L. Haft. How fierce a Fiend is Paffion? With what Wildness

What Tyranny untam'd, it reigns in Woman!
Unhappy Sex! whofe eafy yielding Temper

Gives way to every Appetite alike,

:

Each Guft of Inclination, uncontroul'd,

Sweeps thro' their Souls, and fets 'em in an Uproar.;
Each Motion of the Heart rifes to Fury,

And Love in their weak Bofoms is a Rage
As terrible as Hate, and as deftructive.

So the Wind roars o'er the wide fencelefs Ocean,
And heaves the Billows of the boiling Deep,
Alike from North, from South, from East, from Weft
With equal Force the Tempeft blows by turns
From every Corner of the Seaman's Compafs.

But foft ye now

for here comes one, difclaims

Without one jarring Atom

Strife, and her wrangling Train. O equal Elements,

was the form d;

And Gentleness and Joy make up her Being.

Enter Jane Shore.

Forgive me, fair One, if officious Friendship
Intrudes on your Repofe, and comes thus late,
To greet you with the Tidings of Success.
The Princely Glofter has vouchfaf'd you Hearing,
To Morrow he expects you at the Court;
'There plead your Caufe with never-failing Beauty,
Speak all your Griefs, and find a full Redress.

J. Sh. Thus humbly let your lowly Servant bend. [Kneeling. Thus let me bow my grateful Knee to Earth,

And bless your noble Nature for this Goodness.

L. Haft. Rife, gentle Dame, you wrong my Meaning much,

Think

Think me not guilty of a Thought fo vain,

To fell my Courtefy for Thanks like thefe.

J. Sh. 'Tis true, your Bounty is beyond my Speaking;
But tho' my Mouth be dumb, my Heart fhall thank you;
And when it melts before the Throne of Mercy,
Mourning and bleeding for my paft Offences,
My fervent Soul fhall breathe one Prayer for you,
If Prayers of fuch a Wretch are heard on high,
That Heav'n will pay you back, when moft you need,
The Grace and Goodnefs you have fhewn to me.

L. Haft. If there be ought of Merit in my Service,
Impute it there where moft 'tis due, to Loye;
Be kind, my gentle Mistress, to my Wishes,
And fatisfy my panting Heart with Beauty.
7. Sh. Alas! my Lord

L. Haft. Why bend thy Eyes to Earth?
Wherefore thefe Looks of Heavinefs and Sorrow?

Why breathes that Sigh, my Love? And wherefore falls This trickling Show'r of Tears, to ftain thy Sweetness? f. Sh. If Pity dwells within your noble Breast,

(As fure it does) oh speak not to me thus.

L. Haft. Can I behold thee, and not speak of Love!
Ev'n now thus fadly as thou ftand’ft before me, ·
Thus defolate, dejected, and forlorn,

Thy Softnefs fteals upon my yielding Senfes,
Till my Soul faints, and fickens with Defire;
How canft thou give this Motion to my Heart,
And bid my Tongue be still?

J.Sb. Caft round your Eyes

Upon the High-born Beauties of the Court;
Behold, like opening Roses, where they Bloom,

Sweet

Sweet to the Senfe, unfully'd all, and spotlefs;
There chufe fome worthy Partner of your Heart,
To fill your Arms, and blefs your Virtuous Bed,
Nor turn your Eyes this way, where Sin and Mifery,
Like loathfom Weeds, have over-run the Soil,

And the Destroyer Shame has laid all Waste.

L. Haft. What means this peevih, this fantaflick Change? Where is thy wonted Pleafantnefs of Face?

Thy wonted Graces, and thy dimpled Smiles?
Where haft thou loft thy Wit, and fportive Mirth?
That chearful Heart, which us'd to dance for ever,
And caft a Day of Gladnefs all around thee?
J. Sh. Yes, I will own I merit the Reproach;
And for those foolish Days of wanton Pride,
My Soul is juftly humbled to the Duft:

All Tongues, like yours, are licens'd to upbraid me,
Still to repeat my Guilt, to urge my Infamy,
And treat me like that abject Thing I have been.
Yet let the Saints be witnefs to this Truth,
That now, tho' late, I look with Horror back,
That I deteft my wretched felf, and curfe
My paft polluted Life. All-judging Heav'n

Who knows my Crimes, has feen my Sorrow for them.
L. Haft. No more of this dull Stuff. 'Tis time enough
To whine and mortify thy felf with Penance

When the decaying Senfe is pall'd with Pleafure,

And weary Nature tires in her laft Stage:

Then weep and tell thy Beads, when alt ring Rheums
Have ftain'd the Luftre of thy ftarry Eyes,,.

And failing Palfies shake thy wither'd Hand.
The prefent Moments claim more generous Ufe

Thy

Thy Beauty, Night and Solitude reproach me,

For having talk'd thus long-Come let me prefs thee,

Pant on thy Bofom, fink into thy Arms,

And lofe my felf in the luxurious Fold..

[Laying hold on her.

7. Sh. Never! By those chafte Lights above, I swear, My Soul shall never knów Pollution more;

Forbear, my Lord! ----- Here let me rather die,
Let quick Destruction overtake me here,

And end my Sorrows and my Shame for ever.

1.

[Kueeling.

L. Haft. Away with this Perverfeness, ---- 'Tis too much----

L. Haft. Ungrateful Woman! Is it thus you pay

J. Sh. Help! Oh, gracious Heaven! Help! fave me! Help!!

Enter Dumont, he interpofes

Dum. My Lord! for Honour's fake

L. Haft. Hah! What art thou? Begone! O Mowa Nge!

Dum. My Duty calls melim del

To my Attendance on my Miftrefs here

J. Sh. For Pity let me go

7

is on

L. Haft Avaunt bafe Groom

At

At Distance wait, and know thy Office better.

Dum. Forego your Hold, my Lord! 'tis moft unmanly This Violence-

L. Haß. Avoid the Room this Moment

Or I will tread thy Soul out.

Dum. No, my Lord-

The common Ties of Manhood call me now,
And bid me thus ftand up in the Defence
Of an opprefs'd, unhappy, helplefs Woman.
L. Haft. Doft thou know me? Slave!

Dum. Yes, thou proud Lord!

I know thee well, know thee with each Advantage
Which Wealth, or Power, or noble Birth can give thee.
I know thee too, for one who stains thofe Honours,
And blots a long illuftrious Line of Ancestry,
By poorly daring thus to wrong a Woman.

L. Haft. 'Tis wond'rous well! I fee my Saint-like Dame,
You ftand provided of your Braves and Ruffians,
To Man your Caufe, and blufter in your Brothel.

Dum. Take back the foul Reproach, unmanner'd Railer,
Nor urge my Rage too far, left thou should't find
I have as daring Spirits in my Blood

As thou, or any of thy Race e'er boasted;
And tho' no gaudy Titles grac'd my Birth,
Titles, the fervile Courtier's lean Reward,
Sometimes the Pay of Virtue, but more oft

The Hire which Greatnefs gives to Slaves and Sycophants,

Yet Heav'n that made me honest, made me more,

Than ever King did, when he made a Lord.

M.

L. Haft. Infolent Villain! Henceforth let this teach thee, t

[Draws and strikes him. I

The