Dick. Parents have flinty hearts, no tears | A paltry, scribbling fool-to leave me outcan move 'em: children must be wretched. Win. Get off the ground, you villain; get off the ground.

He'll say, perhaps he thought I could not spout.

Dick. "Tis a pity there are no scene-drawers to lift me.

Win. 'Tis mighty well, young man-zookers! I made my own fortune; and I'll take a boy out of the Blue-coat Hospital, and give him all I have.-Look ye here, friend Gargle. You know I'm not a hard-hearted man-the scoundrel, you know, has robbed me; so, d'ye see, I won't hang him,-I'll only transport the fellow-and so, Mr. Catchpole, you may take him to Newgate.

Gar. Well, but, dear Sir, you know I always intended to marry my daughter into your family; and if you let the young man be ruined, my money must all go into another channel.

Malice and envy to the last degree!
And why?—I wrote a farce as well as he;
And fairly ventur'd it, without the aid
Of prologue dress'd in black, and face in
masquerade.

9 pit!-have pity-see how I'm dismay'd!
Poor soul!-this canting stuff will never do,
Unless, like Bayes, he brings his hangman too.
But granting that from these same obsequies,
Some pickings to our bard in black arise;
Should your applause to joy convert his fear,
As Pallas turns to feast-Lardella's bier;
Yet 'twould have been a better scheme by half,
T have thrown his weeds aside, and learn'd
with me to laugh.

show,

I could have shown him, had he been inclin'd, A spouting junto of the female kind. Win. How's that?-into another channel! There dwells a milliner in yonder row, must not lose the handling of his money-Well dress'd, full voic'd, and nobly built for Why, I told you, friend Gargle, I'm not a hard-hearted man. Ha! ha-why, if the blockhead would but get as many crabbed physical words from Hippocrites and Allen, as he has from his nonsensical trumpery,-ha! ha!-I don't know, between you and I, but he might pass for a very good physician.

Dick. And must I leave thee, Juliet? Char. Nay, but pr'ythee now have done with your speeches-you see we are brought to the last distress, and so you had better make it up. [Apart to Dick. Dick. Why, for your sake, my dear, I don't care if I do. Apart.]—Sir, you shall find for the future, that we'll both endeavour to give you all the satisfaction in our power.

Win. Very well, that's right.

Dick. And since we don't go on the stage, 'tis some comfort that the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. Some play the upper, some the under, parts, And most assume what's foreign to their hearts; Thus life is but a tragic-comic jest, And all is farce and mummery at best.

EPILOGUE.

[Exeunt.

ORIGINALLY SPOKEN BY MRS. CLIVE.

Enters, reading a Play-Bill.

A VERY pretty bill, as I'm alive!
The part of-Nobody-by Mrs. Clive!

[Sarah ;
Who, when in rage, she scolds at Sue and
Damn'd, damn'd, dissembler: thinks she's
Madam Zara.

She has a daughter too that deals in lace,
And sings-O ponder well-and Chevy Chace,
And fain would fill the fair Ophelia's place.
And in her cock'd-up hat, and gown of camlet,
Presumes on something-touching the Lord
Hamlet.
A cousin too she has, with squinting eyes,
With waddling gait, and voice like London
Cries;
Who, for the stage too short by half a story,
Acts Lady Townly-thus-in all her glory.
And while she's traversing the scanty room,
Cries" Lord, my lord, what can I do at
home?"

In short, there's girls enough for all the fel-
lows,
[lous,
The ranting, whining, starting, and the jea-
The Hotspurs, Romeos, Hamlets, and Othel-
los.

Oh! little do those silly people know
What dreadful trials actors undergo.
Myself, who most in harmony delight,
Am scolding here from morning until night.
Then take advice from me, ye giddy things,
Ye royal milliners, ye apron'd kings;
Young men, beware, and shun your slipp'ry

IT has been observed, that Rowe seldom moves either pity or terror, but often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but always delights the ear, and often improves the understanding. This excellent tragedy is always acted with great applause, and will, in one instance at least, prove the author's power to excite a powerful effect: consisting chiefly of domnestic scenes and private distress, the play before us is an affecting appeal to pity, especially in the parting of Alicía and Hastings, the interview between Jane Shore and Alicia, and in the catastrophe. In the plot Rowe has nearly followed the history of this misguided and unhappy fair one, and has produced an impressive moral lesson.

Young Edward and the little York, are lodg'd
Here, safe within the Tower. How say you,
Sirs,

Does not this business wear a lucky face?
The sceptre and the golden wreath of royalty
Seem hung within my reach.

Sir R. Then take 'em to you,
And wear them long and worthily: you are
The last remaining male of princely York,
(For Edward's boys, the state esteems not of
'em,)

And therefore on your sov'reignty and rule
The commonweal does her dependence make,
And leans upon your highness' able hand.

K

your cause?

Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead | Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame,
And one false step entirely damns her fame;
In vain, with tears the loss she may deplore,
In vain, look back on what she was before;
She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more.

[eyes:
But wherefore should he not? Hastings has
The gentle lord has a right tender heart,
Melting and easy, yielding to impression,
And catching the soft flame from each new
beauty;

But yours shall charm him long.
Jane S. Away, you flatterer! [ness,
Nor charge his gen'rous meaning with a weak-
Which his great soul and virtue must disdain.
Too much of love thy hapless friend has
prov'd,

Too many giddy, foolish, hours are gone,
And in fantastic measures danc'd away:
May the remaining few know only friendship.
So thou, my dearest, truest, best, Alicia,
Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle heart,
A partner there, I will give up mankind,
Forget the transports of increasing passion,
And all the pangs we feel for its decay.
Alic. Live! live and reign for ever in my
bosom;
Safe and unrivall'd there, possess thy own;
[Embracing.
And you, the brightest of the stars above,
Ye saints, that once were women here below,
Be witness of the truth, the holy friendship,
Which here to this my other self I vow.
If I not hold her nearer to my soul,
Than every other joy the world can give,
Let poverty, deformity, and shame,
Distraction and despair, seize me on earth,
Let not my faithless ghost have peace here-
after,

Nor taste the bliss of your celestial fellowship!
Jane S. Yes, thou art true, and only thou

art true;
Therefore, these jewels, once the lavish bounty
Of royal Edward's love, I trust to thee;
Receive this, all that I can call my own,
[Giving a Casket.
And let it rest unknown, and safe with thee:
That, if the state's injustice should oppress me,
Strip me of all, and turn me out a wanderer,
My wretchedness may find relief from thee,
And shelter from the storm.

Alic. My all is thine;

One common hazard shall attend us both,
And both be fortunate, or both be wretched.
But let thy fearful, doubting, heart be still;
The saints and angels have thee in their charge,
And all things shall be well. Think not, the
good,

The gentle, deeds of mercy thou hast done,
Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the pris'ner,
The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,
Shall cry to heaven, and pull a blessing on
thee.

Even man, the merciless insulter, man,
Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness,
Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness
Forget thy failings, and record thy praise.
Jane S. Why should I think that man will

do for me,

What yet he never did for wretches like me?
Mark by what partial justice we are judg'd;
Such is the fate unhappy women find,

And such the curse entail'd upon our kind,
That man, the lawless libertine, may rove,
Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of
love;

While woman,-sense and nature's easy fool,
If poor, weak, woman swerve from virtue's
rule;

If, strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way,
And in the softer paths of pleasure stray;

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 1.-An Apartment in JANE SHORE'S
House.

Enter ALICIA, speaking to JANE Shore us
entering.

Alic. No further, gentle friend; good angels guard you,

And spread their gracious wings about your
slumbers.

[now
The drowsy night grows on the world, and
The busy craftsman, and the o'er-labour'd hind
Care only wakes, and moping pensiveness;
Forget the travail of the day in sleep:
With meagre discontented looks they sit,
And watch the wasting of the midnight taper.
Restless and self-tormented! O, false Hast-
Such vigils must I keep, so wakes my soul,
ings!

Thou hast destroy'd my peace.

What noise is that?

[Knocking without.

What visitor is this, who, with bold freedom,
With such a rude approach?
Breaks in upon the peaceful night and rest,

Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. One from the court,

Lord Hastings (as I think) demands my lady.
Alic. Hastings! Be still, my heart, and try
to meet him
With his own arts! with falsehood.-But he
[comes.
Enter LORD HASTINGS, speaking to a Servant as
entering.

Lord H. Dismiss my train, and wait alone
without.

Alicia here! Unfortunate encounter!
But be it as it may.

Alic. When humbly, thus,
The great descend to visit the afflicted,
To sooth the sorrows of the midnight mourner,
When thus, unmindful of their rest, they come
Comfort comes with them; like the golden sun,
Dispels the sullen shades with her sweet in-
fluence,

And cheers the melancholy house of care.

Lord H. "Tis true, I would not over-rate a

courtesy,

Nor let the coldness of delay hang on it,
To nip and blast its favour, like a frost;
But rather chose, at this late hour, to come,
That your fair friend may know I have pre-
vail'd;

And means to show her grace.
The lord protector has receiv'd her suit,
Alic. My friend! my lord.

Lord H. Yes, lady, yours; none has a right
more ample

To tax my power than you.

Alic. I want the words

But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning,
To pay you back a compliment so courtly;
And wo' not die your debtor.

But I would see your friend.
Lord H. "Tis well, Madam.

I would be mistress of my heaving heart,
Alic. Oh, thou false lord!
Stifle this rising rage, and learn from thee