FATAL CURIOSITY: A TRAGEDY, IN THREE ACTS. BY GEORGE LILLO. REMARKS. THE story of this piece is very simple and affecting, and is said to have been founded on a fact which happened on the western coast of England. The circumstance of a son, long absent from his parents, keeping himself, on his return to visit them, for some time unknown, is unforced; while at the same time their inducement, from the depth of distress and penury, to perpetrate his murder, for the sake of the treasures he had shown them, is productive of some very fine scenes of intermingled horror and tenderness. Mr. Lillo rendered the distresses of common and domestic life as interesting to the audience, as those of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on private families by an indulgence of avarice, lust, &c. as the hayoc made in states and empires by ambition, cruelty, or tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of Feversham, are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have always drawn tears from the audience, and even the critics have laid down their pens to take out the handkerchief. ACT I. Enjoys the sad prerogative above him, SCENE I-A Room in OLD WILMOT's House. To think, and to be wretched.-What is life, Enter OLD WILMOT. O. Wil. The day is far advanc'd; the cheerful sun Pursues with vigour his repeated course; Yet man, of jarring elements compos'd, To him that's born to die! or what that wisdom, Mere contradiction all! a tragic farce, Of wind last night. Who posts from change to change, from the first O. Wil. It was a dreadful one. hour Of his frail being till his dissolution, Ran. Some found it so. A noble ship from India Ent'ring in the harbour, run upon a rock, And there was lost. O. Wil. What 'came of those on board her? Ran. Some few are sav'd; but much the greater part, 'Tis thought, are perished, O. Wil. They are past the fear Of future tempests or a wreck on shore; Ran. I saw her pass the High-street, towards O. Wil. She's gone to visit Charlotte-She In the soft bosom of that gentle maid, Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and great; Who own her charms, and sigh to make her happy. Since our misfortunes, we have found no friend, How long hast thou been with me? Ran. Fifteen years. I was a very child when first you took me, O. Wil. That cannot be reviv'd, Ran. The whole of my intent Was to confess your bounty, that supplied O. Wil. No more of that.-Thou'st serv'd me longer since Without reward; so that account is balanc'd, Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity? O. Wil. What! canst thou feed on air? Ran. Rather than leave you thus, O. Wil. Down, down my swelling heart, Ran. 'Tis true; I'm young, And never tried my fortune, or my genius; Which may, perhaps, find out some happy means As yet unthought of, to supply your wants. O. Wil. Thou tortur'st me-I hate all obliga tions Which I can ne'er return. And who art thou, Ran. Be not offended, Sir, and I will go: O. Wil. Farewell-StayAs thou art yet a stranger to the world, Of which, alas! I've had too much experience, I should, methinks, before we part, bestow A little counsel on thee. Dry thy eyesIf thou weep'st thus, I shall proceed no farther. Dost thou aspire to greatness, or to wealth, Quit books and the unprofitable search Of wisdom there, and study human kind: No science will avail thee without that; But, that obtain'd, thou need'st not any other. This will instruct thee to conceal thy views, And wear the face of probity and honour, "Till thou hast gain'd thy end; which must be -Ran. Is this the man I thought so wise and | Patience shall cherish hope, nor wrong his honour just? What! teach and counsel me to be a villain! Sure grief has made him frantic, or some fiend Assumed his shape-I shall suspect my senses. High-minded he was ever, and improvident; But pitiful and generous to a fault: Pleasure he loved, but honour was his idol. O, fatal change! O, horrid transformation ! So a majestic temple, sunk to ruin, Becomes the loathsome shelter and abode Of lurking serpents, toads, and beasts of prey; And scaly dragons hiss, and lions roar, Where wisdom taught, and music charmed before. [Exit. SCENE II.—A Parlour in CHARLOTTE's House. Enter CHARLOTTE and MARIA. Char. What terror and amazement must they Who die by shipwreck? [feel Mar. 'Tis a dreadful thought! Char. Ay; is it not, Maria? to descend, Living and conscious, to that wat❜ry tomb! Alas! had we no sorrows of our own, The frequent instances of others' woe Must give a gen'rous mind a world of pain. But you forget you promised me to sing. Though cheerfulness and I have long been stran gers, Harmonious sounds are still delightful to me. Mar. Cease, cease, heart-easing tears; Dear cause of all my pain, Maid e'er deplor'd. [CHARLOTTE finds a letter. Char. What's this?-A letter, superscribed to me! None could convey it here but you, Maria: Mar. Why should it break your peace, to hear the sighs Of honourable love? This letter is By unjust suspicion. I know his truth, Can witness, they were made without reserve; Mar. And did your vows oblige you to support Well may you weep to think on what you've His haughty parents, to your utter ruin? done. For their support. What will become of 'em Mar. What I can't praise, you force me to And mourn for you, as you lament for them. Char. So pride would tell me, And if, by wanting pleasure, I have gained Mar. You have the heavenly art, still to im prove Your mind by all events. But here comes one, heart. Though perishing with want, so far from asking, Enter AGNES, Char. This visit 's kind. [Exit MARIA. Agn. Few else would think it so: Those who would once have thought themselves much honoured By the least favour, though 'twere but a look, To the low level of the common herd, Char. By scorning, we provoke them to con- And thus offend, and suffer in our turns: Agn. No, I scorn them yet. But there's no end of suff'ring: who can say Their sorrows are complete? My wretched husband, Tired with our woes, and hopeless of relief, Char. No matter whence-return it back un- Grows sick of life. opened. I have no love, no charms, but for my Wilmot, Nor would have any. Mar. Alas! Wilmot's dead; Or, living, dead to you. Char. I'll not despair; And, urged by indignation and despair, Char. Gracious heaven, support him! Whom he would fain persuade to share his fate, |