Mrs Behn, upon which character Zanga is a grand improvement.

The originality of Young must be found in his "Night-Thoughts;" those well-known poems that speak contemptuously of a world, which, if his most distinguished biographers can be relied upon, he loved as dearly as the gayest libertine.

It is a reflection more gloomy than the author's gloomiest composition, that Young was a man the very reverse of him whom the reader of his "NightThoughts" would suppose the writer to be.

Dr Edward Young was the son of the Dean of Sarum, and born at Upham, near Winchester, in June, 1681. He received his first education in that college; and, at Oxford, took the degree of doctor of civil law.

On quitting the university, where he had given testimony of his poetical talents, Young was admitted into the family of Lord Exeter, and became the tutor of Lord Burleigh, with whom he was to travel, and receive as his recompence an annuity for life. But the witty and profligate Duke of Wharton, who at that time rioted in all the vices and follies of London, allured him, by his friendship, to yield up this honourable engagement, and be a partner with him in all his excesses.

This eminent poet can easier be forgiven his youthful attachment to the pleasures of the world, than his aged anxiety after its honours. When the duke's protection ceased with his exile and death, Young took orders, as the only means of subsistence; and

became grave and political, as the only means of preferment. He preached excellent sermons on the duty of a Christian, and wrote as excellent pamphlets to traduce his neighbour, the Duke of Marlborough; when that neighbour was out of favour with the court.

He was fervent in public worship, both at church and in the dedications he sent forth with his various works; wherein he has praised man as he praised God; which gives rise to the suspicion, that he expected as valuable favours from the created as from the Creator.

Dr Young was married in 1732 to Lady Elizabeth Lee, daughter of the Earl of Lichfield, and the widow of Colonel Lee. About the year 1740, Lady Elizabeth died; and very shortly after, both a daughter she had by her first marriage, and that daughter's husband (a son of Lord Palmerston), departed this life. Melancholy events, which Young has lamented in strains of pious sorrow in his favourite work.

Notwithstanding his afflictions, he survived these losses five-and-twenty years; then expired, at the age of eighty-four, enjoying his perfect senses to the last moment; and to the last moment he refused to see his only child, a son, who, for some youthful offence, had been banished his house; and yet that repentant child sent earnest supplications for pardon, and admission to his father's presence.

SCENE V.

KING HENRY'S Tent.

Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.

KING HENRY, HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, with WORCESTER, VERNON, and others, Prisoners; GENTLEMEN, and SOLDIERS, discovered.

King H. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace, Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? Wor. What I have done, my safety urged me to; And I embrace this fortune patiently,

Since not to be avoided it falls on me.

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon

too;

Other offenders we will pause upon.

[Exeunt WORCESTER, VERNON, and others, guarded.

How goes the field?

P. Hen. The gallant Scot, Lord Douglas, when

he saw

The fortune of the day quite turned from him,
The noble Percy slain, and all his men
Upon the foot of fear,-fled with the rest;
And, falling from a hill, he was so bruised,
That the pursuers took him. At my tent
The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace,
I may dispose of him.

K. Hen. With all my heart.

P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you This honourable bounty shall belong:

Go to the Douglas, and deliver him

Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free :
His valour, shown upon our crests to-day,
Has taught us how to cherish such high deeds,
Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

K. Hen. Then this remains,-that we divide our

power.

You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed,

To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop,
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms:

Myself, and you, son Harry,-will towards Wales,
To fight with Glendower, and the Earl of March.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway,
Meeting the check of such another day:
And since this business so far fair is done,
Let us not leave till all our own be won.

[Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.-Exeunt.

THE END.