Cle. O faint! exceeding faint!

My father!-my dear father!-Do I wake?

And am I, am I in a father's arms?

My brother too-O happy!

Beauf. jun. My dear sister!

Sif. Transporting rapture! Will my love return To life? to reason too? indulgent Power!

Cle. What sound, what well-known voice is that I hear!

Support me, raise me to his long-lost arms!
It is my husband! my Sifroy! my love!

Alas, too faint-I never more shall rise.

Sif. Ah! do not wound me, do not pierce my heart
With any thought so dreadful! Art thou given
In mockery only to my longing arms?

Raise up thy head, my love! lean on my breast,
And whisper to my soul thou wilt not die.

Cle. How thy sweet accents soothe the pangs of death! Witness ye angels! thus in thy dear arms

To die, my faithful love, and spotless truth
Confirm'd, was all my wish! Where is my
Let me but take his blessings up to heaven,
And I shall go with confidence!
Beauf. sen. My child—

father?

My darling child!—May that pure bliss, just heaven Bestows upon departed saints, be thine!

Cle. Farewell, my brother! comfort and support Our father's feeble age-To heal his grief

Will give thy sister's dying moments ease.

Sif. Talk not of death!-We must not, must not

part!

Good Heaven! her dying agonies approach!

Cle. The keenest pang of death, is that I feel
For thy surviving wo.-Adieu, my love!

I do entreat thee with my last, last breath,
Restrain thy tears-nor let me grieve to think
Thou feel'st a pain I cannot live to cure.

Sif. Might'st thou but live, how light were every pain

Fate could inflict!

Cle. It will not be !-I faint

My spirits fail-farewell-receive me, Heaven. [ Dies. Sif. She's gone!-for ever gone!-Those lovely

eyes

Are clos'd in death

-no more to look on me!

My fate is fix'd, and in this tortur'd breast
Anguish-remorse-despair-must ever dwell.

Beauf. sen. Offended power! at length with pitying

eyes

Look on our misery! Cut short this thread,
That links my soul too long to wretched life!
And let mankind, taught by his hapless fate,
Learn one great truth, experience finds too late ;
That dreadful ills from rash resentment flow,
And sudden passions end in lasting wo.

[Exeunt.

THE END.

EPILOGUE,

By WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq.

Spoken by Mrs. BELLAMY.

WELL, Ladies—so much for the Tragic stile

And now, the custom is—to make you smile.
"To make us smile, I hear Flippanta say,
"Yes-we have smil'd indeed-thro' half the play:
"We always laugh when Bards, demure and sly,
"Bestow such mighty pains-to make us cry.

"And truly, to bring sorrow to a crisis,
"Mad-folks, and murder'd babes are-

-shrewd devices.

"The Captain gone three years—and then to blame

"The vestal conduct of his virtuous dame !—

"What French, what English bride would think it treason, "When thus accus'd-to give the brute some reason? "Out of my house-this night, forsooth-depart! "A modern wife had said-With all my heart: "But think not, haughty Sir, I'll go alone! "Order your coach-conduct me safe to town— "Give me my jewels-wardrobe-and my maid"And pray take care my pin-money be paid: "Else know, I wield a pen-and, for his glory, My dear's domestic feats may shine in story!

"Then for the Child-the tale was truly sad— "Put who for such a bantling would run mad? "What wife, at midnight hour inclin'd to roam, "Would fondly drag her little chit from home? "What has a mother with her child to do? "Dear brats-the Nursery's the place for you!"

Such are the strains of many a modish Fair! Yet memoires-not of modern growth-declare The time has been, when modesty and truth Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth; Ere, in the dice-box, ladies found delight;

Or swoon'd, for lack of cards, on Sunday-night;
When women hid their necks, and veil'd their faces,
Nor romp'd, nor rak'd, nor star'd, at public places:
Nor took the airs of Amazons-for graces!

When plain domestic virtues were the mode;
And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad,
But cheer'd their offspring, shunn'd fantastic airs ;
And, with the joys of wedlock, mixt the cares.

Such modes are past-yet sure they merit praise; For marriage triumph'd in those wassel days: No virgin sigh'd in vain; no fears arose, Lest holy wars should cause a dearth of beaux: By chaste decorum, each, affection gain'd; By faith and fondness, what she won, maintain’d.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THOUGH the mixed drama of the last age, called Tragi-Comedy, has been generally condemned by the critics, and not without reason; yet it has been found to succeed on the stage: both the comic and tragic scenes have been applauded by the audience, without any particular exceptions: nor has it been observed, that the effect of either was less forcible, than it would have been, if they had not succeeded each other in the entertainment of the same night. The tragic part of this play has been always esteemed extremely natural and interesting; and it would probably, like some others, have produced its full effect, notwithstanding the intervention of the comic scenes that are intermixed with it: the editor, therefore, would not have thought of removing them, if they had not been exceptionable in themselves, not only as indelicate, but as immoral; for this reason he has suffered so much of the characters of the Porter and the Nurse to remain, as is not liable to this objection. He is, however, to account, not only for what he has taken away, but for what he has added. It will easily be comprehended, that the leaving out something made it absolutely necessary that something should be supplied; and the public will be the more easily reconciled to this necessity, when they are acquainted that the additions are very inconsiderable, and that the editor has done his utmost to render them of a pieces with the rest. Several lines of the original, particularly in the part of Isabella, are printed, though they are omitted in the representation. Many things please in the reading, which may have little or no effect upon the stage. When