He cheerless wanders; seeks the darkest gloom, To hide his drooping head, and grieves alone. With a full heart, swoln eyes, and faultering

tongue,

He sometimes, seeking to beguile his grief,
Begins a mournful tale: But straight a thought
Of his imagined wrongs, crossing his memory,
Ends his sad story, ere the half be told.
O may our pains with wished success be crowned!
Enter ARDEN.

Ard. No, Franklin, no; your friendly cares

are vain :

Were I but certain she had wronged my bed,
I then might hate her, and shake off my woes;
But thus perplexed, can never taste of comfort!
Frank. O Jealousy! thou bane of social joys!
Oh! she's a monster, made of contradictions!
Let Truth, in all her native charms, appear,
And, with the voice of harmony itself,
Plead the just cause of innocence traduced;
Deaf as the adder, blind as upstart greatness,
She sees nor hears! and yet let Slander whisper,
Or evil-eyed Suspicion look oblique,
Rumour has fewer tongues than she has ears;
And Argus' hundred eyes are dim and slow,
To piercing Jealousy's!-

Ard. No more, no more:

I know its plagues; but where's the remedy?
Mar. In your Alicia.

Frank. She shall heal these wounds.

Ard. She's my disease, and can she be my cure?

My friends should rather teach me to abhor her, To tear her image from my bleeding heart!

Mar. We leave that hateful office to the fiends. Frank. If you e'er loved, you'll not refuse to see her:

You promised that.
Ard. Did I?

Frank. Indeed you did.

Ard. Well, then, some other time.
Frank. No; see her now.

Ard. Franklin, I know my heart, and dare not

see her.

ALICIA enters, not seeing ARDEN. Alic. How shall I bear my Arden's just reproaches!

Or can a reconcilement long continue
That's founded on deceit? Can I avow
My secret guilt!-No; at so mean a thought
Abandoned Infamy herself would blush.
Nay, could I live with public loss of honour,
Arden would die to see Alicia scorned.
He's here! earth open! hide me from his sight!
Ard. Guilt chains her tongue! Lo! silent,
self-condemned,

With tearful eyes, and trembling limbs, she stands. Alic. Fain would I kiss his footsteps; but that look,

Where indignation seems to strive with grief,
Forbids me to approach him.

Ard. Who would think
That anguish were not real?

Alic. I'm rooted here!

Ard. Those tears, methinks, even if her guilt were certain, Might wash away her pains.

Alic. Support me, Heaven!

Ard. Curse on the abject thought! I shall relapse

To simple dotage. She steals on my heart, She conquers with her eyes. If I but hear her voice,

Nor earth, nor Heaven, can save me from her snares!

O! let me fly-if I have yet the power. Alic. O Arden! do not, do not leave me thus ! [Kneels, and holds him. Ard. I pray thee, loose thy hold! Alic. O never, never!

Ard. Why should I stay to tell thee of my

me,

Has my long-suffering love at length prevailed, And art thou mine indeed?

Alic. Heaven is my witness,

I love thee, Arden; and esteem thy love
Above all earthly good. Thy kind forgiveness
Speaks to my soul that peaceful calm confirmed,
Which reason and reflection had begun.

Ard. Thou'rt cheaply purchased with unnumber'd sighs,

With many a bitter tear, and years of patience,
Thou treasure of more worth than mines of gold!
I will not doubt my happiness. Thou art,
Thou wilt be mine, ever, and only mine.

Alic. I am, I will. I ne'er knew joy till now.
Ard. This is our truest, happiest, nuptial day.
To-night, thou know'st, according to my custom,
Our yearly fair returning with St Valentine,
I treat my friends. I go to countenance
Their honest mirth, and cheer them with my
bounty.

'Till happy night, farewell! My best Alicia, How will our friends rejoice, our foes repine, To see us thus !

[Exit.

Alic. Thus ever may they see us!
The wandering fires, that have so long misled me,
Are now extinguished, and my heart is Arden's.
The flow'ry path of innocence and peace
Shines bright before, and I shall stray no longer.
Whence then these sighs, and why these floods
of tears?

Sighs are the language of a broken heart,
And tears the tribute each enlightened eye
Pays, and must pay, for vice and folly past.
And yet the painfullest virtue hath its pleasure:
Though dangers rise, yet, peace restored within,
My soul collected shall undaunted meet them.
Though trouble, grief, and death, the lot of all,
On good and bad without distinction fall,
The soul, which conscious innocence sustains,
Supports with ease these temporary pains;

Becomes itself a burden none can bear.

[Exit. SCENE III.-The Street. People at a Distance, as at a Fair.

Enter ARDEN on one side, and BLACK WILL and SHAKEBAG on the other, GREEN directing them.

B. Will. Shakebag, you'll second me—S’blood, give the way. [Jostles ARDEN. Shake. May we not pass the streets? Ard. I saw you not.

B. Will, Your sight perhaps is bad; your feeling may be better.

Ard. Insolent villain!

[Strikes him. [Draws.

B. Will. Come, we'll teach you manners. Ard. Both at once! barbarous cowards!

Enter MOSBY.

Mos. O bloody dogs! attempt a life so precious!

B. Will. This is a fury, George.

[BLACK WILL and SHAKEBAG beaten off. Shake. I've pinked him though

Ard. Villains, come back, and finish your design!

Mos. Shall I pursue them, sir?
Ard. Not for the world-
Mosby! amazing generosity!

Mos. I hope you are not hurt.
Ard. Pierc'd to the heart-

Mos. Forbid it, heaven! quick, let me fly for help.

Ard. With sharp reflection: Mosby, I can't bear

To be so far obliged to one I've wronged.

Mos. Who would not venture life to save a friend?

Ard. From you I've not deserved that tender

name.

Mos. No more of that-would I were worthy of it!

Ard. I own my heart, by boiling passions torn, Forgets its gentleness-yet is ever open To melting gratitude. O say what price Can buy your friendship?

Mos. Only think me yours.

Ard. Easy, indeed! I am too much obliged. Why recked not your good sword its justice on

me,

When, mad with jealous rage, in my own house,
I urged you to my ruin?

Mos. I loved you then
With the same warmth as now.
Ard. What's here! you bleed.
Let me bind up your wound.
Mos. A trifle, sir-

Ard. Your friendship makes it so.-See, Franklin, see

Enter FRANKLIN.

The man I treated as a coward, bleeding, Wretch that I am! for his defence of me,

Look to your wound; and, Mosby, let us hope You'll sup with me. There will be honest Bradshaw,

And Franklin here, and

Mos. Sir, I will not fail.
Frank. I shall not come.

Ard. Nay, Franklin, that's unkind.
Prithee-

Frank. Nay, urge me not. Mos. Avoids my company! His may not be so proper. hence,

I have my reasons. So much the better. [Aside.] An hour

If you are not engaged, we'll meet at Fowl's.
Ard. I will be there.

Mos. 'Till then I take my leave. [Exit Mos.
Ard. How have I been mistaken in this man!
Frank. How are you sure you're not mistaken
now?

Ard. No doubt he loves me; and I blush to think

How I've suspected him, and wronged Alicia. Frank. May you be ever happy in your wife; But

Ard. Speak-But what? Let's have no riddles here.

Can she be innocent, and Mosby guilty?

Frank. To speak my thoughts, this new officious fondness

Makes me suspect: I like him worse than ever. Ard. Because I like him better? What a churl! Frank. You are credulous, and treat my serious doubts

With too much levity. You vex me, Arden.

[Exit. Ard. Believe me, friend, you'll laugh at this hereafter. [Exit the other way. MOSBY, having watched FRANKLIN out, reenters with GREEN. Mos. The surly friend has left him-As I wished

You see how eagerly the foolish fowl
Flies headlong to our snare: now to inclose him.
At eight the guests are bidden to his banquet,
And only Michael, of his numerous train,
Keeps home with his Alicia. He'll secure
The keys of all the doors, and let you in
With my two trusty bloodhounds. Alicia seems
Averse at present.

Green. She'll not dare betray us.

Mos. Not when the deed is done; we know
too much.

She'll be our prisoner, and shall be observed.
Towards evening, then, upon a slight pretence
To pass an hour at draughts, (a game he loves)
I'll draw this husband home. You'll be prepared
In the inner room, (Michael will shew it you)
"Till, at a signal given, you all rush forth,
And strangle him.

Green. Good-'tis a death, that leaves
No bloody character to mark the place.
Mos. However, come all provided with your
daggers.

Do you seek Michael, I'll instruct the rest.
Green. What shall the signal be?
Mos. These words in the game,

"I take you now.'

Green. Arden! thou'rt taken now indeed. Mos. His body, thrown behind the abbey-wall, Shall be descried by the early passenger, Returning from the fair. My friend, thy hand;

[Shakes it.

Be firm, and our united strength
With ease shall cast dead Arden to the earth.
Green. Thanks to his foolish tenderness of

Enter GREEN, BLACK WILL, SHAKEBAG, and MICHAEL.

Could I prevail on him! O sir

[Talks apart with GREEN. B. Will. What a fair house! rich furniture! what piles of massy plate! And then yon iron chest! Good plunder, comrade.

Shake. And madam Arden there-A prize worth them all to me.

B. Will. And shall that fawning, white-liver'd coward, Mosby, enjoy all these?

Shake. No doubt he would, were we the fools he thinks us.

Green. Had he as many lives as drops of blood, I'd have them all.

[TO ALICIA.

Alic. But for one single night-
Green. I'd not defer his fate a single hour,

Alic. Or death, or madness, would be mercies

now,

Therefore beyond my hopes.

Ard. O Mosby, Michael, Green! Why have you drawn my blood upon your souls? Mos. Behold her there, to whom I was betrothed,

And ask no further.

Green. Think on thy abbey-lands From injured Green.

Ard. You now are your own judges,

But we shall meet again, where right and truthWho-who are these? But I forgive you all. Thy hand, Alicia.

Alic. I'll not give it thee.

Ard. O wretched woman! have they killed thee, too?

A deadly paleness, agony, and horror,

On thy sad visage sit. My soul hangs on thee, And, though departing-just departing-loves

thee;

Is loth to leave, unreconciled to thee,
This useless mangled tenement of clay.
Dismiss her pleased, and say thou'rt innocent.
Alic. All hell contains not such a guilty wretch.
Ard. Then welcome death, though in the
shape of murder!

How have I doated to idolatry!

Vain, foolish wretch, and thoughtless of hereafter, Nor hoped, nor wished a heaven beyond her love. Now, unprepared, I perish by her hate.

Alic. Though blacker, and more guilty, than the fiends,

My soul is white from this accursed deed.

O Arden! hear me

O thou Supreme, to seek thy awful presence.

Ard. Full of doubts, I come,

My soul is on the wing. I own thy justice ; Prevent me with thy mercy.

[Dies.

Alic. Turn not from me:

Behold me, pity me, survey my sorrows !

I, who despised the duty of a wife,

Will be thy slave. Spit on me, spurn me, sir, I'll love thee still. O couldst thou court my

scorn,

And now abhor me, when I love thee more,
If possible, than e'er thou lov'd'st Alicia!

Mos Mad fool, he's dead, and hears thee not.
Alic. 'Tis false-

He smiles upon me, and applauds my vengeance. [Snatches a dagger, and strikes at MOSBY. A knocking at the gate.

Mos. Damnation!

B. Will. 'Sdeath! we shall leave our work unfinished, and be betrayed at last. Let us hide the body.

Mos. Force her away.

Alic. Inhuman bloody villains!

Shake. We know our business, sir.

Mos. I doubt it not.

Enter MARIA.

Mar. Mosby here!

My sliding feet, as they move trembling forwards, Are drenched in blood. O may I only fancy That Arden there lies murdered!

dled,