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Pal. What would the tyrant? Mah. Raise thy thoughts to glory : And sweep this Zaphna from thy memory, With all that's past-Let that mean flame expire

Before the blaze of empire's radiaut sun. Thy grateful heart must answer to my bounties, [quests. Follow, my laws, and share in all my conPal. What laws, what bounties, and what conquests, tyrant?

Fraud is thy law, the tomb thy only bounty;
Thy conquests, fatal as infected air,
Dispeopling half the globe!-See here, good
Heaven!

The venerable prophet I revered,
The king 1 served, the god that I adored!
Mah. [Approaches her.] Whence this un-

fiends!

wonted language, this wild frenzy ? Pal. Where is the spirit of my inartyr'd father? Where Zaphna's? where Palmira's innocence? Blasted by thee-by thee, infernal monster! Thou found'st us angels and hast made us [virtue ! Give, give us back our lives, our fame, our Thou canst not, tyrant!-yet thou seek'st my [love! Seek'st with Alcanor's blood, his daughter's Mah. Horror and death! the fatal secret's known! [Aside.

love

Re-enter MIRVAN.

Mir. Oh, Mahomet! all's lost, thy glory tarnish'd,

And the insatiate tomb ripe to devour us!
Hercides' parting breath divulged the secret.
The prison's forced, the city all in arms:
See, where they bear aloft their murder'd
chief,

Fell Zaphna in their front, death in his looks, Rage all his strength. Spite of the deadly draught,

He holds in life but to make sure of vengeance. Mah. What dost thou here then? instant with our guards,

Attempt to stem their progress, till the arrival
Of Omar with the troops.
Mir. I haste, my lord.

[Exit. Pal. Now, now, my hour's at hand! Hear'st thou those shouts, that rend the ambient air? [horrors See'st thou those glancing fires, that add new To the night's gloom?-Fresh from thy murdering poniard,

My father's spirit leads the vengeful shades Of all the wretches whom thy sword has butcher'd!

Mah. What terror's this, that hangs upon her accents?

I feel her virtue, though I know her weakness. [Aside. Pal. Thou ask'st my love; go, seek it in the grave

Of good Alcanor-Talk'st of grateful minds; Bid Zaphna plead for thee, and I may hear

thee:

Till then thou art my scorn- -May'st thou, like me,

Behold thy dearest blood spilt at thy feet.
Mecca, Medina, all our Asian world,
Join, join to drive the impostor from the earth,
Blush at his chains, and shake them off in ven-

geance!

Mah. Be still, my soul, nor let a woman's

rage

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My joints unloose-sure, 'tis the stroke of fate!

Mah. The poison works-then triumph, Ma-
homet!

Zaph. Off, off, base lethargy!
Pal. Brother, dismay'd!

[Aside.

Hast thou no power but in a guilty cause,
And only strength to be a parricide?

Zuph. Spare that reproach-Come on-It
will not be.

[Hangs down his sword, and reclines on
PHARON.

Some cruel power unnerves my willing arm,
Blasts my resolves, and weighs me down to

earth.

Mah. Such be the fate of all who brave our
law
[now
Nature and death have heard my voice, and
Let Heaven be judge 'twixt Zaphna and my-
self,

And instant blast the guilty of the two!
Pal. Brother! Oh, Žaphna!

Zaph. Zaphna, now no more.

[Sinks down by ALCANOR'S Body, and leans on the Bier; PHARON kneels down with him, and supports him.

Down, down, good Pharon-Thou, poor injured corse,

May I embrace thee? Wont thy pallid
wound

Purple anew at the unnatural touch,
And ooze fresh calls for vengeance?
Pul. Oh, my brother!

Zaph. In vain's the guiltless meaning of my
heart;

High Heaven detests th' involuntary crime,
And dooms for parricide-Then tremble, ty-
rant!

If the Supreme can punish error thus,
What new-invented tortures must await
Thy soul, grown leprous with such foul of
fences!

But soft-now fate and nature are at strife-
Sister, farewell! with transport should I

quit

This toilsome, perilous, delusive stage,
But that I leave thee on't-leave thee, Pal-
mira,

Exposed to what is worse than fear can image--
That tyrant's mercy-Look on her, Heaven!

Guide her, and

-Oh!

[Dies.

Pal. Think not, ye men of Mecca, This death inflicted by the hand of Heaven; "Tis he-that viper!

Mah. Know, ye faithless wretches!

"Tis mine to deal the bolts of angry Heaven!
Behold them there; and let the wretch who
doubts,
[homet
Tremble at Zaphna's fate, and know that Ma-
Can read his thoughts, and doom him with a
look.

Go then, and thank your pontiff, and your
prince,

For each day's sun he grants you to behold.
Hence, to your temples, and appease my rage!
[The People go off.
Pal. Ah, stay! my brother's murder'd by

this tyrant!

By poison, not by piety, he kills.

Muh. 'Tis done-Thus ever be our law re-
ceived!

Now, fair Palmira

Pal. Monster! is it thus

[Aside.

Thou mak'st thyself a god, by added crimes,
And murders, justified by sacrilege?

Mah. Think, exquisite Palmira, for thy sake

Pal. Thou'st been the murderer of all my

race.

See where Alcanor, see where Zaphna lies!
Do they not call for me too, at thy hands!
Oh that they did!-But I can read thy
thoughts;

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Palmira's saved for something worse than
death;
This to prevent-Zaphna, I follow thee!
[Stabs herself with ZAPHNA's Sword.
Mah. What hast thou done?
Pal. A deed of glory, tyrant!
Thou'st left no object worth Palmira's eye,
And when I shut out light, I shut out thee.
[Dies.

Mah. Farewell, dear victim of my bound-
less passion!
Oh, justice, justice!

In vain are glory, worship, and dominion!
All conqueror as I am, I am a slave,
And, by the world adored, dwell with the
damn'd!

My crimes have planted scorpions in my
breast-

Here, here I feel them! "Tis in vain to brave
The host of terrors that invade my soul—
I might deceive the world, myself I cannot.
Ali. Be calm awhile, my lord; think what

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hell! I'll none on't

[Draws his Sword. Ali. Heaven's! help-hold him! [ALI, &c. disarm him. Mah. Paltry dastards! You fled the foe, but can disarm your master. Angel of death, whose power I've long proclaim'd,

Now aid me, if thou canst!-now, if thou
canst,

Draw the kind curtain of eternal night,
And shroud me from the horrors that beset
me!
[Exeunt MAHOMET, &c.
Phar. Oh! what a curse is life, when self.
conviction

Flings our offences hourly in our face,
And turns existence torturer to itself!
Here let the mad enthusiast turn his eyes,
And see, from bigotry, what horrors rise!
Here, in the blackest colours, let him read,
That zeal, by craft misled, may act a deed,
By which both innocence and virtue bleed.
[Exeunt

EPILOGUE.

LONG has the shameful license of the age
With senseless ribaldry disgraced the stage:

So much indecencies have been in vogue,
They pleaded custom in an epilogue;
As if the force of reason was a yoke;
So heavy-they must ease it with a joke;
Disarm the moral of its virtuous sway,
Or else the audience go displeased away.
How have I blush'd to see a tragic queen
With ill-timed mirth disgrace the well-wrote
scene,

From all the sad solemnity of wo

Trip nimbly forth-to ridicule a beau;

Then, as the loosest airs she had been gleaning,

Coquet the fan, and leer a double meaning!

Shame on those arts that prostitute the bays! Shame on the bard who this way hopes for praise!

The bold but honest author of to-night
Disdains to please you if he please not right;
If in his well-meant scene you chance to find
Aught to ennoble or enlarge the mind,
If he has found the means, with honest art,
To fix the noblest wishes in the heart,
In softer accents to inform the fair
How bright they look when virtue drops the
tear,

Enjoy with friendly welcome the repast,
And keep the heartfelt relish to the last.

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PROLOGUE.

In this grave age, when comedies are few, We crave your patronage for one that's new; Though 'twere poor stuff, yet bid the Author fair,

And let the scarceness recommend the ware. Long have your ears been fill'd with tragic parts, [hearts: Blood and blank-verse have harden'd all your If e'er you smile, 'tis at some party strokes ; Round-heads and wooden-shoes are standing jokes ;

The same conceit gives claps and bisses birth, You're grown such politicians in your mirth! For once we try (though 'tis, I own, unsafe) To please you all, and make both parties laugh.

Our Author, anxious for his fame to-night, And bashful in his first attempt to write, Lies cautiously obscure and unreveal'd," Like ancient actors in a mask conceal'd. Censure, when no man knows who writes the

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Each wit may praise it for his own dear sake,
And hint he writ it, if the thing should take.
But, if you're rough, and use him like a dog,
Depend upon it—he'll remain incog.
If you should hiss, he swears he'll hiss as
high,

And, like a culprit, join the hue and cry.
If cruel men are still averse to spare
These scenes, they fly for refuge to the fair.
Though with a ghost our Comedy be height-
en'd,
[en'd.
Ladies, upon my word, you sha'n't be fright-
Oh, 'tis a ghost that seems to be uncivil,
A well spread, lusty, jointure-hunting devil;
An amorous ghost, that's faithful, fond, and
true,

Made up of flesh and blood-as much as you. Then every evening come in flocks, undaunted; We never think this house is too much haunted.

ACT I.

SCENE 1.-A great Hall.

Enter the BUTLER, COACHMAN, and GARDENER.

But. There came another coach to town last

night, that brought a gentleman to inquire about this strange noise we hear in the house. This spirit will bring a power of custom to the George-If so be he continues his pranks, I design to sell a pot of ale, and set up the sign of the Drum.

Coach. I'll give Madam warning, that's flat -I've always lived in sober families. I'll not disparage myself to be a servant in a house that's haunted.

Gard. I'll e'en marry Nell, and rent a bit of ground of my own, if both of you leave Madam; not but that Madam's a very good woman-if Mrs. Abigail did not spoil herCome, here's her health.

But. 'Tis a very hard thing to be a Butler in a house that is disturbed. He made such a racket in the cellar last night, that I'm afraid he'll sour all the beer in my barrels.

Coach. Why then, John, we ought to take it off as fast as we can. Here's to you-He rattled so loud under the tiles last night, that I verily thought the house would have fallen over our heads. I durst not go up into the cock-loft this morning, if I had not got one of the maids to go along with me. Gard. I thought I heard him in one of my bed-postsI marvel, John, how he gets into the house, when all the gates are shut. But. Why look ye, Peter, your spirit will creep you into an auger-hole-he'll whisk ye through a key-hole, without so much as jostling against one of the wards.

Coach. Poor Madam is mainly frighted, that's certain; and verily believes it is my master that was killed in the last campaign.

But. Out of all manner of question, Robin, 'tis Sir George; Mrs. Abigail is of opinion it can be none but his honour: he always loved the wars; and you know was mightily pleased from a child with the music of a drum.

Gard. I wonder his body was never found after the battle.

But. Found! Why, ye fool, is not his body here about the house? dost thou think he can beat his drum without hands and arms?

Coach. 'Tis master as sure as I stand here alive; and I verily believe I saw him last night in the town close.

Gard. Ay! how did he appear.
Coach. Like a white horse.

But. Pho, Robin, I tell thee he has never appeared yet but in the shape of the sound of a drum.

Coach. This makes one almost afraid of one's own shadow. As I was walking from the stable t'other night, without my lanthorn, I fell across a beam that lay in my way, and faith my heart was in my mouth-I thought I had stumbled over a spirit.

But. Thou might'st as well have stumbled over a straw. Why, a spirit is such a little thing, that I have heard a man, who was a great scholar, say, that he'll dance ye a Lancashire hornpipe upon the point of a needle

-As I sat in the pantry last night, counting my spoons, the candle, methought, burnt blue, and the spayed bitch looked as if she saw something.

Coach. Ay, poor cur, she's almost frightened out of her wits.

Gard. Ay, I warrant ye, she hears him many a time, and often, when we don't.

But. My lady must have him laid, that's certain, whatever it cost her.

Gard. I fancy when one goes to market, one

might hear of somebody that can make a spell. Coach. Why may not the parson of our parish lay him?

But, No, no, no; our parson cannot lay him.

Coach. Why not he as well as another man? But. Why, ye foul, he is not qualified-He has not taken the oaths.

Gard. Why, d'ye think, John, that the spirit would take the law of him?-Faith, I could tell you one way to drive him off. Couch. How's that?

Gard. I'll tell you immediately. [Drinks.]— I fancy Mrs. Abigail might scold him out of the house.

Coach. Ay, she has a tongue that would drown his drum, if any thing could.

But. Pugh, this is all froth; you understand nothing of the matter- The next time it makes a noise, I tell you what ought to be done-I would have the steward speak Latin to it.

Coach. Ay, that would do, if the steward had but courage.

Gard. There you have it-He's a fearful man. If I had as much learning as he, and I met the ghost, I'd tell him his own: but alack, what can us poor men do with a spirit, that can neither write nor read?

But. Thou art always cracking and boast ing, Peter; thou dost not know what mischief it might do thee, if such a silly dog as thee should offer to speak to it: for aught I know, he might flea thee alive, and make parchment of thy skin to cover his drum with.

Gard. A fiddlestick! tell not me-1 fear nothing, not I! I never did harm in my life; I never committed murder.

But. I verily believe thee: keep thy temper, Peter; after supper we'll drink each of us a double mug, and then let come what will.

Gard. Why that's well said, John: An honest man that is not quite sober, has nothing to fear.-Here's to ye-Why, how if he should come this minute, here would I stand. Ha! what noise is that?

But, and Coach. Ha! where?

Gard. The devil! the devil! Oh no; 'tis Mrs. Abigail.

But. Ay, faith! 'tis she; 'tis Mrs. Abigail! A good mistake! 'tis Mrs. Abigail.

Enter ABIGAIL.

Ali. Here are your drunken sots for you! Is this a time to be guzzling, when gentry are come to the house? Why don't you lay your cloth? How come you out of the stables? Why are you not at work in your garden?

Gard. Why, yonder's the fine Londoner and Madam fetching a walk together; and methought they looked as if they should say they had rather have my room than my company.

But. And so forsooth, being all three met together, we are doing our endeavours to drink this same drummer out of our heads.

Gard. For you must know, Mrs. Abigail, we are all of opinion that one can't be a match for him, unless one be as drunk as a drum.

Coach. I am resolved to give Madam warning to hire herself another coachman; for I came to serve my master, d'ye see, while he was alive; but do suppose that he has no further occasion for a coach, now he walks.

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