Heart. Shall I marry, or die a maid? Con. Why, faith, Heartfree, matrimony is like an army going to engage. Love's the forlorn hope, which is soon cut off; the marriage-knot is the main body, which may stand buff a long time; and repentance is the rear-guard, which rarely gives ground as long as the main body has a being.

Heart. Conclusion then; you advise me to rake on as you do.

Con. That's not concluded yet. For though marriage be a lottery, in which there are wondrous many blanks; yet there is one inestimable lot, in which the only heaven on earth is written. Would your kind fate but guide your hand to that, though I were wrapped in all that luxury itself could clothe me with, I should envy you.

Heart. And justly too; for to be capable of loving one, doubtless, is better than to possess a thousand. But how far that capacity's in me, alas, I know not.

Con. But you would know.
Heart. I would so.

Good-morrow, gentlemen: how have you slept after your adventure?

Heart. Some careful thoughts, ladies, on your accounts, have kept us waking.

Bel. And some careful thoughts of your own, I believe, have hindered you from sleeping. Pray, how does this matrimonial project relish with you?

Heart. Why, faith, e'en as storming towns does with soldiers, where the hopes of delicious plunder banishes the fear of being knocked on the head.

Bel. Is it then possible, after all, that you dare think of downright lawful wedlock?

Lady B. Well, gentlemen, this matter being concluded, then, have you got your lessons ready; for Sir John is grown such an atheist of late, he'll believe nothing upon easy terms.

Con. We'll find means to extend his faith, Madam. But pray how do you find him this morning? Lady B. Most lamentably morose, chewing the cud after last night's discovery, of which, however, he has a confused notion even now. But I'm afraid the valet de chambre has told him all; for they are very busy together at this moment. When I told him of Belinda's marriage, I had no other answer but a grunt; from which you may draw what conclusion you think fit. But to your notes, gentlemen, he's here.

Enter SIR JOHN and RASOR.

Sir J. None, my dove.

Bel. If not, I hope my consent to marry Mr. Heartfree will convince you. For, as little as I know of amours, Sir, I can assure you, one intrigue is enough to bring four people together, without further mischief.

Sir J. And I know too that intrigues tend to procreation of more kinds than one. One intrigue will beget another, as soon as beget a son or a daughter.

Con. I am very sorry, Sir, to see you still seem unsatisfied with a lady, whose more than common virtue, I am sure, were she my wife, should meet a better usage.

Sir J. Sir, if her conduct has put a trick upon her virtue, her virtue's the bubble, but her husband's the loser.

Con. Sir, you have received a sufficient answer already, to justify both her conduct and mine. You'll pardon me for meddling in your family affairs; but I perceive I am the man you are jealous of, and therefore it concerns me.

Sir J. Would it did not concern me, and then I should not care who it concerned.

Con. Well, Sir, if truth and reason wont content you, I know but one way more, which if you think fit, you may take.

Sir J. Lord, Sir, you are very hasty if I had been found at prayers in your wife's closet, I should have allowed you twice as much time to come to yourself in.

Con. Nay, Sir, if time be all you want, we have no quarrel.

Heart. I told you how the sword would work upon him. [SIR J. muses. Con. Let him muse; however, I'll lay fifty pounds our foreman brings us in, not guilty.

me; for I would have done so because I liked her; but that's past, and I have her. And now what shall I do with her?-If I put my horns into my pocket she'll grow insolent-if I don't, that goat there, that stallion, is ready to whip me through the guts-the debate then is reduced to this; shall I die a hero, or live a rascal ? Why, wiser men than I have long since concluded, that a living dog is better than a dead lion. [To CoN. and HEART.] Gentlemen, now my wine and my passion are governable, I must own, I have never observed any thing in my wife's course of life, to back me in my jealousy of her; but jealousy's a mark of love; so she need not trouble her head about it, as long as I make no more words on't.

LADY FANCIFUL enters disguised, and addresses BELINDA apart.

Con. I'm glad to see your reason rule at last. Give me your hand: I hope you'll look upon me as you used to do.

Sir J. Your humble servant. [Aside.] A wheedling son of a whore!

Heart. And that I may be sure you are friends with me too, pray give me your consent to wed your niece.

Sir J. Sir you have it with all my heart; damn me if you ha'n't. [Aside.] 'Tis time to get rid of her; a young pert pimp: she'll make an incomparable bawd in a little time.

Enter a Servant, who gives HEARTFREE a letter.

Bel. Heartfree your husband, say you ?—'Tis impossible!

Lady F. Would to kind Heaven it were; but 'tis too true; and in the world there lives not such a wretch. I'm young; and either I have been flattered by my friends, as well as glass, or nature has been kind and generous to me. I had a fortune too was greater far than he could ever hope for; but with my heart I am robbed of all the rest. I am slighted and I'm beggared both at once; I have scarce a bare subsistence from the villain, yet dare complain to none; for he has sworn, if ever 'tis known I am his wife, he'll murder me. [Weeping.

Bel. The traitor.

Lady F. I accidentally was told he courted you; charity soon prevailed upon me to prevent your misery; and, as you see I am still so generous even to him, as not to suffer he should do any thing, for which the law might take away his life. [Weeping.

Bel. Poor creature! How I pity her. [They continue talking aside. Heart. [Aside.] Death and the devil-Let me read it again. [Reads.] "Though I have a particular reason not to let you know who I am till I see you; yet you'll easily believe 'tis a faithful friend that gives you this advice. I have lain with Belinda--[Good.]—I have a child by her-[Better and better--which is now out at nurse- -[Heaven be praised.]-and I think the foundation laid for another-[Ha!--old true-penny]-no rack could have tortured this story from me; but friendship has done it. I heard of your design to marry her, and could not see you abused. Make use of my advice, but keep my secret till I ask you for't again." [Exit LADY F.

Con. [To BELINDA.] Come, Madam, shall we send for the parson? I doubt here's no business for the lawyers; younger brothers have nothing to settle but their hearts, and that I believe my friend here has already done very faithfully.

Bel. [Scornfully.] Are you sure, Sir, there are no old mortgages upon it?

Heart. [Coldly] If you think there are, Madam, it mayn't be amiss to defer the marriage till you are sure they are paid off.

Bel. We'll defer it as long as you please, Sir. Heart. The more time we take to consider on't, Madam, the less apt we shall be to commit oversights: therefore, if you please, we will put i off for just nine months.

Bel. Guilty consciences make men cowards.
Heart. And they make women desperate.
Bel. I don't wonder you want time to resolve
Heart. I don't wonder you are so quickly de-
termined.

Bel. What does the fellow mean?
Heart. What does the lady mean?
Sir J. Zoons, what do you both mean?

[HEART. and BEL. walk chafing about. Rasor. [Aside.] Here is so much sport going to be spoiled it makes me ready to weep again. A pox o' this impertinent Lady Fanciful, and her plots, and her Frenchwoman too; she's a whimsical, ill-natured bitch, and when I have got my bones broke in her service, 'tis ten to one but my recompence is a clap; I hear them tittering without still. I'cod, I'll e'en go lug them both in by the ears, and discover the plot, to secure my pardon. [Erit.

Con. Pr'ythee explain, Heartfree. Heart. A fair deliverance; thank my stars and my friend.

Bel. 'Tis well it went no farther; a base fel

Rasor. If they wont, here comes an interpreter.

Lady B. Heavens! What have we here? Rasor. A villain--but a repenting villain. All. Rasor.

Lady B. What means this? Rasor. Nothing without my pardon. Lady B. What pardon do you want? Rasor. Imprimis, your ladyship's, for a damnable lie made upon your spotless virtue, and set to the tune of Spring Garden. [To SIR JOHN.] Next at my generous master's feet I bend for interrupting his more noble thoughts with phantoms of disgraceful cuckoldom. [To CONSTANT] Thirdly, I to this gentleman apply for making him the hero of my romance. [TO HEARTFREE

PROLOGUE.

WHEN Some raw paddler from the waded shore, First dares the deep'ning stream, and ventures o'er,

Light on his floating cork the wave he skims,
And, wanton in his safety, thinks he swims.
So shall Alzira's fame our faults protect,
And from your censure screen each fear'd defect.
For should we act, unskill'd, the player's parts,
We act such scenesas force us to your hearts.
What floods of tears a neighbouring land saw
flow,

When a whole people wept Alzira's wo!
The loveliest eyes of France, in one pleased night,
Twice charm'd, renew'd, and lengthen'd out de-
light;

Twice charm'd, review'd the sad, the melting strain,

Yet hung, insatiate, on the willing pain!
Thrice thirty days, all Paris sighed for sense!
Tumblers stood still-and thought-in wit's de-

Can pour applause on foreign song and dance,
Yet leave the praise of solid sense to France;
No-that's impossible-'tis Britain's claim,
To hold no second place in taste or fame.
In arts and arms alike victorious known,
Whate'er deserves her choice she makes her own.
Nor let the conscious power of English wit
Less feel the force because a Frenchman writ.
Reason and sentiment, like air and light,
Wherever found, are Nature's common right.
Since the same sun gives northern climes their day,
After the east has first received its ray,
Why should our pride repel the muse's smile,
Because it dawn'd not first upon our isle?
Fraternal art adopts each alien fame;
The wise and brave are every where the same.
From hostile sentiments let discord flow;
But they who think like friends, should have ne
foe.

ACT I. SCENE 1.

Enter DON ALVAREZ and DON CARLOS.

Alv. At length the council, partial to my

prayer,

Has to a son I love, transferr'd my power.
Carlos, rule happy; be a viceroy long;
Long for thy prince, and for thy God, maintain
This younger, richer, lovelier, half the globe;
Too fruitful, heretofore, in wrongs and blood;
Crimes, the lamented growths of powerful gold!
Safe to thy abler hand devolve, resign'd,
Those sovereign honours which oppress'd my

years,

And dimm'd the feeble lamp of wasted age.
Yet had it long, and not unuseful, flamed.
I first o'er wondering Mexico in arms
March'd the new horrors of a world unknown!
I steer'd the floating towers of fearless Spain
Through the plough'd bosom of an untried sea.
Too happy had my labours been so bless'd,
To change my brave associates' rugged souls,
And soften stubborn heroes into men.
Their cruelties, my son, eclipsed their glory:
And I have wept a conqueror's splendid shame,
Whom Heaven not better made, and yet made
great.

Wearied at length, I reach my life's last verge;
Where I shall peaceful veil my eyes in rest;
[f, ere they close, they but behold my Carlos
Ruling Potosi's realm by Christian laws,
And making gold more rich by gifts from Hea-

ven.

Car. Taught and supported by your great example,

I learn'd beneath your eye to conquer realms, Which, by your counsels, I may learn to govern; Giving those laws I first received from you.

Alv. Not so.-Divided power is power disarm'd.

Outworn by labour, and decay'd by time,
Pomp is no more my wish. Enough for me
That, heard in council, age may temper rash-

ness.

Trust me, mankind but ill rewards the pains
Of over-prompt ambition. -Tis now time
To give my long-neglected God those hours,
Which close the languid period of my days.
One only gift I ask; refuse not that;
As friend I ask it, and as father claim.
Pardon those poor Americans, condemn'd
For wandering hither, and this morning seized.
To my disposal give them kindly up,
That liberty, unhoped, may charm the more.
A day like this should merit smiles from all;
And mercy, softening justice, mark it bless'd.
Car. Sir, all that fathers ask, they must com-
mand.

Yet condescend to recollect how far
This pity, undeserved, might hazard all.
In infant towns like ours, methinks, 'twere safe
Not to familiarize these savage spies.
If we accustom foes to look too near,
We teach them, at our cost, to slight those
swords

They once flew trembling from, whene'er they

saw.

Frowning revenge, and awe of distant dread,
Not smiling friendship, tames these sullen souls.
The sour American, unbroke, and wild,
Spurns with indignant rage, and bites his chain:
Humble when punish'd; if regarded, fierce.
Power sickens by forbearance: rigid men,
Who feel not pity's pangs, are best obey'd.
Spaniards, 'tis true, are ruled by honour's law,
Submit unmurmuring, and unforced to right.

But other nations are impell'd by fear,
And must be rein'd, and spurr'd with hard con-
trol.

The gods themselves in this ferocious clime,
Till they look grim with blood, excite no dread.
Alv. Away, my son, with these detested
schemes!

Perish such politic reproach of rule!
Are we inade captains in our Maker's cause
O'er these new Christians call'd to stretch hie

name,

His peaceful name! and shall we unprovoked,
Bear murders which our holy cheats presume
To mispronounce his injured altar's due?
Shall we dispeople realms, and kill to save?
Such if the fruits of Spain's religious care,
I, from the distant bounds of our old world,
Have to this new one stretch'd a Saviour'
name,

To make it hateful to one half the globe,
Because no mercy graced the other's zeal.
No, my misguided Carlos, the broad eye
Of one Creator takes in all mankind:
His laws expand the heart; and we, who thus
Would by destruction propagate belief,
And mix with blood and geld religion's growth,
Stamp in these Indians' honest breasts a scorn
Of all we teach, from what they see we do.

Car. Yet the learn'd props of our unerring

church,

Whom zeal for saving souls deprives of rest, Taught my late youth, committed to their care, That ignorance, averse, must be compell'd.

Alv. Our priests are all for vengeance, force

and fire;

And only in his thunder act their God.
Hence we seem thieves; and what we seem we

are.

Spain has robb'd every growth of this new world,
Even to its savage nature -Vain, unjust,
Proud, cruel, covetous, we, we alone

Are the barbarians here!-An Indian heart
Equals, in courage, the most prompt of ours;
But in simplicity of artless truth,

And every honest native warmth, excels us.
Had they, like us, been bloody; had they not
By pity's power been moved, and virtue's love,
No son of mine had heard a father now
Reprove his erring rashness.-You forget,
That when a prisoner in these people's hands,
Gall'd and provoked by cruelty and wrongs,
While my brave followers fell on every side,
Till I alone survived, some Indians knew me,
Knew me, and suddenly pronounced my name.
At once they threw their weapons to the ground,
And a young savage chief, whom yet I know not,
Graceful approach'd, and, kneeling, press'd my

knees.

Alvarez-is it you? he cried-Live long!
Ours be your virtue, but not ours your blood!
Live, and instruct oppressors to be loved.
Bless'd be those tears, my son!-I think you

weep.

Joy to your softening soul! Humanity
Has power, in nature's right, beyond a father.
But from what motive sprung this late decline
From clemency of heart to new-born rigour?
Had you been always cruel, with what brow
Could you have hoped to charm the oved Alzira?
Heiress to realms dispeopled by your sword?
And though your captive, yet your conqueror too.