Tyke. Where did I leave him? Why-come, come, talk or something else. (Seems disturbed.)

Ld. A. Impossible!-Have you to human being ever told from whom you received that child?

Tyke. No.

Ld. A. Then my secret's safe?
Tyke. I've said so.

Ld. A. Why that frown? What, not even to your father?

Tyke. Who? (Starts.)

Ld. A. What agitates you? You had a father.
Tyke. Had a father! Be quiet, be quiet.

(Walks about greatly agitated.) Ld. A. By the name of Him who indignantly looks down on us, tell me

Tyke. (Striking his forehead.) Say no more about that, and you shall hear all. Yes, I had a father, and when he heard of my disgrace, the old man walked, wi' heavy heart, I warrant, all the way tid' gaol to see me; and he prayed up to heaven for me (pointing, but not daring to look up), just the same as if I had still been the pride of his heart. (Speaks with difficulty, and sighs heavily.)

Ld. A. Proceed.

Tyke. Presently.

Ld. A. Did you entrust the child to his care?
Tyke. I did.

Ld. A. Do not pause-you rack me.

Tyke. Rack you !-well, you shall hear the end on't.-I meant to teli father all about the child; but, when parting came, old man could not speak, and I could not speak-well, they put me on board a ship, and I saw father kneeling on the shore with the child in his

arms-

Ld. A. Go on.

When the signal

Tyke. 'Tis soon said (collecting his fortitude). gun for sailing was fired, I saw my old father drop down deadand somebody took up child and carried it away. I felt a kind of dizziness; my eyes flashed fire, the blood gushed out of my mouth -I saw no more. (Sinks exhausted into chair, L.)

Ld. A. Horrible!-What! record a father's death without a tear? Tyke. Tear! Do you think a villain who has a father's death to answer for can cry? No, no; I feel a pack of dogs worrying my heart, and my eyes on fire-but I can't cry. (A vacant stare of horror.) Ld. A. And is this desolation my work? O, repent! repent! Tyke. (Starting up.) For what? is not father dead? an't I a thief? -cursed-hated-hunted?Why should I be afraid of the Devil? Don't I feel him here? My mouth's parched

Ld. A. Within is wine.

Tyke. Brandy! brandy!

Ld. A. Compose yourself-follow me-(crosses,L)-you want sleep. Tyke. Sleep! ha! ha! under the sod I may.

[Points down, and groans heavily. Exit, following LORD AVONDALE

Inside of Cottage.—Table, and a candle burning on it.-OLD MAN seated R., looking on a purse.—TYKE sitting, L.

O. Man. Pray, sir, who is that generous youth?

Tyke. Why, he's a kind of a foreman like to Lord Avondale, my friend.

O. Man. Are you the friend of that worthy nobleman?

Tyke. Yes; between ourselves—I have him under my thum»; but I say that out of confidence-you understand. That's a smartish purse you've got there; but, I tell you what, I don't think it's very safe, just now.

O. Man. Indeed, sir! You alarm me!

Tyke. I tell you what-I'll take care of this for you. purse.)

(Takes the O. Man. Well, sir, you are very kind. You live at the castle ? Tye. Yes, yes!

O. Man. Then, perhaps, you could aid a petition I have presented to his lordship-my name is-—

Tyke. Well, well, let's hear your name.

0. Man. Robert Tyke.

Tyke. Eh!-what-speak-no, don't!

0. Man. Robert Tyke!

Tyke. (Trembling violently, rushes to the table, brings down the candle, looks at the OLD MAN, dashes candle and purse on the ground, and tears his hair in agony.) O, villain !-villain !

O. Man. What's the matter?

Tyke. Don't you know me?

O. Man. No, sir.

Tyke. I'm glad on't-I'm glad on't-Ruin my own father!

O. Man. Ah! did I hear rightly? Father!-what! Oh! let me see-let me see? (TYKE, with a countenance strongly impressed with shame and sorrow, turns round.) Ah! it's my son-my long-lost, dear profligate boy! Heaven be thanked!-Heaven be thanked! Tyke. (Groaning, strikes his breast.) Oh! burst, burst, and ease me! Eh!-but he's alive-father's alive! ha! ha! (Laughs hysterically.) Take my

O. Man. You terrify me! Robert, Robert, hear me. forgiveness-take my blessing!

Tyke. What!-forgive-bless-such a rogue as▬▬

O. Man. Be composed.

(Bursts into a flood of tears.)

Tyke. Let me cry; it does me good, father-it does me good.
O. Man. Oh! if there be holy water, it surely is the sinner's tears.
Tyke. But he's alive. (Rushes into his arms.)

0. Man. Ay! alive to comfort and pardon thee, my poor prodigal, and Heaven will pardon thee!

Tyke. No, don't say that, father, because it can't.

O. Man. It is all-merciful.

Tyke. Yes, I know it is. I know it would if it could, but not me! No, no!

O. Man. Kneel down, and ask its mercy.

Tyke. I dare not, father! I dare not! Oh, if I durst but just thank it for thy life!

O. Man. Angels will sing for joy.

Tyke. What!-may I, think you? May I-may I?

[By degrees he tremblingly falls on his knees, and clasps his hands with energetic devotion.

Scene closes.

12.-SCENE FROM THE EARL OF WARWICK.
DR. FRANCKLIN

[Dr. Thomas Francklin was born in 1721. He was educated at Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, of which university he subsequently became Greek professor. He translated Lucian, Sophocles, and other classic authors, and wrote "The Earl of Warwick," and other tragedies. He obtained successively the livings of Ware, Thundridge, and Brasted, and was made King's Chaplain. Died 1784.]

KING EDWARD.

CHARACTERS:

THE EARL OF WARWICK.

THE EARL OF SUFFOLK

Enter KING EDWARD and the EARL OF SUFFOLK.

K. Edw. I fear we've gone too far: th' indignant Warwick

Ill brook'd our steady purpose; mark'd you, Suffolk,

With what an eye of scorn he turn'd him from us,

And low'r'd defiance: that prophetic woman!

Half of her curse already is fulfill'd,

And I have lost my friend.

Suf. Some friends, perhaps,

Are better lost: you'll pardon me, my liege;

But, were it fitting, I could tell a tale

Would soon convince you Warwick is as weak.-
K. Edw. As Edward, thou wouldst say.
Suf. But 'twill distress

Thy noble heart too much: I dare not, sir:
Yet one day you must know it.

K. Edw. Then, by thee

Let it be told me, Suffolk! thy kind hand

Will best administer the bitter draught:

Go on, my Suffolk; speak, I charge thee, speak.

Suf. That rival whom thou wish'st me to discover

K. Edw. Ay, what of him? quick, tell me hast thou found

The happy traitor? give me but to know,

That I may wreak my speedy vengeance on him.

Suf. Suppose that rival were the man whom most
You lov'd, the man, perhaps, whom most you fear'd;
Suppose 'twere-Warwick.

K. Edw. Ha! it cannot be:

I would not think it for a thousand worlds.
Warwick in love with her, impossible!

Now, Suffolk, do I fear thou speak'st from envy
And jealous hatred of the noble Warwick,
Not from the love of justice or of Edward:
Where didst thou learn this falsehood?
Suf. From the lips

Of truth, from one whose honour and whose word
You will not question: from-Elizabeth.

K. Edw. From her! nay, then, I fear it must be so.
Suf. When last I saw her, for again I went
By your command, though hopeless of success,
With all the little eloquence that I

Was master of, I urg'd your ardent passion;
Told her how much, how tenderly you lov'd her,
And press'd with eagerness to know the cause
Of her unkind refusal; till at length,
Reluctantly, with blushes she confess'd

There was a cause she thank'd you for your goodness,
'Twas more, she said, much more than she deserv'd,
She ever should revere her king: and if

She had a heart to give, it should be-Edward's.
K. Edw. So kind, and yet so cruel: well, go on.
Suf. Then told me all the story of her love,
That Warwick long had woo'd her: that her hand
Was promis'd; soon as he return'd from France,
Though once her father cruelly oppos'd it,
They were, by his consent, to be united.

K. Edw. Oh! nev er Suffolk, may I live to see
That dreadful hour! Designing hypocrite!
Are these his arts, is this the friend I lov'd?
By heaven! she shall be mine; I will assert
A sov'reign's right, and tear her from him. What
If he rebel-another civil war!

'Tis terrible. Oh! that I could

:

shake off

This cumbrous garb of majesty that clings
So close around me, meet him man to man,
And try who best deserves her but when kings
Grow mad, their guiltless subjects pay the forfeit.
Horrible thought! Good Suffolk, for awhile
I would be private; therefore, wait without;
Let me have no intruders; above all,
Keep Warwick from my sight.

Enter the EARL OF WARWICK.

War. Behold him here;

No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask

My Lord of Suffolk's leave: there was a time
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain
Admission here.

[Exit SUFFOLK.

K. Edw. There was a time, perhaps,

When Warwick more desir'd and more deserv'd it.
War. Never; I've been a foolish faithful slave:
All my best years, the morning of my life,
Hath been devoted to your service: what
Are now the fruits ? disgrace and infamy;
My spotless name, which never yet the breath
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock
For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit
Who trust in princes should be thus rewarded.

K. Edw. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaid
Your services with honours, wealth, and pow'r
Unlimited: thy all-directing hand

Guided in secret ev'ry latent wheel

Of government, and mov'd the whole machine :
Warwick was all in all, and pow'rless Edward
Stood like a cipher in the great account.

War. Who gave that cipher worth, and seated thee
On England's throne? thy undistinguish'd name
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprung,
And moulder'd in oblivion, had not Warwick
Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore,
And stamp'd it with a diadem. Thou know'st,
This wretched country, doom'd, perhaps, like Rome,
To fall by its own self-destroying hand,
Tost for so many years in the rough sea
Of civil discord, but for me had perish'd.
In that distressful hour I seiz'd the helm,

Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and steer'd
Your shatter'd vessel safe into the harbour.
You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid

Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth,
He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe.

K. Edw. Know, too, reproach for benefits receiv'd,
Pays ev'ry debt, and cancels obligation.

War. Why, that, indeed, is frugal honesty,

A thrifty saving knowledge, when the debt

Grows burthensome, and cannot be discharg'd,

A sponge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing.

K. Edw. When you have counted o'er the numerous train

Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish'd on me,

You may remember next the injuries

Which I have done you, let me know them all,

And I will make you ample satisfaction.

War. Thou canst not; thou hast robb'd me of a jewel

It is not in thy power to restore:

I was the first, shall future annals say,

That broke the sacred bond of public trust
And mutual confidence; ambassadors,

In after times, mere instruments, perhaps,

A A