At first her rage was dumb, and wanted words; But when the storm found way, 'twas wild and loud.
Mad as the priestess of the Delphic god,
Enthusiastic passion swelled her breast,
Enlarged her voice, and ruffled all her form.
Proud, and disdainful of the love I proffered,
She called me villain! monster! base betrayer!
At last, in very bitterness of soul,
With deadly imprecations on herself,
She vowed severely ne'er to see me more;
Then bid me fly that minute: I obeyed,
And, bowing, left her to grow cool at leisure.
Ros. She has relented since, else why this
To meet the keeper of her secrets here
Loth. See the person whom you named!
Well, my ambassadress, what must we treat of?
Come
you to menace war, and proud defiance,
Or does the peaceful olive grace your message?
Is your fair mistress calmer? Does she soften?
And must we love again? Perhaps she means
To treat in juncture with her new ally,
And make her husband party to the agreement.
Luc. Is this well done, my lord! Have you
put off
All sense of human nature? Keep a little,
A little pity, to distinguish manhood,
Lest other men, though cruel, should disclaim you,
And judge you to be numbered with the brutes.
Loth. I see thou'st learned to rail.
Luc. I've learned to weep;
That lesson my sad mistress often gives me :
By day she seeks some melancholy shade,
To hide her sorrows from the prying world;
At night she watches all the long, long hours,
And listens to the winds and beating rain,
With sighs as loud, and tears that fall as fast;
Then, ever and anon, she wrings her hands,
And cries, false, false Lothario!
swear thou'lt spoil thy pretty face with crying, And thou hast beauty that may make thy for
Some keeping cardinal shall doat upon thee,
And barter his church treasure for thy freshness.
Luc. What! shall I sell my innocence and
youth,
For wealth or titles, to perfidious man!
To man, who makes his mirth of our undoing!
The base, profest betrayer of our sex!
Let me grow old in all misfortunes else,
Rather than know the sorrows of Calista!
Loth. Does she send thee to chide in her behalf?
I swear thou dost it with so good a grace, That I could almost love thee for thy frowning. Luc. Read there, my lord, there, in her own sad lines, [Giving a letter. Which best can tell the story of her woes, That grief of heart which your unkindness gives
[Loth. reads. Your cruelty-Obedience to my father-Give my hand to Altamont? By heaven 'tis well! such ever be the gifts, With which I greet the man whom my soul hates. [Aside.
But to go on! "Wish-heart-honour-too faithlessWeakness-to-morrow-b —last trouble-lost Ca
Women, I see, can change as well as men.
She writes me here, forsaken as I am,
That I should bind my brows with mournful willow,
For she has given her hand to Altamont:
Yet, tell the fair inconstant
Luc. How, my lord!
Loth. Nay, no more angry words: say to Calista,
The humblest of her slaves shall wait her plea
If she can leave her happy husband's arms,
To think upon so lost a thing as I am.
Luc. Alas! for pity, come with gentler looks; Wound not her heart with this unmanly triumph: And, though you love her not, yet swear you do, So shall dissembling once be virtuous in you. Loth. Ha! who comes here?
Luc. The bridegroom's friend, Horatio. He must not see us here. To-morrow early Be at the garden gate.
Loth. Bear to my love
My kindest thoughts, and swear I will not fail
< sce you; it shall be the last trouble you shall [ Why did you falsely call me your Lavinia, 'meet with from
The lost, indeed! for thou art gone as far
As there can be perdition. Fire and sulphur!
Hell is the sole avenger of such crimes.
Oh, that the ruin were but all thy own!
Thou wilt even make thy father curse his age;
At sight of this black scroll, the gentle Altamont
(For, Oh! I know his heart is set upon thee)
Shall droop, and hang his discontented head,
Like merit scorned by insolent authority,
And never grace the public with his virtues.
Perhaps even now he gazes fondly on her,
And, thinking soul and body both alike,
Blesses the perfect workmanship of Heaven!
Then sighing, to his every care speaks peace,
And bids his heart be satisfied with happiness.
Oh, wretched husband! while she hangs about
thee
With idle blandishments, and plays the fond one,
Even then her hot imagination wanders,
Contriving riot, and loose 'scapes of love;
And whilst she clasps thee close, makes thee a
monster!
What if I give this paper to her father?
It follows, that his justice dooms her dead,
And breaks his heart with sorrow; hard return
For all the good his hand has heaped on us!
Hold, let me take a moment's thought-
Enter LAVINIA.
Trust me, it joys my heart that I have found you.
Enquiring wherefore you had left the company,
Before my brother's nuptial rites were ended,
They told me you had felt some sudden illness.
Where are you sick? Is it your head? your heart?
Tell me, my love, and ease my anxious thoughts,
That I may take you gently in my arms,
Soothe you to rest, and soften all your pains.
Hor. It were unjust-No, let me spare my
friend,
Lock up the fatal secret in my breast,
Nor tell him that which will undo his quiet,
Lav. What means my lord?
Hor. Ha! saidst thou, my Lavinia ?
Lav. Alas! you know not what you make me
Why are you pale? Why did you start and tremble?
Whence is that sigh? and wherefore are your eyes
Severely raised to Heaven! The sick man thus,
Acknowledging the summons of his fate,
Lifts up his feeble hands and eyes for mercy,
And, with confusion, thinks upon his exit.
Hor. Oh, no! thou hast mistook my sickness
quite;
These pangs are of the soul. Would I had met
Sharpest convulsions, spotted pestilence,
Or any other deadly foe to life,
Rather than heave beneath this load of thought! Lav. Alas! what is it? Wherefore turn you from me?
And swear I was Horatio's better half,
Since now you mourn unkindly by yourself,
And rob me of my partnership of sadness?
Witness, ye holy powers, who know my truth,
There cannot be a chance in life so miserable,
Nothing so very hard, but I could bear it,
Much rather than my love should treat me coldly,
And use me like a stranger to his heart.
Hor. Seek not to know what I would hide
But most from thee. I never knew a pleasure,
Aught that was joyful, fortunate or good,
But straight I ran to bless thee with the tidings,
And laid up all my happiness with thee:
But wherefore, wherefore should I give thee pain?
Then spare me, I conjure thee; ask no further;
Allow my melancholy thoughts this privilege,
And let them brood in secret o'er their sorrows.
Lav. It is enough; chide not, and all is well!
Forgive me if I saw you sad, Horatio,
And ask to weep out part of your misfortunes:
I would not press to know what you forbid me.
Yet, my loved lord, yet you must grant me this,
Forget your cares for this one happy day;
Devote this day to mirth, and to your Altamont;
For his dear sake, let peace be in your looks.
Even now the jocund bridegroom waits your
wishes;
He thinks the priest has but half blessed his mar riage,
Till his friend hails him with the sound of joy. Hor. Oh, never, never, never! Thou art in
Simplicity from ill, pure native truth,
And candour of the mind, adorn thee ever;
But there are such, such false ones, in the world,
'Twould fill thy gentle soul with wild amazement,
To hear their story told.
Lav. False ones, my lord!
Hor. Fatally fair they are, and in their smiles The graces, little loves, and young desires, in habit;
But all that gaze upon them are undone;
For they are false, luxurious in their appetites,
And all the Heaven they hope for, is variety:
One lover to another still succeeds,
Another, and another after that,
And the last fool is welcome as the former;
Till, having loved his hour out, he gives place,
And mingles with the herd that went before him.
Lav, Can there be such, and have they peace
Have they, in all the series of their changing,
One happy hour? If women are such things,
How was I formed so different from my sex?
My little heart is satisfied with you;
You take up all her room, as in a cottage
Which harbours some benighted princely stranger,
Where the good man, proud of his hospitality,
Yields all his homely dwelling to his guest,
And hardly keeps a corner for himself.
Hor, Oh! were they all like thee, men world
adore them,
And all the business of their lives be loving;
The nuptial band should be the pledge of peace,
And all domestic cares and quarrels cease;
The world should learn to love by virtuous rules, And marriage be no more the jest of fools. [Exeunt.
Enter CALISTA and LUCILLA.
Cal. Be dumb for ever, silent as the grave, Nor let thy fond officious love disturb My solemn sadness with the sound of joy! If thou wilt soothe me, tell me some dismal tale Of pining discontent and black despair; For, oh! I've gone around through all my thoughts, But all are indignation, love, or shame, And my dear peace of mind is lost for ever!
Luc. Why do you follow still that wandering fire, That has misled your weary steps, and leaves you Benighted in a wilderness of woe,
That false Lothario? Turn from the deceiver;
Turn, and behold where gentle Altamont,
Kind as the softest virgin of our sex,
And faithful as the simple village swain,
That never knew the courtly vice of changing,
Sighs at your feet, and wooes you to be happy.
Cal, Away! I think not of him. My sad soul
Has formed a dismal melancholy scene,
Such a retreat as I would wish to find;
An unfrequented vale, o'ergrown with trees,
Mossy and old, within whose lonesome shade
Ravens, and birds ill-omened, only dwell:
No sound to break the silence, but a brook
That, bubbling, winds among the weeds: no mark
Of any human shape that had been there,
Unless a skeleton of some poor wretch,
Who had long since, like me, by love undone,
Sought that sad place out, to despair and die in!
Luc. Alas, for pity!
Cal. There I fain would hide me
From the base world, from malice, and from shame!
For 'tis the solemn counsel of my soul
Never to live with public loss of honour:
'Tis fixed to die, rather than bear the insolence
Of each affected she that tells my story,
And blesses her good stars that she is virtuous.
To be a tale for fools! scorned by the women,
And pitied by the men! Oh, insupportable!
Luc. Can you perceive the manifest destruction,
The gaping gulf that opens just before you,
And yet rush on, though conscious of the danger?
Oh, hear me, hear your ever faithful creature!
By all the good I wish, by all the ill
My trembling heart forebodes, let me intreat you,
Never to see this faithless man again;
Let me forbid his coming.
I charge thee no: my genius drives me on; I must, I will behold him once again: Perhaps it is the crisis of my fate,
And this one interview shall end my cares.
My labouring heart, that swells with indignation
Heaves to discharge the burden; that once done,
The busy thing shall rest within its cell,
And never beat again.
Luc. Trust not to that;
Rage is the shortest passion of our souls:
Like narrow brooks, that rise with sudden
showers,
It swells in haste, and falls again as soon;
Still, as it ebbs, the softer thoughts flow in,
And the deceiver, Love, supplies its place.
Cal. I have been wronged enough to arm my
temper
Against the smooth delusion; but alas!
(Chide not my weakness, gentle maid, but pity
me)
A woman's softness hangs about me still:
Then let me blush, and tell thee all my folly.
I swear I could not see the dear betrayer
Kneel at my feet, and sigh to be forgiven,
But my relenting heart would pardon all,
And quite forget 'twas he that had undone me.
Luc. Ye sacred powers, whose gracious provi-
Alt. Begone, my cares, I give you to the winds, Far to be borne, far from the happy Altamont! For from this sacred æra of my love, A better order of succeeding days Comes smiling forward, white and lucky all. Calista is the mistress of the year; She crowns the season with auspicious beauty, And bids even all my hours be good and joyful.
Cal. If I were ever mistress of such happiness, Oh! wherefore did I play the unthrifty fool, And, wasting all on others, leave myself Without one thought of joy to give me comfort! Alt. Oh, mighty Love! Shall that fair face
This thy great festival with frowns and sadness! I swear it shall not be, for I will woo thee
With sighs so moving, with so warm a transport,
That thou shalt catch the gentle flame from me,
And kindle into joy.
Cal. I tell thee, Altamont,
Such hearts as ours were never paired above:
Ill-suited to each other; joined, not matched;
Some sullen influence, a foe to both,
Has wrought this fatal marriage to undo us.
Mark but the frame and temper of our minds,
How very much we differ. Even this day,
That fills thee with such ecstacy and transport,
To me brings nothing that should make me
bless it,
Or think it better than the day before,
Or any other in the course of time,
That duly took its turn, and was forgotten.
Alt. If to behold thee as my pledge of happi
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.co.uk/books/content?id=JmAIAQAAIAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA568&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=blood&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3a3Egb_iZ7y9CICtczVjgRmTjkUA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=39,522,481,197)
In which my father gave my hand to Altamont ;
As such, I will remember it for ever.
Enter SCIOLTO, HORATIO, and LAVINIA.
Scio. Let mirth go on, let pleasure know no
pause,
But fill up every minute of this day!
'Tis yours, my children, sacred to your loves;
The glorious sun himself for you looks gay;
He shines for Altamont and for Calista.
Let there be music; let the master touch
The sprightly string, and softly-breathing flute,
'Till harmony rouse every gentle passion,
Teach the cold maid to lose her fears in love,
And the fierce youth to languish at her feet.
Begin: even age itself is cheared with music;
It wakes a glad remembrance of our youth,
Calls back past joys, and warms us into trans-
port.
[Music.
The rich man's insolence, and great man's scorn,
In wine shall be forgotten all. To-morrow
Will be too soon to think, and to be wretched.
Oh, grant, ye powers, that I may see these happy,
[Pointing to ALT. and ĈAL.
Completely blest, and I have life enough;
And leave the rest indifferently to fate. [Exeunt.
Hor. What if, while all are here, intent on re-
velling,
I privately went forth, and sought Lothario?
This letter may be forged; perhaps the wanton-
Of his vain youth, to stain a lady's fame;
Perhaps his malice to disturb my friend.-
Oh, no! my heart forebodes it must be true.
Methought, even now, I marked the starts of
guilt
That shook her soul, though damned dissimula-
tion
Screened her dark thoughts, and set to public
view
A specious face of innocence and beauty.
Oh, false appearance! What is all our sove-
reignty,
Our boasted power? When they oppose their arts,
Still they prevail, and we are found their fools.
With such smooth looks, and many a gentle
word,
The first fair she beguiled her easy lord;
Too blind with love and beauty to beware,
He fell unthinking in the fatal snare;
Nor could believe that such a heavenly face
Had bargained with the devil, to damn her
wretched race.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-The Street near SCIOLTO's Palace.
Enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO.
Loth. To tell thee then the purport of my
thoughts;
The loss of this fond paper would not give me
A moment of disquiet, were it not
My instrument of vengeance on this Altamont;
Therefore I mean to wait some opportunity
Of speaking with the maid we saw this morning.
Ros. I wish you, sir, to think upon the danger
Of being seen; to-day their friends are round
them;
Ah, stay! ah, turn! ah, whither would you fly, And any eye that lights by chance on you,
Too charming, too relentless maid?
I follow, not to conquer, but to die;
You of the fearful are afraid.
In vain I call; for she, like fleeting air,
When pressed by some tempestuous wind,
Flies swifter from the voice of my despair;
Nor casts one pitying look behind.
Sci. Take care my gates be open, bid all wel
Shall put your life and safety to the hazard.
[They confer aside.
Loth. Damnation! He again! This second | Was some fit messenger to bear the news
time
To-day he has crossed me, like my evil genius.
Hor. I sought you, sir.
Loth. 'Tis well, then, I am found.
Hor. 'Tis well you are. The man, who wrongs
my friend,
To the earth's utmost verge I would pursue.
No place, though e'er so holy, should protect
him:
No shape, that artful fear e'er formed, should
hide him,
Till he fair answer made, and did me justice.
Loth. Ha! dost thou know me, that I am Lo-
thario?
As great a name as this proud city boasts of?
Who is this mighty man, then, this Horatio,
That I should basely hide me from his anger,
Lest he should chide me for his friend's displea-
sure?
Hor. The brave, 'tis true, do never shun the
light;
Just are their thoughts, and open are their tem-
pers,
Freely without disguise they love and hate,
Still are they found in the fair face of day,
And Heaven and men are judges of their actions.
Loth. Such let them be of mine; there's not
Which my soul ever framed, or my hand acted,
But I could well have bid the world look on,
And what I once durst do, have dared to jus-
tify.
Hor. Where was this open boldness, this free
spirit,
When but this very morning I surprised thee,
In base, dishonest privacy consulting,
And bribing a poor mercenary wretch
To sell her lady's secrets, stain her honour,
And, with a forged contrivance, blast her virtue?
At sight of me thou fled'st.
Loth. Ha! fled from thee?
Hor. Thou fled'st, and guilt was on thee, like
a thief,
A pilferer, descried in some dark corner,
Who there had lodged, with mischievous intent,
To rob and ravish at the hour of rest,
And do a midnight murder on the sleepers.
Loth. Slave! villain!
[Offers to draw, ROSSANO holds him.
Ros. Hold, my lord! think where you are,
Think how unsafe and hurtful to your honour
It were to urge a quarrel in this place,
And shock the peaceful city with a broil.
Loth. Then, since thou dost provoke my ven-
geance, know,
I would not, for this city's wealth, for all
Which the sea wafts to our Ligurian shore,
But that the joys I reaped with that fond wanton,
The wife of Altamont, should be as public
As is the noon-day sun, air, earth, or water,
Or any common benefit of nature.
Think'st thou I meant the shame should be con-
cealed!
Oh, no! by hell and vengeance, all I wanted
To the dull doating husband: now I've found him,
And thou art he.
Hor. I hold thee base enough
To break through law, and spurn at sacred order,
And do a brutal injury like this;
Yet mark me well, young lord: I think Calista
Too nice, too noble, and too great a soul,
To be the prey of such a thing as thou art.
'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man,
To forge a scroll so villainous and loose,
And mark it with a noble lady's name:
These are the mean dishonest arts of cowards,
Strangers to inanhood, and to glorious dangers;
Who, bred at home in idleness and riot,
Ransack for mistresses the unwholesome stews,
And never know the worth of virtuous love.
Loth. Think'st thou I forged the letter? Think
Till the broad shame come staring in thy face,
And boys shall hoot the cuckold as he passes.
Hor. Away! no woman could descend so low:
A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are;
Fit only for yourselves, you herd together;
And when the circling glass warms your vain
hearts,
You talk of beauties that you never saw,
And fancy raptures that you never knew.
Legends of saints, who never yet had being,
Or, being, ne'er were saints, are not so false
As the fond tales which you recount of love.
Loth. But that I do not hold it worth my
You blast the fair with lies, because they scorn
Though I think greatly of Calista's virtue,
And hold it far beyond thy power to hurt;
Yet, as she shares the honour of my Altamont,
That treasure of a soldier, bought with blood,
And kept at life's expence, I must not have
(Mark me, young sir) her very name profaned.
Learn to restrain the licence of your speech;
'Tis held you are too lavish. When you are met
Among your set of fools, talk of your dress,
Of dice, of whores, of horses, and yourselves;
'Tis safer, and becomes your understandings.
Loth. What if we pass beyond this solemn or-
der,
And, in defiance of the stern Horatio,
Indulge our gayer thoughts, let laughter loose,
And use his sacred friendship for our mirth?
Hor. 'Tis well, sir, you are pleasant.
Loth. By the joys
|