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A Room, with Young Wilmot asleep upon a Bed, in
Enter OLD WILMOT and AGNES
0. Wilm. Oh, Agnes ! Agnes ! if there be a hell, "Tis just we should expect it.
[Goes to take the Dagger, but lets it fall. Agnes. Shake off this panic, and be more yourself
. 0. Wilm. What's to be done ? On what had we de
termin'd ? Agnes. You're quite dismay'd.
[Takes up the Dagger. 0. Wilm. Give me the fatal steel. 'Tis but a single murder, Necessity, impatience, and despair, The three wide mouths of that true Cerberus, Grim poverty, demand : they shall be stopp'd. Ambition, persecution, and revenge, Devour their millions daily : And shall IBut follow me, and see how little cause You had to think there was the least remain Of manhood, pity, mercy, or remorse, Left in this savage
breast. [Going the wrong way.
( Wilm. True! I had forgot.
[Retires towards the Bed.
Agnes. Oh, softly! softly! The least noise undoes
What are we doing ? Misery and want,
man ! What! doth my heart recoil ?-0, Wilmot! Wil
mot! What pow'r shall I invoke to aid thee, Wilmot?
Enter CHARLOTTE, EUSTACE, and RANDAL.
Enter Old Wilmot and AGNES.
refus'd to own him? Agnes. Heard
that? What prodigy of horror is disclosing, To render murder venial !
0. Wilm. Pr’ythee, peace : The miserable damnd suspend their howling, And the swift orbs are fix'd in deep attention.
Rund. What mean these dreadful words, and fran
tic air !
Eust. My mind misgives ine. Do not stand to gaze
[Exeunt RANDAL, EUSTACE, and CHARLOTTE, Agnes. Let life forsake the earth, and light the
0. Wilm. Curses and deprecations are in vain :
I durst not trust thy weakness.
Agnes. Ever kind, But nost in thiş !
0. Wilm. I will not long survive thee. Agnes. Do not accuse thy erring mother, Wilmot! With too much rigour, when we meet above. To give thee life for life, and blood for blood, Is not enough. Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all to speak my penitence, Deep, and sincere, and equal to iny.crime. Oh, Wilmot! oh,
0. Wilm. What whining fool art thou, who wouldst
usurp My sovereign right of grief - Was he thy son !Say, Canst thou show thy hands, reeking with
blood, That flow'd, through purer channels, from thy loins ? Compute the sands that bound the spacious ocean, And swell their numbers with a single grain; Increase the noise of thunder with thy voice ; Or, when the raging wind lays nature waste, Assist the tempest with thy feeble breath ; But naine not thy faint sorrow with the anguish Of a curs'd wretch, who only hopes from this
[Stabbing himself To change the scene, but not relieve his pain.
Rand. A dreadful instance of the last remorse!
O, Wilm. O, would they end
[Dies Rand. Heaven grant they may ! And may thy penitence atone thy crime! 'Tend well the hapless Charlotte, and bear hence These bleeding victims of despair and pride ; Toll the death bell! and follow to the grave The wretched parents and ill-fated son.
Printed by Augustus Applegath and Edward Cowper,
24, Nelsov-squasc, Great Surrey-street,