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I have miss'd my heart--Oh, unperforming hand! | And now to die each other's! and so dying,
Thou never couldst have erred in a worse time. While hand in hand we walk in groves below,
My fortune jades me to the last ; and death, Whole troops of lovers' ghosts shall flock about us,
Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait And all the train be ours.
For my admittance [Trampling within. Cleo. Your words are like the notes of dying
Some, perhaps, from Cæsar!

swans, If he should find me living, and suspect

Too sweet to last. Were there so many hours That I play'd booty with my life! i'll mend For your unkindness, and not one for love! My work ere they can reach me.

Ant. No, not a minute--this one kiss—more (Rises upon his knees.

worth
Than all I leave to Cæsar.-

[Dies.
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, and IRAS. Cleo. Oh, tell me so again,
Cleo. Where is my lord ? where is he ! And take ten thousand kisses for that word!
Char. There he lies,

My lord! my lord ! speak, if you yet have being! And dead Ventidius by him.

Sign to me if you cannot speak! or cast Cleo. My fears were prophets ! I am come too One look! do any thing, that shows you live! late!

Iras. He is gone too far to hear you, Oh, that accursed Alexas ! [Runs to him. And this, you see, a lump of senseless clay, Ant. Art thou living ?

The leavings of a soul. Or am I dead before I knew, and thou

Char. Remember, madam, The first kind ghost that meets me?

He charged you not to grieve. Cleo. Help me seat him !

Cleo. And I'll obey him. Send quickly, send for help!

I have not loved a Roman not to know [They place him in a chair. What should become his wife-his wife, my Ant. I am answered:

Charmion !
We live both. Sit thee down, my Cleopatra ! For 'tis to that high title I aspire;
I'll make the most I can of life, to stay

And now I'll not die less. Let dull Octavia A moment more with thee:

Survive, to mourn him dead: my nobler fate Cleo. How is it with you?

Shall knit our spousals with a tie, too strong Ant. 'Tis, as with a man

For Roman laws to break. Removing in a hurry; all packed up

Iras. Will you then die! But one dear jewel, that his haste forgot,

Cleo. Why shouldst thou make that question? And he for that returns upon the

spur ;

Iras. Cæsar is most merciful.So I come back for thee.

Cleo. Let him be so Cleo. Too long, ye heavens! you have been To those, that want his mercy: My poor lord cruel to me!

Made no such covenant with him to spare me, Now shew your mended faith, and give me back When he was dead. Yield me to Cæsar's pride! His fleeting life!

What? to be led in triumph through the streets, Ant. It will not be, my love!

A spectacle to base plebeian eyes, I keep my soul by force.

While some dejected friend of Antony's, Say but thou art not false!

Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters Cleo. 'Tis now too late

A secret curse on her, who ruined him!
To say I'm true; I'll prove it and die with you. I'll none of that.
Unknown to me Alexas feigned my death,

Char. Whatever you resolve,
Which, when I knew, I hasted to prevent I'll follow, even to death.
This fatal consequence. My fleet betrayed

Irus. I only feared
Both you and me.

For you, but more should fear to live without Ant. And Dolabella

you. Cleo. Scarce esteemed before he loved, but Cleo. Why, now 'tis as it should be. Quick,

hated now. Ant. Enough! my life's not long enough for Dispatch! ere this the town's in Cæsar's hands : more.

My lord looks down concerned, and fears my Thou say'st, thou wilt come after: I believe thee;

stay, For I can now believe whate'er thou say’st, Lest I should be surprised: That we may part more kindly.

Keep him not waiting for his love too long. Cleo. I will come;

You, Charmion, bring my crown and richest Doubt not, my life! I'll come, and quickly too!

jewels; Cæsar shall triumph o'er no part of thee. With them the wreath of victory I made

Ant. But grieve not, while thou stay'st, (Vain augury!) for him, who now lies dead : My last disastrous times !

You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills.
Think we have had a clear and glorious day, Iras. The aspicks, madam?
And heaven did kindly to delay the storm, Cleo. Must I bid you twice?
Just till our close of evening. Ten years love,

(Exit Char. and IRAS. And not a moment lost, but all improved 'Tis sweet to die, when they would force life To the utmost joys! what ages have we lived !

on me,

my friends,

To rush into the dark abode of death,

Coward fleshAnd seize him first ! If he be like my love, Wouldst thou conspire with Cæsar to betray me, He is not frightful sure !

As thou wert none of mine? I'll force thee to it, We are now alone, in secrecy and silence, And not be sent by him, And is not this like lovers? I may kiss

But bring myself, my soul, to Antony. These pale cold lips-Octavia does not see me; [Turns aside, and then shows her urm bloody. And, oh! 'tis better far to have him thus, Take hence: the work is done! Than see him in her arms 0 welcome, wel Ser. Break ope the door,

(Witkin. come!

And guard the traitor well.

Char. The next is ours.
Enter CHARMION and IRAs, with the aspicks,&c. Iras. Now, Charmion, to be worthy
Char. What must be done?

Of our great queen and mistress.
Cleo. Short ceremony, friends ;

(They apply the aspicks. But yet it must be decent. First, this laurel Cleo. Already, Death, I feel thee in my veins; Shall crown my hero's head: he fell not basely, I go with such a will to find my lord, Nor left bis shield behind him. Only thou That we shall quickly meet. Couldst triumph o'er thyself, and thou alone A heavy numbness creeps through every limb, Wert worthy so to triumph.

And now 'tis at my head: my eyelids fall, Char. To what end

And my dear love is vanished in a mist! These ensigns of your pomp and royalty? Where shall I find him, where? oh! turn me to Cleo. Dull, that thou art! why, 'tis to meet

him, my love,

And lay me on his breast !-Cæsar, thy worst! As when I saw him first on Cydnos' bank, Now part us if thou canst.

(Diese All sparkling like a goddess; so adorned,

(IRAS sinks down at her feet and dies ; CHARI'll find him once again; my second spousals

MION stands behind her chair, as dressing Shall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both, her head. And dress

the bride of Antony ! Char. 'Tis done.

Enter SERAPION, tuo Priests, ALEXAS bound, Cleo. Now seat me by my lord ; I claim this

and Egyptians. place,

2 Priest. Behold, Serapion, what havoc death For I must conquer Cæsar too, like him,

has made ! And win my share o'th' world. Hail, you dear Ser. 'Twas what I feared. relicks

Charmion, is this well done? Of my immortal love!

Chur. Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen, Oh, let no impious hand remove you hence,

the last But rest for ever here ! let Egypt give

Of her great race. I follow her. [Sinks down. Dics. His death that peace, which it denied his life! Aler. 'Tis true, Reach me the casket.

She has done well: much better thus to die, Iras. Underneath the fruit the aspick lies. Than live to make a holiday in Rome. Cleo. Welcome, thou kind deceiver!

Ser. See how the lovers sit in state together, [Putting aside the leaves. As they were giving laws to half mankind ! Thou best of thieves! who with an easy key The impression of a smile, left in her face, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Shows she died pleased with him, for whom she Even steal us from ourselves, discharging so

lived, Death's dreadful office better than himself, And went to charm him in another world. Touching our limbs so gently into slumber, Cæsar's just entering; grief has now no leisure. That death stands by, deceived by his own image, Secure that villain, as our pledge of safety, And thinks himself but sleep.

To grace the imperial triumph. Sleep, blest Ser. The queen, where is she? (Within.

pair ! The town is yielded, Cæsar's at the gates. Secure from human chance, long ages out, Cleo. He comes too late to invade the rights While all the storms of fate fly o'er your tomb : of death.

And fame to late posterity shall tell, Haste, haste, my friend, and rouse the serpent's No lovers lived so great, or died so well. fury.

[Erennt. {Hölds out her arm, and draws it back.

EPILOGUE.

Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail, He does his best ; and if he cannot please, Have one sure refuge left; and that's to rail. Would quietly sue out his writ of ease. Fop, coxcomb, fool, arethunder'd through the pit; Yet, if he might his own grand jury call

, Anu this is all their equipage of wit.

By the fair sex, he begs to stand or fall. We wonder how the devil this difference grows, Let Cæsar's pow'r the men's ambition move, Betwixt our fools in verse, and your's in prose: But grace you him who lost the world for love. For, faith, the quarrel rightly understood, Yet, if some antiquated lady say, 'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood. The last age is not copied in his play; The thread-bare author hates the gaudy coat, Heav'n help the man who for that face must And swears at the gilt coach ; but swears a-foot;

drudge, For 'tis observed of every scribbling man, Which only has the wrinkles of a judge. He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can;

Let not the young and beauteous join with those; Prunes up, and asks his oracle, the glass, For should you raise such numerous hosts of foes, If pink or purple best becomes his face Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call; For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays; 'Tis more than one man's work to please you all. Or likes your wit just as you like his plays; He has not yet so much of Mr Bayes.

DON SEBASTIAN.

BY

DRYDEN.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY A WOMAN.

The judge remov’d, though he's no more my lord, Thus far the poet,—but his brains grow addle;
May plead at bar, or at the council-board: And all the rest is purely from this noddle.
So may cast poets write; there's no pretension, You've seen young ladies at the senate door,
To argue loss of wit from loss of pension. Prefer petitions, and your grace implore;
Your looks are cheerful; and in all this place However grave the legislators were,
I see not one, that wears a damning face. Their cause went ne'er the worse for being fair ;
The British nation is too brave to show

Reasons as weak as theirs perhaps I bring,
Ignoble vengeance, on a vanquished foe; But I could bribe you with as good a thing.
At least be civil to the wretch imploring, I heard him make advances of good nature,
And lay your paws upon him, without roaring ; That he for once would sheath his cutting satire;
Suppose our poet was your foe before,

Sign but his peace, he vows he'll ne'er again Yet now the bus'ness of the field is o’er; The sacred names of fops and beaux prophane. 'Tis time to let your civil wars alone,

Strike up the bargain quickly; for I swear, When troops are into winter-quarters gone. As times go now, he offers very fair. Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian ; Be not too hard on him with statutes neither; And you well know, a play's of no religion. Be kind; and do not set your teeth together, Take good advice, and please yourselves this day; To stretch the laws, as coblers do their leather. No matter from what hands you have the play. Horses by papists are not to be ridden; Among good fellows ev'ry health will pass, But sure the muses' horse was ne'er forbidden; That serves to carry round another glass : For in no rate-book, it was ever found When, with full bowls of burgundy you dine, That Pegasus was valued at five pound: Though at the mighty monarch you repine, Fine him to daily drudging and inditing; You grant him still Most Christian, in his wine. And let him pay his taxes out,-in writing.

PROLOGUE.

Sent to the Author by an unknown hand, and proposed to be spoken by Mrs Monford, dressed like

an Officer.

BRIGHT beauties, who in awful circle sit,
And you, grave synod of the dreadful pit,
And
you

the upper-tire of pop-gun wit,
Pray ease me of my wonder, if you may;
Is all this crowd barely to see the play,
Or is’t the poet's execution day?
His breath is in your hands I will presume,
But I advise you to defer his doom,
Till you have got a better in his room;

And don't maliciously combine together,
As if in spite and spleen you were come hither,
For he has kept the pen, though lost the feather.
And on my honour, ladies, I avow,
This play was writ in charity to you,
For such a dearth of wit who ever knew ?
Sure 'tis a judgment on this sinful nation
For the abuse of so great dispensation ;
And therefore I resolved to change vocation.

ing?

For want of petticoat I've put on buff,

Honour in danger, blood and wounds is sought. To try what may be got by lying rough : Lost virtue, whither fied, or where's thy dwellHow think you, sirs—is it not well enough? Of bully critics I a troop would lead,

Who can reveal ? at least 'tis past my telling, But one replied, thank you, there's no such need, Unless thou art embark'd for İnniskelling. I at groom-porters, sir, can safer bleed.

On carrion tits those sparks denounce their rage Another, who the name of danger loathes, In boot of wisp and Leinster freese engage, Vow'd he would go, and swore me forty oaths, What would you do in such an equipage? But that his horses were in body-cloaths; The siege of Derry does you gallants threaten; A third cry'd, damn my blood! I'd be content Not out of arrant shame of being beaten, To push my fortune, if the parliament

As fear of wanting meat, or being eaten. Would but recall claret from banishment. Were wit, like honour, to be won by fighting, A fourth (and I have done) made this excuse, How few just judges would there be of writing, I'd draw my sword in Ireland, sir, to chuse, Then you would leave this villainous back-biting; Had not their women gouty legs, and wore no Your talents lie how to express your spite, shoes.

But where is he knows how to praise aright? Well, I may march, thought ), and fight and trudge, You praise like cowards, but like critics fight. But of these blades the devil a man will budge; Ladies be wise, and wean these yearling calves, They there would fight e'en just as here they who in your service too are mere faux braves, judge.

They judge, and write, and fight, and love-by Here they will pay for leave to find a fault,

halves. But when their honour calls, they can't be bought,

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Don Alvarez, An old Counsellor to Don SEMEN.

BASTIAN, now a Slave also.
DON SEBASTIAN, King of Portugal.

MUSTAPHA, Captain of the Rabble.
MULEY-MOLUch, Emperor of Barbary.
Dorax, a noble Portuguese, now a Renegade,

WOMEN.
formerly Don ALONSO DE SYLVERA, Al- ALMEYDA, a captive Queen of Barbary.
cade or Governor of Alcazar,

MORAYMA, Daughter to the Musti. BENDUCAR, Chief Minister and Furourite of the JOHAYMA, chief Wife to the Mufti. Emperor.

Two Merchants.
The Mufti, ABDALLA

Rabble.
Muley-ZEYDAN, Brother to the Emperor. A Serrant to BENDUCAR.
Don Antonio, á young, noble, amorous, Por A Servant to the Mufti.

tuguese, now a Sluve.

SCENE—The Castle of Alcazar.

ACT I.

What hear you of Sebastian, king of Portugal! SCENE I.-The Scene at Alcazar, represent

Bend. He fell among a heap of slaughter. ing a Market-place under the Castle.

ed Moors; Enter MULEY-ZEYDAN and BendUCAR.

Though yet his mangled carcase is not found.

The rival of our threatened empire, Mahomet, Mul. Zeyd. Now Africa's long wars are at

Was hot pursued; and in the general rout,
an end,

Mistook a swelling current for a ford,
And our parch’d' earth is drenched in Christian And in Mucazer's flood was seen to rise;

Thrice was he seen; at length his courser plung’d. My conquering brother will have slaves enough, | And threw him off the waves whelm’d over him, To pay his cruel vows for victory.

And, helpless in his heavy arins, he drowned.

blood,

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