We have had a taste of your forbearance, masters, And wish not for another. Vir. Troops in the Forum! App. Virginius, have you spoken? Vir. If you have heard me, I have; if not, I'll speak again. App. You need not, Virginius; I had evidence to give, Which, should you speak a hundred times again, Would make your pleading vain. Vir. Your hand, Virginia! Stand close to me. App. My conscience will not let me Be silent. 'Tis notorious to you all, [The people make a show of resistance; but, upon the advance of the soldiers, retreat, and leave ICILIUS, VIRGINIUS, and his daughter, etc., in the hands of APPIUS and his party]. Deserted!-Cowards! traitors! Let me free But for a moment! I relied on you; Had I relied upon myself alone, I had kept them still at bay! I kneel to you— To rush upon your swords. Vir. Icilius, peace! You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies, [Aside. Nerveless and helpless. That Claudius' father, at his death, declared me The guardian of his son. This cheat has long Been known to me. I know the girl is not Virginius' daughter. Vir. Join your friends, Icilius, And leave Virginia to my care. App. The justice I should have done my client unrequired, Now cited by him, how shall I refuse? Vir. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble. App. Virginius, [Aside App. Separate them, Lictors! Vir. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius: It is not very easy. Though her arms Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which She grasps me, Appius-forcing them will hurt them; They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a littleYou know you're sure of her! App. I have not time To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors. Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not [Aside. For fifteen years. If I am not her father, I feel for you; but though you were my father, Vir. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius, The tongues that told him she was not my child She is unstained.-Your hands! your hands! your hands! Citizens. They are yours, Virginius. App. Keep the people back— Support my Lictors, soldiers! Seize the girl, And drive the people back. Icilius. Down with the slaves! A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it, App. Have your wish. Be brief! Virginia. Do you go from me? Do you leave? Father! Father! Vir. No, my child No, my Virginia-come along with me. Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you? Will you take me home again? O, bless you! bless you' [VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.] Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee. App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back! [Virginius secures the knife. Well, have you done? Vir. Short time for converse, Appius, But I have. App. I hope you are satisfied. Vir. I am I am that she is my daughter! App. Take her, Lictors! I saw, at last, the ruddy dawn of health [Virginia shrieks, and falls half-dead upon Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form, her father's shoulder. Vir. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me There is one only way to save thine honor'Tis this. And glow-and glow-till forth at last it burst Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouched, [Stabs her, and draws out the knife. Icilius Lo, Appius, with this innocent blood I do devote thee to the infernal gods! Make way there! App. Stop him! Seize him! Vir. If they dare To tempt the desperate weapon that is maddened [Exit through the soldiers. FROM "THE WIFE, A TALE OF MANTUA.” LORENZO, an Advocate of Rome, and MARIANA. As some high contest there were pending 'twixt Lor. This spoke impediment; or he was bound Mar. I saw a struggle, But knew not what it was. I wondered still, ORENZO. That's right-you are collected and At length he talked of leaving us; at length direct In your replies. I dare be sworn your passion Made piety and virtue twice as rich As e'er they were before. How grew it? Come, Which thou dost fear to shew-I wait your answer. How grew your passion? Mariana. As my stature grew, Which rose without my noting it, until Beside what seemed his death-bed. From beneath An avalanche my father rescued him, Sole survivor of a company He fixed the parting-day-but kept it not- Lor. To follow him You came to Mantua? Mar. What could I do? Cot, garden, vineyard, rivulet, and wood, I said: 'To Mantua.' I followed him To Mantua! to breathe the air he breathed, To look upon the things he looked upon, Who wandered through our mountains. A long time To walk upon the ground he walked upon, Lor. I perceive: you mingled souls until you mingled You loved at last. Was't not the sequel, maid? To look, perchance, on him! perchance to hear him, JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. ESPERUS. See, here's a bower And talk to me. So! I've a rival here; It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you: Hesp. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper fingers, Flor. And here's a treasure that I found by chance, A lily-of-the-valley; low it lay Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping, Hesp. Of all the posy Give me the rose, though there's a tale of blood 'Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love— And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air. THOMAS BEddoes. Lady S. Nay, but we should make allowance. Sir Benjamin is a wit and a poet. Maria. For my part, I own, madam, wit loses its respect with me when I see it in company with malice. What do you think, Mr. Surface? Joseph S. Certainly, madam; to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief. Lady S. Pshaw!-there's no possibility of being witty without a little ill-nature; the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick. What's your opinion, Mr. Surface? Joseph S. To be sure, madam; that conversation where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid. Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible. We have pride, envy, rival-hip, and a thousand little motives to depreciate each other; but the male slanderer must have the cowardice of a woman before he can traduce one. [Enter SERVANT.] Servant. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and if your ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage. Lady S. Beg her to walk in. [Exit Servant.] Now, Maria, however, here is a character to your taste; for though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, everybody allows her to be the best natured and best sort of woman. Maria. Yes-with a very gross affectation of good nature and benevolence, she does more mischief than the direct malice of old Crabtree. Joseph S. I' faith, that's true, Lady Sneerwell; PICKING TO PIECES THE CHARACTERS OF whenever I hear the current running against the OTHER PEOPLE. [From the "School for Scandal."] MARIA enters to Lady SneerWELL and JOSEPH SURFACE. ADY SNEERWELL. Maria, my dear, how do you do? What's the matter? Maria. Oh! there is that disagreeable lover characters of my friends. I never think them in such danger as when Candour undertakes their defence. Lady S. Hush !-here she is! [Enter MRS. CANDOUR.] Mrs. Candour. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just have you been this century? Mr. Surface, what called at my guardian's with his odious uncle, Crab-news do you hear?-though indeed it is no matter, tree; so I slipt out, and ran hither to avoid them. Lady S. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were here. But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done that you should avoid him so? Maria. Oh, he has done nothing-but 'tis for what he has said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his acquaintance. Joseph S. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no advantage in not knowing him-for he'il abuse a stranger just as soon as his best friend; and his uncle Crabtree's as bad. for I think one hears nothing else but scandal. Joseph S. Just so, indecd, ma'am. Mrs. C. Oh, Maria! child-what! is the whole af fair off between you and Charles? His extravagance, I presume the town talks of nothing else. Maria. I am very sorry, ma'am, the town has so little to do. Mrs. C. True, truc, child: but there's no stopping people's tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from the same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, have not agreed lately as well as could be wished. Maria. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves so. Mrs. C. Very true, child: but what's to be done? People will talk-there's no preventing it. Why, it was but yesterday I was told that Miss Gadabout had has a pretty wit, and is a pretty poet, too; isn't he, eloped with Sir Filligree Flirt. But there's no mind-Lady Sneerwell? ing what one hears; though, to be sure, I had this from very good authority. Sir Benjamin. O fie, uncle! Crab. Nay, egad, it's true; I back him at a rebus or a charade against the best rhymer in the kingdom. Has your ladyship heard the epigram he wrote last week on Lady Frizzle's feather catching fire? Do, Benjamin, repeat it, or the charade you made last night extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's conversazione. Come now; your first is the name of a fish, your second, a great Maria. Such reports are highly scandalous. Mrs. C. So they are child-shameful, shameful! But the world is so censorious, no character escapes. Well, now, who would have suspected your friend, Miss Prim, of an indiscretion? Yet such is the illnature of people that they say her uncle stopped her last week, just as she was stepping into the York mail | naval commander, andwith her dancing master. Maria. I'll answer for 't, there are no grounds for that report. Mrs. C. Ah, no foundation in the world, I dare swear; no more, probably than for the story circulated last month of Mrs. Festino's affair with Colonel Cassino; though, to be sure, that matter was never rightly cleared up. Sir B. Uncle, now—prithee Crab. I' faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to hear how ready he is at these things. Lady S. I wonder, Sir Benjamin you never publish anything. Sir B. To say truth, ma'm, 'tis very vulgar to print; and as my little productions are mostly satires and lampoons on particular people, I find they circulate more Joseph S. The license of invention some people by giving copies in confidence to the friends of the parties. However, I have some love elegies, which, when favored with this lady's smiles, I mean to give the public. take is monstrous indeed. Maria. 'Tis so-but, in my opinion, those who report such things are equally culpable. Mrs. C. To be sure they are; tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers—'tis an old observation, and a very true one: but what's to be done, as I said before? how will you prevent people from talking? To-day, Mrs. Clackitt assured me Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at last become mere man and wife, like the rest of their acquaintance. * * No, no! tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as the tale-makers. Joseph S. Ah! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your forbearance and good-nature! Mrs. C. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to hear people attacked behind their backs; and when ugly circumstances come out against our acquaintance, I own I always love to think the best. By the by, I hope 'tis not true that your brother is absolutely ruined? Joseph S. I am afraid his circumstances are very bad indeed, ma'am. Mrs. C. Ah! I heard so-but you must tell him to keep up his spirits; everybody almost is in the same way-Lord Spindle, Sir Thomas Splint, and Mr. Nickit ---all up, I hear, within this week; so, if Charles is undone, he'll find half his acquaintance ruined too; that, you know, is a consolation. · Joseph S. Doubtless, ma'am-a very great one. [Enter SERVANT.] and Serv. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. [Exit Servant. Lady S. So, Maria, you see your lover pursues you; positively you shan't escape. [Enter CRABTREE and SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE.) Crabtree. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand. Mrs. Candour, I don't believe you are acquainted with my nephew, Sir Benjamin Backbite? Egad! ma'am, he Crab. 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll immortalize you! You will be handed down to posterity, like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa. Sir B. Yes, madam, I think you will like them, where a neat rivulet of text shall murmur through a when you shall see them on a beautiful quarto page, meadow of margin. 'Fore gad, they will be the most elegant things of their kind! Crab. But, ladies, that's true-have you heard the news? Mrs. C. What, sir, do you mean the report of— Crab. Ask Sir Benjamin. Sir B. 'Tis very true, ma'am; everything is fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke. Crab. Yes; and they do say there were very pressing reasons for it. Lady S. Why, I have heard something of this be fore. Mrs. C. It can't be; and I wonder any one should believe such a story of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely. Sir B. O lud! ma'am, that's the very reason 'twas believed at once. She has always been so cautious and so reserved, that everybody was sure there was some reason for it at bottom. Mrs. C. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny sickly reputation that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred prudes. Sir B. True, madam, there are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution; who, being con scious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply their want of stamina by care and circumspection. Mrs. C. Well, but this may be all a mistake. You know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often give rise to the most injurious tales. Crab. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am. O lud! Mr. Surface, pray, is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming home? Joseph S. Not that I know of, indeed, sir. gone on. Joseph S. Charles has been imprudent, sir, to be sure; but I hope no busy people have already prejudiced Sir Oliver against him. He may reform. Sir B. To be sure he may; for my part, I never be lieved him to be so utterly void of principle as people say; and though he has lost all his friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of by the Jews. Crab. That's true, egad, nephew. If the Old Jewry was a ward, I believe Charles would be an alderman : no man more popular there! I hear he pays as many annuities as the Irish tontine; and that, whenever he is sick, they have prayers for the recovery of his health in all the synagogues. Sir B. Yet no man lives in greater splendor. They tell me, when he entertains his friends, he will sit down to dinner with a dozen of his own securities; have a score of tradesmen waiting in the antechamber, and an officer behind every guest's chair. Joseph S. This may be entertainment to you, gentlemen; but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a brother. Maria. Their malice is intolerable. Lady Sneerwell, I must wish you a good-morning: I'm not very well. [Exit Maria. Mrs C. O dear! she changes color very much. Lady S. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her: she may want your assistance. Mrs. C. That I will, with all my soul, ma'am. Poor, dear girl, who knows what her situation may be! [Exit Mrs. Candour. Lady S. 'Twas nothing but that she could not bear to hear Charles reflected on, notwithstanding their difference. Sir B. The young lady's penchant is obvious. Crab. But, Benjamin, you must not give up the pursuit for that: follow her, and put her into good humor. Repeat her some of your own verses. Come, I'll assist you. Sir B. Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you; but, depend on't, your brother is utterly undone. Crab. O lud, ay! undone as ever man was. Can't raise a guinea! Crab. Lady S. Oh! he has done many mean things, that's But, however, as he is your brotherWe'll tell you all another opportunity. [Exeunt Crabtree and Sir Benjamin. Ha, ha! 'tis very hard for them to leave a subject they have not quite run down. Joseph S. And I believe the abuse was no more acceptable to your ladyship than Maria. Lady S. I doubt her affections are further engaged than we imagine. But the family are to be here this evening, so you may as well dine where you are, and we shall have an opportunity of observing further; in the meantime, I'll go and plot mischief, and you shall study sentiment. [Exeunt. RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. AETER DEATH, WHAT? CATO alone; in his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn sword on the table by him. T must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well— Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! [Laying his hand on his sword. Sir B. And everything sold, I'm told, that was But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, |