Mrs. Bev. Restore him, heaven!  Stretch forth thy arm omnipotent, and snatch him from the grave!  O save him! save him!

Bev. Alas! that prayer is fruitless:  already death has seized me.  Yet heaven is gracious.  I asked for hope, as the bright presage of forgiveness, and like a light, blazing through darkness, it came and cheared me.  ’Twas all I lived for, and now I die.

Mrs. Bev. Not yet!—­Not yet!—­Stay but a little, and I’ll die too.

Bev. No; live, I charge you.  We have a little one:  though I have left him, You will not leave him.  To Lewson’s kindness I bequeath him—­Is not this Charlotte?  We have lived in love, though I have wronged you—­Can you forgive me, Charlotte?

Char. Forgive you!—­O, my poor brother!

Bev. Lend me your hand, love.  So—­raise me—­No—­’twill not be—­my life is finished—­O! for a few short moments to tell you how my heart bleeds for you!—­That even now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fearful of hereafter, my bosom pang is for Your miseries!—­Support her heaven!—­And now I go—­O, mercy! mercy!
    [Dies.

Lew. Then all is over—­How is it, madam? (To Mrs. Beverley.) My poor Charlotte too!

SCENE the last.

Enter JARVIS.

Jar. How does my master, madam?  Here’s help at hand—­Am I too late then?
    [Seeing Beverley.

Char. Tears! tears! why fall you not?  O wretched sister!—­Speak to her, Lewson—­her grief is speechless.

Lew. Remove her from this sight.  Go to her, Jarvis; lead and support her.  Sorrow like hers forbids complaint.  Words are for lighter griefs.  Some ministring angel bring her peace! (Jarvis and Charlotte lead her off.) And Thou, poor breathless corps, may thy departed soul have found the rest it prayed for!  Save but one error, and this last fatal deed, thy life was lovely.  Let frailer minds take warning; and from example learn, that want of prudence is want of virtue.

  Follies, if uncontroul’d, of every kind,
  Grow into passions, and subdue the mind;
  With sense and reason hold superior strife,
  And conquer honour, nature, fame and life.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a FRIEND,

And Spoken by Mrs. PRITCHARD.

  On every GAMESTER in th’ Arabian nation,
  ’Tis said, that Mahomet denounc’d damnation;
  But in return for wicked cards and dice,
  He gave them black-ey’d girls in paradise. 
  Should he thus preach, good countrymen, to You,
  His converts would, I fear, be mighty few: 
  So much your hearts are set on sordid gain,
  The brightest eyes around you shine in vain: 
  Should the most heav’nly beauty bid you take her,
  You’d rather hold—­two aces and a maker.
  By your example, our poor sex drawn in,