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(I would not say blasphem'd); then it came Bite your tongues, vile creatures, Into his fancy that she was accus'd

And let your inward horror fright your souls, By his mother and his sister; thrice he curs'd For having belied that pureness. them,

And for that dog, Francisco, that seduc'd me, And thrice his desp'rate hand was on his sword I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him, T'have kill'd them both; but they restrain'd him; And there live a fourth fury to torment him. When wisely his physicians, looking on Then, for this cursed hand and

arm, that The dutchess's wound, to stay bis ready hand,

guided Cried out, it was not mortal.

The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint, Tib. 'Twas well thought

With burning irons scar'd off, which I will eat, Pes, He, easily believing what he wishid, I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion. Fell prostrate at the doctors' feet, and swore, Lastly – Provided they recover'd her, he would live 1 Doc. You are too loud, sir; you disturb A private man, and they should share his Her sweet repose. dukedom:

Sfor. I am hush’d. Sfor. [Within) Support her gently. 1 Doc. He's past hope: we can no longer Pes. Now be your own witnesses;

cover the imposture. I am prevented.

Re-enter PESCARA, with Francisco, as a Jew Enter Ludovico Sforza, Isabella, MARIANA, Doctor, and EUGENIA, disguised.

Doctors, and Servants, with the Body Fran. I am no god, sir, of MARCELIA.

To give a new life to her; yet I'll hazard Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you.

My head, I'll work the senseless trunk t'appear How pale and wan she looks! O pardon me, To him as it had got a second being. That I presume, dyed o'er with bloody guilt, Pes. Do but this, To touch this snow-white hand. How cold Till we use means to win upon his passions, it is!

T'endure to hear she's dead with some small This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still

patience, 'Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too! And make thy own reward. Yet in this temper she is all perfection.

Fran. The art I use
Mari. Is not this strange?

Admits no looker on: I only ask
Isa Oh! cross him not, dear daughter. . The fourth part of an hour, to perfect that

I boldly undertake. Therefore command,
Enter a Servant, and whispers PescARA. That instantly my, fupil and myself
Pes. With me? What is he?

Have leave to make a trial of our skill
Serv. He has a strange aspect;

Alone and undisturb'd. A Jew by birth, and a physician

Pes. About it straight. [Exit Eugenia.
By his profession, as he says; who, hearing Sfor. What stranger's this?
Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of

Pes. Look up sir, cheerfully;
His life, will underiake to render him Comfort in him flows strongly to you.
Perfect in every part.

[Apart. Sfor. Comfort! from whence came that Pes. Bring me to him.

sound? As I find cause, I'll do.

Pes. He is a man that can do wonders. [-Apart. Exeunt Pescara and Servants. [Beckons Francisco. Exit Francisco. Sfor. How sound she sleeps!

Do not hinder Heaven keep her from a lethargy! How long The dutchess's wish'd recovery, to inquire (But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) Or what he is, or to give thanks; but leave him Does your judgment tell you that her sleep To work this miracle. will last?

Sfor. Sure 'tis my good angel. 1 Doc. We have given her, sir,

I do obey in all things. Be ii death A sleepy potion, that will hold her long; For any to disturb him, or come near, That she may be less sensible of the torment Till he be pleas'd to call us. O be prosperous, The searching of her wound will put her to. And make a duke thy bondman. [Exeunt

Sfor. I am patient. You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure. Re-enter Francisco, leading in Eugenia, What do you think she dreams of now? for

clothed as the Body of MARCELIA. sure,

Fran. 'Tis my purpose. Although her body's organs are bound fast, I'll make the door fast-50Her fancy cannot slumber.

Eug. Alas! I tremble: 1 Doc. That, sir, looks on

Thus to tyrannise upon, and mock the dead, Your sorrow for your late rash act, and pre- Is most inhuman.

Fran. Come we for revenge,
To meet the free confession of your guilt And can we think on pity? If to enjoy
With a glad pardon,

The wish'd-for sacrifice to thy lost honour,
Sfor. She was ever kind.

Be in thy wavering thought a benefit, Let her behold me in a pleasing dream Now art thou blest.

[Kneels. Eug. Ah me! what follows now? Thus, on my knees before her (yet that duty Fran. What, but a full conclusion of our In me is not sufficient); let her see me

wishes! Coinpel my mother, from whom I took life, Look on this flowr, Eugenia-such a thing And this my sister, partner of my being, As yonder corpse, whose fatal robe you wear, To bow thus low unto her:

Must the pale wretch be summond to appear

In the grim court of death, whose senses taste And after breath'd a jealousy upon thee,
The poisonous powder scatter'd o'er its leaves. As killing as those damps that belch out plagues
Now mark, that when with rapturous lust, When the foundation of the earth is shaken:
Thinking the dead Marcelia revivid,

I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon,
The duke shall fix his lips upon thy hand, Which was—to kill an innocent.
Hold fast the poison'd herb, till the fond fool Sfor. Call forth the tortures
Has drunk bis death-draught from thy hand For all that flesh can feel.
he spurn'd.

Fran. I dare the worst. Eug. I yield myself and cause up, to be Only, to yield some reason to the world dispos'd

Why I pursu'd this course-look on this face, As thou think'st fit. [Sits down veiled. Made old by thy base falsehood! 'tis Eugenia. Fran. Now to the upshot;

Sfor. Eugenia! And, as it proves, applaud it.—My lord the Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister, duke!

Seduc'd and foold by thee; but thou must Enter with joy, and see the sudden change,

pay Your servant's hand hath wrought.

The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not

work yet? Re-enter Ludovico SFORZA and the Rest. Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not, Sfor. I live again

Thou art mark'd for the grave: I've given thee In my full confidence that Marcelia may

poison Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet? In this cup; now observe me: which, thy lust Fran. No:

Carousing deeply of, made thee forget
You must not look for all your joys at once; Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia.
That will ask longer time.

Pes. 0 damnd villain! Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had How do you, sir?. [To Ludovico Sforza. from her,

Sfor. Like one This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it. That learns to know in death what punish[Kisses her Hand.

ment Pes. Tis wondrous strange!

Waits on the breach of faith! Oh! now I feel Sfor. This act will bind e'en heaven your An Aetna in my entrails. I have liv'd debtor:

A prince, and my last breath shall be command. The saints will smile and look on't.

I burn! I burn!' yet, ere life be consum'd, Ob, I could ever feed upon this native Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture Sweetness.

That witty cruelty can invent.
[Kisses her Hand again. Eugenia Pes. Away with him!

throws away the Flower, and Tib. In all things we will serve you.

Fran. Farewell, sister!
She wakes ! sbe lives!'and I am blest again. Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn;

[She lifts up her Teil. I leave the world with glory. They are men, Oh! borror! shield me from that face. And leave behind them name and memory,

Eug. I can no more-thou'rt mark'd for death. That, wrong’d, do right themselves before they Pes. Treason, treason!

die. Tib. Call up the guard.

[Exeunt Guard, with Francisco. Fran. Then we are lost.

Steph. A desperate wretch! Sfor. Speak.

Sfor. I come: death! I obey thee. Eug. This is

Yet I will not die raging; for, alas!

My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia, Enter Guard.

In death forgive me. As you love me, bear Fran. Francisco.

her Pes. Monster of men!

To some religious house, there let her spend Fran. Give me all attributes

The remnant of her life: when I am ashes, Of all you can imagine, yet I glory Perbaps she'll be appeas'd, and spare a prayer To be the thing I was born. lam Francisco; For my poor soul." Bury me with Marcelia, Francisco, that was rais’d by you, and made And let our epitaph beThe minion of the time; the same Francisco,

[Dies. Curtain falls. That would have us'd thy wife while she had life,

MOORE. EDARD MOORE was bred a linen-draper; but having a stronger attachment to Pegasus than the yard, and a Este adeat deal in the pursuit of fame than in the hunt alter fortune, he quilted business and applied to the Muses lo a support. Jo verse he had certainly a very happy and pleasing manner; in his Trial of Selim the Persion, which is : csopliment to the ingenious Lord Lyttelton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of panegyric, viz. that which is couched under the appearance of accusation ; and his Fables for the Female Ses seem, est enly is the freedom and ease of the versification, but also in the forcibleness of the moral and poignaucy, of the satire, to approach nearer 10 the manner of Mr. Gay, than any of the numerous imitations of that author which have been stiepled since the publication of his Fables. As a dramatic writer, Mr. Moore bas, by no means, met with the



success his works had mcrited: since, oul of three plays that he wrote, one of thein, The Foundling, has been
demned for its supposed resemblance to a very celebrated comedy (The Conscious Lovers), but to which great prefer-
ence must be given; and another, The Gamester, met with a cold reception, for no other apparent reason, but because
it too nearly touched a favourite and fashionable vice. Yet on the whole his plots are interesting his sentiments deli-
cale, and his language poetical and pleasing; and, what crowns the whole of his recommendation, the greatest purity
runs through all his writings, and the apparent tendency of every piece is towards the promotion of morality and
virtue. The two plays mentioned, and one more, (Gil Blas) wiih a serenata (Solomon) make the whole of his dra-
malic works. Mr. Moore married a lady of the name of Hamilton, whose father was table-decker to the princesses ;
she had also a very poetical turn, and has been said to liave assisted him in the writing of his tragedy, One specimen
of her poetry, however, was handed about before their marriage; it was addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen
Duck; and begins with the following slanza :

Would think it, my Duck, for the fault I must own Though millions if fortune should lavishly poar,
Your Jenny, al last, is quite coyclous grown;

I still should be wretched if I had not MORE, And after half a dozen stanzas more, in which, with great ingenuity and delicacy, and yet in a manner that expresses a sincere affection, she has quibbled on our author's name, she concludes with the following lines:

You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, Pat you shan't know his name; though I told you before, Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me;

It begins with an M.; but I dare not say MORE. Mr. Moore died the 28. of Febr. 1757, soon after his celebrated papers, entitled The World, were collected into volumes.

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THE GAMESTER. Acted at Drury Lane 1753. This tragedy is written in prose, and is the best drama that Mr. Moore produced, The language is nervous, and yet pathetic; the plot is artful, yet clearly conducted; the characters are highly marked, yet not unnatural; and the catastrophe is truly tragic, yet not unjust. Still with all these mcrits it met with but middling success, the general cry against it being, that the distress was too deep to be borne ; yet we are rather apt to imagine ils want of perfect approbation arose in one part, and that no inconsiderable one, of the audience, from a lenderness of another kind than that of compassion, and that they were less hurt by the distress of Beverley, than by finding their darling vice, their farourite folly, thus vehemently attacked by the strung lance of reason and dramatic execution, It has often been dispnited, whether plays, in which the plots are taken from domestic life, should be written in prose metre; and the success of the present performance and George Barnwell must incline one very strongly in favour of the former. A great author, however, appears to be of a different opinion. Mr. Howard says, that having communicaled his play of The Female Gamester to Dr. Samuel Johnson, that gentleman observed that he could hardly consider a prose tragedy as dramatic ; that it was difficult to performers to speak it; that, let it be either in the middling or in low life, it may, though in metre and spirited, be properly familiar and colloquial; that many in the middling rank are not without erudition; that they have the feelings and sensations of nature, and every emotion in consequence thereof, as well as the great ; that even the lowest, when impassioned, raise their language; and that the writing of prose is generally the plea and excuse of poverty of genius.” We have heard that the interview between Lewson and Stukely, in the fourth açt, was the production of Mr. Garrick's pen. When the play was shown in manuscript to Dr, Young, he remarked, that “Gaming wanted such a caustic as the concluding scene of the play presented.”

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one vice driven him from every


from his affections too!-The time was, sisterScene I.-BEVERLEY's Lodgings.

Mrs. B. And is. I have no fear of his afMrs. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered. fections. Would I knew that he were safe! Mrs. B. Be comforted, my dear, all


be Char. From ruin and his companions. But well yet. And now, methinks, the lodging that's impossible. — His poor little boy too! begins to look with another face. Oh, sister! What must become of him? sister! if these were all my hardships; if all I Mrs. B. Why, want shall teach him indushad to complain of were no more than quit-try. From his father's mistakes he shall learn ting my house, servants, equipage, and show, prudence, and from his mother's resignation, your pity would be weakness.

patience. Poverty has no such terrors in it Char. Is poverty nothing, then?

as you imagine. There's no condition of life, Mrs. B. Nothing in the world, if it affected sickness and pain excepted, where happiness only me. While we had a fortune, I was is excluded. The husbandman, who rises early the happiest of the rich; and now 'lis gone, to his labour, enjoys more welcome rest at give me but a bare subsistence and any hus- night for't. His bread is sweeter to him; his band's smiles, and I shall be the happiest of home happier; his family dearer; bis enjoyWhy do

look at me?

ments surer. The sun that rouses him in the Char. That I may hale


brother. morning, sets in the evening to release him. Mrs. B. Don't talk so, Charlotte.

All situations have their comforts if sweet Char. Has he not undone you?-Oh, this contentment dwell in the heart. But my poor pernicious vice of gaming! But methinks his Beverley has none. The thought of having usual hours of four or five in the morning ruined those he loves is misery for ever to might have contented him. Need he have him. Would I could ease bis inind of that! staid out all night?-I shall learn to detest him. Char. If he alone were ruined 'twere just

Mrs. B. Not for the first fault. He never he should be punished. He is my brother, slept from me before.

l'tis true; but when I think of what he has Char. Slept from you! No, no, his nights done-of the fortune you brought him-of his have nothing to do with sleep. Ilow has this own large estate too, squandered away upon

the poor.

be poor.

I have my

sion, and

this vilest of passions, and among the vilest of| Jar. Is he indeed so poor, then?-Oh! he wretches! Oh, I have no patience !--My own was the joy of my old heart-But must his litue fortune is untouched, he says. Would creditors have all?-. And have they sold bis I were sure on't.

house too? His father built it when he was Mrs. B. And so you may—'would be a but a prating boy. The times that I have sin to doubt it.

carried' him in these arms! And, Jarvis, says Char. I will be sure on't-'twas madness be, when a beggar has asked charity of me, in me to give it to his management. But I'll why should people be poor? You shan't be demand it from him this morning. I bave a poor, Jarvis; if I were a king nobody should melancholy occasion for it.

Yet he is poor. And then he was Mrs. B. What occasion ?

so brave !-Oh, he was a brave little boy! And Char. To support a sister.

yet so merciful, he'd not have killed the gnat Mrs. B. No; I have no need on't. Take ihat stung him. it, and reward a lover with it.— The generous Mrs. B. Speak to him, Charlotte, for I cannot. Lewson deserves much more - Why won't Jar. I have a little money, madam; it might rou make bim happy?

have been more, but I have loved the poor. Char. Because my sister's miserable. All that I have is yours. Mrs. B. You must not think so.

Mrs. B. No, Jarvis; we have enough yet. jewels left yet.

And when all's gone, these I thank you though, and I will deserve your bands shall toil for our support. The poor goodness. should be industrious – Why those tears, Jar. But shall I see my master? And will Charlotte ?

he let me attend him in his distresses; I'll be Char. They flow in pity for you. no expense to him; and, 'twill kill me to be Mrs. B. All may be well yet. When he refused.—Where is he, madam? has nothing to lose, I shall fetter him in these Mrs. B. Not at home, Jarvis. You shall arms again; and then what is it to be poor? see him another time. Char. Cure him but of this destructive pas- Char. To-morrow, or the next day – Oh,

my uncle's death may retrieve all yet. Jarvis! what a change is here! Mrs. B. Ay, Charlotte, could we cure him! Jar. A change indeed, madam! my old heart -But the disease of play admits no cure but aches at it. And yet, methinks—But here's porerty; and the loss of another fortune would somebody coming. but increase his shame and his affliction.Will Mr. Lewson call this morning?

Re-enter Lucy, with STUKELY. Char. He said so last night. He gave me Lucy. Mr. Stukely, madam. [Exit. hints too, that he had suspicions of our friend Stuke. Good morning to you, ladies. Mr. Stukely.

Jarvis, your servant.

Where's my friend, Mrs. B. Not of treachery to my husband? madam?

[To Mrs. Beverley. That he loves play I know, but surely he's Mrs. B. I should have asked that question honest.

you. Have you seen him to-day ? Char. He would fain be thought so;-there- Štuke. No, madam. fore I doubt him. Honesty needs no pains Char. Nor last night? to set itself off.

Sluke. Last night! Did he not come home then?

Mrs. B. No.-Were you not together? Enter Lucy.

Stuke. At the beginning of the evening, but Lucy. Your old steward, madam. I had not since.- Where can he have staid ? not the heart to deny him admittance, the Char. You call yourself his friend, sir-why good old man begged so hard for't. [Exit. do you encourage him in this madness of

gaming? Enter JARVIS.

Stuke. You have asked me that question Mrs. B. Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you before, madam;, and I told you my concern

was that I could not save him; Mr. Beverley Jar. Did you, madam? I am an old man, is a man, madam; and if the most friendly and had forgot. Perhaps, too, you forbade entreaties have no effect upon him, I have no my tears; but I am old, madam, and age will other means. My purse has been his, even

to the injury of my fortune. If that has been Mrs. B. The faithful creature! how he moves encouragement I deserve censure; but I meant me!

[To Charlotte. it to retrieve him. Jar. I have forgot these apartments too. I Mrs. B. I don't doubt it, sir, and I thank Femember none such in my young, master's ycu-But where did you leave him last night? house; and yet I have lived in't these five- Stuke. · At Wilson's, madam, if I ought to and-twenty years. His good father would not tell, in company I did not like. Possibly he bare dismissed ine.

may be there 'still. Mr. Jarvis knows the Mrs. B. He had no reason, Jarvis. house, I believe. Jar. I was faithful to him while he lived, Jar. Shall I


madam? and when he died be bequeathed me to his Mrs. B. No; he may take it ill. son. I have been faithful to him too.

Char. He may go as from himself. Mrs. B. I know it, I know it, Jarvis. Stuke. And if he pleases, madam, without Jar. I have not a long time to live. I ask- naming me. I am faulty myself, and should ed but to have died with him, and he dis- conceal the errors of a friend. But I can re

fuse nothing here. [Bowing to the Ladies. Mrs. B. Pr’ythee no more of this! 'Twas Jar. I would fain see him, methinks. his poverty that dismissed you.

Mrs. B. Do so then, but take care how you


to avoid me.

bé forgetful.

missed me.

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your breast.

upbraid him-I have never upbraided him. Mrs. B. Nor have you, sir. Who told you Jar. Would I could bring him comfort! of suspicion? I have a heart it cannot reach.


Stuke. Then I am happy-I would say more Stuke. Don't be too much alarmed, madam. —but am prevented. All men have their errors, and their times of seeing them. Perhaps my friend's time is not

Enter CAARLOTTE. come yet. But he has an uncle ; and old men Char. What a heart has that Jarvis!-A don't live for ever. You should look forward, creditor, sister. But the good old man has madam; we are taught how to value a second taken him away -"Don't distress his wife, fortune by the loss of a first.

Don't distress bis sister." I could hear him [Knocking at the Door. say. “'Tis cruel to distress the afflicted"Mrs. B. Hark!-No--that knocking was too And when he saw me at the door, be begged rude for Mr. Beverley. Pray heaven he be well! pardon that his friend had knocked so loud.

Stuke. Never doubt it, madam. You shall Stuke. I wish I had known of this. Was be well too-Every thing shall be well. it a large demand, madam ?

[Knocking again. Char. I heard not that; but visits such as Mrs. B. The knocking is a little loud though these we must expect often-Why so distress-Who waits there? Will none of you an-ed, sister? This is no new affliction. swer?-None of you, did I say ?--Alas, what Mrs. B. No, Charlotte; but I am faint with was I thinking of! I had forgot myself. watching - quite sunk and spiritless - Will Char. I'll go, sister-But don't be alarmed you excuse me, sir? I'll to my chamber, and [Exit. try to rest a little.

[Exit. Stuke. What extraordinary accident' have Stuke. Good thoughts go with you, madam. you to fear, madam?

My bait is taken then. [ Aside.]--Poor Mrs. BeMrs. B. 'I beg your pardon; but 'tis ever verley! How my heart grieves to see her thus! thus with me in Mr. Beverley's absence. No Char. Cure her, and be a friend then. one knocks at the door, but I fancy it is a Stuke. How cure her, madam ? messenger of ill news.

Char. Reclaim my brother. Stuke. You are too fearful, madam; 'twas Stuke. Ay; give him a new creation, or but one night of absence; and if ill thoughts breathe another soul into him. I'll think on't, intrude (as love is always doubtful), think of madam. Advice, I see, is thankless. your worth and beauty, and drive them from Char. Useless I am sure it is, if, through

mistaken friendship, or other motives, you Mrs. B. What thoughts? I have no thoughts feed his passion with your purse, and sooth that wrong my husband.

it by example. Physicians, to cure fevers, Stuke. Such thoughts indeed would wrong keep from the patient's thirsty lip the cup that him. The world is full of slander; and every would inflame him. You give it to his hands. wretch that knows himself unjust, charges hís [4 knocking] Hark, sir!—These are my broneighbour with like passions; and by the ge- ther's desperate symptoms-Another creditor! neral frailty hides his own - If you are wise, Stuke. One not so easily got rid of – What, and would be happy, turn a deaf ear to such Lewson ! reports. 'Tis ruin to believe them.

Enter Lewson. Mrs. B. Ay, worse than ruin. 'Twould be to sin against conviction. Why was it men- Lew. Madam, your servant-Yours, sir. I tioned ?

was inquiring for you at your lodgings. Stuke. To guard you against rumour. The Stuke. This morning! You had business sport of half mankind is mischief; and for a then ? single error they make men devils. If their Lew. You'll call it by another name, pertales reach you, disbelieve them.

haps. Where's Mr. Beverley, madam ? Mrs. B. What tales ? By whom? Why Char. We have sent to inquire for him. told ? I have heard nothing-or, if I had, with Lew. Is he abroad then? He did not use to all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits go out so early. no doubt-It is my safety, my seat of rest and Char. No, nor stay out so late. joy, while the storm threatens round me. I'll Lew. Is that the case? I am sorry for it. not forsake it. [Stukely sighs, and looks But Mr. Stukely, perhaps, may direct

you down.]. Why turn you, sir, away? and why bim. that sigh?

Stuke. I have already, sir. But what was Stuke. I was attentive, madam ; and sighs your business with me? will come, we know not why. Perhaps I have Lew. To congratulate you upon your late been too busy-If it should seem so, impute successes at play. Poor Beverley! - But you my zeal to friendship, that meant to guard you are bis friend; and there's a comfort in baving against evil tongues. Your Beverley is wronged, successful friends. slandered most vilely—My life upon his truth. Stuke. And what am I to understand by this?

Mrs. B. And mine too. Who is't that Lew. That Beverley's a poor man, with a doubts it? But no matter-I am prepared, sir-rich friend; that's all. Yet why this caution ?--You are my husband's Stuke. Your words would mean something, friend; I think you mine too; the common I suppose. Another time, sir, I shall desire friend of both. (Pauses] I had been uncon- an explanation. cerned else.

Lex. And why not now? I am no dealer Stuke. Fo heaven's sake, madam, be so in long sentences. A minute or two will do still! I meant to guard you against suspicion, for me. not to alarm it.

Stuke. But not for me, sir. - I am slow of

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