His face has little anger in it, neither:

'Tis rather marked with sorrow and distress.

Sir E. Wilford, approach me. What am I to say For aiming at your life? Do you not scorn me, Despise me for it?

Wil. I! Oh, sir

Sir E. You must;

For I am singled from the herd of men,

A vile, heart-broken wretch!

Wil. Indeed, indeed, sir,

You deeply wrong yourself. Your equals' love,

The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude,
All follow you; and I-I owe you all,→

I am most bound to bless you!

Sir E. Mark me, Wilford.

I know the value of the orphan's tear,

The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected;

I feel, to merit these, and to obtain them,

Is to taste here below, that thrilling cordial,
Which the remunerating angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,
To pour on blessed souls that enter heaven.
I feel this-I! How must my nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand

In human blood? And yet, it seems, this day

I sought your life. Oh, I have suffered madness!
None know my tortures-pangs; but I can end them,—
End them as far as appertains to thee.

I have resolved it: hell-born struggles tear me;

But I have pondered on't and I must trust thee.
Wil. Your confidence shall not be-

Sir E. You must swear.

Wil. Swear, sir! Will nothing but an oath, then-
Sir E. Listen.

(Rising and seizing WILFORD's arm.)

May all the ills that wait on frail humanity
Be doubled on your head, if you disclose
My fatal secret! May your body turn

Most lazar-like and loathsome, and your mind

More loathsome than your body! May those fiends
Who strangle babes for very wantonness,

Shrink back, and shudder at your monstrous crimes,
And, shrinking, curse you! Palsies strike your youth;
And the sharp terrors of a guilty mind

Poison your aged days; while all your nights,
As on the earth you lay your houseless head,
Out-horror horror! May you quit the world
Abhorred, self-hated, hopeless for the next,
Your life a burthen, and your death a fear!

Wil. For mercy's sake, forbear! You terrify me.

Sir E. Hope this may fall upon thee; swear thou hop'st it If thou betray'st me;

Wil. (Hesitating.) Well-I-

Sir E. No retreating.

Wil. (After a pause.) I swear, by all the ties that bind a

man,

Divine or human, never to divulge!

Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret,—yes, Extorted it. I have not thrust it on you.

'Tis big with danger to you; and to me,

While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable.
Know, Wilford, that

Wil. Dearest sir,

Collect yourself; this shakes you horribly.

You had this trembling, it is scarce a week,

At Madam Helen's.

Sir E. There it is. Her uncle

Wil. Her uncle!

Sir E. Him. She knows it not,-none know it;

You are the first ordained to hear me say,

I am

-his murderer!-his assassin !

Wil. What! you that—mur-the murder-I am choked! Sir E. Honour-thou blood-stained god! at whose red altar

Sit war and homicide, oh! to what madness

Will insult drive thy votaries!

In the world's range there does not breathe a man
Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe,
With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy,
Than his who fell by me. But he disgraced me,

Stained me!-Oh, death and shame! the world looked on,
And saw this sinewy savage strike me down;
Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro
Upon the base earth, like carrion. Desperation,
In every fibre of my frame, cried vengeance!
I left the room, which he had quitted. Chance
(Curse on the chance!), while boiling with my wrongs,
Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street,
I stabbed him to the heart; and my oppressor
foot!

Rolled lifeless at my

Wil. Oh, mercy on me!

How could this deed be covered?

Sir E. Would you think it?

E'en at the moment when I gave the blow,
Butchered a fellow-creature in the dark,

I had all good men's love. But my disgrace,
And my opponent's death thus linked with it,
Demanded notice of the magistracy.

They summoned me, as friend would summon friend,

To acts of import and communication.

We met; and 'twas resolved, to stifle rumour,

To put me on my trial. No accuser,

No evidence appeared, to urge it on :

'Twas meant to clear my fame.

How clear it, then?

How cover it? you say. Why, by a lie,—

Guilt's offspring and its guard! I taught this breast,
Which truth once made her throne, to forge a lie;
This tongue to utter it; rounded a tale,

Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth;
So well compacted, that the o'er-thronged court
Disturbed cool Justice in her judgment-seat,
By shouting "Innocence!" ere I had finished.
The court enlarged me; and the giddy rabble
Bore me in triumph home. Ay, look upon me!
I know thy sight aches at me.

Wil. Heaven forgive me!

It may be wrong; indeed, I pity you.
Sir E. I disdain all pity,—

I ask no consolation! Idle boy!

Think'st thou that this compulsive confidence
Was given to move thy pity? Love of fame
(For still I cling to it) has urged me thus
To quash the curious mischief in its birth:
Hurt honour, in an evil, cursed hour,
Drove me to murder,-lying;-'twould again!
My honesty-sweet peace of mind—all, all
Are bartered for a name. I will maintain it!
Should slander whisper o'er my sepulchre,
And my soul's agency survive in death,
I could embody it with heaven's lightning,
And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit
Should strike the blaster of my memory

Dead in the church-yard! Boy, I would not kill thee:
Thy rashness and discernment threatened danger;
To check them there was no way left but this,

Save one-your death. You shall not be my victim.

Wil. My death!-What! take my life—my life, to prop This empty honour!

Sir E. Empty!-Grovelling fool!

Wil. I am your servant, sir, child of your bounty,
And know my obligation. I have been
Too curious haply,-'tis the fault of youth;
I ne'er meant injury. If it would serve you,
I would lay down my life-I'd give it freely.
Could you, then, have the heart to rob me of it?
You could not-should not.

Sir E. How !

Wil. You dare not!

Sir E. Dare not!

Wil. Some hours ago you durst not. Passion moved you;

Reflection interposed, and held your arm.

But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it,

My innocence would give me strength to struggle,
And wrest the murderous weapon from

your hand.
How would you look to find a peasant boy
Return the knife you levelled at his heart,

And ask you which in heaven would show the best,—
A rich man's honour, or a poor man's honesty!

GEORGE COLMAN.

FROM "WILLIAM TELL."

Four Characters.-TELL, ALBERT (his son), GESLER, and SARNEM; also an Attendant.

Sar. (to TELL) Behold the governor. Down, slave, upon thy knees, and beg for mercy.

Ges. Does he hear?

Sar. He does, but braves thy power. Down, slave, and ask for life.

Ges. (to TELL) Why speak'st thou not?

Tell. For wonder! Yes, for wonder-that thou seem'st a

man.