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'Tiswell thou liv'st; thy death were poor revenge From any hand but mine. [Offers to strike.

Euph. No, tyrant, no;

[Rustling before Evan. I have provoked your vengeance; through, this

bosom Open a passage; first on me, on me Exhaust your fury ; every power above Commands thee to respect that aged head: His withered frame wants blood to glut thy rage; Strike here; these veins are full; here's blood

enough; The purple tide will gush to glad thy sight. Dion. Amazement blasts and freezes every power! They shall not live. Ha! the fierce tide of war [A flourish of trumpets. This way comes rushing on.

[Goes to the top of the stage. Euph. [Embracing Evan.] Oh! thus, my father, We'll perish thus together.

Dion. Bar the gates; Close every passage, and repel their force. Evan. And must I see thee bleed? Oh! for a sword! Bring, bring me daggers!

Dion. [Advancing.] Guards, seize the slave, And give him to my rage.

Evan. [Seized by the guards.] Oh! spare her, spare her! Inhuman villains!

Euph. Now, one glorious effort!

Dion. Let me dispatch; thou traitor, thus

iny arm

Euph. A daughter's arm, fell monster, strikes the blow. [Stabs him.

Yes, first she strikes; an injured daughter's arm Sends thee devoted to the infernal gods.

[He falls. Dion. Detested fiend! Thus by a woman's

hand! Euph. Yes, tyrant, yes; in a dear father's cause, A woman's vengeance towers above her sex. Dion. May curses blast thy arm! May ./Etna's fires Convulse the land; to its foundation shake The groaning isle! May civil discord bear Her flaming brand through all the realms of

Greece; And the whole race expire in pangs like mine!

[Dies. Euph. Behold, all Sicily, behold! The point Glows with the tyrant's blood. Ye slaves, [To

the guards.] look there! Kneel to your rightful king: the blow for freedom Gives vou the rights of men! and oh! my father,

My ever honoured sire, it gives thee life. Evan. My child! my daughter! saved again by thee! [Embraces her.

A flourish of Trumpets.—Enter Phocion, MeLANTHON, PHILOTAS, <$C

Pho. Now, let the monster yield. My best Euphrasia!

En ph. My lord! my Phocion! welcome to my heart. Lo! there the wonders of EuphrasiaV arm!

Pho. And is the proud one fallen! ihe dawn shall see him A spectacle for public view. Euphrasia! Evander too I Thus to behold you both

Evan. To her direct thy looks; there fix thy praise, And gaze with wonder there. The life I gave

her,
Oh, she has used it for the noblest ends!
To fill each duty; make her lather feel
The purest joy, the heart-dissolving bliss
To have a grateful child. But lias the rage
Of slaughter ceased?

Pho. It has.

Evan. Where is Timoleon?

Pho. He guards the citadel; there gives his orders To calm the uproar, and recall from carnage His conquering troops.

Euph. Oh! once again, my father, Thy sway shall bless the land. Not for himself Timoleon conquers; to redress the wrongs , Of bleeding Sicily the hero comes. Thee, good Melanthon, thee, thou generous man, His justice shall reward. Thee, too, Philotas, Whose sympathizing heart could feei the touch Of soft humanity, the hero's bounty, His brightest honours, shall be lavished on thee. Evander, too, will place thee near his throne; And shew mankind, even on this shore of being, That virtue still shall meet its sure reward.

Phil. I am rewarded: feelings such as mine Are worth all dignities; my heart repays me.

Evan. Come, let us seek Timoleon; to his care I will commend ye both: for now, alas! Thrones and dominions now no more for mc. To thee I give my crown: yes, thou Euphrasia, Shall reign in Sicily. And oh! ye powers, In that bright eminence of care and peril, Watch over all her ways; conduct and guide The goodness you inspired; that she may prove. If e'er distress like mine invade the land, A parent to her people; stretch the ray Of filial piety to times unborn, That men may hear her unexampled virtue, And learn to emulate The Grecian Daughter.!

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EPILOGUE.

BY GABRICK.

The Grecian Daughter's compliments to all {
Begs that for Epilogue you will not call;
For leering, giggling would be out of season,
But hopes, by me, you'll hear a little reason.
A father rais'd from death 1 a nation sav*d!
A tyrant's crimes by female spirit bravM!
The tyrant stabb'd, and by her nerveless arm,
With virtue's spell surrounding guards could

charm!
Can she, this sacred tumnlt in her breast,
Tum Father, Freedom, Virtue, all to jest?
Wake you, ye fair ones, from your sweet repose,
As wanton zephyrs wake the sleeping rose r
Dispel these clouds which o'er your eye-lids

crept, Which our wise bard mistook, and swore you

wept? Shall she to macaronies life restore, Who yawn'd half dead, and curs'd the tragic

Boret
Dismiss 'em smirking to their nightly haunt.
Where dice and cards their moon-struck minds

enchant?
Some, muffled like the witches in Macbeth,
Brood o'er the magic circle, pale as death!
Others the cauldron go about—about!
And Ruin enters as the Fates go out.
Bubble, bubble,
Toil and trouble,

Passions bnm, And bets are double! Double, double! Toil and trouble, Passions burn, And all is bubble. But jest apart, (for scandal forms these tales,) Falsehoods be mute; let Justice hoM the sals Britons were ne'er enslav'd by evil poVrs: To peace and wedded love the}' give the mifc::

hours. From slumbers pure no rattling dice can valt' Who make the laws, were never known to bits 'em. Tis false, ye fair, whatever spleen may sf. That you down folly's tide arc borne ««if • You never wish at deep distress to sneer; For eyes, tho' bright, are brighter thro' i w■ Should it e'er be the nation's wretched 6* To laugh at all that's good and wise anl ff: Let Genius rouse, the friend of human knii To break those spells which charm, amlsrz '■

mind: Let Comedy, with pointed ridicule, Pierce to trie quick each knave and ricioasi*: Let Tragedy—a warning to the times, Lift high her dagger at exalted crimes; Drive from the heart each base, unmanly ps»' Till Virtue triumph in despite of Fashion.

THE

EARL OF WARWICK.

BY

FRANKLIN.
PROLOGUE.

BY COLMAN.

Severe each poet's lot; but sure most hard
Is the condition of the play-house bard:
Doom'd to hear all that would-be critics talk,
And in the go-cart of dull rules to walk!
* Yet amn.>rs midtiply,' you say. 'Tis true,
But what a runierous crop of critics too!
Scholars :>lone of old durst judge and write:
But now each journalist turns Stagyritc;
QuintUians in each coflee-bouse you meet,
And many a Longinus walks the street.

In Shakspeare's days, when his advent'rous
muse,
A m'nc of fire! durst each bold licence use,
Her noble ardour met no critic's phlegm, •
To check wild fancy, or her flights condemn:
Ariels and Caliuuns, unhlaui'd, she drew,
Or goblins, ghosts, and witches brought to view.
If to historic truth she - hap'd her verse,
A nation's annals freely she'd rehearse;
Bring Rome's or England's story on the stage,
And run, in three short hours, thro' half an age.
Our bard, all terror-struck, and fill'd with dread,

In Shakspeare's awful footsteps does not tread;
Thro' the wild field of hist'ry fears to stray,
And builds upon one narrow spot his play;
Steps not from realm to realm, whole seas be-
tween,
But barely changes twice or thrice his scene:
While Shakspeare vaults on the poetic wire,
And pleas'd spectators fearfully admire,
Our bard, a critic pole between his hands,
On the tight rope, scarce balauc'd, trembling

stands;
Slowly and cautiously his way he makes,
And fears to fall at every step he takes.
While then fierce Warwick he before you brings,
That setter-up and puller-down of kings,
With British candour dissipate his fear 1
An English story fits an English ear.
Tho' hoarse and crude you deem his first essay,
A second may your favours well repay:
Applause may nerve his verse and cheer his heart.
And teach the practice of this dangerous art.

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ACT I.

SCENE I.—A Palace.

Enter Margaret of Anjou, and Lady ClifFord.

Clif. Thanks, gracious Heaven! my royal mistress smiles, Unusual gladness sparkles in her eye, And bids ine welcome in the stranger, Joy, To his new mansion.

Marg- Yes, my faithful Clifford, Fortune is weary of oppressing me: Through my dark cloud of grief a cheerful ray Of light breaks forth, and gilds the whole horizon.

Ctif. Henry in chains, and Edward on the throne Of Lancaster; thyself a prisoner here; Thy captive son torn from his mother's arms, And in the tyrant's power; a kingdom lost: Amidst so many sorrows, what new hope Hath wrought this wondrous change I

Marg. That, which alone, In sorrow's bitterest hour, can minister Sweet comfort to the daughters of affliction, And bid misfortune smile—the hope of vengeance: Vengeance! benignant patron of distress, Thee I have oft invoked, propitious now Thou smil'st upon me; if I do not grasp The glorious opportunity, henceforth Indignant frown, and leave me to my fate!

Clif. Unhappy princess! that deceiver, Hope, Hath often flattered, and as oft betrayed thee; What hast thou gained by all its promises i What's the reward of all thy toils?

Marg. Experience

Yes, Clifford, I have read the instructive volume
Of human nature, there long since have learned,
The way to conquer men is by their passions;
Catch but the ruling foible of their hearts,
And all their boasted virtues shrink before you.
Edward and Warwick, those detested names,
Too well thou know'st, united to destroy ine.

Clif. That was, indeed, a fatal league.

Marg. But mark me; If we could break this adamantine chain, We might again be free: this mighty warrior, This dread of kings, the unconquerable Warwick, Is plighted to the fair Elizabeth.

Clif'. The lady Gray, you mean, the beauteous widow, Whose husband fell in arms for Lancaster?

Marg. The same, my Clifford—Warwick long has loved

Clif. And means to wed her

Marg. But if I have art,
Or she ambition, that shall never be.

Clif. Canst thou prevent it.'

Marg. Yes, my Clifford; Warwick Were a mean choice for such transceudeut beauty;

I shall provide her with a fitter husband,
A nobler far, and worthier of her charms-
Young Edward——

Clif. Ha! the king! impossible! Warwick, even now, commissioned by the state To treat with Lewis, offers England's thro* To France's daughter; and, ere this, perhaps, Hath signed the solemn contract.

Marg. Solemn trifles! Mere cobweb ties—Love's a despotic tyrant, And laughs, like other kings, at public faith, When it opposes private happiness: Edward ia youthful, gay, and amorous; His soul is ever open to the lure Of beauty; and Elizabeth hath charms Might shake a hermit's virtue.

Clif. Hath he seen This peerless fair one?

Marg. Yes—by my contrivance, When last he hunted in the forest, some, Whom I had planted there, as if by chance Alone directed, led him cross the lawn To Grafton. There, even as my soul had wisted, The dazzling lustre of her charms surprised His unsuspecting heart

Clif. What followed i

Marg. Oh! He gazed and wondered; for awhile his pride Indignant rose, and struggled with liis passion, But love was soon victorious: and last night, The carl of Suffolk—so my trusty spies Inform me—was dispatched, on wings of love, To plead his master s cause, and offer her The throne of England.

Clif. What if she refuse The golden bribe?

Marg. No matter; all I wish Is but to make them foes: the generous Hawick Is fiery, and impatient of reproof; He will not brook a rival in his love, Though seated on a throne; besides, thou knowU The haughty earl looks down with scorn on »

ward, As the mere work of his all-powerful hand, The baby monarch of his own creation. ,

Clif. Believe me, madam, Edward still reias And loves him; still, as conscious of the debt, Pays him with trust and confidence; their*» Are linked together in the strictest bonds Of sacred friendship.

Marg. That but serves my cause: Where ties are close, and interests united, The slightest injuries are severely felt; Orlended friendship never can forgive.

Clif. Now the full prospect opens to my vie*; I see thy distant aim, and trace the paths Of vengeance: England soon will be a scene

Of blood and horror; discord's fatal torch
Once lit up in this devoted land,
What power shall e'er extinguish it! Alas 1
I tremble at the consequence.

Mar/!. And I
Enjoy it:—Oh! 'twill be a noble contest
Of pride 'gainst pride, oppression 'gainst oppres-
sion;
Rise but the storm, and let the waves beat high,
The wreck may be our own: in the warm struggle,
Who knows but one or both of them may fall,
And Margaret rise triumphant on their ruin!
It must be so; and see the king approaches:
This way he passes from the council—Mark
His downcast eye! he is a stricken deer,
The arrow's in his side—he cannot 'scape:
We'll meet and speak to him.

Clif. What mean you, madam?

Mar/;. To ask him—what, I know, he will refuse; That gives roe fair pretext to break with him, And join the man I hate, vindictive Warwick. But soft, he comes

Enter King Edward, and an Officer.

Edw. Is Suffolk yet returned.' [To an Officer.

OtH. No, my good liege.

Edw. Go, wait and bring him to me.

[Exit Offi.
I'll to my closet. Pardon me, fair lady,
I saw you not.

Mart!. Perhaps it is beneath
A conqueror to look down upon his slave;
But I've a boon to ask.

EJic. Whate'er it is,
Within the limits of fair courtesy,
Which honour can bestow, I'll not refuse thee.

Murg. There was a time, when Margaret of Anjou Would not liave deigned to ask of Edward aught; Nor was there aught, which Edward dared refuse her; But that is past, great Warwick's arm prevailed, And I am now your prisoner.

Kiln: Since the hour,
When fortune shone propitious on the cause
Of justice, and gave victory to our arms,
You have been treated with all due respect,
Served like a queen, and lodged witliin our pa-
lace:
Is there aught more, you can, with reason, ask,
Or I, in prudence, grant you?

Marg. Give me back
The liberty I lost—restore my son,
And I may then, perhaps, lie reconciled
To an usurper, may withhold my vengeance,
And let thee sit unpunished on—my throne.

Edw. You ask too proudly, madam; but to
shew you
I cannot fear, you have your liberty.
Letters this morning I received from France,
Have offered noble ransom for your person;
Without that ransom—for the soul of Edward
Is far above die sordid lust of gold,

I grant it—from this moment you are free;
But for your son, I cannot part with him.

Marg. I scorn your bounties, scorn your prof-
fered freedom.
What's liberty to me without my child?
But fate will place us soon above thy reach:
Thy short-lived tyranny is almost past,
The stonn is gathering round thee, and will burst
With tenfold vengeance on thy guilty head.

Eda. I am not to be talked into submission, Nor dread the menace of a clamorous woman.

Marg. Thou may'st have cause to dread a woman's power. The time may come—mark my prophetic wordWhen wayward beauty shall repay with scorn Thy fruitless vows, and vindicate my wrongs: The friend thou lean'st on, like a broken reed, Shall pierce thy side, and fill thy soul with anguish, Keen as the pangs I feel: York's perjured house Shall sink to rise no more, and Lancaster With added lustre reassume the throne. Hear this and tremble—give me back my son— Or dread the vengeance of a desperate mother. I Exit Margaret.

Edw. Imperious woman! but the voice of woe Is ever clamorous: 'tis the privilege, The charter of affliction to complain. This tardy Suffolk! how I long to know, Yet dread to hear my fate! Elizabeth, On thee the colour of my future life Depends, for thou alone canst make me blest, Or cursed for ever! O! this cruel doubt Is worse than all my tortures: but he comes, The ambassador of love.

Enter the Earl of SUFFOLK.

What news, my Suffolk?
Shall I be happy? O! I'm on the rack
Of expectation! Didst thou tell my tale
As if it were thy own, and may I hope—

Suf. My royal liege

Edw. Good Suffolk, lay aside The forms of dull respect; be brief, and tell me, Speak, hast thou seen her? Will she be my

queen? Quick, tell me every circumstance, each word, Each look, each gesture: didst thou mark them, Suffolk?

Sni\ I did, and will recount it all: last night, By your command, in secret I repaired To Grafton's tufted bower, the happy seat Of innocence and beauty; there I found Thy soul's best hope, the fair Elizabeth; Ne er did these eyes behold such sweet perfection! I found licr busied in the pious office Of filial duty, tending l»er sick father.

Edu:. That was a lucky moment, to prefer My humble suit: touch but the tender string Of soft compassion in the heart, and love Will quickly vibrate to its kindred passion; You urged our royal purpose, then?

Suf. I did,

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