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my sin.

May well instruct me rage is in his heart, Let mischiefs multiply! let every hour
I shall be next abandon'd to my fortune, Of my loath'd life yield me increase of horror!
Thrust cut, a naked wand'rer to the world, O let the sun, to these unhappy eyes,
And branded for the mischievous Monimia! Ne'er shine again, but be eclips'd for ever!
What will become of me? My cruel brother May every thing I look on seem .a prodigy,
Is framing mischiefs too, for aught I know, To fill my soul with terrors, till I quite
That may produce bloodshed and horrid murder! Forget I ever had humanity,
I would not be the cause of one man's death, And grow a curser of the works of nature!
To reign the empress of the earth; nay, more, Pol. What means all this?
I'd rather lose for ever my Castalio,

Mon. O Polydore! if all
My dear, unkind Castalio.

[Sits down. The friendship, e'er you vow'd to good Castalio

Be not a falsehood, if you ever lov'd
Enter POLYDORE.

Your brother, you've undone yourself and me. Pol. Monimia weeping!

Pol. Wbich way can ruin reach the man I come, my love, to kiss all sorrow from thee.

that's rich, What mean these sighs, and why thus beats As I am, in possession of thy sweetness? thy heart?

Mon. Oh! I'm bis wife!
Mon. Let me alone to sorrow; 'tis a cause Pol. What says Monimia ?
None e'er shall know; but it shall with me die. Mon. I am Castalio's wife!

Pol. Happy, Monimia, he to whom these sigbs, Pol. His marry'd, wedded wife?
These lears, and all these languishings are paid ! Mon. Yesterday's sun
I know yoor beart was never meant for me; Saw it perform'd!
That jewels for an elder brother's price. Pol. My brother's wife?
Mon, My lord!

Mon. As surely as we both
Pol. Nay, wonder not; last night I heard Must taste of misery, that guilt is thine.
His oaths, your vows, and to my torment saw Pol. Oh! thou may'st yet be happy!
Your wild embraces; heard the appointment Mon. Couldst thou be
made;

Happy, with such a weight upon thy soul? I did, Monimia, and I curs'd the sound. Pol. It may be yet a secret.--I'll go try Wilt thou be sworn, my love? wilt thou be ne'er To reconcile and bring Castalio to thee! Unkind again?

Whilst from the world I take myself away, Mon. Banish such fruitless hopes! And waste my life in penance for Have you sworn constancy to my undoing ? Mon. Then thou wouldst more undo me: Will you be ne'er my friend again?

heap a load Pol. What means my love?

Of added sins upon my wretched head! Mon. Away! what meant my lord Wouldst thou again have me betray thy brother, Last night?

And bring pollution to his arms? Curs'd Pol. Is that a question now to be demanded ?

thought! Mon. Was it well done Oh! when shall I be mad indeed! [Exit

. T” assault my lodging at the dead of night, Pol. Then thus I'll go-. And threaten me if I deny'd admittance- Full of my guilt, distracted where to roam: You said you were Castalio.

I'll find some place where adders nest in winter, Pol. By those eyes,

Loathsome and venomous; where poisons hang It was the same: I spent my time much better. Like gums against the walls: there I'll inhabit, Mon. Ha!-have a care!

And live up to the height of desperation. Pol. Where is the danger near me? Desire shall languish like a with'ring flower, Mon. I fear you're on rock will wreck Horrors shall fright me from those pleasing harms, your quiet,

And I'll no more be caught with beauty's And drown your soul in wretchedness for ever.

charms.

[Exit

. A thousand horrid thoughts crowd on my memory:

ACT V. Will you be kind, and answer me one question ?

Scene I.--A Garden. Pol. I'd trust thee with my life; on that soft bosom

Castalio discovered lying on the Ground. Breathe out the choicest secrets of my heart,

Soft Music. Till I had nothing in it left but love.

Cas. See where the deer trot after one another: Mon. Nay, I'll conjure you, by the gods and No discontent they know; but in delightful angels,

Wildness and freedom, pleasant springs, fresh By the honour of your name, that's most con

herbage, cern'd,

Calm arbours, lusty health and innocence, To tell me, Polydore, and tell me truly, Enjoy their portion:—if they see a man, Where did you rest last night?

How will they turn together all, and gaze Pol. Within thy arms.

Upon the .monster! Mon. 'Tis done.

[Faints. Once in a season too they taste of love: Pol. She faints! — no help!- who waits ?- Only the beast of reason is its slave; A curse

And in that folly drudges all the year.
Upon my vanity, that could not keep
The secret of my happiness in silence!

Enter Acasto.
Confusion! we shall be surpris'd anon;

Acas. Castalio! Castalio! And consequently all must be betray'd.

Cas. Who's there Monimia-she breathes !--Monimia!

So wretched but to name Castalio ? Mon. Well

Acas. I hope my message may succeed.

my heart,

you

Cas. My father!

With the remembrance of an ancient friendship. 'Tis joy to see you, though where sorrow's Cas. I am a villain, if I will not seek thee, nourish'd.

Till I may be reveng'd for all the wrongs Acas. Castalio, you must go along with me, Done me by that ungrateful fair thou plead'st for. And see Monimia.

Cham. She wrong'd thee? By the fury in Cas. Sure my lord but mocks me: Go see Monimia?

Thy father's honour's not above Monimia's; Acas. I say, no more dispute.

Nor was thy mother's truth and virtue fairer. Complaints are made to me that you have Acas. Boy, don't disturb the ashes of the dead wrong'd her.

With thy capricious folltes; the remembrance Cas. Who bas complain'd?

Of the lov'd creature that once fill'd these arms Acas. fler brother io my face proclaim'd Cham. Has not been wrong'd. her wrong'd,

Cas. It shall not.
And in such terms they've warm'd me. Cham. No, nor shall

Cas. What terms? Her brother! Heaven! Monimia, though a helpless orphan, destitute
Where learn'd he that?

Of friends and fortune, though th' unhappy sister What, does she send her hero with defiance? Of poor Chamont, whose sword is all his portion, He durst not sure affront you ?

B' oppress'd by thee, thou proud, imperious Acas. No, not much:

traitor! But

Cas. Ha! set me free. Cas. Speak, what said he ?

Cham. Come both. Acas. That thou wert a villain:

Cas. Sir, if you'd have me think you did Methinks I would not have thee thought a villain.

not take Cas. Shame on the ill-manner'd brute! This opportunity to show your vanity,' Your age secur'd bim; he durst not else have said Let's meet some other time, when by ourselves Acas. By my sword,

We fairly may dispute our wrongs together. I would not see thee wrong'd, and bear it vilely: Chann. Till then I am Castalio's friend. (Exit. Though I have pass'd my word she shall have Acas. Would I'd been absent when this justice.

boist'rous brave Cas. Justice! to give her justice would un-Came to disturb thee thus. I'm griev'd I hinder'd do her.

Thy just resentment-But, Monimia-
Think this solitude I now have chosen, Cas. Damn her!
Wish'd do have grown one piece

Acas. Don't curse her.
With this cold clay, and all without a cause? Cas. Did I ?

Acas. Yes.
Enter CHAMONT.

Cas. I'm sorry for't.
Cham. Where is the hero, famous and re- Acas. Methinks, if, as I

guess,

the fault's nown'd

but small, For wronging innocence, and breaking yows; It might be pardon'd. Whose mighty spirit, and whose stubborn heart, Cas. No. No woman can appease, nor man provoke? Acas. What has she done? Acas. I guess, Chamont, you come to seek Cas. That she's my wife, may heaven and Castalio?

you forgive me! Cham. I come to seek the husband of Monimia. Acas. Be reconcil'd then. Cas. The slave is here.

Cas. No. Cham. I thought ere now to have found you Acas. For my sake, Atoning for the ills you've done Chamont: Castalio, and the quiet of my age. For you bave wrongd the dearest part of him. Cas. Why will you urge a thing my naMonimia, young lord, weeps in this heart;

ture starts at ? And all the tears thy injuries have drawn Acas. Pr’ythee forgive her. From her poor eyes, are drops of blood from Cas. Lightnings first shall blast me! hence.

I tell you, were she prostrate at my feet, Cas. Then you are Chamont?

Full of her sex's best dissembled sorrows, Cham. Yes, and I hope no stranger

And all that wondrous beauty of her own, To great Castalio.

My heart might break, but it should never sosten. Cas. I've heard of such a man,

Acas. Did you but know the agonies she feelsThat has been very busy with my honour. She flies with fury over all the house; I own I'm much indebted to you, sir, Through every room of each apartment, crying, And here return the villain back again “Where's my Castalio ? Give me my Castalio!” You sent me by my father.

Except she sees you, sure she'll grow distracted! Cham. Thus l'll thank you. [Draws. Cas. Ha! will she? Does she name Castalio? Acas. By this good sword, who first pre- And with such tenderness ? Conduct me quickly sumes to violence,

To the poor lovely mourner. Makes me his foe. [Draws and interposes. Acas. Then wilt thou go? Blessings attend Cas. Sir, in my younger years with care

thy purpose! you taught me

Cas. I cannot hear Monimia's soul's in sadness, That brave revenge was due to injur'd honour: And be a man: my heart will not forget ber. Oppose not then the justice of my sword, Acas. Delay not then; but haste and cheer Lest you should make me jealous of your love.

thy love. Cham. Into thy father's arms thou fly'st for Cas. Oh! I will throw my impatient arms safety,

about her! Because thou know'st that place is sanctify'd In her soft bosom sigh my soul to

peace;

Till through the panting breast she finds the way (With torment I must tell it thee, Castalio),
To mould my heart, and make it what she will. Ever to be a stranger to thy love,
Monimia! Oh!

[Exeunt. In some far distant country waste my life,

And from this day to see thy face no more. SCENE II.-A Chamber.

Cas. Why turn'st thou from me; I'm alone Enter MONIMIA.

already. Mon. Stand off, and give me room; Methinks I stand upon a naked beach, I will not rest till I have found Castalio, Sigbing to winds, and to the seas complaining, My wish's lord, comely as the rising day. Whilst afar off the vessel sails away, I cannot die in peace till I have seen him. Where all the treasure of my soul's embark'd;

Wilt thou not turn? - Oh! could those eyes Enter CastaliO.

but speak, Cas. Who talks of dying, with a voice so sweet I should know all, for love is pregnant in 'em; That life's in love with it?

They swell, they press their beams upon me still: Mon. Hark! 'tis he that answers.

Wilt thou not speak? If we must part for ever, Where art' thou?

Give me but one kind word to think upon, Cas. Here, my love.

And please myself withal, whilst my heart's Mon. No nearer, lest I vanish.

breaking Cas. Have I been in a dream then all this while? Mon. Ah!

poor
Castalio!

[Erit. And art thou but the shadow of Monimia?

Cas. What means all this? Why all this Why dost thou fly me thus?

stir to plague Mon. Oh! were it possible that we could A single wretcb? If but your word can shake drown

This world atoms, why so much ado In dark oblivion but a few past hours, With me? think me' but dead, and lay me so. We might be happy. Cas. Is't then so hard, Monimia, to forgive

Enter POLYDORE. A fault, where humble love, like mine, im

Pol. To live, and live a torment to myself, plores thee?

What dog would bear't, that knew but his For I must love thee, though it prove my ruin.

condition? I'll kneel to thee, and weep a flood before thee. We've little knowledge, and that makes us Yet pr'ythee, tyrant, break not quite my heart;

cowards, But when my task of penitence is done,

Because it cannot tell us what's to come.
Heal it again, and comfort me with love.

Cas. Who's there?
Mon. If I am dumb, Castalio, and want words Pol. Why, what art thou?
To pay thee back this mighty tenderness, Cas. My brother Polydore?
It is because I look on thee with horror, Pol. My name is Polydore.
And cannot see the man I have so wrong'd.

Cas. Canst thou inform me-
Cas. Thou hast not wrong'd me.

Pol. Of what? Mon. Ab! alas, thou talk'st

Cas. Of my Monimia? Just as thy poor heart thinks. Have not I Pol. No. Good day! wrong'd thee?

Cas. Ia haste! Cas. No.

Methinks my Polydore appears in sadness. Mon. Still thou wander'st in the dark, Castalio; Pol. Indeed! and so to me does my Castalio. But wilt, ere long, stumble on horrid danger.

Cas. Do I? Cas. My better angel, then do thou inform me Pol. Thou dost. What danger threatens me, and where it lies; Cos. Alas, I've wondrous reason! Why wert ihou (pr’ythee smile, and tell me why), I'm strangely alter'd, brother, since I saw thee. When I stood waiting underneath the window, Pol. Why? Deaf to my cries, and senseless of my pains ? Cas. I'll tell thee, Polydore; I would repose

Mon. Did I not beg thee to forbear inquiry? Within thy friendly bosom all my follies; Read'st thou not something in my face, that For thou wilt pardon 'em, because they're mine. speaks Pol. Be not too credulous; consider first

, Wonderful change, and horror from within me? Friends may be false. Is there no friendship false?

Cas. If, lab'ring in the pangs of death, Cas. Why dost thou ask me that?' Does Thou wouldst do any thing to give me ease, Unfold this riddle ere my thoughts grow wild,' Like a false friendship, when, with open arms And let in fears of ugly form upon me, And streaming eyes, I run upon thy breast? Mon. My heart won't let me speak it; but Oh! 'tis in thee alone I must have comfort! remember,

Pol. I fear, Castalio, I have none to give thee. Monimia, poor Monimia, tells you

this:

Cas. Dost thou not love me then? We ne'er must meet again

Pol. Oh, more than life; Cas. Ne'er meet again?

I never had a thought of my Castalio, Mon. No, never.

Might wrong the friendship we had vow'd Cas. Where's the power

together.
On earth, that dares not look like thee, and say so ? Hast thou dealt so by me?
Thou art my heart's inheritance: I serv'd Cas. I hope I have.
A long and faithful slavery for thee;

Pol. Then tell me why this morning, this And who shall rob me of the dear - bought

disorder blessing?

Cas. O Polydore, I know not bow to tell thee; Mon. Time will clear all; but now let this Shame rises in my face, and interrupts content you:

The story of my tongue. Heaven has decreed, and therefore I've resolvid Pol. I grieve, my friend

1

this appear

Knows any thing which be's asham'd to tell me. Plac'd some coarse peasant's cub, and thou art he!

Cas. Oh, much too oft. Our destiny contriv'd Cas. Thou art my brother still.
To plague us both with one unhappy love! Pol. Thou liest!
Thou, like a friend, a constant, gen'rous friend, Cas. Nay, then-

[Draws. In its first pangs didst trust me with thy passion, Yet I am calm. Whilst I still smooth'd my pain with smiles Pol. A coward's always so. before thee,

Cas. Ab!-ah!—that stings home! Coward! And made a contract I ne'er meant to keep. Pol. Ay, base-born coward! villain! Pol. How!

Cas. This to thy heart, then, though my Cas. Still new ways I studied to abuse thee,

mother bore thee! And kept thee as a stranger to my passion, [They fight; Polydore drops his Sword, Til yesterday I wedded with Monimia.

and runs on Castalio's. Pol. Ah! Castalio, was that well done? Pol. Now my Castalio is again my friend. Cus. No; to conceal't from thee was much Cas. What have I done? my sword is in, a fault.

thy breast. Pol. A fault! when thou hast heard

Pol. So would I have it be, thou best of men, The tale I'll tell, what wilt thou call it then? Thou kindest brother, and thou truest friend! Cas. How my heart throbs!

Cas. Ye gods! we're taught that all your Pol. First, for thy friendship, traitor,

works are justice: I cancel't thus: after this day I'll ne'er Ye're painted merciful, and friends to innocence: Hold trust or converse with the false Castalio! If so, then why these plagues upon my head? This witness, heaven.

Pól. Blame not the heav'ns, 'tis Polydore Cas. What will my fate do with me?

has wrong'd thee; I've lost all happiness, and know not why! I've stain'd thy bed; thy spotless marriage joys What means this, brother?

Have been polluted by thy brother's lust. Pol. Perjur’d, treach'rous wretch,

Cas. By thee? Farewell!

Pol. By me, last night, the horrid deed Cas. I'll be thy slave, and thou shalt use me Was done, when all things slept but rage Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me.

and incest, Pol. Never.

Cas. Now, where's Monimia? Oh! Cas. Oh! think a little what thy heart is doing:

Enter MONIMIA. How, from our infancy, we hand in hand Mon. I'm here! who calls me? Have trod the path of life in love together. Methought I heard a voice One bed bas held us, and the same desires, Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains, The same aversions, still employ'd our thoughts. When all his little flock's al feed before him. Whene'er bad I a friend that was not Polydore's But what means this? here's blood ! Or Polydore a foe that was not mine? Cas. Ay, brother's blood ! E'en in the womb we embrac'd; and wilt Art thou prepar'd for everlasting pains?

Pol. Oh! let me charge thee, by th' eternal For the first fault, abandon and forsake me?

justice, Leave me, amidst afflictions, to myself, Hurt not her tender life! Plung'd in the gulf of grief, and none to help me? Cas. Not kill her?

Pol. Go to Monimia; in her arms thou'lt find Mon. That task myself have finish'd: I shall die Repose; she has the art of healing sorrows. Before we part: I've drunk a healing dranght Cas. What arts?

For all my cares, and never more shall wrong Pol. Blind wretch! 'thou husband? there's

thee. a question!

Pol. Oh, she's innocent.

Cas. Tell me that story, Cas. What?

And thou wilt make a wretch of me indeed. Pol. Whore? I think that word needs no Pol. Hadst thou, Castalio, us'd me like a friend, explaining

This ne'er had happen'd; hadst thou let me know Cas. Alas! I can forgive e'en this to thee; Thy marriage, we had all now met in joy: But let me tell thee, Polydore, I'm griev'd But, ignorant of that, To find thee guilty of such low revenge, Hearing th' appointment made, enragd to think To wrong that virtue which thou couldst not ruin. Thou hadst undone me in successful love, Pol. It seems I lie then!

I, in the dark, went and supply'd, thy place; Cas. Should the bravest man

Whilst all the night, midst our triumphant joys, That e'er wore conqʻring sword, but dare to The trembling, tender, kind, deceiv'd'Monimia, whisper

Embrac'd, caress'd, and call'd. me her Castalio. What thou proclaim'si, he were the worst of

[Dies. liars.

Mon. Now, my Castalio, the most dear of men, My friend may be mistaken.

Wilt thou receive pollution to thy bosom, Pol. Damn the evasion!

And close the eyes of one that has betray'd thee? Thou mean'st the worst! and he's a base-born Cas. O, I'm the unhappy wretch, whose villain

cursed fate That said I lied!

Has weigh'd thee down into destruction with him: Cas. A base-born villain!

Why then thus kind to me! Pol. Yes! thou never cam'st

Mon. When I'm laid low i'th' grave, and From old Acasto's loins: the midwife put

quite forgotten, A cheat upon my mother; and, instead May'st thou be happy in a fairer bride! Of a true brother, in the cradle by me But none can ever love thee like Monimia.

tbou now,

Is she not a

When I am dead, as presently I shall be More sorrows on thy aged father's head! (For the grim tyrant grasps my heart already), Tell me, I beg you, tell me the sad cause Speak well of me: and if ihou find ill tongues Of all this ruin. Too busy with my fame, don't hear me wrong'd; Cas. Thou, unkind Chamont, "Twill be a noble justice to the memory. Unjustly hast pursu'd me with thy bate, Of a poor wretch, once honour'd with thy And sought the life of bim that never wrong'd love. [Dies.

thee:

Now, if thou wilt embrace a noble vengeance, Enter CHAMONT and Acasto.

Come join with me, and curse Cham. Gape, earth, and swallow me to Cham. What? quick destruction,

Acas. Have patience. If I forgive your house!

Cas. Patience! preach it to the winds, Ye'ye overpower'd me now!

To roaring-seas, or raging fires! for curs’d But, hear me, heav'n!-Ah! here's a scene of As I am now, 'tis this must give me patience: death!

Thus I find rest, and shall complain no more. My sister, my Monimia, breathless !– Now,

[Stabs himself. Ye pow'rs above, if ye have justice, strike! Chamont, to thee my birthright I bequeath:Strike bolts through me, and through the curs'd Comfort my mourning father-heal his griefs; Castalio!..

[Acasto faints into the Arms of a Servant. Cas. Stand off! thou hot-brain'd, boisterous, For I perceive they fall with weight upon himnoisy ruffian!

And, for Monimia's sake, whom thou wilt find And leave me to my sorrows.

I never wrong’d, be kind to poor SerinaCham. By the love

Now all I beg is, lay me in one grave I bore her living, I will ne'er forsake her; Thus with my love-Farewell! I now amBut here remain till my heart burst with sobbing.

nothing.

[Dies. Cas. Vanish, I charge thee! or

Cham. Take care of good Acasto, wbilst I go [Draws a Dagger. To search the means by which the fates have Cham. Thou canst not kill me!

plagu'd us. That would be kindness, and against thy nature! 'Tis thus that heav'n its empire does maintain: Acas. What means Castalio ? Sure thou wilt It may afflict; but man must not coinplain. not pull

[Exeunt.

PHILIPS.

AMBROSE Philirs was descended from a very ancient and considerable family of that name in Leicestershire. He was born about the year 1671, and received his education' al St. John's College, Cambridge. During his stay at the uni. versity he wrote his Pastorals, which acquired him at this time a high reputation. He also, in 1700 published a life of John Williams, Lord Keeper of the Greai Seal, Bishop of Lincoln, and Archbishop of York in the reigns of King James und Charles I. in which are related some remarkable occurrences in those times, both in church and state ; with an appendix, giving an account of his bene factions to St. Johu's College. When he quilled the university, and came to London, he became a constant attendant at, and one of the wils of, Button's coffee-house, where he oblained the friendship and intimacy of many of the eelebrated geniuses of that age, more particularly of Sir Richard Steele, who, in the farsi volume of his Tatler, has inserted a little poem of Mr. Philips's, which he calls a Winter Piece, daled from Copenhagen, and addressed to the Parl of Dorset, on which he heslows the highest encomiums; and, indeed, so much justice is there in these his commendations that even Pope himself, who had a fixed aversion for the author, while he affected to despise his other works, lised always to excepi this from the number. Sir R. Steele intended to produce Mr. Philips's Pastorals with a critical comparison of them, in favour of Philips, with Pope's; but Pope arifully took the lask upon himself, and, in a paper in The Guardian, by drawing the lis comparison, and giving a like preference, but un principles of criticism apparently fallacious tried to point out the absurdity of such a judgment. A quarrel ensued; Pope was too much for Philips in wit; and Philips would have been too much for Pope in fisty-cull's, if he had made his appearance al Anton's, where a rod had been hung up for him by Philips. Pope wisely avoided the argumentum baculinum. Mr. Philips's circumstances were in general, ihrough his life, not only easy, but rather affluent, in consequence of his being comected, by his political principles with persons of great rank and consequence. He was, soon after the accession of King George !, put into the commission of the peace ; and, in 1717, appointed one of the conmissioners of the lottery; and, ou his friend Dr. Bouller's being made primale of Ireland, he acompanied thal prelate across St. George's Channel, where he had considerable prefermenis beslowed on him, and was elected a member of the House of Commons there, as representative for the county of Armagh. In Sepe 1734, he was appointed register of the Prerogative Court in Dublin. At length, having purchased an annuity for life of fuur hundred pounds, he came over to England some time in the year 1748, bul did not long enjng his fortune, being struck with a palsy, of which he died June 18, 1749, in his 78th year, at his lodgings near Vauxball.

THE DISTREST MOTHER.

ACTED al Drury Lane, 171). This play is lille more than a translation from the Andromaque of Racine, It is, however, very well translated, the poetry pleasing, and the incidents of the story so affecting that although it is, like all the French tragedies, rather too heavy and declamatory, yet it never fails bringing tears into the eyes of a sensible audience; and will, perhaps, ever continue to be a stock play on the lists of the theatres. The original author, however, has deviated from history and Philips likewise followed his example in making Hermione kill herself on the body of Pyrrhus, who had been slain by her instigation ; whereas, on the contrary, she not only survived, but became wife to Orestes. How far the licentia poetica will authorize such oppositions to well-known facts of history, is, however, a point concerning which we have not time al present to enter into a disquisition. Dr. Johnson observes, that such * work requires no uncommon powers; but that the friends of Philips exerted every art to promote his interest. Before the appearance of the play, a whole Spectator, nonc indeed of the best, was devoted to its praise; while it yet continued to

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