he keeping, in my thought.

_Eliz._ You have done wrong.
I know the business he is gone upon.
You may not see him more--

_Flor._ I don't believe it,
Although he said it.

_Eliz._ Girl! he hath to do
A secret and most dangerous mission.

_Flor._ What!
In truth!--I'll call him back to speak to you.

[_Runs to the window._]

Ah! he has gallop'd off so fast without
Once turning. Ah! to danger--Oh, wretch! wretch!
Fool that I am. [_Weeps._]

_Eliz._ [_To FLORENCE._] Poor child!
You love him, then?

_Flor._ Oh! yes, I love him all--
All, for I am not vain. There is no thought
Dividing the wild worship of my soul.

_Eliz._ And yet you spoke so carelessly, and trifled
With this the noblest and the best oblation,
A woman--but a poor divinity,
I fear at best, my Florence!--may receive,
The heart of a true gentleman. I mean
No creature of dull circumstance, himself
A mean incumbrance on his own great wealth.
How oft before their lovers women try
To seem what they are not--if true their hearts,
As thine is, apes not more fantastic show--
If mean and paltry, frankness is the flag
'Neath which they trim their pirate, little bark
To capture their rich prize--

_Flor._ Enough! enough!
I know it all, I cannot help it, if
He were here now, I could not choose but do it.
I have a head-ache. I must weep alone.
I pray you to excuse me for an hour.

[_She goes out, R.S.E._]

_Eliz._ Poor girl! how needless is the pain she gives
Two true and faithful hearts--and I myself,
That never had the chance to love, or heart
To give away, yet seem to know so well
What it must be.--Oh, were I Florence now,
Could I have dealt so harshly with him?--No!
Why, one would think I lov'd him. She said so
But yesterday. Indeed I love them both--
Him for his love of her. Elizabeth!
Why burns thy cheek thus?--Yet a transient thought
Might stain the wanderings of a seraph's dream,
And thou art mortal woman. Oh, beware!
Dwell not on "might have," "could;" since "cannot be"
Points from thy past to thy futurity. [_Exit, L._]

SCENE IV.

[_4th Grooves._]

_A rustic Garden, with an Arbour in F. A Table, on
which are Books, Papers, &c._

_Enter ARTHUR, U.E.R._

_Arth._ She's soul-less like the rest, and I am but
A tame romantic fool to worship her--
I will not see her more, and thus the faults
Which, from her beauty, seem'd like others' charms,
Shall give her semblance of a Gorgon--
No!
Rather her beauty