Which my soul yet has uncontrouled pursued,
I would not turn aside from my least pleasure,
Though all thy force were armed to bar my way;
But, like the birds, great Nature's happy com-

moners,

That haunt in woods, in meads, and flowery gardens,

Rifle the sweets, and taste the choicest fruits,
Yet scorn to ask the lordly owner's leave.

Hor. What liberty has vain presumptuous youth,
That thou shouldst dare provoke me unchastised?
But henceforth, boy, I warn thee, shun my walks:
If, in the bounds of yon forbidden place,
Again thou'rt found, expect a punishment,
Such as great souls, impatient of an injury,
Exact from those who wrong them much; even
death,

Or something worse: an injured husband's vengeance

Shall print a thousand wounds, tear thy fair form, And scatter thee to all the winds of Heaven!

Loth. Is, then, my way in Genoa prescribed By a dependent on the wretched Altamont, A talking sir, that brawls for him in taverns, And vouches for his valour's reputation?

Hor. Away! thy speech is fouler than thy

manners.

Loth. Or, if there be a name more vile, his parasite;

A beggar's parasite!

Hor. Now, learn humanity,

[Offers to strike him, ROSSANO interposes. Since brutes and boys are only taught with blows. Loth. Damnation! [They draw.

Ros. Hold, this goes no further here.
Horatio, 'tis too much; already see
The crowd are gathering to us.
Loth. Oh, Rossano!

Or give me way, or thou'rt no more my friend. Ros. Sciolto's servants, too, have ta'en the alarm;

You'll be oppressed by numbers. Be advised, Or I must force you hence. Take't on my word, You shall have justice done you on Horatio. Put up, my lord.

Loth. This will not brook delay; West of the town a mile, among the rocks, Two hours ere noon, to-morrow, I expect thee, Thy single hand to mine.

Hor. I'll meet thee there.

Loth. To-morrow, oh, my better stars! to-mor

row,

Exert your influence, shine strongly for me; 'Tis not a common conquest I would gain, Since love, as well as arms, must grace my triumph.

[Exeunt LOTHARIO and RossaNO. Hor. Two hours ere noon to-morrow! ha! ere that

He sees Calista! Oh, unthinking fool!-
What if I urged her with the crime and danger?
If any spark from Heaven remain unquenched
Within her breast, my breath, perhaps, may wake
it.

Could I but prosper there, I would not doubt
My combat with that loud vain-glorious boaster.
Were you, ye fair, but cautious whom ye trust,
Did you but think how seldom fools are just,
So many of your sex would not in vain,
Of broken vows, and faithless men, complain:
Of all the various wretches love has made,
How few have been by men of sense betrayed!
Convinced by reason, they your power confess,
Pleased to be happy, as you're pleased to bless,
And, conscious of your worth, can never love you
less.
[Erit.

SCENE I.—An Apartment in SCIOLTO's Palace.

Enter SCIOLTO and CALISTA.

Sci. Now, by my life, my honour, 'tis too much!'
Have I not marked thee, wayward as thou art,
Perverse and sullen all this day of joy?
When every heart was cheered, and mirth went
round,

Sorrow, displeasure, and repining anguish,
Sat on thy brow; like some malignant planet,
Foe to the harvest and the healthy year,
Who scowls adverse, and lours upon the world,
When all the other stars, with gentle aspect,
Propitious shine, and meaning good to man.
Cal. Is then the task of duty half performed?
Has not your daughter given herself to Altamont,
Yielded the native freedom of her will
To an imperious husband's lordly rule,
To gratify a father's stern command?
Sci. Dost thou complain?

Cal. For pity do not frown then, If, in despite of all my vowed obedience, A sigh breaks out, or a tear falls by chance: For, oh! that sorrow, which has drawn your an

ger,

Is the sad native of Calista's breast;
And, once possessed, will never quit its dwelling,
Till life, the prop of all, shall leave the building,
To tumble down, and moulder into ruin.

Sci. Now by the sacred dust of that dear saint That was thy mother; by her wondrous goodness, Her soft, her tender, most complying sweetness, I swear, some sullen thought, that shuns the light, Lurks underneath that sadness in thy visage. But mark me well! though, by yon Heaven, I love thee

As much, I think, as a fond parent can;
Yet shouldst thou, (which the powers above for-

bid!)

E'er stain the honour of thy name with infamy, I'll cast thec off, as one whose impious hands,

Had rent asunder nature's nearest ties,
Which, once divided, never join again.
To-day I've made a noble youth thy husband!
Consider well his worth, reward his love:
Be willing to be happy, and thou art so.

[Exit SCIOLTO.
Cal. How hard is the condition of our sex,
Through every state of life the slaves of man!
In all the dear delightful days of youth
A rigid father dictates to our wills,
And deals out pleasure with a scanty hand.
To his, the tyrant husband's reign succeeds;
Proud with opinion of superior reason,
He holds domestic business and devotion
All we are capable to know, and shuts us,
Like cloistered ideots, from the world's acquaint-
ance,

And all the joys of freedom. Wherefore are we
Born with high souls, but to assert ourselves,
Shake off this vile obedience they exact,
And claim an equal empire o'er the world?
Enter HORATIO.

Hor. She's here! yet, oh! my tongue is at a loss.

Teach me, some power, that happy art of speech,
To dress my purpose up in gracious words;
Such as may softly steal upon her soul,
And never waken the tempestuous passions.
By Heaven she weeps!-Forgive me, fair Ca-
lista,

If I presume on privilege of friendship,
To join my grief to yours, and mourn the evils
That hurt your peace, and quench those eyes in

tears..

Cal. To steal, unlooked for, on my private sor

row,

Speaks not the man of honour, nor the friend, But rather means the spy.

Hor. Unkindly said!

For, oh! as sure as you accuse me falsely,
I come to prove myself Calista's friend.

Cal. You are my husband's friend, the friend of Altamont.

Hor. Are you not one? Are you not joined by
Heaven,

Each interwoven with the other's fate?
Are you not mixt, like streams of meeting rivers,
Whose blended waters are no more distinguished,
But roll into the sea, one common flood?
Then who can give his friendship but to one?
Who can be Altamont's and not Calista's?
Cal. Force, and the wills of our imperious
rulers,

May bind two bodies in one wretched chain;
But minds will still look back to their own choice.
So the poor captive in a foreign realm,
Stands on the shore, and sends his wishes back
To the dear native land from whence he came.
Hor. When souls, that should agree to will the

same,

To have one common object for their wishes, Look different ways, regardless of each other, Think what a train of wretchedness ensues:

Hence have the talkers of this populous city
A shameful tale to tell, for public sport,
Of an unhappy beauty, a false fair one,
Who plighted to a noble youth her faith,
When she had given her honour to a wretch.

Cal. Death and confusion! Have I lived to this?
Thus to be treated with unmanly insolence!
To be the sport of a loose ruffian's tongue!
Thus to be used! thus! like the vilest creature,
That ever was a slave to vice and infamy!

Hor. By honour and fair truth, you wrong me

much;

For, on my soul, nothing but strong necessity
Could urge my tongue to this ungrateful office.
I came with strong reluctance, as if death
Had stood across my way, to save your honour,
Yours and Sciolto's, yours and Altamont's;
Like one who ventures through a burning pile,
To save his tender wife, with all her brood
Of little fondlings, from the dreadful ruin.

Cal. Is this the famous friend of Altamont,
For noble worth and deeds of arms renowned ?
Is this the tale-bearing officious fellow,
That watches for intelligence from eyes;
This wretched Argus of a jealous husband,
That fills his easy ears with monstrous tales,
And makes him toss, and rave, and wreak at
length

Bloody revenge on his defenceless wife,
Who guiltless dies, because her fool ran mad?

Hor. Alas, this rage is vain; for if your fame
Or peace be worth your care, you must be calm,
And listen to the means are left to save them.
'Tis now the lucky minute of your fate.
By me your genius speaks, by me it warns you,
Never to sec that curst Lothario more;
Unless you mean to be despised, be shunned
By all our virtuous maids and noble matrons;
Unless you have devoted this rare beauty
To infamy, diseases, prostitution-

Cal. Dishonour blast thee, base, unmannered slave!

That dar'st forget my birth, and sacred sex,
And shock me with the rude unhallowed sound!
Hor. Here kneel, and in the awful face of
Heaven

Breathe out a solemn vow, never to see,
Nor think, if possible, on him that ruined thee;
Or, by my Altamont's dear life, I swear,
This paper,-nay, you must not fly,—this paper,
[Holding her.
This guilty paper shall divulge your shame.
Cal. What mean'st thou by that paper? What
contrivance

Hast thou been forging to deceive my father;
To turn his heart against his wretched daughter,
That Altamont and thou may share his wealth?
A wrong like this will make me even forget
The weakness of my sex.Oh, for a sword,
To urge my vengeance on the villain's hand,
That forged the scroll!

Hor. Behold! Can this be forged?
See where Calista's name-

[Showing the Letter near. Cal. To atoms thus, [Tearing it. Thus let me tear the vile detested falsehood, The wicked, lying evidence of shame.

Hor. Confusion!

Cal. Henceforth, thou officious fool, Meddle no more, nor dare, even on thy life, To breathe an accent that may touch my virtue. I am myself the guardian of my honour, And will not bear so insolent a monitor.

Enter ALTAMONT.

All. Where is my life, my love, my charming bride,

Joy of my heart and pleasure of my eyes,
The wish, the care, and business of my youth?
Oh, let me find her, snatch her to my breast,
And tell her she delays my bliss too long,
Till my soft soul even sickens with desire.
Disordered!--and in tears !-Horatio too!
My friend is in armaze-What can it mean?
Tell me, Calista, who has done thee wrong,

That my swift sword may find out the offender, And do thee ample justice.

Cal. Turn to him.

Alt. Horatio!

Cal. To that insolent. Alt. My friend!

Could he do this? He, who was half myself? One faith has ever bound us, and one reason Guided our wills. Have I not found him just, Honest as truth itself? And could he break The sanctity of friendship? Could he wound The heart of Altamont in his Calista?

Cal. I thought what justice I should find from thee!

Go fawn upon him, listen to his tale,
Applaud his malice, that would blast my fame,
And treat me like a common prostitute.
Thou art perhaps confederate in his mischief,
And wilt believe the legend, if he tells it.

Att. Oh, impious! what presumptuous wretch shall dare

To offer at an injury like that?

Priesthood, nor age, nor cowardice itself, Shall save him from the fury of my vengeance. Cal. The man who dared to do it was Hora

tio;

Thy darling friend; 'Twas Altamont's Horatio.
But mark me well; while thy divided heart
Doats on a villain that has wronged me thus,
No force shall drag me to thy hated bed.
Nor can my cruel father's power do more
Than shut me in a cloister: there, well pleased,
Religious hardships will I learn to bear,
To fast and freeze at midnight hours of prayer;
Nor think it hard, within a lonely cell,
With melancholy, speechless saints to dwell;
But bless the day I to that refuge ran,
Free from the marriage-chain, and from that ty
[Erit CALISTA.

rant man.

Alt. She's gone; and, as she went, ten thou

sand fires

Shot from her angry eyes, as if she meant
Too well to keep the cruel vow she made.
Now, as thou art a man, Horatio, tell me,
What means this wild confusion in thy looks,
As if thou wert at variance with thyself,
Madness and reason combating within thee,
And thou wert doubtful which should get the
better?

Hor. I would be dumb for ever; but thy fate
Hás otherwise decreed it. Thou hast seen
That idol of thy soul, that fair Calista;
Thou hast beheld her tears.

Alt. I've seen her weep;

I've seen that lovely one, that dear Calista,
Complaining, in the bitterness of sorrow,
That thou, my friend, Horatio, thou hast wronged
her.

Hor. That I have wronged her! had her eyes

been fed

From that rich stream which warms her heart, and numbered

For every falling tear a drop of blood, It had not been too much; for she has ruined thee,

Even thee, my Altamont. She has undone thee.
Alt. Dost thou join ruin with Calista's name?
What is so fair, so exquisitely good?
Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?
Does she not come, like wisdom, or good fortune,
Replete with blessings, giving wealth and honour?
The dowry which she brings is peace and plea-

sure,

And everlasting joys are in her arms.

Hor. It had been better thou hadst lived a

beggar,

And fed on scraps at great men's surly doors, Than to have matched with one so false, so fatal.

Alt. It is too much for friendship to allow thee.

Because I tamely bore the wrong thou didst her,
Thou dost avow the barbarous, brutal part,
And urge the injury even to my face!

Hor. I see she has got possession of thy heart ; She has charmed thee, like a syren, to her bed, With looks of love, and with enchanting sounds: Too late the rocks and quicksands will appear, When thou art wrecked upon the faithless shore, Then vainly wish thou hadst not left thy friend, To follow her delusion.

Alt. If thy friendship

Do churlishly deny my love a room,
It is not worth my keeping; I disclaim it.

Hor. Canst thou so soon forget what I've been to thee?

I shared the task of nature with thy father,
And formed with care thy inexperienced youth
To virtue and to arms.

Thy noble father, oh, thou light young man!
Would he have used me thus? One fortune fed

us;

For his was ever mine, mine his, and both
Together flourished, and together fell.

He called me friend, like thee: would he have left me

Thus for a woman, and a vile one, too?

Alt. Thou canst not, darʼst not mean it! Speak again!

Say, who is vile; but dare not name Calista.

Hor. I had not spoke at first, unless compelled, And forced to clear myself; but since thus urged, I must avow, I do not know a viler.

Alt. Thou wert my father's friend; he loved thee well;

A kind of venerable mark of him

Hangs round thee, and protects thee from my

ed love,

I swear, the poor evasion shall not save thee. Hor. Yet hold-thou know'st I dare-think how we've lived

[They fight ALTAMONT presses on HoRATIO, who retires.

Nay then, 'tis brutal violence; and thus, Thus nature bids me guard the life she gave. [They fight.

LAVINIA enters, and runs between their swords.

Lan. My brother, my Horatio! Is it possible! Oh, turn your cruel swords upon Lavinia ! If you must quench your impious rage in blood, Behold, my heart shall give you all her store, To save those dearer streams that flow from yours.

Alt. 'Tis well thou hast found a safe-guard; none but this,

No power on earth could save thee from my fury. Lav. O fatal, deadly sound!

Hor. Safety from thee!

Away, vain boy! Hast thou forgot the reve

rence

Due to my arm, thy first, thy great example,
Which pointed out thy way to noble daring,
And shewed thee what it was to be a man?

Lav. What busy, meddling fiend, what foe to goodness,

Could kindle such a discord! Oh, lay by
Those most ungentle looks, and angry weapons,
Unless you mean my griefs and killing fears
Should stretch me out at your relentless fect,
A wretched corse, the victim of your fury.

Hor. Ask'st thou what made us foes? 'Twas
base ingratitude;

'Twas such a sin to friendship, as Heaven's mercy, That strives with man's untoward, monstrous wickedness,

Unwearied with forgiving, scarce could pardon. He, who was all to me, child, brother, friend,

With barbarous, bloody malice, sought my life. Alt. Thou art my sister, and I would not make thee

The lonely mourner of a widowed bed; Therefore, thy husband's life is safe! but warn him,

No more to know this hospitable roof.
He has but ill repaid Sciolto's bounty.
We must not meet; 'tis dangerous. Farewell.

[He is going out, LAVINIA holds him.
Lan. Stay, Altamont, my brother, stay; if ever
Nature, or, what is nearer much than nature,
The kind consent of our agreeing minds,
Have made us dear to one another, stay,
And speak one gentle word to your Horatio!
Behold, his anger melts, he longs to love you,
To call you friend, then press you hard, with all
The tender, speechless joy of reconcilement.
Alt. It cannot, shall not be-you must not
hold me.

Lav. Look kindly, then.

Alt. Each minute that I stay,
Is a new injury to fair Calista.-

From thy false friendship to her arms I'll fly ;
There, if in any pause of love I rest,
Breathless with bliss, upon her panting breast,
In broken, melting accents, I will swear,
Henceforth to trust my heart with none but
her;

Then own, the joys which on her charms attend, Have more than paid me for my faithless friend. [ALT. breaks from LAV. and exit. Hor. Oh, raise thee, my Lavinia, from the earth!

It is too much; this tide of flowing grief,
This wond'rous waste of tears, too much to give
To an ungrateful friend, and cruel brother.

Lav. Is there not cause for weeping? Oh,
Horatio!

A brother and a husband were my treasure;
'Twas all the little wealth that poor Lavinia
Saved from the shipwreck of her father's for-

tunes.

One half is lost already. If thou leav'st me; If thou should'st prove unkind to me, as Alta mont,

Whom shall I find to pity my distress,
To have compassion on a helpless wanderer,
And give her where to lay her wretched head?
Hor. Why dost thou wound me with thy soft
complainings?

Though Altamont be false, and use me hardly,
Yet think not I impute his crimes to thee.
Talk not of being forsaken; for I'll keep thee
Next to my heart, my certain pledge of happi-

ness.

Heaven formed thee gentle, fair, and full of goodness,

And made thee all my portion here on earth:
It gave thee to me, as a large amends
For fortune, friends, and all the world beside.

Lav. Then you will love me still, cherish me

ever,

And hide me from misfortune in your bosom? Here end my cares; nor will I lose one thought, How we shall live, or purchase food and raiment. The holy Power, who cloathes the senseless earth

With woods, with fruits, with flowers, and ver dant grass,

Whose bounteous hand feeds the whole brute creation,

Knows all our wants, and has enough to give us. Hor. From Genoa, from falsehood and incon

stancy,

To some more honest, distant clime we'll go;
Nor will I be beholden to my country,
For aught but thee, the partner of my flight.

Lav. Yes, I will follow thee; forsake, for

thee,

My country, brother, friends, even all I have.
Though mine's a little all, yet were it more,
And better far, it should be left for thee,
And all that I would keep, should be Horatio.
So, when a merchant sees his vessel lost,
Though richly freighted from a foreign coast,
Gladly, for life, the treasure he would give,
And only wishes to escape, and live :
Gold, and his gains, no more employ his mind;
But, driving o'er the billows with the wind,
Cleaves to one faithful plank, and leaves the rest
behind.
[Exeunt.