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That centred not in thee, since last we parted;
May we ne'er meet again, but thy loud wrongs
So close the ear of mercy to my cries,
That I may never see those bright abodes
Where truth and virtue only have admission,
And thou inhabit'st now.

Y. Wilm. Assist me, Heaven!
Preserve my reason, memory, and sense!
O moderate my fierce tumultuous joys,
Or their excess will drive me to distraction.
O Charlotte! Charlotte! lovely, virtuous maid!
Can thy firm mind, in spite of time and absence,
Remain unshaken, and support its truth;
And yet thy frailer memory retain
No image, no idea of thy lover?

Why dost thou gaze so wildly? Look on me; Turn thy dear eyes this way; observe me well, Have scorching climates, time, and this strange habit So changed and so disguised thy faithful Wilmot, That nothing in my voice, my face, or mien, Remains to tell my Charlotte I am he?

[After viewing him some time, she approaches weeping, and gives him her hand; and then turning towards him, sinks upon his bosom.] Why dost thou weep? Why dost thou tremble thus? Why doth thy panting heart and cautious touch Speak thee but half convinced? Whence are thy fears?

Why art thou silent? Canst thou doubt me still ? Char. No, Wilmot! no; I'm blind with too

much light:

O'ercome with wonder and oppress'd with joy;
The struggling passions barr'd the doors of speech.
But speech enlarged, affords me no relief.
This vast profusion of extreme delight,
Rising at once, and bursting from despair,
Defies the aid of words, and mocks description:
But for one sorrow, one sad scene of anguish,
That checks the swelling torrent of my joys,
I could not bear the transport.

Y. Wilm. Let me know it:

Give me my portion of thy sorrow, Charlotte!
Let me partake thy grief, or bear it for thee.
Char. Alas! my Wilmot! these sad tears are
thine;

They flow for thy misfortunes. I am pierced
With all the agonies of strong compassion,
With all the bitter anguish you must feel,
When you shall hear your parents-

Y. Wilm. Are no more.

Char. You apprehend me wrong.
Y. Wilm. Perhaps I do:

Perhaps you mean to say, the greedy grave
Was satisfied with one, and one is left

To bless my longing eyes-But which, my Charlotte?
-And yet forbear to speak, 'till I have thought-
Char. Nay, hear me, Wilmot !

Y. Wilm. I perforce must hear thee: For I might think 'till death, and not determine, Of two so dear which I could bear to lose. [fears: Char. Afflict yourself no more with groundless Your parents both are living. Their distress, The poverty to which they are reduced,

In spite of my weak aid, was what I mourn'd;
And that in helpless age, to them whose youth
Was crown'd with full prosperity, I fear,
Is worse, much worse, than death.

Y. Wilm. My joy's complete.

My parents living, and possess'd of thee !—
From this blest hour, the happiest of my life,
I'll date my rest. My anxious hopes and fears,
My weary travels, and my dangers past,
Are now rewarded all. Now I rejoice
In my success, and count my riches gain.
For know, my soul's best treasure! I have wealth
Enough to glut ev'n avarice itself:

No more shall cruel want, or proud contempt,
Oppress the sinking spirits, or insult
The hoary heads of those who gave me being.

Char. 'Tis now, O riches, I conceive your worth,
You are not base, nor can you be superfluous,
But when misplaced in base and sordid hands.
Fly, fly, my Wilmot ! leave thy happy Charlotte!
Thy filial piety, the sighs and tears

Of thy lamenting parents call thee hence.

Y. Wilm. I have a friend, the partner of my voyage, [me. Who, in the storm last night, was shipwreck'd with Char. Shipwreck'd last night !—O ye immortal

pow'rs!

What have you suffer'd-How was you preserved?

Y. Wilm. Let that, and all my other strange And perilous adventures, be the theme [escapes Of many a happy winter night to come. My present purpose was t' intreat my angel, To know this friend, this other better Wilmot ; And come with him this evening to my father's: I'll send him to thee.

Char. I consent with pleasure.

Y. Wilm. Heavens, what a night!-How shall I bear my joy!

My parents, yours, my friends, all will be mine,
And mine, like water, air, or the free splendid sun,
The undivided portion of you all.

If such the early hopes, the vernal bloom,
The distant prospect of my future bliss,
Then what the ruddy autumn? what the fruit ?
The full possession of thy heavenly charms.
The tedious, dark, and stormy winter o'er,
The hind, that all its pinching hardships bore,
With transport sees the weeks appointed bring
The cheerful, promised, gay, delightful spring:
The painted meadows, the harmonious woods,
The gentle zephyrs, and unbridled floods,
With all their charms, his ravish'd thoughts employ,
But the rich harvest must complete his joy.

SCENE-A Street in Penryn. Enter RANDAL,

[Exeunt.

Rand. Poor, poor and friendless; whither shall

I wander,

And to what point direct my views and hopes ? A menial servant? No. What! shall I live, Here in this land of freedom, live distinguish'd,

And mark'd the willing slave of some proud subject,
And swell his useless train for broken fragments;
The cold remains of his superfluous board ?—
I would aspire to something more and better-
Turn thy eyes then to the prolific ocean,
Whose spacious bosom opens to thy view:
There deathless honour, and unenvied wealth
Have often crown'd the brave adventurer's toils.
This is the native uncontested right,

The fair inheritance, of ev'ry Briton

That dares put in his claim-My choice is made:
A long farewell to Cornwall, and to England!
If I return-But stay, what stranger's this,
Who, as he views me, seems to mend his pace?
Enter YOUNG WILMOT.

Y. Wilm. Randal! the dear companion of my
Sure lavish fortune means to give me all [youth!
I could desire, or ask for, this blest day,
And leave me nothing to expect hereafter.

Rand. Your pardon, sir; I know but one on earth Could properly salute me by the title

You're pleased to give me, and I would not think
That you are he-That you are Wilmot.-
Y. Wilm. Why?

Rand. Because I could not bear the disappointShould I be deceived.

Y. Wilm. I'm pleased to hear it :

[ment

Thy friendly fears better express thy thoughts

Than words could do.

Rand. O, Wilmot ! O, my master!

Are you return'd?

Y. Wilm. I have not yet embraced My parents-I shall see you at my father's. Rand. No I'm discharged from thence-0, sir, such ruin['em: Y. Wilm. I've heard it all, and hasten to relieve Sure Heaven hath blest me to that very end: I've wealth enough; nor shalt thou want a part. Rand. I have a part already-I am blest In your success and share in all your joys.

[think,

You are [already

Y. Wilm. I doubt it not-But tell me, dost thou
My parents not suspecting my return,
That I may visit them, and not be known?
Rand. "Tis hard for me to judge.
Grown so familiar to me, that I wonder
I knew you not at first: yet it may be ;
For you're much alter'd, and they think you dead.
Y. Wilm. This is certain: Charlotte beheld me
long,

And heard my loud reproaches and complaints
Without rememb'ring she had ever seen me.
My mind at ease grows wanton: I would fain
Refine on happiness. Why may I not
Indulge my curiosity, and try

If it be possible by seeing first

My parents as a stranger, to improve
Their pleasure by surprise!

Rand. It may indeed

Enhance your own, to see from what despair
Your timely coming, and unhoped success,
Have given you power to raise them.
Y. Wilm. I remember,

E'er since we learn'd together you excell'd
In writing fairly, and could imitate
Whatever hand you saw with great exactness.
Of this I'm not so absolute a master.

I therefore beg you'll write, in Charlotte's name
And character, a letter to my father;
And recommend me, as a friend of hers,
To his acquaintance.

Rand. Sir, if you desire it

And yet

Y. Wilm. Nay, no objections-Twill save time, Most precious with me now. For the deception, If doing what my Charlotte will approve, 'Cause done for me and with a good intent, Deserves the name, I'll answer it myself. If this succeeds, I purpose to defer Discov'ring who I am till Charlotte comes, And thou, and all who love me. Ev'ry friend Who witnesses my happiness to-night, Will, by partaking, multiply my joys.

Rand. You grow luxurious in your mental plea-
Could I deny you aught, I would not write [sures:
This letter. To say true, I ever thought
Your boundless curiosity a weakness.

Y. Wilm. What canst thou blame in this?
Rand. Your pardon, sir ;

I only speak in general: I'm ready
T'obey your orders.

Y. Wilm. I am much thy debtor,
But I shall find a time to quit thy kindness.
O Randal! but imagine to thyself

The floods of transport, the sincere delight
That all my friends will feel, when I disclose
To my astonish'd parents my return;
And then confess, that I have well contrived
By giving others joy t' exalt my own.
As pain, and anguish, in a gen'rous mind,
While kept conceal'd and to ourselves confined,
Want half their force; so pleasure, when it flows
In torrents round us, more ecstatic grows.

SCENE A Room in Old Wilmot's House.

[Exeunt.

OLD WILMOT and his Wife AGNES.
O. Wilm. Here, take this Seneca, this haughty
Who governing the master of mankind, [pedant,
And awing power imperial, prates of patience;
And praises poverty-possess'd of millions:
--Sell him, and buy us bread. The scantiest meal
The vilest copy of his book e'er purchased,
Will give us more relief in this distress,
Than all his boasted precepts.-Nay, no tears;
Keep them to move compassion when you beg.
Agn. My heart may break, but never stoop to that.
O. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it.-But des-
patch.
[Erit AGxES.

Where must I charge this length of misery,
That gathers force each moment as it rolls,
And must at last o'erwhelm me; but on hope,
Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope;
A senseless expectation of relief

That has for years deceived me -Had I thought

As I do now, as wise men ever think,
When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me,

That power to die implies a right to do it,
And should be used when life becomes a pain,
What plagues had I prevented.--True, my wife
Is still a slave to prejudice and fear—-

I would not leave my better part, the dear [Weeps.
Faithful companion of my happier days,
To bear the weight of age and want alone.
-I'll try once more-

Enter AGNES, and after her YOUNG WILMOT.
O. Wilm. Return'd, my life, so soon?-
Agn. The unexpected coming of this stranger
Prevents my going yet.

Y. Wilm. You're, I presume,

The gentleman to whom this is directed.

[Gives a letter.

What wild neglect, the token of despair,
[Aside.] What indigence, what misery appears
In each disorder'd, or disfurnish'd room
Of this once gorgeous house! What discontent,
What anguish and confusion fill the faces
Of its dejected owners!

O. Wilm. Sir, such welcome

As this poor house affords, you may command.
Our ever friendly neighbour-Once we hoped
T' have call'd fair Charlotte by a dearer name▬▬
But we have done with hope-I pray excuse
This incoherence-we had once a son. [Weeps.
Agn. That you are come from that dear virtuous
Revives in us the mem'ry of a loss, [maid,
Which, though long since, we have not learn'd to
bear.

Y. Wilm. [Aside] The joy to see them, and the bitter pain

It is to see them thus, touches my soul
With tenderness and grief, that will o'erflow.
My bosom heaves and swells, as it would burst;
My bowels move, and my heart melts within me.
-They know me not, and yet, I fear, I shall
Defeat my purpose and betray myself.

O. Wilm. The lady calls you here her valued
friend;

Enough, though nothing more should be implied,
To recommend you to our best esteem,
-A worthless acquisition !May she find
Some means that better may express her kindness!
But she, perhaps, hath purposed to enrich
You with herself, and end her fruitless sorrow
For one whom death alone can justify
For leaving her so long. If it be so,
May you repair his loss, and be to Charlotte
A second, happier Wilmot. Partial nature,
Who only favours youth, as feeble age
Were not her offspring or below her care,
Has seal'd our doom : no second hope shall spring
From my dead loins, and Agnes' steril womb,
To dry our tears, and dissipate despair.

Agn. The last and most abandon'd of our kind,
By heaven and earth neglected or despised,
The loathsome grave, that robb'd us of our son
And all our joys in him, must be our refuge.

Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardon'd, or devoted fiends,

Fear without hope, and wail in such sad strains;
But grace defend the living from despair.
The darkest hours precede the rising sun;
And mercy may appear when least expected.

O. Wilm. This I have heard a thousand times repeated,

And have, believing, been as oft deceived.

Y. Wilm. Behold in me an instance of its truth. At sea twice shipwreck'd, and as oft the prey Of lawless pirates; by the Arabs thrice Surprised, and robb'd on shore; and once reduced To worse than these, the sum of all distress That the most wretched feel on this side hell, Ev'n slavery itself: yet here I stand, Except one trouble that will quickly end, The happiest of mankind.

O. Wilm. A rare example

Of fortune's caprice; apter to surprise,
Or entertain, than comfort, or instruct.
If you would reason from events, be just,
And count, when you escaped, how many perish'd;
And draw your inf'rence thence.

Agn. Alas! who knows

But we were render'd childless by some storm,
In which you, though preserved, might bear a part.
Y. Wilm. How has my curiosity betray'd me
Into superfluous pain! I faint with fondness;
And shall, if I stay longer, rush upon 'em,
Proclaim myself their son, kiss and embrace 'em
Till their souls, transported with the excess
Of pleasure and surprise, quit their frail mansions,
And leave 'em breathless in my longing arms.
By circumstances then, and slow degrees,
They must be let into a happiness

Too great for them to bear at once, and live:
That Charlotte will perform: I need not feign
To ask an hour for rest. [Aside.] Sir, I entreat
The favour to retire where, for a while,
I may repose myself. You will excuse
This freedom, and the trouble that I give you :
'Tis long since I have slept, and nature calls.

O. Wilm. I pray, no more: believe we're only

troubled

That you should think any excuse were needful. Y. Wilm. The weight of this is some incumbrance to me;

[Takes a casket out of his bosom, and
gives it to his mother.]

And its contents of value: if you please
To take the charge of it 'till I awake,

I shall not rest the worse. If I should sleep
Till I am ask'd for, as perhaps I may,

I beg that you would wake me.

Agn. Doubt it not :

Distracted as I am with various woes,
I shall remember that.

[Exit.

Y. Wilm. Merciless grief! What ravage has it made! how has it changed Her lovely form and mind! I feel her anguish, And dread I know not what from her despair.

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Agn. Who should this stranger be? And then this casket

He says it is of value, and yet trusts it,
As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand-
His confidence amazes me-Perhaps

It is not what he says-I'm strongly tempted
To open it, and see-No, let it rest.
Why should my curiosity excite me

To search and pry into th' affairs of others,
Who have t' employ my thoughts, so many cares
And sorrows of my own?-With how much ease
The spring gives way! Surprising! most prodigious!
My eyes are dazzled, and my ravish'd heart

Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright's the lustre,
How immense the worth of these fair jewels!
Ay, such a treasure would expel for ever
Base poverty, and all its abject train;
The mean devices we're reduced to use
To keep out famine, and preserve our lives
From day to day; the cold neglect of friends;
The galling scorn, or more provoking pity
Of an insulting world-Possess'd of these,
Plenty, content, and power, might take their turn,
And lofty pride bare its aspiring head

At our approach, and once more bend before us.
-A pleasing dream! 'Tis past; and now I wake
More wretched by the happiness I've lost;
For sure it was a happiness to think,
Though but a moment, such a treasure mine.
Nay, it was more than thought-I saw and touch'd
The bright temptation, and I see it yet
'Tis here-'tis mine-I have it in possession-
-Must I resign it? Must I give it back?
Am I in love with misery and want?-
To rob myself, and court so vast a loss?
Retain it then--But how? there is a way-
Why sinks my heart? Why does my blood run cold?
Why am I thrill'd with horror? "Tis not choice,
But dire necessity suggests the thought.

Enter OLD WILMOT.

O. Wilm. The mind contented, with how little The wand'ring senses yield to soft repose, [pains And die to gain new life! He's fallen asleep Already Happy man! What dost thou think, My Agnes, of our unexpected guest! He seems to me a youth of great humanity :

Just ere he closed his eyes, that swam in tears,
He wrung my hand, and press'd it to his lips;
And with a look, that pierced me to the soul,
Begg'd me to comfort thee: and-Dost thou hear
me?-

What art thou gazing on? Fie, 'tis not well-
This casket was delivered to you closed:
Why have you open'd it? Should this be known,
How mean must we appear!

Agn. And who shall know it?

O. Wilm. There is a kind of pride, a decent dignity
Due to ourselves; which, spite of our misfortunes,
May be maintain'd and cherish'd to the last.
To live without reproach, and without leave
To quit the world, shows sovereign contempt,
And noble scorn of its relentless malice.
Agn. Shows sovereign madness, and a scorn of
Pursue no farther this detested theme: [sense!

I will not die,-I will not leave the world
For all that you can urge, until compell'd

O. Wilm. To chase a shadow, when the setting sun
Is darting his last rays, were just as wise
As your anxiety for fleeting life,

Now the last means for its support are failing:
Were famine not as mortal as the sword,
This warmth might be excused-But take thy choice:
Die how you will, you shall not die alone.
Agn. Nor live, I hope.

O. Wilm. There is no fear of that.
Agn. Then we'll live both.

O. Wilm. Strange folly! where's the means?
Agn. The means are there; those jewels
O. Wilm. Ha!--Take heed:

Perhaps thou dost but try me ; yet take heed—
There's nought so monstrous but the mind of man
In some conditions may be brought t' approve;
Theft, sacrilege, treason, and parricide,
When flatt'ring opportunity enticed,

And desperation drove, have been committed
By those who once would start to hear them named.
Agn. And add to these detested suicide,
Which, by a crime much less, we may avoid.

O. Wilm. Th'inhospitable murder of our guest!-
How couldst thou form a thought so very tempting,
So advantageous, so secure, and easy;
And yet so cruel, and so full of horror!

Agn. "Tis less impiety, less against nature, To take another's life, than end our own.

O. Wilm. It is no matter, whether this or that Be, in itself, the less or greater crime : Howe'er we may deceive ourselves or others, We act from inclination, not by rule, Or none could act amiss-And that al! err, None but the conscious hypocrite denies.

-O! what is man, his excellence and strength,
When in an hour of trial and desertion,
Reason, his noblest power, may be suborn'd
To plead the cause of vile assassination!
Agn. You're too severe : reason may justly plead
For her own preservation.

O. Wilm. Rest contented:
Whate'er resistance I may seem to make,

:

I am betray'd within my will's seduced,
And my whole soul infected. The desire
Of life returns, and brings with it a train
Of appetites, that rage to be supplied.
Whoever stands to parley with temptation,
Does it to be o'ercome.

Agn. Then nought remains,

But the swift execution of a deed

That is not to be thought on, or delay'd.

We must despatch him sleeping: should he wake, "Twere madness to attempt it.

O. Wilm. True; his strength

Single is more, much more than ours united;
So may his life, perhaps, as far exceed

Ours in duration, should he 'scape this snare.
Gen'rous, unhappy man! O what could move thee
To put thy life and fortune in the hands
Of wretches mad with anguish?
Agn. By what means?

By stabbing, suffocation, or by strangling,
Shall we effect his death?

O. Wilm. Why, what a fiend!-
How cruel, how remorseless and impatient
Have pride and poverty made thee!

Agn. Barbarous man!

Whose wasteful riots ruin'd our estate,

And drove our son, ere the first down had spread
His rosy cheeks, spite of my sad presages,
Earnest intreaties, agonies and tears,
To seek his bread 'mongst strangers, and to perish
In some remote, inhospitable land

The loveliest youth, in person and in mind,
That ever crown'd a groaning mother's pains!
Where was thy pity, where thy patience then?
Thou cruel husband! thou unnat'ral father!
Thou most remorseless, most ungrateful man,

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Or I'm deceived, or he pronounced himself
The happiest of mankind. Deluded wretch !
Thy thoughts are perishing, thy youthful joys,
Touch'd by the icy hand of grisly death,
Are with'ring in their bloom-But, thought
extinguish'd,

He'll never know the loss, nor feel the bitter

Pangs of disappointment- Then I was wrong
In counting him a wretch: To die well pleased,
Is all the happiest of mankind can hope for.
To be a wretch, is to survive the loss
Of every joy, and even hope itself,
As I have done-Why do I mourn him then?
For, by the anguish of my tortured soul,
He's to be envied, if compared with me.

THOMAS TICKELL.

[Born, 1686. Died, 1740.]

THOMAS TICKELL, the son of the Rev. Richard Tickell, was born at Bridekirk, in Cumberland, studied at Oxford, and obtained a fellowship which | he vacated by marrying about his fortieth year. Though he sung the praises of peace when the Tories were negotiating with France, he seems, from the rest of his writings, and his close connexion with Addison, to have deserved the epithet of Whiggissimus, which Swift bestowed on him.

His friendship with Addison lasted for life; he accompanied him to Ireland in the suite of Lord Sunderland, became his secretary when Addison was made secretary of state, was left the charge of publishing his works, and prefixed to them his excellent elegy. He was afterwards secretary to the lords justices of Ireland, a place which he held till his death.

TO THE EARL OF WARWICK, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.*

Ir, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd, | Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, And left her debt to Addison unpaid,

[* This Elegy by Mr. Tickell is one of the finest in our language. There is so little new that can be said upon the death of a friend, after the complaints of Ovid and the Latin Italians in this way, that one is surprised to see so

And judge, O judge, my bosom by your own.

much novelty in this to strike us, and so much interest to affect.-GOLDSMITH,

Of this Elegy, which is indirectly preferred by Johnson to the Lycidas of Milton, Steele has said with uncharitable truth, that it is only "prose in rhyme."]

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