Is that my wife?-And is it thus at length,
Thus do I see thee then, Mandane ?-Cold,
Alas! death-cold-

Cold is that breast, where virtue from above
Made its delighted sojourn, and those lips
That uttered heavenly truth-pale! pale!-dead,
dead!
[Sinks on the body.

Pray ye, entomb me with her! Zaph. Then take, ye Powers, then take your conquests back;

Zaphimri never can survive—

Zamti. [Raising himself.] I charge thee, live: A base desertion of the public weal Can ne'er become a king.-Alas! my son(By that dear tender name, if once again Zamti may call thee)-tears will have their way! Forgive this flood of tenderness: my heart Melts even now! Thou noble youth, this is The only interview we e'er shall have.

Zaph. And will ye then, inexorable powers, Will ye then tear him from my aching heart!

Zamti. The moral duties of the private man Are grafted in thy soul-Oh! still remember The mean immutable of happiness,

Or in the vale of life, or on a throne,
Is virtue. Each bad action of a king
Extends beyond his life, and acts again
Its tyranny o'er ages yet unborn.
To error mild, severe to guilt, protect
The helpless innocent; and learn to feel
The best delight of serving human kind.
Be these, my prince, thy arts; be these thy cares,
And live the father of a willing people.
Hamet. Oh! cruel!-see-ah see!--he dies!
-his lips

Tremble in agony-his eye-balls glare!—
A death-like paleness spreads o'er all his face!

Zaph. Is there no help to save so dear a life? Zamti. It is too late-I die-alas! I die! Life harassed out, pursued with barbarous art, Through every trembling joint-now fails at once! Zaphimri-oh! farewell!-I shall not see The glories of thy reign.-Hamet!-my sonThou good young man, farewell!—Mandane, yes, My soul with pleasure takes her flight, that thus Faithful in death, I leave these cold remains Near thy dear honoured clay. [Dies.

Zaph. And art thou gone, Thou best of men?-Then must Zaphimri pine In ever-during grief, since thou art lost; Since that firm patriot, whose parental care Should raise, should guide, should animate my virtues,

Lies there a breathless corse.

Hamet. My liege, forbear:

Live for your people; madness and despair
Belong to woes like mine.

Zaph. Thy woes, indeed,

Are deep, thou pious youth-yes, I will live,
To soften thy afflictions; to assuage

A nation's grief, when such a pair expires.
Come to my heart :-in thee, another Zamti
Shall bless the realm. Now let me hence to hail
My people with the sound of peace; that done,
To these a grateful monument shall rise,
With all sepulchral honour. Frequent, there,
We'll offer incense;-there, each weeping muse
Shall grave the tributary verse;-with tears
Embalm their memories; and teach mankind,
Howe'er oppression stalk the groaning earth,
Yet Heaven, in its own hour, can bring relief;
Can blast the tyrant in his guilty pride,
And prove the Orphan's guardian to the last.
[Exeunt omnes.

Ray. But now I cast me at the fair one's feet; Pleaded my passion with whatever arts Might best the gentle purpose aid; but she, Instead of such return as I might hope, Repaid me with an eye of cold contempt. Of her late gallant lord she spoke; his merits In opposition hateful placed to mine. Urged then with recollection of her wrongs, Like the loud torrent, with steep winter rains O'ercharged, in all the loose, ungoverned sway Of wrath and indignation, she assailed me.

Grey. And did any lord, in this unseemly fa-
shion,

Hear all with equal temper? Waked he not
With such a peal-

Ray. Thou know'st not what it is
To love like me-Long time (for passion now
Had shed o'er all her charms a brighter glow,
That like Jove's daughter most she looked,

vere

se

Ray. Silence at first,

When she your suit rejected, then, perforce,
To claim her as the gift of royal favour!
To lord it here so long, and now to falter-
My lord, my lord, the mound is overleapt ;
What now forbids but, without further pause,
Το crop the rich, the golden fruits within?

Ray. Ungracious is the love reluctance yields;
And cold, cold even as marble, is the maid,
Who comes unwilling to another's arms.

Grey. In brief, would you partake thelady's bed?
Ray. What means the question?
Grey. Look on that, my lord:
Better reluctant come, than not at all.
Ray. How came this to your hand?
Grey. By one whose cares

Of thee demand no trivial recompence.
His wakeful eye it was descried the bearer;
Else had the watch, with all their vigilance,
Proved insufficient.

Ray. My better angel interposed.
Grey. Had this its purposed scope attained—
my lord,

ear

Were this but whispered in our Henry's ear
He gave the royal nod, you say: true, he
Permitted, but thus far; that you should woo
The lady, and, her choice approving, wed;
No more. By us the public car is told
She hath approved: our artifice hath spread
The rumour; and with some it is received,
That she is now your full espoused consort:
But truth, my lord, long cannot rest concealed;
It will abroad, of that be sure, in spite
Of all our studied wiles.

Ray. What's to be done?

Grey. 'Tis critical, and must be managed
nicely-

But see, with Eleanor the countess comes;
And in her hand the young lord William. Here
Her custom is to walk; retire we now;
And thou observe the counsels of a friend. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

that fall

chair

ELEANOR.

No generous hand to vindicate my wrongs? Oh Salisbury! Salisbury! Why, if yet thou liv'st

Fond hope! he lives not, else with speed of thought

Would he repair to his afflicted Ela.

Ele. Why, dearest lady, will you yield you up A prey to purposed sorrow? Time is fruitful; And the next hour, perhaps, may bring thee comfort.

Lady Sal. Day after day I have watched the joyless hours:

Night after night, when some fleet courier, sent Before perchance, or letter, fraught with sweet Assurance of his safety, might appear;

Five tedious moons have passed since first were told

The dismal tidings; no fleet courier, sent
Before, alas! nor letter, with such sweet
Assurance, yet appears-he's gone! he's lost!
And I shall never, never see him more.

Ele. Ah! suffer not the leaden hand of cold Despair thus weigh thee down; I yet have hope. Lady Sal. Away with hope, away! No, no; full loud,

As I remember, and outrageous blew
The storm, that even the solid fabric shook
Of yonder walls; deep-rooted oaks gave way;
Churches and spires were overturned; nor even
The peasant's humble roof escaped that hour.
The fleet, save only one, one luckless ship,
Have all returned; my lord nor hath been seen,
Alas! nor ever heard of since the storm.

Ele. Heaven visit her affliction, and bestow
That patience which she needs!

Lady Sal. No, Eleanor; no more shall he
To these deserted walls return.
No more

Shall trophies, won by many a gallant deed,
Through the long hall in proud procession move;
No more fair Salisbury's battlements and towers
Re-echo to the approaching trumpet's voice.
Never, Oh! never more shall Ela run,
With throbbing bosom at the well-known sound,
To unlock his helmet, conquest-plumed, to strip
The cuishes from his manly thigh, or snatch
Quick from his breast the plated armour, wont
To oppose my fond embrace-Sweet times, fare-
well!

Lord Wil. Mother, why do you speak so? you make me sad.

Lady Sal. It is too soon, my child, for thee to know

What sadness is.

Lord Wil. Will not my father come home soon?

Eleanor told me he would: she would not tell a lie.

Lady Sal. No, love.

Lord Wil. Then he will come.

Lady Sal. Go, lovely prattler, seek thy toys; go, go.

Lord Wil. I will, good mother; but dont be sad, or I shall be so too. [Exit. Lady Sal. Sweet state of childhood! unallayed with cares;

Serene as spring-tide morn, new-welcomed up
With bleat of lamb, with note of woodlark wild.
With riper years come passions turbulent
And rude, a baleful crew, unnumbered as
The forest leaves, that strew the earth in autumn.
When happiness is round thee, when thou art on
The lap of downy ease, when thou art cherished
In the fair bosom of unruffled joy,
Comes a fell hand, dashes thee rudely down,
And leaves thee to despair.

Ele. Cease,

Cease, lady, to afflict thee: Raymond may,
I trust he will, ere long, retire and give
Thee ease again-But hither comes his minion:
Much with his lord he can; and, as he lists,
To purposes of good or ill o'er-rules

His mind if he accost thee, speak him gently.

With every grosser stuff; a goodly flower,
Shoots up and blossoms in great souls alone.

Grey. The mind, the exalted soul thou nam'st, is his.

Lives there a youth more gentle of condition,

I know not in fair England one with him
Can vie.

Lady Sal. Is then the star, the peerless star, That late was gazed on, quite obscured? What though

He may have set, hath he not left a train
Of glory in the skies? The illustrious name
Of Salisbury yet survives. If wealth-but mark

me;

Were he of all the wealth possessed from where The East Indian bids the sun good-morrow, to where

The Atlantic, in her wide-extended lap,
Receives him setting; could he in each hand
A thousand sceptres place, not all should bribe
Me to his bed. No, Salisbury! thou hast been
The husband of my early love; with thee,
That love was all interred; and when I pluck
It forth again, gape wide that earth wherein
Thou liest, quick snatch me from the light of
Heaven,

And swallow me within her lowest prison!

Grey. For pity's sake yet soften; for, Oh! sure
No former love could ever equal his;
No bosom boast the generous flame wherewith
Lord Raymond glows for thee, admired fair!
Lady Sal. Hear this, ye Heavens! and grant
me patience-Where's

My people? where the freedom that I late
Was blest with? Wherefore is my palace throng-

ed

[Exit.

Lady Sal. What meant he, Eleanor ?—I will be heard!

Ele. Alas! I know not: but a soul he hath, Prompt and alert to acts of desperate thinking, Hardly thou art beset; O lady, lend

An ear to what thy Eleanor would counsel.
When next he comes, (for that he hath obtained
Of Raymond leave to woo thee to his will,
I know) assume a gentler carriage. Seem
As though you may hereafter to his suit
Incline. Be ruled necessity oft lends
A sanction to deceit. Demand a pause:
My lord of Salisbury's fate, yet unconfirmed,
Shall add thereto a seeming colour.

Chance,

To thee may come with unexpected succour. Lady Sal. Sincerity,

Thou, spotless as the snowy-vested hill! Forgive me, if, by lawless power constrained, I turn this once from thy long-trodden path;

It must be so

Exalted: hover o'er me: and, as thou

[Exeunt.