success his works had merited: since, out of three plays that he wrote, one of them, The Foundling, has been condemned for its supposed resemblance to a very celebrated comedy (The Conscious Lovers), but to which great preference 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 delicate, 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) with a serenata (Solomon) make the whole of his dramalic 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 have 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 stanza: 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, Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me; But you shan't know his name; though I told you before, Mr. Moore died the 28. of Febr, 1757, soon after his celebrated papers, entitled The World, were collected into volumes. 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 merits 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 its want of perfect approbation arose in one part, and that no inconsiderable one, of the audience, from a tenderness 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 favourite folly, thus vehemently attacked by the strong lance of reason and dramatic execution. It has often been disputed, whether plays, in which the plots are taken from domestic life, should be written in prose or 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 communicated 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 act, 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." one vice driven him from every virtue!-Nay, from his affections too!-The time was, sisterMrs. B. And is. I have no fear of his affections. Would I knew that he were safe! - His poor MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered. Mrs. B. Be comforted, my dear, all may be Char. From ruin and his companions. But well yet. And now, methinks, the lodging that's impossible. 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 'tis gone, to his labour, enjoys more welcome rest give me but a bare subsistence and my 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; his enjoythe poor. Why do you look at me? may hate my brother. at ments surer. The sun that rouses him in the Char. That I 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 his mind 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. '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. How has this own large estate too, squandered away upon 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 little fortune is untouched, he says. Would creditors have all?-And have they sold his I were sure on't. house too? His father built it when he was Mrs. B. And so you may-'twould 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 he, 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. Mrs. B. What occasion? Mrs. B. No; I have no need on't. Take it, and reward a lover with it.-The generous Lewson deserves much more— Why won't you make him happy? Char. Because my sister's miserable. Charlotte? Char. They flow in pity for you. I have my be poor. Yet he is poor. And then he was so brave!-Oh, he was a brave little boy! And yet so merciful, he'd not have killed the gnat that stung him. Mrs. B. Speak to him, Charlotte, for I cannot. Jar. I have a little money, madam; it might have been more, but I have loved the poor. All that I have is yours. 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 he let me attend him in his distresses; I'll be 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 arms again; and then what is it to be poor? Char. Cure him but of this destructive passion, and my uncle's death may retrieve all yet. Mrs. B. Ay, Charlotte, could we cure him! -But the disease of play admits no cure but poverty; and the loss of another fortune would but increase his shame and his affliction.Will Mr. Lewson call this morning? Char. He said so last night. He gave me bints too, that he had suspicions of our friend Stukely. Mrs. B. Not of treachery to my husband? That he loves play I know, but surely he's bonest. Char. He would fain be thought so;-therefore I doubt him. Honesty needs no pains to set itself off. Enter LUCY. Mrs. B. Not at home, Jarvis. You shall see him another time. Char. To-morrow, or the next day - Oh, Jarvis! what a change is here! Jar. A change indeed, madam! my old heart aches at it. And yet, methinks-But here's somebody coming. Re-enter LUCY, with STUKELY. Lucy. Mr. Stukely, madam. [Exit. Stuke. Good morning to you, ladies. Mr. Jarvis, your servant. Where's my friend, madam? [To Mrs. Beverley. Mrs. B. I should have asked that question of you. Have you seen him to-day? Stuke. No, madam. Char. Nor last night? Stuke. Last night! Did he not come home then? Mrs. B. No.-Were you not together? Stuke. At the beginning of the evening, but not since.-Where can he have staid? Char. You call yourself his friend, sir-why Lucy. Your old steward, madam. I had not the heart to deny him admittance, the good old man begged so hard for't. [Exit. do you encourage him in this madness of Enter JARVIS. gaming? Stuke. You have asked me that question Mrs. B. Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you before, madam; and I told you my concern to avoid me. 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 be forgetful. 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. house; Jar. I have forgot these apartments too. I Mrs. B. I don't doubt it, sir, and I thank remember none such in my young master's ycu-But where did you leave him last night? 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 have dismissed me.. may be there still. Mr. Jarvis knows the house, I believe. Mrs. B. He had no reason, Jarvis. Jar. I was faithful to him while he lived, and when he died he bequeathed me to his son. I have been faithful to him too. Mrs. B. I know it, I know it, Jarvis. Jar. Shall I go, madam? Mrs. B. No; he may take it ill. 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 missed me. Mrs. B. Pr'ythee no more of this! 'Twas his poverty that dismissed you. conceal the errors of a friend. But I can re- Enter CHARLOTTE. 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. [Exit. 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 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 wifefortune by the loss of a first. Don't distress his 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, he 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 Joud 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. 50. [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. Beverley! How my heart grieves to see her thus! Char. Cure her, and be a friend then. Stuke. How cure her, madam? Char. Reclaim my brother. Mrs. B. I beg your pardon; but 'tis ever thus with me in Mr. Beverley's absence. No one knocks at the door, but I fancy it is a messenger of ill news. Stuke. You are too fearful, madam; 'twas but one night of absence; and if ill thoughts intrude (as love is always doubtful), think of your worth and beauty, and drive them from your breast. Mrs. B. What thoughts? I have no thoughts that wrong my husband. Stuke. Ay; give him a new creation, or breathe another soul into him. I'll think on't, madam. Advice, I see, is thankless. Char. Useless I am sure it is, if, through mistaken friendship, or other motives, you feed his passion with your purse, and sooth 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 his [A 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. Mrs. B. Ay, worse than ruin. "Twould be to sin against conviction. Why was it mentioned? Stuke. To guard you against rumour. The sport of half mankind is mischief; and for a single error they make men devils. If their tales reach you, disbelieve them. Enter LEWSON. Lew. Madam, your servant-Yours, sir. I was inquiring for you at your lodgings. Stuke. This morning! You had business then? Lew. You'll call it by another name, perhaps. Where's Mr. Beverley, madam? Char. We have sent to inquire for him. Lew. Is he abroad then? He did not use to go out so early. Char. No, nor stay out so late. Mrs. B. What tales? By whom? Why told ? I have heard nothing-or, if I had, with all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits no doubt-It is my safety, my seat of rest and joy, while the storm threatens round me. I'll not forsake it. [Stukely sighs, and looks down.] Why turn you, sir, away? and why him. that sigh? Lew. Is that the case? I am sorry for it. But Mr. Stukely, perhaps, may direct you to Stuke. I have already, sir. But what was Lew. To congratulate you upon your late successes at play. Poor Beverley! But you are his friend; and there's a comfort in having successful friends. Stuke. I was attentive, madam; and sighs your business with me? will come, we know not why. Perhaps I have been too busy-If it should seem so, impute my zeal to friendship, that meant to guard you against evil tongues. Your Beverley is wronged, slandered most vilely-My life upon his truth. Mrs. B. And mine too. Who is't that doubts it? But no matter-I am prepared, sirYet 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. Stuke. And what am I to understand by this? Lew. That Beverley's a poor man, with a rich friend; that's all. Lew. And why not now? I am no dealer Stuke. For 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 apprehension, and must have time and priv-less, will be sufficient for us. We shall find acy. A lady's presence engages my attention. you at home, madam? Another morning I may be found at home. Char. What mean you by this? Lew. I shall have proof soon. your risk But [To Charlotte. Exit with Mrs. Beverley. Char. Certainly. SCENE II.-STUKELY's Lodgings. Stuke. That Lewson suspects me, 'tis too plain. Yet why should he suspect me?—I appear the friend of Beverley as much as he. But I am rich, it seems; and so I am, thanks to another's folly and my own wisdom. To what use is wisdom, but to take advantage of Lew. My life, madam! Don't be afraid. the weak? This Beverley's my fool; I cheat let it content you that I know this Stukely him, and he calls me friend. But more buTwould be as easy to make him honest as siness must be done yet-His wife's jewels are brave. unsold; so is the reversion of his uncle's estate: Char. And what do you intend to do. I must have these too. And then there's a Lew. Nothing, till I have proof. But me- treasure above all-I love his wife-Before she thinks, madam, I am acting here without author- knew this Beverley I loved her; but, like a ity. Could I have leave to call Mr. Bever- cringing fool, bowed at a distance, while he ley brother, his concerns would be my own. stepped in and won her- Never, never will Why will you make my services appear of- I forgive him for it. Those hints this mornficious? ing were well thrown in-Already they have Char. You know my reasons, and should fastened on her. If jealousy should weaken not press me. But I am cold, you say; and her affections, want may corrupt her virtuecold I will be, while a poor sister's destitute These jewels may do much─He shall demand -But let us change this subject - Your busi- them of her; which, when mine, shall be conness here this morning is with my sister. Mis- verted to special purposesfortunes press too hard upon her; yet, till today she has borne them nobly. Lew. Where is she? Char. Gone to her chamber. Her spirits Enter BATES. What now, Bates? Bates. Is it a wonder then to see me? The forces are all in readiness, and only wait for failed her. Enter MRS. BEVERLEY. Mrs. B. Good morning, sir; I heard your voice, and, as I thought, inquiring for me. Where's Mr. Stukely, Charlotte? Char. This moment gone-You have been in tears, sister; but here's a friend shall comfort you. Lew. Or, if I add to your distresses, I'll beg your pardon, madam. The sale of your house and furniture was finished yesterday. Stuke. At last night's rendezvous, waiting for me. Is Dawson with you?. Bates. Dressed like a nobleman; with money in his pocket, and a set of dice that shall deceive the devil, Stuke. That fellow has a head to undo a nation; but for the rest, they are such lowmannered, ill-looking dogs, I wonder Beverley has not suspected them. Bates. No matter for manners and looks. Do you supply them with money, and they are gentlemen by profession- The passion of gaming casts such a mist before the eyes, that Mrs. B. I know it, sir; I know too your the nobleman shall be surrounded with shargenerous reason for putting me in mind of it. pers, and imagine himself in the best company. But you have obliged me too much already. Stuke. There's that Williams too. It was Lew. There are trifles, madam, which I he, I suppose, that called at Beverley's with know you have set a value on; those I have the note this morning. What directions did purchased, and will deliver. I have a friend you give him? too, that esteems you-He has bought largely, Bates. To knock loud and be clamorous. and will call nothing his, till he has seen you. Did not you see him? If a visit to him would not be painful, he has begged it may be this morning. Stuke. No; the fool sneaked off with Jarvis. Had he appeared within doors as directed, the Mrs. B. Not painful in the least, my pain note had been discharged. I waited there on is from the kindness of my friends. Why am purpose. I want the women to think well of I to be obliged beyond the power of return? me, for Lewson's grown suspicious; he told Lew. You shall repay us at your own time. me so himself. I have a coach waiting at the door-Shall we Bates. What answer did you make him? Stuke. A short one-That I would see him soon for further explanation. But Bates. We must take care of him. what have we to do with Beverley? Dawson and the rest are wondering at you. Mrs. B. He may want a comforter, perhaps. But don't upbraid him, Charlotte. We shan't be absent long. Come, sir, since I must be Stuke. Why, let them wonder. I have deso obliged. signs above their narrow reach. They see Lew. 'Tis I that am obliged. An hour, or me lend him money, and they stare at me. Stuke. Ay, there's the question; but no not seen her all this long night-I, who have matter; at night you may know more. He loved her so, that every hour of absence seemed waits for me at Wilson's.-I told the women as a gap in life! but other bonds have held where to find him. me-Oh, I have played the boy! dropping my counters in the stream, and reaching to redeem them, lost myself! Bates. To what purpose? Stuke. To save suspicion. It looked friendly, and they thanked me.-Old Jarvis was dispatched to him. Jar. For pity's sake, sir!—I have no heart to see this change. Bev. Nor I to bear it-How speaks the world of me, Jarvis? Bates. And may entreat him homeStuke. No; he expects money from me, but I'll have none. His wife's jewels must go Jar. As of a good man dead-Of one who, Women are easy creatures, and refuse walking in a dream, fell down a precipice. nothing where they love. Follow to Wilson's The world is sorry for you. -Come, sir. Bev. Ay, and pities me- - Says it not so? Let drudging fools by honesty grow great; But I was born to infamy. I'll tell thee what The shorter road to riches is deceit. it says; it calls me villain, a treacherous hus[Exeunt. band, a cruel father, a false brother, one lost to nature and her charities; or, to say all in to thy mistress-I'll see her presently. one short word, it calls me-gamester. Go ACT II. SCENE I.—A Gaming-house, with a Table, Box, Dice, etc. BEVERLEY discovered sitting. Jar. And why not now? Rude people press upon her; loud, bawling creditors; wretches Bev. Why, what a world is this! The slave who know no pity-I met one at the doorthat digs for gold receives his daily pittance, he would have seen my mistress: I wanted and sleeps contented; while those for whom means of present payment, so promised it tohe labours convert their good to mischief, morrow: but others may be pressing, and she making abundance the means of want. What has grief enough already. Your absence hangs had I to do with play? I wanted nothing-too heavy on her. My wishes and my means were equal. —The Bev. Tell her I'll come then. I have a mopoor followed me with blessings, love scattered ment's business. But what hast thou to do roses on my pillow, and morning waked me with my distresses? Thy honesty has left thee to delight-Oh, bitter thought, that leads to poor; and age wants comfort. - Keep what what I was, by what I am! I would forget thou hast, lest, between thee and the grave, both-Who's there? misery steal in. I have a friend shall counsel me- -This is that friend. Enter a Waiter. Beo. Generous Stukely! Friendship like Jar. I came in duty, sir. If it be trouble-yours, had it ability like will, would more than some Bev. It is I would be private-hid even from myself. Who sent you hither? Jar. One that would persuade you home again. My mistress is not well-her tears told me so. Beo. Go with thy duty there then-Pr'ythee, be gone-I have no business for thee. Jar. Yes, sir; to lead you from this place. I am your servant still. Your prosperous fortune blessed my old age: If that has left you, I must not leave you. balance the wrongs of fortune. Stuke. You think too kindly of me — Make haste to Williams; his clamours may be rude else. [To Jarvis. Jar. And my master will go home againAlas! sir, we know of hearts there breaking for his absence. [Exit. Bev. 'Would I were dead! Stuke. Ha! ha! ha! Pr'ythee, be à man, and leave dying to disease and old age. Fortune may be ours again; at least we'll try_for't. Bev. No; it has fooled us on too far. Bev. Not leave me! Recall past time then; Stuke. Ay, ruined us; and therefore we'll or, through this sea of storms and darkness, sit down contented. These are the despondshow me a star to guide me.-But what canst ings of men without money; but let the shinthou? ing ore chink in the pocket, and folly turns Jar. The little that I can I will. You have to wisdom. We are fortune's children-True, been generous to me—I would not offend you, she's a fickle mother; but shall we droop be sir-butcause she's peevish? -No; she has smiles in |