Ped. All, all; save me but from the rack, I'll | He said, they came from you, you are his

confess all.

Vil. You and your accomplices design'd

To murder Biron?-Speak.

Ped. We did.

brother?

Car. Never from me.

Bel. That will appear.

The letters, I believe, are still about him;

Vil. Did you engage upon your private For some of them I saw but yesterday.

Or were employ'd?

wrongs,

Ped. He never did us wrong.

Vil. You were set on then?

Ped. We were set on.

Vil. What do you know of me?

Ped. Nothing, nothing:

You sav'd his life, and have discover'd me.
Vil. He has acquitted me.

If you would be resolved of any thing,
He stands upon his answer.

Bel. Who set you on to act this horrid deed?
C. Bald. I'll know the villain; give me quick
his name,

Or I will tear it from thy bleeding heart.
Ped. I will confess.

C. Bald. Do then.

Ped. It was my master, Carlos, your own son. C. Bald. Oh, monstrous! monstrous! most unnatural!

Bel. Did he employ you to murder his own brother?

Ped. He did; and he was with us when 'twas done.

C. Bald. If this be true, this horrid, horrid

tale,

It is but just upon me; Biron's wrongs
Must be reveng'd; and 1 the cause of all!
Egm. What will you do with him?
C. Bald. Take him apart-

I know too much. [Exit PEDRO, guarded.
Vil. I had forgot-your wretched, dying son,
Gave me this letter for you.

[Gives it to C. BALDWIN.
I dare deliver it. It speaks of me,
I pray to have it read."

C. Bald. You know the hand?
Bel. I know 'tis Biron's hand.
C. Bald. Pray read it.

Sir,

C. Bald. What did those answers say?
Bel. I cannot speak to the particulars;
But I remember well, the sum of them
Was much the same, and all agreed,
That there was nothing to he hop'd from you:
That 'twas your barbarous resolution
To let him perish there.-

C. Bald. Oh, Carlos! Carlos! hadst thou
been a brother-

Car. This is a plot upon me. I never knew
He was in slavery, or was alive,
Or heard of him, before this fatal hour.
Bel. There, Sir, I must confront you.
He sent you a letter, to my knowledge, last
night;

And you sent him word you would come to
him-

I fear you came too soon.

C. Bald. 'Tis all too plain.-
Bring out that wretch before him.

[PEDRO produced.

Car. Ha! Pedro there!-Then I am caught,
indeed.

He has confess'd the bloody deed.
Bel. You start at sight of him;
Car. Well then, he has confess'd,
And I must answer it.

Bel. Is there no more?

Car. Why!-what would you have more? I know the worst,

And I expect it.

C. Bald. Why hast thou done all this?
Car. Why, that which damns most men has
ruin'd me;

The making of my fortune. Biron stood
Between ine and your favour; while he liv'd,
I had not that; hardly was thought a son,
And not at all akin to your estate.

I could not bear a younger brother's lot,

[BELFORD reads the Letter To live depending upon courtesy

Car. Alive! Heaven knows, not I.

Had you provided for me like a father,
I had been still a brother.

C. Bald. 'Tis too true;

I never lov'd thee as I should have done;
It was my sin, and I am punish'd for't.
Oh! never may distinction rise again
In families: let parents be the same
To all their children; common in their care,
And in their love of them.-I am unhappy,
For loving one too well.

Vil. You knew your brother liv'd; why did
you take

Such pains to marry me to Isabella?
Car. I had my reasons for't.-

Vil. More than I thought you had.
Car. But one was this

I knew my brother lov'd his wife so well,
That, if he ever should come home again,
He could not long outlive the loss of her.
Bel. If you relied on that, why did you kill
him?

Car. To make all sure. Now you are an-
swer'd all.

C. Bald. Had you news of him, from a report, Where must I go? I'm tired of your questions.

Or letter, never?

Car. Never, never, I.

Bel. That's strange, indeed: I know he often writ [To C. BALDWIN. To lay before you the condition Of his hard slavery: and more I know, That he had several answers to his letters.

C. Bald. I leave the judge to tell thee what
thou art;

A father cannot find a name for thee.
Take him away—

[CARLOS is led off. Grant me, sweet Heaven! the patience to go through

THE characters and songs of this agreeable mélange are natural, the fable is consistent, and the incidents well arranged. The music has been always admired.

Mr. Charles Dibdin was both author and composer of this and a multitude of successful productions. Perhaps, no similar instance can be produced, wherein individual powers have so eminently contributed to the welfare and amusement of the British public: the army, the navy, the community in general, were highly indebted to this gentleman for those multifarious and excellent vocal compositions,' calculated to promote love of our country and zeal to protect it. From the early age of seventeen, when our author composed his first opera, he was before the public in every branch of his profession; and for twenty years, he was the sole writer, composer, and performer, of an entertainment, at his Sans Souci, which never failed in its influence over a delighted audience.

AIR.-LUBIN.

'Midst thrushes, blackbirds, nightingales,
Whose songs are echo'd from the vales,
Trudging along through thick and thin,
Thank fate, at last I've reach'd the door.
How pleas'd they'll be to let me in!
I've walk'd amain,

And yet, ne'er leaving her before,
Hast'ning to see my love again,

I thought each furlong half a score.

They're long, methinks

DUET. CICELY and LUBIN.

Cic. [At the window.] Who's there, I trow?
Lub. Look out, good mother, don't you know?
'Tis Lubin. How does Gillian do?
And Hodge, and Margery, and Sue?

Cic. Not a whit better, Sir, for you.
Lub. Why, what's the matter? Why d'ye

frown?

Cic. You shall know all, when I come down.
Lub. What is the meaning of all this?
Oh, here she comes.—

Cic.

Enter CICELY.

-Well, what's amiss?
Who are you, making all this stir?
If to come in you mean,
You may as well be jogging, Sir,
While yet your boots are green.
Lub. I'm perfectly like one astound,
I know not, I declare,

Whether I'm walking on the ground,
Or flying in the air.

This usage is enough to quite
Bereave one of one's wits.

Cic. Good-lack-a-day! and do you bite,
Pray, ever, in these fits?

Lub. But you are jesting.

Cic.

Think so still.

Lub. Where's Gillian?

She's not here:

Cic.

She's gone abroad, Sir, she is ill;

She's dead, you cannot see her.
She knows you not, did never see
Your face in all her life:
In short, to-morrow she's to be
Another person's wife.
Lub. Another person's wife?
Cic. Another person's wife.

I tell you we know nothing at all about you.
Lub. You don't! Why then may happen my
name 'en't Lubin Blackthorn, and 'tis likely
I did not set out six months ago to see my
father down in the west, and ask his consent
to my marriage with your daughter Gillian;
and I warrant you I did not stay till my father
died, to take possession of his farm and every
thing that belonged to him; nay, you'll want
to make me believe presently that I 'en't come
now to settle affairs, and take her back into
the country with me.

Cic. Don't make a fool of yourself, young man: get back to your farm, and graze your oxen. You won't get a lamb out of our fold, I promise you.

Lub. Well, but in sober sadness, you 'en't serious, are you?

Cic. Serious! Why don't I tell you, Gillian's to be married to another to-morrow? Lub. Where is she? I'll hear it from her own mouth.

Cic. I believe about this time she is trying on her wedding suit.

Lub. And who is this she is going to be married to? I'll see him, and know what he has done to deserve her more than I have. Cic. Done to deserve her!

Lub. Yes, done to deserve her. You forget, I suppose, when I've carried her milk-pail for her, or taken her share of work in the hayfield, how you used to say, that I was a true lover indeed; but I don't desire to have any thing to say to you-you'll repent first.

Cic. Poor young man!

Lub. Nay, but don't you think you have used me very ill, now?

Cic. I thought you said you would not speak a word to me?

Lud. Nay, but dame Cicely

Cic. Your servant. If you have a mind to
be a brideman, we shall be glad to see you.
[Exit.
Lub. A very pretty spot of work this! And
so I have come a hundred miles to make a
fool of myself, and to be laughed at by the
whole village.

I lock'd up all my treasure,
I journey'd many a mile,
And by my grief did measure
The passing time the while.
My business done and over,
I hasten'd back amain,
Like an expecting lover,
To view it once again.
But this delight was stifled,
As it began to dawn,
I found the casket rifled,
And all my treasure gone.
Enter EASY.

Lub. Here comes her father. I don't suppose he had much hand in it; for so he had his afternoon's nap in quiet, he was always for letting things go as they would. [Aside.] So, Master Easy, you have consented, I find, to marry your daughter to another, after pro

mising ne over and over that nobody should have her but me.

Easy. My wife desired me.

Lub. Your mind is strangely altered, farmer Easy. But do me one piece of justice, however tell me who is it you intend for your son-in-law?

Easy. "Tis a rich one, I assure you.

and all for the lucre of gain. And, pray now, Lub. And so you have broke your word, don't you expect to be hooted out of the village?

Easy. I can't say I do.

and I'll get away from them as soon as I can. Lub. Then they're a vile pack of wretches, Go on, go on-let me know all.

regard what you say; but I think I should
Easy. You are in a passion, child, so I don't
have been out of my wits to have refused Mr.
Steady, the rich quaker.

Lub. What, is ít he then?
Easy. It is.

Lub. What, he that you are steward to; he gives a portion every May-day to a damsel, as that does so much good all about; and he that a reward for her sweetheart's ingenuity?

Easy. The same-you have seen the nature done the most ingenious thing, claims a right of it-that villager who can boast of having free for seven years, and a hundred pounds to to demand a farm, containing sixty acres, rentchooses, provided he gains her consent: and stock it, together with whatever maiden he it is a good custom; for the young men, who formerly used to vie with one another in the one another in feats of understanding. feats of strength, now, as I may say, vie with

Lub. And so he is to marry your daughter? purpose he has taken Gillian into his own Easy. Things are as I tell you. And for that house, had her taught music, and, to say the truth, she is a different thing to what she was when you saw her last.

Lub. She is, indeed! for, when I saw her last, she told me that all the riches in the world should never make her forget me.

Easy. But since she has changed her mind. and it so falls out that to-morrow is May-day: you would do well to study some ingenious thing, and get this portion for a more deserving damsel.

Lub. No, farmer Easy; her using me ill is me angry with myself; I swore to love her for no reason why I should do any thing to make ever, and I'll keep my word, though I see she has broke hers.

Easy. Do what you please; I must be gone. Lub. Nay, but tell me one thing-did Gillian herself consent to this?

Easy. You'll know all in good time. [Exit.

[tire;

Women are Wills-o'-the-wisp, 'tis plain,
The closer they seem still the more they re.
They tease you, and jade you,
And round about lead you,
Without hopes of shelter,
Ding-dong, helter-skelter,
Through water and fire:

And when you believe every danger and pain
From your heart you may banish,
And you're near the possession of what you
That instant they vanish, [desire,

And the devil a bit can you catch them again.
By some they're not badly compar'd to the sea,
Which is calm and tempestuous within the

same hour;

Some say they are sirens, but take it from me, They're a sweet race of angels, o'er man that have power,

His person, his heart, nay his reason to seize, And lead the poor creature wherever they please. [Exit.

SCENE II.-A Room in STEADY's House, with glass doors in the back.

Enter FLORETTA and GILLIAN. Flor. Pooh, pooh, you must forget Lubin. Gil. How can you talk so, Floretta? I won't though, and none of them shall make me: they all frightened me, by saying it was a bad thing not to obey my parents, and so I sented to marry this quaker-man; but there's a wide difference between marrying him and forgetting Lubin.

con

Flor. And so you would be silly enough to prefer being the homely wife of a clown, to rolling about in your own coach, having your own servants to wait on you, and in short leading the life of a fine lady?

Gil. Oh, Lord! I am sick with the thoughts of being a fine lady! But what's the reason, Floretta, that my friends want to make me so unhappy? I am sure I'd do any thing rather than vex them.

Flor. Why, you know that Mr. Steady's will is a law to us all; and as he had desired your friends to consent to this marriage, how could they refuse?

Gil. Well, but you know he is a very goodnatured man; and I dare say if I was to tell him how disagreeable he is, and that I can't bear the sight of him, he'd let me marry Lu