This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1815 edition. Excerpt: ...Restore me to my conntry's lost esteem, To the sweet hope of mercy from above, And the calm comforts of a virtuous heart. Mar. Sure kindness should not construe into guilt My fond endeavours to preserve thee mine: Life, love, and freedom are before you all, Embrace the blessings, and we yet are happy. ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1815 edition. Excerpt: ...Restore me to my conntry's lost esteem, To the sweet hope of mercy from above, And the calm comforts of a virtuous heart. Mar. Sure kindness should not construe into guilt My fond endeavours to preserve thee mine: Life, love, and freedom are before you all, Embrace the blessings, and we yet are happy. Am. What! with a conscience sore and gall'd like mine? To stand the glance of scorn from ev'r;y eye? From ev'ry finger the indignant point. In ev'ry whisper hear my spreadmg shame? And groan and grovel a detested outcast? A taunting Frenchman, with opprobrious tongue, Pronounc'd me abject, infamous, and hateful! And yet I live!--And you yet counsel life! The damn'd beneath might find or fancy ease, And fear to lose existence soon as I! No, die I must--I will--but how--how--how--Nay loose my arm, you strive in vain to hold me. Mar. Upon my knees--see, see these speaking tears l--Am. Be yet advis'd, nor urge me to an outrage!--Thy pow'r is lost---unhand me--then 'tis thus, Thus 1 renounce thy beauties----thus thy quilt Life, love, and treason l renounce for ever. E.I, it. Mar. Then welcome death, distraction, ev'ry curse! Blast me, ye lightnings; strike me, roaring thunders! Or let me tear, with my outrageous hands, The peaceful bosom of the earth, and find Char. Whence is this voice of woe? This frantic posture? Wh is my child, my Mariana thus? ar. Thy flinty heart can best resolve the question: Risiri. Thou that relentless saw'st my tears descend, g And, urg'd by stubborn haughtiness and hatred, Hast given me up to endless ngonies. The man that merited thy best regard, The man I lov'd, thy cruelty has made Alike implacable: He's gone, he's lost!.
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