고

Enter PIZARRO, ALMAGRO, VALVERDE, and
Spanish Soldiers.

Piz. Well!-if surrounded we must perish in the centre of them. Where do Rolla and Alonzo hide their heads?

Enter ALONZO, ORANO, and Peruvians.

Al. Alonzo answers thee, and Alonzo's sword shall speak for Rolla.

Piz. Thou knowest the advantage of thy numbers. Thou darest not singly face Pizarro. Al. Peruvians, stir not a man! Be this contest only ours.

DIRGE.-Priests and Priestesses.

Let tears of gratitude and wo,
For the brave Rolla ever flow!

ALONZO, CORA, &c. mourn over the bier, as the
Curtain slowly descends.

EPILOGUE.

WRITTEN BY THE HON. WILLIAM LAMB.

ERE yet Suspense has still'd its throbbing fear,
While e'en the miseries of a sinking State,
Or Melancholy wip'd the grateful tear,
Command not now your eyes with grief to flow,
A Monarch's danger, and a Nation's fate,
What moral lay shall Poetry rehearse,
Lost in a trembling Mother's nearer wo;
Or how shall Elocution pour the verse
So sweetly, that its music shall repay

Piz. Spaniards!-observe ye the same.
[Charge; they fight. ALONZO's shield is The lov'd illusion, which it drives away?
broken, and he is beat down.]
Piz. Now, traitor, to thy heart!
ELVIRA enters, habited as when PIZARRO
first beheld her.-PIZARRO, appalled, stag;
gers back.-ALONZO renews the fight and
slays him.

ATALIBA enters, and embraces ALONZO. Ata. My brave Alonzo!

Alm. Alonzo, we submit. Spare us! we will

embark and leave the coast.

Val. Elvira will confess I saved her life; she

has saved thine.

AL Fear not. You are safe.

[SPANIARDS lay down their arms. Elo. Valverde speaks the truth; nor could he think to meet me here. An awful impulse, which my soul could not resist, impelled me hither.

Al. Noble Elvira! my preserver! How can I speak what I, Ataliba, and his rescued country, owe to thee! If amid this grateful nation thou wouldst remain

Ele. Alonzo, no! the destination of my future lite is fixed. Humbled in penitence, I will endeavour to atone the guilty errors, which, however masked by shallow cheerfulness, have long consumed my secret heart. When, by my sufferings purified, and penitence sincere, my soul shall dare address the throne of mercy in behalf of others, for thee, Alonzo, for thy Cora, and thy child-for thee, thou virtuous monarch, and the innocent race thou reignest over, shall Elvira's prayers address the God of nature--Valverde thou hast preserved my life. Cherish humanity, avoid the foul examples thou hast viewed. Spa niards, returning to your native home, assure your rulers, they mistake the road to glory, or to power. Tell them, that the pursuits of avarice, conquest, and ambition, never yet made a people happy, or [Exit; flourish of trumpets. Al. Ataliba, think not I wish to check the voice of triumph, when I entreat we first may pay the tribute due to our loved Rolla's memory. solemn March. Procession of Peruvian Sol diers, bearing ROLLA's body on a bier.

a nation great.

Mine is the task to rigid custom due,
To mar the work the tragic scene has wrought,
To me ungrateful, as 'tis harsh to you,
To rouse the mind that broods in pensive thought,
To scare Reflection, which, in absent dreams,
Still lingers musing on the recent themes;
Attention, ere with contemplation tir'd,
To turn from all that pleas'd, from all that fir'd;
To weaken lessons strongly now impress'd,
And chill the interest glowing in the breast-
Mine is the task; and be it mine to spare
The souls that pant, the griefs they see, to share:
Let me with no unhallow'd jest deride
The sigh, that sweet Compassion owns with
pride-

The sigh of Comfort, to Affliction dear,
That Kindness heaves, that Virtue loves to hear.
E'en gay THALIA will not now refuse
This gentle homage to her Sister-Muse.

snow;

O ye, who listen to the plaintive strain,
With strange enjoyment, and with rapturous pain,
Who erst have felt the Stranger's lone despair,
And Haller's settled, sad, remorseless care,
Does Rolla's pure affection less excite
The inexpressible anguish of delight?
Do Cora's fears, which beat without control,
With less solicitude engross the soul?
Ah, no! your minds with kindred zeal approve
Maternal feeling, and heroic love.
You must approve: where man exists below,
In temperate climes, or 'midst drear wastes of
Or where the solar fires incessant flame,
Thy laws, all-powerful Nature, are the same:
Vainly the sophist boasts, he can explain
The causes of thy universal reign—
More vainly would his cold, presumptuous art
Disprove thy general empire o'er the heart:
A voice proclaims thee, that we must believe,
A voice that surely speaks not to deceive:
That voice poor Cora heard, and closely press'd
Her darling infant to her fearful breast;
Distracted, dared the bloody field to tread,
And sought Alonzo through the heaps of dead,
Eager to catch the music of his breath,
Though faltering in the agonies of death.

And would to-night your loudest praise disclaim, SCENE I.—A Court-Yard before KNO'well's

Call up young master.
Tell him I have some business to employ him.
Bra. I will, Sir, presently.
Kno. But hear you, sirrah.

"If he be at his book disturb him not.
Bra. Well, Sir.

But since time and the truth have wak'd my judg- | And you be left like an unsavoury snufl,

COZ.

Kno. That's kindly done, you are welcome,

Steph. Ay, I know that, Sir, I would not ha' come else. How doth my cousin Edward, uncle? Kno. O, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt he be scarce stirring yet.

Steph. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me an' he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking and hunting? I would fain borrow it.

Kno. Why, I hope you will not a-hawking now, will you?

Steph. No worse, but I'll practise against the next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.

Kno. O, most ridiculous!

Steph. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle. Why, you know, an' a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-adays, I'll not give a rush for him. They are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for no gallant's company without 'em. And by Gad's lid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every hum-drum, hang-'em scroyls, there's nothing in 'em, i' the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury or the citizens that come a-ducking to Islington ponds! A fine jest i'faith! slid, a gentleman mun show himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry. I know what I have to do, I trow, II am no novice.

Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb:
go to!

Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak.
Take't as you will, Sir, I'll not flatter you.
Ha' you not yet found means enow to waste
That which your friends have left you, but you

must

Go cast away your money on a kite,
And know not how to keep it when you've done?
O, it's comely! this will make you a gentleman!
Well, cousin, well! I see you are e'en past hope
Of all reclaim. Ay, so, now you're told on it,
You look another way.

Steph. What would you ha' me do?
Kno. What would I have you do! I'll tell you,
kinsman;

Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive ;
That would I have thee do: and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A tle puff and scorn extinguish it.

Whose property is only to offend.

I'd ha' you sober and contain yourself:
Not, that your sail be bigger than your buat:
But mod'rate your expenses now (at first)
As you may keep the same proportion still.
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy and mere borrow'd thing,
From dead men's dust and bones: and none of
yours,

Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?
Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. Save you, gentlemen.

Steph. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet, you are welcome; and I assure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand a-year, Middlesex land: he has but one son in all the world; I am his next heir (at the common law) Master Stephen, as simple as I stand here: if my cousin die (as there's hope he will.) I have a pretty living o' my own too, beside, ́ hard by here.

Serv. In good time, Sir.

Steph. In good time, Sir; why? and in very good time, Sir. You do not flout, friend, do you? Serv. Not I, Sir.

Steph. Not you, Sir! you were not best, Sir; an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too. go to. And they can give it again soundly too, an' need be.

Serv. Why, Sir, let this satisfy you: good faith, I had no such intent.

Steph. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently.

Serv. Good Master Stephen, so you may, Sir, at your pleasure.

Steph. And so I would, Sir, good my saucy companion, an' you were out o' my uncle's ground can tell you; though I do not stand upon my gentility neither in't.

Kno. Cousin! cousin! will this ne'er be left? Steph. Whoreson, base fellow! a mechanical serving man! By this cudgel, an' twere not for shame, I would

Kno. What would you do, you peremptory
gull?

If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
You see, the honest man demeans himself
Modestly towards you, giving no reply
To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion;
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,
As void of wit, as of humanity.
Go, get you in, 'fore heaven, I am asham'd
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

[Exit STEPHEN. Serv. I pray you, Sir, is this Master Kno'well's house?

Kno. Yes, marry is't, Sir.

Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one Master Edward Kno'well: do you know any such, Sir, I pray you?

Kno. I should forget myself else, Sir.

Serv. Are you the gentleman? cry you mercy, Sir: I was required by a gentleman i' the city, as I rode out at this end of the town, to deliver you this letter, Sir.

Kno. To me, Sir! [ To his most selected friend, MASTER EDWARD KNO'WELL.] What might the gentleman's name be, Sir, that sent it?

Serv. One Master Well-bred, Sir.

Kno. Master Well-bred! A young gentleman? But with no notice that I have opened it, on your Is he not?

Serv. The same, Sir; Master Kitely married his sister: the rich merchant i' the Old Jewry.

Kno. You say very true.

Brain. Sir!

Brain-worm!

Enter BRAIN-WORM.

life.

Brain. O lord, Sir, that were a jest indeed!
Kno. I am resolv'd; I will not stop his journey,
Nor practise any violent means to stay

The unbridled course of youth in him: for that
Restrain'd, grows more impatient; and, in kind,
Like to the eager, but the generous grey-hound,

Kno. Make this honest friend drink here. Who, ne'er so little from his game withheld,

Pray you go in.
[Exeunt BRAIN-WORM

and SERVANT.

This letter is directed to my son:
Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may,
With the safe conscience of good manners, use
The fellow's error to my satisfaction.
Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious)
Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase,
To see if both do answer my son's praises,
Who is, almost, grown the idolater

Of this young Well-bred: What have we here?
- What's this?

[Reads] Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy friends i' th' Old Jewry? or dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit there? Leave thy vigi lant father alone, to number over his green apricots, evening and morning, o' the north-west wall: an' I had been his son I had saved him the labour long since; if taking in all the young wenches that pass by, a the back-door, and coddling every kernel of the fruit for 'em would ha' served. But pr'ythee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I have such a present for thee (our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand Signior. One is a rhymer, Sir, o' your own batch, your own leaven; but doth think himself poetmujor o' the town; willing to be shown and worthy to The other-I will not venture his description you till you come, because I would have you make hither with an appetite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges, as unconscionable as any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your Vaticum.

be seen.

with

From THE WINDMILL.
From the Burdello it might come as well;
The Spittal: is this the man,

My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,
The choicest brain, the times hath sent us forth?
I know not what he may be in the arts;
Nor what in schools: but surely, for his manners,
I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch:
Worse, by profession of such great good gifts,
Being the master of so loose a spirit.
Why, what unhallow'd ruffian would have writ,
In such a scurrilous manner, to a friend?
Why should he think, I tell my apricots ?
Or play th' Hesperian dragon with my fruit,
To watch it? Well, my son, I 'ad thought
You'd had more judgment, t' have made election,
Of your companions, than t' have ta’en on trust
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare
No argument or subject from their jest.
But I perceive, affection makes a fool
Of any man, too much the father. Brain-worm!
Enter BRAIN-WORM.

There is a way of winning, more by love,
Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat.
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
He that's compelled to goodness, may be good;
But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn
By softness, and example, get a habit.
Then if they stray, but warn 'em; and the same
They would for virtue do, they'll do for shame.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-YOUNG KNO'WELL'S Study.
Enter EDWARD KNO'WELL and BRAIN-WORM.
E. Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou?
Brain. Yes, o' my word, Sir, and read the con-
tents.

E. Kno. That's bad. What countenance, pray thee, made he i' the reading of it? Was he angry or pleased!

open it, I assure your worship.
Brain. Nay, Sir, I saw him not read it, nor

did either?
E. Kno. No! How know'st thou then, that he

Brain. Marry, Sir, because he charged me on my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed.

E. Kno. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brainworm.

Enter MASTER STEPHEN.

Steph. O! Brain-worm, didst thou not see a fellow here, in a what sha' call doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e'en now.

Brain. Yes, Master Stephen, what of him? Steph. O! I ha' such a mind to beat himwhere is he? canst thou tell?

Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, Master Stephen.

Steph. Gone! which way? When went he? How long since ?

Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street-door.

Steph. And I stayed i' the fields! Whoreson, Scanderbeg rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again!

Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's gelding to save your longing, Sir.

Steph. But I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't. Brain. Why, a fine whisp of hay, rolled hard, Master Stephen.

Steph. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; let him e'en go and hang. Pr'ythee, help to truss me a little. He does so vex me

Brain. You'll be worse vexed when you are trussed, Master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold, your choler may founder you else.

Steph. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, Brainworm?

Brain. A very good leg, Master Stephen: but the woollen stocking does not commend itwe!!