ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—Lord Brumpton's House.
Enter Trusty and Lord Brumpton.
Tru. She knows no moderation in her good fortune; she has, out of impatience to see herself in her weeds, ordered her mantua woman to stitch up anything immediately. You may hear her and Tattleaid laugh aloud—she is so wantonly merry.
Ld. B. But this of Lady Sharlot is the very utmost of all ill. Pray read—but I must sit; my late fit of the gout makes me act with pain and constraint. Let me see——
Tru. She writ it by the page, who brought it me, as I had wheedled him to do all their passages.
Ld. B. [Reads.]
"You must watch the occasion of the servants being gone out of the house with the corpse; Tattleaid shall conduct you to my Lady Sharlot's apartment—away with her—and be sure you bed her——
"Your affectionate Sister,
"Mary Brumpton."
Brumpton? The creature! She called as Frank's mother was? Brumpton! The succuba! What a devil incarnate have I had in my bosom? Why, the common abandoned town women would scruple such an action as this. Though they have lost all regard to their own chastity, they would be tender of another's. Why, sure she had no infancy. She never had virginity, to have no compassion through memory of her own former innocence. This is to forget her very humanity—her very sex. Where is my poor boy? Where's Frank? Does not he want? How has he lived all this time? Not a servant, I warrant, to attend him—what company can he keep? What can he say of his father?
Tru. Though you made him not your heir, he is still your son, and has all the duty and tenderness in the world for your memory.
Ld. B. It is impossible, Trusty; it is impossible. I will not rack myself with the thought, that one I have injured can be so very good—keep me in countenance—tell me he hates my very name, would not assume my title because it descends from me. What's his company?
Tru. Young Tom Campley; they are never asunder.
Ld. B. I am glad he has my pretty tattler—the cheerful innocent Harriot. I hope he'll be good to her; he's good-natured and well-bred.
Tru. But, my lord, she was very punctual in ordering the funeral. She bid Sable be sure to lay you deep enough, she had heard such stories of the wicked sextons taking up people; but I wish, my lord, you would please to hear her and Tattleaid once more——
Ld. B. I know to what thy zeal tends; but I tell you, since you cannot be convinced but that I have still a softness for her—I say though I had so, it should never make me transgress that scrupulous honour that becomes a peer of England. If I could forget injuries done myself thus gross, I never will those done my friends. You knew Sharlot's worthy father—No, there's no need of my seeing more of this woman. I behold her now with the same eyes that you do; there's a meanness in all she says or does; she has a great wit but a little mind—something ever wanting to make her appear my Lady Brumpton. She has nothing natively great. You see I love her not; I talk with judgment of her.
Tru. I see it, my good lord, with joy I see it, nor care how few things I see more in this world. My satisfaction is complete. Welcome old age; welcome decay; 'tis not decay, but growth to a latter being. [Exit, leading Lord Brumpton.
Re-enter Trusty, meeting Cabinet.
Tru. I have your letter, Mr. Cabinet.
Cab. I hope, sir, you'll believe it was not in my nature to be guilty of so much baseness; but being born a gentleman, and bred out of all roads of industry in that idle manner too many are, I soon spent a small patrimony; and being debauched by luxury, I fell into the narrow mind to dread no infamy like poverty, which made me guilty, as that paper tells you; and had I not writ to you, I am sure I never could have told you of it.
Tru. It is an ingenious, pious penitence in you; my Lord Hardy (to whom this secret is inestimable) is a noble-natured man, and you shall find him such, I give you my word.
Cab. I know, sir, your integrity.
Tru. But pray be there; all that you have to do is to ask for the gentlewoman at the house at my Lord Hardy's; she'll take care of you. And pray have patience, where she places you, till you see me. [Exit Cab.] My Lord Hardy's being a house where they receive lodgers, has allowed me convenience to place everybody I think necessary to be by at her discovery. This prodigious welcome secret! I see, however impracticable honest actions may appear, we may go on with just hope—
All that is ours is to be justly bent,
And Heaven in its own cause will bless the event.
[Exit.
SCENE II.—Covent Garden.
Enter Trim and his party.
Trim. March up, march up. Now we are near the citadel, and halt only to give the necessary orders for the engagement. Ha! Clump, Clump! When we come to Lord Brumpton's door, and you see us conveniently disposed about the house, you are to wait till you see a corpse brought out of the house; then to go up to him you observe the director, and ask importunately for an alms to a poor soldier, for which you may be sure you shall have a good blow or two; but if you have not, be saucy till you have. Then when you see a file of men got between the house and the body—a file of men, Bumpkin, is six men—I say, when you see the file in such a posture, that half the file may face to the house, half to the body, you are to fall down, crying murder, that the half file faced to the body may throw it and themselves over you. I then march to your rescue. Then, Swagger, you and your party fall in to secure my rear, while I march off with the body. These are the orders; and this, with a little improvement of my own, is the same disposition Villeroy and Catinat made at Chiari. [Marches off with his party.
SCENE III.—Lord Brumpton's House.
Enter Widow, in deep mourning, with a dead squirrel on her arm, and Tattleaid.
Wid. It must be so; it must be your carelessness. What had the page to do in my bedchamber?
Tat. Indeed, madam, I can't tell. But I came in and catched him wringing round his neck——
Wid. Tell the rascal from me he shall romp with the footmen no more. No; I'll send the rogue in a frock to learn Latin among the dirty boys that come to good, I will. But 'tis ever so among these creatures that live on one's superfluous affections; a lady's woman, page, and squirrel are always rivals.
Poor harmless animal—pretty e'en in death:
Death might have overlooked thy little life—
How could'st thou, Robin, leave thy nuts and me?
How was't importunate, dearest, thou should'st die?
Thou never did'st invade thy neighbour's soils;
Never mad'st war with specious shows of peace;
Thou never hast depopulated regions,
But cheerfully did'st bear thy little chain,
Content—so I but fed thee with this hand.
Tat. Alas, alas! we are all mortal. Consider, madam, my lord's dead too. [Weeps.
Wid. Ay, but our animal friends do wholly die; an husband or relation, after death, is rewarded or tormented; that's some consolation—I know her tears are false, for she hated Robin always; but she's a well-bred, dishonest servant, that never speaks a painful truth. [Aside.]—But I'll resolve to conquer my affliction—never speak more of Robin—hide him there. But to my dress: How soberly magnificent is black—and the train—I wonder how widows came to wear such long tails?
Tat. Why, madam, the stateliest of all creatures has the longest tail; the peacock, nay, 't has of all creatures the finest mien too—except your ladyship, who are a Phœnix——
Wid. Ho! brave Tattleaid! But did not you observe what a whining my Lady Sly made when she had drank a little? Did you believe her? Do you think there are really people sorry for their husbands?
Tat. Really, madam, some men do leave their fortunes in such distraction that I believe it may be——[Speaks with pins in her mouth.
Wid. But I swear I wonder how it came up to dress us thus. I protest, when all my equipage is ready, and I move in full pageantry, I shall fancy myself an embassadress from the Commonwealth of Women, the distressed State of Amazonia—to treat for men. But I protest I wonder how two of us thus clad can meet with a grave face! Methinks they should laugh out like two fortune-tellers, or two opponent lawyers that know each other for cheats——
Tat. Ha! ha! ha! I swear to you, madam, your ladyship's wit will choke me one time or other. I had like to have swallowed all the pins in my mouth——
Wid. But, Tatty, to keep house six weeks, that's another barbarous custom; but the reason of it, I suppose, was that the base people should not see people of quality may be as afflicted as themselves.
Tat. No, 'tis because they should not see 'em as merry as themselves.
Wid. Ha! ha! ha! Hussy, you never said that you spoke last. Why, 'tis just—'tis satire—I'm sure you saw it in my face, that I was going to say it: 'Twas too good for you. Come, lay down that sentence and the pin-cushion, and pin up my shoulder. Harkee, hussy, if you should, as I hope you won't, outlive me, take care I ain't buried in flannel; 'twould never become me, I'm sure.[32] That they can be as merry: Well, I'll tell my new acquaintance—what's her name?—she that reads so much, and writes verses. Her husband was deaf the first quarter of a year; I forget her name. That expression she'll like. Well, that woman does divert me strangely; I'll be very great with her. She talked very learnedly of the ridicule till she was ridiculous; then she spoke of the decent, of the agreeable, of the insensible. She designs to print the discourse; but of all things, I like her notion of the insensible.
Tat. Pray, madam, how was that?
Wid. A most useful discourse to be inculcated in our teens. The purpose of it is to disguise our apprehension in this ill-bred generation of men, who speak before women what they ought not to hear. As now, suppose you were a spark in my company, and you spoke some double entendre, I look thus! But be a fellow, and you shall see how I'll use you. The insensible is useful upon any occasion where we seemingly neglect and secretly approve, which is our ordinary common case. Now, suppose a coxcomb, dancing, prating, and playing his tricks before me to move me, without pleasure or distaste in my countenance, I look at him, just thus; but——Ha! ha! ha! I have found out a supplement to this notion of the insensible, for my own use, which is infallible, and that is to have always in my head all that they can say or do to me. So never be surprised with laughter, the occasion of which is always sudden.
Tat. Oh! my Lady Brumpton [Tattleaid bows and cringes], my lady, your most obedient servant.
Wid. Look you, wench, you see by the art of insensibility I put you out of countenance, though you were prepared for an ill-reception.
Tat. Oh! madam, how justly are you formed for what is now fallen to you—the empire of mankind.
Wid. Oh! sir, that puts me out of all my insensibility at once; that was so gallant—Ha! what noise is that; that noise of fighting? Run, I say. Whither are you going? What, are you mad? Will you leave me alone? Can't you stir? What, you can't take your message with you? Whatever 'tis, I suppose you are not in the plot; not you—Nor that now they're breaking open my house for Sharlot—Not you—Go, see what's the matter, I say, I have nobody I can trust. [Exit Tattleaid] One minute I think this wench honest, and the next false. Whither shall I turn me?
Tat. Madam, madam. [Re-entering.
Wid. Madam, madam, will you swallow me gaping?
Tat. Pray, good my lady, be not so out of humour; but there is a company of rogues have set upon our servants and the burial man's, while others ran away with the corpse.
Wid. How, what can this mean? What can they do with it?—Well, 'twill save the charge of interment—But to what end?
Enter Trusty and a Servant, bloody and dirty, haling in Clump and Bumpkin.
Ser. I'll teach you better manners; I'll poor soldier you, you dog you, I will. Madam, here are two of the rascals that were in the gang of rogues that carried away the corpse.
Wid. We'll examine 'em apart. Well, sirrah, what are you? Whence came you? What's your name, sirrah? [Clump makes signs as a dumb man.
Ser. Oh, you dog, you could speak loud enough just now, sirrah, when your brother rogues mauled Mr. Sable. We'll make you speak, sirrah.
Wid. Bring the other fellow hither. I suppose you will own you knew that man before you saw him at my door?
Clump. I think I have seen the gentleman's face. [Bowing to Bumpkin.
Wid. The gentleman's! The villain mocks me. But friend, you look like an honest man—what are you? Whence came you? What are you, friend?
Bump. I'se at present but a private gentleman, but I was lifted to be a sergeant in my Lord Hardy's Company. I'se not ashamed of my name nor of my koptin.
Wid. Leave the room all. [Exeunt all but Trusty and Tattleaid.] Mr. Trusty—Lord Hardy! O, that impious young man, thus, with the sacrilegious hands of ruffians to divert his father's ashes from their urn and rest—I suspect this fellow [Aside.]—Mr. Trusty, I must desire you to be still near me. I'll know the bottom of this; and to Lord Hardy's lodgings as I am, instantly. 'Tis but the back side of this street, I think. Let a coach be called.—Tattleaid, as soon as I am gone, conduct my brother and his friends to Lady Sharlot. Away with her. Bring mademoiselle away to me, that she may not be a witness.—Come, good Mr. Trusty.
SCENE IV.—Lord Hardy's Lodgings.
Enter Lord Hardy, leading Harriot; Campley, and Trim.
L. Ha. Why, then I find this Mr. Trim is a perfect general; but I assure you, sir, I'll never allow you an hero, who could leave your mistress behind you. You should have broke the house down, but you should have mademoiselle with you.
Trim. No, really, madam, I have seen such strange fears come into the men's heads, and such strange resolutions into the women's upon the occasion of ladies following a camp, that I thought it more discreet to leave her behind me. My success will naturally touch her as much as if she were here.
L. Ha. A good, intelligent, arch fellow this [Aside.]—But were not you saying, my lord, you believed Lady Brumpton would follow hither? If so, pray let me be gone.
Ld. H. No, madam, I must beseech your ladyship to stay, for there are things alleged against her which you, who have lived in the family, may perhaps give light into, and which I can't believe even she could be guilty of.
L. Ha. Nay, my lord, that's generous to a folly, for even for her usage of you (without regard to myself), I am ready to believe she would do anything that can come into the head of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman.
Enter Boy.
Boy. My Lady Brumpton's below.
L. Ha. I'll run, then.
Cam. No, no, stand your ground. You, a soldier's wife? Come, we'll rally her to death.
Ld. H. Prithee, entertain her a little, while I go in for a moment's thought on this occasion. [Exit.
L. Ha. She has more wit than us both.
Cam. Pshaw, no matter for that; be sure, as soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, to clap in with something else; and laugh at all I say. I'll be grateful, and burst myself at my pretty, witty wife. We'll fall in slap upon her; she shan't have time to say a word of the running away.
Enter Lady Brumpton and Trusty.
Oh, my Lady Brumpton, your ladyship's most obedient servant: This is my Lady Harriot Campley. Why, madam, your ladyship is immediately in your mourning. Nay, as you have more wit than anybody, so (what seldom wits have) you have more prudence, too. Other widows have nothing in a readiness but a second husband; but you, I see, had your very weeds and dress lying by you.
L. Ha. Ay, madam; I see your ladyship is of the Order of Widowhood, for you have put on the habit.
Wid. I see your ladyship is not of the profession of virginity, for you have lost the look on't.
Cam. You are in the habit—That was so pretty; nay, without flattery, Lady Harriot, you have a great deal of wit. Ha! ha! ha!
L. Ha. No, my Lady Brumpton here is the woman of wit; but, indeed, she has but little enough, considering how much her ladyship has to defend. Ha! ha! ha!
Wid. I am sorry, madam, your ladyship has not what's sufficient for your occasions, or that this pretty gentleman can't supply 'em——[Campley dancing about and trolling. Hey, day! I find, sir, your heels are a great help to your head. They relieve your wit, I see; and I don't question but ere now they have been as kind to your valour. Ha! ha!
Cam. Pox, I can say nothing; 'tis always thus with your endeavours to be witty [Aside.]—I saw, madam, your mouth go, but there could be nothing offered in answer to what my Lady Harriot said.—'Twas home—'Twas cutting satire.
L. Ha. Oh, Mr. Campley! But pray, madam, has Mr. Cabinet visited your ladyship since this calamity? How stands that affair now?
Wid. Nay, madam, if you already want instructions, I'll acquaint you how the world stands, if you are in distress—but I fear Mr. Campley overhears us.
Cam. And all the tune the pipers played was Toll-toll-doroll. I swear, Lady Harriot, were I not already yours, I could have a tender for this lady.
Wid. Come, good folks, I find we are very free with each other. What makes you two here? Do you board my lord, or he you? Come, come, ten shillings a head will go a great way in a family. What do you say, Mrs. Campley, is it so? Does your ladyship go to market yourself? Nay, you're in the right of it. Come, can you imagine what makes my lord stay? He is not now with his land-steward. Not signing leases, I hope? Ha! ha! ha!
Cam. Hang her, to have more tongue than a man and his wife too. [Aside.
Enter Lord Hardy.
Ld. H. Because your ladyship is, I know, in very much pain in company you have injured, I'll be short—Open those doors—There lies your husband's, my father's body; and by you stands the man accuses you of poisoning him.
Wid. Of poisoning him!
Tru. The symptoms will appear upon the corpse.
Ld. H. But I am seized by nature—How shall I view, a breathless lump of clay, him whose high veins conveyed to me this vital force and motion?
I cannot bear that sight—
I am as fixed and motionless as he—
[They open the coffin, out of which jumps Lady Sharlot.[33]
Art thou the ghastly shape my mind had formed?
Art thou the cold, inanimate—bright maid?
Thou giv'st new higher life to all around.
Whither does fancy, fired with love, convey me?
Whither transported by my pleasing fury?
The season vanishes at thy approach;
'Tis morn, 'tis spring—
Daisies and lillies strow thy flowery way.
Why is my fair unmoved—my heavenly fair?
Does she but smile at my exalted rapture?
L. Sh. Oh! sense of praise, to me unfelt before,
Speak on, speak on, and charm my attentive ear.
How sweet applause is from an honest tongue!
Thou lov'st my mind—hast well affection placed;
In what, nor time, nor age, nor care, nor want can alter.
Oh, how I joy in thee, my eternal lover;
Immutable as the object of thy flame!
I love, I am proud, I triumph that I love.
Pure, I approach thee; nor did I with empty shows,
Gorgeous attire, or studied negligence,
Or song, or dance, or ball, allure thy soul;
Nor want, or fear, such arts to keep or lose it:
Nor now with fond reluctance doubt to enter
My spacious, bright abode, this gallant heart.[34]
[Reclines on Hardy.
L. Ha. Ay, marry, these are high doings indeed; the greatness of the occasion has burst their passion into speech. Why, Mr Campley, when we are near these fine folks, you and I are but mere sweethearts. I protest I'll never be won so; you shall begin again with me.
Cam. Prithee, why dost name us poor animals? They have forgot there are such creatures as their old acquaintance Tom and Harriot.
Ld. H. So we did indeed, but you'll pardon us.
Cam. My lord, I never thought to see the minute wherein I should rejoice at your forgetting me, but now I do heartily. [Embracing.
L. Sh. Harriot.}
}[Embracing.]
L. Ha. Sharlot.}
Wid. Sir, you're at the bottom of all this; I see you're skilled at close conveyances. I'll know the meaning instantly of these intricacies. 'Tis not your seeming honesty and gravity shall save you from your deserts. My husband's death was sudden. You and the burial fellow were observed very familiar. Produce my husband's body, or I'll try you for his murder; which I find you'd put on me, thou hellish engine!
Tru. Look you, madam, I could answer you, but I scorn to reproach people in misery. You're undone, madam.
Wid. What does the dotard mean? Produce the body, villain, or the law shall have thine for it. [Trusty exit hastily.]—Do you design to let the villain escape? How justly did your father judge, that made you a beggar with that spirit! You meant just now you could not bear the company of those you'd injured.
Ld. H. You are a woman, madam, and my father's widow. But sure you think you've highly injured me.
[Here Lord Brumpton and Trusty half enter and observe.
Wid. No, sir, I have not, will not, injure you. I must obey the will of my deceased lord to a tittle; I must justly pay legacies. Your father, in consideration that you were his blood, would not wholly alienate you. He left you, sir, this shilling, with which estate you now are Earl of Brumpton.
Ld. H. Insolent woman! it was not me my good father disinherited; 'twas him you represented. The guilt was thine; he did an act of justice.
Lord Brumpton, entering with Trusty.
Ld. B. Oh, unparalleled goodness!
Tattleaid and Mademoiselle at the other door entering.
Tru. Oh! Tattleaid, his and our hour is come.
Wid. What do I see? My lord, my master, husband, living?
Ld. B. [Turning from her, running to his son.] Oh, my boy, my son. Mr. Campley, Sharlot, Harriot! [All kneeling to him.] Oh, my children! Oh, oh! These passions are too strong for my old frame. Oh, the sweet torture! my son! my son! I shall expire in the too mighty pleasure! my boy!
Ld. H. A son, an heir, a bridegroom in one hour! Oh! grant me, Heaven, grant me moderation!
Wid. A son, an heir! Am I neglected then?
What? can my lord revive, yet dead to me?
Only to me deceased—to me alone,
Deaf to my sighs, and senseless to my moan?
Ld. B. 'Tis so long since I have seen plays, good madam, that I know not whence thou dost repeat, nor can I answer.
Wid. You can remember, though, a certain settlement, in which I am thy son and heir. Great noble, that's I suppose not taken from a play? That's as irrevocable as law can make it, that if you scorn me, your death and life are equal; or I'll still wear my mourning 'cause you're living.
Tru. Value her not, my lord; a prior obligation made you incapable of settling on her, your wife.
Ld. B. Thy kindness, Trusty, does distract thee. I would indeed disengage myself by any honest means, but, alas, I know no prior gift that avoids this to her—Oh, my child!
Tru. Look you, madam, I'll come again immediately. Be not troubled, my dear lords——[Exit.
Cam. Trusty looks very confident; there is some good in that.
Re-enter Trusty with Cabinet.
Cab. What, my Lord Brumpton living? nay then——
Tru. Hold, sir, you must not stir, nor can you, sir, retract this for your hand-writing.—My lord, this gentleman, since your supposed death, has lurked about the house to speak with my lady, or Tattleaid, who upon your decease have shunned him, in hopes, I suppose, to buy him off for ever. Now, as he was prying about, he peeped into your closet, where he saw your lordship reading. Struck with horror, and believing himself (as well he might) the disturber of your ghost for alienation of your fortune from your family, he writ me this letter, wherein he acknowledges a private marriage with this lady, half a year before you ever saw her.
All. How? [All turn upon her disdainfully.
Wid. No more a widow then, but still a wife.
[Recovering from her confusion.
I am thy wife—thou author of my evil
Thou must partake with me an homely board,
An homely board that never shall be cheerful;
But every meal embittered with upbraidings.
Thou that could'st tell me, good and ill were words,
When thou could'st basely let me to another,
Yet could'st see sprights, great unbeliever!
Coward! Bug-beared penitent——
Stranger henceforth to all my joys, my joys
To thy dishonour; despicable thing,
Dishonour thee? Thou voluntary cuckold.
[Cabinet sneaks off, Widow flings after him, Tattleaid following.
Ld. B. I see you're all confused as well as I. Ye are my children, I hold you all so; and for your own use will speak plainly to you. I cannot hate that woman; nor shall she ever want. Though I scorn to bear her injuries, yet had I ne'er been roused from that low passion to a worthless creature, but by disdain of her attempt on my friend's child. I am glad that scorn's confirmed by her being that fellow's, whom, for my own sake, I only will contemn. Thee, Trusty, how shall we prosecute with equal praise and thanks for this great revolution in our house?
Tru. Never to speak on't more, my lord.
Ld. B. You are now, gentlemen, going into cares at a crisis[35] in your country.
And on this great occasion, Tom, I'll mount
Old Campley which thy father gave me,
And attend thee a cheerful gay old man,
Into the field to represent our county.
My rough plebeian Britons, not yet slaves
To France, shall mount thy father's son
Upon their shoulders. Echo loud their joy,
While I and Trusty follow weeping after:
But be thou honest, firm, impartial,
Let neither love, nor hate, nor faction move thee,[36]
Distinguish words from things, and men from crimes;
Punctual be thou in payments, nor basely
Screen thy faults 'gainst law, behind the
Laws thou makest
But thou against my death, must learn a supererogatory morality.
[To Lord Hardy.
As he is to be just, be generous thou:
Nor let thy reasonable soul be struck
With sounds and appellations; title is
No more, if not significant
Of something that's superior in thyself
To other men, of which thou may'st be
Conscious, yet not proud—But if you swerve
From higher virtue than the crowd possess,
Know, they that call thee honourable mock thee.
You are to be a Peer, by birth a judge
Upon your honour, of others' lives and fortunes;
Because that honour's dearer than your own.
Be good, my son, and be a worthy lord
For when our shining virtues bless mankind,
We disappoint the livid malcontents,
Who long to call our noble Order useless.
Our all's in danger, sir, nor shall you dally
Your youth away with your fine wives.
No, in your country's cause you shall meet death,
While feeble we with minds resigned do wait it.
Not but I intend your nuptials as soon as possible, to draw entails and settlements. How necessary such things are, I had like to have been a fatal instance.
Cam. But, my lord, here are a couple that need not wait such ceremonies. Please but to sit; you've been extremely moved, and must be tired. You say we must not spend our time in dalliance; you'll see, my lord, the entertainment reminds us also of nobler things, and what I designed for my own wedding I'll compliment the general with. The bride dances finely. Trim, will you dance with her?
Trim. I will, but I can't. There's a countryman of hers without, by accident.
Cam. Ay, but is he a dancer?
Trim. Is a Frenchman a dancer? Is a Welshman a gentleman? I'll bring him in.
[Here a dance and the following songs.
Set by Mr. Daniel Purcell.[37]
Sung by Jemmie Bowin.
I.
On yonder bed supinely laid,
Behold thy loved expecting maid:
In tremor, blushes, half in tears,
Much, much she wishes, more she fears.
Take, take her to thy faithful arms,
Hymen bestows thee all her charms.
II.
Heaven to thee bequeaths the fair,
To raise thy joy, and lull thy care;
Heaven made grief, if mutual, cease,
But joy, divided, to increase:
To mourn with her exceeds delight,
Darkness with her, the joys of light.
Sung by Mr. Pate.
I.
Arise, arise, great dead, for arms renowned,
Rise from your urns, and save your dying story,
Your deeds will be in dark oblivion drowned,
For mighty William seizes all your glory.
II.
Again the British trumpet sounds,
Again Britannia bleeds;
To glorious death, or comely wounds,
Her godlike monarch leads.
III.
Pay us, kind fate, the debt you owe,
Celestial minds from clay untie,
Let coward spirits dwell below,
And only give the brave to die.
Ld. B. Now, gentlemen, let the miseries which I have but miraculously escaped, admonish you to have always inclinations proper for the stage of life you're in. Don't follow love when nature seeks but ease; otherwise you'll fall into a lethargy of your dishonour, when warm pursuits of glory are over with you; for fame and rest are utter opposites.
You who the path of honour make your guide,
Must let your passion with your blood subside;
And no untimed ambition, love, or rage
Employ the moments of declining age;
Else boys will in your presence lose their fear,
And laugh at the grey-head they should revere.