“ They force her, raving and reluctant, hither."

Prince. Oh, Chandos--what a moving sight is here!

“ Enter Soldiers forcing in MARIANA, distracted and

bleeding. “ Mar. Off! let me go I will not be torn from

him: “ Relentless monsters !--Let us mingle blood, “ And die together._-What do I behold !« Oh, hide me, friendly earth, --for ever hide me “ From that offended facem

[Sinks down. “ Prince. Look up, fair mourner, [Kneeling by her. “ And gather comfort from my friendly tears. “ Mar. Comfort from thee?-Thou injur'd godlike

hero! " Load me with curses |--Stab me with reproaches, “ Thy sweetness cannot !--but the hand of Heav'n, “ That strikes for injur'd virtue, heavy falls ! « And crushes me beneath it.

“ Prince. Weep not thus. “ Mar. What art thou made of, heart, to bear all

this ? 6. That grov'ling in the dust-abandon'd

« Prince. Nay, “ Do not be so wilful- And

“ Mar. Indeed, great prince, “ The dear, departed Arnold, was ensnar'd, “ Seduc'd-betray'd by me. But Heav'n can witness, “ My only motive was his preservation. “ Danger, despair, provok'd the guilty deed;

“ Which horror, death and infamy reward.
“ Forgive the breathless soldier that rever'd,
“ And servant that ador'd you, sir !-On me
“ Heap all your indignation; scorn, detest,
« Despise and hate my memory for ever.
“ Prince. No, both have my compassion-my for-

giveness.
« Mar. Forgiveness, said you ?-Oh, celestial

sound! “ Catch it, ye angels, hov'ring on the wing, “ To waft me to the bar of Heav'n's high justice! « Offended virtue pities and forgives ! “ Chaunt it aloud l and cheer with this foretaste << Of goodness infinite,—my drooping-Oh! [Dies.

« Chan. She's breathless!"

Prince. Heav'n, I hope, will think their crime
Enough was punish'd by affliction here.
Lay them together._" Well, my lord of" Warwick,
England triumphs. *
War. I've view'd the adverse camp, as you com-

manded;
Where all the wealth of France was sure collected,
To grace the ruin of that wretched people.
Each tent profuse! Like those of Pompey's host,
When on Pharsalia's plain he fought great Cæsar,
And lost the world his life--and Rome her freedom.
Prince. All-righteous Heav'n! thy hand is here

conspicuous !

I

In the original, Warwick enters here.

Pride and presumption finish thus their shame. [Shout. Hark!

Chan. 'Tis a train of prisoners bringing hither.

Enter SALISBURY with Officers and Soldiers, conducting

King John, the Duke of TOURAIN, Archbishop of
Sens, and several French Noblemen, prisoners.
Prince. Brave Salisbury, you're welcome to my

arms. The field is ours !

Sal. And nobly was it fought ! Behold, my prince, how well we have acquitted The claims our adversaries made on us. Your veteran swordsman, Sir John Pelham, sends This royal trophy to adorn your triumph.

Prince. Most wise and valiant of all christian kings, Rever'd for virtues, and renown'd in arms! That I behold you thus, dissolves my heart With tender feeling; “ while I bend the knee “ In humble praise of that good Providence, “ Which gives so great a victory to England! “ For you, great monarch,” let your godlike soul Strive with adversity, and still preserve, As well you may, your royal mind unconquer'd. Fortune is partial in her distributions: Could merit always challenge its reward, In other lights we might this hour have stood, Perhaps the victor you, and I the captive: But fear no wrong, the good should never fear it. • This land, from whence my ancestors have sprung,

« By me shall not be injur'd.” For yourself, And this illustrious train of “ noble pris'ners," My care shall be to treat you as I ought.

King. My gracious conqueror, and kindest cousin, This goodness more than victory renowns you! That I'm unfortunate is no reproach, I brav'd all dangers as became a king, 'Till by my coward subjects left and lost.

Prince. Lead to my tent: when we are there arriv'd, Prepare a banquet with all princely pomp, At which I'll wait, and serve my royal guests. My noble lords, and brave companions all, I leave your praise for the wide world to sound I Nor can the voice of fame, however loud, Out-speak the merit of your matchless deeds. Oh, may Britannia's sons through ev'ry age, As they shall read of this so great achievement, Feel the recorded victory inspire An emulation of our martial fire, When future wrongs their ardor shall excite, And future princes lead them forth to fight! 'Till by repeated conquests, they obtain A pow'r to awe the earth and rule the main I Each tyrant fetter gloriously unbind, And give their liberty to all mankind.

[Exeunt omnes. EPILOGUE.

AGAINST such odds if Edward could succeed,
Our English warriors once were great indeed :
But, mournful thought! we surely must complain,
They're sadly alter'd from King Edward's reign:
Yet some there are, who merit every praise,
Stems of that stock, and worthy of those days;
Illustrious heroes !- How unlike to those,
Whose valour, like their wit, lies only in their clothes?
Such arrant beaux, so trim, so degagée,
That ev’n French ladies would not run away.
They'll huf, indeed, and strut, look proud, and swear,
And all this they can do- because they dare.
But know, poor souls, all this implies no merit,
Ev'n women soon discern a man of spirit;
Judges alike of warriors and of wooers:
The mightiest talkers, are the poorest doers,
Such to subdue, requires no martial fire,
One Joan of Arc would make them all retire.
But hold,- I wander ~ Poifliers be my story,
And warm my breast with British love of glory;
When each bold Brilon took his country's part,
And wore her freedom blazon'd on his heart,
Such were our sires—But now, oh, dire disgrace! .
Lo, half their offspring lost in silk and lace.