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Pious affection! But what you owed to the father, the sons sure now may claim;—and Charles being dead.—Ha! You are surprised! overwhelmed! are you not? Ay truly, so flattering a thought, a prospect so brilliant, and that so suddenly presented to your mind, was too much even for woman's pride—That Francis de Moor should spurn the proud ambition of the noblest families, and offer at the feet of a poor orphan, destitute and helpless, his heart, his hand, his wealth, these castles and domains!—He, whom all envy, all fear, declare himself Amelia's voluntary slave!——

Why does the thunder sleep? nor cleave that impious tongue?—Curs'd wretch! my Charles's murderer! and thou hopest to be the husband of Amelia? Thou!

Less heat, my Princess!—Not quite so high a tone!—Think not you have a lover who will bow at a distance, and sigh, and coo, and woo you like a Celadon.—No; Francis de Moor has not learnt, like the Arcadian swains, to breathe his amorous plaints to the caves, and rocks, and