English

ACT I.

SCENE 1. — Queenston. A farmhouse .

Quaker . The midnight sky, set thick with shining points,
Hung watchingly, while from a band of gloom
That belted in the gloomier woods, stole forth
Foreshortened forms of grosser shade, all barred
With lines of denser blackness, dexter-borne.
Rank after rank, they came, out of the dark,
So silently no pebble crunched beneath
Their feet more sharp than did a woodchuck stir.
And so came on the foe all stealthily,

Sir Thomas Willit ( speaks .)

'Tis then our selves who, by implicit Trust,
Tempt Servants, Friends and Wives to be Unjust.

Lady Frankair ( speaks )

Man knows us not; we trifle with their Art:
Woman can only Judge of Woman's Heart.

Miss Sprightly ( speaks )

Am I to be terrified with Shakespear? Let Shakespear then thus answer you.

Of all the Wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange Women should fear;
Since Marriage is a necessary Ill,
And will come when it will come.

CONTAINING THE COURTSHIP, AND THE WEDDING

I

Who is She that by night from her balcony looks
On a garden, where cabbage is springing?
'Tis the Tailor's fair Lass, that we told of above;
She muses by moonlight on her True Love;
So sharp is Cupid's stinging.

II

She has caught a glimpse of the Prince of the Air
In his Luciferian splendour,
And away with her coyness and maiden reserve: —
For none but the Devil her turn will serve,

I

The Devil was sick and queasy of late,
And his sleep and his appetite fail'd him;
His ears they hung down, and his tail it was clapp'd
Between his poor hoofs, like a dog that's been rapp'd —
None knew what the devil ail'd him.

II

He tumbled and toss'd on his mattress o' nights,
That was fit for a fiend's disportal;
For 'twas made of the finest of thistles and thorn,
Which Alecto herself had gather'd in scorn

Shall authors teaze the town with tragic passion,
When we've more modern moral things in fashion?
Let poets quite exhaust the Muse's treasure;
Sure Masquerades must give more feeling pleasure,
Where we meet finer sense and better measure;
The marry'd Dame, whose business must be done,
Puts on the holy vestments of a Nun;
And brings her unprolifick spouse a son.
Coquettes, with whom no lover could succeed,
Here pay off all arrears, and love in — deed;
Ev'n conscious Prudes are so sincere and free,

SCENE IX.

Ast. Bring me before the King.
Phra. Perfidious woman!
Look on that wretch, who there lyes pale and cold
Was he not brought in private to your chamber?
Who gave instructions to accuse Sophernes?
Who promis'd life and pardon to Hydarnes?
Ast. All then is lost. Astarbe is betray'd.
But shall I stoop to lead a life of shame?
No. This shall close a scene of long remorse.
Phra. Astarbe! hold!

SCENE VIII.

Soph. 'Twas I that gave thee death.
Hyd. Thou hast done justice.
Phra. What sayest thou? speak again.
Hyd. He has done justice.
I barb'rously accus'd him of my crimes;
That guilt upbraids me; and I ask forgiveness.
Phra. Whence art thou? — why this zealous rage against me?
Hyd. I grieve not that I perish'd by his hand;

SCENE VII.

Hyd. Thus far I'm undiscover'd. — Now 's my time.
The King of Media 's given into my hands.
And when he leaves his guards to trust the Gods,
Ev'n while he prostrate falls, and lifts his eyes
To the bright God of day, th' all-seeing sun;
This shall dispatch him first, and then Hydarnes .
1 st Mag. Now let the King advance.
Phra. O glorious Sun!
What means this consternation in all eyes?

SCENE VI.

Phra. Again we must defer the solemn worship.
Bid the procession move towards the Temple:
And let th' offender stand before the presence.
Ast. Sophernes has expos'd me to this woman;
And while she lives, I live in fear and shame.
Shall she then triumph in a Queen's disgrace?
Cyl. Most gracious King, consider my transgression.
My life is forfeit; justice has condemn'd me.
I broke th' inviolable laws of Media .

SCENE V.

The shield of heaven has turn'd Destruction from us:
And Gratitude requires our thanks and praise.
Call up the Priests. Begin the sacred rites.
1 st Mag. Turn all your eyes to yon bright arch of Heaven.
2 d Mag. When Jove in thunder threatens impious men,
May the red lightnings scatter Media 's foes,
And lay their cities desolate and waste!
st Mag. May the vast globe of inexhausted light,