True. I came not to reproach you; I thought to bring you comfort; but I am deceived, for I have none to give. I came to share thy sorrow, but cannot bear my own. Barn. My sense of guilt, indeed, you cannot know; it is what the good and innocent, like you, can never conceive: but other griefs, at present, I have none, but what I feel for you. In your sorrow I read you love me still; but, yet, methinks, it is strange when I consider what I am. Thor. These are the genuine signs of true repentance; the only preparatory, the certain way to everlasting peace. Oh, the joy it gives to see a soul formed and prepared for Heaven! For this the faithful minister devotes himself to meditation, abstinence, and prayer, shunning the vain delights of sensual joys, and daily dies, that others may live for ever. For this he turns the sacred volume over, and spends his life in painful search of truth. The love of riches and the lust of power, he looks upon with just contempt and detestation; he only counts for wealth the souls he True. No more of that; I can remember nowins, and his highest ambition is to serve man- thing but thy virtues, thy honest, tender friendkind. If the reward of all his pains be to pre-ship, our former happy state, and present misery. serve one soul from wandering, or turn one from Oh, had you trusted me when first the fair sethe error of his ways, how does he then rejoice, ducer tempted you, all might have been preventand own his little labours overpaid! ed! Burn. What do I owe for all your generous kindness? But though I cannot, Heaven can and will reward you. Thor. To see thee thus, is joy too great for words. Farewell.-Heaven strengthen thee! Farewell. Barn. Oh, sir, there is something I would say, if my sad swelling heart would give me leave. Thor. Give it vent a while, and try. Barn. I had a friend-it is true I am unworthy-yet methinks your generous example might persuade Could not I see him once, before I go from whence there is no return? Thor. He is coming, and as much thy friend as ever. I will not anticipate his sorrow; too soon he will see the sad effect of this contagious ruin. This torrent of domestic misery bears too hard upon me. I must retire to indulge a weakness I find impossible to overcome. [Aside,] Much loved-and much lamented youth!-Farewell.Heaven strengthen thee !- -Eternally fare well! Barn. The best of masters and of men-Farewell! While I live, let me not want your prayers. Thor. Thou shalt not. Thy peace being made with Heaven, death is already vanquished. Bear a little longer the pains that attend this transitory life, and cease from pain for ever. [Exit THOROWGOOD. Burn. Perhaps I shall. I find a power within, that bears my soul above the fears of death, and, spite of conscious shame and guilt, gives me a taste of pleasure more than mortal. Enter TRUEMAN and Keeper. Keep. Sir, there is the prisoner. [Exit Keeper. Barn. Trueman! My friend, whom I so wished to see, yet now he's here, I dare not look upon him! [Weeps. True. Oh, Barnwell! Barnwell! Barn. Mercy! Mercy! gracious Heaven! For death, but not for this, I was prepared. True. What have I suffered since I saw thee last! What pain has absence given me !-But, oh, to see thee thus ! Burn. I know it is dreadful! I feel the anguish of thy generous soul-But I was born to murder all who love me! [Both weep. Barn. Alas, thou knowest not what a wretch I have been. Breach of friendship was my first and least offence. So far was I lost to goodness, so devoted to the author of my ruin, that, had she insisted on my murdering thee,—I think—I should have done it. True. Prithee, aggravate thy faults no more. Burn. I think I should! Thus good and generous as you are, I should have murdered you! True. We have not yet embraced, and may be interrupted. Come to my arms. Barn. Never, never will I taste such joys on earth; never will I so soothe my just remorse. Are those honest arms and faithful bosom fit to embrace and to support a murderer? These iron fetters only shall clasp, and flinty pavement bear me; [throwing himself on the ground,] even these too good for such a bloody monster. True. Shall fortune sever those whom friend ship joined? Thy miseries cannot lay thee so low, but love will find thee. Here will we offer to stern calamity; this place the altar, and ourselves the sacrifice. Our mutual groans shall echo to each other through the dreary vault; our sighs shall number the moments as they pass, and mingling tears communicate such anguish, as words were never made to express. Barn. Then be it so. [Rising.] Since you propose an intercourse of woe, pour all your. griefs into my breast, and in exchange take mine. [Embracing.] Where's now the anguish that we promised? You have taken mine, and make me no return. Sure peace and comfort dwell within these arms, and sorrow cannot approach me while I am here. This too is the work of Heaven; which, having before spoke peace and pardon to me, now sends thee to confirm it. Oh, take some of the joy that overflows my breast! True. I do, I do. Almighty power! how hast thou made us capable to bear at once the extremes of pleasure and of pain. task behind. Again your heart must bleed for others woes. Barn. To meet and part with you I thought was all I had to do on earth. What is there more for me to do or suffer? True. I dread to tell thee, yet it must be known! Maria Barn. Our master's fair and virtuous daughter? True. The same. Barn. No misfortune, I hope, has reached that maid! Preserve her, Heaven, from every ill, to shew mankind that goodness is your care! True. Thy, thy misfortunes, my unhappy friend, have reached her. Whatever you and I have felt, and more, if more be possible, she feels for you. Barn. I know he doth abhor a lie, and would not trifle with his dying friend. This is indeed the bitterness of death. [Aside. True. You must remember (for we all observed it,) for some time past, a heavy melancholy weighed her down. Disconsolate she seemed, and pined and languished from a cause unknown; till, hearing of your dreadful fate, the long-stifled flame blazed out; she wept, and wrung her hands, and tore her hair, and, in the transport of her grief, discovered her own lost state, while she lamented yours. Barn. Will all the pain I feel restore thy ease, lovely unhappy maid! [Weeping.] Why did you not let me die, and never know it? True. It was impossible. She makes no secret of her passion for you; she is determined to see you ere you die, and waits for me to introduce her. [Erit TRUEMAN. Barn. Vain, busy thoughts, be still! What avails it to think on what I might have been! I now am what I have made myself. Enter TRUEMAN and MARIA. True. Madam, reluctant I lead you to this dismal scene. This is the seat of misery and guilt, Here awful justice reserves her public victims. This is the entrance to a shameful death. Mar. To this sad place then, no improper guest, the abandoned lost Maria brings despair, and sees the subject and the cause of all this world of woe. Silent and motionless he stands, as if his soul had quitted her abode, and the life less form alone was left behind; yet that so perfect, that beauty and death, ever at enmity, now seem united there. Barn. I groan, but murmur not. Just Heaven! I am your own; do with me what you please. Mar. Why are your streaming eyes still fixed below, as though thou wouldst give the greedy carth thy sorrows, and rob me of my due! Were happiness within your power, you should bestow it where you pleased; but in your misery I must and will partake. Barn. Oh, say not so, but fly, abhor, and leave me to my fate! Consider what you are, how vast your fortune, and how bright your fame. Ilave pity on your youth, your beauty, and unequalled virtue; for which so many noble peers | have sighed in vain. some honourable lord. Bless with your charms Adorn with your beauty, and by your example improve, the English court, that justly claims such merit: so shall I quickly be to you, as though I had never been. Mar. When I forget you, I must be so indeed. Reason, choice, virtue, all forbid it. Let women, like Millwood, if there are more such women, smile in prosperity, and in adversity forsake. Be it the pride of virtue to repair, or to partake, the ruin such have made. True. Lovely, ill-fated maid! Was there ever such generous distress before? How must this pierce his grateful heart, and aggravate his woes! Barn. Ere I knew guilt or shame, when fortune smiled, and when my youthful hopes were at the highest; if then to have raised my thoughts to you, had been presumption in me never to have been pardoned, think how much beneath yourself you condescend to regard me now! Mar. Let her blush, who, proffering love, invades the freedom of your sex's choice, and meanly sues in hopes of a return. Your inevitable fate hath rendered hope impossible as vain. Then why should I fear to avow a passion so just and so disinterested? True. If any should take occasion from Millwood's crimes to libel the best and fairest part of the creation, here let them see their error.The most distant hopes of such a tender passion from so bright a maid, might add to the happiness of the most happy, and make the greatest proud: yet here 'tis lavished in vain. Though by the rich present the generous donor is undone, he on whom it is bestowed receives no benefit. Barn. So the aromatic spices of the east, which all the living covet and esteem, are with unavailing kindness wasted on the dead. Mar. Yes, fruitless is my love, and unavailing all my sighs and tears. Can they save thee from approaching death? From such a death? Oh sorrow insupportable! Oh, terrible idea! What is her misery and distress, who sees the first, last object of her love, for whom alone she would live, for whom she would die a thousand thousand deaths, if it were possible, expiring in her arms? Yet she is happy when compared to me. Were millions of worlds mine, I would gladly give them in exchange for her condition. The most consummate woe is light to mine. The last of curses to other miserable maids, is all I ask for my relief, and that's denied me. True. Time and reflection cure all ills. Mar. All but this. His dreadful catastrophe, Virtue herself abhors. To give a holiday to suburb slaves, and passing entertain the savage herd, who, elbowing each other for a sight, pursue and press upon him like his fate! A mind, with piety and resolution armed, may smile on death: But public ignominy, everlasting shame, shame, the death of souls! to die a thousand times, and yet survive even death itself in never-dying infamy-Is this to be endured! Can I, who live in him, and must each hour of my devoted life feel all these woes renewed,Can I endure this? True. Grief has so impaired her spirits, she pants as in the agonies of death. Barn. Preserve her, Heaven, and restore her peace, nor let her death be added to my crimes! [Bell tolls.] I am summoned to my fate. Enter Keeper. Keep. Sir, the officers attend you. Millwood is already summoned. Barn. Tell them, I am ready. And now, my friend, farewell. [Embracing.] Support, and comfort, the best you can, this mourning fair.-No more-Forget not to pray for me. [Turning to MARIA.] Would you, bright excellence, permit me the honour of a chaste embrace, the last happiness this world could give were mine. [She inclines towards him, they embrace.] Exalted goodness! Oh, turn your eyes from earth and me to Heaven, where virtue, like yours, is ever heard! Pray for the peace of my departing soul. Early iny race of wickedness began, and soon I reached the summit. Ere nature has finished her work, and stamped me man, just at the time when others begin to stray, my course is finished. Though short my span of life, and few my days, yet count my crimes for years, and I have lived whole ages. Thus justice, in compassion to mankind, cuts off a wretch like me; by one such example to secure thousands from future ruin.-Justice and mercy are in Heaven the same: its utmost severity is mercy to the whole: thereby to cure man's folly and presumption, which else would render even infinite mercy vain and ineffectual. If any youth, like you, in future times, Or tender maid, like you, my tale shall hear, [Exeunt BARNWELL and Officers. SCENE III.-The Place of Execution. The Gallows and Ladder at the farther End of the Stage. A Crowd of Spectators, BLUNT and LUCY. Lucy. Heavens! what a throng! Blunt. How terrible is death, when thus prepared! Lucy. Support them, Heaven! Thou only canst support them; all other help is vain. Officer. [Within.] Make way there; make way, and give the prisoners room. Lucy. They are here: observe them well.How humble and composed young Barnwell seems! But Millwood looks wild, and ruffled with passion, confounded, and amazed. Enter BARNWELL, MILLWOOD, Officers and Executioner. Barn. See, Millwood, see, our journey is at an end! Life, like a tale that's told, is passed away. That short, but dark and unknown passage, death, is all the space between us and endless joys, or woes eternal. Mill. Is this the end of all my flattering hopes? Were youth and beauty given me for a curse, and wisdom, only to ensure my ruin? They were, they were. Heaven, thou hast done thy worst. Or if thou hast in store some untried plague, somewhat that is worse than shame, despair, and death, unpitied death, confirmed despair, and soul-confounding shame; something that men and angels cannot describe, and only fiends, who bear it, can conceive; now, pour it now on this devoted head, that I may feel the worst thou canst inflict, and bid defiance to thy utmost power. Barn. Yet ere we pass the dreadful gulf of death, yet ere you are plunged in everlasting woe, Oh, bend your stubborn knees, and harder heart, humbly to deprecate the wrath divine! Who knows, but Heaven, in your dying moments, may bestow that grace and mercy which your life despised! Mill. Why name you mercy to a wretch like me? Mercy is beyond my hope, almost beyond my wish. I cannot repent, nor ask to be forgiven, Barn. Oh, think what 'tis to be for ever, ever miserable, nor with vain pride oppose a power, that is able to destroy you! Mill. That will destroy me; I feel it will. A deluge of wrath is pouring on my soul. Chains, darkness, wheels, racks, sharp-stinged scorpions, molten lead, and whole seas of sulphur, are light to what I feel. Barn. Oh, add not to your vast account despair! a sin more injurious to Heaven, than all you have yet committed. Mill. Oh, I have sinned beyond the reach of mercy! Barn. Oh, say not so! it is blasphemy to think it. As yon bright roof is higher than the earth, so, and much more, does Heaven's goodness pass our apprehension. Oh, what created being shall presume to circumscribe mercy, that knows no bounds! Mill. This yields no hope. Though pity may be boundless, yet it is free. I was doomed, before the world began, to endless pains, and thou to joys eternal. Barn. Oh, gracious heaven! extend thy pity to her; let thy rich mercy flow in plenteous streams, to chase her fears, and heal her wounded soul! Mill. It will not be: your prayers are lost in air, or else returned, perhaps, with double blessings, to your bosom: they help not me. Barn. Yet hear me, Millwood! Mill. Away, I will not hear thee: I tell thee, youth, I am by Heaven devoted a dreadful instance of its power to punish. [Barnwell seems to pray.] If thou wilt pray, pray for thyself, not me. How doth his fervent soul mount with his words, and both ascend to Heaven! that Heaven, whose gates are shut with adamantine bars against my prayers, had I the will to pray. I cannot bear it. Sure 'tis the worst of torments to behold others enjoy that bliss, which we must never taste. Officer. The utmost limit of your time is expired. Mill. Encompassed with horror, whither must I go? I would not live-nor die-That I could cease to beor ne'er had been ! Barn. Since peace and comfort are denied her here, may she find mercy where she least expects it, and this be all her hell! From our example may all be taught to fly the first approach of vice: but if o'ertaken, By strong temptation, weakness, or surprise, Enter TRUEMAN. Lacy. Heart-breaking sight!—Oh, wretched, wretched Millwood! True. How is she disposed to meet her fate? Blunt. Who can describe unutterable woe? Lucy. She goes to death encompassed with horror, loathing life, and yet afraid to die. No tongue can tell her anguish and despair True. Heaven be better to her than her fears! May she prove a warning to others, a monument of mercy in herself! Lucy. Oh, sorrow insupportable! Break, break, my heart! True. In vain, With bleeding hearts, and weeping eyes, we show A humane, generous sense of others' woe; EPILOGUE. BY COLLEY CIBBER.-SPOKEN BY MARIA. SINCE fate has robb'd me of the hapless youth, Maids, in my case, should look before they leap. Suppose I search the sober gallery?-No; There's none but 'prentices, and cuckolds all-a 'Tis very well, enjoy the jest:-but you, Fine powder'd sparks,-nay, I am told 'tis true,Your happy spouses-can make cuckolds too. "Twixt you and them the difference this perhaps : The cit's ashamed whene'er his duck he traps; But you, when madam's tripping, let her fall, Cock up your hats, and take no shame at all. What if some favour'd poet I could meet, Whose love would lay his laurels at my feet? No-painted passions real love abhorsHis flame would prove the suit of creditors. Not to detain you then with longer pause, In short, my heart to his conclusion draws; I yield it to the hand that's loudest in applause. [98] FATAL CURIOSITY. BY LILLO. PROLOGUE. BY HENRY FIELDING. THE Tragic Music has long forgot to please, With Shakespeare's nature and with Fletcher's ease: No passion mov'd, through five long acts you sit, Charm'd with the poet's language or his wit. Fine things are said, no matter whence they fall; Each single character might speak them all. But from this modern fashionable way, To-night our author begs your leave to stray. No fustian hero rages here to-night; No armies fall to fix a tyrant's right: From lower life we draw our scene's distress: -Let not your equals move your pity less! Virtue distrest in humble state support; Though to our scenes no royal robes belong, His tender passion to his fair one's heart: |