probably be Spectators of this interesting Scene.

The Conclusion of the Piece is as abrupt as the other Parts of it are
absurd. We should be much at a Loss to guess by whom the Poison is
administered to _Elvira_, were we not aided in our Conjectures by the
shrewd Suspicions which the King, tho' otherwise a very loving Husband,
seems to entertain of his Wife. Upon my regreting that her Majesty, if
guilty, should escape without poetical Justice at least, a Gentleman who
sat behind me, a Friend as I supposed of the Author, assured me her
Punishment was reserved for the Farce, which for that Purpose was,
contrary to Custom, added to the Play.[C]

Though in general this Tragedy is colder than the most extreme Parts of
_Nova Zembla_,[D] yet we now and then feel a Warmth, but it is such a
Warmth or Glow rather, as is sometimes produced by the Handling of Snow.

Bad as this Play is, yet will the Author have the Profits of his Three
Nights: Few on the First Night having either Taste or Spirit to express
their Disapprobation. Like the Rascals who plundered _Lisbon_ after
the Earthquake, Mr. _David Malloch_ will extract Guineas out of
Rubbish.

We shall now give, in a few Words, the Quintessence of this Play. Monarchs
ought to be just. Heroes are bad Men. Husbands ought to die for their
Wives, Wives for their Husbands. We ought to govern our Passions. And the
Sun shines on all alike. A few of these new Remarks form the Sum total of
this contemptible Piece.

After the Play we were entertained with an Epilogue fraught with Humour,
and spoken with Spirit. There was a Simile of a Bundle of Twigs formed