Will. Wasn't I true to you? Look in my | face, and say that. When bidden to the wake or fair, The joy of each free-hearted swain, I loiter'd, last of all the train. If chance some fairing caught her eye, For what is gold compar'd to love? My posy on her bosom plac'd, Could Harry's sweeter scents exhale? And flutter'd in the wanton gale. With scorn she hears me now complain, And gold, alas! has banish'd love. [Coming back.] Let's part friendly, howsomever. Bye, Phebe: I shall always wish you well. angry. Will. And who cares for she? I never minded her anger, nor her coaxing neither, till you were cross to me. Phe. [Holding up her hands.] O the father! I cross to you, William? Will. Did not you tell me, this very morning, as how you had done wi' me? Phe. One word's as good as a thousand. Do you love me, William? Will. Do I love thee? Do I love dancing on the green better than thrashing in the barn? Do I love a wake, or a harvest-home? Phe. Then I'll never speak to Harry again the longest day I have to live. Will. I'll turn my back o' the miller's maid the first time I meet her. Phe. Will you indeed, and indeed? Will. Marry will I and more nor that, Phe. In gaudy courts, with aching hearts, The hills may higher honours claim, Will. See high-born dames, in rooms of state, Both. Amid the shades the virgin's sighs Enter BELVILLE. Bel. I tremble at the impression this lovely girl has made on my heart. My cheerfulness has left me, and I am grown insensible even to the delicious pleasure of making those happy who depend on my protection. Since the sun rose, I have been in continual exercise; I feel exhausted, and will try to rest a quarter of an hour on this bank. [Lies down on a bank by the fountain. Gleaners pass the Stage, with sheaves of Corn on their heads; last ROSINA, who comes forward singing. Ros. Light as thistle-down moving, which floats on the air, Sweet gratitude's debt to this cottage I bear; Of autumn's rich store I bring home my part, The weight on my head, but gay joy in my heart. What do I see? Mr. Belville asleep? I'll steal softly at this moment I may gaze on him without blushing, [Lays down the Corn, and walks softly up to him.] The sun points full on this spot; let me fasten these branches together with this riband, and shade him from its beams -yes-that will do-But if he should wake[Takes the Riband from her bosom, and ties the branches together.] How my heart beats! One look more-Ah! I have waked him. [She flies, and endeavours to hide herself against the door of the Cottage, turning her head every instant. Bel. What noise was that? [Half raising himself. Ros. He is angry-How unhappy I am How I tremble! [Aside. Bel. This riband I have seen before, and on the lovely Rosina's bosom- He rises, and goes toward the Cottage. Ros. I will hide myself in the house. [RoSINA, opening the door, sees CAPTAIN BELVILLE, and starts back.]-Heavens! a man in the house! Capt. B. Now, love, assist me! [Comes out and seizes ROSINA; she breaks from him, and runs affrighted across the Stage; BELVILLE follows; CAPTAIN BELVILLE, who comes out to pursue her, sees his brother, and steals off at the other Scene; BELVILLE leads ROSINA back. Bel. Why do you fly thus, Rosina? What can you fear? You are out of breath. BELVILLE, who supports her in his arms.] Bel. Don't be alarmed, 'twas my brother -he could not mean to offend you. Ros. Your brother! Why then does he not imitate your virtues? Why was he here? Bel. Forget this: you are safe. But tell me, Rosina, for the question is to me of importance; have I not seen you wear this riband? Ros. Forgive me, Sir; I did not mean to disturb you. I only meant to shade you from the too great heat of the sun. ROSINA. name. 247 Dor. To be sure, she never would let any of our young men come a near her; and yetBel. Speak: I am on the rack. Dor. I'm afeard-she mopes and she pines.But your honour would be angry-I'ni afeard the captain Bel. Then my foreboding heart was right. Enter RUSTIC. Ros. When first-but in vain-I seek to ex-lost-she's carried away plain, What heart but must love you? I blush, fear, and shame Bel. Why thus timid, Rosina? still safe by Let me be your guardian, protector, Ros. My timid heart pants-still safe by [guide. Be you my protector, my guardian, my Bel. Why thus timid, &c. Ros. My timid heart pants, &c. Bel. Unveil your mind to me, Rosina. The graces of your form, the native dignity of your mind, which breaks through the lovely simplicity of your deportment, a thousand circumstances concur to convince me you were not born a villager. Ros. To you, Sir, I can have no reserve. A pride, I hope an honest one, made me wish to sigh in secret over my misfortunes. Bel. [Eagerly.] They are at an end. [Aside Rust. Help, for Heaven's sake, Sir! Rosina's Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE. Capt. B. [Confusedly.] Don't be alarmedlet me go--I'll fly to save her. Bel. With me, Sir-I will not lose sight of you. Rustic, hasten instantly with our reapers. Dorcas, you will be our guide. [Exit. Rust. Don't be frightened, Sir; the Irishmen have rescued her; she is just here. [Exit. Enter the two IRISHMEN. 1 Irish. [To DORCAS.] Dry your tears, my jewel; we have done for them. Dor. Have you saved her? I owe you more than life. 1 Irish. Faith, good woman, you owe me nothing at all. I'll tell your honour how it was. My comrades and I were crossing the meadow, going home, when we saw them first; and hearing a woman cry, I looked up, and Ros. Dorcas approaches, Sir; she can best saw them putting her into a skiff against her relate my melancholy story. Enter DORCAS. Dor. His honour here? Good lack! How sorry I am I happened to be from home. Troth, I'm sadly tired. Bel. Will you let me speak with you a moment alone, Dorcas? Dor. Rosina, take this basket. [Exit ROSINA with the basket. Bel. Rosina has referred me to you, Dorcas, for an account of her birth, which I have long suspected to be above her present situation. Dor. To be sure, your honour, since the dear child gives me leave to speak, she's of as good a family as any in England. Her mother, sweet lady, was my bountiful old master's daughter, "Squire Welford, of Lincolnshire. His estate was seized for a mortage of not half its value, just after young madam was married, and she ne'er got a penny of her portion. Bel. And her father? Dor. Was a brave gentleman too, a colonel. His honour went to the Eastern Indies, to better his fortune, and madam would go with him. The ship was lost, and they, with all the little means they had, went to the bottom. Young Madam Rosina was their only child; they left her at school; but when this sad news came, the mistress did not care for keeping her, so the dear child has shared my poor morsel. Bel. But her father's name? Dor. Martin; Colonel Martin. Bel. I am too happy; he was the friend of my father's heart: a thousand times have I heard him lament his fate. Rosina's virtues shall not go unrewarded. Dor. Yes I know'd it would be so. Heaven never forsakes the good man's children. Bel. I have another question to ask you, Dorcas, and answer me sincerely; is her heart free? will. Says I, "Paddy, is not that the clever little crater that was glaning in the field with us this morning?"—". 'Tis so, sure enough," says he." By St. Patrick," says I, "there's enough of us to rescute her." With that we ran for the bare life, waded up to the knees, laid about us bravely with our shillelays, knocked them out of the skiff, and brought her back safe: and here she comes, my jewel. Re-enter RUSTIC, leading RoSINA, who throws Dor. I canno' speak.-Art thou safe? believe; it must have been some friend of the for Rosina hurried me out of myself. Bel. You have dishonoured me, dishonoured But begone, I renounce you as my brother, the glorious profession you have embraced.and renounce my ill-placed friendship. offended almost past forgiveness. Will the offer Capt. B. Your indignation is just; I have of my hand repair the injury? Bel. If Rosina accepts it, I am satisfied. This hope is a second insult. Whoever offends Ros. [To BELVILLE.] Will you, Sir, suffer?the object of his love is unworthy of obtaining her. racter. I know another, Rosina, who loves you Bel. This noble refusal paints your cha with as strong, though purer ardour:-but if allowed to hope of passing my independent days with Dorcas, Ros. Do not, Sir, envy me the calm delight in whom I have found a mother's tenderness. Dor. Bless thee, my child; thy kindness. melts my heart. Bel. Do you refuse me too then, Rosina? [ROSINA raises her eyes tenderly on BELVILLE, lowers them again, and leans on DORCAS. Dor. You, Sir? You? Ros. My confusion-My blushes- Phe. I am ashamed-William and I, your honour-William prayed me to let him keep me company-so he gained my good-will to have him, if so be my grandmother consents. [Courtesying, and playing with her apron. Will. If your honour would be so good to speak to Dorcas. Ros. Rust. Dor. Bel. Dorcas, you must not refuse me any thing to-day. I'll give William a farm. Will. Phe. Dor. Your honour is too kind-take her, William, and make her a good husband. Will. That I will, dame. And O! when summer joys are o'er And autumn yields its fruits no more, New blessings be there yet in store, For winter's sober hours to glean. Will. & Phe. [To BELVILLE.] Thank your Chorus. And O! when summer's joys, &c. honour. [BELVILLE joins their hands, they bow and courtesy. Will. What must I do with the purse, your honour? Dorcas would not take it. Bel. I believe my brother has the best right. Capt. B. 'Tis yours, William; dispose of it as you please. Will. Then I'll give it to our honest Irishmen, who fought so bravely for our Rosina. Bel. You have made good use of it, William; nor shall my gratitude stop here. Capt. B. Allow me to retire, brother. When I am worthy of your esteem, I will return, and demand my rights in your affection. Bel. You must not leave us, brother. Resume the race of honour; be indeed a soldier, and be more than my brother-be my friend. VENICE PRESERVED: A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY THOMAS OTWAY. REMARKS. THIS interesting tragedy owes its plot and plan to the Abbé de St. Réal's "Histoire de la Conjuration de Marquis de Bedamar," or Account of the Spanish Conspiracy at Venice, of which the Marquis de Bedamar, the ambassador from Spain, was a promoter. Nature and the passions are finely touched in this play; and it continues a favourite, deprived, as it now is in representation, of that mixture of vile comedy which originally diversified the tragic action. It has been remarked, that Belvidera is the only truly valuable character; and indeed the principal fault of this drama seems a want of sufficient and probable motive. SCENE 1.-A Street in Venice. Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! Be gone Jaf. Not hear me ! By my suffering, but you shall! My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws Me back so far, but I may boldly speak The honour of my house, you've done me You may remember (for I now will speak, home From travel, with such hopes as made you look'd on, you; By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation, In right, though proud oppression will not I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine: hear me? Pri. Have you not wrong'd me? Jaf. Could my nature e'er Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrongs, Pri. Yes, wrong'd me! In the nicest point, When, in requital of my best endeavours, Jaf. "Tis to me you owe her : You may remember, scarce five years are past, Till for her life she paid me with herself. At dead of night! that cursed hour you chose Heaven has already crown'd our faithful loves Pri. Rather live To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears Juf. Would I were in my grave! For, living here, you're but my curs'd remem- Is fond of Belvidera: You perceive [me. Juf. Indeed, my lord, I dare not. My heart, that awes me, is too much my Jaf. Yes, all, and then adieu for ever. There's not a wretch, that lives on common charity, But's happier than me: for I have known Pri. Home, and be humble; study to retrench; Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall, Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife starving quality, Call'd honesty, got footing in the world. Pier. Why, powerful villany first set it up, For its own ease and safety. Honest men Are the soft easy cushions on which knaves Repose and fatten. Were all mankind villains, They'd starve each other; lawyers would want practice, Cut-throats rewards: each man would kill Like wit, much talk'd of, not to be defin'd: "Tis a ragged virtue: Honesty! no more on't. Jaf. Sure thou art honest! Pier. So, indeed, men think me; A fine, gay, bold-fac'd villain as thou seest me. I steal from no man; would not cut a throat Yet, Jaffier, for all this I'm a villain. Pier. Yes, a most notorious villain; |