University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Prison.
E---r,
solus.
It's done; not all their boasted pow'r can save me!
Not Hazlerod himself with all his art,
Who long had buoy'd up my sinking spirits,
Can soothe the sullen passions of my soul,
Or pour one ray of comfort on my mind.
Condemn'd!—to die! perdition seize them all.
Where are now all the gilded airy prospects
That swam before me—Honors, places, pensions—
'Tis all a cheat, a damn'd a cruel cheat.
The wretch that feasts himself on promises,
Pursues a phantom, and but grasps at air;
Th' illusive vapour leads him to a bog
Then leaves him to his fate—cursed enticers!
Ye who seduc'd my soul to laugh at virtue,
To give up all my right to future bliss,
And bid me dare to stamp the die for ever:
Ye who encourag'd me with hopes of pardon,
To glut your vengence, for the cause was yours,
On weeping innocence; to act a deed,
Which sportive fame shall blow about the world.
Where are ye now?—

Enter Hazlerod.
Hazlerod.
What lost to grief!—dejected! can it be!
Can the poor verdict of some half form'd peasants,
Unmeaning dull machines, thus damp your courage
Rouse up my friend, for friend I still will call thee:
By every tie that links the humane mind,
That surest sympathy which cement souls,
Which like two rivers mingle mutual streams,
And roll together—thou art and shalt be mine.
Know then, we all have met and all determin'd
To aid the cause in hand—decrepid Meagre
In whom a passion of revenge is virtue;
And he, the life of all:—whose simple breath
Sways every action, cautious Latat
Whose soul ne'er knew one generous sentiment,
Which gives a sanction to humanity.
Steady and vigilant, in one sole plan,
To crush the friends of freedom, extirpate
The dear remains of virtue, and like Nero,
At one dread blow to massacre his millions.
Steady to this one plan, tho' dreary spectres
Scare all his soul and haunt his midnight slumber.
Yes, we will still protect thee.—'Tis impossible
A cause so much at heart, shou'd droop and languish,
And we not lend an aid—when S---r bled,
We snuff'd the rich perfume, the groans of youth.
Gods! they were musick in our ears—you therefore
Shall one day leave this dismal tenement,
Again with pleasing scenes of blood and carnage,
To glut our vengeance—yes—by heaven we swear,
You shall be free whatever pangs it cost us.
We'll laugh at all the howls of patriotism.
Should virtue check, should conscience whisper terror,
And lash our troubled minds, we'll brave it all.—

[Exeunt.