I will not tell what virtues rare
Possess her faultless heart:
Most fair, most virtuous still is she,
All praise, save this, above;
Her form was made belov'd to be,
Her heart was made to love.

When first Zorayda met my eyes,
I felt my freedom o'er;
With every day that o'er me flies,
I feel I love her more:

Nor, though you've known me wild and free,
Think now my heart can rove;

For she was made belov'd to be,

And I her charms to love.

Wals. Aye, to be sure! and as much has been said and sung by every lover, since Adam first threw a sheep's-eye at our grandmother. Now, then, for Lady Clara. (Crosses to L. H.)

Beau. With all my heart: but first be it known to you, that you must be prepared to find a plentiful stock of fools; for that is an article with which her ladyship's house is seldom unprovided.

Wals. And with what can it be provided better? Why, boy, being of an adust and cynical disposition, infinite laughter is necessary to my health. My physician has prescribed me a course of fools, and truly I have reaped great benefit from his advice already.

Beau. Indeed? then why did you leave Great Britain? Heaven knows, a scarcity of fools is not one of our wants.

Wals. No, truly; and after all my peregrinations abroad in quest of folly, I must give the preference in that article to little England; where absurdities spring as kindly as mushrooms on the dunghills, and you can scarcely turn a corner without starting a fool. [Exeunt, L.H.

SCENE II.-A Room in Modish's House, backed by Drawing-room Chamber.-Handsome sofa,

L.H.U.E. Four chairs; table covered with red baize; books, newspaper, pens, ink, paper, and hand-bell, on table.

Enter ZORAYDA and MRS. SECRET, R.II.

DUO.-ZORAYDA AND SECRET.

"Time has not thinn'd."

Now bright July to pleasure calls,
But townsmen hear the call in vain;
Why shines the sun on murky walls,
Where vice, and pride, and folly reign?

Use rather, sun, thy genial power
To bid the harvest's hope be crown'd;
Mature the fruit, unfold the flower,

And spread delight and plenty round.

Sec. Now do, my dear young lady, cheer up a little. It is a sad thing, sure enough, to be shut up in this sultry town in the month of July; but I've news for you that shall make you dance for joy, in spite of the dog-days.

Zor. News for me!-of my father?-Oh, speak! Sec. Oh, better Miss; a great deal better:-they say, that Colonel Beauchamp's odious wife, who went to some outlandish place two years ago, is dead for certain if so, you know

Zor. Ah, Secret; and should, then, the death of one who never injured me,-alas! of one whom I have deeply injured, be to me the source of joy? Wretched Zorayda, how art thou fallen!

Sec. You are the strangest lady!—I'm sure, if I were in love with Colonel Beauchamp, as you are, and could only marry him by

Zor. Hush, hush, for heaven's sake!-Should you be overheard

Sec. La, Miss, don't be so timbersome! I hope I've not been my lady's own waiting-woman these six years, not to know when to speak and when to hold my tongue. But, dear me, it makes me quite sad myself to see you look so mollycolly whenever we're alone; for in public, indeed, your manner

Zor. Is gay, is forced, is agonizing! From Beauchamp spring my sufferings, and therefore I would not have the world see that I suffer; but, believe me, the smiles which play on my cheek in public, are to my heart as moonbeams falling on some rock of ice; they shine, but warm not.

Sec. Nay, Miss, you needn't tell me that; for you look and talk for all the world like the miller's daughter in our village, when her lover proved false-hearted; and surely that was a worse case than yours, Miss.

SONG.-MRS. SECRET.

On the banks of Allan water,

When the sweet Spring-time did fall,
Was the Miller's lovely daughter

Fairest of them all.

For his bride a soldier sought her,

And a winning tongue had he:
On the banks of Allan water

None was gay as she

On the banks of Allan water

When brown Autumn shed its store,
There I saw the Miller's daughter;
But she smiled no more.

For the summer grief had brought her
And the soldier false was he!

On the banks of Allan water
None was sad as she.

On the banks of Allan water

When the Winter-snow fell fast,

Still was found the Miller's daughter :
Chilling blew the blast!

But the Miller's lovely daughter
Both from cold and care was free;
On the banks of Allan water,
There a corse lay she.

[Exit, R.H.

Zor. Yes, 'tis resolved! Edward we must part, and for ever! what!-his mistress? the mistress of a married man! break, fond heart, break! but support such shame no longer :-some one comes !-perhaps 'tis he!

Enter JOHN, L.H.

John. Lord Listless.

[Exit, L.H. Zor. Psha! with a mind thus ill at ease, how tormenting is it to assume the appearance of gaiety, and be compelled to mingle with the happy and unthinking.

Enter LORD LISTLESS, L.H.

Lord L. Quite alone, Miss Mandeville! Where's Clara ?

Zor. She slept ill, and left her bed late this morning.

Lord L. She was quite in the right for my part I wonder why people leave their beds at all; for they only contrive to bore themselves and their acquaintance. Now I've some thoughts of going to bed one of these nights, and never getting up again.

Zor. Oh! pray, my lord, put that scheme into execution, for the benefit of your friends as well as yourself.

Lord L. Yes, 'twould certainly take, for people imitate every thing I do so ridiculously, that 'pon my soul I'm bored to death with them; but, to say the truth, I'm bored with every thing and every body. Zor. I should be sorry to increase your ennui, and so wish you good morning. (Crosses to L.H.)

Lord L. No, no; stay, pray stay; for there's nothing I like so much as the company of a fine

woman.

Zor. (Drawing away her hand.) I'm sorry that I can't return the compliment; but there's nothing I like so little as the company of a fine man.

Lord L. (Aside.) Umph! Pert enough, 'pon my (Retires to the sofa.)

soul!

Enter LADY CLARA, R.H.

Lord L. Morning, Clara! You look frightful today.

Lady C. Do I? I dare say I do: for my nerves are in such a state!-Oh! and then I had such a dream! Only conceive: methought my favourite little pug, Fidelio, had fallen into the Serpentine ; I saw him struggling, heard him barking, and woke in an agony of tears.

Zor. Exquisite sensibility!
Lady C. Ha! Beauchamp?

(Lord Listless throws himself on the sofa.)

Enter BEAUCHAMP and WALSINGHAM, L.H.

Beau. Let me present a friend to you, Lady Clara, whose absence from England you've heard me frequently lament.-Mr. Walsingham.

Lady C. Your friends are always welcome here for your sake; but Mr. Walsingham will be welcome for his own.

Wals. Your ladyship does me honour.—(Aside to Beauchamp.)-Is she a fool too?

Beau. None of the wisest, I promise you.-Miss Mandeville, Mr. Walsingham. (Zorayda curtsies.) Wals. Mandeville? I've known several of that name. Who

Beau. (Aside to Walsingham.) Hush! Mandeville's an assumed name.

Wal, Oh! the devil! Why didn't you tell me so before?