fure, but provides for his Departure in the following Manner:
Sfor. Stay you, Francisco.
-You see how Things sland with me?
Fran. To my Grief:
And if the Loss of my poor Life could be
A Sacrifice, to restore them as they were,
I willingly would lay it down.
For I have ever found you true and thankful,
Which makes me love the Building I have rais'd,
In your Advancement; and repent no Grace
I have confer'd upon you: And, believe me,
Though now I should repeat my Favours to you,
The Titles I have given you, and the Means
Suitable to your Honours; that I thought you
Worthy my Sifter, and my Family,
And in my Dukedom made you next myself;
It is not to upbraid you; but to tell you
I find you're worthy of them, in your Love
And Service to me.
Fran. Sir, I am your Creature;
And any Shape that you would have me wear,
I gladly will put on.
Sfor. Thus, then, Francifco;
I now am to deliver to your Trust
A weighty Secret, of so strange a Nature,
And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you,
That you will tremble in the Execution,
As much as I am tortur'd to command it:
For 'tis a Deed so horrid, that, but to hear it,
Would strike into a Ruffian flesh'd in Murthers,
Or an obdurate Hangman, soft Compassion;
And yet, Francisco (of all Men the deareft,
And from me most deserving) such my State
And strange Condition is, that Thou alone
Must know the fatal Service, and perform it.
Fran. These Preparations, Sir, to work a Stranger,
Or to one unacquainted with your Bounties,
Might appear useful; but, to Me, they are
Needless Impertinencies: For I dare do
Whate'er you dare command.
Sfor. But thou must swear it,
And put into thy Oath, all Joys, or Torments
That fright the Wicked, or confirm the Good:
Not to conceal it only (that is nothing)
But, whenfoe'er my Will shall fpeak, strike now!
To fall upon't like Thunder.
The Oath in any Way, or Form you please,
I stand resolv'd to take it.
Sfor. Thou must do, then,
What no malevolent Star will dare to look on,
It is so wicked: For which, Men will curse thee
For being the Instrument; and the Angels
Forfake me at my Need, for being the Author:
For 'tis a Deed of Night, of Night, Francisco,
In which the Memory of all good Actions,
We can pretend to, thall be buried quick:
Or, if we be remember'd, it shall be
To fright Pofterity by our Example,
That have outgone all Precedents of Villains
That were before us; and fuch as succeed,
Though taught in Hell's black School, shall ne'er
---Art thou not shaken yet!
[come near us.
Fran. I grant you move me:
Sfor. I'll try your Temper:
What think you of my Wife?
Fran. As a Thing facred;
To whose fair Name and Memory I pay gladly
These Signs of Duty.
Sfor. Is she not the Abstract
Of all that's rare, or to be wish'd in Woman?
Fran. It were a Kind of Blasphemy to difpute it:
-But to the Purpose, Sir.
Sfor. Add to her Goodness,
Her Tenderness of me, her Care to please me,
Her unsuspected Chastity, ne'er equall'd,
Her Innocence, her Honour-O I am loft
In the Ocean of her Virtues, and her Graces,.:
When I think of them.
Fran. Now I find the End
Of all your Conjurations: There's fome Service
To be done for this sweet Lady. If she have Enemies
That she would have remov'd
Her greatest Enemy is her greatest Loverty
Yet, in that Hatred, her Idolater.
One Smile of her's would make a Savage tame;
One Accent of that Tongue would calm the Seas,
Though all the Winds at once ftrove there for Empire.
Yet I, for whom she thinks all this too little,
Should I miscarry in this present Journey,
(From whence it is all Number to a Cypher,
I ne'er return with Honour) by thy Hand
Must have her murther'd.
Fran. Murther'd!-She that loves so,
And fo deserves to be belov'd again?
And I, who sometimes you were pleas'd to favour,
Pick'd out the Instrument?
Sfor. Do not fly off: What is decreed, can never be recall'd. 'Tis more than Love to her, that marks her out A wifh'd Companion to me, in both Fortunes: And ftrong Affurance of thy zealous Faith, That gives up to thy Trust a Secret, that Racks should not have forc'd from me. - Francisco, There is no Heav'n without her; nor a Hell, Where she refides. I ask from her but Justice, And what I would have paid to her, had Sickness,
Or any other Accident, divorc'd
Her purer Soul from her unspotted Body.
The flavish Indian Princes, when they die,
Are chearfully attended to the Fire
By the Wife and Slave, that living they lov'd best,
To do them Service in another World:
Nor will I be less honour'd, that love more.
And therefore trifle not, but in thy Looks
Express a ready Purpose to perform
What I command; or, by Marcelia's Soul,
This is thy latest Minute.
Of Death, but Love to you, makes me embrace it. But, for mine own Security, when 'tis done, What Warrant have I? If you please to fign one, I shall, though with Unwillingness and Horror, Perform your dreadful Charge.
But still remember, that a Prince's Secrets
Are Balm, conceal'd; but Poison, if discover'd.
I may come back; then this is but a Trial,
To purchase thee, if it were possible,
A nearer Place in my Affection-but
I know thee honest.
Fran. 'Tis a Character
I will not part with.
Sfor. I may live to reward it.
At the Opening of the THEATRE in DRURYLANE, 1747.
HEN Learning's Triumph o'er her bar
barous Foes,
First rear'd the Stage, immortal Skakespeare rose,
Each Change of many-colour'd Life he drew,
Exhausted Worlds, and then imagin'd new:
Existence saw him spurn her bounded Reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain.
His powerful Strokes prefiding Truth impress'd,
And unrefifting Passion storm'd the Breast.
Then Jonfon came, instructed from the School,
To please in Method, and invent by Rule;
His studious Patience, and laborious Art,
By regular Approach affail'd the Heart:
Cold Approbation gave the ling'ring Bays
For those who durft not cenfure, scarce could praise,
A Mortal born, he met the general Doom,
But left, like Egypt's Kings, a lasting Tomb.
The Wits of Charles found easier Ways to Fame,
Nor wish'd for Jonson's Art, or Shakespeare's Flame;
Them-
|