precedes this) we discern traces of that fiery particle, which in the irregular starting from out of the road of beaten action, discovers something of a right line even in obliquity, and shows hints of an improveable greatness in the lowest descents and degradations of our nature.]

LOVE'S SACRIFICE, A TRAGEDY :
BY THE SAME Author.

BIANCHA, Wife to CARAFFA, Duke of Pavia, loves and is loved by FERNANDO the Duke's favourite. She long resists his importunate suit ; at length, she enters the room where he is sleeping, and awakens him, to hear her confession of her love for him.

BIANCHA. FERNANDO, sleeping.

Bian. Resolve, and do; 'tis done. What, are those eyes,

Which lately were so over-drown'd in tears,

So easy to take rest? O happy man !

How sweetly sleep hath seal'd up sorrows here!
But I will call him: what, my lord, my lord,
My lord Fernando-

Fer. Who calls?

Bian. My lord,

Sleeping, or waking? Fer. Ha, who is it?

Bian. 'Tis I:

Have you forgot my voice? or is your ear
But useful to your eye?

Fer. Madam the duchess!

Bian. She, 'tis she; sit up,

Sit up and wonder, whiles my sorrows swell: The nights are short, and I have much to say. Fer. Is 't possible 'tis you?

Bian. 'Tis possible:

Why do you think I come?

Fer. Why? to crown joys,

in my

heart

And make me master of my best desires. Bian. 'Tis true, you guess aright; sit up and listen. With shame and passion now I must confess, Since first mine eyes beheld you, You have been only king. If there can be A violence in love, then I have felt That tyranny be record to my

soul

The justice which I for this folly fear.
Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue
Did often chide thy love, each word thou spak'st
Was music to my ear: was never poor,

Poor wretched woman liv'd, that loved like me,
So truly, so unfeignedly.

Fer. Oh, madam

Bian. To witness that I speak is truth, look here ! Thus singly I adventure to thy bed,

And do confess my weakness: if thou tempt'st My bosom to thy pleasures, I will yield. Fer. Perpetual happiness!

Bian. Now hear me out :

When first Caraffa, Pavy's duke, my lord,
Saw me, he loved me; and, without respect
Of dower, took me to his bed and bosom,
Advanced me to the titles I possess,

Not mov'd by counsel, or remov'd by greatness:
Which to requite, betwixt my soul and heaven
I vow'd a vow to live a constant wife.

I have done so: nor was there in the world
A man created, could have broke that truth,
For all the glories of the earth, but thou,
But thou, Fernando.
Fer. Beyond imagination.

Bian. True, I do,

Do I love thee now?

Beyond imagination: if no pledge

Of love can instance what I speak is true,
But loss of my best joys, here, here, Fernando,
Be satisfied, and ruin me.

Fer. What do you mean?

Bian. To give my body up to thy embraces;
A pleasure that I never wish'd to thrive in
Before this fatal minute: mark me now;
If thou dost spoil me of this robe of shame,
By my best comforts, here I vow again,
To thee, to heaven, to the world, to time,
Ere yet the morning shall new christen day,
I'll kill myself!

Fer. How, madam, how!

Bian. I will :

Do what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choice; what say ye? Fer. Pish, do you come to try me? tell me first, Will you but grant a kiss?

Bian. Yes, take it; that,

Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine. Fer. Oh me-Come, come, how many women, pray, Were ever heard or read of, granted love,

And did as you protest you will?

Bian. Fernando,

Jest not at my calamity. I kneel—

[Kneels.

By these dishevel'd hairs, these wretched tears, By all that's good, if what I speak, my heart Vows not eternally, then think, my lord, Was never man sued to me I denied ; Think me a common and most cunning whore, And let my sins be written on my grave, My name rest in reproof! Do as you list. Fer. I must believe ye; yet I hope, anon, When you are parted from me, you will say I was a good, cold, easy-spirited man, Nay, laugh at my simplicity: say, will ye? Bian. No, by the faith I owe my bridal vows! But ever hold thee much, much dearer far Than all my joys on earth, by this chaste kiss. Fer. You have prevail'd; and Heaven forbid that I Should by a wanton appetite profane

This sacred temple! 'Tis enough for me,
You'll please to call me servant.

Bian. Nay, be thine:

Command my power, my bosom ; and I'll write
This love within the tables of my heart.

Fer. Enough; I'll master passion, and triumph
In being conquer'd, adding to it this,

In you my love as it begun shall end.

Bian. The latter I new vow- -but day comes on ;
What now we leave unfinish'd of content,
Each hour shall perfect up: sweet, let's part.
Fer. Best life, good rest!

THE CHRONICLE HISTORY OF PERKIN WARBECK.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

PERKIN WARBECK and his Followers are by LORD DAWBNEY presented to KING HENRY as Prisoners,

Dawb. Life to the king, and safety fix his throne !
I here present you, royal sir, a shadow
Of majesty, but in effect, a substance

Of pity, a young man, in nothing grown
To ripeness, but the ambition of your mercy :
Perkin, the christian world's strange wonder.
King H. Dawbney,

We observe no wonder; I behold, 'tis true,
An ornament of nature, fine and polish'd,

A handsome youth indeed, but not admire him.
How came he to thy hands?

Dawb. From sanctuary

At Bewley, near Southampton; register'd, With these few followers, for persons privileged. King H. I must not thank you, sir! you were to blame

To infringe the liberty of houses sacred:
Dare we be irreligious?
Dawb. Gracious lord,

They voluntarily resign'd themselves,
Without compulsion.

King H. So? 'twas very well;

'Twas very, very well! turn now thine

eyes, Young man, upon thyself, and thy past actions. What revels in combustion through our kingdom, A frenzy of aspiring youth hath danced,

Till, wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt To break thy neck!

Warb. But not my heart; my heart

Will mount, till every drop of blood be frozen
By death's perpetual winter: if the sun
Of majesty be darken'd, let the sun

Of life be hid from me, in an eclipse
Lasting and universal! Sir, remember

There was a shooting in of light, when Richmond,
Not aiming at a crown, retir'd, and gladly,
For comfort to the duke of Bretagne's court.
Richard, who swayed the sceptre, was reputed
A tyrant then; yet then, a dawning glimmer'd
To some few wand'ring remnants, promising day
When first they ventur❜d on a frightful shore,
At Milford Haven-

Dawb. Whither speeds his boldness?

Check his rude tongue, great sir.
King H. O, let him range:

The player 's on the stage still, 'tis his part;
He does but act.- -What follow'd?

Warb. Bosworth field!

Where, at an instant, to the world's amazement,
A morn to Richmond, and a night to Richard,
Appear'd at once: the tale is soon applied;
Fate which crown'd these attempts when least

assured,