The painted meadows, the harmonious woods,
The gentle zephyrs, and unbridled floods,

With all their charms, his ravish'd thoughts employ, But the rich harvest must complete his joy.

SCENE-A Street in Penryn.

Enter RANDAL.

[Exeunt.

Rand. Poor, poor and friendless; whither shall
I wander,

And to what point direct my views and hopes?
A menial servant? No.-What, shall I live,
Here in this land of freedom, live distinguish'd,
And mark'd the willing slave of some proud subject,
And swell his useless train for broken fragments;
The cold remains of his superfluous board?-
I would aspire to something more and better-
Turn thy eyes then to the prolific ocean,

Whose spacious bosom opens to thy view:
There deathless honour, and unenvied wealth
Have often crown'd the brave adventurer's toils.
This is the native uncontested right,

The fair inheritance of ev'ry Briton

That dares put in his claim-My choice is made:
A long farewell to Cornwall, and to England!
If I return-But stay, what stranger's this,
Who, as he views me, seems to mend his pace?

Enter YOUNG WILMOT.

Y. Wilm. Randal! the dear companion of my youth!

Sure lavish fortune means to give me all

I could desire, or ask for this blest day,
And leave me nothing to expect hereafter.

Rand. Your pardon, sir ; I know but one on earth Could properly salute me by the title

You're pleas'd to give me, and I would not think That you are he-That you are Wilmot.

Y. Wilm. Why?

Rand. Because I could not bear the disappoint

ment

Should I be deceiv'd.

Y. Wilm. I'm pleas'd to hear it:

Thy friendly fears better express thy thoughts
Than words could do.

Rand. O, Wilmot! O, my master!

Y. Wilm. I have not yet embrac'd

My parents-I shall see you at my

father's.

Rand. No, I'm discharg'd from thence-O, sir, such ruin

Y. Wilm. I've heard it all, and hasten to relieve 'em: Sure heaven hath blest me to that very end: I've wealth enough; nor shalt thou want a part. Rand. I have a part already—I am blest

In your success, and share in all your joys,

Y. Wilm. I doubt it not-But tell me, dost thou

think,

My parents not suspecting my return,

That I may visit them, and not be known?

Rand. 'Tis hard for me to judge.

already

Grown so familiar to me, that I wonder

You are

I knew you not at first: yet it may be;

For you're much alter'd, and they think you dead. Y. Wilm. This is certain; Charlotte beheld me

long,

And heard my loud reproaches and complaints
Without rememb'ring she had ever seen me.
My mind at ease grows wanton: I would fain
Refine on happiness. Why may I not
Indulge my curiosity, and try

If it be possible by seeing first

My parents as a stranger, to improve
Their pleasure by surprise?

Rand. It may indeed

Inhance your own, to see from what despair
Your timely coming, and unhop'd success,
Have given you power to raise them.
Y. Wilm. I remember,

E'er since we learn'd together you excell'd
In writing fairly, and could imitate

Whatever hand you saw with great exactness.
Of this I'm not so absolute a master.

I therefore beg you'll write, in Charlotte's name
And character, a letter to my father;

And recommend me, as a friend of hers,

To his acquaintance.

Rand. Sir, if you desire it

And yet

Y. Wilm. Nay, no objections-'Twill save time, Most precious with me now. For the deception, If doing what my Charlotte will approve, 'Cause done for me and with a good intent,

Deserves the name, I'll answer it myself.
If this succeeds, I purpose to defer
Discov'ring who I am till Charlotte comes,
And thou, and all who love me. Ev'ry friend
Who witnesses my happiness to-night,

Will, by partaking, multiply my joys.

Rand. You grow luxurious in your mental plea

sures:

Could I deny you aught, I would not write
This letter. To say true, I ever thought
Your boundless curiosity a weakness.

Y. Wilm. What can'st thou blame in this?
Rand. Your pardon, sir;

I only speak in general: I'm ready
T'obey your orders.

Y. Wilm. I am much thy debtor,
But I shall find a time to quit thy kindness.
O Randal! but imagine to thyself

The floods of transport, the sincere delight
That all my friends will feel, when I disclose
To my astonish'd parents my return;
And then confess, that I have well contriv'd
By giving others joy t' exalt my own.
As pain, and anguish, in a gen'rous mind,
While kept conceal'd and to ourselves confin'd,
Want half their force; so pleasure, when it flows
In torrents round us, more ecstatic grows.

[Exeunt.

SCENE-A room in Old Wilmot's house.

Old WILMOT and his Wife AGNES.

O. Wilm. Here, take this Seneca, this haughty pedant,

Who governing the master of mankind,

And awing power imperial, prates of patience;

And praises poverty-possess'd of millions:

-Sell him, and buy us bread. The scantiest meal The vilest copy of his book e'er purchas'd, Will give us more relief in this distress, Than all his boasted precepts.-Nay, no tears; Keep them to move compassion when you beg. Agn. My heart may break, but never stoop to that.

O. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it.-But dis[Exit AGNES.

patch.

Where must I charge this length of misery,
That gathers force each moment as it rolls,
And must at last o'erwhelm me; but on hope,
Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope;
A senseless expectation of relief

As I do now, as wise men ever think,

-Had I thought

When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me,
That power to die implies a right to do it,
And should be us'd when life becomes a pain,
What plagues had I prevented.True, my wife
Is still a slave to prejudice and fear-