My heart would dance, spite of the sad occasion,
And be a gay companion in my journey;

But

Enter CARLOS, R.

My goo! Carlos, why have you left my friends?
Car. (R.) They are departed home.

They saw some sudden melancholy news
Had stolen the lively colour from your cheek-
You had withdrawn, the bride, alarm'd, had follow'd:
Mere ceremony had been constraint; and this

Good-natured rudeness

Vil. Was the more obliging. There, Carlos, is the cause. Car. Unlucky accident!

[Gives the letter.

Th' Archbishop of Malines, your worthy brother

With him to-night? Sister, will you permit it?

Vil. It must be so.

Isa. You hear it must be so.

Vil. Oh, that it must!

Car. To leave your bride so soon!

Vil. But having the possession of my love,

I am the better able to support

My absence in the hopes of my return.
Car. Your stay will be but short?
Vil. It will seem long!

The longer that my Isabella sighs:
I shall be jealous of this rival grief,
It takes so full possession of thy heart,
There is not room enough for mighty love.

Enter SERVANT, bows, and exit, L.

My horses wait: farewell, my love! You, Carlos,
Will act a brother's part, till I return,

And be the guardian here. All, all I have
That's dear to me, I give up to your care.

Car. And I receive her as a friend and brother.
Vil. Nay, stir not, love! for the night air is cold,
And the dews fall-Here be our end of parting;
Carlos will see me to my horse. [Exit with CARLOS.
Isa. Oh, may thy brother better all thy hopes !
Adieu.

A sudden melancholy bakes my blood!
Forgive me, Villeroy-I do not find
That cheerful gratitude thy service asks:
Yet, if I know my heart, and sure I do,

"Tis not averse from honest obligation.

I'll to my chamber, and to bed: my mind,
My harass'd mind is weary.

END OF ACT III.

[Exit, L.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The Street.

Enter BIRON and BELFORD, M. D.

Bir. The longest day will have an end; we are got home at last.

Bel. We have got our legs at liberty; and liberty is home, where'er we go; though mine lies most in England.

Bir. Pray, let me call this yours: for what I can command in Brussels, you shall find your own. I have a father here, who perhaps, after seven years absence, and costing him nothing in my travels, may be glad to see me. You know my story-How does my disguise become me?

Bel. Just as you would have it; 'tis natural, and will conceal you.

Bir. To-morrow you shall be sure to find me here, as early as you please, this is the house, you have observed the street.

Bel. I warrant you: your directions will carry me to my lodgings.

Bir, Good night, my friend.

[Exit R.

The long-expected moment is arrived!

And if all here is well, my past sorrows

Will only heighten my excess of joy;

And nothing will remain to wish or hope for !

[Knocks.

Enter SAMPSON, L. D.

Samp. Who's there? What would you have?
Bir. Is your lady at home, friend?

Samp. Why, truly, friend, it is my employment to answer impertinent questions: but for my lady's being at home, or no, that's just as my lady pleases.

Bir. But how shall I know whether it pleases her or no?

Samp. Why, if you'll take my word for it, you may carry your errand back again: she never pleases to see any body at this time of night, that she does not know; and by your dress and appearance I am sure you must be a stranger to her.

Bir. But I have business; and you don't know how that may please her.

Samp. Nay if you have business, she is the best judge whether your business will please her or no: therefore I will proceed in my office, and know of my lady whether or no she is pleased to be at home or Going.

no

Enter NURSE, L. D.

Nurse. Who's that you are so busy withal? Methinks you might have found an answer in fewer words: but, Sampson, you love to hear yourself prate sometimes, as well as your betters, that I must say for you. Let me come to him. Who would you speak with, stranger?

Bir. (c.) With you, mistress, if you could help me to speak to your lady.

Nurse. (c.) Yes, sir, I can help you in a civil way : but can nobody do your business but my lady?

Bir. Not so well; but if you carry her this ring, she'll know my business better.

Nurse. There's no love-letter in it, I hope; you look like a civil gentleman. In an honest way, I may bring you an answer. [Exit.

Bir. My old nurse, only a little older; they say the tongue grows always: mercy on me! then her's is seven years longer since I left her. Yet there is something in these servant's folly pleases me; the cautious conduct of the family appears, and speaks in their impertinence. Well, mistress

NURSE returns, L. D.

Nurse. I have deliver'd your ring, sir! pray Heaven, vou bring no bad news along with you!

Bir. Quite contrary, I hope.

Nurse. Nay, I hope so too; but my lady was very

much surprised when I gave it her. Sir, I am but a servant, as a body may say; but if you'll walk in that I may shut the doors, for we keep very orderly hours, I can show you into the parlour and help you to an answer, perhaps as soon as those that are wiser.

Bir. I'll follow you

Now all my spirits hurry to my heart,
And every sense has taken the alarm
At this approaching interview!

Heavens! how I tremble!

SCENE II.-A Chamber.

Enter ISABELLA. R.

[Exit L. D.

[Exit, L. D.

Isa. (c.) I've heard of witches, magic spells, and charms,

That have made nature start from her old course:
The sun has been eclipsed, the moon drawn down
From her career, still paler, and subdued

To the abuses of this under world!

Now I believe all possible. This ring,
This little ring, with necromantic force,
Has raised the ghost of pleasure to my fears;
Conjured the sense of honour, and of love,
Into such shapes, they fright me from myself!
I dare not think of them-

Enter NURSE, L.

Nurse. Madam, the gentleman's below.

sa. I had forgot, pray let me speak with him ; [Exit NURSE. This ring was the first present of my love To Biron, my first husband: I must blush To think I have a second. Biron died (Still to my loss) at Candy; there's my hope. Oh, do I live to hope that he died there? It must be so; he's dead, and this ring left, By his last breath, to some known faithful friend, To bring me back again;

That's all I have to trust to

Enter BIRON, and stands L. ISABELLA looking at him.

My fears were woman's

I have view'd him all :

And let me, let me say it to myself,

I live again, and rise but from his tomb.

Bir. Have you forgot me quite ?

Isa. Forgot you!

Bir. Then farewell my disguise, and my misfortunes. My Isabella!

Isa. Ha!

[He goes to her, she shrieks, and faints.

Bir. Oh! come again :

Thy Biron summons thee to life and love;
Thy once-loved, ever-loving husband calls-
Thy Biron speaks to thee.

Excess of love and joy, for my return,
Has overpower'd her I was to blame
To take thy sex's softness unprepared :
But sinking thus, thus dying in my arms,
This ecstacy has made my welcome more
Than words could say. Words may be counterfeit,
False coin'd, and current only from the tongue,
Without the mind; but passion's in the soul.
And always speaks the heart.

Isa. Where have I been? Why do you keep him

from me?

I know his voice: my life, upon the wing,

Hears the soft lure that brings me back again;

"Tis he himself, my Biron.

Do I hold you fast,

Never to part again?

If I must fall, death's welcome in these arms

Bir. Live ever in these arms.

Isa. But pardon me,

Excuse the wild disorder of my soul;

The joy, the strange surprising joy of seeing you,
Of seeing you again, distracted me-

Bir. 'Thou everlasting goodness!

Isa. Answer me;

What hand of Providence has brought you back
To your own home again?

O, tell me all,

For every thought confounds me.

Bir. My best life! at leisure, all.

Isa. We thought you dead: kill'd at the siege of
Candy.

Bir. There I fell among the dead;

But hopes of life reviving from my wounds,
I was preserved but to be made a slave;

I often writ to my hard father, but never had
An answer; I writ to thee too--