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MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES:

A SACRED DRAMA.

Let me assert eternal Providence,

And justify the ways of God to man.

Paradise Lost.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

HEBREW WOMEN.

JOCHEBED, Mother of Moses.

MIRIAM, his sister, a Prophetess.

EGYPTIANS.

The PRINCESS, king Pharaoh's daughter

MELITA; and other attendants.

Scene. On the banks of the Nile.

The subject is taken from the second chapter of the Book of Exodus.

MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES.

PART I.

JOCHEBED, MIRIAM.

Joch. WHY was my prayer accepted? why did
Heaven

In anger hear me, when I ask'd a son?
Ye dames of Egypt! ye triumphant mothers!
You no imperial tyrant marks for ruin;
You are not doom'd to see the babes you bore,
The babes you fondly nurture, bleed before you!
You taste the transports of a mother's love,
Without a mother's anguish! wretched Israel!
Can I forbear to mourn the different lot

Of thy sad daughters! -Why did God's own hand
Rescue his chosen race by Joseph's care?
Joseph! th' elected instrument of Heaven,
Decreed to save illustrious Abraham's sons,
What time the famine raged in Canaan's land.
Israel, who then was spared, must perish now!

Thou great mysterious Power, who hast involv'd
Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex
The pride of human wisdom, to confound
The daring scrutiny, and prove the faith
Of thy presuming creatures! hear me now:
O vindicate thy honour; clear this doubt,

Teach me to trace this maze of Providence:
Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish?
Mir. Ah me, my mother! whence these floods of
grief!

Joch. My son! my son! I cannot speak the rest.
Ye who have sons, can only know my fondness!
Ye who have lost them, or who fear to lose,

Can only know my pangs! none else can guess them. A mother's sorrows cannot be conceiv'd

But by a mother.-Would I were not one!

Mir. With earnest prayers thou didst request this

son,

And Heaven has granted him.

Joch.
O sad estate
Of human wretchedness; so weak is man,
So ignorant and blind, that did not God
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,
We should be ruin'd at our own request.

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Too well thou knowst, my child, the stern decree Of Egypt's cruel king, hard-hearted Pharaoh ; 66 That every male, of Hebrew mother born, "Must die.' Oh! do I live to tell it thee? Must die a bloody death! My child, my son, My youngest born, my darling must be slain ! Mir. The helpless innocent! and must he die? Joch. No: if a mother's tears, a mother's prayers, A mother's fond precautions, can prevail, He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam, And sure the God of mercies who inspir'd, Will bless the secret purpose of my soul, To save his precious life.

Mir.

Hopest thou that PharaohJoch. I have no hope in Pharaoh, much in God; Much in the Rock of ages.

Mir.

Think, O think,

What perils thou already hast incurr'd,

And shun the greater which may yet remain.

Three months, three dangerous months thou hast

preserv❜d

Thy infant's life, and in thy house conceal'd him! Should Pharaoh know!

Joch.

Oh! let the tyrant know,
And feel what he inflicts! Yes, hear me, Heaven!
Send thy right-aiming thunderbolts-But hush,
My impious murmurs! Is it not thy will;
Thou, infinite in mercy? Thou permitt'st
This seeming evil for some latent good.

Yes, I will laud thy grace, and bless thy goodness
For what I have, and not arraign thy wisdom
For what I fear to lose. O, I will bless thee,
That Aaron will be spar'd! that my first-born
Lives safe and undisturb'd! that he was given me
Before this impious persecution raged!

Mir. And yet who knows, but the fell tyrant's rage May reach his precious life.

Joch.

I fear for him,
For thee, for all. A doting parent lives

In many lives; through many a nerve she feels;
From child to child the quick affections spread,
For ever wand'ring, yet for ever fix'd.

Nor does division weaken, nor the force
Of constant operation e'er exhaust

Parental love. All other passions change
With changing circumstances; rise or fall,
Dependent on their object; claim returns;
Live on reciprocation, and expire

Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns
Without a rival, and without an end.

Mir. But say what Heaven inspires to save thy son?

Joch. Since the dear fatal morn which gave him birth,

I have revolv'd in my distracted mind

Each means to save his life: and many a thought
Which fondness prompted, prudence has opposed

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