FATAL CURIOSITY:

A TRAGEDY,

IN THREE ACTS.

BY GEORGE LILLO.

REMARKS.

THE story of this piece is very simple and affecting, and is said to have been founded on a fact which happened on the western coast of England. The circumstance of a son, long absent from his parents, keeping himself, on his return to visit them, for some time unknown, is unforced, while at the same time their inducement, from the depth of dis. tress and penury, to perpetrate his murder, for the sake of the treasures he had shown them, is productive of some very fine scenes of intermingled horror and tenderness. Mr. Lillo rendered the distresses of common and domestic life as interesting to the audiences as those of kings and heroes, and the ruin brought on private families by an indul gence of avarice, lust, &c. as the havoc made in states and empires by ambition, cruelty, or tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of Feversham, are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have always drawn tears from the audience, and even the critics have laid down their pens to take out the handkerchief.

Ran. Not out of Penryn, Sir; but to the | Is to discharge thee, Randal, from my hard,
strand,
[storm Unprofitable service.

To hear what news from Falmouth since the
Of wind last night.

O. Wil. It was a dreadful one.

Ran. Some found it so. A noble ship from
India

Ent'ring in the harbour, run upon a rock,
And there was lost.

O. Wil. What 'came of those on board her?
Ran. Some few are sav'd; but much the
greater part,

Tis thought, are perish'd.

O. Wil. They are past the fear

Of future tempests, or a wreck on shore;
Those who escap'd are still expos'd to both.
Where's your mistress?

Ran. I saw her pass the High-street, to-
wards the Minster.

O. Wil. She's gone to visit Charlotte-She
doth well.

In the soft bosom of that gentle maid, [race
There dwells more goodness than the rigid
Of moral pedants e'er believ'd or taught.
With what amazing constancy and truth
Doth she sustain the absence of our son,
Whom more than life she loves! How shun
for him,
[great;
Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and
Who own her charms, and sigh to make her
happy.

Since our misfortunes, we have found no friend,
None who regarded our distress, but her,
And she, by what I have observ'd of late,
Is tir'd, or exhausted-curs'd condition!
To live a burden to one only friend,
And blast her youth with our contagious woe!
Who that had reason, soul, or sense, would
bear it

Ran. Heaven forbid!

Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity?
Believe me, Sir, my honest soul abnors
The barb'rous thought.

O. Wu. What! canst thou feed on air?
I have not left wherewith to purchase food
For one ineal more.

Ran. Rather than leave you thus,
I'll beg my bread, and live on others' bounty
While I serve you.

O. Wil. Down, down, my swelling heart,
Or burst in silence: 'tis thy cruel fate
Insults thee by his kindness. He is innocent
Of all the pain it gives thee. Go thy ways,
I will no more suppress thy youthful hopes
Of rising in the world.

Ran. "Tis true; I'm young,

And never tried my fortune, or my genius;
Which may perhaps find out some happy

means,

As yet unthought of, to supply your wants.
O. Wil. Thou tortur'st me I hate all obli-
gations

Which I can ne'er return. And who art thou,
That I should stoop to take 'em from thy hand?
Care for thyself, but take no thought for me;
I will not want thee-trouble me no more.

Ran. Be not offended, Sir, and I will go
I ne'er repin'd at your commands before;
But, heaven's my witness, I obey you now
With strong reluctance, and a heavy heart.
Farewell, my worthy master!

[Going.

O. Wil. Farewell-Stay-
As thou art yet a stranger to the world,
Of which, alas! I've had too much experience,
I should, methinks, before we part, bestow
A little counsel on thee. Dry thy eyes-

ther.

A moment longer!-Then, this honest wretch!-If thou weep'st thus, I shall proceed no far-
I must dismiss him-Why should I detain
A grateful, gen'rous youth to perish with me?
His service may procure him bread elsewhere,
Though I have none to give him. Pr'ythee,
Randal,

How long hast thou been with me?
Ran. Fifteen years.

I was a very child when first you took me,
To wait upon your son, my dear young master!
I oft have wish'd, I'd gone to India with him;
Though you, desponding, give him o'er for lost.
am to blame. This talk revives your sorrow

For his absence.

O. Wil. That cannot be reviv'd,
Which never died.

Ran. The whole of my intent
Was to confess your bounty, that supplied
The loss of both my parents: I was long
The object of your charitable care.

O. Wil. No more of that.-Thou'st serv'd me
longer since

Without reward; so that account is balanc'd,
Or, rather, I'm thy debtor. I remember,
When poverty began to show her face
Within these walls, and all my other servants,
Like pamper'd vermin from a falling house,
Retreated with the plunder they had gain'd,
And left me too indulgent and remiss

For such ungrateful wretches, to be crush'd
Beneath the ruin they had help'd to make,
That you, more good than wise, refus'd to
leave me.

Ran. Nay, I beseech you, Sir!-
O. Wil. With my distress,

In perfect contradiction to the world,
Thy love, respect, and diligence, increas'd;
Now all the recompense within my power,

Dost thou aspire to greatness, or to wealth,
Quit books and the unprofitable search
Of wisdom there, and study human kind :
No science will avail thee without that;.
But, that obtain'd, thou need'st not any other.
This will instruct thee to conceal thy views,
And wear the face of probity and honour,
"Till thou hast gain'd thy end; which must be