Do so ther, but take care how you
upbraid him I have never upbraided him. Mrs. B. Nor have you, sir. Who told
you Jar. Would I could bring him comfort! of suspicion? I have a heart it cannot reach.
[Erit. Stuke. Then I am happy-I would say more Stuke. Don't be too much alarmed, madam. --but am prevented. All men have their errors, and their times of seeing them. Perhaps my friend's time is not
Enter CHARLOTTE. come yet. But he has an uncle ; and old men Char. What a heart has that Jarvis!don't live for ever. You should look forward, creditor, sister. But the good old man has madam; we are taught how to value a second taken him away—“Don't distress his wifefortune by the loss of a first.
Don't distress his sister." I could hear him [Knocking at the Door. say. “'Tis cruel to distress the afflicted"Mrs. B. Hark!--No-that knocking was too And when he saw me at the door, he begged rude for Mr. Beverley. Pray beaven he be well! pardon that bis friend had knocked so loud.
Stuke. Never doubt it, madam. You shall Stuke. I wish I had known of this. Was be well too-Every thing shall be well. it a large demand, madam?
[Knocking again. Char. I heard not that; but visits such as Mrs. B. The knocking is a little loud though these we must expect often-Why so distress-Who waits there? Will none of you an- ed, sister? This is no new affliction. swer?-None of you, did I say?-Alas, what Mrs. B. No, Charlotte; but I am faint with was I thinking of! I had forgot myself. watching - quite sunk and spiritless - Will Char. I'll go, sister-But don't be alarmed you excuse me, sir? I'll to my chamber, and [Exit. try to rest a little.
[Exit Stuke. What extraordinary accident bave Stuke. Good thoughts go with you, madam. you to fear, madam?
My bait is taken then. [Aside.] - Poor Mrs. BeMrs. B. I beg your pardon; but 'tis ever verley! How my heart grieves to see her thus! thus with me in Mr. Beverley's absence. No Char. Cure her, and be a friend then. one knocks at the door, but I fancy it is a Stuke. How cure her, madam ? messenger of ill news.
Char. Reclaim my brother.. Stuke. You are too fearful, madam; 'twas Stuke. Ay; give him a new creation, or but one night of absence; and if ill thoughts breathe another soul into him. I'll think on't, intrude (as love is always doubtful), think of madam. Adrice, I see, is thankless. your worth and beauty, and drive them from Char. Useless I am sure it is, if, through
mistaken friendship, or other motives, you Mrs. B. What thoughts? I have no thoughts feed his passion with your purse, and sooth that wrong my husband.
it by example. Physicians, to cure fesers, Stuke. Such thoughts indeed would wrong keep from the patient's thirsty lip the cup that him. The world is full of slander; and every would inflame him. You give it to his bands. wretch that knows himself unjust, charges his [4 knocking] Hark, sir!—These are my broneighbour with like passions, and by the ge- ther's desperate symptoms-Another creditor! neral frailty hides his own - If you are wise, Stuke. "One not so easily got rid of – What, and would be happy, turn a deaf ear to such Lewson! reports. 'Tis ruin to believe them.
Enter Lewson. Mrs. B. Ay, worse than ruin. 'Twould be to sin against conviction. Why was it men- Lew. Madam, your servant-Yours, sir. tioned ?
was inquiring for you at your lodgings. Stuke. To guard you against rumour. The Stuke. This morning! You had busines sport of half mankind is mischief; and for a then ? single error they make men devils. If their Lew. You'll call it by another name, per tales reach you, disbelieve them.
baps. Where's Mr. Beverley, madam ? Mrs. B. What tales ? By whom? Why Char. We have sent to inquire for him. told ? I have heard nothing-or, if I had, with Lew. Is he abroad then? He did not use all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits go out so early. no doubt-It is my safety, my seat of rest and Char. No, nor stay out so late. joy, while the storm threatens round me. Lew. Is that the case? I am sorry for not forsake it. [Stukely sighs, and looks But Mr. Stukely, perhaps, may direci you down.]. Why turn you, sir, away? and why bina. that sigh?
Stuke. I have already, sir. But what Stuke. I was attentive, madam; and sighs your business with me? will come, we know not why. Perhaps I have Lew. To congratulate you upon your
1 been too busy-If it should seem so, impute successes at play. Poor Beverley! - But my zeal to friendship, that meant to guard you are his friend; and there's a comfort in bas against evil tongues. Your Beverley is wronged, successful friends. slandered most vilely—My life upon his truth. Siuke. And what am I to understand by t
Mrs. B. And mine too. Who is't that Lew. That Beverley's a poor man, wil doubts it? But no matter-I am prepared, sir, rich friend; that's all. Yet why this caution ?-You are my husband's Stuke. Your words would mean someti friend; I think you mine too; the common I suppose. Another time, sir, I shall de friend of both. (Pauses] I had been uncon- an explanation. cerned else.
Lea. And why not now? I am no Stuke. For heaven's sake, madam, be so in long sentences. A minute or two still! I meant to guard you against suspicion, for me. not to alarm it.
Stuke. But not for me, sir. - I am slo
apprehension, and must have time and priv- less, will be sufficient for us. Vyc shall find 207. A lady's presence engages my attention. you at home, madam? Another morning I may be found at home. [To Charlotte. Ecit with Mrs. Beverley. Lew. Another morning, then, I'll wait upon Char. Certainly. Stuke. I shall espect you, sir. Madam, your Scene II.—STUKELY's Lodgings.
Enter STUKELY. Char. What mean you by this? Lex. To bint to him that I know him. Stuke. That Lewson suspects me, 'tis too
Char. How know him? Mere doubt and plain. Yet why should he suspect me ?-I apsupposition !
pear the friend of Beverley as much as he. Lrw. I sball bave proof soon.
But I am rich, it seems; and so I am, thanks Chur. And what then? Would you risk to another's folly and my own wisdom. To rour life to be his punisher ?
what use is wisdom, but to take advantage of lew. Ws life, madam! Don't be afraid. But the weak? This Beverley's my fool; I cheat let it content you that I know this Stukely – him, and he calls me friend. But more bu. Twould be as easy to make him honesl as siness must be done yel–His wife's jewels are brare.
unsold; so is the reversion of his uncle's estate: Char. And what do you intend to do. I must have these too. And then there's a
Lex. Nothing, till I have proof. But me- treasure above all-I love his wife--Before she thinks, madam, I am acting here without author- knew this Beverley I lovet her; but, like a ity. Could I have leave to call Mr. Bever- cringing fool, bowed at a distance, while he les brother, bis concerns would be my own. stepped in and won her – Never, never will Why will you make my services appear of- ! forgive him for it. Those hints this mornbcious?
ing were well thrown in-Already they have Char. You know my reasons, and should fastened on her. If jealousy should weaken of press me. But I am cold, you say; and her affections, want may corrupt her virtuecold'I will be, while a poor sister's destitute These jewels may do much-He shall demand -But let us change this subject — Your busi- them of her; which, when mine, shall be con. nese bere this morning is with my sister. Mis- verted to special purposesfortabes press too hard upon her; yet, till todar sbe bas borne them nobly.
What now, Bates ?
Bates. Is it a wonder then to see me? The faded bet.
forces are all in readiness, and only wait for Lex. I bear ber coming. Let what has pas- orders. Where's Beverley? sed with Stukely be a secret-She has already Stuke. At last night's rendezvous, waiting tuo much to trouble her.
Is Dawson with you?
Bates. Dressed like a nobleman; with moEnter MRS. BEVERLEY.
ney in his pocket, and a set of dice that shall Mrs. B. Good morning, sir; I heard your deceive the devil. To'r, and, as I thought, inquiring for me. Stuke. That fellow has a head to undo a Where's Mr. Stukely, Charlotte ?
nation; but for the rest, they are such lowCher. This moment gone-You have been mannered, ill-looking dogs, I wonder Beverley 'B tears, sister; but here's a friend shall com- has not suspected them. If you.
Bales. No matter for manncrs and looks. Leis. Or, if I add to your distresses, I'll beg Do you supply them with money, and they new pardon, madam. The sale of your house are gentlemen by, profession, The passion of w furniture was finished yesterday. gaming casts such a mist before the eyes, that
Mrs. B. I know it, sir; 'I know too your the nobleman shall be surrounded with sharTerous reason for putting me in mind of it. pers, and imagine himself in the best company. 2 fou have obliged me too much already.
Siuke. There's that Williams too. It was Lex. There are trifles, madam, which I he, I suppose, that called at Beverley's with is ** you have set a value on; those I have the note this morning. What directions did riased, and will deliver. I have a friend you give him?
that esteems you-He has bought largely, Bates. To knock loud and be clamorous. æd will call nothing his, till he has seen you. Did not you see him? 1. a resit to him would not be painful, he has Stuke. No; the fool sneaked off with Jarvis. bord it may be this morning.
Had he appeared within doors as directed, the Mrs. B. Sot painful in the least, my pain note had been discharged. I waited there on Le to the kindness of my friends. Why am purpose. I want the women to think well of it be obliged beyond the power of return? me, for Lewson's grown suspicious; be told
Læ, You shall repay us at your own time. me so himself. Inne a coach waiting at the door-Shall we Bates. What answer did you make him ? --€ pour company, madam? [To Charlotte. Stuke. A short one-- That I would see him
Char. No; my brother may return soon; soon for further explanation. Poday and receive him.
Bates. We must take care of him. But Nrs. B. He may want a comforter, perhaps. what have we to do with Beverley ? Dawson Si don't upbraid him, Charlotte. We shan't and the rest are wondering at you. be absent long. Come, sir, since I must be Stuke. Why, let them wonder. I have de
signs above their narrow reach. They sec Low. "lis I that am obliged. An hour, or me lend him money, and they stare ai me.