intended for a great man; for what more does it require to be a great man, than boldly to put on the appearance of it? How many sage politicians are there, who can scarce comprehend the mystery of a mousetrap; valiant generals, who wouldn't attack a bulrush, unless the wind were in their favour; profound lawyers, who would make excellent wigblocks; and skilful physicians, whose knowledge extends no further than writing death-warrants in Latin; and are shining examples that a man will never want gold in his pocket, who carries plenty of brass in his face. It will be rather awkward, to be sure, to resign at the end of a month: but, like other great men in office, I must make the most of my time, and retire with a good grace, to avoid being turned out; as a well-bred dog always walks down stairs, when he sees preparations ripe for kicking him into the TOBIN. street. 82.-AFFECTED MADNESS. Saville and Doricourt. Sav. HEYDAY! What becomes of poor Miss Hardy? Doric. Her name has given me an ague! Dear Saville, how shall I contrive to make old Hardy cancel the engagements! The moiety of the estate, which he will forfeit, shall be his the next moment by deed of gift. Sav. Let me see: can't you get it insinuated that you are a deused wild fellow; that you are an infidel, and attached to drinking, gaming, and so forth? Doric. Ay, such a character might have done some good two centuries back. But who the deuse can it frighten now? I believe it must be the mad scheme at last. There, will that do for a grin? (Affects madness.) Sav. Ridiculous! but how are you certain that the woman who has so bewildered you belongs to Lord George? Doric. Flutter told me so. Sav. Then fifty to one against the intelligence. Doric. It must be so. There was a mystery in her manner, for which nothing else can account. (A violent rap.) Who can this be? Sav. (Looks out.) The proverb is your answer; 'tis Flutter himself. Tip him a scene of the madman, and see how it takes. Doric. I will; a good way to send it about town. Shall it be for the melancholy kind, or the raving? Sav. Rant! rant! Here he comes. Doric. Talk not to me, who can pull comets by the beard, and overset an island! Enter Flutter. There! This is he! this is he who hath sent my poor soul, without coat or breeches, to be tossed about in æther like a duck-feather! Villain, give me my soul again! (Seizes him.) Flut. Upon my soul! I hav'n't got it. (Exceedingly frightened.) Sav. O! Mr. Flutter, what a melancholy sight! I little thought to have seen my poor friend reduced to this. Flut. Mercy defend me! What, is he mad? Sav. You see how it is. A cursed Italian ladyjealousy gave him a drug; and every full of the moonDoric. Moon! Who dares talk of the moon? The patroness of genius; the rectifier of wits; the-Oh! here she is! I feel her; she tugs at my brain. She has it! she has it! Oh! I [Exit. Flut. Well, this is dreadful! exceeding dreadful, I protest. Have you had Monro ? Sav. Not yet. The worthy Miss Hardy-what a misfortune! Flut. Ay, very true. Do they know it? Sav. O, no! the paroxysm seized him but this morning. Flut. Adieu; I can't stay. (Going in great haste.) Sav. But you must stay, (holding him.) and assist me; perhaps he'll return again in a moment; and when he is in this way, his strength is prodigious. Flut. Can't, indeed; can't, upon my soul. (Going.) Sav. Flutter, don't make a mistake now; remember, 'tis Doricourt that's mad. Flut. Yes-you mad. Sav. No, no; Doricourt. Flut. Well! I'll say you are both mad, and then 1 can't mistake. MRS. COWLEY. 183.-SCENE FROM ORALLOOSSA, IN WHICH THE DESTRUCTION OF THE COYA IS PLOTTED BY MANCO AND HER LOVER, ALMAGRO. SCENE.-Among the hills near the Peruvian camp. Enter Manco and Almagro. Alm. Ir the gross multitudes see him, thou art lost: Have sworn them mine; and if the people doubt, They have denounced him such through all the ranks- Alm. I'd have it so; or else farewell thy greatness, And that I look for. Manc. Hark to me, Almagro. The throne I have, thou know'st, it shall be thine, Alm. I understand thee, and remember Whereto I did consent. But now think better. Her woman's rights are but a feeble reed, Which thou mayst brush aside. Why shouldst thou crush? Atahualpa's daughter. She will bid them Behold their Inca in the man we wrong, And they will listen and believe. Alm. 'Tis true. Let her be prison'd somewhere in the hills, Manc. I did think thee Wiser than this. There is no place so safe, But when I doom her as a blot that shames And rightful justice; and all men are silent.— -The maid must die-and see thou art prepared. (Exit.) Alm. And why should I not have it as he wills? Why weigh the value of a poor maid's life Against the golden balance of a crown? Ambition startles not at ghastly blood, Nor stumbles, conscience-harrow'd, at a corse. From such a breast, for ye would make it virtuous; 184. SCENE FROM ORALLOOSSA, IN WHICH THE INCA ENDEAVOURS ΤΟ BRING BACK HIS SUBJECTS TO THEIR ALLEGIANCE. SCENE. Before the Peruvian camp. Manco throned and surrounded Call it perfidious and dishonourable, Call it impiety and ingratitude; Yet is this deed, as none but this can be, The warrant of your lives, your weal and fortunes. Manc. Stand all fast and ready, Lest in his fury and his desperation, Alm. Fear not thou; he comes Orall. (Within.) Way for the Inca, way! Enter Oralloossa, followed by Chiefs who occupy the entrances. Frown'd on, surrounded, met by clubs and spears, Orall. Hah! the Inca, Manco ? Orall. And I ? Manc. That most unhappy madman. Manc. That in the Viceroy's fall and death Orall. Perish'd Oralloossa! Am I not Oralloossa? Manc. Thou poor maniac! Orall. Look on me, Manco,-brother of my sire,I will forgive thee, if thine eyes are dim, Aged and dim.-Look on me, knave forsworn! Unnatural uncle! ere I take thy life; Look on my face, and leave thy stolen throne And sue for pardon, ere I slay thee. Manc. Rail on; Yet art thou safe in thine infirmity. Orall. Speak him, Almagro, if thou art not false, Tell thou mine uncle, 'tis the Inca speaks. Alm. Marry, not I. I know thee very well,— Pedro, the bondman-my great sire's betrayer; For which black deed, the heavens have struck thy brain With this sore madness. Orall. Talk'st thou of betraying? Now can I think that I indeed am mad,- |