of my family, is this your gratitude? When in the bitterness of my distress I put an infant daughter in your hands, the last weak scion of a noble stock, was it to rob me you received her? to plunder and defraud an helpless orphan, as you thought her, and rise upon the ruins of your benefactor's fortaue?

Bridge. Oh! I am trepanned. How shall I look my wife and daughter in the face. (Aside.)

Aub. Where have you lodged the money I deposited with you at parting? I find my daughter destitute: what have you done with the remittances I sent from time to time? But, above all, where is the produce of the Neptune's cargo? Villain, look here, I have the proofs; this is the abstract of the sale; if you dispute it, I am here provided with a witness, your Jew broker, ready at hand, to attest it to your face.

Bridge: Expose me not I will refund to the last farthing: I dispute nothing; call him not in. Mort. There's no occasion for witnesses when a man pleads guilty.

Enter MISS AUBREY.

Miss A. Dear sir, upon my knees, I do beseech you mitigate your severity; it is my first petition; he's detected; let his conscience add the rest.

Auh. Rise, my beloved child, it shall be so. There, sir, your pardon be your punishment; it was my money only you attempted, my choicest treasure you have left untouched: now, go and profit by this meeting: I will not expose you: learn of your fraternity a more honourable practice; and let integrity for ever remain the inseparable characteristic of an English merchant.

Mort. Stay; I've another point to settle with you; you're a creditor of Lord Abberville's: I find you've put Miss Aubrey's money to extraordinary interest: Jarvis, shew this gentleman into my library, you'll find a lawyer there will settle your

accounts.

Bridge. I think you've pretty well done that already. A fine visit, truly, I have made on't; and a fine reception I shall meet at home. [Exit. Aub. So, this uneasy business past, let us now turn to happiness: where is your nephew? Mort. Conferring with Lord Abberville. Miss A. Lord Abberville! You frighten me. Mort. Fear nothing; you will find him a new man; a deep incision has let out the disorder; and I hope a healthy regimen, in time, will heal the wound; in short, I can't be idle; and now Frank is off my hands, I've once more undertaken to set this rickety babe of quality upon his legs. Oh! here he comes; why, this is as it should be; now you look like friends.

Enter LORD ABBERVILLE and TYRREL. Lord A. May we ever be so! Oh! Mortimer, I blush to look upon that lady: your reproofs I bore with some composure; but methinks were she to chide me, I should sink with shame.

Miss A. You've nothing, my Lord Abberville, to apprehend from me: I should be loath to give an interruption to your happiness in the height of my own.

Aub. Give me thy hand, Augusta.-In the hope that I was labouring for thy sake, and in thy person that I should restore the prostrate fortunes of an ancient house, I have toiled on through eighteen years of wearisome adventure: crowned with success, I now at length return, and find my daughter all my fondest hope could represent. But past experience makes me provident: I would secure my treasure; I would bestow it now in faithful hands. What say you, sir, will you accept the charge? (To Tyrrel.)

Tyr. Yes, and will bear it ever in my sight; watch over it with unremitting love, and guard it with my life.

Aub. What says my child, my dear Augusta? But I read her looks.-Blest be you both!

Mort. Amen, say I. Live an example to the

age; and when I read the list of marriages, as I do that of burials, with a sigh, let me have this to say, that there was one example of felicity.

Lord A. Oh! Frank, 'tis hard to speak the word, but you deserve her; your's is the road to happiness: I have been lost in error, but I shall trace your steps, and press to overtake you. Mort. Why, that's well said; there spoke your father from within you: now begone; ly to the altars of your country lares; visit that nurse of contemplation, solitude; and while you range your groves, that shook at every rattle of the dice, ask of your reason, why you was a gamester.

Lord A. I've been a madman; I have lost an humble faithful friend, whose services would be invaluable.

Mort. Why ay, your Highlander, your poor Macleod! our plan must stop without his help; like but a projector, he must execute; but there likewise,

can serve you.

Lord A. Oh! Mortimer, how much have I misMort. Come, come, I have my faults; I'm an untoward fellow, and stand as much in need of a reform as any of you all.

Enter DOCTOR DRUID, followed by COLIN.

Dr. D. Tutor me, truly! talk to me! Pray, gentlemen, bear witness: is Master Colins here, a proper teacher of the dialects, d'ye see? and pronunciations of the English tongue?

Colin. Why not? Is there not Duncan Ross of Aberdeen that lactures twice a week on oratory, at the Seven Dials? And does not Sawney Ferguson, a cousin of mine awn, administer the English language in its utmost elegance at Amsterdam?

[ness.

Dr. D. Bear witness; that is all I say, bear witMort. We do: there is not one amongst us, Doctor, but can bear witness to some noble act of Colin's; and we would not wound his harmless vanity for any bribe that you can offer.

Lord A. Colin, I've done you wrong; but I was not myself; be you no worse a servant than you have been, and you shall find henceforward I will be a better master.

Colin. I'm satisfied; an you'll neglect yoursall na' more than I shall do, things will gang well enow.

Tyr. I must apologize to Colin, too; like my Lord Abberville, I was not myself when I rebuffed you on the business of Miss Aubrey's letter.

Colin. Say no more, Maister Tyrrel; 'tis not for a mon to resent the pertness of a child, or the petulance of a lover.

Miss A. But what shall I say to him? Where shall I find words to thank him as I ought?

Aub. I father all your obligations; 'twas not you but me his bounty saved.

Lord A. Hold! sir, in point of obligation, I stand first. By how much there is more disgrace in doing than in suffering a violence, by so much I am more his debtor than you all.

Colin. Ecod, and that is true enow; heaven sends misfortune, but the de'il sends mischief.

Dr. D. Well, Master Colins, all is past and over; you have got your place again, and all is well. Coot now, let me admonish you for the fature to be quiet and hear reason; moderate your choler, and your passions, aud your partialities: it is not for a clown like you to prattle and dispute with me; in fait, you should know better.

Mort. Come, come, 'tis you that should know better; in this poor Highlander, the force of prejudice has some plea, because he is a clown; but you, a citizen that should be of the world, whose heart, philosophy, and travel, might have opened, should know better than to join the cry with those whose charity, like the limitation of a brief, stops short at Berwick, and never circulates beyond the Tweed by heaven, I'd rather weed out one such unmanly prejudice from the hearts of my countrymen, than add another Indies to their empire. [Exeunt.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter ETAN, meeting SELIM.
Etan. Selim, from whence? What station? From
what post?

How stands the fate of China? Whence that tumult,
That mingled burst of horror and despair,
That rose to heav'n, as if the sound imported
The wreck of nature?

Selim. With too sure presage,

It speaks the fall of China: all who rush'd
With eager hope, this morning, to yon plains,
To learn the earliest tidings of their fate,
Now back recoil; they pour into the city;
Dismay and horror wild in ev'ry face!

Soon as they reach'd the gates, a peal of groans
Burst forth at once! then silence, deep and vast,
Ensued; and sorrow, without tongue or utt'rance,
Roams through each street; matrons and hoary sires,
All to their sev'ral habitations press,

Embrace their young ones, and, in pensive mood, Await their final doom.

Etan. Then Timurkan

Has conquer'd; and that burst, that rent the skies,
Was the last gasp of freedom and of laws,
A dying nation's groan! This dead repose
Deepens the horror of the dreadful scene.
Where, Selim, is my father? Where is Zamti?
Selim. On the high rampart near the eastern gate,
But now I left him: from that post he views
The gen'ral panic; there beholds the ruin,
Th' inevitable ruin that surrounds us.
Amazement for awhile suppress'd his voice;
With folded arms he stood; then, with a sigh
His lab'ring bosom heav'd; at length, he cried,
The Tartar has prevail'd, and resignation
Is now the only virtue fate has left us.

Etan. To bow the neck to the fell Tartar's

yoke,

Is that the resignation heav'n demands?
No; let us summon all that's left of valour,
Oppose the Tartar's entry, man the works,
And arm each hand for freedom. Timurkan
Will shrink and look dismay'd, when he beholds
That we have spirits here, who still can mock
His utmost rage, and, on the brink of ruin,
Snatch the still wav'ring, the unsettled victory
Ev'n from the conqu'ror's sword.

Selim. My friend, forbear;

This tow'ring spirit, this impetuous ardour,
Can nought avail; can only heap destruction
On thee, on Zamti, and that best of women,
Your wretched mother, the forlorn Mandane;
Whose ev'ry sentiment, whose ev'ry passion,
Big with the image of a much-lov'd son,
Still turns to thee; ev'n from her country's cause,
And our long line of kings, to thee she turns
With the strong ardour of maternal love.

Etan. Yes, Selim, yes; her tenderness of soul,
Ever awake, alarm'd, and prone to melt
For others' good, regardless of herself,
Starts and turns pale at every cloud that low'rs;
Sees fancied ills, and each sad moment proves
The strong vicissitude of hope and fear.
Be it thy care, my friend, to see Mandane;
Assuage ber troubled spirit: in this hour,
This crisis of our fate, let her remain

Safe in her lone retreat: I'll round the walls,
And seek my father's presence; in his soul
My voice shall wake the patriot flame, and rouse
All that is hero in him. Selim, yes;
We'll dare for liberty, or bravely die.
Selim. Go, gen'rous youth; go, seek thy father's

presence:

[Exit.

From him thou'lt learn how vain this swelling tide

Of desp❜rate valour. Ha! Mandane comes,
And her looks speak, the horror of the time.

Enter MANDANE and MIRVAN.

Man. No, never, Mirvan, never: urge no more; 'Tis vain, 'tis ineffectual. Gracious heav'n! Will not this palace drench'd in gore, the crown Of China's kings fix'd on the Tartar's brow; Will not a tract of twenty years in bondage; Ah! will not these suffice, without fresh cause Of bitter anguish in Mandane's breast?

Mir. The measure of our woes has long been full. Our kings dethron'd, our country laid in ruin; Nought else is worth a pang.

Man. Yes, all; we all

Must feel the kindred touch: each day the cries
Of widows, orphans, father, son, and brother,
In vain are sent to heav'n; the ruthless fury
Of these barbarians, these accurs'd invaders,
Burns with increasing fire; the thunder still
Roll's o'er our heads, engend'ring in its course
New flame, new vengeance, with collected wrath,
To burst at once, and bury us in ruin.

Mir. And quickly fall it must: the hand of heav'n Weighs this great empire down.

Man. No; tax not heav'n! Almighty justice never bares its arm 'Gainst innocence and truth: 'tis Timurkan, That fell barbarian, that insatiate waster. May curses blast the Tartar! He'tis he Has bore down all; and still his reeking sword, In yonder field of death, where Corea's troops Made their last stand for liberty and China, Crimsons the land with blood. This battle lost! And is there, then, no hope?__ The Tartar comesIn triumph, said'st thou? From what quarter? how?

Whence came the tidings?

Selim. From yon lofty tow'r,

As my eye straining toward the distant plain
Sent forth an anxious look, through clouds of dust
The savage bands appear'd; the western sun
Gleam'd on their burnish'd helms ; and soon a shout
From their glad multitude proclaim'd th' approach
Of Timurkan: once more inflam'd with conquest
The tyrant comes; and soon, within our walls,
Uprears his conq'ring banner.

Man. Selim, go;

Again look out; gather the flying news,
And let me know each circumstance of ruin.

[Exit Selim.

Mir.. Better suppress those unavailing tears; That fruitless flood of grief.

Man. It will not be;

Ev'n midst the horrors of this dismal hour,
When fate has all transferr'd from lost Cathai,
To vile barbarian hands; yes, even now,
In these black moments of despair and ruin,
This heart revolting from the public cause,
Bleeds from a private source; bleeds for the woes
That hang o'er Zamti's house.

Mir. Each sun that rises

Brings some new grief; and where our fate will stop, Heav'n only knows.

Man. Ay, there-there lies the thought

At which imagination starts appall'd

With horror, at the scene her busy workings Have colour'd to my sight; there lies the thought That wakens all a mother's fears. Protect,

Ye pow'rs, protect my son!

Mir. Your son, Mandane!

That under him I list, and wear this garb, In hopes that some occasion may arrive When I may strike the unexpected blow, And do my country right.

Man. Thy loyalty,

Thy truth and honour, have been ever spotless. Besides the wrongs, the countless wrongs, the wounds

He gave your injur'd family and name—
Mir. Alas! those wounds must still lie bleeding
here,

Untented by the hand of time. Not all
His lenient arts, his favours heap'd upon me,
Shall cool the burning anguish of my
soul.
What he, who slew my father? dragg'd my sister,
Blooming in years, to his detested bed?
Yes, tyrant, yes; thy unextinguish'd foe
Dwells in this bosom: surely, then, to me
Mandane may reveal her griefs.

Man. No more.

My woes must rest conceal'd; yet, should the Tartar
Learn from the captives of yon vanquish'd host,
That China's orphan breathes the vital air,
And to himself unknown, within his breast,
Unconscious, bears the gen'rous glowing flame
Of all the virtues of his ancient line;

Oh! should they know that the dear youth survives,
Their fury, then, would kindle to a blaze;
Might spread destruction round; and, in the ruin,
My blameless son must perish.

Mir. Seek not thus

To multiply the ills that hover round you,
Nor from the stores of busy fancy add
New shafts to fortune's quiver. Zamti's care
Averts impending danger from his friends;
And o'er the mandarin his manners pure,
And sacred function, have diffus'd an air
Of venerable awe, which ev'n can teach
These northern foes to soften into men.

Man. Yes, Mirvan, yes; religion wears a mien
In Zamti's person so severely mild,
That the fierce Scythian rests upon his spear,
And wonders what he feels: such is the charm
Of heartfelt virtue; such is nature's force
That speaks abroad, and in rude, northern hearts
Can stamp the image of an awful God!
From that source springs some hope. Wretch that
I am!

Hope idly flutters on my trembling tongue, While melancholy, brooding o'er her wrongs, Lays waste the mind with anguish and despair. What noise is that?

Mir. Compose this storm of grief;

In every sound your fancy hears the Tartar. "Tis Zamti this way bends.

Man. Celestial powers!

What lab'ring sighs heave in his breast! what

horror

Zamti. Mandane!

Man. Ah! what hast thou seen?

What heard? Say, quickly tell-has fate decreed The doom of China?

Zamti. China is no more;

The eastern world is lost; the glorious fabric,
For ages that has stood the seat of empire,

Your soft authority, restrain'd the hero

From the alarms of war?

Man. Unconscious man!

Thou little know'st his danger; but that truth

Must never pass these lips.

Mir. I hope Mandane'

Doubts not my honest zeal. Full well you know, I bear this tyrant deep and mortal hate;

Why should a monster thus usurp the world,
And trample fair integrity and truth
Beneath his ruffian feet?

Zamti. Far hence, Mandane,

Those happy days, alas! are fled, when peace
Here nurs'd her blooming olives, and shed round
Her fostering influence: in vain the plau
Of sacred laws, by hoary elders taught;
Laws, founded on the base of public weal,
Gave lessons to the world: in vain Confucius
Unlock'd his radiant stores of moral truth;
In vain fair science, and each tender muse,
Beam'd every elegance on polish'd life:
Barbarian power prevails. Whate'er the wise,
Whate'er the sons of genius could inspire,
All that bright art could give, must fade away,
And every virtue wither at the blast
Of northern domination.

Man. Fatal hour!

More fatal ev'n than that which first beheld
This race accurst within these palace walls;
Since hope, that balm of wretched minds, is now
Irrevocably lost.

Zamti. Name not the day

Which saw this city sack'd: fresh stream my eyes, Fresh bleeds my heart, whene'er the sad idea Comes o'er my tortur'd mind. Why, cruel powers, Why, in that moment, could not Zamti fall?

Man. Thy office, and the symbol of thy god,
Made ev'n the conqueror suspend his blow,
And murmur soft humanity. High heaven
Protected thee for its own great designs.
Zamti. Yes, my Mandane, in that hour of carnage,
For purposes yet in the womb of time,
I was reserv'd; I was ordain'd to save
The royal child, the dear, the precious babe,
The last of all my kings. Full twenty years
I've hid him from the world, and from himself;
And now I swear-kneel we together here,
While in this dreadful pause our souls renew
Their solemn purpose. (They kneel.) Thou, all-
gracious Being!

Whose tutelary care hath watch'd the fate
Of China's orphan, who hast taught his steps -
The paths of safety, still envelop him

In sevenfold night, till your own hour is come,
Till your slow justice see the dread occasion
To rouse his soul, and bid him walk abroad
Vicegerent of your power; and if thy servant,
Or this his soft associate e'er defeat,
By any word or deed, the great design,
Then straight may all your horrible displeasure
Be launch'd upon us from your red right arm,
And in one ruín dash us both together,
The blasted monuments of wrath.

Man. That here,

Mandane vows ne'er to betray his cause,

Be it enroll'd in the records of heaven. (They rise.) Zamti. And now my heart more lightly beats;

methinks,

With strength redoubled I can meet the shock Of adverse fate.

Man. And, lo! the trial comes. Etan, why sudden thus

Re-enter ETAN..

Etan. My honour'd father,

And you, my helpless mother, ah! where now, Illustrious, wretched pair, where will you fly? Where shall your miseries now find a shelter? Zamti. In virtue. I and this dear, faithful woman, We ask no more.

Man. Oh! say, what new event
Brings on the work of fate?
Zamti. Say, does the Tartar
Return, unglutted yet with blood?
Etan. He does.

Ev'n now his triumph moves within our gates,
In dread barbaric pomp: the iron swarms

Man. Why on him? Why on that youth?

Zamti. Ye groundless terrors, hence! (Aside.) Etan. And yet, my father, this heroic youthOh! should he be the prince

Zamti. Forbear, young man,

Nor yield to vain surmise: withdraw thee hence
To the religious grove, where oft I walk
In pensive solitude: I there will meet thee.

[Exit Etan. Heavens! how each black'ning hour, in deeper horror,

Comes charg'd with woe!

Man. Can Hamet be their pris'ner?
Those eyes upturn'd to heav'n, alas! in vain,
Declare your inward conflict.

Zamti. Lov'd Mandane!

Shall wrench him from my heart.

Zamti. Good old man! But wherefore art thou here? What of my boy? Morat. Ah! what, indeed! Ev'n from the ocean's margin,

Parch'd with the sun, and chill'd with midnight damps,

O'er hills, and rocks, and dreary continents,

In vain I follow'd.

Zamti. Why didst let him forth?

The conqueror comes!

(Warlike music heard.)

This is no hour for parleying. Morat, hence,
And leave me to my fix'd resolve.
Morut. Yet think,

Think of some means to save your son.
Zamti. No more;

It cannot be: the soul of Timurkan

deed,

His valour was the cause; and soon as fame
Proclaim'd the prince alive, the mighty din
Of preparation through all Corea's realm
Alarm'd his breast; indignant of control,
He burst his covert; and, now, hapless youth!
Alas! ev'n now, he drags the conqu'ror's chain.
Zamti. Mandane, then, may still embrace her son.
My boy survives, and still may live in freedom.

Morat. Alas! the measure of your woes is full.
Unconscious of our frauds, the tyrant thinks
The prince his pris'ner.

Zamti. Ah! what say'st thou, Morat?

Morat. Wild through the streets the foe calls out on Zamti.

Thee they pronounce the author of the fraud;
And on your Hamet threaten instant vengeance.
Zamti. There was but this, but this last stab to
nature,

And here it pierces. Was it not enough

To tear my child from his fond mother's arms,
Doom'd for his prince to wander o'er the world?
Alas! what needed more? Fond, foolish eyes,
Stop your unbidden gush: I will not yield.
Oh! what a sacrifice must now be made!
Morat. But when the truth is known—
Zamti. Too cruel task!

To conquer nature while the heart-strings break. Morat. Why heave those sighs? and why that burst of grief?

Zamti. My son-his guiltless blood--I cannot speak.

Morat. Ha! wilt thou shed his blood?
Zamti. Thou wretched father!

Morat. Oh! had you known the virtues of your

son,

His truth, his courage, his enlighten'd mindZamti. I pr'ythee, urge no more: here nature's

voice

Speaks in such pleadings, such reproaches, Morat;
Here in my very heart; gives woundings here,
Thou canst not know, and only parents feel.
Morat. And wilt thou, cruel in thy tears-
Zamti. Forbear!

In pity to a father-Oh, forbear!
Think of Zaphimri.

Morat. Ah! how fares the prince?

Zamti. He fares, my Morat, like a god on earth, Unknowing his celestial origin;

Yet quick, intense, and bursting into action;
His great heart lab'ring with he knows not what
Prodigious deeds; deeds which, ere long, shall

rouse,

Astonish, and alarm the world.

Morat. What means

Those mystic sounds?

Zamti. Revenge, conquest, and freedom! The midnight hour shall call a chosen band Of hidden patriots forth; who, when the foe Sinks down in drunken revelry, shall pour The gather'd rage of twenty years upon him; And, at one blow, redeem the eastern world. Morat. By heaven! the glorious newsZamti. And canst thou think,

To save one vulgar life, that Zamti now
Will mar the vast design? No, let him bleed;
Let my boy bleed! In such a cause as ours,
I can resign my son; with tears of joy
Resign him; and one complicated pang

He springs aloft like an expanding fire,
And marks his way with ruin. Should I try
By any virtuous fraud to save my son,
The tyrant claims Zaphimri; since he knows
The prince survives, the thought will make him
daring

Beyond his former crimes; for joy and riot,
Which this day's triumph brings, remorseless rage
And massacre succeed; and all our hopes
Are blasted for an unimportant boy.

(Music heard again.) Morat. That nearer sound proclaims his dread approach.

Yet once more, Zamti, think

Zamti. Farewell! I'll send

Those shall conduct thee where Orasming lives:
There dwell unseen of all. But, Morat, first
Seek my Mandane. How shall I support
Her strong impetuosity of grief,

When she shall know my fatal purpose? Thou
Prepare her tender spirit; sooth her mind;
And save, oh! save me from the dreadful conflict.
[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

son,

Train'd him to arms, and granted his request
To join the martial train.

Man. Oh! love of glory,

Thou fatal foe to a fond mother's peace!
Source of heroic deeds! how bright thy flame
Shines in my boy!

Morat. Pleas'd with his youthful ardour,
The cautious chieftain knew the son of Zamti,
In secret knew him, nor reveal'd be aught
That touch'd his birth; but still the busy voice
Of fame, increasing as she goes, through all the
ranks

Babbled abroad each circumstance; from thee
How he was privately convey'd; sent forth
A tender infant to be rear'd in solitude,
A stranger to himself. The soldier saw
With what a graceful port he mov'd in arms,
An early hero! deem'd him far above
The common lot of life; deem'd him Zaphimri;
And all with loyalty, with love beheld him.

Man. Oh! I must see him; midst the tyrant's

ranks

I'll seek my son: from all his father's virtues
He could not derogate; his bosom fraught
With gen'rous instinct, with each fine incentive
That prompts the manly deed, he could not loiter
His days inglorious. Yes, I will behold him,
See him with indignation clank his chains,