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Beauf. sen. Great Pow'r! then have I liv'd, alas! too long.

This is indeed too much. I cannot bear-
But 'tis impossible!-does not thy heart,
My son, bear testimony for thy sister
Against this calumny ?-What circumstance,

[To Glanville.

What proof have we of my Cleone's guilt?
Glan. Is not their disappearing both at once,
A strong presumption of their mutual guilt?
Beauf. sen. Presumption, say'st thou! Shall one
doubtful fact

Arraign a life of innocence unblam'd?

Shall I give up the virtue of my child,

My heart's sweet peace, the comfort of my age,
On weak surmises -Sir, I must have proof,
Clear, unambiguous proof, not dark presumption.
Glan. Thus rudely urg'd, my honour bids me speak,
What else I meant in tenderness to spare.

Know then, I found the wanton youth conceal'd
In her apartments.

Beauf. sen. Thou dost then confess

Thyself my child's accuser ?-but thy word.
Will not suffice. Far other evidence

Must force me to believe, that truth long known,
And native modesty, could thus at once

Desert their station in Cleone's breast.

Glan. Wait then for other evidence

With such as doubt my honour, I disdain
All further conference.

[Exit Glanville.

Beaf. jun. What can we think?

His firm undaunted boldness fills my breast

With racking doubts, that dread to be resolv'd,
Yet this suspense is torture's keenest pang.

Beauf. sen. We must not bear it. No, my son, lead

on;

We must be satisfy'd. Let us direct
Our steps to Paulet's habitation. There,
It seems, we must enquire. And yet my soul
Strongly impels me to suspect this Glanville;
For can Cleone, virtue's fav'rite ward,
Thus totally be chang'd?-If thou art fall'n-
If thy weak steps, by this bad world seduc'd,
Have devious turn'd into the paths of shame,
Never, ah! never let me live to hear

Thy foul dishonour mention'd. If thou art
Traduc'd-and my fond heart still flatters me
With hope then gracious Heaven! spare yet my life,
O spare a father to redress his child!

ACT III. SCENE I.

The Area before SIFROY's House. SIFROY alone.

Sifroy.

O DREADFUL change! my house, my sacred home,
At sight of which my heart was wont to bound
With rapture, I now tremble to approach.

Fair mansion, where bright honour long hath dwelt
With my renown'd progenitors, how, how

At last hath vile pollution stain'd thy walls!
Yet look not down with scorn, ye shades rever'd,
On your dishonour'd scn-He will not die
Till just revenge hath by the wanton's blood
Aton'd for this disgrace. Yet can it be ?
Can my Cleone, she whose tender smile
Fed my fond heart with hourly rapture, she
On whose fair faith alone I built all hope
Of happiness-can she have kill'd my peace,
My honour? Could that angel form, which seem'd
The shrine of purity and truth, become
The seat of wantonness and perfidy?

Ye powers!-should she be wrong’d—in my own heart
How sharp a dagger hath my frenzy plung'd!
O passion-govern'd slave! what hast thou done?
Hath not thy madness from her house, unheard,
Driven out thy bosom friend?-Guiltless, perhaps-
Hell, hell is in that thought!-Thou wretch accurst,
Such thy rash fury, thy unbridled rage,
Her guilt or innocence alike to thee

Must bring distraction. But I'll know the worst.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Changes to a Room in the House.

ISABELLA.

GLANVILLE and

Glan. What dost thou say? Already is Sifroy

Arriv'd? Who saw him? when?

Isab. This moment, from

My window, by the glimmering of the moon,
I saw him pass.

Glan. He comes as I could wish.

His hot-brain'd fury well did I foresee

Would, on the wings of vengeance, swiftly urge
His homeward flight. But I am ready arm'd,
Rash fool! for thy destruction. And tho' long
Thou hast usurp'd my rights, thy death at last
Shall give me ample justice.

Isab. Ah, beware;

Nor seek his life at peril of thine own.

Glan. Trust me, my love, (tho' time too precious now Permits not to unfold to thee my scheme)

I walk in safety, yet have in my grasp,

Secure, his hated life.-But see, he comes

Retire.

Enter SIFROY.

[Exit Isabella.

Glan. [Advancing to embrace him.] My honoured

friend!

Sif. Glanville, forbear

And ere I join my arms with thee in friendship,

Ε

Say, I conjure thee, by that sacred tie,

By all thou hold'st most dear on earth, by all

Thy hopes of heaven, and dread of deepest hellHast thou not wrong'd my wife?

Glan. Unjust Sifroy !

Hath my warm friendship thus regardful been,
Thus jealous of thy honour, and dost thou
Yet question mine? Sure the united bonds
Of friendship and of blood, are ties too strong
To leave a doubt of my sincerity.

And soon too clearly, Sir, you will discern
Who has been false, and who your faithful friend.
Sif. O rack me not! let dread conviction come-
Her strongest horrors cannot rend my heart
With half the anguish of this torturing doubt.
Speak then-for tho' the tale should fire my brain
To madness, I must hear. Yet, Glanville, stay-
Let me proceed with caution-my soul's peace
Depends on this event. 'Tis said I am rash-
Bear witness! am I so?-Where is my wife?
Severe I may be, but I will be just.

I cannot, will not hear her faith arraign'd,
Before I see her.

Glan. See her, Sir! alas,

Where will you see her?

Sif. Where? thou hast not yet

Convey'd her to her father ?-On the wings
Of speed I flew, still hoping to prevent
The rash decree of unreflecting rage.

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