apon after-consideration, given the play in this edition, [third,] as far as this is concerned, exactly in its original state. Strong internal evidence of this will be discovered by any one, who will take the trouble of reading attentively the second scenes of the first and second acts in the present and former editions of this book. Had Basil seen and loved Victoria before, his first speech, in which he describes her to Rosinberg as walking in the procession, would not be natural; and there are, I think, other little things besides, which will show that the circumstance of bis former meeting with her is an interpolation.

The blame of this, however, I take entirely upon myself: the critice, whose opinion I have mentioned, judged of the piece entirely as an unconnected play, and knew nothing of the general plan of this work, which ought to have been communicated to him. Had it been, indeed, an unconnected play, and had I put this additional circumstance to it with proper judgment and skill, I am inclined to think would have been an improvement.

ACT II.

SCENE I-A ROOM OF STATE.

Your third day's march. will to his presence bring
Your valiant troops: said you not so, my lord?

Enter VICTORIA, the COUNTESS of ALBINI, ISABELLA, and
Ladies.

Bas. (who changes countenance upon seeing
them.)

Yes, I believe-I think-I know not well-
Yes, please your grace, we march by break of day.
Duke. Nay, that I know. I ask'd you, noble

count,

When you expect th' imperial force to join.
Bas. When it shall please your grace-I crave
your pardon-

I somewhat have mistaken of your words.
Duke. You are not well: your colour changes,
What is the matter?

Bas. A dizzy mist that swims before my sight-
A ringing in my ears-'tis strange enough—
'Tis slight-'tis nothing worth-'tis gone already.
Duke. I'm glad it is. Look to your friend, Count
Rosinberg,

The DUKE of MANTUA, BASIL, ROSINBERG, and a number It may return again.-(To Rosinberg, who stands at of Courtiers, Attendants, &c. The DUKE and BASIL appear talking together on the front of the stage.

Duke. But our opinions differ widely there;
From the position of the rival armies,
I cannot think they'll join in battle soon.

Bas. I am indeed beholden to your highness,
But though unwillingly, we must depart.
The foes are near, the time is critical;
A soldier's reputation is too fine

To be exposed e'en to the smallest cloud.

a little distance, looking earnestly at Basil. Duke leaves them, and joins Victoria's party.)

Ros. Good heavens, Basil, is it thus with thee!
Thy hand shakes too: (taking his hand.)

Would we were far from hence!
Bas. I'm well again, thou need'st not be afraid.
'Tis like enough my frame is indisposed
With some slight weakness from our weary march.
Nay, look not on me thus, it is unkindly-

Duke. An untried soldier's is; but yours, my I cannot bear thine eyes.

lord,

Nursed with the bloody showers of many a field,
And brightest sunshine of successful fortune,
A plant of such a hardy stem hath grown,
E'en envy's sharpest blasts assail it not.
Yet after all, by the bless'd holy cross!
I feel too warm an interest in the cause
To stay your progress here a single hour,
Did I not know your soldiers are fatigued,
And two days' rest would much recruit their I shall not be offended when I see

The DUKE, with VICTORIA and her Ladies, advance to the
⚫ front of the stage to BASIL.

Duke. Victoria, welcome here the brave Count
Basil.

strength.

Bas. Your highness will be pleased to pardon me;
My troops are not o'ermarch'd, and one day's rest
. all our needs require.

Duke.
Ah! hadst thou come
Unfetter'd with the duties of command,
I then had well retained thee for my guest,
With claims too strong, too sacred for denial.
Thy noble sire my fellow soldier was ;
Together many a rough campaign we served;
I loved him well, and much it pleases me
A son of his beneath my roof to see.

Bas. Were I indeed free master of myself,
Strong inclination would detain me here;
No other tie were wanting.

These gracious tokens of your princely favour
I'll treasure with my best remembrances;
For he who shows them for my father's sake,
Does something sacred in his kindness bear,
As though he shed a blessing on my head.

His kinsman too, the gallant Rosinberg.
May you, and these fair ladies so prevail,
Such gentle suitors cannot plead in vain,
To make them grace my court another day.

Your power surpasses mine.

Vict. Our feeble efforts will presumptuous seem
Attempting that ir. which your highness fails.
Duke. There's honour in th' attempt; success
attend ye.-(Duke retires and mixes with
the Courtiers at the bottom of the stage.)
Vict. I fear we incommoded you, my lord,
With the slow tedious length of our procession.
E'en as I pass'd, against my heart it went
To stop so long upon their weary way
Your tired troops.—
Bas.
Ah! madam, all too short!
Time never bears such moments on his wing,
But when he flies too swiftly to be mark'd.
Vict. Ah! surely then you make too good amends
By marking now his after-progress well.
To-day must seem a weary length to him
Who is so eager to be gone to-morrow.

Ros. They must not linger who would quit these
walls;

Duke. Well, bear my greetings to the brave Pis- For if they do, a thousand masked foes;

caro,

And say how warmly I embrace the cause.

Some under show of rich luxurious feasts,
Gay, sprightly pastime, and high-zested game ;—

Ros. But there you wrong me; I have felt it oft. (To Isab.) You call'd Francisco here?

Bas. (aside to Ros.) Ah, Rosinberg! thou hast (Vict. looks stately and offended.—Basil kneels.)

Bas. I will perform it.

Vict. Farewell, my lord.

[EXIT, with her ladies. Bas. (alone.) "Farewell, my lord." O! what delightful sweetness!

The music of that voice dwells on the ear!

Gaur. But does the princess know your secret aim?

Duke. No, that had marr'd the whole; she is a
woman;

Her mind, as suits the sex, too weak and narrow
To relish deep-laid schemes of policy.

Farewell, my lord!"-Ay, and then look'd she❘ Besides, so far unlike a child of mine,

The slightest glance of her bewitching eye,

Tnose dark blue eyes, commands the inmost soul.
Well, there is yet one day of life before me,
And, whatsoe'er betide, I will enjoy it.
Though but a partial sunshine in my lot,
I will converse with her, gaze on her still,
If all behind were pain and misery.
Pain! Were it not the easing of all pain,
E'en in the dismal gloom of after-years,
Such dear remembrance on the mind to wear
Like silvery moonbeams on the 'nighted deep,
When heaven's blest sun is gone?

Kind mercy! how my heart within me beat
When she so sweetly plead the cause of love!
Can she have loved? why shrink I at the thought?
Why should she not! no, no, it cannot be
No man on earth is worthy of her love.
Ah! if she could, how blest a man were he!
Where rove my giddy thoughts? it must not be.
Yet might she well some gentle kindness bear;
Think of him oft, his absent fate inquire,
And, should he fall in battle, mourn his fall.
Yes, she would mourn-such love might she bestow;
And poor of soul the man who would exchange it
For warmest love of the most loving dame!
But here comes Rosinberg-have I done well?
He will not say I have.

Enter ROSINBerg.

Ros. Where is the princess?

I'm sorry I return'd not ere she went.

Bus. You'll see her still.
Ros.

What, comes she forth again?
Bas. She does to-morrow.
Ros.

Thou hast yielded then.
Bas. Come, Rosinberg, I'll tell thee as we go ;
It was impossible I should not yield.

Ros. O Basil! thou art weaker than a child.
Bas. Yes, yes, my friend, but 'tis a noble weak-

ness;

A weakness which hath greater things achieved
Than all the firm determined strength of reason.
By heaven! I feel a new-born power within me,
Shall make me twenty-fold the man I've been
Before this fated day.

Ros. Fated, indeed! but an ill-fated day,
That makes thee other than thy former self.
Yet let it work its will; it cannot change thee
To aught I shall not love.

Bas. Thanks, Rosinberg! thou art a noble heart!
I would not be the man thou couldst not love
For an imperial crown.

[EXEUNT.

SCENE III. A SMALL APARTMENT IN THE PALACE.

Enter DUKE and GAURIECIO.

Yet mighty things might be-deep subtle wits
In truth, are master spirits in the world.
The brave man's courage, and the student's lore,
Are but as tools his secret ends to work,
Who hath the skill to use them.

This brave Count Basil, dost thou know him well?
Much have we gain'd, but for a single day,
At such a time, to hold his troops detain'd;
When, by that secret message of our spy,
The rival powers are on the brink of action:
But might we more effect? Knowest thou this.
Fasil?

Might he se tamper'd with?

Gaur.
That were most dangerous.-
He is a man, whose sense of right and wrong
To such a high romantic pitch is wound,
And all so hot and fiery is his nature,
The slightest hint, as though you did suppose
Baseness and treachery in him, so he'll deem it,
Would be to rouse a flame that might destroy.
Duke. But interest, interest; man's all-ruling

power,

Will tame the hottest spirit to your service,
And skilfully applied, mean service too;

E'en as there is an element in nature
Which, when subdued, will on your hearth fulfil
The lowest uses of domestic wants.

Gaur. Earth-kindled fire, which from a little

spark,

On hidden fuel feeds his growing strength,
Till o'er the lofty fabric it inspires
And rages out its power, may be subdued,
And in your base domestic service bound;
But who would madly in its wild career
The fire of heaven arrest to boil his pot?
No, Basil will not serve your secret schemes,
Though you had all to give ambition strives for
We must beware of him.

Duke. His father was my friend,-1 wish'd to
gain him:

But since fantastic fancies bind him thus,
The sin be on his head; I stand acquitted,
And must receive him, even to his ruin.

Gaur. I have prepared Bernardo for your service;
To-night he will depart for th' Austrian camp,

Duke. The point is gain'd; my daughter is And should he find them on the eve of battle,

successful;

And Basil is detain'd another day.

I've bid him wait the issue of the field.
If that our secret friends victorious prove,

With th' arrow's speed he will return again;
But should fair fortune crown Piscaro's arms,
Then shall your soothing message greet his ears;
For till our friends some sound advantage gain,
Our actions still must wear an Austrian face.

Duke. Well hast thou school'd him. Didst thou
add withal,

That 'tis my will he garnish well his speech,
With honey'd words of the most dear regard,
And friendly love I bear him? This is needful;
And lest my slowness in the promised aid
Awake suspicion, bid him e'en rehearse
The many favours on my house bestow'd
By his imperial master as a theme
On which my gratitude delights to dwell.
Gaur. I have, an' please your highness.
Duke.

Then 'tis well.
Gaur. But for the yielding up that little fort
There could be no suspicion.

Duke. My governor I have severely punish'd,
As a most daring traitor to my orders.

He cannot from his darksome dungeon tell;
Why then should they suspect?

And to encourage well their infant trade,
Quarter'd your troops upon them.-Please your
grace,

All this they do most readily allow.

Duke. They do allow it then, ungrateful varlets.
What would they have? what would they have
Gauriecio!

Gaur. Some mitigation of their grievous burdeL
Which, like an iron weight around their necks,
Do bend their care-worn faces to the earth,
Like creatures form'd upon its soil to creep,
Not stand erect, and view the sun of heaven.
Duke. But they beyond their proper sphere would
rise;

Let them their lot fuif. as we do ours.

Society of various parts is form'd;

They are its grounds, its mud, its sediment,
And we the mantling top which crowns the whole.
Calm, steady labour is their greatest bliss ;
To aim at higher things beseems them not.
To let them work in peace my care shall be;
To slacken labour is to nourish pride.
Methinks thou art a pleader for these fools:

Gaur. He must not live should Charles prove What may this mean, Gauriecio?

victorious.

Duke. He's done me service: say not so, Gau

riecio.

Gaur. They were resolved to lay their cause before you,

And would have found some other advocate

Gaur. A traitor's name he will not calmly bear; Less pleasing to your grace had I refused.
He'll tell his tale aloud-he must not live.

Duke. Well, if it must-we'll talk of this again.
Gaur. But while with anxious care and crafty

wiles,

You would enlarge the limits of your state,
Your highness must beware lest inward broils
Bring danger near at hand: your northern subjects
E'en now are discontented and unquiet.

Duke. Well, let them know, some more conve

nient season

I'll think of this, and do for them as much
As suits the honour of my princely state.
Their prince's honour should be ever dear
To worthy subjects as their precious lives.
Gaur. I fear, unless you give some special
promise,

Duke. What, dare the ungrateful miscreants thus They will be violent still

return

The many favours of my princely grace?
'Tis ever thus indulgence spoils the base;
Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence,
Like noxious vapours from the fulsome marsh
When morning shines upon it.-

Did I not lately with parental care,
When dire invaders their destruction threaten'd,
Provide them all with means of their defence?
Did I not, as a mark of gracious trust,
A body of their vagrant youth select
To guard my sacred person? till that day
An honour never yet allowed their race.
Did I not suffer them, upon their suit,
T'establish manufactures in their towns?
And after all some chosen soldiers spare
To guard the blessings of interior peace ?

From every care, with which increasing wealth,
With all its hopes and fears, doth ever move
The human breast, most graciously would free
And kindly leave you naught to do but toil!
This creature now, with all his reptile cunning,
Writhing and turning through a maze of wiles,
Believes his genius form'd to rule mankind;
And calls his sordid wish for territory
That noblest passion of the soul, ambition.
Born had he been to follow some low trade,
A petty tradesman still he had remain❜d,

Gaur. Nay, please your highness, they do well And used the art with which he rules a state

allow,

That when your enemies in fell revenge
Your former inroads threaten'd to repay,
Their ancient arms you did to them restore,
With kind permission to defend themselves :
That so far have they felt your princely grace,
In drafting from their fields their goodliest youth
To be your servants: That you did vouchsafe,
On paying of a large and heavy fine,
Leave to apply the labour of their hands
As best might profit to the country's weal:

To circumvent his brothers of the craft,
Or cheat the buyers of his paltry ware.
And yet he thinks,-ha, ha, ha, ha!-he thinks

I am the tool and servant of his will.
Well, let it be; through all the maze of trouble
His plots and base oppression must create,
I'll shape myself a way to higher things:
And who will say 'tis wrong?

A sordid being, who expects no faith

But as self-interest binds; who would not trust
The strongest ties of nature on the soul,

Deserves no faithful service. Perverse fate!
Were I like him, I would despise this dealing;
But being as I am, born low in fortune,
Yet with a mind aspiring to be great,

I must not scorn the steps which lead to it:
And if they are not right, no saint am I;
I follow nature's passion in my breast,
Which urges me to rise in spite of fortune.

[EXIT.

SCENE IV.-AN APARTMENT IN THE PALACE.
VICTORIA and ISABELLA are discovered playing at chess;
the Countess ALBINI sitting by them reading to herself.
Vict. Away with it, I will not play again.
May men no more be foolish in my presence
If thou art not a cheat, an arrant cheat!

Isab. To swear that I am false by such an oath,
Should prove me honest, since its forfeiture
Would bring your highness gain.

Vict. Am I ungenerous then?
Alb.

Yes, most ungenerous
Who, for the pleasure of a little power,
Would give most unavailing pain to those,
Whose love you ne'er can recompense again.
E'en now, to-day, O! was it not ungenerous
To fetter Basil with a foolish tie,
Against his will, perhaps against his duty?

Vict. What, dost thou think against his will, my
friend?

Alb. Full sure I am against his reason's will.
Vict. Ah! but indeed thou must excuse me here;
For duller than a shelled crab was she,
Who could suspect her power in such a mind,
And calmly leave it doubtful and unproved.
But wherefore dost thou look so gravely on me?
Ah! well I read those looks! methinks they say,
"Your mother did not so."

Alb. Your highness reads them true, she did not so.

Vict. Thou'rt wrong, my Isabella, simple maid; If foolish vanity e'er soil'd her thoughts,
For in the very forfeit of this oath,

There's death to all the dearest pride of women.
May man no more be foolish in my presence!
Isab. And does your grace, hail'd by applauding
crowds,

In all the graceful eloquence address'd
Of most accomplish'd, noble, courtly youths,
Praised in the songs of heaven-inspired bards,
Those awkward proofs of admiration prize,
Which rustic swains their village fair ones pay!
Vict. O, love will master all the power of art!
Ay, all! and she who never has beheld
The polish'd courtier, or the tuneful sage,
Before the glances of her conquering eye
A very native simple swain become,
Has only vulgar charms.

To make the cunning artless, tame the rude,
Subdue the haughty, shake th' undaunted soul;
Yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth,
And lead him forth as a domestic cur,
These are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty!
Did naught but flattering words and tuneful praise,
Sighs, tender glances, and obsequious service,
Attend her presence, it were nothing worth:
I'd put a white coif o'er my braided locks,
And be a plain, good, simple, fireside dame.

Alb. (raisig her head from her book.) And is,
indeed, a plain domestic dame,

Who fills the duties of a useful state,
A being of less dignity than she,
Whinly on her transient beauty builds
A little poor ideal tyranny?

Isab. Ideal too!
Alb.
Yes, most unreal power;
For she who only finds her self-esteem
In others' admiration, begs an alms;
Depends on others for her daily food,
And is the very servant of her slaves;
Though oftentimes, in a fantastic hour,
O'er men she may a childish power exert,
Which not ennobles, but degrades her state.
Vict. You are severe, Albini, most severe !
Were human passions placed within the breast
But to be curb'd, subdued, pluck'd by the roots!
All heaven's gifts to some good end were given.
Alb. Yes, for a noble, for a generous end.

She kept it low, withheld its aliment;
Not pamper'd it with every motley food,
From the fond tribute of a noble heart
To the lisp'd flattery of a cunning child.
Vict. Nay, speak not thus,-Albini, speak not

thus

Of little blue-eyed, sweet, fair-hair'd Mirando.
He is the orphan of a hapless pair ;
A loving, beautiful, but hapless pair,
Whose story is so pleasing, and so sad,
The swains have turn'd it to a plaintive lay,
And sing it as they tend their mountain sheep.
Besides, (to Isab.) I am the guardian of his choice.
When first I saw him-dost thou not remember?
Isab. 'Twas in the public garden.
Vict.
Perch'd in his nurse's arms, a roughsome quean,
Ill suited to the lovely charge she bore.

Even so;

How steadfastly he fixed his looks upon me,
His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears,
Then stretch'd his little arms and call'd me mother!
What could I do? I took the bantling home-
I could not tell the imp he had no mother.

Alb. Ah! there, my child, thou hast indeed no
blame.

Vict. Now this is kindly said: thanks, sweet

Albini!

Still cal. me child, and chide me as thou wilt.
O! would that I were such as thou couldst love!
Couldst dearly love, as thou didst love my mother!
Alb. (pressing her to her breast.) And do I not?
all perfect as she was,

I know not that she went so near my heart
As thou with all thy faults.

Vict. And say'st thou so? would I had sooner
known!

I had done any thing to give thee pleasure.
Alb. Then do so now, and put thy faults away.
Vict. No, say not faults; the freaks of thought-

less youth.

Alb. Nay, very faults they must indeed be call'd.
Vict. O say but foibles! youthful foibles only!
Alb. Faults, faults, real faults you must confess

they are.

Vict. In truth I cannot do your sense the wrong To think so poorly of the one you love.