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 rely'd on that, why did you kill him? Car. To make all sure. Now, you are answer'd all. Where must I go? I am tir'd of your questions.

C. Bald. I leave the judge to tell thee what thou art; A father cannot find a name for thee.

Take him away

[CARLOS led off. Grant me, sweet Heav'n! the patience to go through The torment of my cure-Here, here begins

The operation.-Alas! she's mad.

Enter ISABELLA, distracted; and her Child running from her: Women following her.

Vil. My Isabella, poor unhappy wretch!

What can I say to her?

Isa. Nothing, nothing; 'tis a babbling worldI'll hear no more on't. When does the court sit?

I have a cause to try.

Will you not hear it? Then I must appeal

To the bright throne-Call down the heav'nly powers

To witness how you use me.

C. Bald. Pray give her way.

Isa. What have you done with him? He was here

but now;

I saw him here. Oh, Biron, Biron! where,

Where have they hid thee from me? He is gone But here's a little flaming cherubim—

Child. Oh, save me, save me!

I fear she'll kill me.

[Running to C. BALDWIN.

C. Bald. She will not hurt thee.

Isa. Will nothing do? I did not hope to find
Justice on earth; 'tis not in Heav'n neither.
Biron has watch'd his opportunity-

Softly; he steals it from the sleeping gods,
And sends it thus-

[Stabs herself. Now, now I laugh at you, I defy you all, You tyrant murderers.

Vil. Call, call for help-Oh, Heav'n! this was too much.

C. Bald. Oh, thou most injur'd innocence! Yet

live,

Live but to witness for me to the world,
How much I do repent me of the wrongs,

The unnatural wrongs, which I have heap'd on thee,
And have pull'd down this judgment on us all.

Vil. Oh, speak, speak but a word of comfort to me!

C. Bald. If the most tender father's care and love Of thee, and thy poor child, can make amends

Oh, yet look up and live.

Isa. Where is that little wretch?

[They raise her.

I die in peace to leave him to your care.

I have a wretched mother's legacy,

A dying kiss-pray let me give it him,

My blessing; that, that's all I have to leave thee.
Oh, may thy father's virtues live in thee,
And all his wrongs be buried in my grave!

[Dies.

Vil. She's gone, and all my joys of life with her.

THE END.

A TRAGEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS;

BY THOMAS SOUTHERN.

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS

FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS

BY MRS. INCHBALD.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER ROW.