When trick'd and varnish'd by your glossing penmen,

Will shine in honour's annals, and adorn Himself; it boots not me. Look there, look there,

The slave that shot that dart, kill'd ev'ry hope
Of lost Caractacus! Arise, my daughter.
Alas! poor prince; art thou too in vile fetters?
[To ELIDURUS.

Come hither, youth: Be thou to me a son,
To her a brother. Thus with trembling arms
I lead you forth; children, we go to Rome.
Weep'st thou, my girl? I prithee hoard thy tears
For the sad meeting of thy captive mother:
For we have much to tell her, much to say
Of these good men, who nurtur'd us in Mona;
Much of the fraud and malice, that pursu'd us;
Much of her son, who pour'd his precious blood
To save his sire and sister: Think'st thou, maid
Her gentleness can hear the tale, and live?
And yet she must. O gods, I grow a talker!
Grief and old age are ever full of words:
But I'll be mute. Adieu! ye holy men;
Yet one look more-Now lead us hence for ever.
[Exeunt

BY

LIKE fam'd La Mancha's knight, who, lance in hand,

Mounted his steed to free th' enchanted land,
Our Quixote bard sets out a monster-taming,
Arm'd at all points, to fight that monster, Gaming.
Aloft on Pegasus he waves his pen,
And hurls defiance at the caitiff's den:
The first on fancied giants spent his rage,
But this has more than windmills to engage.
He combats passion rooted in the soul,
Whose powers at once delight ye, and controul;
Whose magic bondage each lost slave enjoys,
Nor wishes freedom, though the spell destroys.
To save our land from this magician's charms,
And rescue maids and matrons from his arms,
Our knight poetic comes-And, oh! ye fair
This black enchanter's wicked arts beware!
His subtle poison dims the brightest eyes,

| And at his touch, each grace and beauty dies.
Love, gentleness, and joy, to rage give away,
And the soft dove becomes a bird of prey.
May this our bold advent'rer break the spell,
And drive the dæmon to his native hell.
Ye slaves of passion, and ye dupes of chance,
Wake all your powers from his destructive
trance!

Shake off the shackles of this tyrant vice:
Hear other calls than those of cards and dice:
Be learn'd in nobler arts than arts of play,
And other debts than those of honour pay.
No longer live insensible to shame,
Lost to your country, families, and fame.
Could our romantic muse this work atchieve,
Would there one honest heart in Britain grieve?
Th' attempt,though wild, would not in vain be made,
If every honest hand would lend its aid.

Mrs Bev. Be comforted, my dear; all may be well yet. And now, methinks, the lodging begins to look with another face. Oh, sister! sister! if these were all my hardships; if all I had to complain of were no more than quitting my house, servants, equipage, and shew, your pity would be weakness.

Char. Is poverty nothing, then?

Mrs Bev. Nothing in the world, if it affected only me. While we had a fortune, I was the happiest of the rich and now it is gone, give me but a bare subsistence, and my husband's smiles, and I'll be the happiest of the poor. To me, now, these lodgings want nothing but their master. Why do you look at me?

Char. That I may hate my brother.
Mrs Bev. Do not talk so, Charlotte.

Char. Has he not undone you?——Oh, this pernicious vice of gaming! But, methinks his usual hours of four or five in the morning might have contented him; it was misery enough to wake for him till then. Need he have staid out all night?—I shall learn to detest him.

Mrs Bev. Not for the first fault. He never slept from me before.

Char. Slept from you! No, no, his nights have nothing to do with sleep. How has this one vice driven him from every virtue !--Nay, from his affections, too!—The time was, sister

Mrs Bev. And is. I have no fear of his affections. Would I knew, that he were safe! Char. From ruin and his companions. But that is impossible. His poor little boy, too! What must become of him?

Mrs Bev. Why, want shall teach himn industry. From his father's mistakes he shall learn prudence, and, from his mother's resignation, patience. Poverty has no such terrors in it as you imagine. There is no condition of life, sickness and pain excepted, where happiness is excluded. The husbandman, who rises early to his labour, enjoys more welcome rest at night for it. His bread is sweeter to him, his home happier, his family dearer, his enjoyments surer. The sun, that rouses him in the morning, sets in the evening to release him. All situations have their comforts, if sweet contentment dwell in the heart. But my poor Beverley has none. The thought of having ruined those, he loves, is misery for ever to him. Would I could ease his mind of that!

Char. If he alone were ruined, it were just he should be punished. He is my brother, it is true; but when I think of what he has done, of the fortune you brought him, of his own large estate too, squandered away upon this vilest of passions, and among the vilest of wretches! Oh, I have no

patience! My own little fortune is untouched, he says. Would I were sure of it!

Mrs Bev. And so you may--it would be a sin to doubt it.

Char. I will be sure of it--it was madness in me to give it to his management. But I will demand it from him this morning. I have a melancholy occasion for it.

Mrs Bev. What occasion?
Char. To support a sister.

Mrs Bev. No; I have no need of it. Take it, and reward a lover with it. The generous Lewson deserves much more. Why won't you make him happy?

Char. Because my sister is miserable.

Mrs Bev. You must not think so. I have my jewels left yet. I will sell them to supply our wants; and, when all is gone, these hands shall toil for our support. The poor should be industrious-Why those tears, Charlotte?

Char. They flow in pity for you.

Mrs Bev. All may be well yet. When he has nothing to lose, I shall fetter him in these arms again; and then what is it to be poor?

Char. Cure him but of this destructive passion, and my uncle's death may retrieve all yet.

Mrs Bev. Ay, Charlotte, could we cure him! But the disease of play admits no cure but poverty; and the loss of another fortune would but increase his shame and affliction. Will Mr Lewson call this morning?

Char. He said so last night. He gave me hints too, that he had suspicions of our friend Stukely. Mrs Bev. Not of treachery to my husband? That he loves play I know, but surely he is ho

nest.

Char. He would fain be thought so; therefore I doubt him. Honesty needs no pains to set it self off.

Enter LUCY.

Mrs Bev. What now, Lucy?

Lucy. Your old steward, madam. I had not the heart to deny him admittance, the good old man begged so hard for it. [Exit LUCY.

Enter JARVIS.

Mrs Bev. Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you to avoid me.

Jar. Did you, madam? I am an old man, and had forgot. Perhaps, too, you forbad my tears; but I am old, madam, and age will be forgetful. Mrs Bev. The faithful creature! how he moves me. [To CHARLOTTE. Char. Not to have seen him had been cruelty. Jur. I have forgot these apartments too. I remember none such in my young master's house; and yet I have lived in it these five and twenty years. His good father would not have dismissed

I have heard nothing-or if I had, with all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits no doubt -It is my safety, my seat of rest and joy, while the storm threatens round me. I'll not forsake it. [STUKELY sighs and looks down.] Why turn you, sir, away? and, why that sigh?

Stuke. I was attentive, madam; and sighs will come we know not why. Perhaps, I have been too busy-If it should seem so, impute my zeal to friendship, that meant to guard you against evil tongues. Your Beverley is wronged, slandered most vilely-My life upon his truth.

Mrs Bev. And mine too. Who is it that doubts it? But no matter-I am prepared, sir

-Yet why this caution?--You are my husband's friend; I think you mine too; the common friend of both. [Pauses.] I had been unconcerned else.

Stuke. For Heaven's sake, madam, be so still! I mean to guard you against suspicion, not to alarm it.

Mrs Bev. Nor have you, sir. Who told you of suspicion? I have a heart it cannot reach. Stuke. Then I am happy-I would say more; but am prevented.

Enter CHARLOTTE.

Mrs Bev. Who was it, Charlotte? Char. What a heart has that Jarvis! A creditor, sister. But the good old man has taken him away- Don't distress his wife; don't distress his sister,' I could hear him say. 'It is cruel to distress the afflicted'--And when he saw me at the door, he begged pardon, that his friend had knocked so loud.

Stuke. I wish I had known of this. Was it a large demand, madam ?

Char. I heard not that; but visits, such as these, we must expect often-Why so distressed, sister? This is no new affliction.

rest a little.

Mrs Bev. No, Charlotte; but I am faint with watching quite sunk and spiritless-Will you excuse me, sir? I'll to my chamber, and try to [Exit. Stuke. Good thoughts go with you, madam. My bait is taken, then. [Aside.] Poor Mrs Beverley! How my heart grieves to see her thus! Char. Cure her, and be a friend, then. Stuke. How cure her, madam ? Char. Reclaim my brother.

Stuke. Ay, give him a new creation, or breathe another soul into him. I'll think on it, madam. Advice, I see, is thankless.

Char. Useless I am sure it is, if through mistaken friendship, or other motives, you feed his passion with your purse, and soothe it by example. Physicians, to cure fevers, keep from the patient's thirsty lip the cup, that would inflame him. You give it to his hands. [A knocking.] Hark, sir!— These are my brother's desperate symptomsAnother creditor.

Stuke. One not so easily got rid of-What, Lewson!

Enter LEWSON.

Lew. Madam, your servant-Yours, sir. I was enquiring for you at your lodgings.

Stuke. This morning! You had business, then? Lew. You'll call it by another name, perhaps. Where's Mr Beverley, madain?

Char. We have sent to enquire for him. Lew. Is he abroad, then? He did not use to go out so early.

Char. No, nor stay out so late. Lew. Is that the case? I am sorry for it.But Mr Stukely, perhaps, may direct you to him. Stuke. I have already, sir. But what was your business with me?

Lew. To congratulate you upon your late successes at play. Poor Beverley!-But you are his friend; and there's a comfort in having suc cessful friends.

Stuke. And what am I to understand by this? Lea. That Beverley's a poor man, with a rich friend; that's all.

Stuke. Your words would mean something, I suppose. Another time, sir, I shall desire an explanation.

Lew. And why not now? I am no dealer in long sentences. A minute or two will do for me.

Stuke. But not for me, sir. I am slow of apprehension, and must have time and privacy. A lady's presence engages my attention. Another morning I may be found at home.

servant.

Lew. Another morning, then, I'll wait upon you. Stuke. I shall expect you, sir. Madam, your [Erit STUKE. Char. What mean you by this? Lew. To hint to him, that I know him. Char. How know him? Mere doubt and sup position!

Lew. I shall have proof soon. Char. And what then? Would you risque your life to be his punisher!

Lew. My life, madam! Don't be afraid. And yet I am happy in your concern for me. But let it content you, that I know this Stukely-It will be as easy to make him honest as brave.

Char. And what do you intend to do?

Lew. Nothing, till I have proof. Yet my suspicions are well-grounded-But, methinks, ma dam, I am acting here without authority. Could I have leave to call Mr Beverley brother, his concerns would be my own. Why will you make my services appear officious?

Char. You know my reasons, and should not press me. But I am cold, you say; and cold I will be, while a poor sister's destitute My heart bleeds for her; and, till I see her sorrows moderated, love has no joys for me.

Lew. Can I be less a friend by being a brother? I would not say an unkind thing-But the pillar of your house is shaken; prop it with another, and it shall stand firm again. You must comply.

Char. And will, when I have peace within my