Vil. How!-Did you know it then?
Count B. Amazement, all!

Re-enter CARLOS, with Officers.

Oh, Carlos! are you come? Your brother here,
Here, in a wretched letter, lays his death

To you and me-Have you done any thing
To hasten his sad end?

Car. Bless me, sir, I do any thing! Who, I?

Count B. He talks of letters that were sent to us. I never heard of any-Did you know

He was alive?

Car. Alive! Heav'n knows, not I.

Count B. Had you no news of him, from a report, Or letter, never?

Car. Never, never, I.

Bel. That's strange, indeed: I know he often wrote To lay before you the condition

[To Count Baldwin.

Of his hard slavery: and more, I know,

That he had sev'ral answers to his letters.

He said, they came from you; you are his brother.
Car. Never from me.

Bel. That will appear.

The letters, I believe, are still about him;
For some of 'em I saw but yesterday.

Count B. What did those answers say?
Bel. I cannot speak to the particulars;
But I remember well the sum of 'em
Was much the same, and all agreed,
That there was nothing to be hop'd from you;
That 'twas your barb'rous resolution

To let him perish there.

Count B. Oh, Carlos! Carlos! hadst thou been a

brother

Car. This is a plot upon me. I never knew He was in slavery, or was alive,

Or heard of him before this fatal hour.

Bel. There, sir, I must confront you.

He sent you a letter, to my knowledge, last night;
And you sent him word you would come to him-
I fear you came too soon.

Count B. "Tis all too plain.

Bring out that wretch before him.

Re-enter PEDRO, guarded.

Car. Ha! Pedro there! Then I am caught indeed. Bel. You start at sight of him; He has confess'd the bloody deed.

Car. Well then he has confess'd,

And I must answer it.

Bel. Is there no more?

Car. Why what would you have more? I know the And I expect it.

Count B. Why hast thou done all this?

[worst,

Car. Why that which damns most men has ruin'd me ; The making of my fortune. Biron stood

Between me and your favour: while he liv'd,
I had not that; hardly was thought a son,
And not at all a kin to your estate.
I could not bear a younger brother's lot,
To live depending upon courtesy-
Had you provided for me like a father,
I had been still a brother.

Count B. 'Tis too true;

I never lov'd thee as I should have done :
It was my sin, and I am punish'd for't.
Oh! never may distinction rise again
In families: let parents be the same

To all their children; common in their care,
And in their love of 'em-I am unhappy,

For loving one too well.

Vil. You knew your brother liv'd; why did you take Such pains to marry me to Isabella?"

Car. I had my reasons for't

Vil. More than I thought you had.
Car. But one was this-

I knew my brother lov'd his wife so well,
That if he ever should come home again,
He could not long outlive the loss of her.

Bel. If you relied on that, why did you kill him? Car. To make all sure. Now, you are answer'd all. Where must I go? I am tir'd of your questions.

Count B. I leave the judge to tell thee what thou art; A father cannot find a name for thee. [Carlos is led off. Grant me, sweet heav'n! the patience to go through The torment of my care-Here, here begins The operation-Alas! she's mad.

her

Re-enter ISABELLA distracted, held by her Women; Hair dishevell'd; her little Son running in before, being afraid of her.

Vil. My Isabella! poor unhappy wretch!

What can I say to her?

Isa. Nothing, nothing; 'tis a babbling world

I'll hear no more on't. When does the court sit?
I have a cause to try, an honest one;

Will you not hear it? Then I must appeal

To the bright throne-Call down the heavenly powers To witness how you use me.

Count B. Pray give her way; she'll hurt nobody. Isa. What have you done with him? He was here but now;

I saw him here. Óh, Biron, Biron! where,

Where have they hid thee from me? He is gone-
But here's a little flaming cherubim-

Child. Oh, save me, save me! [Running to Count B. I fear she'll kill me.

Count B. She will not hurt thee.

Isa. Will nothing do? I did not hope to find
Justice on earth; 'tis not in heav'n neither.
Biron has watch'd his opportunity

Softly; he steals it from the sleeping gods,
And sends it thus-

Now, now I laugh at you, defy you all,
You tyrant-murderers.

Vil. Oh, heav'n! this was too much.

[Stabs herself.

Count B. Oh, thou most injur'd innocence! Yet live, Live but to witness for me to the world,

How much I do repent me of the wrongs,

Th' unnatural wrongs, which I have heap'd on thee, And have pull'd down this judgment on us all.

Vil. Oh, speak, speak but a word of comfort to me! Count B. If the most tender father's care and love

Of thee, and thy poor child, can make amends-
Oh, yet look up and live!

Isa. Where is that little wretch?

[They raise her.

I die in peace, to leave him to your care.
I have a wretched mother's legacy,

A dying kiss-pray let me give it him,

My blessing; that, that's all I have to leave thee.
Oh, may thy father's virtues live in thee,
And all his wrongs be buried in my grave!

[Dies. Count B. Oh, had I pardon'd my poor Biron's fault,

His first, his only fault-this had not been!

To erring youth there's some compassion due;
But while with rigour you their crimes pursue,
What's their misfortune, is a crime for you.
Hence learn offending children to forgive:
Leave punishment to heav'n-'tis heav'n's prerogative.
[Curtain descends to soft Music.

EPILOGUE.

Now tell me, when you saw the lady die,
Were you not puzzl❜d for a reason why?
A buxom damsel, and of playhouse race,
Not to outlive th' enjoyment of a brace!
Were that the only marriage-curse in store,
How many would compound to suffer more,
And yet live on, with comfort, to threescore?
But on our exits there is no relying:
We women are so whimsical in dying.
Some pine away for loss of ogling fellows :
Nay, some have died for love, as stories tell us.
Some, say our histories, though long ago,
For having undergone a rape or so,
Plung'd the fell dagger without more ado.
But time has laugh'd those follies out of fashion:
And sure they'll never gain the approbation
Of ladies, who consult their reputation.
For if a rape must be esteem'd a curse,
Grim death, and publication make it worse.
Should the opinion of the world be tried,
They'll scarce give judgment on the plaintiff's side;
For all must own 'tis most egregious nonsense,
To die for being pleas'd with a safe conscience.
Nay, look not on your fans, nor turn away,
For tell me, ladies, why do you marry, pray?
But to enjoy your wishes, as you may.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

}