Eust. Believe me, Wilmot, Your grave reflections were not what I smil'd at; I own the truth. That we're return'd to England, Affords me all the pleasure you can feel. Yet I must think a warmer passion moves you; Y. Wilm. O Eustace! Eustace! ; 'Thou know'st, for I've confess'd to thee, I love Have given herself to some more happy lover!— What were the riches of the world to me? Eust. The wretch who fears all that is possible, Must suffer more than he, who feels the worst A man can feel, yet lives exempt from fear. A woman may be false, and friends are mortal; And yet your aged parents may be living, And your fair mistress constant. Y. Wilm. True, they may; I doubt, but I despair not. No, my friend! And drive that gaping phantom, meagre want, For ever from their board; their days to come Crown all with peace, with pleasure, and abundance; Receive their fond embraces and their blessings, Eust. 'Tis our weakness: Blind to events, we reason in the dark, And fondly apprehend, what none e'er found, Y. Wilm. I'll go this instant To seek my Charlotte, and explore my fate. Y. Wilm. That's a trifle, Not worth my thoughts. Eust. The hardships you've endur'd, And your long stay beneath the burning zone,` Y. Wilm. Well; 'tis no matter, Eustace! Eust. When you please: You'll find me at the inn. Y. Wilm. When I have learn'd my doom, expect me there. Enter CHARLOTTE, thoughtful; and soon after, a SERVANT, from the other Side. Serv. Madam, a stranger, in a foreign habit, de sires to see you. Char. In a foreign habit ! 'Tis strange, and unexpected. But admit him. [Exit SERVANT. Who can this stranger be? I know no foreigner.— Enter YOUNG WILMOT. Nor any man like this. Y. Wilm. Ten thousand joys! [Going to embrace her. Char. Sir, you are too bold-Forbear, and let me know What business brought you here, or leave the place. Y. Wilm. Perfidious maid!-Am I forgot, or scorn'd? Char. Can I forget a man I never knew? Y. Wilm. My fears are true; some other has her heart: She's lost: My fatal absence has undone me? [Aside. O, gentle stranger, ease my swelling heart! Y. Wilm. This I know : When all the winds of Heaven seem'd to conspire And drown'd th' affrighten'd mariners' loud cries; And left him struggling with the warring waves: Char. The fatal tempest, whose description strikes Persuade yourself, that what you wish is true, You were his fate. The cruel winds and waves, That cast him pale and breathless on the shore, Spar'd him for greater woes-to know his Charlotte, Forgetting all her vows to him and Heaven, Had cast him from her thoughts.-Then, then he died; But never can have rest. Ev'n now he wanders, The unsubstantial shadow of himself; And pours his plaintive groans in thy deaf ears, Char. 'Tis enough : Detested falsehood now has done its worst. And art thou dead? And wou'dst thou die, my Wilmot! For one thou thought'st unjust? Thou soul of truth! What must be done? Which way shall I express Unutterable woe? Or how convince Thy dear departed spirit, of the love, Th' eternal love, and never-failing faith Of thy much-injur'd, lost, despairing Charlotte? too soon! Perhaps I dream, and this is all illusion. [Aside. Char. If, as some teach, the spirit after death, That center'd not in thee, since last we parted— That I may never see those bright abodes Y. Wilm. Assist me, Heaven! |