MADAM,

ROYAL HIGHNESS THE

DUTCHESS.

AFTER having a great while wished to write something that might be worthy to lay at your Highness's feet, and finding it impossible: since the world has been so kind to me to judge of this poem to my advantage, as the most pardonable fault, which I had made in its kind, I had sinned against myself if I had not chosen this opportunity to implore (what my ambition is most fond of) your favour and protection.

For though fortune would not so far blefs my endeavours, as to encourage them with your Royal Highness's presence, when this came into the world; yet I cannot but declare, it was my design and hopes, it might have been your divertisement in that happy season, when you returned again, to cheer all those eyes that had before wept for your departure, and enliven all hearts that had drooped for your absence. When wit ought to have paid its choicest tributes in, and joy have known no limits, then I hoped my little mite would not have been rejected, though my ill fortune was too hard for me, and I lost a greater honour, by your Royal Highness's absence, than all the applauses of the world besides can make me reparation for.

Nevertheless, I thought myself not quite unhappy, 80 long as I had hopes this way yet to recompense my disappointment past: when I considered also, that poetry might claim right to a little share in your favour; for Tafso, and Ariosto, some of the best, have made their names eternal, by transmitting to after ages the glory of your ancestors and under the spreading of that shade, where two of the best have planted their laurels, how honoured should I be, who am the worst, if but a branch might grow for me?

I dare not think of offering any thing in this adVol. IX. B

drefs, that might look like a panegyric, for fear, lest when I have done my best, the world should condemn me for saying too little, and you yourself check me for meddling with a task unfit for my talent.

For the description of virtues and perfections so rare as yours are, ought to be done by as deliberate as skilful a hand; the features must be drawn very fine, to be like; hasty daubing will but spoil the picture, and make it so unnatural, as must want false lights to set it off. And your virtue can receive no more lustre from practices, than your beauty can be improved by art; which, as it charms the bravest prince that ever amazed the world with his virtue; so, let but all other hearts inquire into themselves, and then judge how it ought to be praised.

Your love too, as none but that great hero who has it, could deserve it, and therefore, by a particular lot from Heaven, was destined to so extraordinary a blessing, so matchlefs for itself, and so wondrous for its constancy, shall be remembered to your immortal honour, when all other transactions of the age you live in shall be forgotten.

But I forget that I am to ask pardon for the fault I have been all this while committing. Wherefore I beg your Highnefs to forgive me this presumption, and that you will be pleased to think well of one who cannot help resolving with all the actions of life, to endeavour to deserve it: nay more, I would beg, and hope it may be granted, that I may, through yours, never want an advocate in his favour, whose heart and mind you have so entire a share in; it is my only portion and my fortune. I cannot but be happy, so long as I have but hopes I may enjoy it; and I must be miserable, should it ever be my ill fate to lose it.

This, with eternal wishes for your Royal Highnefs's content, happiness, and prosperity, in all huinility is presented by

Your most obedient, and

devoted servant,

THOMAS OTWAY.

PROLOGUE.

Το you, great judges in this writing age,
The sons of wit, and patrons of the stage,
With all those humble thoughts, which still have
sway'd

His pride much doubting, trembling and afraid
Of what is to his want of merit due,

And aw'd by ev'ry excellence in you,

The author sends to beg you will be kind,

And spare those many faults you needs must find,
You, to whom wit a common foe is grown,
The thing ye scorn and publicly disown.
Though now, perhaps, ye're here for other ends,
He swears to me ye ought to be his friends:
For he ne'er call'd ye yet insipid tools;
Nor wrote one line to tell ye you were fools:
But says of wit ye have so large a store,
So very much you never will have more.
He ne'er with libel treated yet the Town,
The names of honest men bedaub'd and shown.
Nay, never once lampoon'd the harmless life,
Of suburb virgin, or of city wife.

Satire's th' effect of poetry's disease,

Which, sick of a lewd age, she vents for ease,
But now her only strife should be to please;
Since of ill fate the baneful cloud's withdrawn,
And happiness again begins to dawn;

Since back with joy, and triumph he is come,
That always drew fears hence, ne'er brought 'em
home.

Oft has he plough'd the boist'rous ocean o'er,
Yet ne'er more welcome to the longing shore,
Not when he brought home victories before,
For then fresh laurels flourish'd on his brow;
And he comes crown'd with olive-branches now:
Receive him-Oh, receive him as his friends;
Embrace the blefsing which he recommends:
Such quiet as your foes shall ne'er destroy;
Then shake off fears, and clap your hands for joy.

}

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Acasto, a Nobleman retired from the Court, and living privately in the Country.

Castalio,

Polydore,

his Sons.

Chamont, a young Soldier of Fortune, Brother to Monimia.

Ernesto.

Page.

Chaplain.

Servant.

Monimia, the Orphan, left under the Guardianship of old Acasto.

Serina, Acasto's Daughter.

Florella, Monimia's Woman.

THE

ORPHAN.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter PAULINA and ERNESTO.

[man,

"Paul. TIS strange, Ernesto, this severity "Should still reign powerful in Acasto's mind, "To hate the court where he was bred and liv'd, "All honours heap'd on him that pow'r could give. "Ern. 'Tis true, he hither came a private gentle"But young and brave, and of a family "Ancient and noble, as the empire holds. "The honours he has gain'd are justly his; "He purchas'd them in war: thrice has he led "An army 'gainst the rebels, and as often "Return'd with victory. The world has not "A trucr soldier, or a better subject.

"Paul. It was his virtue at first made me serve

"He is the best of masters and of friends: [him; "I know he has lately been invited thither ; "Yet still he keeps his stubborn purpose; cries, "He's old, and willingly would be at rest.

I doubt there's deep resentment in his mind, "For the late slight his honour suffer'd there. "Ern. Has he not reason? When for what he had borne, [claim'd "Long, hard, and painful toil, he might have "Places in honour, and employment high; "A huffing, shining, flatt'ring, cringing coward, "A canker-worm of peace, was rais'd above him.