Alm. Show me, for I am come in search of death, But want a guide, for tears have dimm'd my sight. Leon. Alas, a little further, and behold Zara all pale and dead! two frightful men, Who seem the murderers, kneel weeping by; Feeling remorse too late for what they've done. But O, forbear-lift up your eyes no more, But baste away, fly from this fatal place, Where miseries are multiply'd; return, Return, and look not on, for there's a dagger Ready to stab the sight, and make your eyes Rain blood. I hope they murder all on whom they look. And come prepar'd to yield my throat!—They bow Their heads, in sign of grief and innocence! [They point at the Bowl on the Ground, And point! what mean they? Ha! a cup! well I understand what med'cine has been here. O noble thirst! yet greedy, to drink allOh for another draught of death!— O, And stain the colour of my last adieu. Horror! a headless trunk! nor lips nor face, [Coming near the Body, starts and lets fall the Cup. But spouting veins and mangled flesh! Oh! oh! Enter ALPHONSO, HELI, PEREZ, Guards, and Attendants; with GARCIA, Prisoner. Alph. Away, stand off! where is she! let me fly, Save her from death, and snatch her to my heart. Alm. Oh! Alph. Forbear; my arms alone shall hold her up, Warm her to life, and wake her into glad ness. Give a new birth to thy long-shaded eyes, Alph. O mayst thou never dream of less Nor ever wake to less substantial joys! Confirm this miracle! Can I believe This is my lord, my life, my only husband: Alph. O, my heart's comfort! 'tis not giv'n Frail life, to be entirely bless'd. E'en now, Ill-fated Zara! Ha! a cup! alas! Whose virtue has renounc'd thy father's crimes, Seest thou how just the hand of heav'n has been? Let us, who through our innocence survive, HILL. Anos HILL, eldest son of George Hill, Esq. of Malmsbury Abbey, Wiltshire, was born in London, Febr. 10, The life of this author presents a most astonishing instance of genius and industry. At the age of 15 we find alese in a vessel bound for Constantinople, on a visit to Lord Paget, ambassador at that court, and a distant reof his mother's. His Lordship, struck with the ardent desire of knowledge, which had induced this youth to undertaking, provided him with a tutor with whom he travelled through Egypt, Palestine and the greater of the East. He returned with his Lordship from Constantinople by land; and profited of the occasion of their at the different courts to see the greatest part of Europe. 1710, Manager of the King's Theatre, Haymarket, he ure the opera of Rinaldo, the music of which was the first of Handel's compositions after his arrival in England. Agh so mas could be more qualified for this undertaking, he relinquished the management on account of some misunderstanding; and turned his thoughts entirely on a project of making sweet oil from beech-nuts. He obtained a patent, and had his fortune been sufficient for the undertaking he would undoubtedly have rendered this attempt of great advantage to the nation; but borrowing a sum of 25,000 pounds, he was obliged to submit to the formation of a company, who were to act in concert with him. These people, with the most sanguine hopes of success and ignorant of the inventor's plans, or perhaps fearing to loose their money, upon a trifling delay of their hopes, immediately com menced representations; these caused disputes, and the whole affair was overthrown just at the time when profits were already rising from it, and, if pursned with vigour, would, in all probability have continued increasing and permanent. Another valuable project, that of applying the timber grown in the north of Scotland to the use of the navy, for which it had been long erroneously imagined to be unfit, he set on foot in 1727: here again we have a terrible account of the obstacles he met with: when the trees were chained together into a raft, the Highlanders could not be prevailed upon to go down the river on them, till he first went himself; and he was obliged to find out a method of doing away with the rocks (by lighting fires on them at low water), which choked up the passage in different paris of the river. The commencement of a lead mine in the same country employing all the men and horses, which had heretofore been at his service, put an end to this undertaking; however he was presented with the freedom of Inverness and Aberdeen, as a compliment for his great exertions. All this time his pen did not continue idle: he produced The progress of Wit, a caveat for the use of an eminent Writer; in which he retorts very severely upon Pope, who had introduced him into The Dunciad, as one of the competitors for the prize offered by the goddess of Dulness. After the death of his wife 1731, he continued in London and in intercourse with the public till about 1758, when he withdrew to Plaistow in Essex, where his indefatigable genius projected many profitable improvements. One he lived to complete, but without benefit to himself, which was the art of making potash, equal to that brought from Russia, Here he wrote and published several poctical pieces; and adapted Voltaire's tragedy of Merope to the English Stage, which was the last work he lived to complete. He died the very day before it was to he represented for his benefit, Feb. 8. 1749, in the very minute of the earthquake. The Biographia Dramatica says him to have been a person of the most amiable disposition, extensive knowledge, and elegant conversation. We find him bestowing the profits of many of his works for the relief of distressed authors and artists; though he would never accept of a benefit for himself, till his distresses at the close of his life obliged him to solicit the acting of Merope for their relief. No labour deterred him from the prosecution of any design which appeared to him to be praiseworthy and feasible, nor was it in the power of the greatest misfortunes to overcome or even shake his fortitude of mind. Although accused of being rather too turgid, and in some places obscure; yet the nervous power, and sterling sense we find in his writings ought to make us overlook our having been obsiged to take some little pains in digging through the rock in which it is contained; while his rigid correctness will always make him stand in an exalted rank of merit, ZARA. ZARA was first produced 1755; and though it is founded on the principles of religious party, which are generall apt to throw an air of enthusiasm and bigotry into those dramatic works which are built on them, this piece has always been esteemed a very superior one, The Biographia Dramatica says, "It is borrowed originally from the Zaire of Voltaire; an author who, while he resided in England, imbibed so much of the spirit of British liberty, that his writings seem almost always calculated for the meridian of London. Mr. Hill, however, has made this as well as hi other translations so much his own, that it is hard to determine which of the two may most properly be called the author of this play." It is remarkable for a very extraordinary event; it is related, that a gentleman of the name Bond, collecting a party of his friends, got up the play of Zara, at the music room in Villiers Street, York Buildings and chose the part of Lusignan for himself. His acting was considered as a prodigy; and he yielded himself up s to the force and impetuosity of his imagination, that upon the discovery of his daughter, he fainted away. The house rung with applause; but, finding that he continued a long time in that situation, the audience began to be uneasy and apprehensive. With some difficulty, the representatives of Chatillon and Nerestan placed him in his chair; he ther faintly spoke, extended his arms to receive his children, raised his eyes to heaven, and then closed them for ever. My fate's bound in by Sion's sacred wall. The sultan's property, his will my law; Sel. Have you forgot Tis plain his promise stretch'd beyond Propesing much, means little; talks and vows,| I once admir'd the unprofitable zeal, Sel What, if yet, Zara. Can my fond heart, on such a feeble Embrace a faith abhorr'd by him I love? He, faithful should return, and hold his vow; In France a Christian, I am here a Saracen: Would you not, then Zara. No matter-Time is past. And every thing is chang'd. Sel. But whence comes this? 'Tis but instruction all! Our parents' hand Zara. Go; 'twere too much to tell thee Thou wert not made a pris'ner in this place, Zara's fate: Till after reasons, borrowing force from years, me: Yet, far from having lost the rev'rence due, This cross, as often as it meets my eye, Strikes through my heart a kind of awful fear! I honour, from my soul, the Christian laws, Those laws, which, softening nature by humanity, Melt nations into brotherhood; no doubt Christians are happy; and'tis just to love them. Sel. Why have you then declar'd yourself their foe? Thou blushest, and I guess thy thoughts ac- Why will you join your hand with this proud cuse me: Osman's, But, known me better-'twas unjust suspicion. Who owes his triumph to the Christians' ruin? All emperor as he is, I cannot stoop Zara. Ah! who could slight the offer of To honours, that bring shame and baseness his heart? with 'em: Reason and pride, those props of modesty, Sustain my guarded heart, and strengthen virtue; No-I shall now astonish thee; his greatness Submits to own a pure and honest flame, Among the shining crowds, which live to please him, His whole regard is fix'd on me alone: Hofters marriage; and its rites now wait To crown me empress of this eastern world. Sel. Your virtue and your charms deserve it all: My heart is not surpris'd, but struck to hear it. It to be empress can complete your happiness, I rank myself, with joy, among your slaves. Zara. Be still my equal, and enjoy my blessings; For, thou partaking, they will bless me more. Sel Alas! but heaven! will it permit this marriage? Will not this grandeur, falsely call'd a bliss, Plant bitterness, and root it in your heart? Nay, for I mean to tell thee all my weakness, I talk not of a sceptre, which he gives me: No-to be charm'd with that were thanks too humble! Offensive tribute, and too poor for love! 'Twas Osman won my heart, not Osman's crown: I love not in him aught besides himself. Thou think'st, perhaps, that these are starts of passion: But had the will of heav'n, less bent to bless him, Doom'd Osman to my chains, and me to fill The throne that Osman sits on-ruin and wretchedness Catch and consume my wishes, but I wouldTo raise me to myself, descend to him. [Exit Selima. e you forgot you are of Christian blood? Zara. Ab, me! what hast thou said, why A grand March. Enter OSMAN, reading wouldst thou thus a Paper, which he re-delivers to ORASMIN, with Attendants. Osman. Wait my return, or should there be a cause That may require my presence, do not fear To enter; ever mindful that my own. [Exit Oras. etc. Follows my people's happiness. At length, Cares have releas'd my heart-to love and Zara. Zara. 'Twas not in cruel absence, to deprive me Of your imperial image; every where Are always present-and are always gracious. Osman. The sultans, my great ancestors, This place, long sacred to the sultan's privacies. bequeath'd Osman. Go-bring him with thee. Monarchs, like the sun, proach us; Not the unhappy: every place alike Their empire to me, but their taste they gave not; Hence was Jerusalem to Christians lost; For thou disdain'st, like me, a languid love; This passion, so unlike your country's customs. The jealousy, the faintness, the distrust, Osman. Not so-I love, and would be lov'd Let me confess it: I possess a soul, Me wretched, it if makes not Zara happy. Can, from my will, submit to take its bliss, Re-enter ORASMIN, with NEREstan. Osman. Christian! I must confess thy cou- But let thy pride be taught it treads too high, They left some virtue among Saracens. To my Jerusalem-that claim, his guilt! I had your royal word. For Lusignan— Osman. Was I not heard? Compelling my esteem, provokes my pride: Zara. Assist him, heaven! While I give orders to prepare the pomp What could he mean?—he sigh'd—and, as he | And the proud crescent rise in bloody triumph. mark it? chains; Oras. Alas! my sovereign master! let not Then, sent to Paris on my plighted faith, jealousy Strike high enough to reach your noble heart. Distrust is poor; and a misplac'd suspicion I flatter'd my fond hope with vain resolves, Cha. Nay, then we have been all redeem'd Perish that soldier who would quit his chains, And, among crowded millions, live alone. [Exit. Alas! you know him not as I have known him: ACT II. SCENE I. Enter NERESTAN and CHATILLON. Thank heav'n, that plac'd your birth so far remov'd From those detested days of blood and woe: Cha. Matchless Nerestan! generous and Our pious fathers' labours lost in ruins! great! You, who have broke the chains of hopeless slaves! Appear, be known, enjoy your due delight; Indulge the kind impatience of their eyes, ever. Ner. Illustrious Chatillon! this praise o'er- done? Cha. True-it is every honest Christian's Nay, 'tis the blessing of such minds as ours, To execute, like you, that duty's call. And native France have bless'd our eyes no Dreadful-and waving in his hand a sword, Pointed his path, and march'd our guardian We reach'd Caesarea-there the general voice I knew too well the miseries you describe, more. en'd Osman, look'd on. Inspir'd me for your sakes: but with our joy Hurried, an infant, among other infants, Caesarea's walls saw Lusignan surpris'd, A temple sav'd us, till the slaughter ceas'd; |