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Fran. Yet, great sir,

| Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenc'd by you, Exceed not in your fury; she's yet guilty Before that I was guilty in a thought, Only in ber intent.

Made me put on a seeming anger towards you, Sfor. Intent, Francisco!

And now-behold the issue! As I do, It does include all fact; and I might sooner May heaven forgive you!

[Dies. Be won to pardon treason to my crown, Sfor. Then I believe thee; Or one that kill'd my father.

Believe thee innocent too. Fran. You are wise,

Tib. Her sweet soul has left And know wbat's best to do: yet, if you please, Her beauteous prison. To prove her temper to the beight, say only Steph. Look to the duke; he stands That I am dead, and then observe how far As if he wanted motion. She'll be transported. I'll remove a little, Tib. Grief hath stopp'd But be within your call. Now to the upshot! The organ of his speech. Howe'er, I'll shift for one. [Aside, and exit. Sfor. O my heart-strings! [Exeunt

. Re-enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and Guard,

ACT V. with MARCELIA.

Scene I.-The MILANESE. ' A Room in EcMarc. Where is this monster,

GENIA's House.
This walking tree of jealousy? Are you here?
Is it by your commandment or allowance,

Enter FRANCISCO and EUGENIA.
I am thus basely us'd? Which of my virtues, Fran. Why, couldst thou think, Eugenia,
My labours, services, and cares to please you,

that rewards, Invites this barbarous course? Dare you look Graces, or favours, though strew'd thick upon

me, Without a seal of shame?

Could ever bribe mé to forget mine honour? Sfor. Impudence,

Or that I tamely would set down, before How ugly thou appearst now! Thy intent I had dried these eyes, still wet with showers To be a wanton, leaves thee not blood enough

of tears To make an honest blush: what had the act By the fire of my revenge? Look

up, my

dearest! done?

For that proud fair, that thief-like, stepp'd Marc. Return'd thee the dishonour thou

between deserv'st.

Thy promis'd hopes, and robb'd thee of a fortune Sfor. Your chosen favourite, your wood Almost in thy possession, bath found, Francisco,

With horrid proof, his love she thought her flas dearly paid for't ; for, wretch! know, he's

glory, dead,

But hasten'd her sad ruin. And by my hand.

Eug. Do not flatter Marc. Thou hast kill'd then,

A grief that is beneath it; for, however A man I do profess I lor'd; a man The credulous duke to me pror'd false and cruel, For whom a thousand queens might well be It is impossible he could be wrought on rivals.

So to serve her. But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be Fran. Such indeed, I grant, A jealous fool, dares be a murderer, The stream of his affection was, and ran, And knows no end in mischief.

A constant course, till I, with cunning malice Sfor. I begin now

(And yet I wrong my act, for it was justice), In this my justice.

[Stabs her. Made it turn backward; and hate, in extremes Marc. 'Oh! I have fool'd myself

(Love banish'd from bis heart), to fill the room: Into my grave, and only grieve for that In a word, know the fair Marcelia's dead. Which, when you know you've slain an in- Eug. Dead! nocent,

Fran. And by Sforza's hand. Does it not You needs must suffer.

move you? Sfor. An innocent! Let one

How coldly you receive it! I expected Call in Francisco; for he lives, vile creature, The mere relation of so great a blessing,

[Exit Stephano. Borne proudly on the wings of sweet revenge, To justify thy falsehood.

Would have call'd on a sacrifice of thanks. With wanton flatteries thou hast tempted him. You entertain it with a look, as if

You wish'd it were undone.
Re-enter STEPHANO.

Eug. Indeed I do:
Steph. Seignior Francisco, sir, but even now For if my sorrows could receive addition,
Took' horse without the ports.

ller sad fate would incrcase, not lessen them. Marc. We are both abus'd,

She never injur'd me.
And both by him undone. Stay, death, a little, Fran. Have you then no gall,
Till I have clear'd me to my lord, and then Anger, or spleen, familiar to your sex?
I willingly obey thee. O

my.
Sforza!

Or is it possible that you could see
Francisco was not tempted, but the tempter; Another io possess what was your due,
And, as be thought to win me, show'd the And not grow pale with envy?
warrant

Eug. Yes, of him That you sign'd for my, death. But, being That did deceive me. There's no passion, that contemnd,

A maid so injur'd ever could partake of, Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me, But I have dearly suffer'd. These three years, Not to reveal it: I, soft-hearted fool, In my desire and labour of revenge, Judging his penitence true, was won unto.it: Trusied to you, I have endur'd the throes

Of teeming women; and will hazard all Speak, my oraculous Graccho.
Fate can inflict on me, but I will reach Grac. I have beard, sir,
Thy heart, false Sforza!

Of men in debt that, laid for by their creditors, Fran. Still mine own, and dearer! In all such places where it could be thought And yet in this you but pour oil on fire, They would take shelter, chose for sanctuary And offer your assistance where it needs not: Their lodgings underneath their creditors' noses; And that you may perceive I lay not fallow, Confident that there they never should be But had your wrongs stamp'd deeply on my

sought for. beart,

Fran. But what infer you from it? I did begin bis tragedy in her death,

Grac. This, my lord; To which it seri'd as prologue, and will make That since all ways of your escape are stoppd, A memorable story of your fortunes In Milan only, or, what's more, in the court, In my assur'd revenge: only, best sister, Whither it is presum'd you dare not come, Let us not lose ourselves in the performance, Conceald in some disguise, you may live safe. By your rash undertaking: we will be

Fran. And not to be discover'd ? As sudden as you could wish.

Grac. But by myself. Eug. Upon those terms

Fran. By thee? Alas! I know thee honest, I yield myself and cause, to be dispos’d of

Graccho, As you think fit.

And I will put thy counsel into act,

And suddenly. Yet, not to be ungrateful Enter a Servant.

For all thy loving travail to preserve me, Fran. Thy purpose ?

What bloody end soe'er my stars appoint, Sero. There's one Graccho,

Thou shalt be safe, good Graccho.-Who's That follow'd you, it seems, upon the track,

within there? Since you

left' Milan, that's importunate Grac. In the devil's name, what means he? To have access, and will not be denied;

[Aside. His baste, he says, concerns you. Fran. Bring him to me. [Exit Servant

Enter Servants. Though he hath laid an ambush for my life, Fran. Take

my

friend
Or apprehension, yet I will prevent him, Into your custody, and bind him fast:
And work mine own ends out,

I would not part with him.
Enter Graccho.

Grac. My good lord!

Fran. Dispatch: Grac. Now for my whipping!

'Tis for your good, to keep you honest, And if I now outstrip him not, and catch him,

Graccho: I'll swear there are worms in my brains. I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt

[Aside.

you Fran. Now, my good Graccho!

To play the traitor. Why, thou fool! We meet as '{were by miracle.

I can look through and through thee! thy Be brief; what brought thee hither ?

intents Grac. Lore and duty,

Appear to me as written in thy forehead, And vigilance in me for my lord's safety. In plain and easy characters: and, but that You are a condemn'd man, pursued and I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sought for,

sword And your head rated at ten thousand ducats That from a prince expects a scarlet die, To him that brings it.

Thou now wert dead. Away, with him! Fran. Very good.

I will not hear a syllable. Grac. All passengers

[Exeuni Servants, with Graccho. Are intercepted, and your picture sent We must trust To every siate confederate with Milan:

Ourselves, Eugenia; and though we make It is impossible you should escape

use of Their curious search.

The counsel of our servants, that oil spent, Eug. Why, let us then turn Romans. Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them out. And, falling by, our own hands, mock their But now to our last scene, which we'll so threats.

carry, Fran. "Twould show nobly:

That few shall understand how 'twas begun, But that the honour of our full revenge Till all, with half an eye, may see 'tis done. Were lost in the rash action. No, Eugenia,

[Exeunt. Graccho is wise; my friend too, not my Scene II. - Milan. A Room in the Castle.

servant; And I dare trust him with my latest secret. Enter Pescara, TIBERIO, and STEPHANO. We would, and thou must help us to perform it,

Pes. The like was never read of. First kill the duke-then, fall what can upon us! Steph. But that melancholy should work For injuries are writ in brass, kind Graccho, So far upon a man, as to compel him And not to be forgotten.

To court a thing that has nor sense nor being, Grac. He instructs me

Is unto me a miracle. What I should do.

[Aside. Pes. Troth, I'll tell you, Fran. What's that?

And briefly as I can, by what degrees Grac. I labour will

He fell into this madness. When, by the care A strong desire to assist you with my service; of his physicians, he was brought to life, And now I am deliver'd of it,

lle call'd for fair Marcelia, and being told Fran. I told you.

That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes (I would not say blasphem'd); then it came Bite your tongues, vile creatures, Into his fancy that she was accus'd

And let your inward borror fright your souls, By his motber and his sister; thrice he curs'a For having belied that pureness. them,

And for that dog, Francisco, that seduc'd me, And thrice his desp'rate hand was on his sword I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him, Thave kill'd them both; but they restrain'd him; And there live a fourth fury to torment him, When wisely his physicians, looking on Then, for this cursed band and arm, that The dutchess's wound, to stay bis ready hand,

guided Cried out, it was not mortal.

The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint, Tib. 'Twas well thought on.

With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat, Pes. Ple, easily believing what he wish’d, I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion. Fell prostrate at the doctors' feet, and swore, LastlyProvided they recover'd her, he would live 1 Doc. You are too loud, sir; you disturb A private man, and they should share his Her sweet repose. dukedom.

Sfor. I am hush'd. Sfor. [Within] Support her gently. 1 Doc. He's past hope: we can no longer Pes. Now be your own witnesses;

cover the imposture. I am prevented.

Re-enter Pescara, with Francisco, as a Jew Enter Ludovico Sforza, ISABELLA, MARIANA, Doctor, and EUGENIA, disguised,

Doctors, and Servants, with the Body Fran. I am no god, sir, of MARCELIA.

To give a new life to her; yet INI hazard Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you.

My head, I'll work the senseless trunk t'appear How pale and wan she looks! O pardon me, To him as it had got a second being. That I presume, dyed o'er with bloody guilt, Pes. Do but this, To touch this snow-white band, How cold Till we use means to win upon his passions, it is!

T'endure to hear she's dead with some small This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still

patience, 'Tis so to me. How slow her, pulses beat too! And make thy own reward. Yet in this temper she is all perfection.

Fran. The art I use Mari. Is not this strange?

Admits no looker on: I only ask Ysa Oh! cross him not, dear daughter, The fourth part of an hour, to perfect that

I boldly undertake. Therefore command, Enter a Servant, and whispers Pescara. That instantly my pupil and myself Pes. With me? What is he?

Ilave leave to make a trial of our skill Sere. He has a strange aspect;

Alone and undisturb'd. A Jew by birth, and a physician

Pes. About it straight. [Exit Eugenia.
By his profession, as he says; who, hearing Sfor. What stranger's this?
Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of

Pes. Look up sir, cheerfully;
Ilis life, will undertake to render him Comfort in him flows strongly to you.
Perfect in every part.

[Apart. Sfor. Comfort! from whence came that Pes. Bring me to him,

sound? As I find cause, I'll do.

Pes. He is a man that can do wonders. [-Apart. Exeunt Pescara and Servants. [Beckons Francisco. E.vit Francisco. Sfor. Ilow sound she sleeps!

Do not hinder Heaven keep her from a lethargy! How long The dutchess's wish'd recovery, to inquire (But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) Or what he is, or to give thanks; but leave him Does your judgment tell you that her sleep To work this miracle. will last?

Sfor. Sure 'tis my good angel.
1 Doc. We have given her, sir, I do obey in all things. Be ii death
A sleepy potion, that will hold her long; For any to disturb him, or come near,
That she may

be less sensible of the torment Till he be pleas'd to call us. O be prosperous, The searching of her wound will put her to. And make a duke thy bondman. [Exeunt

Sfor. I am patient, You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure. Re-enter Francisco, leading in EUGENIA, What do think she dreams of now? for

clothed as the Body of MARCELIA. you sure,

Fran. 'Tis my purpose. Although her body's organs are bound fast, I'll make the door fast-50Her fancy cannot slumber.

Eug. Alas! I tremble: 1 Doc. That, sir, looks on

Thus to tyrannise upon, and mock the dead, Your sorrow for your late rash act, and pre- Is most inhuman. pares

Fran. Come we for revenge,
To meet the free confession of your guilt And can we think on pily ? to enjoy
With a glad pardon,

The wish'd-for sacrifice to thy lost honour, Sfor. She was ever kind.

Be in thy wavering thought a benefit, Let her behold me in a

pleasing dream Now art tbou blest.

[Kncels. Eug. Ah me! what follows now? Thus, on my knees before ber (yet that duty Fran. What, but a full conclusion of our In me is not sufficient); let her see me

wishes! Compel my mother, from whom I took lise, Look on this flow'r, Eugenia-such a thing And this my sister, partner of my being, As yonder corpse, whose fatal robe you wear, To bow thus low unto her:

Must the pale wretch be summond to appear

h

In the grim court of death, whose senses taste And after breath’d a jealousy upon thee,
The poisonous powder scatter'd o'er its leaves. As killing as those damps that belch out plagues
Now mark, that when with rapturous lust, When the foundation of the earth is shaken:
Thinking the dead Marcelia reviv'd,

I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon,
The duke shall fix his lips upon thy band, Which was— to kill an innocent.
I

Hold fast the poison'd herb, till the fond fool Sfor. Call forth the tortures
llas drunk his death-draught from thy hand For all that flesh can feel.
he spurn'd.

Fran. I dare the worst.
Eug. 1 yield myself and cause up, to be Only, to yield some reason to the world
dispos'd

Why I pursu'd this course-look on this face, As thou think'st fit. [Sits down veiled. Made old by thy base falsehood! 'tis Eugenia. Fran. Now to the upshot;

Sfor. Eugenia! come And, as it proves, applaud it.—My lord the Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister, duke!

Seduc'd and fool'd by thec; but thou must Enter with joy, and see the sudden change,

pay Your servant's hand hath wrought.

The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not

work yet? Re-enter, Ludovico SFORZA and the Rest. Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not, Sfor. I live again

Thou art mark'd for the grave: I've given thee In my full confidence that Marcelia may

poison Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak' yet? In this cup; now observe me: wbich, thy lust Fran. No:

Carousing deeply of, made thee forget
You must not look for all your joys at once; Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia.
That will ask longer time.

Pes. O damnd villain ! Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had How do you, sir ? [Ludovico Sforza. from her,

Sfor. Like one This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it. That learns to know in death what punish[Kisses her Hand.

ment Pes. Tis wondrous strange!

Waits on the breach of faith! Oh! now I feel Sfor. This act will bind e'en heaven your An Aetna in my entrails. I have liv'd debtor:

A prince, and my last breath shall be command. The saints will smile and look on't. I burn! I burn! yet, ere life be consum'd,' Oh, I could ever feed upon this native Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture Sweetness.

That witty cruelty can invent.
[Kisses her Hand again. Eugenia Pes. Away with him!

throws away the Flower, and Tib. In all things we will serve you.
sobs.

Fran. Farewell, sister!
She wakes ! she lives! and I am blest again. Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn;

[She lifts up her Teil. I leave the world with glory. They are men, Oh! horror! shield me from that face. And leave behind them name and memory, Eug. I can no more- -thou'rt mark'd for death. That, wrong’d, do right themselves before they Pes. Treason, treason!

die. Tib. Call up the guard.

[Exeunt Guard, with Francisco, Fran. Then we are lost.

Steph. A desperate wretch! Sfor. Speak.

Sfor. I come: death! I obey thee. Eug. This is

Yet I will not die raging; for, alas!

My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia, Enter Guard.

In death forgive me.-As you love me, bear Fran. Francisco,

her Pes. Monster of men!

To some religious house, there let her spend Fran. Give me all attributes

The remnant of her life: when I am ashes, Of all you can imagine, yet I glory Perhaps she'll be appeas'd, and spare a prayer To be the thing I was born. I am Francisco;'For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia, Francisco, that was rais'd by you, and made And let our epitaph beThe minion of the time; the same Francisco,

Dies. Curtain falls. That would have us’d thy wife wbile she had life,

MO O R E. EDWARD MOORE was bred a linen-draper; but having a stronger attachment to Pegasus than the yard. and a wore ardent zeal in the pursuit of fame than in the hont after fortune, he quilted business and applied to the Muses for a sapport. In verse he had certainly a very happy and pleasing manner; in his Trial of Selim the Persian, which

compliment to the ingenious Lord Lytlelton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of fasegyric, viz. that which is couched under the appearance of accusation ; 'and his Fables the Female Ses seem, But only is the freedom and ease of the versification, but also in the foreibleness of the moral and poignancy of the #ire, to approach nearer to the manner of Mr. Gay, than any of the numerous imitations of that author which have betu alieupled since the publication of his Fables. As a dramalic writer, Mr. Moore hus, by no means, met with the

success bis works had merited; vince, out of three plays that he wrote, one of them, The Foundling, has been cordemned for its supposed resemblance to a very celebrated comedy (The Conscious Lovers), but to which great preference must be given; and anothor, The Gamester, met with a cold reception, for no other apparent reason, but because it loo nearly touched a favourite and fashionable vice. Yet on the whole his plots are interesting his sentiments delicale, 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 moralits and virine, The two plays mentioned, and one more,' (Gil Blas) with a serenata (Solomon) make the whole of his dramatic works. Mr. Moore married a lady of the name of Hamilton, whose father was table-decker to the princesses ; sho had also a very poetical turn, and has been said to have assisted him in tho writing of his tragedy. One specimen of her poetry, however, was handed about before their marriage; it was addressed to a daughter of thé famous Stephen Duck; and begins with the following stanza : Would

you

think it, my Duck, for the fault I must own Though millions if fortune should layishly pour, Your Jenny, at last, is quite covetous grown;

I still should be wretched if I had not More, And after half a dozen stavzas more, in which, with great ingenuity and delicacy, and yet in a manner that expresses a sincere affection, she bas quibbled on our author's name, she concludes with the following lines;

You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, But you shan't know his name; though I told you before, Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me;

It begins with an M.; but I dare not say WORE. Mr. Moore died the 28. of Febr. 1757, soon after his celebrated papers, entitled The World, were collected into volumes.

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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 uninst. Still with all these merils it met with but middling success, the general cry against it being, thai the distress was too deep to be borne; yet we are rather apl 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 aliacked by the strung lance of reason and dramatic execution, has often' been disputed, whether plays, in which the plots are taken from domestic life, should be written in prose or metre; and the caocess of the present performance and George Barnwell must incline one very strongly in favour of the former. A al author, loweyer, appears to be of a different opinion. Mr. Howard says, that having communicaled his play of The Pemalc Gamester to Dr. Samuel Johnson, that geritleman 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 thertof, as well as the great; that even the lowest, when impassioned, raise their language; and that the writing of prose is goncrally the plea and excise 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."

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ACT I.

one vice driven him from every virtue!-Nay, Scene I.-BEVERLEY's Lodgings.

from his affections too!- The time was, sister

Mrs. B. And is. I have no fear of his afMRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered. fections. Would I knew that he were safe!

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. — His poor 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 at give me but a bare subsistence and my hus- pight for't. His bread is sweeter to him; his Land's smiles, and I shall be the happiest of home happier; his family dearer ; his enjoythe poor. Why do you look at me? ments surer.

The sun that rouses him in the Char. That I may hate my brother. 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 bave 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. Ile never he should be punished. IIe is my brother, slept from me before.

l'tis true; but when I think of what be has Char. Slept from you! No, no, his nights done-of the fortune you brought him-of his 're nothing to do with sleep. How has this own large estate too, squandered away upon

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