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SCENE V.-Inside of the Convent. Enter CLARA and BOY.
Le Sage. 'Tis done: by this ho's safe. Lose not sight of Record, he may still be useful; should he prove otherwise, or turn refractory, we must provide for him. [Exeunt. SCENE IV-A retired part of a Forest. The remains of a Convent on the side. Enter MICHAEL.
I have lost him now for ever, that's plain. I have wander'd up and down through every track of the forest, and all to no purpose. Poor boy! how he'll grieve after me! his little heart will break-mine is gone to pieces already-quite waterlogg'd.- And Nell, too-well, I must not repine-The same Providence that threw him into my arms from shipwreck, may again think fit to save him. I'm quite faint and parch'd, I'll taste this running stream; here's a cup chain'd to the stone for wearied strangers. (As he stoops to drink, the boy sings from within.)
Flint. This purse is to have its fellow, when I take back evidence of the boy being safe on board. The smuggling boat is ready, but the way to it bad; O! there's the old convent! Now for my letter; if the boy's troublesome, this shall muzzle him. (Michael, overhearing, comes forward.) Mich. What are you going to do with that letter? Flint. What am I going to do? that's a pretty question: who the devil are you?
Boy. Indeed I could be happy with you as with anybody: but that I love my poor father and mother so dearly. What are they going to do with me? I am sure I never injured them.
Clara. You are sent here to be under my protection, and I will endeavour to make you comfortable. Alas! I fear by Le Sage directing this, some foul pray; if so, and I lose Sir Edmund's protection, my ruin will be complete.
Boy. My father Michael always told me to fear nothing but doing a bad action. I have kept the lesson close, and I wish he could see me now, that I am not afraid. Poor dear Michael.
Enter JANNETTE and MICHAEL, disguised. Clara. What ruffian are you, to break in upon our solitude without notice and due respect?
Jan. Madam, he has found his way through the grotto from the forest: he has frightened me almost out of my wits; he says he has a lettter for
Boy. Don't be alarmed, he shall not hurt you; 0, I'm almost afraid to look at him.
Mich. Tis he; his little soul breaks out. (Aside.) Do not terrify yourself, fair lady; I am no ruffian, though I believe I look very like one. (Aside.) That letter will tell you my business, (Gives a letter, und drops a paper.)
Clara. Signed La Sage, as I foreboded. But what can all this mean? 'Tis to no purpose my inquiry; I am myself unprotected, and can afford no help to others. This is the child. My dear boy, it afflicts me to part with you, but you must go.
Boy. What, must I go with him? O, Michael, what would I give to see you once more!
Mich. I cannot hold out much longer. (Aside.) I must crowd sail, or shall lose my weather-gauge: fair lady, your servant
Boy. Where are we going? If you mean to kill me, let me tell my beads first. Mich. Kill you. O, no! I did not think I looked so diabolical as that neither.
[Exeunt Michael and Boy. Clara. (Looking after him.) Farewell, farewell! I cannot think why I take such an interest in that boy. Ah me! what's here? (taking up the paper, Mich. I am not used to turn assassin, believe me:reads) "The child with whom this trunk is found. but you must be plain, or two minutes will close your mouth for ever. The boy you are going for is in that house.
Flint. Hull off my coat?
Mich. No words-but do it this moment. Flint. Well, well, there. (Putting off his coat.) you are not going to take anything else from me?
Mich. No: keep your money, and if you can, enjoy it. Your coat I only borrow: it shall be yours again. [Exit Flint.] (Taking up the coat.) 'Tis lawful in some cases to hoist false colours; and d-if I must play the hypocrite, 'tis better to wear the villain's outside, so I am right and tight within, than to clothe a heart rotten at the core with the robes of honesty.
has lawful claim to the whole estate of Milford Castle, at the death of Sir Edmund." Amazement! this must be my brother!-and Le Sage, by employing this wretch, must have found the papers. Gracious heaven! then my dear father is lost forever, and his child within the hands of that miscreant agent. I'll to the castle instantly, although my life should pay the forfeit of my rashness. Just heaven will not look on without regard, nor suffer innocence to fall. [Exit.
SCENE VI.-An Apartment in the Castle. Enter RECORD and NELL. Nell. We know you are our friend, Mr. Record, and trust the whole to you! Michael, I'm sure, depends upon your honour.
Rec. That he may with safety, most adorable!I won't utter a syllable about the papers till the proper moment: when will Michael be here?
Nell. O! I can't tell; he is gone in search of the poor boy; and heaven only knows whether he will find him or not: perhaps they have kill'd him, and Michael lost his life in defending him.
Rec. Don't despond, most affectionate: he will come back to you; and now let me, while we are quite alone, just taste the nectar of those lips, most (Attempting to kiss her.)
Rec. I am too weak-most potent!
Mich. Because they know I have higher orders than yours to remain here
Le Sage. Whose are they?
Mich. The Baron's of Milford Castle.
Sir Ber. And who is that now?
Mich. I'll shew you in the veering of a point; Eh! what! (Searching his pockets.) D the paper's gone! the rudder carried away just coming into harbour
Clara. What do you mean? Are you then his friend? what paper have you lost? Is it this?
SCENE VII.-The inside of the Chapel. SIR BERI RAND and LE SAGE meet CLARA and (Giving him the paper.)
Clara. Sir Bertrand here! then I'm undone. Sir Ber. Now, lovely Clara; I can make you most happy; at last, you see me lord of this fair castle, and you shall be its mistress.
[think. Rec. (Aside.) This is very familiar at first sight, I Clara. No, Sir Bertrand, that can never be; I come to claim a right on behalf of injured innocence. Le Sage must give the answer. Where is the child, you hypocrite? Where is the ruffian, to whom you committed him?
Le Sage. Haughty madam, this is not a time to interrogate my proceedings; your home from henceforth is here. That boy!-what of that boy?-why do you inquire?
Rec. Be cool, most vehement, be cool!
Clara. That boy! The wretch you sent to murder him, I suppose, was not quite collected in his business, or he would not have left this behind him. Know you that hand? (Shewing the paper.) What, you pause?
Le Sage. This is some mystery, beyond my cunning to develope.
Clara. It is my honoured father's hand, and that child my brother. Restore him to me, or his blood shall be upon your heads, and sweep his oppressors from the earth.
Sir Ber. By this he is properly bestowed: this raving is useless; 'twere better you prepare to share the splendour of this scene.
Clara. No, never. I'll to the world proclaim such villany, though I beg my daily crust from door to door. (Going.)
Sir Ber. Not so Dasty, Clara; you must not, shall not leave me. (Struggling with her.)
Clara. For pity's sake, assist me, heaven! (Breaks from him and meets Michael entering.)
Mich. What, more injuries! Human nature can't endure them.
Clara. That ruffian here! then all is lost. Sir Ber. What insolence is this? how came you here? who are you?
Clara. Who are you? Matchless hypocrisy! You know him not, nor his busineas?
Mich. Who am I? Look on this weather-beaten brow, and tell me whether you can read aught there that could deserve injustice at your hands? Look still, and say do you discover fear to resent it?
Sir Ber. What injuries are you speaking of? Mich. What injuries? Do you know a villain of the name of Le Sage, and does he know another o the name of Flint?
Le Sage. (Drawing.) Who has given your tongue this license?
Mich. Put up your steel; I've seen too many of them in my time to tremble at yours; a good cudgel is all the weapon an honest cause wants, and more than a bad one will encounter.
Sir Ber. Leave the castle this instant. Record and Spruce, why vou turn the fellow out?
Mich. This! eh! this! yes, yes, it is, sure enough! Now I'll produce the commander of this station. (Goes out and returns with Boy and Ne'l.)
Clara. (Runs and embraces him.) It is he again! Mich. Yes, that it is, I'll swear to him as I would to my own right hand.
Sir Ber. This is all forgery.
Rec. I'm afraid not, most unfortunate! for Mrs. Nelly and I have been looking over some papers in trunk
Le Sage. What papers?
Mich, Those which his father delivered to me on his death-bed.
Sir Ber. Now you are detected. Where was that, villain; for his father was cast away at sea?
Mich. In these arms-on the bleak sea-shore, when I saved him and his little one from shipwreck; and had not heaven directed me to intercept that letter, he had still been at your mercy.
Le Sage. Curse on your officious zeal; we will think upon some plan to punish these usurpers. [Exeunt Sir B. and Le Sage.
Rec. O, here are the tenants of the estate assembled to assert the right of our new baron against injury and oppression.
Mich. Now, Nell, it is enough for us to reflect that we have done our duty, and bore up so steadily against wind and tide to port, that we shall always find anchorage sure, and shelter from the storm.
The castle walls resounding,
With transport and delight.
Boy. Though changed our lot to brighter scenes, Though fair the prospects rise,
My mind to former pleasure leans, Unconscious of disguise.
To honour's sway
This happy day
Its proudest laurels owing:
Then be it blest,
By ev'ry breast,
With gratitude o'erflowing.
Chorus. The castle walls resounding, &c., &c.
A DRAMATIC ROMANCE, IN FIVE ACTS.-BY M. G. LEWIS.
Ang.-"HEAVENS! THE VERY WORDS WHICH ALICE "Act iv, scene 2.
ACT I-SCENE I.-A Grove.
Enter FATHER PHILIP and MOTLEY, through a gate.
F. Phil. Never tell me. I repeat it, you are a fellow of a very scandalous course of life. But what principally offends me, is, that you pervert the minds of the maids, and keep kissing and smuggling all the pretty girls you meet. Oh, fie, fie!
Mot. I kiss and smuggle them? St. Francis forbid! Lord love you, Father, 'tis they who kiss and smuggle me. I protest I do what I can to preserve my modesty; and I wish that Archbishop Dunstan had heard the lecture upon chastity which I read last night to the dairy-maid in the dark; he'd have been quite edified. But yet what does talking signify? The eloquence of my lips is counteracted by the lustre of my eyes; and really, the little devils are so tender, and so troublesome, that I'm half angry with nature for having made me so very bewitching.
No. 3.-THE BRITISH DRAMA
F. Phil. Nonsense, nonsense! Mot. Put yourself in my place. Suppose that a sweet, smiling rogue, just sixteen, with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, pouting lips, &c.
F. Phil. Oh, fle, file, fle! To hear such licentious discourse brings the tears into my eyes!
Mot. I believe you, Father; for I see the water is running over at your mouth; which puts me in mind, my good Father, that there are some little points which might be altered in you still better than in myself; such as intemperance, gluttonyF. Phil. Gluttony! Oh, abominable falsehood!
Mot. Plain matter of fact. Why, will any man pretend to say that you came honestly by that enormous belly, that tremendous tomb of fish, flesh, and fowl? And for incontinence, you must allow yourself. that you are unequalled.
F. Phil. II!
Mot. You, you. May I ask what was your business in the beech-grove, the other evening when I caught
you with buxom Margery, the miller's pretty wife? | for a heart tender without weakness, and noble Was it quite necessary to lay you heads together so without pride, I saw her at once beloved and reverenced by her village companions; they looked F. Phil. Perfectly necessary: I was whispering on her as a being of a superior order; and I felt dignity to the cottage
in her ear wholesome advice, and she took it as that suchstre to the coronet of
Per. You shall hear:-Fearful lest my rank should influence this lovely girl's affections, and induce her to bestow her hand on the noble, while she refused her heart to the man, I assumed a peasant's habit, and presented myself as Edwy the low-born and the poor. In this character I gained her heart, and resolved to hail, as Countess of Northumberland, the betrothed of Edwy the lowborn and the poor. Judge, then, how great must have been my disappointment, when, on entering her guardian's cottage with this design, he informed me, that the unknown, who sixteen years before had confided her to his care, had claimed her on that very morning, and conveyed her no one knew whither.
Mot. Surely is not lady Angela, who
Per. The very same. Speak, my good fellow; do you know her?
Mot. Not by your description; for here she's understood to be the daughter of Sir Malcolm Mowbray, my master's deceased friend. And what is your present intention?
Per. To demand her of the Earl in marriage.
Mot. Oh! that will never do; for, in the first place, you'll not be able to get a sight at him. I've now lived with him five long years; and, till Angela's arrival, never witnessed a guest in the castle. Oh! 'tis the most melancholy mansion. And, as to Per. Of Earl Osmond! This is fortunate: Gil- the Earl, he's the very antidote to mirth. None bert, you may be of use to me: and if the attach-dare approach him, except Kenric and his four ment which, as a boy, you professed for me still exists
blacks; all others are ordered to avoid him; and whenever he quits his room, ding dong! goes a great bell, and away run the servants like so many offor
Per. Strange! and what reasons can he have Mot. Oh! reasons in plenty. You must know there's an ugly story respecting the last owners of this castle. Osmond's brother, his wife, and infant child, were murdered by banditti, as it was said; unluckily, the only servant who escaped the slaughter deposed, that he recognised among the assassins a black stil in the service of Earl Osmond. The truth of this assertion was never known, for the servant was found dead in his bed the next Per. Good heavens! [morning
Mot. Since that time, no sound of joy has been heard in Conway-castle. Osmond instantly became
gloomy and ferocious. He now never utters a sound, except a sigh, has broken every tie of society, and Keep his gates barred unceasingly against the stranger.
Per. Yet Angela is admitted. But, no doubt affection for her
Mot. Why, no; I rather think that affection for Per. How! [her father's child
Mot. If I've any knowledge in love, the Earl feels it for his fair ward, but the lady will tell you more of this, if I can procure for you an interview. Per. The very request, which
Mot. Tis no easy matter, I promise you; but I'll do my best. In the meanwhile, wait for me in yonder fishing hut, its owner's name is Edric; tell him that I sent you, and he will give you a retreat. Per. Farewell, then, and remember, that whatever reward
Mot. Dear master, to mention a reward insults me. You have already shewn me kindness; and when 'tis in my power to be of use to you, to need the inducement of a second favour would prove me a scoundrel undeserving of the first. [Exit. Per. How warm is this good fellow's attachment! Yet our barons complain that the great can have no friends. If they have none, let their own pride bear the blame. Instead of looking with scorn on those whom a smile would attract, and a favour bind for ever, how many firm friends might our nobles gain, if they would but reflect that their vassals are men as they are, and have hearts whose feelings can be grateful as their own. [Exit.
SCENE II-The Castle Hall.
Saib. Now, Hassan; what success? Has. My search has been fruitless. In vain have 1 paced the river's banks, and pierced the grove's deepest recesses, Nor glen nor thicket have I passed unexplored, yet found no stranger to whom Kenric's description could apply.
Saib. Saw you no one?
Has. A troop of horsemen passed me as I left Saib. Horsemen, say you? Then Kenric may be right. Earl Percy has discovered Angela's abode; and lurks near the castle, in hopes of carrying her off.
Has. His hopes then will be vain. Osmond's vigilance will not easily be eluded; sharpened by those powerful motives, love and fear.
Saib. His love, I know; but should he lose Angela, what has he to fear?
Has. If Percy gain her, everything. Supported by such wealth and power, dangerous would be her claim to these domains, should her birth be discovered. Of this our lord is aware; nor did he sooner hear that Northumberland loved her, than he hastened to remove her from Allan's care. At first, I doubt his purpose was a foul one: her resemblance to her mother induced him to change it. He now is resolved to make her his bride, and restore her to those rights of which himself deprived her. [master loves her?
Saib. Think you the lady perceives that our Has. I know she does not. Absorbed in her own passion for Percy, on Osmond she bestows no thought; and while roving through these pompous halls and chambers, sighs for the Cheviot hills and Allan's humble cottage.
Saib. But as she still believes Percy to be a lowborn swain, when Osmond lays his coronet at her feet, will she reject his rank and splendour?
Has. If she loves well, she will. Saib, I too have loved. I have known how painful it was to leave. her on whom my heart hung; how incapable was
all else to supply her loss. I have exchanged want for plenty; fatigue for rest; a wretched hut for a splendid palace. But am I happier? O, no! Still do I regret my native land, and the partners of my poverty. Then toil was sweet to me, for I laboured for Samba! then repose ever blessed my bed of leaves; for there, by my side, lay Samba sleeping. Soib. This from you, Hassan? Did love ever find a place in your flinty bosom?
Has. Did it? On, Saib! my heart once was gentle, once was good; but sorrows have broken it, insults have made it hard. I have been dragged from my native land; from a wife who was everything to me, to whom I was everything! Twenty years have elapsed since these Christians tore me away; they trampled upon my heart, mocked my despair, and, when in frantic terms I raved of Samba, laughed, and wondered how a negro's soul could feel. In that moment, when the last point of Africa faded from my view,-when, as I stood on the vessel's deck, I felt that all I loved was to me lost for ever-in that bitter moment did I banish humanity from my breast. I tore from my arm the bracelet of Samba's hair; I gave to the sea the precious token; and while the high waves swift bore it from me, vowed aloud, endless hatred of mankind. I have kept my oath; I will keep it. Saib. Ill-starred Hassan! your wrongs have indeed been great.
Has. To remember them unmans me. Farewell! I must to Kenric. Hold! Look, where he comes, from Osmond's chamber.
Saib. And seemingly in wrath.
Has. His conferences with the Earl of late have had no other end. The period of his favour is arrived.
Saib. Not of his favour merely, Hassan.
Saib. Silence! He's here; you shall know more Enter KENRIC.
Ken. Ungrateful Osmond, I will bear your ingratitude no longer. Now, Hassan, found you the man described?
Has. Nor any that resembled him.
Ken. Yet, that I saw Percy, I am convinced. I crossed him in the wood, his eye met mine. started as had he seen a basilisk, and fled with repidity. But I will submit no longer to this painful dependance. To-morrow for the last time, will I summon him to perform his promisc: if he refuse, I will bid him farewell for ever; and, by my absence, free him from a restraint equally irksome to myself and him.
Saib. Will you so, Kenric? Be speedy then, or you will be too late.
Ken. Too late! And wherefore?
Sarb. Can you keep one?
Saib. As faithfully can I. Come, Hassan. [E.reunt. Ken What meant the slave? Those doubtful expressions-Ha! should the Larl intend me false! Kenric, Kenric! how is thy nature changed. There was a time when fear was a stranger to my bosom; when guiltless myself, I dreaded not art in others. Now, where'er I turn me, danger appears to lurk, and I suspect treachery in every breast, because my own heart hides it. [Exit.
Enter FATHER PHILIP, followed by ALICE. F. Phil. Nonsense! You silly woman; what you say is not possible.