Enter SIR JOHN FLOWERDALE and JENKINS.

Sir J. Go, Jenkins, and desire that young gentleman to come back-[Exit JENKINS.]Stay where you are [TO CLARISSA.] But what have I done to you, my child? How have I deserved that you should treat me like an enemy! Has there been any undesigned rigour in my conduct, or terror in my looks? Clar. Oh, Sir!

Re-enter JENKINS, with LIONEL.
Jenk. Here is Mr. Lionel.

Sir J. Come in-When I tell you that I am instructed in all your proceedings, and that I have been ear-witness to your conversation in this place, you will perhaps imagine what my thoughts are of you, and the measures which justice prescribes me to follow.

Lion. Sir, I have nothing to say in my own defence; I stand before you self-convicted, self-condemned, and shall submit without murmuring to the sentence of my judge.

Sir J. As for you, Clarissa, since your earliest infancy, you have known no parent but me; I have been to you at once both father and mother; and, that I might the better fulfil those united duties, though left a widower in the prime of my days, I would never enter into a second marriageI loved you for your likeness to your dear mother, but that mother never deceived meand there the likeness fails-you have repaid my affection with dissimulation-Clarissa, you should have trusted me. As for you, Mr. Lionel, what terms can I find strong enough to paint the excess of my friendship!-I loved, I esteemed, I honoured your father: he was a brave, a generous, and a sincere man: I thought you inherited his good qualities-you were left an orphan, I adopted you, put you upon the footing of my own son; educated you like a gentleman; and designed you for a profession, to which I thought your virtues would have been an ornament. What return you have made me, you seem to be acquainted with yourself; and therefore I shall not repeat it.-Yet, remember, as an aggravation of your guilt, that the last mark of my bounty was conferred upon you in the very instant when you were undermining my designs. Now, Sir, I have but one thing more to say to you-Take my daughter: was she worth a million, she is at your service.

Lion. To me, Sir!--your daughter-do you give her to me?-Without fortune, without friends!-without

Sir J. You have them all in your heart; him whom virtue raises, fortune cannot abase. Clar. O Sir, let me on my knees kiss that dear hand-acknowledge my error, and entreat forgiveness and blessing.

Sir J. You have not erred, my dear daughter; you have distinguished. It is I should ask pardon for this little trial of you; for I am nappier in the son-in-law you have given me, than if you had married a prince

Lion. My patron-my friend-my father-I would fain say something; but, as your goodness exceeds all bounds

Sir J. I think I hear a coach drive into the court; it is Colonel Oldboy's family; I will go and receive them. Don't make yourself uneasy at this; we must endeavour to pacify them as well as we can. My dear Lionel, if I have made you happy, you have made me

so; Heaven bless you, my children, and make you deserving of one another. [Exeunt SIR JOHN FLOWERDALE and JENKINS, Jenny. O dear, Madam, upon my knees, I humbly beg your forgiveness-Dear Mr. Lionel, forgive me-I did not design to discover it, indeed-and you wont turn me off, Madam, will you? I'll serve you for nothing.

Clar. Get up, my goou Jenny; I freely forgive you if there is any thing to be forgiven. know you love me; and, I am sure here is one who will join with me in rewarding your services.

could be, that some good would happen, by Jenny. Well, if I did not know, as sure as my left eye itching this morning. [Exit.

Lion. O bliss unexpected; my joys over

power me!

My love, my Clarissa, what words shall I find!

Remorse, desperation, no longer devour

me

He bless'd us, and peace is restor❜d to my mind.

Clar. He bless'd us! O rapture! Like one I

recover

Whom death had appall'd, without hope, without aid;

A moment depriv'd me of father and lover;

A moment restores, and my pangs are repaid.

Lion. Forsaken, abandon'd,
Clar.

What folly! what blindness!
Lion. We fortune accus'd;
Clar.
And the fates that decreed:
Both. But pain was inflicted by Heaven out
of kindness,

To heighten the joys that were doom'd
to succeed.

Our day was o'ercast:
But brighter the scene is,

The sky more serene is,

And softer the calm for the hurricane [Exeunt.

past.

Enter LADY OLDBOY, MR. JESSAMY leading her; SIR J. FLOWERDALE, and COL. OLDBOY.

Lady M. 'Tis all in vain, my dear; set me down any where; I can't go a step furtherI knew, when Mr. Oldboy insisted upon my coming, that I should be seized with a megrim by the way; and it's well I did not die in the coach.

Mr. J. But, pr'ythee, why will you let yourself be affected with such trifles-Nothing more common than for young women of fashion to go off with low fellows.

Lady M. Only feel, my dear, how I tremble! Not a nerve but what is in agitation; and my blood runs cold, cold!

Mr. J. Well but, Lady Mary, don't let us expose ourselves to those people; I see there is not one of the rascals about us, that has not a grin upon his countenance.

Lady M. Expose ourselves, my dear? Your father will be as ridiculous as Hudibras, or Don Quixote.

Mr. J. Yes, he will be very ridiculous indeed.

Sir J. I give you my word, my good friend and neighbour, the joy I feel upon this occasion is greatly allayed by the disappointment of an alliance with your family; but I have explained to you how things have happened

You see my situation; and, as you are kind enough to consider it yourself, I hope you will excuse it to your son.

Lady M. Sir John Flowerdale, how do you do? You see we have obeyed your summons; and I have the pleasure to assure you, that my son yielded to my entreaties with very little disagreement: in short, if I may speak metaphorically, he is content to stand candidate again, notwithstanding his late repulse, when he hopes for a unanimous election.

Col. O. Well but, my lady, you may save your rhetoric; for the borough is disposed of to a worthier member.

Mr. J. What do you say, Sir?

Enter LIONEL, CLARISSA, and JENNY. Sir J. Here are my son and daughter. Lady M. Is this pretty, Sir John? Sir J. Believe me, Madam, it is not for want of a just sense of Mr. Jessamy's merit that this affair has gone off on my side: but the heart is a delicate thing; and after it has once felt, if the object is meritorious, the impression is not easily effaced; it would therefore have been an injury to him, to have given him in appearance what another in reality possessed.

Mr. J. Upon my honour, upon my soul, Sir John, I am not in the least offended at this contre tems-Pray, Lady Mary say no more about it.

Col. O. Tol, lol, lol, lol.

Sir J. But, my dear colonel, I am afraid, after all, this affair is taken amiss by you; yes I see you are angry on your son's account; but let me repeat it, I have a very high opinion of

his merit.

Col. O. Ay! that's more than I have. Taken amiss! I don't take any thing amiss; I never was in better spirits, or more pleased in my

life.

Sir J. Come, you are uneasy at something,

colonel.

Col. O. Me! 'gad I am not uneasy-Are you a justice of peace? Then you could give me a warrant couldn't you? You must know, Sir John, a little accident has happened in my family since I saw you last, you and I may shake hands-Daughters, Sir, daughters! Yours has snapped at a young fellow without your approbation; and how do you think mine has served me this morning?-only run away with the scoundrel I brought to dinner here yesterday.

Sir J. I am excessively concerned.

Col. O. Now I'm not a bit concerned-No, damn me, I am glad it has happened; yet thus far, I'll confess, I should be sorry that either of them would come in my way, because a man's temper may sometimes get the better of him, and I believe I should be tempted to break her neck, and blow his brains out.

Clar. But pray, Sir, explain this affair. Col. O. I can explain it no further-Dy, my daughter Dy, has run away from us.

Enter DIANA and HARMAN,

Diana. No, my dear papa, I have not run away; and, upon my knees, I entreat your pardon for the folly I have committed; but let it be some alleviation, that duty and affection were too strong to suffer me to carry it to extremity; and if you knew the agony I have been in since I saw you last

Lady M. How's this?

Har. Sir, I restore your daughter to you; whose fault, as far as it goes, I must also take upon myself; we have been known to each other for some time; as Lady Richly, your sister, in London, can acquaint you

Col. O. Dy, come here-Now, you rascal where's your sword; if you are a gentleman you shall fight me; if you are a scrub, I'll horsewhip you-Shut the door there, don't let him escape.

Har. Sir, don't imagine I want to escape; I am extremely sorry for what has happened, but am ready to give you any satisfaction you may think proper.

Col. O. Follow me into the garden then-Zounds! I have no sword about me-Sir John Flowerdale-lend us a case of pistols, or a couple of guns; and come and see fair play. Clar. My dear papa!

Diana. Sir John Flowerdale-O my indiscretion-we came here, Sir, to beg your media. tion in our favour.

Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, if you attempt to fight I shall expire.

Sir J. Pray, colonel, let me speak a word to you in private.

Col. O. Slugs and a saw-pit

Mr. J. Why, Miss Dy, you are a perfect heroine for a romance-And pray who is this courteous knight?

Lady M. O Sir, you that I thought such a pretty behaved gentleman!

Mr. J. What business are you of, friend? Har. My chief trade, Sir, is plain dealing; and, as that is a commodity you have no reason to be very fond of, I would not advise you to purchase any of it by impertinence.

Col. O. And is this what you would advise

me to?

FINALE.

Lion. Come then, all ye social powers, Shed your influence o'er us, Crown with bliss the present hours, And lighten those before us.

May the just and gen'rous kind,
Still see that you regard 'em;
And Lionels for ever find

Clarissas to reward 'em.
Love, thy godhead I adore,
Source of sacred passion;
But will never bow before

Those idols, wealth or fashion. May, like me, each maiden wise, From the fop defend her; Learning, sense, and virtue prize, And scorn the vain pretender. Why the plague should man be sad, While in time we moulder? Grave or gay, or vex'd or glad, We every day grow older. Bring the flask, the music bring, Joy will quickly find us; [sing, Drink and laugh, and dance and And cast our cares behind us.

OSMAN, Sultan of Jerusalem.

CHATILLON,

THE French, howe'er mercurial they may seem, Extinguish half their fire, by critic phlegm: While English writers Nature's freedom claim, And warm their scenes with an ungovern'd flame :

Tis strange that Nature never should inspire A Racine's judgment with a Shakspeare's fire! Howe'er to-night-(to promise much we're loath)

But-you've a chance, to have a taste of both. From English plays, Zara's French author fir'd,

Confess'd his Muse beyond herself inspir'd; From rack'd Othello's rage he rais'd his style, And snatch'd the brand that lights this tragic pile;

Zara's success his utmost hopes outflew, And a twice twentieth weeping audience drew.

As for our English friend, he leaves to you, Whate'er may seem to his performance due; No views of gain his hopes or fears engage, He gives a child of leisure to the stage; Willing to try, if yet, forsaken Nature, Can charm, with any one remember'd feature. Thus far, the author speaks-but now the player,

With trembling heart, prefers his humble prayer.

To-night, the greatest venture of my life,
Is lost or sav'd, as you receive a wife :
If time, you think, may ripen her to merit,
With gentle smiles, support her wav'ring spirit.
Zara, in France, at once an actress rais'd,
Warm'd into skill, by being kindly prais'd:

(!could such wonders here from favour flow, How would our Zara's heart with transport glow!

But she, alas! by juster fears oppress'd,
Begs but your bare endurance, at the best,
Her unskill'd tongue would simple Nature
speak,

Nor dares her bounds, for false applauses, break,

Amidst a thousand faults, her best pretence
To please-is unpresuming innocence.
When a chaste heart's distress your grief de-
mands,

One silent tear outweighs a thousand hands.
If she conveys the pleasing passions right,
Guard and support her, this decisive night;
If she mistakes-or, finds her strength too

small,

Let interposing pity-break her fall.
In you it rests, to save her, or destroy,
If she draws tears from you, I weep-for joy.

ness:

Draws reverence from a polish'd people's soft[queens! Their husbands' equals, and their lovers' Free without scandal; wise without restraint; Their virtue due to nature, not to fear. Why have you ceas'd to wish this happy change?

A barr'd seraglio !—sad, unsocial life! [ror; Scorn'd, and a slave! All this has lost its terAnd Syria rivals, now, the banks of Seine ! Zar. Joys which we do not know, we do not wish.

My fate's bound in by Sion's sacred wall:
Clos'd from my infancy within this palace,
Custom has learn'd, from time, the power to
please.

I claim no share in the remoter world,
The sultan's property, his will my law;
Unknowing all but him, his power, his fame;
To live his subject is my only hope:
All else an empty dream.-

Sel. Have you forgot
[ship
Absent Nerestan, then? whose generous friend-
So nobly vow'd redemption from your chains!
How oft have you admir'd his dauntless soul!
Osman, his conqueror, by his courage charm'd,
Trusted his faith, and on his word releas'd him:
Though not return'd in time-we yet expect
him.

Nor had his noble journey other motive,
Than to procure our ransom.-And is this,
This dear, warm hope, become an idle dream?
Zar. Since after two long years he not re-
turns,
[power.
Tis plain his promise stretch'd beyond his
A stranger and a slave, unknown, like him,
Proposing much, means little;-talks and

Vows,

Delighted with a prospect of escape:
He promis'd to redeem ten Christians more,
And free us all from slavery !-I own
I once admir'd th' unprofitable zeal,

But now it charms no longer.

Sel. What, if yet,

|

Among the shining crowds, which live to please
His whole regard is fix'd on me alone: [him,
He offers marriage; and its rites now wait
To crown me empress of this eastern world.
Sel. Your virtue and your charms deserve
it all:

My heart is not surpris'd, but struck to hear it.
If to be empress can complete your happiness,
I rank myself, with joy, among your slaves.

Zar. Be still my equal and enjoy my blessings;

For, thou partaking, they will bless me more. Sel. Alas! but Heaven! will it permit this marriage?

Will not this grandeur, falsely call'd a bliss, Plant bitterness, and root it in your heart? Have you forgot you are of Christian blood? Zar. Ah me! What hast thou said, why wouldst thou thus

Recall my wavering thought? Howk now I what, [ness, Or whence I am? Heaven kept it hid in darkConceal'd me from myself, and from my blood. Sel. Nerestan, who was born a Christian here, [rents; Asserts, that you, like him, had Christian paBesides-that cross, which from your infant [som, Has been preserv'd, was found upon your boAs if design'd by Heaven, a pledge of faith Due to the God you purpose to forsake!

years

Zar. Can my fond heart, on such a feeble proof,

Embrace a faith, abhorr'd by him I love?
I see too plainly custom forms us all;
Our thoughts, our morals, our most fix'd belief,
Are consequences of our place of birth:
Born beyond Ganges I had been a pagan,
In France a Christian, I am here a Saracen :
'Tis but instruction, all! Our parents' hand
Writes on our heart the first faint characters,
Which time, re-tracing, deepens into strength,
That nothing can efface, but death or Heav-
en!-

Would you not then

Zar. No matter-Time is past,

And every thing is chang'd

Sel. But whence comes this?

Zar. Go-'twere too much to tell thee Zara's fate:

The sultan's secrets, all, are sacred here:
But my fond heart delights to mix with thine.
Some three months past, when thou, and other
slaves,

Were forc'd to quit fair Jordan's flowery bank;
Heaven, to cut short the anguish of my days,
Rais'd me to comfort by a powerful hand:
This mighty Osman!-

Sel. What of him?

Zar. This sultan,

This conqueror of the Christians, lovesSel. Whom?

Sel. Why have you, then, declar'd yourself their foe?

Why will you join your hand with this proud Osman's,

Who owes his triumph to the Christians' ruin ? Zar. Ah!-who could slight the offer of his heart?

Nay; for I mean to tell thee all my weakness;
Perhaps I had, ere now, profess'd thy faith,
But Osman lov'd me-and I've lost it all:
I think on none but Osman-my pleas'd heart,
Fill'd with the blessing, to be lov'd by him,
Wants room for other happiness. Place thou
Before thy eyes, his merit and his fame,
His youth, yet blooming but in manhood's
dawn;
[power!
How many conquer'd kings have swell'd his
Think too, how lovely! how his brow becomes