Tancred and Sigiſmunda.
A TRAGEDY.
[]ACT I. SCENE I.
SIGISMUNDA, LAURA.
SIGISMUNDA.
AH fatal Day to Sicily! The King
Then touches his laſt Moments?
LAURA.
So 'tis fear'd.
SIGISMUNDA.
The Death of thoſe diſtinguiſh'd by their Station,
But by their Virtue more, awakes the Mind
To ſolemn Dread, and ſtrikes a ſaddening Awe:
Not that we grieve for them, but for ourſelves,
Left to the Toil of Life—And yet the Beſt
Are, by the playful Children of this World,
At once forgot, as they had never been.
LAURA, 'tis ſaid—the Heart is ſometimes charg'd
With a prophetick Sadneſs: Such, methinks,
[2] Now hangs on mine. The King's approaching Death
Suggeſts a thouſand Fears. What Troubles thence
May throw the State once more into Confuſion,
What ſudden Changes in my Father's Houſe
May riſe, and part me from my deareſt TANCRED,
Alarms my Thought.
LAURA.
The Fears of Love-ſick Fancy!
Perverſely buſy to torment it ſelf.
But be aſſur'd, your Father's ſteady Friendſhip,
Join'd to a certain Genius, that commands,
Not kneels to Fortune will ſupport and cheriſh,
Here in the publick Eye of Sicily,
This—I may call him—his adopted Son,
The noble TANCRED, form'd to all his Virtues.
SIGISMUNDA.
Ah form'd to charm his Daughter!—This fair Morn
Has tempted far the Chace. Is he not yet
Return'd?
LAURA.
No.—When your Father to the King,
Who now expiring lies, was call'd in haſte,
He ſent each way his Meſſengers to find him;
With ſuch a Look of Ardor and Impatience,
As if this near Event was to Count TANCRED
Of more Importance than I comprehend.
SIGISMUNDA.
There lies, my LAURA, o'er my TANCRED'S Birth
A Cloud I cannot pierce. With princely Coſt,
Nay, with Reſpect, which oft I have obſerv'd,
Stealing at times ſubmiſſive o'er his Features,
In Belmont's Woods my Father rear'd this Youth—
Ah Woods! where firſt my artleſs Boſom learnt
The Sighs of Love.—He gives him out the Son
Of an old Friend, a Baron of Apulia,
Who in the late Cruſado b avely fell.
But then 'tis ſtrange; is all his Family
[3] As well as Father dead? and all their Friends,
Except my Sire, the generous good SIFFREDI?
Had he a Mother, Siſter, Brother left,
The laſt Remain of Kindred, with what Pride,
What Rapture, might they fly o'er Earth and Sea,
To claim this riſing Honour of their Blood!
This bright Unknown! this all-accompliſh'd Youth!
Who charms—too much—the Heart of SIGIS⯑MUNDA!
LAURA, perhaps your Brother knows him better,
The Friend and Partner of his freeſt Hours.
What ſays RODOLPHO? Does he truely credit
This Story of his Birth?
LAURA.
He has ſometimes,
Like you, his Doubts; yet, when maturely weigh'd,
Believes it true. As for Lord TANCRED'S Self,
He never entertain'd the ſlighteſt Thought
That verg'd to Doubt; but oft laments his State,
By cruel Fortune ſo ill-pair'd to yours.
SIGISMUNDA.
Merit like his, the Fortune of the Mind,
Beggars all Wealth—Then to your Brother, LAURA,
He talks of me?
LAURA.
Of nothing elſe. Howe'er
The Talk begin, it ends with SIGISMUNDA.
Their Morning, Noon-tide, and their Evening Walks
Are full of you; and all the Woods of Belmont
Inamour'd with your Name—
SIGISMUNDA.
Away, my Friend;
You flatter—yet the dear Deluſion charms.
LAURA.
No, SIGISMUNDA, 'tis the ſtricteſt Truth,
[4] Nor half the Truth, I tell you. Even with Fond⯑neſs
My Brother talks for ever of the Paſſion,
That fires young TANCRED'S Breaſt. So much it ſtrikes him,
He praiſes Love as if he were a Lover.
He blames the falſe Purſuits of vagrant Youth,
Calls them gay Folly, a miſtaken Struggle
Againſt beſt-judging Nature. Heaven, he ſays,
In laviſh Bounty form'd the Heart for Love;
In Love included all the finer Seeds
Of Honour, Virtue, Friendſhip, pureſt Bliſs—
SIGISMUNDA.
Virtuous RODOLPHO!
LAURA.
Then his pleaſing Theme
He varies to the Praiſes of your Lover—
SIGISMUNDA.
And what, my LAURA, ſays he on that Subject?
LAURA.
He ſays that, tho' he were not nobly born,
Nature has form'd him noble, generous, brave,
Truely magnanimous, and warmly ſcorning
Whatever bears the ſmalleſt Taint of Baſeneſs:
That every eaſy Virtue is his own;
Not learnt by painful Labour, but inſpir'd,
Implanted in his Soul—Chiefly one Charm
He in his graceful Character obſerves:
That tho' his Paſſions burn with high Impatience,
And ſometimes, from a noble Heat of Nature,
Are ready to fly off, yet the leaſt Check
Of ruling Reaſon brings them back to Temper,
And gentle Softneſs.
SIGISMUNDA.
True! O true, RODOLPHO!
Bleſt be thy kindred Worth for loving his!
He is all Warmth, all amiable Fire,
All quick Heroic Ardor! temper'd ſoft
[5] With Gentleneſs of Heart, and manly Reaſon!
If Virtue were to wear a human Form,
To light it with her Dignity and Flame,
Then ſoftening mix her Smiles and tender Graces,
O ſhe would chuſe the Perſon of my TANCRED!
Go on, my Friend, go on, and ever praiſe him;
The Subject knows no Bounds, nor can I tire,
While my Breaſt trembles to that ſweeteſt Muſick!
The Heart of Woman taſtes no truer Joy,
Is never flatter'd with ſuch dear Enchantment—
'Tis more than ſelfiſh Vanity—as when
She hears the Praiſes of the Man ſhe loves—
LAURA.
Madam, your Father comes.
SCENE II.
SIFFREDI, SIGISMUNDA, LAURA.
SIFFREDI.
[To an Attendant as he enters.
Lord TANCRED then
Is found?
ATTENDANT.
My Lord, he quickly will be here.
I ſcarce could keep before him, tho' he bid me
Speed on, to ſay he would attend your Orders.
SIFFREDI.
'Tis well—retire—You, too, my Daughter, leave me.
SIGISMUNDA.
I go, my Father—But how fAres the King?
SIFFREDI.
He is no more. Gone to that awful State,
Where Kings the Crown wear only of their Virtues.
SIGISMUNDA.
[6]How bright muſt then be his!—This Stroke is ſudden.
He was this Morning well, when to the Chace
Lord TANCRED went.
SIFFREDI.
'Tis true. But at his Years
Death gives ſhort Notice—Dropping Nature then,
Without a Guſt of Pain to ſhake it, falls.
His Death, my Daughter, was that happy Period
Which few attain. The Duties of his Day
Were all diſcharg'd, and gratefully enjoy'd
It's nobleſt Bleſſings; calm, as Evening Skies,
Was his pure Mind, and lighted up with Hopes
That open Heaven; when, for his laſt long Sleep
Timely prepar'd, a Laſſitude of Life,
A pleaſing Wearineſs of mortal Joy,
Fell on his Soul, and down he ſunk to Reſt.
O may my Death be ſuch!—He but one Wiſh
Left unfulfill'd, which was to ſee Count TAN⯑CRED—
SIGISMUNDA.
To ſee Count TANCRED!—Pardon me, my Lord—
SIFFREDI.
For what, my Daughter?—But, with ſuch Emo⯑tion.
Why did you ſtart at Mention of Count TAN⯑CRED?
SIGISMUNDA.
Nothing—I only hop'd the dying King
Might mean to make ſome generous juſt Pro⯑viſion
For this your worthy Charge, this noble Orphan.
SIFFREDI.
And he has done it largely—Leave me now—
I want ſome private Conference with Lord TAN⯑CRED.
SCENE III.
[7]SIFFREDI alone.
My Doubts are but too true—If theſe old Eyes
Can trace the Marks of Love, a mutual Paſſion
Has ſeiz'd, I fear, my Daughter and this Prince,
My Sovereign now—Should it be ſo? Ah there,
There lurks a brooding Tempeſt, that may ſhake
My long-concerted Scheme, to ſettle firm
The publick Peace and Welfare, which the King
Has made the prudent Baſis of his Will—
Away! unworthy Views! you ſhall not tempt me!
Nor Intereſt nor Ambition ſhall ſeduce
My fixt Reſolve—periſh the ſelfiſh Thought,
Which our own Good prefers to that of Millions!—
He comes—my King—unconſcious of his Fortune.
SCENE IV.
TANCRED. SIFFREDI.
TANCRED.
My Lord SIFFREDI, in your Looks I read,
Confirm'd, the mournful News that fly abroad
From Tongue to Tongue—We then, at laſt, have loſt
The good old King?
SIFFREDI.
Yes, We have loſt a Father!
The greateſt Bleſſing Heaven beſtows on Mortals,
And ſEldom found amidſt theſe Wilds of Time,
A good, a woRthy King!—Hear me, my TAN⯑CRED,
[8] And I will tell thee, in a few plain Words,
How he deſerv'd that beſt that glorious Title.
'Tis nought complex, 'tis clear as Truth and Virtue.
He lov'd his People, deem'd them all his Children;
The Good exalted and depreſs'd the Bad.
He ſpurn'd the flattering Crew, with Scorn re⯑jected
Their ſmooth Advice that only means themſelves,
Their Schemes to aggrandize him into Baſeneſs:
Nor did he leſs diſdain the ſecret Breath,
The whiſper'd Tale, that blights a virtuous Name.
He ſought alone the Good of Thoſe, for whom
He was entruſted with the ſovereign Power:
Well knowing that a People in their Rights
And Induſtry protected; living ſafe
Beneath the ſacred Shelter of the Laws,
Encourag'd in their Genius, Arts, and Labours,
And happy each as he himſelf deſerves,
Are ne'er ungrateful. With unſparing Hand
They will for Him provide: their filial Love
And Confidence are his unfailing Treaſure,
And every honeſt Man his faithful Guard.
TANCRED.
A general Face of Grief o'erſpreads the City.
I mark'd the People, as I hither came,
In Crouds aſſembled, ſtruck with ſilent Sorrow,
And pouring forth the nobleſt Praiſe of Tears.
Thoſe whom Remembrance of their former Woes,
And long Experience of the vain Illuſions
Of youthful Hope, had into wiſe Content
And Fear of Change corrected, wrung their Hands,
And often caſting up their Eyes to Heaven
Gave ſign of ſad Conjecture. Others ſhew'd,
Athwart their Grief, or real or affected,
A Gleam of Expectation, from what Chance
And Change might bring. A mingled Murmur run
Along the Streets; and, from the lonely Court
[9] Of him who can no more aſſiſt their Fortunes,
I ſaw the Courtier-Fry, with eager haſte,
All hurrying to CONSTANTIA.
SIFFREDI.
Noble Youth!
I joy to hear from Thee theſe juſt Reflexions,
Worthy of riper Years—But if they ſeek
CONSTANTIA, truſt me, they miſtake their Courſe.
TANCRED.
How! Is ſhe not, my Lord, the late King's Siſter,
Heir to the Crown of Sicily? the laſt
Of our fam'd Norman Line, and now our Queen?
SIFFREDI.
TANCRED, 'tis true; ſhe is the late King's Siſter,
The ſole ſurviving Offspring of that Tyrant
WILLIAM the Bad—ſo for his Vices ſtil'd;
Who ſpilt much noble Blood, and ſore oppreſs'd
Th' exhauſted Land: whence grievous Wars aroſe,
And many a dire Convulſion ſhook the State.
When He, whoſe Death Sicilia mourns to-day,
WILLIAM, who has and well deſerv'd the Name
Of Good, ſucceeding to his Father's Throne,
Reliev'd his Country's Woes—But to return—
She is the late King's Siſter, born ſome Months
After the Tyrant's Death, but not next Heir.
TANCRED.
You much ſurprize me—May I then preſume
To aſk who is?
SIFFREDI.
Come nearer, noble TANCRED,
Son of my Care! I muſt, on this occaſion,
Conſult thy generous Heart; which, when conducted
By Rectitude of Mind and honeſt Virtues,
Gives better Counſel than the hoary Head—
Then know, there lives a Prince, here in Palermo,
The lineal Offspring of our famous Heroe,
ROGER the Firſt.
TANCRED.
[10]Great Heaven!—How far remov'd
From that our mighty Founder?
SIFFREDI.
His great Grandſon:
Sprung from his eldeſt Son, who died untimely,
Before his Father.
TANCRED.
Ha! the Prince you mean
Is he not MANFRED'S Son? The generous, brave,
Unhappy MANFRED! whom the Tyrant WILLIAM,
You juſt now mention'd, not content to ſpoil
Of his paternal Crown, threw into Fetters,
And infamouſly murder'd.
SIFFREDI.
Yes—the ſame.
TANCRED.
By Heavens! I joy to find our Norman Reign,
The Light of Earth amidſt theſe barbarous Ages!
Yet rears it's head; and ſhall not, from the Lance,
Paſs to the feeble Diſtaff—But this Prince
Where has he lain conceal'd?
SIFFREDI.
The late good King,
By noble Pity mov'd, contriv'd to ſave him
From his dire Father's unrelenting Rage;
And had him rear'd in private, as became
His Birth and Hopes, with high and princely Nurture.
Till now, too young to rule a troubled State,
By Civil Broils moſt miſerably torn,
He in his ſafe Retreat has lain conceal'd,
His Birth and Fortune to himſelf unknown;
But when the dying King to me entruſted,
As to the Chancellor of the Realm, his Will,
His Succeſſor he nam'd him.
TANCRED.
Happy Youth!
He then will triumph o'er his Father's Foes,
[11] O'er haughty OSMOND, and the Tyrant's Daughter.
SIFFREDI.
Ay, That is what I dread—that Heat of Youth;
There lurks, I fear, Perdition to the State.
I dread the Horrors of rekindled War:
Tho' dead, the Tyrant ſtill is to be fear'd;
His Daughter's Party ſtill is ſtrong, and numerous:
Her Friend, Earl OSMOND, Conſtable of Sicily,
Experienc'd, brave, high-born, of mighty Intereſt.
Better the Prince and Princeſs ſhould by Marriage
Unite their Friends, their Intereſt and their Claims:
Then will the Peace and Welfare of the Land
On a firm Baſis riſe.
TANCRED.
My Lord SIFFREDI,
If by myſelf I of this Prince may judge,
That Scheme will ſcarce ſucceed—Your prudent Age
In vain will counſel, if the Heart forbid it—
But wherefore fear? The Right is clearly his;
And, under your Direction, with each Man
Of Worth, and ſtedfaſt Loyalty, to back
At once the King's Appointment and his Birthright,
There is no ground for Fear. They have great Odds,
Againſt the aſtoniſh'd Sons of Violence,
Who fight with awful Juſtice on their Side.
All Sicily will rouze, all faithful Hearts
Will range themſelves around Prince MANFRED'S Son.
For me, I here devote me to the Service
Of this young Prince; I every Drop of Blood
Will loſe with Joy, with Tranſport, in his Cauſe—
Pardon my Warmth—but That, my Lord, will never
To this Deciſion come—Then find the Prince;
Loſe not a Moment to awaken in him
The Royal Soul. Perhaps he now deſponding
Pines in a Corner, and laments his Fortune;
That in the narrow Bounds of private Life
[12] He muſt confine his Aims, thoſe ſwelling Virtues
Which from his noble Father he inherits.
SIFFREDI.
Perhaps, regardleſs, in the common Bane
Of Youth he melts in Vanity and Love.
But if the Seeds of Virtue glow within him,
I will awake a higher Senſe, a Love
That graſps the Loves and Happineſs of Millions.
TANCRED.
Why that Surmiſe? Or ſhould he love, SIFFREDI,
I doubt not, it is nobly, which will raiſe
And animate his Virtues—O permit me
To plead the Cauſe of Youth—Their Virtue oft,
In Pleaſure's [...] Enchantment lull'd a while,
Forgets itſelf; it ſleeps and gayly dreams,
Till great Occaſion rouſe it: Then, all Flame,
It walks abroad, with heighten'd Soul and Vigour,
And by the Change aſtoniſhes the World.
Even with a kind of Sympathy, I feel
The Joy that waits this Prince; when all the Powers,
Th' expanding Heart can wiſh, of doing good;
Whatever ſwells Ambition, or exalts
The human Soul into divine Emotions,
All croud at once upon him.
SIFFREDI.
Ah, my TANCRED,
Nothing ſo eaſy as in Speculation,
And at a diſtance ſeen, the Courſe of Honour,
A fair delightful Champian ſtrew'd with Flowers.
But when the Practice comes; when our fond Paſſions,
Pleaſure and Pride and Self-Indulgence throw
Their magic Duſt around, the Proſpect roughens:
Then dreadful Paſſes, craggy Mountains riſe,
Cliffs to be ſcal'd, and Torrents to be ſtem'd:
Then Toil enſues, and Perſeverance ſtern;
And endleſs Combats with our groſſer Senſe,
Oft loſt, and oft renew'd; and generous Pain
[13] For others felt; and, harder Leſſon ſtill!
Our honeſt Bliſs for others ſacrific'd;
And all the rugged Taſk of Virtue quails
The ſtouteſt Heart of common Reſolution.
Few get above this turbid Scene of Strife,
Few gain the Summit, breathe that pureſt Air,
That heavenly Ether, which untroubled ſees
The Storm of Vice and Paſſion rage below.
TANCRED.
Moſt true, my Lord. But why thus augure Ill?
You ſeem to doubt this Prince. I know him not.
Yet oh, methinks, my Heart could anſwer for him!
The Juncture is ſo high, ſo ſtrong the Gale
That blows from Heaven, as thro' the deadeſt Soul
Might breathe the godlike Energy of Virtue.
SIFFREDI.
Hear him, immortal Shades of his great Fathers!—
Forgive me, Sir, this Trial of your Heart:
Thou! Thou art he!
TANCRED.
SIFFREDI!
SIFFREDI.
TANCRED, thou!
Thou art the Man, of all the many Thouſands,
That toil upon the Boſom of this Iſle,
By Heaven elected to command the reſt,
To rule, protect them, and to make them happy!
TANCRED.
MANFRED my Father! I the laſt Support
Of the fam'd Norman Line, that awes the World!
I! who this Morning wander'd forth an Orphan,
Outcaſt of all but Thee, my ſecond Father!
Thus call'd to Glory! to the firſt great Lot
Of Human Kind!—O wonder-working HAND
That, in majeſtic Silence, ſways at will
The mighty Movements of unbounded Nature;
O grant me HEAVEN! the Virtues to ſuſtain
This awful Burden of ſo many Heroes!
[14] Let me not be exalted into Shame,
Set up the worthleſs Pageant of vain Grandeur!
Meantime I thank the Juſtice of the King,
Who has my Right bequeath'd me. Thee, SIF⯑FREDI,
I thank Thee—O I ne'er enough can thank Thee!
Yes, thou haſt been—thou art—ſhalt be my Father!
Thou ſhalt direct my unexperienc'd Years,
Shalt be the ruling Head, and I the Hand.
SIFFREDI.
It is enough for me—to ſee my Sovereign
Aſſert his Virtues, and maintain his Honour.
TANCRED.
I think, my Lord, you ſaid the King committed
To you his Will. I hope it is not clogg'd
With any baſe Conditions, any Clauſe,
To tyrannize my Heart, and to CONSTANTIA
Enſlave my Hand devoted to another.
The Hint you juſt now gave of that Alliance,
You muſt imagine, wakes my Fear. But know,
In this alone I will not bear Diſpute,
Not even from Thee, SIFFREDI!—Let the Council
Be ſtrait aſſembled, and the Will there open'd:
Thence iſſue ſpeedy Orders to convene,
This Day ere Noon, the Senate: where thoſe Barons,
Who now are in Palermo, will attend,
To pay their ready Homage to their King,
Their rightful King, who claims his native Crown,
And will not be a King of Deeds and Parchments.
SIFFREDI.
I go, my Liege. But once again permit me
To tell you—Now, now, is the trying Criſis,
That muſt determine of your future Reign.
O with Heroic Rigour watch your Heart!
And to the ſovereign Duties of the King,
Th' unequal'd Pleaſures of a God on Earth,
Submit the common Joys, the common Paſſions,
Nay, even the Virtues of the private Man.
TANCRED.
[15]Of That no more. They not oppoſe, but aid,
Invigorate, cheriſh, and reward each other.
The kind all-ruling WISDOM is no Tyrant.
SCENE V.
TANCRED alone.
Now, generous SIGISMUNDA, comes my Turn,
To ſhew my Love was not of thine unworthy,
When Fortune bade me bluſh to look to Thee.
But what is Fortune to the Wiſh of Love?
A miſerable Bankrupt! O'tis poor,
'Tis ſcanty all, whate'er we can beſtow!
The Wealth of Kings is Wretchedneſs and Want!—
Quick, let me find Her! taſte that higheſt Joy,
Th' exalted Heart can know, the mixt Effuſion
Of Gratitude and Love!—Behold, She comes!
SCENE VI.
TANCRED. SIGISMUNDA.
TANCRED.
My fluttering Soul was all on Wing to find Thee,
My Love! my SIGISMUNDA!
SIGISMUNDA.
O my TANCRED!
Tell me, what means this Myſtery and Gloom
That lowrs around? Juſt now, involv'd in Thought
My Father ſhot athwart me—You, my Lord,
Seem ſtrangely mov'd—I fear ſome dark Event
From the King's Death to trouble our Repoſe,
That tender Calm we in the Woods of Belmont
So happily enjoy'd—Explain this Hurry,
What means it? Say.
TANCRED.
[16]It means that we are happy!
Beyond our moſt romantic Wiſhes happy!
SIGISMUNDA.
You but perplex me more.
TANCRED.
It means, my Faireſt!
That thou art Queen of Sicily; and I
The happieſt of Mankind! than Monarch more!
Becauſe with Thee I can adorn my Throne.
MANFRED, who fell by Tyrant WILLIAM'S Rage,
Fam'd ROGER'S lineal Iſſue, was my Father.
[pauſing.
You droop, my Love; dejected on a ſudden;
You ſeem to mourn my Fortune—The ſoft Tear
Springs in thy Eye—O let me kiſs it off—
Why this, my SIGISMUNDA?
SIGISMUNDA.
Royal TANCRED,
None at your glorious Fortune can like me
Rejoice;—yet me alone, of all Sicilians,
It makes unhappy.
TANCRED.
I ſhould hate it then!
Should throw, with Scorn, the ſplendid Ruin from me!—
No, SIGISMUNDA, 'tis my Hope with Thee
To ſhare it, whence it draws it's richeſt Value.
SIGISMUNDA.
You are my Sovereign—I at humble Diſtance—
TANCRED.
Thou art my Queen! the Sovereign of my Soul!
You never reign'd with ſuch [...]hant Luſter,
Such winning Charms as now; yet, thou art ſtill
The dear, the tender, generous SIGISMUNDA!
Who, with a Heart exalted far above
Thoſe ſelfiſh Views that charm the common Breaſt,
Stoop'd from the Height of Life and courted Beauty,
[17] Then, then, to love me, when I ſeem'd of Fortune
The hopeleſs Outcaſt, when I had no Friend,
None to protect and own me but thy Father.
And would'ſt thou claim all Goodneſs to thyſelf?
Canſt thou thy TANCRED deem ſo dully form'd,
Of ſuch groſs Clay, juſt as I reach the Point—
A Point my wildeſt Hopes could never image—
In that great Moment, full of every Virtue,
That I ſhould then ſo mean a Traytor prove
To the beſt Bliſs and Honour of Mankind,
So much diſgrace the human Heart, as then,
For the dead Form of Flattery and Pomp,
The faithleſs Joys of Courts, to quit kind Truth,
The cordial Sweets of Friendſhip and of Love,
The Life of Life! my All, my SIGISMUNDA!
I could upbraid thy Fears, call them unkind,
Cruel, unjuſt, an Outrage to my Heart,
Did they not ſpring from Love.
SIGISMUNDA.
Think not, my Lord,
That to ſuch vulgar Doubts I can deſcend.
Your Heart, I know, diſdains the little Thought
Of changing with the vain external Change
Of Circumſtance and Fortune. Rather thence
It would, with riſing Ardor, greatly feel
A noble Pride to ſhew itſelf the ſame.
But, ah! the Hearts of Kings are not their own.
There is a haughty Duty that ſubjects them
To Chains of State, to wed the publick Welfare,
And not indulge the tender private Virtues.
Some high-deſcended Princeſs, who will bring
New Power and Intereſt to your Throne demands
Your royal Hand—perhaps CONSTANTIA—
TANCRED.
She!
O name her not! Were I this Moment free,
And diſengag'd as he who never felt
The powerful Eye of Beauty, never ſigh'd
[18] For matchleſs Worth like thine, I ſhould abhor
All Thoughts of that Alliance. Her fell Father
Moſt baſely murder'd mine; and ſhe, the Daughter,
Supported by his barbarous Party ſtill,
His Pride inherits, his imperious Spirit,
And inſolent Pretenſions to my Throne.
And canſt thou deem me then ſo poorly tame,
So cool a Traitor to my Father's Blood,
As from the prudent Cowardice of State
E'er to ſubmit to ſuch a baſe Propoſal?
Deteſted Thought! O doubly, doubly hateful!
From the two ſtrongeſt Paſſions; from Averſion
To this CONSTANTIA—and from Love to Thee.
Cuſtom, 'tis true, a venerable Tyrant,
O'er ſervile Man extends her blind Dominion:
The Pride of Kings enſlaves them; their Ambition,
Or Intereſt, lords it o'er the better Paſſions.
But vain their Talk, maſk'd under ſpecious Words
Of Station, Duty, and of Public Good:
They whom juſt Heaven has to a Throne exalted,
To guard the Rights and Liberties of others,
What Duty binds them to betray their own?
For me, my freeborn Heart ſhall bear no Dictates,
But thoſe of Truth and Honour; wear no Chains,
But the dear Chains of Love and SIGISMUNDA!
Or if indeed my Choice muſt be directed
By Views of Publick Good, whom ſhall I chuſe
So fit to grace to dignify a Crown,
And beam ſweet Mercy on a happy People,
As Thee, my Love? whom place upon my Throne
But Thee, deſcended from the good SIFFREDI?
'Tis fit that Heart be thine, which drew from him
Whate'er can make it worthy thy Acceptance.
SIGISMUNDA.
Ceaſe, ceaſe, to raiſe my Hopes above my Duty.
Charm me no more, my TANCRED!—O that We
In thoſe bleſt Woods, where firſt you won my Soul,
Had paſs'd our gentle Days; far from the Toil
[19] And Pomp of Courts! Such is the Wiſh of Love;
Of Love, that, with delightful Weakneſs, knows
No Bliſs and no Ambition but itſelf.
But, in the World's full Light, thoſe charming Dreams,
Thoſe fond Illuſions vaniſh. Awful Duties,
The Tyranny of Men, even your own Heart,
Where lurks a Senſe your Paſſion ſtifles now,
And proud imperious Honour call you from me.
'Tis all in vain—You cannot huſh a Voice
That murmrrs here—I muſt not be perſuaded!
TANCRED, kneeling.
Hear me, thou Soul of all my Hopes and Wiſhes!
And witneſs, Heaven! Prime Source of Love and Joy!
Not a whole warring World combin'd againſt me;
It's Pride, it's Splendor, it's impoſing Forms,
Nor Intereſt, nor Ambition, nor the Face
Of ſolemn State, not even thy Father's Wiſdom,
Shall ever ſhake my Faith to SIGISMUNDA!
[Trumpets and Acclamations heard.
But, hark! the Publick Voice to Duties calls me,
Which with unweary'd Zeal I will diſcharge;
And Thou, yes Thou, ſhalt be my bright Reward—
Yet—ere I go—to huſh thy lovely Fears,
Thy delicate Objections—
[writes his Name.
Take this Blank,
Sign'd with my Name, and give it to thy Father:
Tell him 'tis my Command, it be fill'd up
With a moſt ſtrict and ſolemn Marriage-Contract.
How dear each Tie! how charming to my Soul!
That more unites me to my SIGISMUNDA.
For thee and for my People's Good to live,
Is all the Bliſs which ſovereign Power can give.
ACT II.
[20]SCENE I.
SIFFREDI alone.
SO far 'tis well—The late King's Will proceeds
Upon the Plan I counſel'd; that Prince TAN⯑CRED
Shall make CONSTANTIA Partner of his Throne.
O great, O wiſh'd Event! whence the dire Seeds
Of dark inteſtine Broils, of Civil War,
And all it's dreadful Miſeries and Crimes,
Shall be for ever rooted from the Land.
May theſe dim Eyes, long blaſted by the Rage
Of cruel Faction and my Country's Woes,
Tir'd with the Toils and Vanities of Life,
Behold this Period, then be clos'd in Peace!
But how this mighty Obſtacle ſurmount,
Which Love has thrown betwixt? Love, that diſturbs
The Schemes of Wiſdom ſtill; that wing'd with Paſſion,
Blind and impetuous in it's fond Purſuits,
Leaves the grey-headed Reaſon far behind.
Alas! how frail the State of human Bliſs!
When even our honeſt Paſſions oft deſtroy it.
I was to blame, in Solitude and Shades,
Infectious Scenes! [...] truſt their youthful Hearts.
Would I had mark'd the riſing Flame! that now
[21] Burns out with dangerous Force—My Daughter owns
Her Paſſion for the King; ſhe trembling own'd it,
With Prayers and Tears and tender Supplications,
That almoſt ſhook my Firmneſs—And this Blank,
Which his raſh Fondneſs gave her, ſhews how much,
To what a wild Extravagance he loves—
I ſee no Means—it [...]oils my deepeſt Thought—
How to controul this Madneſs of the King,
That wears the Face of Virtue, and will thence
Diſdain Reſtraint, will from his generous Heart
Borrow new Rage, even ſpeciouſly oppoſe
To Reaſon Reaſon—But it muſt be done.
My own Advice, of which I more and more
Approve, the ſtrict Conditions of the Will,
Highly demand his Marriage with CONSTANTIA;
Or elſe her Party has a fair Pretence,
And all, at once, is Horror and Confuſion—
How iſſue from this Maze?—The crouding Barons
Here ſummon'd to the Palace, meet already,
To pay their Homage, and confirm the Will.
On a few Moments hangs the Publick Fate,
On a few haſty Moments—Ha! there ſhone
A Gleam of Hope—Yes—with this very Paper
I yet will ſave him—Neceſſary Means
For good and noble Ends can ne'er be wrong.
In that reſiſtleſs, that peculiar Caſe,
Deceit is Truth and Virtue—But how hold
This Lion in the Toil?—O [...] will form it
Of ſuch a fatal Thread, twiſt it ſo ſtrong
With all the Ties of Honour and of Duty,
That his moſt deſperate Fury ſhall not break
The honeſt Snare—Here is the Royal Hand—
I will beneath it write a perfect [...]ull
And abſolute Agreement to the Will;
Which read before the Nobles of the Realm
Aſſembled, in the ſacred Face of Sicily,
CONSTANTIA preſent, every Heart and Eye
Fix'd on their Monarch, every Tongue applauding,
[22] He muſt ſubmit, his Dream of Love muſt vaniſh—
It ſhall be done!—To me, I know, 'tis Ruin;
But Safety to the Publick, to the King.
I will not reaſon more, I will not liſten
Even to the Voice of Honour—No—'tis fix'd!
I here devote me for my Prince and Country;
Let them be ſafe, and let me nobly periſh!
Behold Earl OSMOND comes; without whoſe Aid
My Schemes are all in vain.
SCENE II.
OSMOND. SIFFREDI.
OSMOND.
My Lord SIFFREDI,
I from the Council haſten'd to CONSTANTIA,
And have accompliſh'd what we there propos'd.
The Princeſs to the Will ſubmits her Claims.
She with her Preſence means to grace the Senate,
And of your royal Charge young TANCRED'S Hand
Accept. At firſt indeed, it ſhock'd her Hopes
Of reigning ſole, this new ſurprizing Scene
Of MANFRED'S Son, appointed by the King
With Her Joint-Heir—But I ſo fully ſhew'd
The Juſtice of the Caſe, the publick Good
And ſure eſtabliſh'd Peace which thence would riſe,
Join'd to the ſtrong Neceſſity that urg'd her,
If on Sicilia's Throne ſhe meant to ſit,
As to the wiſe Diſpoſal of the Will
Her high Ambition tam'd. Methought, beſides,
I could diſcern that not from Prudence meerly
She to this Choice ſubmitted.
SIFFREDI.
Noble OSMOND,
You have in this done to the Publick great
And ſignal Service. Yes, I muſt avow it;
[23] This frank and ready Inſtance of your Zeal,
In ſuch a trying Criſis of the State,
When Intereſt and Ambition might have warp'd
Your Views; I own, this truly generous Virtue
Upbraids the Raſhneſs of my former Judgment.
OSMOND.
SIFFREDI, no.—To you belongs the Praiſe;
The glorious Work is yours. Had I not ſeiz'd,
Improv'd the wiſh'd Occaſion to root out
Diviſion from the Land, and ſave my Country,
I had been baſe, been infamous for ever.
'Tis You, my Lord, to whom the many Thouſands,
That by the barbarous Sword of Civil War
Had fallen inglorious, owe their Lives; to You
The Sons of this fair Iſle, from her firſt Peers
Down to the Swain who tills her golden Plains,
Owe their ſafe Homes, their ſoft domeſtick Hours,
And thro' late Time Poſterity ſhall bleſs you,
You who advis'd this Will—I bluſh to think,
I have ſo long oppos'd the beſt good Man
In Sicily—With what impartial Care
Ought we to watch o'er Prejudice and Paſſion,
Nor truſt too much the jaundic'd Eye of Party!
Henceforth it's vain Deluſions I renounce,
It's hot Determinations, that confine
All Merit and all Virtue to itſelf.
To yours I join my Hand; with you will own
No Intereſt and no Party but my Country.
Nor is your Friendſhip only my Ambition:
There is a dearer Name, the Name of Father,
By which I ſhould rejoice to call SIFFREDI.
Your Daughter's Hand would to the Publick Weal
Unite my private Happineſs.
SIFFREDI.
My Lord,
You have my glad Conſent. To be allied
To your diſtinguiſh'd Family, and Merit,
I ſhall eſteem an Honour. From my Soul
[24] I here embrace Earl OSMOND as my Friend,
And Son.
OSMOND.
You make him happy. This Aſſent,
So frank and warm, to what I long have wiſh'd,
Engages all my Gratitude; at once,
In the firſt Bloſſom, it matures our Friendſhip.
I from this Moment vow myſelf the Friend,
And zealous Servant of SIFFREDI'S Houſe.
Enter an Officer belonging to the Court.
OFFICER to SIFFREDI.
The King, my Lord, demands your ſpeedy Preſence.
SIFFREDI.
I will attend him ſtrait—Farewel, my Lord:
The Senate meets; there, a few Moments hence,
I will rejoin you.
OSMOND.
There, my noble Lord,
We will compleat this ſalutary Work,
Will there begin a new auſpicious Era.
SCENE III.
OSMOND alone.
SIFFREDI gives his Daughter to my Wiſhes—
But does ſhe give herſelf? Gay, young, and flatter'd,
Perhaps engag'd, will ſhe her youthful Heart
Yield to my harſher, uncomplying Years?
I am not form'd, by Flattery and Praiſe,
By Sighs and Tears, and all the whining Trade
Of Love, to feed a Fair-one's Vanity;
To charm at once and ſpoil her. Theſe ſoft Arts
Nor ſuit my Years nor Temper; theſe be left
To Boys and doating Age. A prudent Father,
By Nature charg'd to guide and rule her Choice,
[25] Reſigns his Daughter to a Huſband's Power,
Who with ſuperior Dignity, with Reaſon,
And manly Tenderneſs, will ever love her;
Not firſt a kneeling Slave, and then a Tyrant.
SCENE IV.
OSMOND. BARONS.
OSMOND.
My Lords, I greet you well. This wondrous Day
Unites us all in Amity and Friendſhip.
We meet to-day with open Hearts and Looks,
Not gloom'd by Party, ſcouling on each other,
But all the Children of one happy Iſle,
The ſocial Sons of Liberty. No Pride,
No Paſſion now, no thwarting Views divide us:
Prince MANFRED'S Line, at laſt, to WILLIAM'S join'd,
Combines us in one Family of Brothers.
This to the late good King's well-order'd Will,
And wiſe SIFFREDI'S generous Care we owe.
I truly give you Joy. Firſt of you all,
I here renounce thoſe Errors and Diviſions
That have ſo long diſturb'd our Peace, and ſeem'd,
Fermenting ſtill, to threaten new Commotions—
By Time inſtructed, let us not diſdain
To quit Miſtakes. We all, my Lords, have err'd.
Men may, I find, be honeſt tho' they differ.
1ſt BARON.
Who follows not, my Lord, the fair Example
You ſet us all, whate'er be his Pretence,
Loves not with ſingle and unbiaſs'd Heart
His Country as he ought.
2d BARON.
O beaureous Peace!
Sweet Union of a State! What elſe, but Thou,
[26] Gives Safety, Strength, and Glory to a People
I bow, Lord Conſtable, beneath the Snow
Of many Years: yet in my Breaſt revives
A youthful Flame. Methinks, I ſee again
Thoſe gentle Days renew'd, that bleſs'd our Iſle,
Ere by this waſteful Fury of Diviſion,
Worſe than our Aetna's moſt deſtructive Fires,
It deſolated, ſunk. I ſee our Plains
Unbounded waving with the Gifts of Harveſt;
Our Seas with Commerce throng'd, our buſy Ports
With chearful Toil. Our Enna blooms afreſh;
A freſh the Sweets of thy my Hybla flow.
Our Nymphs and Shepherds, ſporting in each Vale,
Inſpire new Song, and wake the paſtoral Reed—
The Tongue of Age is fond—Come, come, my Sons
I long to ſee this Prince, of whom the World
Speaks largely well—His Father was my Friend,
The brave unhappy MANFRED—Come, my Lords;
We tarry here too long.
SCENE V.
TWO OFFICERS, keeping off the Croud.
One of the Croud.
Shew us our King,
The valiant MANFRED'S Son, who lov'd the People—
We muſt, we will behold him—Give us way.
1ſt OFFICER.
Pray, Gentlemen, give back—it muſt not be—
Give back, I pray—on ſuch a glad Occaſion
I would not ill entreat the loweſt of you.
2d MAN of the Croud.
Nay, give us but a Glimpſe of our young King.
We more than any Baron of them all
Will pay him true Allegiance.
2d OFFICER.
[27]Friends—indeed—
You cannot paſs this Way—We have ſtrict Orders,
To keep for Him himſelf, and for the Barons,
All theſe Apartments clear—Go to the Gate
That fronts the Sea—You there will find Admiſſion.
ALL.
Long live King TANCRED! MANFRED'S Son—Huzza!
[Croud goes off.
1ſt OFFICER.
I do not marvel at their Rage of Joy:
He is a brave and amiable Prince.
When in my Lord SIFFREDI'S Houſe I liv'd,
Ere by his Favour I obtain'd this Office,
I there remember well the young Count TANCRED.
To ſee him and to love him were the ſame.
He was ſo noble in his Ways, yet ſtill
So affable and mild—Well, well, old Sicily,
Yet happy Days await thee!
2d OFFICER.
Grant it Heaven!
We have ſeen ſad and troublous Times enough.
He is, they ſay, to wed the late King's Siſter,
CONSTANTIA.
1ſt OFFICER.
Friend, of That I greatly doubt.
Or I miſtake, or Lord SIFFREDI'S Daughter
The gentle SIGISMUNDA has his Heart.
If one may judge by kindly cordial Looks,
And fond aſſiduous Care to pleaſe each other,
Moſt certainly they love—O be they bleſt,
As they deſerve! It were great Pity aught
Should part a matchleſs Pair: the Glory He,
And She the blooming Grace of Sicily!
2d OFFICER.
My Lord RODOLPHO comes.
SCENE VI.
[28]RODOLPHO, from the Senate.
RODOLPHO.
My honeſt Friends,
You may retire.
[Officers go out.
A Storm is in the Wind.
This Will perplexes all. No, TANCRED never
Can ſtoop to theſe Conditions, which at once
Attack his Rights, his Honour, and his Love.
Thoſe wiſe old Men, thoſe plodding grave State-Pedants,
Forget the Courſe of Youth; their crooked Prudence,
To Baſeneſs verging ſtill, forgets to take
Into their fine-ſpun Schemes the generous Heart,
That thro' the Cobweb Syſtem burſting lays
Their Labours waſte—So will this Buſineſs prove,
Or I miſtake the King—Back from the Pomp
He ſeem'd at firſt to ſhrink; and round his Brow
I mark'd a gathering Cloud, when by his Side,
As if deſign'd to ſhare the public Homage,
He ſaw the Tyrant's Daughter. But confeſs'd,
At leaſt to me, the doubling Tempeſt frown'd,
And ſhook his ſwelling Boſom, when he heard
Th' unjuſt the baſe Conditions of the Will.
Uncertain toſt, in cruel Agitation,
He oft, methought, addreſs'd himſelf to ſpeak
And interrupt SIFFREDI; who appear'd,
With conſcious haſte, to dread that Interruption,
And hurry'd on—But hark! I hear a Noiſe,
As if th' Aſſembly roſe?—Ha! SIGISMUNDA,
Oppreſs'd with Grief and wrapt in penſive Sorrow,
[...] along—
[SIGISMUNDA and Attendants paſs thro' the Back Scene. LAURA advances.
SCENE VII.
[29]RODOLPHO, LAURA.
LAURA.
Your high-prais'd Friend, the King,
Is falſe, moſt vilely falſe! The meaneſt Slave
Had ſhown a nobler Heart; nor groſsly thus,
By the firſt Bait Ambition ſpread, been gull'd.
He MANFRED'S Son! away! it cannot be!
The Son of that brave Prince could ne'er betray
Thoſe Rights ſo long uſurp'd from his great Fathers,
Which he, this Day, by ſuch amazing Fortune,
Had juſt regain'd; he ne'er could ſacrifice
All Faith, all Honour, Gratitude and Love,
Even juſt Reſentment of his Father's Fate,
And Pride itſelf; whate'er exalts a Man
Above the groveling Sons of Peaſant-Mud,
All in a Moment—And for what? Why, truely
For kind Permiſſion, gracious Leave, to ſit
On his own Throne with Tyrant WILLIAM'S Daughter!
RODOLPHO.
I ſtand amaz'd—You ſurely wrong him, LAURA.
There muſt be ſome Miſtake.
LAURA.
There can be none!
SIFFREDI read his full and free Conſent,
Before th' applauding Senate. True indeed,
A ſmall Remain of Shame, a timorous Weakneſs,
Even daſtardly in Falſhood, made him bluſh
To act this Scene in SIGISMUNDA'S Eye,
Who ſunk beneath his Perfidy and Baſeneſs.
Hence, till to-morrow he adjourn'd the Senate—
To-morrow fix'd with Infamy to crown him!
Then, leading off his gay triumphant Princeſs,
[30] He left the poor unhappy SIGISMUNDA,
To bend her trembling Steps to that ſad Home
His faithleſs Vows will render hateful to her—
He comes—Farewel—I cannot bear his Preſence!
SCENE VIII.
TANCRED, SIFFREDI, RODOLPHO.
TANCRED, entering, to SIFFREDI.
Avoid me, hoary Traitor!—Go, RODOLPHO,
Give Orders that all Paſſages this Way
Be ſhut—Defend me from a hateful World,
The Bane of Peace and Honour—then return—
What! doſt Thou haunt me ſtill? O monſtrous Inſult!
Unparallel'd Indignity! Juſt Heaven!
Was ever King, was ever Man ſo treated?
So trampled into Baſeneſs!
SIFFREDI.
Here, my Liege,
Here ſtrike! I nor deſerve, nor aſk for Mercy.
TANCRED.
Diſtraction!—O my Soul!—Hold, Reaſon, hold
Thy giddy Seat—O this inhuman Outrage
Unhinges Thought!
SIFFREDI.
Exterminate thy Servant!
TANCRED.
All, all but this I could have borne—but This!
This daring Inſolence beyond Example!
This murderous Stroke that ſtabs my Peace for ever!
That wounds me there—there! where the human Heart
Moſt exquiſetely feels—
SIFFREDI.
[31]O bear it not,
My royal Lord! appeaſe on me your Vengeance!
TANCRED.
Did ever Tyrant image aught ſo cruel!
The loweſt Slave that crawls upon this Earth,
Robb'd of each Comfort Heaven beſtows on Mortals,
On the bare Ground, has ſtill his Virtue left,
The ſacred Treaſures of an honeſt Heart,
Which thou haſt dar'd, with raſh audacious Hand,
And impious Fraud, in me to violate—
SIFFREDI.
Behold, my Liege, that raſh audacious Hand,
Which not repents its Crime—O glorious! happy!
If by my Ruin I can ſave your Honour.
TANCRED.
Such Honour I renounce! with ſovereign Scorn
Greatly deteſt it, and its mean Adviſer!
Haſt thou not dar'd beneath my Name to ſhelter—
My Name for other Purpoſes deſign'd,
Given from the Fondneſs of a faithful Heart,
With the beſt Love o'erflowing—haſt thou not
Beneath thy Sovereign's Name baſely preſum'd
To ſhield a Lye? a Lye! in Public utter'd,
To all deluded Sicily? But know,
This poor Contrivance is as weak as baſe.
In ſuch a wretched Toil none can be held
But Fools and Cowards—O thy ſlimſy Arts,
Touch'd by my juſt my burning Indignation,
Shall burſt like Threads in Flame!—Thy doating Prudence,
But more ſecures the Purpoſe it would ſhake.
Had my Reſolves been wavering and doubtful,
This would confirm them, make them fix'd as Fate;
This adds the only Motive that was wanting
To urge them on thro' War and Deſolation—
What! marry Her! CONSTANTIA! Her! the Daughter
[32] Of the fell Tyrant who deſtroy'd my Father!
The very Thought is Madneſs! Ere thou ſeeſt
The Torch of HYMEN light theſe hated Nuptials,
Thou ſhalt behold Sicilia wrapt in Flames,
Her Cities raz'd, her Valleys drench'd with Slaugh⯑ter—
Love ſet aſide—my Pride aſſumes the Quarrel.
My Honour now is up; in ſpite of Thee,
A World combin'd againſt me, I will give
This ſcatter'd Will in fragments to the Winds,
Aſſert my Rights, the Freedom of my Heart,
Cruſh all who dare oppoſe me to the Duſt,
And heap Perdition on Thee!
SIFFREDI.
Sir, 'tis juſt.
Exhauſt on me your Rage; I claim it all.
But for theſe public Threats thy Paſſion utters,
'Tis what Thou canſt not do!
TANCRED.
I cannot! Ha!
Driven to the dreadful Brink of ſuck Diſhonour,
Enough to make the tameſt Coward brave,
And into Fierceneſs rouze the mildeſt Nature,
What ſhall arreſt my Vengeance? who?
SIFFREDI.
Thy Self!
TANCRED.
Away! dare not to juſtify thy Crime!
That That alone can aggravate it's Horror,
Add Inſolence to Inſolence—perhaps
May make my Rage forget—
SIFFREDI.
O let it burſt
On this grey Head devoted to thy Service!
But when the Storm has vented all it's Fury,
Thou then muſt hear—nay more, I know, thou wilt—
Wilt hear the calm, yet ſtronger Voice of Reaſon.
Thou muſt reflect that a whole People's Safety,
[33] The Weal of truſted Millions ſhould bear down,
Thy ſelf the Judge, thy fondeſt partial Pleaſure.
Thou muſt reflect that there are other Duties,
A nobler Pride, a more exalted Honour,
Superior Pleaſures far, that will oblige,
Compel thee, to abide by this my Deed,
Unwarranted perhaps in common Juſtice,
But which Neceſſity, even Virtue's Tyrant,
With awful Voice commanded—Yes, thou muſt,
In calmer hours, diveſt thee of thy Love,
Theſe common Paſſions of the vulgar Breaſt,
This boiling Heat of Youth, and be a King!
The Lover of thy People!
TANCRED.
Truths ill-employ'd!
Abus'd to colour Guilt!—a King! a King!
Yes I will be a King, but not a Slave!
In This will be a King! in this my People
Shall learn to judge how I will guard their Rights,
When they behold me vindicate my own.
But have I, ſay, been treated like a King?—
Heavens! could I ſtoop to ſuch outragious Uſage,
I were a mean a ſhameleſs Wretch, unworthy
To wield a Scepter in a Land of Slaves,
A Soil abhor'd of Virtue, ſhould bely
My Father's Blood, bely thoſe very Maxims,
At other times, you taught my Youth—SIFFREDI!
[in a ſoftened Tone of Voice.
SIFFREDI.
Behold, my Prince, behold thy poor old Servant,
Whoſe darling Care, theſe twenty Years, has been
To nurſe thee up to Virtue; who for Thee,
Thy Glory and thy Weal, renounces all,
All Intereſt or Ambition can pour forth;
What many a ſelfiſh Father would purſue
Thro' Treachery and Crimes: behold him here,
Bent on his feeble Knees, to beg, conjure Thee,
With Tears to beg Thee, to controul thy Paſſion,
[34] And ſave thy ſelf, thy Honour, and thy People!
Kneeling with me, behold the many Thouſands
To thy Protection truſted: Fathers, Mothers,
The ſacred Front of venerable Age,
The tender Virgin and the helpleſs Infant;
The Miniſters of Heaven, Thoſe, who maintain,
Around thy Throne, the Majeſty of Rule;
And Thoſe, whoſe Labour, ſcorch'd by Winds and Sun,
Feeds the rejoicing Public: ſee them all,
Here at thy Feet, conjuring Thee to ſave them,
From Miſery and War, from Crimes and Rapine!
Can there be aught, kind Heaven! in Self-indulgence
To weigh down Theſe? This Aggregate of Love,
With which compar'd the deareſt private Paſſion
Is but the wafted Duſt upon the Ballance?
Turn not away—Oh is there not ſome Part,
In thy great Heart, ſo ſenſible to Kindneſs,
And generous Warmth, ſome nobler Part, to feel
The Prayers and Tears of Theſe, the mingled Voice
Of Heaven and Earth!
TANCRED.
There is! and thou haſt touch'd it.
Riſe, riſe, SIFFREDI—Oh! Thou haſt undone me,
Unkind old Man!—O ill-entreated TANCRED!
Which Way ſoe'er I turn, Diſhonour rears
Her hideous Front—and Miſery and Ruin!
Was it for This you took ſuch Care to form me?
For This imbued me with the quickeſt Senſe
Of Shame; theſe finer Feelings, that ne'er vex
The common Maſs of Mortals, dully happy
In bleſt Inſenſibility? O rather
You ſhould have [...]ear'd my Heart; taught me that Power
And ſplendid Intereſt lord it ſtill o'er Virtue;
That, gilded by Proſperity and Pride,
There is no Shame, no Meanneſs: temper'd thus,
I had been fit to rule a venal World.
[35] Alas! what meant thy Wantonneſs of Prudence?
Why have you rais'd this miſerable Conflict
Betwixt the Duties of the King and Man?
Set Virtue againſt Virtue?—Ah SIFFREDI!
'Tis thy ſuperfluous, thy unfeeling Wiſdom,
That has involv'd me in a Maze of Error,
Almoſt beyond Retreat—But hold, my Soul,
Thy ſteady Purpoſe—Toſt by various Paſſions,
To this eternal Anchor keep—There is,
Can be, no Public without Private Virtue—
Then mark me well, obſerve what I command;
It is the ſole Expedient now remaining—
To-morrow, when the Senate meets again,
Unfold the whole, unravel the Deceit;
Nor That alone, try to repair it's Miſchief;
There all thy Power, thy Eloquence and Intereſt,
Exert, to reinſtate me in my Rights,
And from thy own dark Snares to diſembroil me—
Start not, my Lord—This muſt and ſhall be done!
Or here our Friendſhip ends—Howe'er diſguis'd,
Whatever thy Pretence, thou art a Traitor!
SIFFREDI.
I ſhould indeed deſerve the Name of Traitor,
And even a Traitor's Fate, had I ſo ſlightly,
From Principles ſo weak, done what I did,
As e'er to diſavow it—
TANCRED.
Ha!
SIFFREDI.
My Liege,
Expect not This—Tho' practis'd long in Courts,
I have not ſo far learn'd their ſubtle Trade,
To veer obedient with each Guſt of Paſſion.
I honour Thee, I venerate thy Orders,
But honour more my Duty. Nought on Earth
Shall ever ſhake me from that ſolid Rock,
Nor Smiles nor Frowns.—
TANCRED.
[36]You will not then?
SIFFREDI.
I cannot!
TANCRED.
Away! Begone!—O my RODOLPHO, come,
And ſave me from this Traitor!—Hence, I ſay,
Avoid my Preſence ſtrait! and, know, old Man,
Thou my worſt Foe beneath the Maſk of Friendſhip,
Who, not content to trample in the Duſt
My deareſt Rights, doſt with cool Inſolence
Perſiſt, and call it Duty; hadſt thou not
A Daughter that protects thee, thou ſhouldſt feel
The Vengeance thou deſerveſt—No Reply!
Away!
SCENE IX.
TANCRED. RODOLPHO.
RODOLPHO.
What can incenſe my Prince ſo highly
Againſt his Friend SIFFREDI?
TANCRED.
Friend! RODOLPHO?
When I have told thee what this Friend has done,
How play'd me like a Boy, a baſe born Wretch,
Who had nor Heart nor Spirit! thou wilt ſtand
Amaz'd, and wonder at my ſtupid Patience.
RODOLPHO.
I heard, with mixt Aſtoniſhment and Grief,
The King's unjuſt diſhonourable Will,
Void in itſelf—I ſaw you ſtung with Rage,
And writhing in the Snare; juſt as I went,
At your Command, to wait you here—But That
Was the King's Deed, not his.
TANCRED.
[37]O He advis'd it!
Theſe many Years he has in ſecret hatch'd
This black Contrivance, glories in the Scheme,
And proudly plumes him with his traiterous Virtue.
But that was nought, RODOLPHO, nothing, nothing!
O that was gentle, blameleſs to what follow'd!
I had, my Friend, to SIGISMUNDA given,
To huſh her Fears, in the full Guſh of Fondneſs,
A Blank ſign'd by my Hand—and he—O Heavens!
Was ever ſuch a wild Attempt!—he wrote
Beneath my Name an abſolute Compliance
To this deteſted Will; nay, dar'd to read it
Before my ſelf, on my inſulted Throne
His idle Pageant plac'd—Oh! Words are weak,
To paint the Pangs, the Rage, the Indignation;
That whirl'd from Thought to Thought my Soul in Tempeſt,
Now on the Point to burſt, and now by Shame
Repreſs'd—But in the Face of Sicily,
All mad with Acclamation, what, RODOLPHO,
What could I do? The ſole Relief that roſe
To my diſtracted Mind, was to adjourn
Th' Aſſembly till To-morrow—But To-morrow
What can be done?—O it avails not what!
I care not what is done—My only Care
Is how to clear my Faith to SIGISMUNDA.
She thinks me falſe! She caſt a Look that kill'd me!
O I am baſe in SIGISMUNDA'S Eye!
The loweſt of Mankind, the moſt perfidious!
RODOLPHO.
This was a Strain of Inſolence indeed,
A daring Outrage of ſo ſtrange a Nature,
As ſtuns me quite—
TANCRED.
Curs'd be my timid Prudence!
That daſh'd not back, that Moment, in his Face,
The bold preſumptuous Lye—and curs'd this Hand!
[38] That from a Start of poor Diſſimulation,
Led off my SIGISMUNDA'S hated Rival.
Ah then! what, poiſon'd by the falſe Appearance,
What, SIGISMUNDA, were thy Thoughts of me!
How, in the ſilent Bitterneſs of Soul,
How didſt thou ſcorn me! hate Mankind, thy ſelf,
For truſting to the Vows of faithleſs TANCRED!
For ſuch I ſeem'd—I was!—The Thought diſtracts me!
I ſhould have caſt a flattering World aſide,
Ruſh'd from my Throne, before them all avow'd Her,
The Choice, the Glory of my free-born Heart,
And ſpurn'd the ſhameful Fetters thrown upon it—
Inſtead of that—Confuſion!—what I did
Has clinch'd the Chain, confirm'd SIFFREDI'S Crime,
And fix'd me down to Infamy!
RODOLPHO.
My Lord,
Blame not the Conduct, which your Situation
Tore from your tortur'd Heart—What could you do?
Had you ſo circumſtanc'd, in open Senate,
Before th' aſtoniſh'd Publick, with no Friends
Prepar'd, no Party form'd, affronted thus
The haughty Princeſs and her powerful Faction,
Supported by this Will, the ſudden Stroke,
Abrupt and premature, might have recoil'd
Upon your ſelf, even your own Friends revolted,
And turn'd at once the publick Scale againſt you.
Beſides, conſider, had you then detected,
In its freſh Guilt this Action of SIFFREDI,
You muſt with ſignal Vengeance have chaſtis'd
The treaſonable Deed—Nothing ſo mean
As weak inſulted Power that dares not puniſh.
And how would that have ſuited with your Love?
His Daughter preſent too? Truſt me, your Conduct,
Howe'er abhorrent to a Heart like yours,
[39] Was fortunate and wiſe—Not that I mean
E'er to adviſe Submiſſion—
TANCRED.
Heavens! Submiſſion!
Could I deſcend to bear it, even in Thought,
Deſpiſe me, you, the World, and SIGISMUNDA!
Submiſſion!—No!—To-morrow's glorious Light
Shall flaſh Diſcovery on this Scene of Baſeneſs.
Whatever be the Riſque, by Heavens! To-morrow,
I will o'erturn the dirty Lye-built Schemes
Of theſe old Men, and ſhew my faithful Senate,
That MANFRED'S Son knows to aſſert and wear,
With undiminiſh'd Dignity, that Crown
This unexpected Day has plac'd upon him.
But This, my Friend, theſe ſtormy Guſts of Pride
Are foreign to my Love—Till SIGISMUNDA
Be diſabus'd, my Breaſt is Tumult all,
And can obey no ſettled Courſe of Reaſon.
I ſee Her ſtill, I feel her powerful Image!
That Look, where with Reproach Complaint was mix'd,
Big with ſoft Woe and gentle Indignation,
Which ſeem'd at once to pity and to ſcorn me—
O let me find Her! I too long have left
My SIGISMUNDA to converſe with Tears,
A Prey to Thoughts that picture me a Villain.
But ah! how, clogg'd with this accurſed State,
A tedious World, ſhall I now find Acceſs?
Her Father too—Ten Thouſand Horrors croud
Into the wild fantaſtic Eye of Love—
Who knows what he may do? Come then, my Friend,
And by thy Siſter's Hand O let me ſteal
A Letter to her Boſom—I no longer
Can bear her Abſence, by the juſt Contempt
She now muſt brand me with, inflam'd to Madneſs,
Fly, my RODOLPHO, fly! engage thy Siſter
To aid my Letter, and this very Evening
[40] Secure an Interview—I would not bear
This Rack another Day not for my Kingdom!
Till then deep-plung'd in Solitude and Shades,
I will not ſee the hated Face of Man.
Thought drives on Thought, on Paſſions Paſſions roll;
Her Smiles alone can calm my raging Soul.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SIGISMUNDA alone, ſitting in a diſconſolate Poſture.
AH Tyrant Prince! ah more than faithleſs TANCRED!
Ungenerous and inhuman in thy Falſehood!
Hadſt Thou, this Morning, when my hopeleſs Heart,
Submiſſive to my Fortune and my Duty,
Had ſo much Spirit left, as to be willing
To give Thee back thy Vows, ah! hadſt Thou then
Confeſs'd the ſad Neceſſity thy State
Impos'd upon Thee, and with gentle Friendſhip,
Since we muſt part at laſt, our Parting ſoften'd;
I ſhould indeed—I ſhould have been unhappy,
But not to this Extream—Amidſt my Grief,
I had, with penſive Pleaſure, cheriſh'd ſtill
The ſweet Remembrance of thy former Love,
Thy Image ſtill had dwelt upon my Soul,
And made our guiltleſs Woes not undelightful.
But coolly thus—How couldſt thou be ſo cruel?—
Thus to revive my Hopes, to ſoothe my Love
[41] And call forth all its Tenderneſs, then ſink me
In black Deſpair—What unrelenting Pride
Poſſeſs'd thy Breaſt, that thou couldſt bea [...] unmov'd
To ſee me bent beneath a Weight of Shame?
Pangs thou canſt never feel? How couldſt thou drag me,
In barbarous Triumph at a Rival's Car?
How make me Witneſs to a Sight of Horror?
That Hand, which, but a few ſhort Hours ago,
So wantonly abus'd my ſimple Faith,
Before th' atteſting World given to another,
Irrevocably given!—There was a Time,
When the leaſt Cloud that hung upon my Brow,
Perhaps imagin'd only, touch'd thy Pity.
Then, brighten'd often by the ready Tear,
Thy Looks were Softneſs all; then the quick Heart,
In every Nerve alive, forgot it ſelf,
And for each other then we felt alone.
But now, alas! thoſe tender Days are fled;
Now thou canſt ſee me wretched, pierc'd with Anguiſh,
With ſtudied Anguiſh of thy own creating,
Nor wet thy harden'd Eye—Hold, let me think—
I wrong Thee ſure; Thou canſt not be ſo baſe,
As meanly in my Miſery [...] triumph—
What is it then?—Why ſhould I ſearch for Pain?—
O 'tis as bad!—'Tis Fickleneſs of Nature,
'Tis ſickly Love extinguiſh'd by Ambition—
Is there, kind Heaven! no Conſtancy in Man?
No ſtedfaſt Truth, no generous fix'd Affection,
That can bear up againſt a ſelfiſh World?
No, there is none—Even TANCRED is inconſtant!
[Riſing.
Hence! let me fly this Scene!—Whate'er I ſee,
Theſe Roofs, theſe Walls, each Object that ſur⯑rounds me,
Are tainted with his Vows—But whither fly?
[42] The Groves are worſe, the ſoft Retreat of Belmont,
It's deepening Glooms, gay Lawns, and airy Summits,
Will wound my buſy Memory to Torture,
And all its Shades will whiſper—faithleſs TANCRED!—
My Father comes—How, ſunk in this Diſorder,
Shall I ſuſtain his Preſence?
SCENE II.
SIFFREDI, SIGISMUNDA.
SIFFREDI.
SIGISMUNDA,
My deareſt Child! I grieve to find Thee thus
A Prey to Tears. I know the powerful Cauſe
From which they flow, and therefore can excuſe them,
But not their wilful obſtinate Continuance.
Come, rouſe Thee then, call up thy drooping Spirit,
Come, wake to Reaſon from this Dream of Love,
And ſhew the World thou art SIFFREDI'S Daughter.
SIGISMUNDA.
Alas! I am unworthy of that Name.
SIFFREDI.
Thou art indeed to blame; thou haſt too raſhly
Engag'd thy Heart, without a Father's Sanction.
But this I can forgive. The King has Virtues,
That plead thy full Excuſe; nor was I void
Of Blame, to truſt Thee to thoſe dangerous Virtues.
Then dread not my Reproaches. Tho' he blames,
Thy tender Father pities more than blames Thee.
Thou art my Daughter ſtill; and, if thy Heart
Will now reſume its Pride, aſſert itſelf,
And greatly riſe ſuperior to this Trial,
I to my warmeſt Confidence again
Will take thee, and eſteem thee more my Daughter [...]
SIGISMUNDA.
[43]O you are gentler far than I deſerve!
It is, it ever was, my darling Pride,
To bend my Soul to your ſupreme Commands,
Your wiſeſt Will; and tho', by Love betray'd—
Alas! and puniſh'd too—I have tranſgreſs'd
The niceſt Bounds of Duty, yet I feel
A Sentiment of Tenderneſs, a Source
Of filial Nature ſpringing in my Breaſt,
That, ſhould it kill me, ſhall controul this Paſſion,
And make me all Submiſſion and Obedience
To you, my honour'd Lord, the beſt of Fathers.
SIFFREDI.
Come to my Arms, Thou Comfort of my Age!
Thou only Joy and Hope of theſe grey Hairs!
Come! let me take Thee to a Parent's Heart;
There with the kindly Aid of my Advice,
Even with the Dew of theſe paternal Tears,
Revive and nouriſh this becoming Spirit—
Then Thou doſt promiſe me, my SIGISMUNDA—
Thy Father ſtoops to make it his Requeſt—
Thou wilt reſign thy fond preſumptuous Hopes,
And henceforth never more indulge one Thought
That in the Light of Love regards the King?
SIGISMUNDA.
Hopes I have none!—Thoſe by this fatal Day
Are blaſted all—But from my Soul [...] baniſh,
While weeping Memory there retains her Seat,
Thoughts which the pureſt Boſom might have cheriſh'd,
Once my Delight, now even in Anguiſh charming,
Is more, alas! my Lord, than I can promiſe.
SIFFREDI.
Abſence and Time, the Softner of our Paſſions,
Will conquer This. Mean time, I hope from Thee
A generous great Effort; that Thou wilt now
Exert thy utmoſt Force, nor languiſh thus
Beneath the vain Extravagance of Love.
[44] Let not thy Father bluſh to hear it ſaid,
H [...]s Daughter was ſo weak, e'er to admit
A Thought ſo void of Reaſon, that a King
Should to his Rank, his Honour and his Glory,
The high important Duties of a Throne,
Even to his Throne itſelf, madly prefer
A wild [...] Paſſion, the fond Child
Of youthful dreaming Thought and vacant Hours;
That He ſhould quit his Heaven-appointed Station,
Deſert his awful Charge, the Care of all
The toiling Millions which this Iſle contains;
Nay more, ſhall plunge them into War and Ruin;
And all to ſooth a ſick Imagination,
A miſerable Weakneſs—Muſt for thee,
To make Thee bleſt, Sicilia be unhappy?
The King himſelf, loſt to the nobler Senſe
Of manly Praiſe, become the piteous Heroe
Of ſome ſoft Tale, and ruſh on ſure Deſtruction?
Canſt thou, my Daughter, let the monſtrous Thought
Poſſeſs one Moment thy perverted Fancy?
Rouſe thee, for Shame! and if a Spark of Virtue
Lies ſlumbering in thy Soul, bid it blaze forth;
Nor ſink unequal to the glorious Leſſon,
This Day thy Lover gave thee from his Throne.
SIGISMUNDA.
Ah, that was not from Virtue!—Had, my Father,
That been his Aim, I yield to what you ſay;
'Tis powerful Truth, unanſwerable Reaſon.
Then, then, with ſad but duteous Reſignation,
I had ſubmitted as became your Daughter;
But in that Moment, when my humbled Hopes
Were to my Duty reconcil'd, to raiſe them
To yet a fonder Height than e'er they knew,
Then rudely daſh them down—There is the Sting▪
The blaſting View is ever preſent to me—
Why did you drag me to a Sight ſo cruel?
SIFFREDI.
[45]It was a Scene to fire thy Emulation.
SIGISMUNDA.
It was a Scene of Perfidy!—But know,
I will do more than imitate the King—
For he is falſe!—I, tho' ſincerely pierc'd
With the beſt trueſt Paſſion ever touch'd
A Virgin's Breaſt, here vow to Heaven and You,
Tho' from my Heart I cannot, from my Hopes
To caſt this Prince—what would you more, my Father?
SIFFREDI.
Yes, one Thing more—thy Father then is happy—
Tho' by the Voice of Innocence and Virtue
Abſolv'd, we live not to our ſelves alone:
A rigorous World, with peremptory Sway,
Subjects us all, and even the Nobleſt moſt.
This World from Thee, my Honour and thy own,
Demands one Step; a Step, by which convinc'd
The King may ſee thy Heart diſdains to wear
A Chain which his has greatly thrown aſide.
'Tis fitting too, thy Sex's Pride commands Thee,
To ſhew th' approving World thou canſt reſign,
As well as He, nor with inferior Spirit,
A Paſſion fatal to the Publick Weal.
But, above all, thou muſt root our for ever
From the King's Breaſt the leaſt Remain of Hope,
And henceforth make [...]is mention'd Love Diſhonour.
Theſe Things, my Daughter, that muſt needs be done,
Can but this way be done—by the ſafe Refuge,
The ſacred Shelter of a Huſband's Arms.
And there is one—
SIGISMUNDA.
Good Heavens! what means my Lord?
SIFFREDI.
One of illuſtrious Family, high Rank,
Yet ſtill of higher Dignity and Merit,
[46] Who can, and will protect Thee; one to awe
The King himſelf—Nay, hear me, SIGISMUNDA—
The noble OSMOND courts Thee for his Bride,
And has my plighted Word—This Day—
SIGISMUNDA kneeling.
My Father!
Let me with trembling Arms embrace thy Knees!
O if you ever wiſh'd to ſee me happy;
If e'er in infant Years I gave you Joy,
When, as I prattling twin'd around your Neck,
You ſnatch'd me to your Boſom, kiſs'd my Eyes,
And melting ſaid you ſaw my Mother there;
O ſave me from that worſt Severity
Of Fate! O outrage not my breaking Heart
To that degree!—I cannot!—'tis impoſſible!—
So ſoon withdraw it, give it to another—
Hear me, my deareſt Father! hear the Voice
Of Nature and Humanity, that plead
As well as Juſtice for me!—Not to chuſe
Without your wiſe Direction may be Duty;
But ſtill my Choice is free—That is a Right,
Which even the loweſt Slave can never loſe.
And would you thus degrade me? make me baſe?
For ſuch it were, to give my worthleſs Perſon
Without my Heart, an Injury to OSMOND,
The higheſt can be done—Let me, my Lord—
Or I ſhall die, ſhall by the ſudden Change
Be to Diſtraction ſhock'd—Let me wear out
My hapleſs Days in Solitude and Silence,
Far from the Malice of a prying World!
At leaſt—you cannot ſure refuſe me This—
Give me a little Time—I will do all,
All I can do, to pleaſe you!—O your Eye
Sheds a kind Beam—
SIFFREDI.
My Daughter! you abuſe
The Softneſs of my Nature—
SIGISMUNDA.
[47]Here, my Father,
Till you relent, here will I grow for ever!
SIFFREDI.
Riſe, SIGISMUNDA,—Tho' you touch my Heart,
Nothing can ſhake th' inexorable Dictates
Of Honour, Duty, and determin'd Reaſon.
Then by the holy Ties of filial Love,
Reſolve, I charge Thee, to receive Earl OSMOND,
As ſuits the Man who is thy Father's Choice,
And worthy of thy Hand—I go to bring him—
SIGISMUNDA.
Spare me, my deareſt Father!
SIFFREDI, aſide.
I muſt ruſh
From her ſoft Graſp, or Nature will betray me!
O grant us, Heaven! that Fortitude of Mind,
Which liſtens to our Duty, not our Paſſions—
Quit me, my Child!
SIGISMUNDA.
You cannot, Oh my Father!
You cannot leave me thus!
SIFFREDI.
Come hither, LAURA.
Come to thy Friend. Now ſhew thy ſelf a Friend.
Combate her Weakneſs; diſſipate her Tears;
Cheriſh, and reconcile Her to her Duty.
SCENE III.
SIGISMUNDA. LAURA.
SIGISMUNDA.
O Woe on Woe! diſtreſt by Love and Duty!
O every way unhappy SIGISMUNDA!
LAURA.
Forgive me, Madam, if I blame your Grief.
[48] How can you waſte your Tears on one ſo falſe?
Unworthy of your Tenderneſs? to whom
Nought but Contempt is due and Indignation?
SIGISMUNDA.
You know not half the Horrors of my Fate!
I might perhaps have learn'd to ſcorn his Falſehood;
Nay, when the firſt ſad Burſt of Tears was paſt,
I might have rous'd my Pride and ſcorn'd Himſelf—
But 'tis too much, this greateſt laſt Misfortune—
O whither ſhall I fly? Where hide me, LAURA,
From the dire Scene my Father now prepares!
LAURA.
What thus alarms you, Madam?
SIGISMUNDA.
Can it be?
Can I—ah no!—at once give to another
My violated Heart? in one wild Moment?
He brings Earl OSMOND to receive my Vows!
O dreadful Change! for TANCRED haughty OS⯑MOND!
LAURA.
Now, on my Soul, 'tis what an outrag'd Heart,
Like thine, ſhould wiſh!—I ſhould, by Heavens, eſteem it
Moſt exquiſite Revenge!
SIGISMUNDA.
Revenge on whom?
On my own Heart, already but too wretched!
LAURA.
On Him! this TANCRED! who has baſely ſold,
For the dull Form of deſpicable Grandeur,
His Faith, his Love!—At once a Slave and Tyrant!
SIGISMUNDA.
O rail at me, at my believing Folly,
My vain ill-founded Hopes, but ſpare him, LAURA!
LAURA.
Who rais'd theſe Hopes? who triumphs o'er that Weakneſs?
[49] Pardon the Word—You greatly merit him;
Better than him, with all his giddy Pomp!
You rais'd him by your Smiles when he was no⯑thing!
Where is your Woman's Pride? that guardian Spirit
Given us to daſh the Perfidy of Man?
Ye Powers! I cannot bear the Thought with Pa⯑tience—
Yet recent from the moſt unſparing Vows
The Tongue of Love e'er laviſh'd; from your Hopes
So vainly, idly, cruelly deluded;
Before the Publick thus, before your Father,
By an irrevocable ſolemn Deed,
With ſuch inhuman Scorn, to throw you from him!
To give his faithleſs Hand yet warm from thine,
With complicated Meanneſs, to CONSTANTIA!
And to compleat his Crime, when thy weak Limbs
Could ſcarce ſupport thee, then, of Thee regardleſs,
To lead Her off!
SIGISMUNDA.
That was indeed a Sight
To poiſon Love! to turn it into Rage
And keen Contempt!—What means this ſtupid Weakneſs
That hangs upon me? Hence unworthy Tears!
Diſgrace my Cheek no more! No more, my Heart,
For one ſo coolly falſe or meanly fickle—
O it imports not which—dare to ſuggeſt
The leaſt Excuſe!—Yes, Traitor, I will wring
Thy Pride, will turn thy Triumph to Confuſion!
I will not pine away my Days for Thee,
Sighing to Brooks and Groves; while, with vain Pity,
You in a Rival's Arms lament my Fate—
No! let me periſh! ere I tamely be
That ſoft, that patient, gentle SIGISMUNDA,
[50] Who can conſole Her with the wretched Boaſt,
She was for Thee unhappy!—If I am,
I will be nobly ſo!—Sicilia's Daughters
Shall wondering ſee in me a great Example
Of one who puniſh'd her ill-judging Heart,
Who made it bow to what it moſt abhorr'd!
Cruſh'd it to Miſery! for having thus
So lightly liſten'd to a worthleſs Lover!
LAURA.
At laſt it mounts! the kindling Pride of Virtue!
Truſt me, thy Marriage will embitter His—
SIGISMUNDA.
O may the Furies light his Nuptial Torch!
Be it accurs'd as mine! For the fair Peace,
The tender Joys of Hymeneal Love,
May Jealouſy awak'd, and fell Remorſe,
Pour all their fierceſt Venom thro' his Breaſt!—
Where the Fates lead, and blind Revenge, I fol⯑low!—
Let me not think—By injur'd Love! I vow,
Thou ſhalt, baſe Prince! perfidious and inhuman!
Thou ſhalt behold me in another's Arms!
In his thou hateſt! OSMOND'S!
LAURA.
That will grind
His Heart with ſecret Rage! Aye, that will ſting
His Soul to Madneſs! ſet him up a Terror,
A Spectacle of Woe to ſaithleſs Lovers!—
Your cooler Thought, beſides, will of the Change
Approve, and think it happy. Noble OSMOND
From the ſame Stock with him derives his Birth,
Firſt of Sicilian Barons, prudent, brave,
Of ſtricteſt Honour, and by all rever'd—
SIGISMUNDA.
Talk not of OSMOND, but perfidious TANCRED!
Rail at him, rail! invent new Names of Scorn!
Aſſiſt me, LAURA; lend my Rage freſh Fewel;
Support my ſtaggering Purpoſe, which already
[51] Begins to fail me—Ah, my Vaunts how vain!
How have I ly'd to my own Heart!—Alas!
My Tears return, the mighty Flood o'erwhelms me!
Ten Thouſand crouding Images diſtract
My tortur'd Thought—And is it come to This?
Our Hopes? our Vows? our oft repeated Wiſhes,
Breath'd from the fervent Soul, and full of Heaven,
To make each other happy?—come to This!
LAURA.
If thy own Peace and Honour cannot keep
Thy Reſolution fix'd, yet, SIGISMUNDA,
O think, how deeply, how beyond Retreat,
Thy Father is engag'd.
SIGISMUNDA.
Ah wretched Weakneſs!
That thus enthrals my Soul, that chaſes thence
Each nobler Thought, the Senſe of every Duty!—
And have I then no Tears for Thee, my Father?
Can I forget thy Cares, from helpleſs Years,
Thy Tenderneſs for me? an Eye ſtill beam'd
With Love? a Brow that never knew a Frown?
Nor a harſh Word thy Tongue? Shall I for Theſe,
Repay thy ſtooping venerable Age,
With Shame, Diſquiet, Anguiſh and Diſhonour?
It muſt not be!—Thou Firſt of Angels! come,
Sweet filial Piety! and firm my Breaſt!
Yes, let one Daughter to her Fate ſubmit,
Be nobly wretched—but her Father happy!—
LAURA!—they come!—O Heavens! I cannot ſtand
The horrid Trial!—Open, open, Earth!
And hide me from their View!
LAURA.
Madam!—
SCENE IV.
[52]SIFFREDI. OSMOND. SIGISMUNDA. LAURA.
SIFFREDI.
My Daughter,
Behold my noble Friend who courts thy Hand,
And whom to call my Son I ſhall be proud;
Nor ſhall I leſs be pleas'd, in his Alliance,
To ſee Thee happy.
OSMOND.
Think not, I preſume,
Madam, on this your Father's kind Conſent
To make me bleſt. I love you from a Heart,
That ſeeks your Good ſuperior to my own;
And will, by every Art of tender Friendſhip,
Conſult your deareſt Welfare. May I hope,
Yours does not diſavow your Father's Choice?
SIGISMUNDA.
I am a Daughter, Sir—and have no Power
O'er my own Heart—I die—Support me, LAURA.
[Faints.
SIFFREDI.
Help!—Bear Her off—She breathes—my Daughter!—
SIGISMUNDA.
Oh!—
Forgive my Weakneſs—Soft—my LAURA, lead me—
To my Apartment.
SIFFREDI.
Pardon me, my Lord,
If by this ſudden Accident alarm'd,
I leave you for a Moment.
SCENE V.
OSMOND alone.
Let me think—
[53] What can this mean?—Is it to me Averſion?
Or is it, as I fear'd, She loves another?
Ha!—yes—perhaps the King, the young Count TANCRED!
They were bred up together—Surely That,
That cannot be—Has he not given his Hand,
In the moſt ſolemn Manner, to CONSTANTIA?
Does not his Crown depend upon the Deed?
No—if they lov'd, and this old Stateſman knew it,
He could not to a King prefer a Subject.
His Virtues I eſteem—nay more, I truſt them—
So far as Virtue goes—but could he place
His Daughter on the Throne of Sicily—
O 'tis a glorious Bribe too much for Man!—
What is it then?—I care not what it be.
My Honour now, my Dignity demands,
That my propos'd Alliance, by her Father
And even her ſelf accepted, be not ſcorn'd.
I love her too—I never knew till now
To what a Pitch I lov'd Her. O She ſhot
Ten thouſand Charms into my inmoſt Soul!
She look'd ſo mild, ſo amiably gentle,
She bow'd her Head, ſhe glow'd with ſuch Con⯑fuſion,
Such Lovelineſs of Modeſty! She is,
In gracious Mind, in Manners, and in Perſon,
The perfect Model of all female Beauty!—
She muſt be mine—She is!—If yet her Heart
Conſents not to my Happineſs, her Duty,
Join'd to my tender Cares, will gain ſo much
Upon her generous Nature—That will follow.
The Man of Senſe, who acts a prudent Part,
Not flattering ſteals, but forms himſelf the Heart.
ACT IV.
[54]SCENE I.
The Garden belonging to SIF⯑FREDI's Houſe.
SIGISMUNDA, LAURA.
SIGISMUNDA, with a Letter in her Hand.
'TIS done!—I am a Slave!—The fatal Vow
Has paſs'd my Lips!—Methought in thoſe ſad Moments,
The Tombs around, the Saints, the darken'd Altar,
And all the trembling Shrines with Horror ſhook.
But here is ſtill new Matter of Diſtreſs.
O TANCRED ceaſe to perſecute me more!
O grudge me not ſome calmer State of Woe!
Some quiet Gloom to ſhade my hopeleſs Days,
Where I may never hear of Love and Thee!—
Has LAURA too conſpir'd againſt my Peace?
Why did you take this Letter?—Bear it back—
[Giving her the Letter.
I will not court new Pain.
LAURA.
Madam, RODOLPHO
Urg'd me ſo much, nay, even with Tears conjur'd me,
But this once more to ſerve th' unhappy King—
For ſuch He ſaid He was—that tho' enrag'd,
Equal with Thee, at his inhuman Falſehood,
I could not to my Brother's fervent Prayers
Refuſe this Office—Read it—His Excuſes
Will only more expoſe his Falſehood.
SIGISMUNDA.
[55]No.
It ſuits not OSMOND'S Wife to read one Line
From that contagious Hand—ſhe knows too well!
LAURA
He paints him out diſtreſs'd beyond Expreſſion,
Even on the Point of Madneſs. Wild as Winds,
And fighting Seas, he raves. His Paſſions mix,
With ceaſeleſs Rage, all in each giddy Moment.
He dies to ſee you and to clear his Faith.
SIGISMUNDA.
Save me from That!—That would be worſe than all!
LAURA.
I but report my Brother's Words; who then
Began to talk of ſome dark Impoſition,
That had deceiv'd us all: when, interrupted,
We heard your Father and Earl OSMOND near,
As ſummon'd to CONSTANTIA'S Court they went.
SIGISMUNDA.
Ha! Impoſition?—Well!—If I am doom'd
To be, o'er all my Sex, the Wretch of Love,
In vain I would reſiſt—Give me the Letter—
To know the worſt is ſome Relief—Alas!
It was not thus, with ſuch dire Palpitations,
That, TANCRED, once I us'd to read thy Letters.
[Attempting to read the Letter, but gives it to LAURA.
Ah fond Remembrance blinds me!—Read it, LAURA.
LAURA
reads.
Deliver me, SIGISMUNDA, from that moſt exqui⯑ſite Miſery which a faithful Heart can ſuffer—To be thought baſe by Her, from whoſe Eſteem even Virtue borrows new Charms. When I ſubmitted to my cruel Situation, it was not Falſhood you beheld, but an Exceſs of Love. Rather than endanger That, I for a while gave up my Honour. Every Moment, till I ſee you, ſtabs me with ſeverer Pangs than real Guilt itſelf can feel Let me then conjure You to meet me in the Garden, towards the Cloſe of the [56] Day, when I will explain this Myſtery. We have been moſt inhumanly abuſed; and That by the means of the very Paper which I gave you, from the warm⯑eſt Sincerity of Love, to aſſure to you the Heart and Hand of
TANCRED.
SIGISMUNDA.
There, LAURA, there, the dreadful Secret ſprung!
That Paper! ah that Paper! it ſuggeſts
A thouſand horrid Thoughts—I to my Father
Gave it; and He perhaps—I dare not caſt
A Look that way—If yet indeed you love me,
O blaſt me not, kind TANCRED, with the Truth!
O pitying keep me ignorant for ever!
What ſtrange peculiar Miſery is mine?
Reduc'd to wiſh the Man I love were falſe!
Why was I hurry'd to a Step ſo raſh?
Repairleſs Woe!—I might have waited, ſure,
A few ſhort Hours—No Duty that forbade—
I ow'd thy Love that Juſtice; till this Day
Thy Love an Image of all-perfect Goodneſs!
A Beam from Heaven that glow'd with every Virtue!
And have I thrown this Prize of Life away?
The piteous Wreck of one diſtracted Moment?
Ah the cold Prudence of remorſeleſs Age!
Ah Parents Traitors to your Children's Bliſs!
Ah curs'd, ah blind Revenge!—On every hand
I was betray'd—You, LAURA, too, betray'd me!—
LAURA.
Who, who, but He, whate'er he writes, betray'd you?
Or falſe or puſillanimous. For once,
I will with you ſuppoſe, that his Agreement
To the King's Will was forg'd—Tho' forg'd by whom?
Your Father ſcorns the Crime—Yet what avails it?
This, if it clears his Truth, condemns his Spirit.
A youthful King, by Love and Honour fir'd,
Patient to ſit on his inſulted Throne,
And let an Outrage, of ſo high a Nature,
Unpuniſh'd paſs, uncheck'd, uncontradicted—
O 'tis a Meanneſs equal even to Falſehood!
SIGISMUNDA.
[57]LAURA, no more—We have already judg'd
Too largely without Knowledge. Oft, what ſeems
A Trifle, a meer Nothing, by itſelf,
In ſome nice Situations, turns the Scale
Of Fate, and rules the moſt important Actions.
Yes, I begin to feel a ſad Preſage:
I am undone, from that eternal Source
Of human Woes—the Judgment of the Paſſions
But what have I to do with theſe Excuſes?
O ceaſe, my treacherous Heart, to give them room!
It ſuits not Thee to plead a Lover's Cauſe;
Even to lament my Fate is now Diſhonour.
Nought now remains, but with relentleſs Purpoſe,
To ſhun all Interviews, all Clearing up
Of this dark Scene; to wrap myſelf in Gloom,
In Solitude and Shades; there to devour
The ſilent Sorrows ever ſwelling here;
And ſince I muſt be wretched—for I muſt—
To claim the mighty Miſery myſelf,
Engroſs it all, and ſpare a hapleſs Father.
Hence, let me fly!—the Hour approaches—
LAURA.
Madam,
Behold he comes—the King—
SIGISMUNDA.
Heavens! how eſcape?
No—I will ſtay—This one laſt Meeting—Leave me
SCENE II.
TANCRED, SIGISMUNDA.
TANCRED.
And are theſe long long Hours of Torture paſt?
My Life! my SIGISMUNDA!
[Throwing himſelf at her Feet.
SIGISMUNDA.
[58]Riſe, my Lord.
To ſee my Sovereign thus no more becomes me.
TANCRED.
O let me kiſs the Ground on which you tread!
Let me exhale my Soul in ſofteſt Tranſport!
Since I again embrace my SIGISMUNDA!
[Riſing.
Unkind! how couldſt thou ever deem me falſe?
How thus diſhonour Love?—O I could much
Embitter my Complaint!—How low were then
Thy Thoughts of me? How didſt thou then affront
The human Heart itſelf? After the Vows,
The fervent Truth, the tender Proteſtations,
Which mine has often pour'd, to let thy Breaſt,
Whate'er th' Appearance was, admit Suſpicion?
SIGISMUNDA.
How! when I heard myſelf your full Conſent
To the late King's ſo juſt and prudent Will?
Heard it before you read, in ſolemn Senate?
When I beheld you give your Royal Hand
To Her, whoſe Birth and Dignity, of Right,
Demands that high Alliance? Yes, my Lord,
You have done well. The Man, whom Heaven appoints
To govern others, ſhould himſelf firſt learn
To bend his Paſſions to the Sway of Reaſon.
In all you have done well, but when you bid
My humbled Hopes look up to you again,
And ſooth'd with wanton Cruelty my Weakneſs—
That too was well—My Vanity deſerv'd
The ſharp Rebuke, whoſe fond Extravagance
Could ever dream to balance your Repoſe,
Your Glory and the Welfare of a People.
TANCRED.
Chide on, chide on. Thy ſoft Reproaches now,
Inſtead of wounding, only ſoothe my Fondneſs.
No, no, Thou charming Conſort of my Soul!
I never lov'd Thee with ſuch faithful Ardor,
[59] As in that cruel miſerable Moment
You thought me falſe; when even my Honour ſtoop'd
To wear for Thee a baffled Face of Baſeneſs.
It was thy barbarous Father, SIGISMUNDA,
Who caught me in the Toil. He turn'd that Paper,
Meant for th' aſſuring Bond of Nuptial Love,
To ruin it for ever; he, he wrote
That forg'd Conſent, you heard, beneath my Name,
Nay dar'd before my outrag'd Throne to read it!
Had he not been thy Father—Ha! my Love!
You tremble, you grow pale.
SIGISMUNDA.
Oh leave me, TANCRED!
TANCRED.
No!—Leave thee?—Never! never! till you ſet
My Heart at peace, till theſe dear Lips again
Pronounce Thee mine! Without Thee I renounce
My ſelf, my Friends, the World—Here on this Hand—
SIGISMUNDA.
My Lord, forget that Hand, which never now
Can be to thine united—
TANCRED.
SIGISMUNDA!
What doſt Thou mean? Thy Words, thy Look, thy Manner,
Seem to conceal ſome horrid Secret—Heavens!—
No—That was wild—Diſtraction fires that Thought!
SIGISMUNDA.
Enquire no more—I never can be thine.
TANCRED.
What, who ſhall interpoſe? who dares attempt
To brave the Fury of an injur'd King?
Who, ere he ſees Thee raviſh'd from his Hopes,
Will wrap all blazing Sicily in Flames—
SIGISMUNDA.
In vain your Power, my Lord—This fatal Error,
Join'd to my Father's unrelenting Will,
[60] Has plac'd an everlaſting Bar betwixt Us—
I am—Earl OSMOND'S—Wife.
TANCRED.
Earl OSMOND'S Wife!—
[After a long Pauſe, during which they look at one another with the higheſt Agitation and moſt tender Diſtreſs.
Heavens! did I hear thee right? what! marry'd? marry'd!
Loſt to thy faithful TANCRED! loſt for ever!
Couldſt thou then doom me to ſuch matchleſs Woe,
Without ſo much as hearing me?—Diſtraction!—
Alas! what haſt thou done? Ah SIGISMUNDA!
Thy raſh Credulity has done a Deed,
Which of two happieſt Lovers—that e'er felt
The bliſsful Power, has made two finiſh'd Wretches!
But—Madneſs!—Sure, Thou knowſt it cannot be!
This Hand is mine! a thouſand thouſand Vows—
SCENE III.
TANCRED. OSMOND. SIGISMUNDA.
OSMOND.
[Snatching her Hand from the King.
Madam, this Hand, by the moſt ſolemn Rites,
A little Hour ago, was given to me,
And did not ſovereign Honour now command me,
Never but with my Life to quit my Claim,
I would renounce it—thus!
TANCRED.
Ha! who art Thou?
Preſumptuous Man!
SIGISMUNDA, aſide.
Where is my Father? Heavens!
[Goes out.
OSMOND.
[61]One Thou ſhouldſt better know—Yes—view me—One!
Who can and will mantain his Rights and Honour,
Againſt a faithleſs Prince, an upſtart King,
Whoſe firſt baſe Deed is what a harden'd Tyrant
Would bluſh to act.
TANCRED.
Inſolent OSMOND! know,
This upſtart King will hurl Confuſion on Thee,
And all who ſhall invade his ſacred Rights,
Prior to Thine—Thine founded on Compulſion,
On infamous Deceit, while His proceed
From mutual Love and free long-plighted Faith.
She is, and ſhall be mine!—I will annul,
By the high Power with which the Laws inveſt me,
Thoſe guilty Forms in which you have entrap'd,
Baſely entrap'd, to thy deteſted Nuptials,
My Queen betroth'd; who has my Heart, my Hand,
And ſhall partake my Throne—If, haughty Lord,
If This thou didſt not know, then know it now!
And know beſides, that, having told Thee This,
Shouldſt Thou but think to urge thy Treaſon fur⯑ther—
Than Treaſon more! Treaſon againſt my Love!—
Thy Life ſhall anſwer for it!
OSMOND.
Ha! my Life!—
It moves my Scorn to hear thy empty Threats.
When was it that a Norman Baron's Life
Became ſo vile, as on the Frown of Kings
To hang?—Of That thy Lord the Law muſt judge:
Or if the Law be weak, my Guardian Sword—
TANCRED.
Dare not to touch it, Traitor! leſt my Rage
Break looſe, and do a Deed that miſbecomes me.
SCENE IV.
[62]TANCRED. SIFFREDI. OSMOND.
SIFFREDI entering.
My gracious Lord! what is it I behold?
My Sovereign in Contention with his Subjects?
Surely this Houſe deſerves from Royal TANCRED
A little more Regard, than to be made
A Scene of Trouble and unſeemly Jars.
It grieves my Soul, it baffles every Hope,
It makes me ſick of Life, to ſee thy Glory
Thus blaſted in the Bud—Heavens! can your Highneſs
From your exalted Character deſcend,
The Dignity of Virtue; and, inſtead
Of being the Protector of our Rights,
The holy Guardian of Domeſtic Bliſs,
Unkindly thus diſturb the ſweet Repoſe,
The ſanctimonious Peace of Families;
For which alone the freeborn Race of Men
To Government ſubmit?
TANCRED.
My Lord SIFFREDI,
Spare thy Rebuke. The Duties of my Station
Are not to me unknown—But Thou, old Man,
Doſt Thou not bluſh to talk of Rights invaded?
And of our beſt our deareſt Bliſs diſturb'd?
Thou! who with more than barbarous Perfidy
Haſt trampled all Allegiance, Juſtice, Truth,
Humanity itſelf, beneath thy Feet?
Thou knoweſt Thou haſt—I could, to thy Confuſion,
Return thy hard Reproaches; but I ſpare Thee
Before this Lord, for whoſe ill-ſorted Friendſhip,
Thou haſt moſt baſely ſacrific'd thy Daughter.
Farewel, my Lord!—For Thee, Lord Conſtable,
[63] Who doſt preſume to lift thy ſurly Eye
To my ſoft Love, my gentle SIGISMUNDA,
I once again command Thee, on thy Life—
Yes—chew thy Rage—but mark me—on thy Life,
No further urge thy arrogant Pretenſions!
SCENE V.
SIFFREDI. OSMOND.
OSMOND.
Ha! arrogant Pretenſions! Heaven and Earth!
What! arrogant Pretenſions to my Wife?
My wedded Wife! Where are we? In a Land
Of Civil Rule, of Liberty and Laws?—
Not on my Life purſue them?—Giddy Prince!
My Life diſdains thy Nod. It is the Gift
Of parent Heaven, who gave me too an Arm,
A Spirit to defend it againſt Tyrants.
The Norman Race, the Sons of mighty ROLLO,
Who ruſhing in a Tempeſt from the North,
Great Nurſe of generous Freemen! bravely won
With their own Swords their Seats, and ſtill poſſeſs them
By the ſame noble Tenure, are not us'd
To hear ſuch Language—If I now deſiſt,
Then brand me for a Coward! deem me Villain!
A Traitor to the Publick! By this Conduct
Deceiv'd, betray'd, inſulted, tyranniz'd.
Mine is a common Cauſe. My Arm ſhall guard,
Mix'd with my own, the Rights of each Sicilian,
Of ſocial Life, and of Mankind in general.
Ere to thy Tyrant Rage they fall a Prey,
I ſhall find Means to ſhake thy tottering Throne,
Which this illegal this perfidious Uſage
Forfeits at once, and cruſh thee in the Ruins!—
CONSTANTIA is my Queen!
SIFFREDI.
[64]Lord Conſtable,
Let us be ſtedfaſt in the Right; but let us
Act with cool Prudence, and with manly Temper,
As well as manly Firmneſs. True, I own,
Th' Indignities you ſuffer are ſo high,
As might even juſtify what now you threaten.
But if, my Lord, we can prevent the Woes
The cruel Horrors of inteſtine War,
Yet hold untouch'd our Liberties and Laws;
O let us, rais'd above the turbid Sphere
Of little ſelfiſh Paſſions, nobly do it!
Nor to our hot intemperate Pride pour out
A dire Libation of Sicilian Blood.
'Tis Godlike Magnanimity, to keep,
When moſt provok'd, our Reaſon calm and clear,
And execute her Will, from a ſtrong Senſe
Of what is right, without the vulgar Aid
Of Heat and Paſſion, which, tho' honeſt, bear us
Often too far. Remember that my Houſe
Protects my Daughter ſtill; and ere I ſaw her
Thus raviſh'd from us, by the Arm of Power,
This Hand ſhould act the Roman Father's Part.
Fear not; be temperate; all will yet be well.
I know the King. At firſt his Paſſions burſt
Quick as the Lightning's Flaſh: but in his Breaſt
Honour and Juſtice dwell—Truſt me, to Reaſon
He will return.
OSMOND.
He will!—By Heavens, he ſhall!—
You know the King—I wiſh, my Lord SIFFREDI,
That you had deign'd to tell me all you knew—
And would you have me wait, with duteous Patience,
Till he return to Reaſon? Ye juſt Powers!
When he has planted on our Necks his Foot,
And trod us into Slaves; when his vain Pride
Is cloy'd with our Submiſſion; if, at laſt,
He finds his Arm too weak, to ſhake the Frame
[65] Of wide-eſtabliſh'd Order out of Joint,
And overturn all Juſtice; then, perchance,
He, in a Fit of ſickly kind Repentance,
May make a Merit to return to Reaſon.
No, no, my Lord!—There is a nobler Way
To teach the blind oppreſſive Fury Reaſon:
Oft has the Luſtre of avenging Steel
Unſeal'd her ſtupid Eyes—The Sword is Reaſon!
SCENE VI.
SIFFREDI. OSMOND. RODOLPHO, (with Guards.
RODOLPHO.
My Lord High Conſtable of Sicily,
In the King's Name, and by his ſpecial Order,
I here arreſt you Priſoner of State.
OSMOND.
What King? I know no King of Sicily—
Unleſs he be the Huſband of CONSTANTIA.
RODOLPHO.
Then know him now—Behold his Royal Orders
To bear you to the Caſtle of Palermo.
SIFFREDI.
Let the big Torrent foam its Madneſs off.
Submit, my Lord—No Caſtle long can hold
Our Wrongs—This, more than Friendſhip or Alliance,
Confirms me thine; this binds me to thy Fortunes,
By the ſtrong Tie of common Injury,
Which nothing can diſſolve—I grieve, RODOLPHO,
To ſee the Reign, in ſuch unhappy ſort,
Begin.
OSMOND.
The Reign! the Uſurpation call it!
This Meteor King may blaze awhile, but ſoon
Muſt ſpend his idle Terrors—Sir, lead on—
[66] Farewel, my Lord—More than my Life and Fortune,
Remember well, is in your Hands—my Honour!
SIFFREDI.
Our Honour is the ſame. My Son, farewel—
We ſhall not long be parted. On theſe Eyes
Sleep ſhall not ſhed his Balm, till I behold Thee
Reſtor'd to Freedom, or partake thy Bonds.
Even noble Courage is not void of Blame,
Till nobler Patience ſanctifies its Flame.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
SIFFREDI, alone.
THE Proſpect lowrs around. I found the King,
Tho' calm'd a little, with ſubſiding Tempeſt,
As ſuits his generous Nature, yet in Love
Abated nought, moſt ardent in his Purpoſe;
Inexorably fix'd, whate'er the Riſque,
To claim my Daughter, and diſſolve this Marriage—
I have embark'd, upon a perillous Sea,
A mighty Treaſure. Here, the rapid Youth
Th' impetuous Paſſions of a Lover-King
Check my bold Courſe; and there, the jealous Pride
Th'impatient Honour of a haughty Lord,
Of the firſt Rank, in Intereſt and Dependants
Near equal to the King, forbid Retreat.
My Honour too, the ſame unchang'd Conviction,
That theſe my Meaſures were, and ſtill remain
Of abſolute Neceſſity, to ſave
The Land from Civil Fury, urge me on.
[67] But how proceed?—I only faſter ruſh
Upon the deſperate Evils I would ſhun.
Whate'er the Motive be, Deceit, I fear,
And harſh unnatural Force are not the Means
Of Publick Welfare or of Private Bliſs—
Bear Witneſs, HEAVEN! Thou Mind-inſpecting Eye!
My Breaſt is pure. I have preferr'd my Duty,
The Good and Safety of my Fellow-Subjects,
To all thoſe Views that fire the ſelfiſh Race
Of Men, and mix them in eternal Broils.
Enter an Officer belonging to SIFFREDI.
OFFICER.
My Lord, a Man of noble Port, his Face
Wrap'd in Diſguiſe, is earneſt for Admiſſion.
SIFFREDI.
Go, bid him enter—
[Officer goes out.
Ha [...] wrap'd in Diſguiſe!
And at this late unſeaſonable Hour!
When o'er the World tremendous Midnight reigns,
By the dire Gloom of raging Tempeſt doubled—
SCENE II.
SIFFREDI. OSMOND, diſcovering himſelf.
SIFFREDI.
What! Ha! Earl OSMOND, you?—Welcome, once more,
To this glad Roof!—But why in this Diſguiſe?
Would I could hope the King exceeds his Promiſe!
I have his Faith ſoon as To-morrow's Sun
[68] Shall gild Sicilia's Cliffs, you ſhould be free.—
Has ſome good Angel turn'd his Heart to Juſtice?
OSMOND.
It is not by the Favour of Count TANCRED
That I am here. As much I ſcorn his Favour,
As I defy his Tyranny and Threats—
Our Friend GOFFREDO, who commands the Caſtle,
On my Parole, ere Dawn, to render back
My Perſon, has permitted me this Freedom.
Know then, the faithleſs Outrage of To-day,
By him committed whom you call the King,
Has rouz'd CONSTANTIA'S Court. Our Friends, the Friends
Of Virtue, Juſtice, and of Publick Faith,
Ripe for Revolt, are in high Ferment all.
This, this, they ſay, exceeds whate'er deform'd
The miſerable Days we ſaw beneath
WILLIAM the Bad. This ſaps the ſolid Baſe,
At once, of Government and private Life;
This ſhameleſs Impoſition on the Faith,
The Majeſty of Senates, this lewd Inſult,
This Violation of the Rights of Men.
Added to Theſe, his ignominious Treatment
Of Her th'illuſtrious Offspring of our Kings,
Sicilia's Hope, and now our Royal Miſtreſs.
You know, my Lord, how groſſly Theſe infringe
The late King's Will; which orders, if Count TANCRED
Make not CONSTANTIA Partner of his Throne,
That He be quite excluded the Succeſſion,
And She to HENRY given, King of the Romans,
The potent Emperor BARBEROSSA'S Son,
Who ſeeks with earneſt Inſtance her Alliance.
I thence of You, as Guardian of the Laws,
As Guardian of this Will to you entruſted,
Deſire, nay more, demand, your inſtant Aid,
To ſee it put in vigorous Execution.
SIFFREDI.
You cannot doubt, my Lord, of my Concurrence.
[69] Who more than I have labour'd this great Point?
'Tis my own Plan. And, if I drop it now,
I ſhould be juſtly branded with the ſhame
Of raſh Advice, or deſpicable Weakneſs.
But let us not precipitate the Matter.
CONSTANTIA'S Friends are numerous and ſtrong;
Yet TANCRED'S, truſt me, are of equal Force.
E'er ſince the Secret of his Birth was known,
The People all are in a Tumult hurl'd
Of boundleſs Joy, to hear there lives a Prince
Of mighty GUISCARD'S Line. Numbers, beſides,
Of powerful Barons, who at heart had pin'd,
To ſee the Reign of their renown'd Forefathers,
Won by immortal Deeds of matchleſs Valour,
Paſs from the gallant Normans to the Suevi,
Will, with a kind of rage, eſpouſe his Cauſe—
'Tis ſo my Lord—be not by Paſſion blinded—
'Tis ſurely ſo—O if our prating Vertue
Dwells not in Words alone—O let us join,
My generous OSMOND, to avert theſe Woes,
And yet ſuſtain our tottering Norman Kingdom!
OSMOND.
But how, SIFFREDI? how?—If by ſoft Means
We can maintain our Rights, and ſave our Country,
May his unnatural Blood firſt ſtain the Sword,
Who with unpitying Fury firſt ſhall bare it!
SIFFREDI.
I have a Thought—The glorious Work be thine.
But it requires an awful Flight of Virtue,
Above the Paſſions of the vulgar Breaſt,
And thence from thee I hope it, noble OSMOND—
Suppoſe my Daughter, to her GOD devoted,
Were plac'd within ſome Convent's ſacred Verge,
Beneath the dread Protection of the Altar—
OSMOND.
Ere Then, by Heavens! I would devoutly ſhave
My holy Scalp, turn whining Monk myſelf,
And pray inceſſant for the Tyrant's Safety!—
[70] What! How! becauſe an inſolent Invader,
A Sacrilegious Tyrant, in Contempt
Of all thoſe nobleſt Rights, which to maintain
Is Man's peculiar Pride, demands my Wife;
That I ſhall thus betray the Common Cauſe
Of Human kind, and tamely yield Her up,
Even in the Manner you propoſe—O then
I were ſupremely vile! degraded! ſham'd!
The Scorn of Manhood! and abhor'd of Honour!
SIFFREDI.
There is, my Lord, an Honour, the calm Child
Of Reaſon, of Humanity and Mercy,
Superior far to this punctilious Demon,
That ſingly minds it ſelf, and oft embroils
With proud barbarian Niceties the World!
OSMOND.
My Lord, my Lord!—I cannot brooke your Prudence—
It holds a Pulſe unequal to my Blood—
Unblemiſh'd Honour is the Flower of Virtue!
The vivifying Soul! and He who ſlights it
Will leave the other dull and lifeleſs Droſs.
SIFFREDI.
No more—You are too warm.
OSMOND.
You are too cool.
SIFFREDI.
Too cool, my Lord? I were indeed too cool,
Not to reſent this Language, and to tell Thee—
I wiſh Earl OSMOND were as cool as I
To his own Selfiſh Bliſs—ay, and as warm
To That of Others—But of This no more—
My Daughter is thy Wife—I gave her to Thee,
And will againſt all Force maintain her Thine.
But think not I will catch thy headlong Paſſions,
Whirl'd in a Blaze of Madneſs o'er the Land;
Or, till the laſt Extremity compel me,
[71] Riſque the dire Means of War—The King, To⯑morrow,
Will ſet you free; and, if by gentle Means
He does not yield my Daughter to thy Arms,
And wed CONSTANTIA, as the Will requires,
Why then expect me on the Side of Juſtice—
Let that ſuffice.
OSMOND.
It does—Forgive my Heat.
My rankled Mind, by Injuries inflam'd,
May be too prompt to take and give Offence.
SIFFREDI.
'Tis paſs'd—Your Wrongs, I own, may well tranſport
The wiſeſt Mind—But henceforth, noble OSMOND,
Do me more Juſtice, honour more my Truth,
Nor mark me with an Eye of ſquint Suſpicion—
Theſe Jars apart—You may repoſe your Soul
On my firm Faith and unremitting Friendſhip.
Of That I ſure have given exalted Proof,
And the next Sun, we ſee, ſhall prove it further—
Return, my Son, and from your Friend GOFFREDO
Releaſe your Word. There try, by ſoft Repoſe,
To calm your Breaſt.
OSMOND.
Bid the vext Ocean ſleep,
Swept by the Pinions of the raging North—
But your frail Age, by Care and Toil exhauſted,
Demands the Balm of all-repairing Reſt.
SIFFREDI.
Soon as To-morrow's Dawn ſhall ſtreak the Skies,
I, with my Friends in ſolemn State aſſembled,
Will to the Palace and demand your Freedom.
Then by calm Reaſon, or by higher Means,
The King ſhall quit his Claim, and in the Face
Of Sicily, my Daughter ſhall be yours.
Farewel.
OSMOND.
My Lord, good-night.
SCENE III.
[72]OSMOND alone.
[After a long Pauſe.
I like him not—
Yes—I have mighty Matter of Suſpicion.
'Tis plain—I ſee it—Lurking in his Breaſt,
He has a fooliſh Fondneſs for this King—
My Honour is not ſafe, while here my Wife
Remains—Who knows but he this very Night
May bear Her to ſome Convent as he mention'd—
The King too—tho' I ſmother'd up my Rage,
I mark'd it well—will ſet me free To-morrow.
Why not To-night? He has ſome dark Deſign—
By Heavens! he has—I am abus'd moſt groſly;
Made the vile Tool of this old Stateſman's Schemes;
Marry'd to One—Ay, and he knew it—One
Who loves young TANCRED! Hence her ſwooning, Tears,
And all her ſoft Diſtreſs, when ſhe diſgrac'd me
By baſely giving her perfidious Hand
Without her Heart—Hell and Perdition! This,
This is the Perfidy! This is the fell,
The keen, envenom'd, exquiſite Diſgrace!
Which to a Man of Honour even exceeds
The Falſhood of the Perſon—But I now
Will rouze me from the poor tame Lethargy,
By my believing Fondneſs caſt upon Me.
I will not wait his crawling timid Motions,
Perhaps to blind me meant, which he To-morrow
Has promis'd to purſue. No! ere his Eyes
Shall open on To-morrow's orient Beam,
I will convince him that Earl OSMOND never
Was form'd to be his Dupe—I know full well
Th' important Weight and Danger of the Deed:
[73] But to a Man, whom greater Dangers preſs,
Driven to the Brink of Infamy and Horror,
Raſhneſs itſelf, and utter Deſperation,
Are the beſt Prudence—I will bear Her off
This Night, and lodge Her in a Place of Safety.
I have a truſty Band that waits not far.
Hence! Let me loſe no Time—One rapid Moment
Should ardent form, at once, and execute
A bold Deſign—'Tis fix'd—'Tis done!—Yes, then,
When I have ſeiz'd the Prize of Love and Honour,
And with a Friend ſecur'd Her; to the Caſtle
I will repair, and claim GOFFREDO'S Promiſe
To riſe with all his Garriſon—My Friends
With brave Impatience wait. The Mine is laid,
And only wants my kindling Touch to ſpring.
SCENE IV.
SIGISMUNDA'S Apartment.
SIGISMUNDA. LAURA.
LAURA.
Heavens! 'tis a fearful Night!
SIGISMUNDA.
Ah! the black Rag [...]
Of midnight Tempeſt, or th' aſſuring Smiles
Of radiant Morn are equal all to me.
Nought now has Charms or Terrors to my Breaſt,
The Seat of ſtupid Woe!—Leave me, my LAURA.
Kind Reſt, perhaps, may huſh my Woes a little—
Oh for that quiet Sleep that knows no Morning!
LAURA.
Madam, indeed I know not how to go.
Indulge my Fondneſs—Let me watch a while
By your ſad Bed, till theſe dread Hours ſhall paſs.
SIGISMUNDA.
[74]Alas! what is the Toil of Elements,
This idle Perturbation of the Sky,
To what I feel within—Oh that the Fires
Of pitying Heaven would point there Fury here!
Goodnight, my deareſt LAURA!
LAURA.
Oh I know not
What this Oppreſſion means—but 'tis with pain,
With Tears, I can perſuade myſelf to leave you—
Well then—Goodnight, my deareſt SIGISMUNDA!
SCENE V.
SIGISMUNDA.
And am I then alone?—The moſt undone,
Moſt wretched Being, now beneath the Cope
Of this affrighting Gloom that wraps the World!—
I ſaid I did not fear—Ah me! I feel
A ſhivering Horror run thro' all my Powers,
O I am nought but Tumult, Fears and Weakneſs!
And yet how idle Fear when Hope is gone,
Gone, gone forever!—O Thou gentle Scene
[Looking towards her Bed.
Of ſweet Repoſe, where by th' oblivious Draught,
Of each ſad toilſome Day, to Peace reſtor'd,
Unhappy Mortals loſe their Woes awhile,
Thou haſt no Peace for me!—What ſhall I do?
How paſs this dreadful Night, ſo big with Terror?—
Here, with the Midnight Shades, here will I ſit,
[ſitting down.
A Prey to dire Deſpair, and ceaſeleſs weep
The Hours away—Bleſs me!—I heard a Noiſe—
[ſtarting up.
No—I miſtook—Nothing but Silence reigns
And awful Midnight round—Again!—O Heavens!
My Lord the King!
SCENE VI.
[75]TANCRED. SIGISMUNDA.
TANCRED.
Be not allarm'd, my Love!
SIGISMUNDA.
My Royal Lord! why at this Midnight Hour,
How came you hither?
TANCRED.
By that ſecret Way
My Love contriv'd, when We, in happier Days,
Us'd to devote theſe Hours, ſo much in vain,
To Vows of Love and everlaſting Friendſhip.
SIGISMUNDA.
Why will you thus perſiſt to add new Stings
To her Diſtreſs, who never can be thine?
O [...]ly me! fly! You know—
TANCRED.
I know too much.
O how I could reproach Thee, SIGISMUNDA!
Pour out my injur'd Soul in juſt Complaints!
But now the Time permits not, Theſe ſwift Mo⯑ments.—
I told thee how thy Father's Artiſice
Forc'd me to ſeem perfidious in thy Eyes.
Ah, fatal Blindneſs! not to have obſerv'd
The mingled Pangs of Rage and Love that ſhook me;
When, by my cruel Publick Situation
Compell'd, I only feign'd Conſent, to gain
A little Time, and more ſecure Thee mine.
E'er ſince—A dreadful Interval of Care!—
My Thoughts have been employ'd, not without Hope,
How to defeat SIFFREDI'S barbarous Purpoſe.
[76] But thy Credulity has ruin'd all,
Thy raſh, thy wild—I know not what to name it—
Oh it has prov'd the giddy Hopes of Man
To be Deluſion all, and ſickening Folly!
SIGISMUNDA.
Ah, generous TANCRED! ah thy Truth deſtroys me!
Yes, yes, 'tis I, 'tis I alone am falſe!
My haſty Rage, join'd to my tame Submiſſion,
More than the moſt exalted filial Duty
Could e'er demand, has daſh'd our Cup of Fate
With Bitterneſs unequal'd—But, alas!
What are thy Woes to mine?—to mine! juſt Heaven!—
Now is thy Turn of Vengeance—hate, renounce me!
O leave me to the Fate I well deſerve,
To ſink in hopeleſs Miſery!—at leaſt,
Try to forget the worthleſs SIGISMUNDA!
TANCRED.
Forget Thee! No! Thou art my Soul itſelf!
I have no Thought, no Hope, no Wiſh but Thee!
Even this repented Injury; the Fears,
That rouze me all to Madneſs, at the Thought
Of loſing Thee; the whole collected Pains
O my full Heart, ſerve but to make thee dearer!
Ah, how forget Thee!—Much muſt be forgot
Ere TANCRED can forget his SIGISMUNDA!
SIGISMUNDA.
But you, my Lord, muſt make that great Effort.
TANCRED.
Can SIGISMUNDA make it?
SIGISMUNDA.
Ah! I know not
With what Succeſs—But all that feeble Woman
And Love-entangled Reaſon can perform,
I, to the utmoſt, will exert to do it.
TANCRED.
Fear not—'Tis done!—If thou canſt form the Thought,
Succeſs is ſure—I am forgot already!
SIGISMUNDA.
[77]Ah TANCRED!—But, my Lord, reſpect me more.
Think who I am—What can you now propoſe?
TANCRED.
To claim the plighted Vows which Heaven has heard,
To vindicate the Rights of holy Love,
By Faith and Honour bound, to which compar'd
Theſe empty Forms, which have enſnar'd thy Hand,
Are impious Guile, Abuſe, and Profanation—
Nay, as a King, whoſe high Prerogative
By this unlicens'd Marriage is affronted,
To bid the Laws themſelves pronounce it void.
SIGISMUNDA.
Honour, my Lord, is much too proud to catch
At every ſlender Twig of nice Diſtinctions.
Theſe for th' unfeeling Vulgar may do well:
But Thoſe, whoſe Souls are by the nicer Rule
Of virtuous Delicacy nobly ſway'd,
Stand at another Bar than that of Laws.
Then ceaſe to urge me—Since I am not born
To that exalted Fate to be your Queen—
Or, yet a dearer Name—to be your Wife!—
I am the Wife of an illuſtrious Lord,
Of your own princely Blood; and what I am,
I will with proper Dignity remain.
Retire, my Royal Lord—There is no Means
To cure the Wounds this fatal Day has given.
We meet no more!
TANCRED.
Oh barbarous SIGISMUNDA!
And canſt Thou talk thus ſteadily? thus treat me
With ſuch unpitying, unrelenting Rigour?
Poor is the Love, that rather than give up
A little Pride, a little formal Pride,
The Breath of Vanity! can bear to ſee
The Man, whoſe Heart was once ſo dear to thine▪
[78] By many a tender Vow ſo mix'd together▪
A Prey to Anguiſh, Fury and Diſtraction!—
Thou canſt not ſurely make me ſuch a Wretch,
Thou canſt not, SIGISMUNDA!—Yet relent,
O ſave us yet!—RODOLPHO, with my Guards,
Waits in the Garden—Let us ſeize the Moments
We ne'er may have again—With more than Power
I will aſſert Thee mine, with faireſt Honour.
The World ſhall even approve; each honeſt Boſom
Swell with a kindred Joy to ſee us happy.
SIGISMUNDA.
The World approve!—What is the World to m?
The conſcious Mind is its own awful World.—
And yet, perhaps, if thou wert not a King,
I know not, TANCRED, what I might have done.
Then, then, my Conduct, ſanctify'd by Love,
Could not be deem'd, by the ſevereſt Judge,
The mean Effect of Intereſt, or Ambition.
But now not all my partial Heart can plead,
Shall ever ſhake th' unalterable Dictates
That tyrannize my Breaſt.
TANCRED.
'Tis well—No more—
I yield me to my Fate—Yes, yes Inhuman!
Since thy Barbarian Heart is ſteel'd by Pride,
Shut up to Love and Pity, here behold me
Caſt on the Ground, a vile and abject Wretch!
Loſt to all Cares, all Dignities, all Duties!
Here will I grow, breathe out my faithful Soul,
Here, at thy Feet—Death, Death alone ſhall part us!
SIGISMUNDA.
Have you then vow'd to drive me to Perdition?
What can I [...]ore?—Yes, TANCRED! once again
I will forget the Dignity my Station
[...] the laſt time
Will [...] Ties, no Duty,
Can ever [...] Boſ om
[79] O leave me! fly me! were it but in Pity!—
To ſee what once we tenderly have lov'd,
Cut off from every Hope—cut off for ever!
Is Pain thy Generoſity ſhould ſpare me.
Then riſe, my Lord; and if you truly love me;
If you reſpect my Honour, nay, my Peace,
Retire! For tho' th' Emotions of my Heart
Can ne'er alarm my Virtue; yet, alas!
They tear it ſo, they pierce it with ſuch Anguiſh—
Oh 'tis too much!—I cannot bear the Conflict!
SCENE VII.
TANCRED. OSMOND. SIGISMUNDA.
OSMOND, entering.
Turn, Tyrant! turn! and anſwer to my Honour,
For this thy baſe inſufferable Outrage!
TANCRED.
Inſolent Traitor! think not to eſcape
Thyſelf my Vengeance!
[They fight. OSMOND falls.
SIGISMUNDA.
Help here! Help!—O Heavens!
[Throwing herſelf down by him.
Alas! my Lord, what meant your headlong Rage?
That Faith, which I, this Day, upon the Altar
To You devoted, is unblemiſh'd, pure,
As Veſtal Truth; was reſolutely yours,
Beyond the Power of aught on Earth to ſhake it.
OSMOND.
Perfidious Woman! dy!—
[Shortening his Sword, he plunges it into her Breaſt.
and to the Grave
Attend a Huſband, yet but half aveng'd!
TANCRED.
[80]O Horror! Horror! execrable Villain!
OSMOND.
And, Tyrant! Thou—Thou ſhalt not o'er my Tomb
Exult—'Tis well—'Tis great!—I die content.—
[dies.
SCENE VIII.
TANCRED. SIFFREDI. RODOLPHO. SIGIS⯑MUNDA. LAURA.
TANCRED.
(throwing himſelf down by SIGISMUNDA.
Quick! here! bring Aid!—All in Palermo bring
Whoſe Skill can ſave Her!—Ah! that gentle Boſom
Pours faſt the Streams of Life.
SIGISMUNDA.
All Aid is vain,
I feel the powerful Hand of Death upon me—
But O it ſheds a Sweetneſs thro' my Fate,
That I am thine again; and, without Blame,
May in my TANCRED'S Arms reſign my Soul!
TANCRED.
Oh, Death is in that Voice! ſo gently mild,
So ſadly ſweet, as mixes even with mine
The Tears of hovering Angels!—Mine again!—
And is it thus the cruel Fates have join'd Us?
Are Theſe the horrid Nuptials they prepare
For Love like ours? Is Virtue thus rewarded?
Let not my impious Rage accuſe juſt Heaven!
Thou, TANCRED! Thou! haſt murder'd SIGIS⯑MUNDA!
That furious Man was but the Tool of Fate,
I, I the Cauſe!—But I will do Thee Juſtice
On this deaf Heart▪ that to thy tender Wiſdom
Refus'd an Ear—Yes, Death ſhall ſoon unite us!
SIGISMUNDA.
[81]Live, live, my TANCRED!—Let my Death ſuffice
To expiate all that may have been amiſs.
May it appeaſe the Fates, avert their Fury
From thy propitious Reign! Meantime, of me
And of thy Glory mindful, live, I charge Thee,
To guard our Friends, and make thy People happy—
[Obſerving SIFFREDI fixt in Aſtoniſhment and Grief.
My Father!—Oh! how ſhall I lift my Eyes
To Thee my ſinking Father!
SIFFREDI.
Awful Heaven!
I am chaſtis'd!—My deareſt Child!—
SIGISMUNDA.
Where am I?
A fearful Darkneſs cloſes all around—
My Friends! We needs muſt part—I muſt obey
Th' imperious Call—Farewel, my LAURA! cheriſh
My poor afflicted Father's Age—RODOLPHO,
Now is the Time to watch th' unhappy King,
With all the Care and Tenderneſs of Friendſhip—
Oh my dear Father! bow'd beneath the Weight
Of Age and Grief—the Victim even of Virtue!
Receive my laſt Adieu!—Where art thou, TANCRED?
Give me thy Hand—But ah!—it cannot ſave me
From the dire King of Terrors, whoſe cold Power
Creeps o'er my Heart—Oh!
TANCRED.
How theſe Pangs diſtract me!
O lift thy gracious Eyes!—Thou leav'ſt me then!
Thou leav'ſt me, SIGISMUNDA!
SIGISMUNDA.
Yet a Moment—
I had, my TANCRED, ſomething more to ſay—
Yes—but thy Love and Tenderneſs for me
Sure makes it needleſs—Harbour no Reſentment
Againſt my Father; venerate his Zeal,
[82] That acted from a Principle of Goodneſs,
From faithful Love to Thee—Live, and maintain
My Innocence imbalm'd, with holieſt Care
Preſerve my ſpotleſs Memory!—I die—
ETERNAL MERCY take my trembling Soul!—
Oh! 'tis the only Sting of Death! to part
From Thoſe we love—from Thee—farewel, my TANCRED!
[Dies.
TANCRED.
Thus then!
[Flying to his Sword is held by RODOLPHO.
RODOLPHO.
Hold! hold! my Lord!—Have you forgot
Your SIGISMUNDA'S laſt Requeſt already?
TANCRED.
Off! Set me free! Think not to bind me down,
With barbarous Friendſhip, to the Rack of Life!
What Hand can ſhut the Thouſand Thouſand Gates.
Which Death ſtill opens to the Woes of Mortals?—
I ſhall find Means—No Power in Earth or Heaven
Can force me to endure the hateful Light,
Thus robb'd of all that lent it Joy and Sweetneſs!
Off! Traitors! off! or my diſtracted Soul
Will burſt indignant from this Jail of Nature!
To where ſhe beckons yonder—No, mild Seraph!
Point not to Life—I cannot linger here,
Cut off from Thee, the miſerable Pity,
The Scorn of Human-kind!—A trampled King!
Who let his mean poor-hearted Love, one Moment,
To coward Prudence ſtoop; who made it not
The firſt undoubting Action of his Reign,
To ſnatch Thee to his Throne, and there to ſhield Thee,
Thy helpleſs Boſom from a Ruffian's Fury!—
O Shame! O Agony! O the fell Stings
Of late, of vain Repentance!—Ha! my Brain
Is all on fire! a wild Abyſs of Thought!—
Th' infernal World diſcloſes! See! behold him!
Lo! with fierce Smiles he ſhakes the bloody Steel,
[83] And mocks my feeble Tears!—Hence! quickly, hence!
Spurn his vile Carcaſs! give it to the Dogs!
Expoſe it to the Winds and ſcreaming Ravens!
Or hurl it down that ſiery Steep to Hell,
There with his Soul to toſs in Flames for ever!—
Ah, Impotence of Rage!—What am I?—Where?
Sad, ſilent, all?—The Forms of dumb Deſpair,
Around ſome mournful Tomb!—What do I ſee?
This ſoft Abode of Innocence and Love
Turn'd to the Houſe of Death! a Place of Horror!—
Ah! that poor Corſe! pale! pale! deformed with Murder!
Is that my SIGISMUNDA!
[Throwing himſelf down by Her.
SIFFREDI.
[After a pathetic Pauſe, looking on the Scene before him.
Have I liv'd
To theſe enfeebled Years, by Heaven reſerv'd,
To be a dreadful Monument of Juſtice?—
RODOLPHO, raiſe the King, and bear him hence
From this diſtracting Scene of Blood and Death.
Alas! I dare not give him my Aſſiſtance;
My Care would only more enflame his Rage.
Behold the fatal Work of my dark Hand,
That by rude Force the Paſſions would command,
That ruthleſs ſought to root them from the Breaſt;
They may be rul'd, but will not be oppreſt.
Taught hence, Ye Parents, who from Nature ſtray,
And the great Ties of ſocial Life betray;
Ne'er with your Children act a Tyrant's Part:
'Tis your's to guide, not violate the Heart.
Ye vainly wiſe, who o'er Mankind preſide,
Behold my righteous Woes, and drop your Pride!
Keep Virtue's ſimple Path before your Eyes,
Nor think from Evil Good can ever riſe.
The END.