Hafte to Sebaftian, tell him all-away-
Some speedy antidote may yet be found;
He cannot, fhall not die.
Give me fome comfort;
For I am coward all-I fear'd to brave
Life's common chances, and I fhudder now
To meet that death I fought-horror! horror!
I dare not think upon the deed I've done;
I have invaded nature's facred law,
Rebell'd against Heaven itfelf!-O my Charlotte!
Is there no hope of pardon?
And must I lofe thee, Werter!
Tell Albert to forgive me,
For I have injur'd and abus'd him much:
Forgive me too thyfelf!-could I but live!
It will not be-ha! that pang was death's :-
It will not be-mercy, mercy, Heaven! (Dies.)
(Charlotte falls on the body.)
Enter ALBERT, SEBASTIAN, and LEUTHROP.
The fharpeft torments cruelty, fuggefts,
Wou'd be indulgence to the pangs I feel:
Who but Sebastian wou'd have left his friend!
Had I remain'd and footh'd him as I ought,
This ne'er had happen'd-curft! curft reflection!
I am the fatal cause of all these sorrows.
ALBERT (weeping over Charlotte.)
No, 'tis from Albert ev'ry forrow flows,
Had I not been the weakest, worft of men,
I had refign'd my Charlotte, and been happy
In feeing her fo exquifitely bleft,
What am I now! thou injur'd innocence !
Pronounce my doom!
Be fwift as lightning, or you'll be too late:
He's in your fatal vale !—I left him there,
His fword was drawn, and death fat brooding by ;
Fly or he's murder'd! - hark! a fhriek
Ah! now! 'tis paft, the sweet deluder's vanish'd, And I must wander o'er the world alone.
SEBASTIAN (to Charlotte).
Let not excess of grief
O'ercome thy reafon, but with pity look
On wretched Albert.
Albert! I know him well,
He is my husband, guardian of my honour !
Honour! no more of that-no more of that-
That kill'd the innocent!-oh my poor heart!
my brain! - will none attempt to foothe her!
Will none affift! I can no longer bear
There-there's his fepulchre
Ha! fee it fhakes-the tomb is all convuls'd!
Soft, now it yawns, and gently fteals apart-
'Tis burst asunder-here the body lies!
Alas! how chang'd !-thefe tears, neglected shade,
Shall wash thy rankling wounds-thefe hands-
His eye-balls roll! he trembles in his fhroud-
He is alive! and all will ftill be well.
See! fee! to Heaven, he mounts;
Legions of angels hover round his form;
He beckons me! Werter, I come! I come-
And now let honour part us if it can!
(Falls on Werter's body.
Curtain drops, with flow Mufic.
(Written by MR. MEYLER, of Bath,)
Spoken by Miss WALLIS.
ERE half recover'd from my scene of madness,
I'm fent, kind friends, to cheer you from your fadness;
For 'tis a rule which tyrant customs teach,
(The rule's perhaps "more honour'd in the breach,")
When thro' long dismal tragedies you cry,
In trips ma'am Epilogue-your handkerchiefs to dry.
Well, ladies, does this German love-fick poffet
Taste well upon the stage as in the closet ?-
Our author fure few modern plays has read,
Or what could e'er possess his youthful head
To write a tragedy upon this pure plan,
The characters all virtuous to a man?
No plumed king to kill his tyrant brother,
Nor rival queens to poifon one another;
No Spanish maffacre, no Gallic pride,
And only one poor act of suicide!
Whoe'er this Werter was, his life, his end,
Our British fair muft ever call him friend;
His tale ftill pleas'd, yet still bedew'd the eye,
Nay, made the tedious moments glibly fly,
When only your dear lords perhaps were by.
His tale, by Bunery's magic touch pourtray'd,
Your brighteft chambers ftill has brighter made;
E'en on the fattin which preferves your hands,
The hapless Werter's penfive Charlotte ftands.
Thus for the play-whofe author's tender age
Pleads ftrong-feverity's dread ftripes t'affuage.
"Now for myfelf-whofe flender efforts meet "More favours here than words can well repeat ;
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