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Be loth to take away that life you gave,
I will redeem your crime, by making it
My own : So you shall still be innocent, and I
Die bless'd, and unindebted for my being.
: Duke. O Frederick, you are too much a son,

[Embracing him.
And I too little am a father : you,
And you alone, have merited Lucretia ;
'Tis now my only grief,
I can do nothing to requite this virtue:
For to restore her to you,
Is not an act of generosity,
But a scant, niggard justice ; yet I love her
Șo much, that even this little, which I do,
Is like the bounty of an usurer ;
High to be prized from me,
Because 'tis drawn from such a wretched mind.
Fred. You give me now a second, better life ;

[Kissing his hand,
But,—that the gift may be more easy to you,
Consider, sir, Lucretia did not love you,
I fear to say, ne'er would.
Duke. You do well to help me to o'ercome that

I'll weigh that, too, hereafter. For a love,
So violent as mine, will ask long time,
And much of reason, to effect the cure.
My present care shall be to make you happy ;
For that will make my wish impossible,
And then the remedies will be more easy.

Soph. I have, with joy, o'erheard this happy change,
And come with blessings to applaud your conquest
Over the greatest of mankind, yourself


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Duke. I hope 'twill be a full and lasting one. Luc. Thus, let me kneel, and pay my thanks and duty,

[Kneeling Both to my prince and father. Duke. Rise, rise, too-charming maid, for yet I

cannot Call you my daughter ; that first name, Lucretia, Hangs on my lips, and would be still pronounced. Look not too kindly on me; one sweet glance, Perhaps, would ruin both : therefore, I'll go And try to get new strength to bear your eyes. Till then, farewell. Be sure you love my Frederick, And do not hate his father.

[Exeunt Duke and VALERIO. Fred. [At the door.] Now,friends, you may appear.

Enter AURELIAN, CAMILLO, BENITO. Your pardon, madam, that we thus intrude On holy ground: yourself best know it could not Be avoided, and it shall be my care it be exeused.

Soph. Though sovereign princes bear a privilege Of entering when they please within our walls, In others 'tis a crime past dispensation ; And therefore, to avoid a public scandal, Be pleased, sir, to retire, and quit this garden.

Aur. We shall obey you, madam; but that we may do it with less regret, we hope you will give these ladies leave to accompany us.

Soph. They shall.
And, nieces, for myself, I only ask you
To justify my conduct to the world,
That none may think I have betray'd' a trust,
But freed you from a tyranny.

Lau. Our duty binds us to acknowledge it.
Cam. And our gratitude to witness it.
Vio. With a holy and lasting remembrance of

your favour.

Fred. And it shall be my care, either by reason to bend

your uncle's will, or, by my father's interest, to force your dowry from his hands.

Ben. to Aur. Pray, sir, let us make haste over these walls again; these gardens are unlucky to me; I have lost my reputation of music in one of them, and of wit in the other.

Aur. to Lau. Now, Laura, you may take your choice betwixt the two Benitos, and consider whether you had rather he should serenade you in the garden, or I in bed to-night.

Lau. You may be sure I shall give sentence for Benito; for the effect of your serenading would be to make me pay the music nine months hence.

Hip. to Asca. You see, brother, here's a general gaol-delivery: there has been a great deal of bustle and disturbance in the cloister to-night; enough to distract a soul which is given up, like me, to contemplation: and therefore, if you think fit, I could even be content to retire, with you, into the world; and, by way of penance, to marry you ; which, as husbands and wives go now, is a greater mortification than a nunnery.

Asca. No, sister; if you love me, keep to your monastery : I'll come now and then to the grate, and beg you a recreation. But I know myself so well, that if I had you one twelvemonth in the world, I should run myself into a cloister, to be rid

of you.

Soph. Nieces, once more farewell. Adieu, Lucre

tia :

My wishes and my prayers attend you all.

Luc. to Fred. I am so fearful,
That, though I gladly run to your embraces,
Yet, venturing in the world a second time,
Methinks I put to sea in a rough storm,
With shipwrecks round about me.

Fred. My dear, be kinder to yourself and me, And let not fear fright back our coming joys; For we, at length, stand reconciled to fate : And now to fear, when to such bliss we move, Were not to doubt our fortune, but our love.



Some have expected, from our bills to-day,
To find a satire in our poet's play.
The zealous route from Coleman-street did run,
To see the story of the Friar and Nun ;
Or tales, yet more ridiculous to hear,
Vouch'd by their vicar of ten pounds a-year,-
Of Nuns, who did against temptation pray,
And discipline laid on the pleasant way:
Or that, to please the malice of the town,
Our poet should in some close cell have shown
Some sister playing at content alone :
This they did hope; the other side did fear;
And both, you see, alike are cozen'd here.
Some thought the title of our play to blame;
They liked the thing, but yet abhorr'd the name:
Like modest punks, who all you ask afford,
But, for the world, they would not name that word.
Yet, if you'll credit what I heard him say,
Our poet meant no scandal in his play ;
His Nuns are good, which on the stage are shown,
And, sure, behind our scenes you'll look for none.



Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

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