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Al. Oh, my suffering love! my poor heart-broken Cora! you but wound.our sovereign's feeling soul, and not relieve your own.

Cora. Is be our sovereign and bas be not the power to give me back my child?

Ala. When I reward desert, or can relieve my people, I feel what is the real glory of a king; when I hear them suffer, and cannot aid them, I mourn the impotence of all mortal power.

Voives behind. Rolla! Bolla! Rolla!

Enter ROLLA, bleeding, with the child, followed by Peruvians.

Rol. Thy child I (Gives the Child into Cora's arms, and falls.)

Cora. Oh, God, there's blood upon hira I
Rol. 'Tis my blood, Cora.
Al. Bolla, thou diest t

Rol. For thee and Cora! (pies.)
Enter ORANO.

Ora. Treachery has revealed our asylum in the rocks. Even now, the foe assails the peaceful band, retired for protection there.

Al. Lose not a moment Swords, be quick! Your wives and children cry to you. Bear our loved hero's body in the van; 'twill raise the fury of our men to madness. Now, fell Pizarrol the death of one of us is near. Away! Be the word of assault, Eevenge and Rolla!


SCENE IV.—A Revess among the rocks.

Enter PIZARBO, ALMAGRO, VALVERDE, and Spanish Soldiers.

Piz. Well, if surrounded, we must perish in the centre of them. Whore do Bolla and Alonzo hide their heads?

Enter ALONZO, ORANO, and Peruvians.

Al Alonzo answers thee, and Alonzo's sword shall speak for Rolla,

Piz. Thou know'stthe advantage of thy numbers: thou dar'st not singly face Pizarro.

Al. Peruvians, stir not a man. Be this contest on!y ours.

Piz. Spaniards, observe ye the same. (Charge, They fight. Alonzo's shield is broken, and he is beaten dosen.) Now, traitor, to thy heart! (Al this moment, ELVIRA enters, hahited as when Pizarro first bihcld her. Pizarro appalled, staggers back. Alonzo rei.nes the fight, and slays him.)

ATALIBA enters, and embraees Alonzo. Ala, My brave Alonzo!

Aim. Alonzo, we submit Spare as: we will embark, and leave the coast

Val. Elvira will confess I saved her life; she bas saved thine.

Al. Fear not Yon are safe. (Spaniards lay down their arms.)

Elc. Valverde speaks the truth; nor could be think to meet me here. An awful impulse, which my soul could not resist, impelled me hither.

Al. Noble Elvira! my preserver! How can I speak what I, Ataliba, and his rescned country, owe to thee? If, amidst this grateful nation thou wouldst remain—

Elc. Alonzo, no! Tbe destination of my future life is fixed. Humbled in penitence, I will endeavour to atone tbe guilty errors, which, however masked by shallow cheerfulness, have long consumed my secret heart When, by my sufferings, puriSed, and penitence sincere, my soul shall dare address the throne of mercy in behalf of others, for thee, Alonzo, for thy Cora, and thy child; for thee, thou virtuous monarch, and the innocent race thou reignest over, shall Elvira's prayers address the God of nature. Valverde, you have preserved my life. Cherish humanity; avoid the foul examples thou hast viewed. Spaniards, returning to your native home, assure your rulers they mistake the road to glory, or to power. Tell them, that the pursuits of avarice, conqnest, and ambltion, never yet made a people happy, or a nation great (Costs a last look of agony at the dead body of Pizarro, as she passes and exit. Flourish of trumpets, Valverde, Alma-go, and Spanish Soldiers, exeunt, bearing off Pizarro's body.)

Ai. Ataliba, think not I wish to check the voice of trinmph, when I entreat we first pay the tribute due to our loved Holla's memory. A solemn march. Provession of Peruvian Soldiers, bearing Rolla's bodv on a bler, surrounded by military trophies. The Priests and Priestesses attending, chant a dirge over the bler. Alonzo and Cora kneel on either side of it, and kiss Rolla's hands in silent agony. In the looks of the King, and of all present, the triumph of the day is lost in mourning for the fallen hero. The curtain slowly desvends.

DIRGE—Priests and Priestesses.

Let tears of gratitude and woe,
For the brave Rolla ever fiow.

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SCENE L—A Chamber in an old-fashioned house. Enter HARDCASTLE and MRS. HARDCASTLE.

Mrs. II. I Tow, Mr. Hardcastle, you'ro very particular, la there a creature in the whole country, but ourselves, that doos not take a trip to town now and then, to ruh off the rust a little? There's the two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour, Mrs Grigshy, go to take a month's polish every winter.

Hard, Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own folks at homo. In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us; but now they travel faster than a stage-coaeh. Its foppories come down, not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket

Mrs. H. Ay; your times were fine times, indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here wo live in an old, rumbling mansion,

that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company. Our best visitors are old Airs. Oddfish, the curate's wifo, and little Crippiegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our entertainment, your o!d stories of Prince Eugen« and the Duke of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.

Hard, And I love it I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and 1 believe, Dorothy, (taking her hand) you'll own 1 have been pretty fund of an old wife.

Mrs. H. Ludl Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothys, and your old wives. You may he a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promiso you. I'm not so old as you'd make me by more tbui one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that

Hard. Let me see; twenty added to twenty make just fifty and seven.

Mrs U. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle! 1 w?.a bflj twenty when l was brought tc-bed of Tony, that I bad by Mr. Lumpkin, my first hushand; and he's

not come to yetus of discretion yet

Hard. Nor ever will, I dace answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely.

Mrs. 11. No matter: Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred o-year.

Hard. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and mischief.

Mrs. H. Humour, my dear; nothing hut humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour.

Hard. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footman's shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair; and when I went to make a bow, I popp'd my bald head into Mrs. Frizzle's face.

Mrs. H. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him?

Hard. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no; the alehouse and the stable arc the only schools he'll ever go to.

Mrs. H. Well, -we must not snub the poor boy; for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he's consumptive.

Hard. Ay, if growing fat be one of the symptoms.

Mrs. H. lie cOOghs sometimes.

Hard. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong w

Mrs. H. I'm actually afraid of his lungs.

Hard. And truly so am I; for ho sometimes whoops like a ?pcakipg-trumpet. (Tony hallooing behind the svenes.) Oh! there he gc-Qs. A very consumptive figure truly!

Enter TON Y, crowing the stage.

Mrs. H. Where are you going, my charmer'; 'Won't you givo papa and I a little of your company, lovee?

Tony. I'm in haste, mother; I can't stay. Mrs. H. You shan't venture out this raw evenin my dear. You look most shockingly,

Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigcoi expect me down every moment There's some fun going forward.

Hard. Ay; tho alehouse, the old place : I thought Mrs. H. A low, paltry set of fellows. [so. 2nny. Kot So low, neither. Theie's Dick Muggins, the exciseman; Jack Stang, the horse doctor I little Xminadah, that grinds tho music-box; and Tom Tviist, that spins the pewter-platter.

Mrs. H. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night, at leist

Tony. As tor disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I can't ablde to disappoint myself. Mrs. H. (Detami:a him.) You shan't go. Tovy. I will, I toll you. Mrs. H. I say, you sha'n't Tony. We'll see wtioh is strongest, you or L

(Exit, hauliny h-r out. Bard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole ago in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the limes have almost infected her, too. By living a year or two in town, sho is as fond of gauze and French frippery, as the best of them.

Enter MISS 1IABDCASTLR Blessings on my pretty innocenco I Dressed out as my iiuto. Goodness! what a quantity of

superfiuous silk hast thou got about thee, girl I I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain.

Miss H. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the evening, I put on my housewife's dress to please you.

Hard. Well, remember, I insist on the terms of our agreement: and, by-the-by, I believe I shall have .occasion to try your obedience this very evening. [meaning.

Miu H. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your

Hard. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman 1 have chosen to be your hushand from town this very day. I have hia father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow him shortly after.

Miss H. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me! how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I sha'n't like him. Our meeting will bo so formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem.

Hard. Depend upon it child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard mo talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, end is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding.

Miss H. Is he?

Hard. Veiy generous.

Miss H. I believe I shall like him.

Hard. Young and brave.

Miss H. I'm sure I shall like him.

Hard. And very handsome.

Miss H. My dear papa, say no more. (Kissing his band.) He's mine; Til have him.

Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of tho most bashful, reserved young fellows in the world.

Miss H. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word 'reserved' has undone all tho rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious hushand.

Hard. On the contrary; modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler vir uci. It was the very feature in his character that &x'A struck me.

Miss H. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if ho ho so young, so handsome, aud So everything, r.s you mention, I believe ho'li do still, I think I'll havo him.

Hard Ay, Kate; but there is still an obstacle. It's more than an oven wager he may not have you.

Miss H. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so? WelL if be refuse, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only break my glass for its fiattery; set my cap to some newer fashion, and look out for some less difficult admirer.

Hard. Bravely resolved! In the meantime, I'll go prepare the servants for his reception. As we seldom see company, they want as much training as a company of recruits tho first day's muster.


Miss H. Lud! this news of papa's puts me all in a fiutter. Young, handsome: these he puts last; but I put them foremost Sensible, good-natured; I like all that But then, reserved and sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of hia wife? Yes; and can't I—Bnt I vow I am disposing of tho husband before have secured the lover.


Enter MISS NEVILLE. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face to-day?

Miss If. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I Jpok again—bless me! sure no accident has happened among the canary-blrds or the gold-fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? Or has the last novel been too moving?

Miss H. No; nothing of all this. I have beeu threatened—I can scarce get it out—I have been threatened with a lover.

Miss N. And his

Miss H. Is Marlow.

Miss N. Indeed!

Miss H. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.

Miss N. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him when we lived in

Miss H. Never. [town.

Miss N. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtne, he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among women of another stamp. You understand me?

Miss H. An odd character, indeed. I shall never be able to manage him. What shall I do? Paha! think no more of hJm; but trust to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear? Has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony, as usual?

Miss & I have just come from one of our agreeable tite-a-Utes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.

Miss H. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to let it go out of the family.

Miss if. A fortune like mine, which chiefiy consists in jewels, is no such mighty temptation. But, at any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I moke no doubt to be too hard for her at last However, I let her suppose that I am in love with her son j and she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon another.

Miss H. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost love him for hating you so.

Miss N. It is a good natur'd creature at bottom; and I'm sure, would wish to see me married to anybody but himself. But my aunt's bell rings for our afternoon's walk round the improvements. Allonsl Courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical.

Miss H. Would it were bed-time, and all were well. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—An Ale-house room.

£ieetral shabby fellows, with punch and tobacco. TONY at the head of the table, a little higher than the rest: a mallet in his hand.

AlL Hurra! hurra! hurra! bravo! 1 Fel. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The 'squire is going to knock himself down for a song. AlL Ay; a song, a song.

Tony. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this alehouse, the Three Pigeons.

Let schoolmasitrs putzte their brain,

With grammar, and nonsen.e, and learning;
Good liquor, 1 stoutly maintain,

Ones genins a better dlverning,

Let them brag of their heathenish gods.
Their Lethes, their Styxes, andStygians:

Their quis, and their quaes, and their quods,
They're all but a parvel of pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, torolL

When methedist preachers come down

A-preaching that drinking is sinful, I'll wager the rascals a crown,

They aheays preach best with a skinful But when you come down with your penve.

For a slive of their scurvy religion, 1tt leave it to all men of sense,

But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.

Toroddle, toroddle, torolL

Then, come, put the jorum about,

And let us be merry and cleeer;
Our hearts and our liquors are stout;

Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for eeer.
Let some cry woodcock or hare,

Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons; But of all the birds in the air.

Here's health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroiL

AH Bravo, Bravo!

1 Fel The 'squire has got spunk in him.

2 Fel. I loves to hear him sing, bekase he never gives us nothing that's low.

3 Fel Oh I d—n anything that's low; I can't bear it

4 Fel The genteel thing is the gentleel thing at any time, if so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.

3 Fel I like the maxim of it, Master Muggins. What I though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that May this be my poison, if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes—"Water parted," or the minnet in Ariadne.

2 Fel. What a pity it is the 'squire is not come to his own. It would bo well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him.

Tony. Ecod! and so it would. Master Stang. I'd then shew what it was to keep choice company.

2 Fel. O! he takes after his own father for that To be sure, old 'squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes:on. For winding the strait-horn, or beating a thicket for a hare, or a wench he never had his fellow. It was a saying in the place, that he kept the best horses, dogs, «nd girls, in the whole country.

Tony. Ecod! and when I'm of age I'll be no bastard, I promise you. I have been thinking of Bet Bouncer, and the miller's grey mare, to begin with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no reckening. Well, Stingo, what's the matter? [Enter Landlord.

Land, There bo two gentlemen in a post-chaise, at the door. They've lost their way upon the forest, and they are talking something about Mr. Hard Cos tie.

Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners?

Land. I believe they may. They look woundily like Frenchmen.

Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. (Exit Landlord.] Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the sqneezing of a lemon. [Exeunt Mob.} Father-in-law has been calling me a whelp, and bound, this half-year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old grumbletonlan. But! then, I'm afraid— afraid of what? I shall soon be worth fifteen hundred a-year, and let him frighten me out of that if he can.

Enter Landlord, conducting MA BLOW and HASTINGS.

Mar. What a tedious, uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have como above threescore.

JIast. And all, Mariow, from that unaccountable reserve of yours, that would not let us inquire more freqnently on the way.

Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation to everyone I meet; and often stand the chance of an unmannerly answer.

Hast. At present, however, we are not likely to receive any answer.

Tony. No offence, gentlemen; but I'm told yon have been inquiring for one Mr. Hardcastle in these parts. Do you know what part of the country you are in?

Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank you for information.

Tony. Nor in the way yon came?

Hast, No, sir; but if you can inform us—

Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road yon came, the first thing I have to inform you Is, that—you have lost your way.

Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that

Tovy. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came?

Mar. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go.

Tony. No offence; hut qnestion for qnestion Is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grain'd, old-fashion'd, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son?

Hast. We have not seen the gentleman; but ho has the family you mention.

Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole; the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond. of.

Mar. Our information differs in this: the daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son, an awkward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's apron-string.

Tony. He-he-hem. Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell yon is, that you won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's house this night, I believa

Hast. Unfortunate!

Tony. It's a d—d long, dark, boggy, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardcastle's (winking at the Landlord)—Mr, Hardcastle's, of Quagmire-marsh. Yon understand me.

Land. Master Hardcastle's? Lack-a-daisyI my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong. When you came to the bottom of the hilL yon should have cross'd down Squash-lane.

Mar. Cross down Squash-lane?

Land. Then you were to keep straight forward till you came to four roads.

Mar. Come to where four roads meet?

Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only

Mar. Oh, sir! you're facetious. [one.

Tony. Then, keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till yon come upon Crack-skullCommon; there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward till you como to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill—

Mar. Zounds! man, we could as soon find out

the longitude t

Hast. What's to be done, Mariow?

Mar. This house promises but & poor reception; though, perhaps, the landlord can accommodate us.

Land. Alack, master! we have but one spare bed in the whole house.

Tony. And, to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. (After a pause, in which the rest seem disconverted.) I have hit it: don't you think. Stingo, our landlady would accommodate the gentlemen by the fireside, with three chairs and a bolster?

Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside. [bolster.

Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a

Tony. You do, do you? Then let me see—what if you go on a milo further, to the Buck's Head, the old Buck's Head, on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole country—

Hast. 0 ho! so, we have escaped an adventure for this night, however.

Land. (Apart to Tony.) Sure yon bean't sending them to your father's as an inn, be you?

Tony. Mum I you fool, you: let them find that out (To them.) You have only to keep on straight forward till you come to a large house on the road side: you'll see a pair of large horns over tho door; that's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. [can't miss the way?

Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants

Tony. No, no: but I tell you though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business: so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your pre. sence, he, he, he I He'll be for giving you his company; and,ecod! if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mothor was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace.

Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; b t a' keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole county.

Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, wo shall wont no further connexion. We are to turn to the right did you say?

Tony. No, no, straight forward. I'll just step, myself, and shew you a piece of the way. (To the Landlord.) Mum I

Land. Ah, bless your heart for a sweet, pleasant, d—d, mischievous son of a w—! (Aside,) [Exit.

ACT If—SCENE L—An old-fashioned House. Enter HAEDCASTLE, followed by two or three awkward servants.

Hard. Well, I hope you are perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places; and can Bhew that you have been used to good company, without stirring from home,

AIL Ay, ay.

Hard. When company come?, you are not to pop ont and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rabhits in a warren.

All. No, no.

Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a shew at tho side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. 13ut you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory carries his hands: they're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter.

Dig. Ay, mind how I hold them; I learned to hold myhands this way when I was upon drill for the militia; and so beinff upon drill—

Hard, You must not be so talkative, Diggory

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