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intended for a great man; for what more does it require to be a great man, than boldly to put on the appearance of it? How many sage politicians are there, who can scarce comprehend the mystery of a mousetrap; valiant generals, who wouldn't attack a bulrush, unless the wind were in their favour; profound lawyers, who would make excellent wigblocks; and skilful physicians, whose knowledge extends no further than writing death-warrants in Latin; and are shining examples that a man will never want gold in his pocket, who carries plenty of brass in his face. It will be rather awkward, to be sure, to resign at the end of a month: but, like other great men in office, I must make the most of my time, and retire with a good grace, to avoid being turned out; as a well-bred dog always walks down stairs, when he sees preparations ripe for kicking him into the TOBIN.

street.

82.-AFFECTED MADNESS.

Saville and Doricourt.

Sav. HEYDAY! What becomes of poor Miss Hardy? Doric. Her name has given me an ague! Dear Saville, how shall I contrive to make old Hardy cancel the engagements! The moiety of the estate, which he will forfeit, shall be his the next moment by deed of gift.

Sav. Let me see: can't you get it insinuated that you are a deused wild fellow; that you are an infidel, and attached to drinking, gaming, and so forth?

Doric. Ay, such a character might have done some good two centuries back. But who the deuse can it frighten now? I believe it must be the mad scheme at last. There, will that do for a grin? (Affects madness.)

Sav. Ridiculous! but how are you certain that the woman who has so bewildered you belongs to Lord George?

Doric. Flutter told me so.

Sav. Then fifty to one against the intelligence.

Doric. It must be so.

There was a mystery in her manner, for which nothing else can account. (A violent rap.) Who can this be?

Sav. (Looks out.) The proverb is your answer; 'tis

Flutter himself. Tip him a scene of the madman, and see how it takes.

Doric. I will; a good way to send it about town. Shall it be for the melancholy kind, or the raving?

Sav. Rant! rant! Here he comes.

Doric. Talk not to me, who can pull comets by the beard, and overset an island!

Enter Flutter.

There! This is he! this is he who hath sent my poor soul, without coat or breeches, to be tossed about in æther like a duck-feather! Villain, give me my soul again! (Seizes him.)

Flut. Upon my soul! I hav'n't got it. (Exceedingly frightened.)

Sav. O! Mr. Flutter, what a melancholy sight! I little thought to have seen my poor friend reduced to this. Flut. Mercy defend me! What, is he mad?

Sav. You see how it is. A cursed Italian ladyjealousy gave him a drug; and every full of the moonDoric. Moon! Who dares talk of the moon? The patroness of genius; the rectifier of wits; the-Oh! here she is! I feel her; she tugs at my brain. She has it! she has it! Oh!

I

[Exit. Flut. Well, this is dreadful! exceeding dreadful, I protest. Have you had Monro ?

Sav. Not yet. The worthy Miss Hardy-what a misfortune!

Flut. Ay, very true. Do they know it?

Sav. O, no! the paroxysm seized him but this morning. Flut. Adieu; I can't stay. (Going in great haste.) Sav. But you must stay, (holding him.) and assist me; perhaps he'll return again in a moment; and when he is in this way, his strength is prodigious.

Flut. Can't, indeed; can't, upon my soul. (Going.) Sav. Flutter, don't make a mistake now; remember, 'tis Doricourt that's mad.

Flut. Yes-you mad.

Sav. No, no; Doricourt.

Flut. Well! I'll say you are both mad, and then 1 can't mistake.

MRS. COWLEY.

183.-SCENE FROM ORALLOOSSA, IN WHICH THE DESTRUCTION OF THE COYA IS PLOTTED BY MANCO AND HER LOVER, ALMAGRO.

SCENE.-Among the hills near the Peruvian camp.

Enter Manco and Almagro.

Alm. Ir the gross multitudes see him, thou art lost:
They claim their Inca, and he claims thy head.
Manc. I fear not that. They have forgotten him,
Believe him dead, and long have look'd on me
As lord and Inca; and my voice proclaims him
Lunatic and impostor. All the chiefs

Have sworn them mine; and if the people doubt,
They add their voice to his insanity.

They have denounced him such through all the ranks-
He must be silenced ere we meet the Spaniards.

Alm. I'd have it so; or else farewell thy greatness, And that I look for.

Manc. Hark to me, Almagro.

The throne I have, thou know'st, it shall be thine,
Make it but mine.

Alm. I understand thee, and remember

Whereto I did consent. But now think better.
His death scares thee: think no more of her.

Her woman's rights are but a feeble reed,

Which thou mayst brush aside. Why shouldst thou crush?
Manc. Is she not daughter of the Incas! Hark!
There be a thousand here, that know, and call her,

Atahualpa's daughter. She will bid them

Behold their Inca in the man we wrong,

And they will listen and believe.

Alm. 'Tis true.

Let her be prison'd somewhere in the hills,
Beyond the ear of doubters.

Manc. I did think thee

Wiser than this. There is no place so safe,
But the caged witness of a crime may speak,
And some one catch the echo-none, but one;—
Dost thou not understand? No place, but one.
They would demand, too, why I dungeon'd her:

But when I doom her as a blot that shames
The Inca's purity, 'tis the Inca's law,

And rightful justice; and all men are silent.—

-The maid must die-and see thou art prepared. (Exit.) Alm. And why should I not have it as he wills? Why weigh the value of a poor maid's life Against the golden balance of a crown?

Ambition startles not at ghastly blood,

Nor stumbles, conscience-harrow'd, at a corse.
And should the aspiring man, that makes his gain
Of other's hurts, not hurt himself for gain?
Not, when he stabs another for a purse,
Prick his own bosom for a dearer price,
And wound his heart, to laurel-crown his head.
Blossoms of nature, ye should never grow
In hearts that are ambitious; since the tempter
Plucks ye, like weeds, away, till naught takes root,
Save the rough tares of steril selfishness.
Love, pity, friendship, gratitude, away

From such a breast, for ye would make it virtuous;
And, virtue, hence, for ye would keep it lowly.-
But yet she shall not die.

184. SCENE FROM ORALLOOSSA, IN WHICH THE INCA ENDEAVOURS ΤΟ BRING BACK HIS SUBJECTS TO THEIR ALLEGIANCE.

SCENE. Before the Peruvian camp. Manco throned and surrounded
by the Almagrists and Chiefs. Peruvians covering the hills.
Alm. WHY look ye gloomy, soldiers of Castille,
Upon this strange and solemn preparation?

Call it perfidious and dishonourable,

Call it impiety and ingratitude;

Yet is this deed, as none but this can be,

The warrant of your lives, your weal and fortunes.
Orall. (Within.) Way for the Inca!

Manc. Stand all fast and ready,

Lest in his fury and his desperation,
His arm be fatal.

Alm. Fear not thou; he comes
Weaponless to us.

Orall. (Within.) Way for the Inca, way!

Enter Oralloossa, followed by Chiefs who occupy the entrances.
Villain and slave, that sitt'st upon the throne,
Tell me, (for these strange sights, and stranger deeds,
These marvellous, monstrous jugglings of to-day,
Have set me mad,) what insane wretch art thou,
And these about thee? What am I, that creep,
Among Peruvians, hunted and opposed,

Frown'd on, surrounded, met by clubs and spears,
And bade to call thee Inca? What art thou?
Manc. Manco, the Inca.

Orall. Hah! the Inca, Manco ?
Manc. And thou,-

Orall. And I ?

Manc. That most unhappy madman.
Orall. Madman!-

Manc. That in the Viceroy's fall and death
Didst well deserve our favour and affection;
But by the form which thy distraction takes,
(At no less aiming than the name and rule
Of perish'd Oralloossa,) now dost force us,
To put restraint upon thee.

Orall. Perish'd Oralloossa!

Am I not Oralloossa?

Manc. Thou poor maniac!

Orall. Look on me, Manco,-brother of my sire,I will forgive thee, if thine eyes are dim,

Aged and dim.-Look on me, knave forsworn!

Unnatural uncle! ere I take thy life;

Look on my face, and leave thy stolen throne

And sue for pardon, ere I slay thee.

Manc. Rail on;

Yet art thou safe in thine infirmity.

Orall. Speak him, Almagro, if thou art not false,

Tell thou mine uncle, 'tis the Inca speaks.

Alm. Marry, not I. I know thee very well,—

Pedro, the bondman-my great sire's betrayer;

For which black deed, the heavens have struck thy brain With this sore madness.

Orall. Talk'st thou of betraying?

Now can I think that I indeed am mad,-
To think thee honest to thy love or me.—

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