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The pomp of words, and pedant dissertations, Sci. Would it were otherwise—but thou must That can sustain thee in that hour of terror;
die! Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it, *Cal. That I must die, it is my only comfort; But when the trial comes, they stand aghast; Death is the privilege of human nature, Hast thou considered what may happen after it? And life without it were not worth our taking: How thy account may stand, and what to an Thither the poor, the prisoner, and the mourner, swer?
Fly for relief, and lay their burthens down. Cal. I have turned my eyes inward upon my- Come then, and take me into thy cold arms, self,
Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my Where foul offence and shame have laid all waste;
lasi, Therefore my soul abhors the wretched dwelling, Charmed with my father's pity and forgiveness, And longs to find some better place of rest. More than if angels tuned their golden viols, Sci. 'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that And sung a requiem to my parting soul. spirit,
Sci. I am summoned hence; ere this my friends That dwelt in antient Latian breasts, when Rome
expect me. Was mistress of the world. I would go on, There is I know not what of sad presage, And tell thee all my purpose; but it sticks That tells me I shall never see thee more; Here at my heart, and cannot find a way. If it be so, this is our last farewell,
Cal. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain, And these the parting pangs which nature feels, And write the meaning with your poniard here. When anguish rends the heart-strings-Oh, my Sci. Oh! truly guessed-see'st thou this trem daughter !
[Eru SCIOLTO. bling hand
(Holding up a dagger. Cal. Now think, thou cursed Calista! now beThrice justice urged—and thrice the slackening hold
The desolation, horror, blood, and ruin, Forgot their office, and confessed the father. Thy crimes and fatal folly spread around, At length the stubborn virtue has prevailed, That loudly cry for vengeance on thy head. It must, it must be so-Oh! take it then, Yet Heaven, who knows our weak, imperfect na[Giving the dagger.
tures, And know the rest untaught !
How blind with passions, and how prone to evil, Cal. I understand you.
Makes not too strict inquiry for offences, It is but thus, and both are satisfied.
But is atoned by penitence and prayer : [She offers to kill herself: Sciolto catches Cheap recompence! here 'twould not be receihold of her arm.
ved. Sci. A moment! give me yet a moment's space. Nothing but blood can make the expiation, The stern, the rigid judge has been obeyed; And cleanse the soul from inbred, deep polluNow nature, and the father, claim their turns.
tion.I've held the balance with an iron hand, And see, another injured wretch is come, And put off every tender human thought, To call for justice from my tardy hand. To doom my child to death; but spare my eyes
Enter ALTAMONT. The most unnatural sight, lest their
strings crack, My old brain split, and I grow mad with horror! Alt. Hail to you, horrors ! hail, thou house of Cal. Ha! Is it possible! and is there yet
death! Some little dear remains of love and tenderness And thou, the lovely mistress of the shades, For poor, undone Calista, in
heart? Whose beauty gilds the more than midnight dark. Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took ness, in thee,
And makes it grateful as the dawn of day, What joys thou gav’st me in thy prattling in- Ah, take me in, a fellow-mourner, with thee ! fancy,
I'll number groan for groan, and tear for tear; Thy sprightly wit, and early blooming beauty ! And when the fountain of thy eyes is dry, How have I stood, and fed my eyes upon thee, Mine shall supply the stream, and weep for both. Then, lifting up my hands, and wondering, blest Cul. I know thee well; thou art the injured thee
Altamont; By my strong grief, my heart even melts within Thou com'st to urge me with the wrongs I've me;
done thee; I could curse Nature, and that tyrant, Honour, But know, I stand upon the brink of life, For making me thy father, and thy judge;
And in a moment mean to set me free Thou art my daughter still!
From shame and thy upbraiding. Cal. For that kind word,
Alt. Falsely, falsely Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth, Dost thou accuse me! When did I complain, Weep on your feet, and bless you for this good Or murmur at my fate? For thee I have
Forgot the temper of Italian husbands, Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch,
And fondness has prevailed upon revenge. This parricide, that murders with her crimes, I bore my load of infamy with patience, Shortens her father's age, and cuts him off, As holy men do punishment from Heaven; Ere little more than half his years be numbered. I Nor thought it hard, because it came from thee.
Oh, then, forbid me not to mourn thy loss, And you, ye glittering, heavenly host of stars,
And nature sickens at me. Rest, thou world Haughty and fierce, to yield they've done amiss. This parricide shall be thy plague no more; But, oh, behold! my proud disdainful heart Thus, thus I set thee free. (Stubs herself. Bends to thy gentler virtue. Yes, I own,
Hor. Oh, fatal rashness ! Such is thy truth, thy tenderness, and love, Ait. Thou dost instruct me well. To lengthen Such are the graces that adorn thy youth,
life, That, were I not abandoned to destruction,
Is but to trifle now. With thee I might have lived for ages blest, [ALTAMONT offers to kill himself ; HORATIO And died in peace within thy faithful arms.
prevents him, and wrests his sword from hi. Alt. Then happiness is still within our reach. Hor. Ha! what means Here let remembrance lose our past misfortunes, The frantic Altamont? Some foe to man Tear all records that hold the fatal story; Has breathed on every breast contagious fury, Here let our joys begin, from hence go on, And epidemic madness. In long successive order.
Enter Scuolto, pale and bloody, supported by Cal. What! in death!
servants. Alt. Then thou art fixed to die?-But be it so; We'll go together; my adventurous love
Cal. Oh, my heart ! Shall follow thee to those uncertain beings.
Weil may’st thou fail; for see, the spring that Whether our lifeless shades are doomed to wan
The vital stream is wasted, and runs low. In gloomy groves, with discontented ghosts ;
My father! will you now, at last, forgive me, Or whether through the upper air we fit,
If, after all my crimes, and all your suiteri
. gs, And tread the fields of light; still I'll pursue thee, I call you once again by that dear name? 'Till fate ordains that we shall part no more.
Will you forget my shame, and those wide Cal. Oh, no! Heaven has some other better
wounds ? lot in store
Lift up your hand, and bless me, ere I go
Down to my dark abode?
Sci. Alas, my daughter!
Where life, fame, virtue, all were wrecked and Has listened to the false ones of thy sex,
lost. Nor known the arts of ours; she shall reward
But sure thou'st born thy part in all the anthee,
guish, Meet thee with virtues equal to thy own,
And smarted with the pain. Then, rest in peace: Charm thee with sweetness, beauty, and with
Let silence and oblivion hide thy name, truth;
And save thee from the malice of posterity; Be blest in thee alone, and thou in her.
And may'st thou find with Heaven the same for
giveness, Enter HORATIO.
As with thy father here !-Die, and be happy.
Cal. Celestial sounds ! Peace dawns upon my Hor. Now, mourn indeed, ye miserable pair; soul, For now the measure of your woes is full. And every pain grows less-Oh, gentle Altamonta! Alt. What dost thou mean, Horatio ?
Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone; Hor. Oh, 'tis dreadful !
But pity me,
e-Had I but early known The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment. Thy wondrous worth, thou excellent young man, Cal. My father!
We had been happier both—Now, 'tis too late; Alt. That's a deadly stroke, indeed.
And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee; Hor. Not long ago he privately went forth, Thou art their last dear object-Mercy, Heaven! Attended but by few, and those unbidden.
(She dies. I heard which way he took, and straight pursued Alt. Cold ! dead, and cold! and yet thou art
not changed, But found him compassed by Lothario's faction, But lovely still. Hadst thou a thousand faults, Almost alone, amidst a crowd of foes.
What heart so hard, what virtue so severe, Too late we brought him aid, and drove them But at that beauty must of force relented, back;
Melted to pity, love, and to forgiveness? Ere that, his frantic valour had provoked
Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, AlThe death he seemed to wish for from their
Come near, and let me bless thee ere I die. Cal. And dost thou bear me yet, thou patient To thee, and brave Horatio, I bequeath earth?
My fortunes-Lay me by thy noble father, Dost thou not labour with thy murderous weight? | And love my memory, as thou hast his;
For thou hast been my son-Oh, gracious Heaven! And find my only portion in the grave !
youth, Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away, And bends him, like a drooping flower, to earth. But multiply thy mercies on his head! By such examples are we taught to prove Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with The sorrows that attend unlawful love. him,
Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide Aud peace in all his ways (He dies. The injured bridegroom from his guilty bride. Alt. Take, take it all:
If you would have the nuptial union last, To thee, Horatio, I resign the gift,
Let virtue be the bond that ties it fast. While I pursue my father, and my love,
SPOKEN BY LAVINIA.
You see the tripping dame could find no favour ; | Each ill-bred, senseless rogue, tho' ne'er so dull, Dearly she paid for breach of good behaviour; Has th' impudence to think his wife a fool; Nor could her loving husband's fondness save her. He spends the night where merry wags resort, Italian ladies lead but scurvy lives,
With joking clubs, and eighteen-penny port; There's dreadful dealings with eloping wives : While she, poor soul, 's contented to regale, Thus 'tis, because these husbands are obeyed By a sad sea-coal fire, with wigs and ale. By force of laws, which for themselves they made. Well may the cuckold-making tribe find grace, With tales of old prescriptions they confine And fill an absent husband's empty place. The right of marriage-rules to their male line, Jfy
f you would e'er bring constancy in fashion, And buff and domineer by right divine.
You men must first begin the reformation. Had we the pow'r, we'd make the tyrants know Then shall the golden age of love return, What 'tis to fail in duties which they owe; No turtle for her wand'ring mate shall mourn; We'd teach the saunt'ring squire, who loves to No foreign charms shall cause domestic strife, roam,
But ev'ry married man shall toast his wife; Forgetful of his own dear spouse at home; Phillis shall not be to the country sent, Who snores, at night, supinely by her side ; For carnivals in town, to keep a tedious Lent; 'Twas not for this the nuptial knot was ty’d. Lampoons shall cease, and envious scandal die ; The plodding petty-fogger, and the cit,
And all shall live in peace, like my good mau Have learned, at least, this modern way of wit,
TO-NIGHT, if you have brought your good old taste, | He owns he had the mighty bard in view; We'll treat you with a downright English feast: And in these scenes has made it more his care, A tale, which told long since in homely wise, To rouse the passions, than to charm the ear; Hath never fail'd of melting gentle eyes.
Yet, for those gentle beaux, who love the chime, Let no nice sir despise our hapless dame, The ends of acts still jingle into rhyme. Because recording ballads chaunt her name: The ladies too, he hopes, will not complain,Those venerable ancient song-enditers
Here are some subjects for a softer strain,Soar'd many a pitch above our modern writers : A nymph forsaken, and a perjur'd swain. They eaterwaul'd in no romantic ditty,
What most he fears, is, lest the dames should Sighing for Phillis's or Chloe's pity.
frown, Justly they drew the fair, and spoke her plain, The dames of wit and pleasure about town, And sung her by her Christian name B'twas Jane. To see our picture drawn unlike their own. Our numbers may be more refined than those, But, lest that error should provoke to fury But what we've gained in verse, we've lost in The hospitable hundreds of Old Drury, prose.
He bid me say, in our Jane Shore's defence, Their words no shuffling double-meaning knew, She doled about the charitable pence, Their speech was homely, but their hearts were Built hospitals, turn'd saint, and dy'd long since.
For her example, whatsoe'er we make it, In such an age, immortal Shakespeare wrote, They have their choice to let alone or take it. By no quaint rules, nor hampering critics taught; Though few, as I conceive, will think it meet, With rough majestic force he mov'd the heart, To weep so sorely for a sin so sweet ; And strength and nature made amends for art. Or mourn and mortify the pleasant sense, Our humble author does his steps pursue, To rise in tragedy two ages hence.
SCENE 1.- The Tower.
Glost. And yet this tough impracticable heart
Is governed by a dainty-fingered girl. Enter the Duke of GLOSTER, Sir RICHARD
Such fiaws are found in the most worthy naRATCLIFFE, and CATESBY.
tures ; Glost. Thus far success attends upon our A laughing, toying, wheedling, whimpering she councils,
Shall make him amble on a gossip's message, And each event has answered to my wish; And take the distaff with a hand as patient The queen and all her upstart race are quelled; As e'er did Hercules. Dorset is banished, and her brother Rivers, Rat. The fair Alicia, Ere this, lies shorter by the head at Pomfret. Of noble birth and exquisite of feature, The nobles have, with joint concurrence, named Has held him long a vassal to her beauty.
Cut. I fear, he fails in his allegiance there;
Glost. No more, he comes.
Enter Lord HASTINGS.
Hast. Health, and the happiness of many days And wear them long and worthily. You are Attend upon your grace. The last remaining male of princely York, Glost. My good lord chamberlain, (For Edward's boys, the state esteems not of We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. them,)
Hast. My lord, I come an humble suitor to And therefore on your sovereignty and rule,
you. The common weal does her dependence make, Glost. In right good time. Speak out your And leans upon your highness' able hand.
pleasure freely. Cal, And yet to-morrow does the council meet, Hast. I am to move your highness in behalf To fix a day for Edward's coronation.
Of Shore's unhappy wife. Who can expound this riddle?
Glost. Say you, of Shore? Glost. That can I.
Hust. Once a bright star, that held her place Those lords are each one my approved good
on high; friends,
The first and fairést of our English dames, Of special trust and nearness to my bosom; While royal Edward held the sovereign rule. And howsoever busy they may seem,
Now sunk in grief, and pining with despair, Avd diligent to bustle in the state,
Her waning form no longer shall incite
She never sees the sun, but through her tears, Cat. Yet there is one,
And wakes to sigh the live-long night away. And he amongst the foremost in his power, Glost. Marry the times are badly changed Of whom I wish your highness were assured.
with her, For me, perhaps it is my nature's fault, From Edward's days to these. Then all was jolI own, I doubt of his inclining, much.
lity, Glost. I guess the man at whom your words Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laugtiwould point:
Piping and playing, minstrelsy and masquing; Cut. The same.
Till life fled from us like an idle dream, Glost. He bears me great good-will.
A shew of mummery without a meaning: Cat. 'Tis true, to you, as to the lord protec- My brother,--rest and pardon to his soul! tor,
Is gone to his account; for this his minion, And Gloster's duke, he bows with lowly service: The revel rout is done-But you were speaking But were he bid to cry, God suve king Richard, Concerning her-I have been told, that you Then tell me in what terms he would reply? Are frequent in your visitation to her. Believe me, I have proved the man, and found Hast. No farther, my good lord, than friendly
pity, I know he bears a most religious reverence And tender-hearted charity allow. To his dead master Edward's royal memory, Glost. Go to; I did not mean to chide you And whither that may lead him is most plain.
for it. Yet more-One of that stubborn sort he is, For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you Who, if they once grow fond of an opinion, To cherish the distressed On with your tale They call it honour, honesty, and faith,
Hast. Thus it is, gracious sir, that certain offiAnd sooner part with life than let it go,