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That wrath and vengeance never may return?
Can you resume a husband's name, and bid
That wakeful dragon, fierce resentment, sleep?

Durn. O thou hast set my busy brain at work.
And now she musters up a train of images,
Which, to preserve my peace, I had cast aside,
And sunk in deep oblivion—Oh, that form!
That angel face on which my dotage hung!
How I have gaz'd upon her, till my soul
With very eagerness went forth towards her,
And issu'd at my eyes—Was there a gem,
Which the sun ripens in the Indian mine,
Or the rich bosom of the ocean yields;
What was there art could make, or wealth could

buy, Which I have left unsought to deck her beauty? What could her kins do more ?—And vet she fled.

Bel. Away with that sad fancy

Durn. Oh, that day! The thought of it must live for ever with me. J met her, Belmour, when the royal spoiler Bore her in triumph from my widow'd home! Within his chariot, by his side she sat, And listen'd to his talk with downward looks, Till sudden as she chanc'd aside to glance, Her eyes encounter'd mine—Oh! then, my friend! Oh! who can paint my grief and her amazement! As at the stroke of death, twice turn'd she pale; And twice a burning crimson blush'd all o'er her; Then, with a shriek, heart-wounding, loud she cry'd, While down her cheeks two gushing torrents ran

Fast falling on her hands, which thus she wrung

Mov'd at her grief, the tyrant ravisher,
With courteous action woo'd her oft to turn;
Earnest he seem'd to plead, but all in vain;
Ev'n to the last she bent her sight towards me,
And follow'd me——till I had lost myself.

Bel. Alas, for pity! Oh! those speaking tears!

Could they be false? did she not suffer with you?
For though the King by force possess'd her person,
1 Icr unconsenting heart dwelt still with you;
If all her former woes were not enough,
Look on her now; behold her where she wanders,
Hunted to death, distress'd on ev'ry side,
With no one hand to help; and tell me then,
If ever misery were known like her's?

Dum. And can she bear it? Can that delicate frame
Endure the beating of a storm so rude?
When she was mine, no care came ever nigh her;
1 thought the gentlest breeze, that wakes the spring,
Too rough to breathe upon her; cheerfulness
Danc'd all the day before her, and at night
Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow—
Now sad and shelterless, perhaps, she lies,
Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain
Drops from some pent-house on her wretched head,
Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold.

It is too much Hence with her past offences,

They are aton'd at full Why stay we, then?

Oh ! let us haste, my friend, and find her out.

Bel. Somewhere about this quarter of the town, I hear the poor abandon'd creature lingers: Her guard, tho'set with strictest watch to keep All food and friendship from her, yet permit her To wander in the streets, there chuse her bed, And rest her head on what cold stone she pleases.

Ditm. Here let us then divide; each in his round To search her sorrows out; whose hap it is First to behold her, this way let him lead Her fainting steps, and meet we here together.

[Exeunt.

Enter Jane Shore, her Hair hanging hose on her Shoulders, and barefooted.

J. Shore. Yet, yet endure, nor murmur, O, my soul!

For are not thy transgressions great and numberless?

Do they not cover thee like rising floods,

And press thee like a weight of waters down?

Does not the hand of Righteousness afflict thee?

And who shall plead against it? Who shall say

To Pow'r Almighty, thou hast done enough:

Or bid his dreadful rod of vengeance stay?

Wait then with patience, till the circling hours

Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest,

And lay thee down in death.

And hark, methinks the roar, that late pursu'd me,

Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind,

And softens into silence. Does revenge

And malice then grow weary, and forsake me?

My guard, too, thatobserv'd me still so close,

Tire in the task of their inhuman office,

And loiter far behind. Alas! I faint,

My spirits fail at once—This is the door

Of my Alicia Blessed opportunity!

I'll steal a little succour from her goodness,
Now while no eye observes me.

[She knocks at the Door.
Enter a Servant.
Is your lady,'
My gentle friend, at home i Oh! bring me to her.

[Going in.

Scrv. Hold, mistress, whither would you?

[Pulling her back.

J. Shore. Do you not know me?

Sen. I know you well, and know my orders, too: You must not enter here

J. Shore. Tell my Alicia, Tis I would see her.

Serv. She is ill at ease,
And will admit no visitor.

J. Shore. But tell her,
Tis I, her friend, the partner of her heart,
Wait at the door and beg

Serv. Tis all in vain,—
Go hence, and howl to those that will regard you.

[Shuts the Door, and exit.
J. Shore. It was not always thus; the time has
been,
When this unfriendly door, that bars my passage,
Flew wide, and almost leap'd from off its hinges,
To give me entrance here;
When my approaches made a little holiday,
And every face was dress'd in smiles to meet me:
But now 'tis otherwise; and those, who bless'd me,
Now curse me to my face. Why should I wander,
Stray further on, for I can die ev'n here!

[She sits down at the Door.

Enter Alicia in Disorder; Two Serv Ants following.

Alicia. What wretch art thou, whose misery and

baseness
Hangs on my door; whose hateful whine of woe
Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts
My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry?

/. Shore. A very beggar, and a wretch indeed;
One driv'n by strong calamity to seek
For succours here; one perishing for want,
Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days;
And humbly asks, for charity's dear sake,
A draught of water and a little bread.

Alicia. And dost thou come to me, to me for

bread?
I know thee not—Go—hunt for it abroad,
Where wanton hands upon the earth have scatter'd it,
Or cast it on the waters—Mark the eagle,
And hungry vulture, where they wind the prey;
Watch where the ravens of the valley feed,
And seek thy food with them—I know thee not.
J. Shore. And yet there was a time, when my

Alicia
Has thought unhappy Shore her dearest blessing,

And mourn'd the live-long day she pass'd without

me;
When pair'd like turtles, we were still together;
When often as we prattled arm in arm,
Inclining fondly to me she has sworn,
She lov'd me more than all the world besides.

Alicia. Ha! say'st thou! Let me look upon thee
well—
Tis true—I know thee now—A mischief on thee!.
Thou art that fatal fair, that cursed she,
That set my brain a madding. Thou hast robb'd me;
Thou hast undone me—Murder! Oh, my Hastings 1
See his pale bloody head shoots glaring by me!
Give me him back again, thou soft deluder, •

Thou beauteous witch.

J. Shore. Alas! I never wrong'd you

Alicia. Avaunt! and come not near me—

J. Shore. To thy hand
I trusted all; gave my whole store to thee,
Nor do I ask it back; allow me but
The smallest pittance, give me but to cat,
Lest I fall down and perish here before thee.

Alicia. Nay! tell not me! Where is thy King, thy
Edward,
And all the smiling, cringing train of courtiers,
That bent the knee before thee?

J. Shore. Oh! for mercy!

Alicia. Mercy! I know it not—for I am miserable. I'll give thee misery, for here she dwells. This is her house, where the sun never dawns, The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof, Grim spectres sweep along the horrid gloom, And nought is heard but wailings and lamentings. Hark! something cracks above! it shakes, it totters! And see, the nodding ruin falls to crush me! Tis fall'n, 'tis here! I felt it on my brain! Why shouldst thou be a wretch? Stab, tear thy heart, And rid thyself of this detested being;

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