To clear a much-lov'd sister's injur'd fame
Eager impels to strictest inquisition,

May bring some tidings.

Sif. May kind Heaven direct

His steps where lurks their covert shame from day,

And from my just revenge!

Beauf. sen. Still, still thy rage,

With weak, precarious inference, concludes
Their unprov'd guilt. Be calm, and answer me.
Think'st thou thy wife, if bent on loose designs,
Would madly join an infant in her flight,
To impede her steps, and aggravate her shame?
Sif. O my confusion! where, where is my
child?

Alas, I had forgot the harmless innocent!-
Bring to my arms the poor deserted babe!
He knows no crime, and guiltless of offence
Shall put his little hands into my breast,
And ease a father's bosom of its sorrows.
Beauf. sen. Unhappy man! that comfort is
denied thee.

Sif. What means my father? Speak-yet ah, take heed!

My heart already is too deeply pierc'd,
To bear another wound---What of my child?
Beauf. sen. That he's the partner of his mo-
ther's flight,

Should calm, not raise the tempest of thy grief-
For proves it not by consequence direct,
Some secret injury, not guilt, hath driven
My hapless daughter from her husband's roof?
Sif. What injury, what crime could love like

mine

Commit against her? Was she not more dear, More precious to my heart, than the warm flood Which feeds its vital motion?

Beauf. sen. Ev'n that love, If open to the tales of calumny, Might wound her virtue with unjust suspicion. Besides, to rashness and credulity Shadows are dæmons, and a weak surmise Authentic proof. Who's her accuser? Sif. One

Whose taintless honour, and unshaken truth, Have oft been try'd, and ever stood approv'd. He, sir, whose friendship, with reluctant grief, At length disclos'd my shame, was honest Glanville:

Report from vulgar breath I had despis'd. Beauf. sen. So may high Heaven deal mercy to my child,

As I believe him treacherous and base.

Enter BEAUFORT Junior.

Beauf. sen. Here comes my son-What means this look of terror?

Beauf. jun. I fear, my father, some dread mischief-Ha!

Is he return'd!—Now may the powers avert This dire suspicion that strikes through my heart! Tell, I conjure thee tell me—where's my sister?

| Thou hast not murder'd her!

Sif. Good Heaven! what mean

My brother's dreadful words? Murder my wife! Speak, quickly speak!--My heart shrinks up with horror!

Whence are thy apprehensions?

Beauf. sen. My dear son,

Keep not thy father on the rack of doubt,
But speak thy fears.

Beauf. jun. What fate may have befallen
My injur'd sister, Heaven and thou best know-
But Paulet, whom thy fierce revenge pursu❜d,
This night is murder’d.

Sif. Ha! what say'st thou?-Paulet !

Is Paulet dead? How know'st thou he is murder'd?

Beauf. jun. In the dark path which to the cloister leads,

His sword is found, and bloody marks appear, That speak the deed too plain.

Sif. But where's my wife?

Was not she with him? Went they not together!
Beauf. jun. Together! no. The villain Glan-
ville's false!
My sister is traduc'd.

Sif. False! Glanville false !— What!-Paulet murder'd!-and my wife traduc'd!

Rack me, ye furies! tear me joint from joint!
Your pangs are nothing-I have done a deed,
No tortures can atone! Tremendous Power!
What tempest wrapt in darkness now prepares
To burst on my devoted head! What crime
Unknown, or unrepented, points me out,
The mark distinguish'd of peculiar vengeance?
Why turns the gracious all-benignant eye
Averse from me? O guide my steps to find
Where lurks this hidden mischief-

Beauf. jun. Lurks it not

In thine own breast?

Beauf. sen. My son, forbear.
Sif. Art thou,

My brother, so unkind! Would I have stabb'd
Thy heart, when breaking with convulsive pangs
Of dreadful doubt?-But I deserve unkindness-
I was unkind, was cruel to Cleone-
Yet lead me to her arms-though wrong'd, abus'd,
She, like offended Heaven, will still forgive.
My friend too, my best friend is murder'd! Oh,
What hand accurst hath wrought this web of wo?
Support me, mercy! 'tis too much, too much!
But let distraction come, and from my brain
Tear out the seat of memory, that I
No more may think, no more may be a wretch!
Beauf. sen. Be calm, my son. When Heaven's
high hand afflicts,

Submission best becomes us-nor let man,
The child of weakness, murmur.

ed

No time to bury 'em now-be that his care.―

(Erit. Cle. [Waking from her trance.] Where have I been? What horrid hand hath stamp'd This dreadful vision on my brain? O death! Have I not gain'd thy mansions? Am I still In this bad world? What ails my heart? my head?

Was not my child here with me? Sure he was-
And some foul dæmon terrifies my soul
With fears of murder. Gracious Heaven, for-
bid!

Conduct my steps, kind Providence, to where
My little wanderer strays, that I may know
This horror in my mind is but a dream.

[Exit.

Our views on earth.

Glan. Speak plainly—are they dead?
Rag. Both dead.

Gian. Swear, swear to this! And by all hope

Be vet secure.

Glan. Perchance! And do our lives

Depend on fickle chance? But speak-proceedWhence are thy fears?

Isab. In close concealment hid,

This moment I o'erheard a whisper'd scheme
Of seizing thee.

Glan. Confusion! Can it be?

Can Ragozin, the villain, have betray'd me?
Isab. I fear he hath. Where is he?
Glan. Not return'd

From Baden wood, to ascertain the deed

That crowns our business. Were but that se

cure,

My tortur'd soul, torn on the rack of doubt,
Might yet feel peace. How wears the time?
Isab. Two hours

Are wanting yet to midnight.

Glan. Where's Sifroy?

Isab. With Beaufort. But perplexing doubts distract

His reason, that all power to act forsakes him.
Still farther to alarm--deep-stain'd with gore,
The sword of Paulet's found, and other marks
That speak him murder'd.

Glan. That's beyond my wish:
And tells but what I wanted to proclaim.

Isab. Proclaim! What mean'st thou? Doth it not conduce

To our detection? Doth it not confirm
Their dark suspicions?

Glan. The short line, alas,

Of thy weak thought, in vain would sound the depth

Of my designs. But rest thee well assur'd,
I have foreseen, and am prepar'd to meet
All possible events.

Isab. O grant, good Heaven--

Great God! how dreadful 'tis to be engag'd In what we dare not pray that Heaven may prosper!

Glan. Curse on thy boding tongue! Let me
not hear

Its superstitious weakness--Hush! who comes?
No more 'tis Ragozin-Now sleep distrust.
First let me learn if he hath done the deed;
If not, I am betray'd, and will awake
In vengeance on his falsehood.

Swear thou hast not betray'd me!

Rug. Whence arise

These base suspicions? I disdain that crime!

Though branded with the name of an assassin,

I am not yet so mean as to betray.

Glan. Distraction!-may I trust thee?
Rag. As thou wilt.

Glan. [Pausing.] It must be so-we still are safe: and this

Pretence of strong suspicion is no more
Than subtile artifice, contriv'd to draw
Th' unwary to confession.

Rag. 'Tis no more.

Glun. Nor will I more than with a just con

tempt

Regard it. All our deeds of blood are done.
What now remains, the law shall execute.

Rag. What's thy intent?

Glan. The thrust thus aim'd at me, Shall deeply pierce Sifroy's unguarded bosom. Thy aid once more, as witness to his threats.

Rag. Freely I would, but safety now requires That I abscond. The stipulated sum, Forgive me therefore, if I claim this night. Glan. 'Tis thine. But hark!-retire-I hear his step

One moment wait-at his return, 'tis thine. Rag. [Aside.] Curs'd chance! Were I possess'd of my reward,

Who would might wait thee now-nor will I more Than some short moments rest unsatisfied.

That he who led astray the willing wife,

Thy folly doats on-he

Sif. Blasphemer! stop

By treacherous arts?--Hast thou with falsehood vile

Inflam'd this hapless breast ?---And would'st thou

now

Infer my guilt, from my provok'd resentment? Glan. Lean'd I on feeble inference---I would

ask,

saint

Enshrines a soul as spotless as her form.

With Paulet?

Glan. True: I did.

Sif. Art thou not sure

What dark design, by blackest fiends inspir'd, Lurks in thy treacherous soul? Tremendous Power!

Have I then sinn'd beyond all hope of mercy? Must the deep phial of thy vengeance, pour'd On my devoted head, be pour'd from him? But all thy ways are just! To him I gave That credit which I ow'd my injur'd love--He now, by thy supreme decree, stands forth The avenger of my crime.

Enter BEAUFORT Senior, Officers, &c. Beauf. sen. Seize there your victim. Glan. What means this outrage?-Upon what pretence

Beauf. sen. The bloody hand of murder points

out thee

To strong suspicion. Turn'st thou pale?--O

wretch!

Thy guilt drinks up thy blood.

Glan. Not guilt, but rage!

Who dares accuse me?

Beauf, sen. I. Where's Paulet? where

My daughter? who thou basely said'st were fled Together?

Glan. That his poniard found the way To part their steps, impeaches not my truth. Beauf, sen. His poniard!

Glan. His. I should have scorn'd to charge The man, whose honour I think deeply wrong'd; But my own life attempted thus, demands

hat truth should rise to light. Cam'st thou not here,

Driven by the fury of a dire revenge?
What other motive urg'd thy desperate haste?
Sif. Insidious slave! hast thou ensnar'd my
soul

[Shewing the letter. Would do the righteous deed-for so his rage Calls Paulet's murder.

Beauf. sen. Ha! What can I think! Unhappy man! and hast thou to the crime Of rash suspicion, added that of murder?

Sif. My father, hear thy son; I plead not for My life, but justice.-That I am a wretch, Groaning bencath the weight of Heaven's just

ire

That snared and caught in meditated wiles,
I banish'd from my house a guiltless wife-
That burning with revenge, I flew to quench
My wrath in Paulet's blood--all this I own.
But by the sacred eye of Providence!
That views each human step, and still detects
The murderer's deed; of this imputed crime
My heart is ignorant, my hands are clear.

Beauf. sen. I wish thee innocent--
Glan. Have then my words

No weight? and is his own attesting hand
No proof against him? Is her secret flight,
An accident? No more--O partial man!
To hide thy daughter's shame, thou seek'st my
life.

But I appeal from thee to public justice.

Beauf. sen. To that thou art consign'd: and may the hand

Of strict inquiry drag to open day
All secret guilt, though shame indelible
Should brand a daughter nearest to my heart.
Heaven aid my search! I seck not blood, but

truth.

Guard safe your prisoner to the magistrate,
I'll follow you. The justice thou demand'st,
Thou shalt not want.

Glan. 'Tis well: I ask no more.
Let Ragozin, let Isabella too

Attend the magistrate--on them I call
To clear my slander'd name.

Beauf. sen. It shall be so.

Take them this instant to your strictest care.
Thou too, Sifroy, be ready to attend.

Sf. O think not I will leave him, till full proof Condemn him or acquit.

Beauf. sen. The cause demands it.

[Exeunt Officers with GLANVILLE guarded. Sif. Whence has the miscreant this unusual firmness?

Can guilt be free from terror?

Beauf. sen. No, my son:

And through the mask of smooth hypocrisy,
Methinks I see conceal'd a trembling heart.
If he be true, my daughter must be false:
If he be guiltless, who hath murder'd Paulet?
Sif. There, there, thank Heaven! my hands
are innocent.

But oh, my love!-Conduct me where she strays
Forlorn and comfortless! Alas, who knows---
Her tender heart perhaps this moment breaks
With my unkindness! Wretch! what hast thou
lost!

Enter BEAUFORT Junior.

Beauf. jun. Thy soul's sweet peace!-Never,

no never more

To be regain'd!—Shame, anguish, and despair Shall haunt thy future hours! Severe remorse Shall strike his vulture talons through thy heart, And rend thy vital threads.

Beauf. sen. What means my son ?

Sif. My brother!--If I may conjure thee yet By that dear name,

Beauf. jun. Thou may'st not-I disclaim it. Sif. Why dost thou still alarm my shuddering soul

With rising terrors?

Beauf. sen. My dear son, relieve Thy father from this dread suspence!

Beauf. jun. O sir! how shall I speak! or in what words

Unfold the horrors of this night ?-My sister-
Lost to her wretched self-through dreary wilds
Wanders distracted-void of reason's light
To guide her devious feet.

Beauf. sen. Support me, Heaven!
Then every hope is fled!--Thy will be done!---
Where is my child? Where was she found?
Beauf. jun. Alas!

Of soul too delicate, too soft to bear

Unjust reproach, and undeserved shame,
Distraction seiz'd her in the gloom of night,

As passing through the wood she sought the arms
Of a protecting father.

Sif. Do I live?

Is such a wretch permitted still to breathe?
Why opens not this earth? Why sleeps above
The lightning's vengeful blast? Is Heaven unjust?
Or am I still reserv'd for deeper wo?
I hope not mercy-that were impious-
Pour then on my bare head, ye ministers
Of wrath! your hottest vengeance--
Beauf. jun. Stop-forbear-

Nor imprecate that vengeance, which unseen
Already hangs o'er thy devoted life.

Thou know'st not yet the measure of thy wo.
Thy child, thy lovely babe, a bloody corse,

Lies breathless by his frantic mother's side-
Much to be fear'd, by her own hand destroy'd,
When reason in her brain had lost dominion.
Sif. My child too gone!-Then misery is com-
plete---

O my torn heart!-Is there in heaven no pity?
None, none for me! The wrongs of all I lov'd
To heaven ascending, bar th' eternal gates,

And close the ear of mercy 'gainst my prayer.
But fate's last bolt is thrown, and I am curst
Beyond all power to sharpen torture's pang.
Yes, I am scorn'd, abandon'd, and cast out
By heaven and earth !-I must not call thee fa-
ther-

I have undone thee, robb'd thee of the name,
And now, myself am childless, and undone.
Beauf. sen. Forbear, my son, to aggravate thy
grief,

Already too severe. Kind Providence
May yet restore, and harmonize her mind.
Sif. May Heaven pour blessings on thy reve
rend head

For that sweet hope! but say, where shall I see her?

How bear the dreadful sight!

Beauf. jun. Dreadful indeed!

On the cold earth they found her laid: her head,
Supported on her arm, bung o'er her child,
The image of pale grief, lamenting innocence.
Sometimes she speaks fond words, and seems to
smile

On the dead babe as 'twere alive.-Now, like
The melancholy bird of night, she pours
A soft and melting strain, as if to sooth
Its slumbers and now clasps it to her breast,
Cries, Glanville is not here--fear not, my love,
He shall not come-Then wildly throws her eyes
Around, and in the tenderest accent calls
Aloud on thee, to save her from dishonour!

Sif. Haste, let us haste-distracted thus, she

let us fly.

Let Glanville too attend. From the wild words
Of madness and delirium, he who struck
From darkness light-may call discovery forth,
To guide our footsteps.

Beauf. jun. Just is your resolve,
And I will follow you-but have receiv'd
Intelligence of Paulet that imports us.

Sif. Of Paulet! of my friend! What may it
be?

Beauf. jun. As yet I'm ignorant.
Beauf. sen. To gain us light,
Be no means left untried.

Sif. But haste, we linger.

(Exit BEAUF. jun.

Yet whither can I fly? where seek for peace? In its most tender vein my heart is wounded! Had I been smote in any other part,

I could have borne with firmness; but in thee, My wrong'd, my ruin'd love, I bleed to death.