ACT I. OVERTURE.

Here, my friends, here ſtands the caſtle of Lovinſki.—This cruel Polander is the ſcourge of his own little territory, and a devouring plague to our Tartar tribes; but the hour of retri⯑bution is at hand.—We are too few to ſtorm it now; to-morrow's dawn—I loſe time.—Attend; line all the outlets of the foreſt, and ſeize on every paſſenger you meet with; but, I command you, ſpare the lives of thoſe who fall into your hands.—Remem⯑ber, my brave comrades, the innocent ſhould ne⯑ver ſuffer for the guilty, nor muſt we purchaſe our revenge at the price of juſtice and humanity.— To your poſts;—begone.

The day declines apace; much is to be done before morning.—No ſtragglers to give information!—no watch upon the towers!—the ramparts naked!—Is this fear or de⯑ſign?—No matter which.—Come, let us examine farther the ſituation of this devoted fortreſs.

Vaſtly well, Sir, vaſtly well; you ſeem in tip top ſpirits; ſing away, ſing away. I told you I ſaw the Portmantua fall; but the Tartars have gallop'd clear off with the poor beaſts; I thought them as ſafe grazing there, as if they had been in our own ſtables.—Well, we have miſs'd the road to the village, and here we are, wand'ring on foot, in the heart of the foreſt of Oſtropol.

It was your fault, that they diſcovered the horſes.

Yes, and it was my fault too, that they did not diſcover us.—A houſe!—then all my fears are over. I thought we ſhould never have found an end to this black wood; and, to tell you the truth, I had made up my mind to the comfortable proſ⯑pect of paſſing the night in the arms of one of the bears that were howling about us.—Won't you go in, Sir?—though I ſee nobody there to open the door to us.

I ſhall gain no intelligence in this ſequeſ⯑tered corner. I don't know what to do.

I know what you ſhould not have done; you ſhouldn't have giv'n your vote to a candidate, who was oppos'd by your miſtreſs's proud father.

Not given it?—Called to the election o [...] a king, honour exacted the performance of my promiſe; my friend obtain'd the crown of Poland; I diſcharged my duty to my country; and we ſhould hold every ſacrifice cheap, to maintain a good man on a throne.

Very true, Sir; but, all of a ſudden, you ſeem to forget, that, for that very reaſon, prince Lupauſki has diſcharged himſelf of his promiſe to give you his daughter Lodoiſka.

Cruel father! Why ſo myſteriouſly con⯑ceal the place of her retreat?

But, dear Sir, conſider, ſhe can't be con⯑ceal'd for ever. Now wou'dn't it be more natural to get back to Warſaw as faſt as we can, and wait there, 'till her father ſends for the princeſs home again? It muſt happen ſooner or later. That's certainly the beſt way ; and, for my part, I won't budge a ſtep further for all the Lodoiſkas in Chriſtendom.

Is this your regard, your fidelity? Come on this moment, or—

Sir, recollect, we have faſted all day: I can't live upon love, if you can; I am almoſt ſtarv'd, and I muſt eat.—I did not fetch the port⯑mantean for nothing.—I can't ſtir.

Wretch! you are for ever embittering [9]my griefs with your upbraidings!—Why wou'd you follow me?

Why?—why wou'd I follow you? Why, becauſe my heart got the better of my head, and made me reſolve, in ſpite of common ſenſe, to ac⯑company your ſearch, that I might carry half the load of your griefs for you.

Forgive me, my true fellow.

Come, don't be melancholy; I won't eat, if you don't like it.—I muſt try to divert him, —It's I that have moſt cauſe to be out of ſpirits; every thing going on ſo ſmooth with the old prince, the happy morning fix'd with the young princeſs; —there was I practiſing how to behave myſelf, as maſter of the ceremonies, among the muſicians, ſingers, dancers, lords and ladies, on your wedding day.

My dear Varbel, we have lately pick'd up ſome information; ſearch with me but one day longer,—

Heavens and Earth!—but where will you ſearch for her?

Here, every where, in every corner of the earth.—Oh, Lodoiſka! Lodoiſka!

As I hope to be ſav'd, Sir, there are a couple of Tartars.

With all my heart.

With all your heart! Egad, that's very pretty talking.—Now, I ſuppoſe, if you don't cut their throats, they'll cut ours.

Dare you fight, Varbel?

I can't tell, I never tried.—But you're a good maſter, and I'll ſtand by you to the laſt gaſp.

From the caſtle, doubtleſs.

And ſhall give us information.

Thou art brave, and ſhould'ſt be gene⯑rous; I aſk my life; I ſhould have ſpar'd thine.

Don't believe him; there are millions of them about: He is only laying a trap to catch you at diſadvantage.

Liar!—

Hold! I truſt to your faith.

Young man, my obligations to thee ſhall live in my heart.

There, there, I told you ſo; I knew you'd throw us into the hands of theſe Tartars again, and I can't go on fighting all night.

Theſe Tartars are at my command.

Halt! halt! reſpect theſe ſtrangers; they are under my protection.

Protection! Kill the ſlaves.

Ha! do you growl cur?

Mercy! mercy!

Ariſe; and let the mercy I extend teach thee to feel for others.—Put up. [the Tartars all ſhcathe their ſwords.] You ſpar'd my life, I [13]have preſerv'd yours. Give me your eſteem, and let this embrace confirm us friends.

For ever.

Tell me, do you belong to the caſtle? Came you from it when we attack'd you?

No; we are utter ſtrangers here.

What is your name?

I am the count Floreſki.

What is thy name?

I can't ſay, that I have acquir'd any very great name yet, Sir.—I am the lowly, but faithful, 'Squire of this unhappy young gentleman.

Unhappy, ſay'it thou? What can I do for thee?

Nothing can relieve my woes, till I find her, for whom alone I live.

O, love is thy complaint; that's a pain that never diſturbs us Tartars; though we love pretty women heartily too,—and have plenty of them.

You never ſaw my Lodoiſka.

Shall we conduct you on your way to her?

Alas! I know not where to find her.

What, wand'ring though theſe de⯑ſarts after her, without knowing where ſhe is to be found? Are there no other women in the world?

Egad, that's a very ſenſible queſtion.

No, none for me.

Why then we Tartars love wo⯑men better than you do; for we are fond of all we meet with.—Can I in any way alleviate thy grief?

Impoſſible!

We'll talk no more on't then; if I cannot comfort, my curioſity ſhall not afflict, thee.— I muſt be gone.—Once more remember, theſe ſtrangers are our friends.

Before we part, Floreſki, I wou'd yet farther deſerve your regard; think not the thirſt of plunder drew Kera Khan into theſe can⯑tons; [15]the baron Lovinſki, whoſe caſtle you be⯑hold,—

Lovinſki?

—Soon ſhall he feel my vengeance. I was examining the place; and, to prevent fur⯑priſe, had charg'd my followers to diſarm, and ſe⯑cure, all paſſengers.—Knock at his gates; he will not ſurely refuſe a ſhelter to his countrymen; tell him you have been attack'd by the Tartars, by Kera Khan—he knows my name.—As I cannot anſwer for all our parties that are abroad to night, I adviſe you to beg a lodging under his roof; but remember to fly far from it early in the morning; —early in the morning;—remember that.—Give me your hand:—Adieu, my gallant friend!— Think ſometimes of Kera Khan, and, if ever you want his help, you ſhall ſee how he will ſerve you. —March!—

Egad, theſe Tartars are fine fellows!

And, for that reaſon, you were going to chop off the head of their leader.

The heat of the battle ran away with me; a man has not his courage always at com⯑mand.

Lovinſki!—I think he's a dependant of Lodoiſka's father.

Is he? he'll be no friend of your's then; don't think of lodging here.—Do, fir, let's take a mouthful, and then pack up and return.

Again return!—but do you as you will.

Come, my dear maſter;—look, under their old grated window, there's a ſnug hoſpitable porch for us. (Sits down in the niche.) They can't ſee us here. (Eating) Are you hungry?

No, not I.

I am very—that little tilting bout with the Tartar has ſo ſharpen'd my ſtomach, that I cou'd eat—'gad, I believe I cou'd eat the Tartar him⯑ſelf.

An adventure of a ſtrange nature!

Don't let it ſurpriſe you too much; I dare ſay, it is not the laſt we ſhall light upon; we are in a fine train for adventures.—Sir, your good health! [A large ſtone falls from the tower.] Holla! here's an adventure already, of a nature to crack a man's crown.—Are they throwing the ſtones of the tower at me?—I may as well leave table.—'Much oblig'd to you; but I'm not us'd to deſerts at my dinner, and always thought wall-fruit particu⯑larly unwholeſome.

Silence!—don't I ſee a hand moving there? Stand ſtill, Varbel.

Not I, indeed; if you wiſh to have an old houſe about yours ears, I don't. [Another ſtone falls from the lower, with a paper faſtened to it.)

A ſecond! what can this mean?

I'll tell you; it means, that the good people here aren't fond of company who are not invited; and this is civilly to give us notice, that, [17]if we don't decamp in a moment, we ſhall have the reſt of the caſtle to carry away on our ſhoul⯑ders.

(Taking up the firſt ſtone.) What do I ſee? writing!—Varbel—read, read, what is ſcratch'd here.

(Reading.) "Oh, Floreſki!—It is Floreſki." —Are you ſure there are no witches in this wood?

Who can know me in this ſolitude?— Ha! give me the other.

(Giving the 2d. ſtone.) Ha! here's a paper.

(Snatches the paper, and reads.) "Inform my father, that Lovinſki has abus'd his confidence, and confines his Lodoiſka in this—" (Drops the note.) Oh, Varbel! ſhe is immur'd in that hor⯑rible tower.

Poor lady!—What a damn'd rogue that fellow muſt be!

My Lodoiſka! my life! my ſoul! I will releaſe, or die for thee.—Varbel!

My lord.

Where is my friend? Where is my Kera Khan?—call him;—now, now, I demand his help. —I rave, I rave—alas! he's far away.

Ay, ſo moſt friends are, when you want 'em.

She's gone, ſhe's gone!—Treacherous Lovinſki, dearly ſhalt thou atone this horrid ſacri⯑lege!—Come, let us inſtantly confront the mon⯑ſter.

Mercy on us! Sir, if you appear before him in this emotion, he'll diſcover you in a mo⯑ment, and hang us both up for ſcare-crows on the beams of his draw-bridge.

You are in the right—I have thought better; I'll be calm.—Lovinſki knows me not.— Go, take the bugle, and ſound boldly.

Sound the bugle?

Sound, I ſay!

I'll do it with all the breath I have in my body.

Speak your degree, and what your errand, that aſk admittance here?

Gentle our breeding, and to the baron Lovinſki is our greeting. (Trumpet ſounds, and exit Page.) At length, perhaps, I ſhall behold her; yet may not this attempt hazard her precious ſafe⯑ty? (The araw-bridge is lower'd) Hark!—The ſe⯑cret is known only to her father, and this traitor; [21]—let me be wary.—Now obſerve;—your part is only to confirm my ſtory.—Be bold!

Depend on me.

They come.

Ah, coward guilt!

There's an end of our fighting, however.

Approach.—Who are you?

Speak I before the baron Lovinſki?

Thou doſt.—What are you?—and whence came you at this late hour?

We come from prince Lupauſki; ſome Tartars, whom we eſcap'd by miracle, plunder'd us of our horſes on the way, and made us much fear we ſhou'd not have reach'd your caſtle this right.—Kera Khan—

That robber, who coops us within our walls!—But to your buſineſs.

We have ſtrict orders from our prince not to communicate, but with yourſelf in private.

Retire! (Guards retire.) Adolphus!—

I conceal nothing from him.—Now, where are your maſter's letters to me?

Letters, my Lord?

He ſeems confounded.

You forget; we told you, Sir, the Tar⯑tars plundered us of our horſes; and, I aſſure you, they did not leave our baggage behind them.

Know'ſt thou aught of their contents?

O, yes, my Lord; the prince, appre⯑henſive, perhaps, of our falling among the robbers in theſe woods, told us, that they contain'd en⯑quiries after his daughter Lodoiſka.

Lodoiſka!—Has he then divulg'd the place of her retreat?—Tell me, where is Lupauſki now?

Being on his progreſs to aſſemble the confederates, I cannot tell preciſely where he is; but, I know, his letters likewiſe ſaid, that you might ſoon expect him here.

Here, ſee him here, ſay'ſt thou?

Do you obſerve his looks?

Yes, and they frighten me out of my wits.

It ſhall be ſo.—I am ſorry to ſend your maſter ſuch unwelcome news; but you will tell him, that Lodoiſka is not here.

Not here?

Not here.—Do you mark his emotion?— To oblige the prince, I undertook, againſt my will, to guard her in this caſtle from the Count [23]Floreſki:—but it is now four days ſince ſhe made her eſcape from me.

Four days!—Lying dog!

She is by this time, I ſuppoſe, in the arms of her beloved Floreſki; if, which I fear was impoſſible, ſhe eſcap'd the Tartars, that beſet the Foreſt.—Go, bear my anſwer to your maſter.— Begone.

Ah, good my Lord, will you diſmiſs us at this late hour? We are exhauſted with fatigue and hunger; vouchſafe us the ſhelter of your roof this night, and to-morrow by day break we will depart.

And yet, refuſing to admit his meſ⯑ſengers may raiſe ſuſpicion in Lupauſki.

True, true.

Will you my Lord?—can you bar your gates to us?

Yes, we are likely to have the ſky for our teſter to-night.

It is too late to diſmiſs you this evening; promiſe not to exchange a ſyllable with any of my people, and you ſhall ſtay here to-night; in the morning I will prepare a letter to the prince, which you muſt deliver with the utmoſt ſpeed; for it is of moment.

You ſhall be obey'd.—We have ſucceed⯑ed; perhaps I may yet reſcue her, Varbel; perhaps—

How now! what's that he ſays?

He ſays, that we are lucky fellows to be [24]reſcu'd from the danger of paſſing the night among the wolves and Tartars in the Foreſt; and ſo I think we are.—We ſhall be found out, if you don't take better care.

Where ſhall we lodge theſe men?

In the low room by the north poſtern.

It is remote; ſee to the bars and bolts.— Remember your promiſe, and keep it faithfully. Follow.

ACT II.

The night is almoſt paſs'd, and day ſtands ready to dawn upon the mountains.—Oh, Floreſki, in vain I have watch'd for thy expected letter!—My heart ſinks in me with the ſear of having betray'd thee into the hands of Lovinſki. I knew thy faithful love, I knew thy impetuous valour.—Why did I reveal myſelf?—Yet will I hope,—Kind hope, thou only friend that viſiteſt the unhappy, dwell with me ſtill, and calm the crowd⯑ing terrors that oppreſs me!

Hark! yes I hear a noiſe—Let me retire to my ſad priſon, till I again can breathe the freſhneſs of the air in ſolitude; for every object here is odious to me.

No, no where, to be found through all courts!—My love, my life, and muſt I loſe thee? Day breaks apace.—I muſt go back, or be diſcover'd.—Ha! another querter!— I will explore thee, be the conſequences what they may.

Sir! Sir!—hiſt, hiſt.—Have you found her? Why don't you ſpeak to one now?—He's not here.—I thought I heard him this moment too. So, I have loſt my maſter in the dark, and now, if any of the gentlemen of this humane family happen to ſtumble upon me, my poor dear life's not worth a minute's purchaſe.—He's poring about after his Lodoiſka; the deuſe a bit does he think of me.—Though our window was double and treble barr'd, and barricado'd, he burſt away the bolts with a ſnap of his finger; and, I believe, like Mr. What d'ye call him, he'd have burſt the gates of Hell to come at his miſtreſs.—I can't con⯑ceive what's the matter with me to night; I ſee Spectres and Phantoms before me at every turn.— If a man cou'd adminiſter courage to himſelf when he wanted it, I'd take a good doſe of it now; and yet, I dare ſay, ſome people wou'd be much more fright⯑en'd than I am.—Mercy on us! what's that?

My ſearch is all in vain.

Oh! is it nothing but you, Sir?

Varbel? Why did not you wait in the room, as I order'd you?

I don't know how it is; but, to tell you the truth, Sir, I'm lately grown a little afraid of keeping my own company.

His fears will ruin me at laſt.—Afraid?— You, who fought ſo bravely againſt the Tartars?

I tell you what; I'll fight the Devil himſelf by day light; but a ghoſt in the dark is quite another thing.

Muſt all my hazards then prove fruitleſs?

Yes, we have paſs'd the night here to very little purpoſe; and without any ſupper too;— they forgot that part of the ceremony;—And, now I think on't, I believe, that's what makes me ſo nervous.—Hunger will tame the courage of a lion.

To know that ſhe is here, and not to ſee her!

Do, let's go back, and try if we can hinder their ſeeing, that we have broke out of the dog-hole they lock'd us in.—Conſider, he'll be coming to you with his letter preſently.

Am I deceiv'd? That ribband!—This, this is, perhaps, the very tower.—Now be propi⯑tious, Heav'n!—My love! my Lodoiſka!—

Here they are, as I hope to be ſav'd.— It's all over with us.

No, no; run back to our room a mo⯑ment.

They're coming at that ſide.—Oh! a plague o' this caterwauling!

Here, here; till they are gone.

(To Sebaſtian and guards) Stay there; and, on your lives, be ſilent.—Is the letter to Lupauſki ready?

I have it.

The Baron himſelf.

Now we are in a hopeful condition!

Is Guſtavus gone upon my ſtratagem to perſuade the Princeſs of Floreſki's death?

I ſaw him enter the Tower this moment.— And now, let me again entreat you to retire to reſt; they have juſt beat the Reveille; 'tis high morning; and for theſe two nights you have not taſted ſleep.

I tell thee, my anxiety, my doubts, my fears, have drawn me hither; nor will I ſtir, 'till the reſult of this laſt effort pronounce me bleſt, or curſt for ever.

But, Sir,—

Oh! my Friend, you know my fatal paſſion—The ſcorn ſhe treats me with, my bar⯑barity to her, my ingratitude to her father, my hope, and my deſpair, drive me to madneſs.— There is no reſt for me.—

But good my Lord, inſtead of treating her with ſo much rigour, why not demand her frankly of her father? His high regard for you,—

Is nothing but the inſolence of obligation; name it not.—His family has given ſovereigns to [31]Poland; he would reject with ſcorn the offers of an humble Baron.—You know the pride, the unrelenting obſtinacy, of this old man;—he wou'd indignantly withdraw her from my caſtle, and I— inſupportable!—ſhou'd never, never ſee her more!

Yet ſoon you muſt expect him to recall her.

Recall her!—No.—I have ſet looſe my love and my ambition; they have hurried me be⯑yond the power of retreat, and now ſhe ſhall be mine, if force, or fraud, or any means can win her. —Soft,—ſhe appears.

Then ſhe is here!

Huſh!

Dead! Kill'd by the Tartars!—No, no, Lovinſki is the aſſaſſin—Oh! my love, 'twas I, 'twas I betray'd thee into his power.

She thinks me murder'd.

And ſo we ſhall be in a minute, if you don't hold your tongue.

Thou haſt diſcharg'd it well.

Yet this may be ſome new device of Lovinſki's.

One word, and you are dead.

Villains! Cowards!

One word, and we are dead.

The meſlengers!—Then 'tis impoſſible to blind Lupauſki. How have you dar'd, vile ſpies, to built the doors that held you?—Who told you the princeſs was in that tower?—But you ſhall [...] her face.

There, I thought it would come to this [...].

Before her face!—Then I am bleſt in⯑deed; I ſhall once more behold her.—Come, why deed thou pauſe?—Summon thy executioners, pre⯑pue the rack, and thou ſhalt ſee me ſpring to my glorious death, proud as impatient martyrs on their road to heaven.

Sir, you forget me; I've travell'd with you very contentedly ſo far; but I'm not prepared to take the journey you talk of at preſent.

Such fortitude ſuits ill with his condition; ſomething whiſpers me they are not what they ſay;—I'll prove them to [35]the quick.—One way you yet may ſave yourſelves, and Lodoiſka.

Pray, ſir, what's that?

Say, truly, whence did you learn that ſhe was ſtill in my caſtle? Speak, I ſay, or Lodoiſka's life—

Give him her let⯑ter; give him her letter.

Slave!

It's the way to ſave us all.

You are right.

Seek not to deceive, but anſwer inſtant⯑ly, or—

I learnt it from herſelf.

Herſelf!—Have you then ſeen her?

No, no, upon my honour.

She dropt it from her tower laſt night.

"Let my father know that Lo⯑vinſki has abus'd his conſidence, and conſines his Lodoiſka in this tower, till ſhe conſent to give him her hand.—My guard will return in a moment,—fly."—Curſe on my imprudence!—But they have not yet ſeen her.

You find, my lord, we ſcorn to deceive you.

'Tis well you do;—your companion's ſudden warmth gave me ill thoughts of you.

Ah! poor fellow! He can't help it; ſhe was a very kind lady to him.—I am always telling [36]you of your flying into ſuch paſſions, you fooliſh—

I beg your pardon, fir; kick me whenever you like.

I ſee, notwithſtanding his firmneſs, they are but ſervants, inflam'd by zeal and affection for their miſtreſs;—they ſhall ſerve my deſign.—I have promis'd you life,—

Yes, ſir.

I add one only condition; ſee you diſ⯑charge it to the point; your fate and mine depends on it.—I have aſſur'd the princeſs that Floreſki is dead; my intelligence appears to be ſuſpected; but ſhe can doubt no longer, if once ſhe hears it confirm'd by you in perſon:—This you muſt in⯑ſtantly perform in my preſence, or by my—

Don't look ſo frightful, ſir, and we'll do whatever you pleaſe.

Sir, I obey.

Enough.—Bring Lodoiſka hither.

[...] [...]erving me, you ſave yourſelves;—retire; I ſhall call for you at your time to appear before her.—Guſtavus, inſtruct them in your leſſon.

I triumph.—The princeſs (women ſometimes for⯑get the aſhes of a buried lover) when once con⯑vine'd my hated rival is no more, may be perſuad⯑ed—Oh, tranſporting thought!—The obedient [37]prieſt is ready.—Once mine, let prince Lupau⯑ſki come; let him be told how I have won his daughter, and all his wide poſſeſſions; let him reſent, ſhe will forgive, and plead for me. How beautiful ſhe is!—What ſtill in tears? 'Tis in your power, madam, to bid your own afflictions ceaſe, only by pitying mine.—Ah! why that ſcorn⯑ful frown?—What, will you never, never break this cruel and diſdainful ſilence?

Is my fate too reſolv'd upon?

On thee depends my every hope of hap⯑pineſs.

Happineſs!—To what happineſs can that unfeeling heart pretend? By what authority do you confine me here? My fond father committed me to your duty, not to your cuſtody; he delivered me to a friend, not to a goaler.—You have taken from me the poor women that ſerv'd me; if I con⯑verſe, you muſt be my companion; and if I wiſh to live,—as ſtill I do, for thee, Floreſki!—'tis from that barb'rous hand I muſt accept my ſuſtenance.—Have you a parent's power with me?—or a huſband's right?—That you ſhall never have;—no,—never—and 'tis only once more to aſſure you of my fix'd abhorrence, that I now break my diſ⯑dainful ſilence for the laſt time.

'Tis plain, ſhe diſbelieves—The doubts you have of count Floreſki's death, madam, cauſe this inſenſibility to all I ſuffer; 'tis time they were at once remov'd.—Know then, two of your father's [38]ſervants, who laſt night paſs'd the foreſt, are at hand to—

Laſt night! The foreſt!—It is true then. Oh, my Floreſki!

Advance.—No, be aſſur'd, proud fair one, thoſe eyes ſhall never ſee Floreſki more.—Ad⯑vance, I ſay.—Behold.

Hold, heart, a little while!—Floreſki!—

Is no more, madam;—We laſt night found him in the wood, kill'd by the Tartars, as we gueſs.

I ſhall diſcover all.

Madam, you know theſe men.

I do; I do; and every doubt of my Flo⯑reſki's death at laſt is ended.

She bears the ſhock more firmly than I expected.—If my—

Spare me, my lord—The ſurprize, the emotion, the —

Floreſki, madam, —

Pronounce his hated name no more.—Oh Lodoiſka, when I reflect on what my jealous apprehenſions have made you ſuffer, have I not cauſe to hate him? Pardon, pardon thoſe ſeveri⯑ties my heart always diſavow'd, and which, be⯑lieve me, have been inflicted more upon myſelf, than you.

Vain man!—Think you your meaning hid to me?—Come, dare for once to ſpeak a truth; it is not love, 'tis your ambition ſeeks the heireſs of the prince Lupauſki.—For ſhame! For ſhame!

Inſulted!—I'll bear no more.—Hence, idle ſcruples!—Go, call the prieſt—Haſte, fly.

This moment makes you mine.—And you, tell her this inſtant 'tis her father's will; or I revoke the promis'd life I gave you.

Tell her, tell her any thing.

Oh, my father, where are you now?

I will protect, or die for you.

Relent, proud fair;—the prieſt is here—Hark! hark!—he comes, he comes.

My lord, the prince Lupausei is arriv'd.

Arriv'd?

Good heaven!—

I am diſcover'd then, and all is loſt.

Here's another adventure!

Speak, tell me,—has he a numerous train?

But two attendants.

Then let him come!—I live again.

Where, where is ſhe?

Oh, ſir!

My child! My Lodoiſka!—Bleſſings, bleſſings on thee!—My friend, I cou'd not hope at parting to meet you again ſo ſoon; but the confederates are already—What do I ſee?—Am I deceiv'd?—The count Floreſki here?

There,—now the murder's out.

Floreſki!—This ſlave, is he the count Floreſki?

Yes,—himſelf.—

How has he gain'd admittance to—

By a cowardly, mean artifice;—he pre⯑tended himſelf one of your ſervants, ſent with—

What cou'd I do, diſarm'd, againſt thee and thy banditti?—The artifice thou would'ſt re⯑proach me with was bold and honourable; to op⯑poſe ſtratagem to perſidy, and cruelty, like thine, is acting according to the laws of juſtice, and vin⯑dicating thoſe of humanity.

What's that he ſays? To perſidy and cruelty like thine? My friend,—

Now comes his turn, I hope.

Oh! my father, you would not think what I have ſuffer'd ſince you ſaw me.—That friend has forc'd my faithful ſervants from about me; that friend has inſulted my unprotected ſitua⯑tion with his deteſted offers;—that friend has bar⯑barouſly impriſon'd me,—

My daughter!

To extort from me my conſent to a [41]union, I wou'd gladly die ten thouſand deaths to avoid.

Cou'd you thus violate the laws of hoſ⯑pitality? Cou'd you ſo far forget the bounties I have ſhower'd upon you?—My heart repos'd it⯑ſelf on yours; ſeeking a tender refuge for my child, I gave her to your care, as into a holy ſanc⯑tuary; you receiv'd from me the ſtrongeſt proof of love a friend cou'd give; be a father for one inſtant, and judge whether I cou'd have conſided to you a truſt more dear, more ſacred.

Upon my ſoul, he's a fine ſpokon old gentleman.

Muſt I then loſe her?

What, thou!—My vaſſal!—thou!—Let's begone.—I'll take ſuch vengeance on his treachery, that—Follow me, my daughter; let's quit for ever this manſion of ingratitude.

The ſooner the better. What a lucky eſcape!

Guards.—Not ſo faſt.

What the devil's the matter now?

This caſtle is your priſon;—away, con⯑fine them, as I order'd you.

Gentlemen! friends! only hear me!

What do'ſt thou mean?

Never to part with her.—Away, away.

Oh, my poor daughter!

My father!—My Floreſki!

My love! My love!

ACT III.

'Tis all in vain; I cannot ſhake 'em.—Curſe on their obſtinacy!—Love ſires Floreſki's breaſt, and rage the father's; careleſs alike of menaces and ſoothing, each braves me to my worſt.—Death and perdition! Let the worſt fall on 'em. Is all prepared for inſtant execution?

It is, my lord.

Still would I have thee mine, O Lodo⯑iſka! conſenting, unconſtrain'd;—but, whilſt my rival lives, that hope's impoſſible.—Ha! tell me, where is the forward fool, that waited on Floreſki?

Confin'd, as you commanded.

Haſte, bring him to me.

I may, per⯑haps, [44]perſuade this wretch to think his own life more precious than his lord's.—If I fail here,—I ſhudder at the thought of my own purpoſes.—Love, hatred, jealouſy, ambition, ſcorn and fury rack my diſtracted brain, and rend my heart in pieces.—Would I were dead myſelf!

Pr'ythee, good boy, ſing me tha [...] gentle ſtrain, yon lady lov'd; your pretty melody may calm the ragings of the fiend within me.

I'm ſorry, ſir, to ſee you ſo unhappy.

Sing, ſing.

Well ſung, my boy; I thank your pains, though fruitleſs.—

He's coming.—Leave me awhile.

Threats will do much, gold more, with baſe-born poverty; both ſhall be tried.

Ay, this is ſomething like now;—now I'll talk to you;—this it is to fall amongſt men, as it were, ſomething like men.—Gentlemen, you have bound me for ever by letting me looſe, and my legs ache to prove their ſenſe of your kindneſs by ſcraping their leave, and giving you no farther trouble about 'em.

The man⯑tiger to ſwallow me up for his breakfaſt.—

You ſerve Floreſki.—Why do you trem⯑ble?—You have nothing to fear.

No, I know, ſir;—but I've had a damp lodging, and I think it's rather chilly this morn⯑ing.

In one word, your maſter is to die,—now, inſtantly.

I'm very ſorry for it.

I have obſerv'd your fidelity, your affec⯑tion to him.—I'll take you into my ſervice; I love your virtue, and would reward it.

I'm afraid I ſhould make but a bad ſer⯑vant to you; you had better turn me out o'doors at once, I think—I had rather—Do, ſir;—and let my virtue be its own reward.

No fooling.—Your romantick lord ſeems ambitious of dying in this cauſe, that he may live lamented in the hiſtory of faithful and unfortunate lovers; you, perhaps, aſpire to imitate him.

I can't ſay, that I do.—Ambition's a great thing with great folks, I believe; but, for my own poor part, I ſolemnly aſſure you, I had rather live three days in this world, bad as it is, than a thouſand years in the beſt hiſtory that will ever be written.

I take you at your word;—there's a poor earneſt of my future bounty.

A purſe!—What's this for?

Follow, and, as we go, I will inſtruct you in a ſhort tale, that at once rids me of Floreſki, and gives you life and fortune.

My lord, I'm in peril, and poor;—and I value life and fortune as much as another man; but, I hope, I ſhall never think 'em worth buying at the price of falſe witneſs againſt my maſter.

Ha!—do you trifle, ſlave? Nay, then I muſt—

What's he going to do now?—I wiſh I was fighting the Tartars again, with all my heart!

Him, her, the prince,—all, all,—here, now, before my eyes.

The father and the daughter ſhall behold him, as the blow falls, and from his doom be taught to dread their own.—For thee, vile reptile,—

They're come, they're come—Here is an adventure!

The matter?

The Tartars are within the walls; the Eaſtern towers are blazing; flame and the ſword rage round; the ſoldiers fly; haſte, or we periſh all.

Sound, ſound to arms.—

Rally 'em in the North court, and man the ramparts; there we'll ſtand it out;—fly, haſte, I follow.

Bring me my arms.

Bear off that ſlave, till I have time to torture him.

A reſpite, a reſpite!—I ſhall love a Tartar as long as I live.

Away, away with him!—Whither am I going?

What's Lodoiska now? Loſt, loſt to me for ever! The hel [...]eſs prize of ſome fierce lawleſs ſavage.—Horrible thought!

Where is her father?—My friend, my benefactor?—All bleeding, mangled, murder'd.—Frightful image!—

Hark! my ſoul's beat down, down to the very ground.

The tempeſt ſwells—Floreski too, perhaps, directs the ſtorm, thundering and fierce in arms. That burning thought has rouzed me.—Out, out, and on 'em.—No word, but fight, till death, or con⯑queſt, end our plagues for ever.

At laſt we are maſters of the caſtle.—It has coſt us ſome trouble too; the fellows fought like mad-men.—Have you diſarm'd, and clapt them into the dungeons, where we found ſo many of our countrymen?

Our comrades are at it now, break⯑ing open and locking up.—But can any body tell why Kera Khan ſo ſtrictly charg'd us to take Lovinſki alive?

I hope the other party have him faſt by this time—Do you think he'll ever forget the death of his father?

Never, never.—

Come, my boys, now away to our plun⯑der, and divide faithfully.—You know what ſhare muſt be reſerv'd for Kera Khan.

Yes, yes, we know the booty he loves beſt.

Ay, ay, give him the women, he'll give us the gold.

And the wine too.

Hola! Lovinſki is ſecured.—Why ſtand you idle here?

Becauſe you ſtation'd us in this wing till farther orders.—We ſhould be glad enough to be buſy.

Away then, finiſh your work; ſpike all the cannon, toſs the brands round, blow up the foundation of this ruſſian's den, and tell my father's ſpirit he's reveng'd.—To work—I'll take this quarter.

Ha!

O, ſave us, ſave us,—ſnatch me from the power of Lovinſki.

Tartars! Great Heaven, to what are we reſerv'd?

Compoſe yourſelf, my lovely girl; [53]diſmiſs your terrors.—This is a prize!—Here's my ſhare of the booty.

I thought ſo.

Since we are fallen into theſe hands, my child, we muſt ſubmit to death, or ſlavery.

Slavery, death, any thing, is Heaven to Lovinſki.— Oh, if you are men, ſpare my dear Father, ſpare a Poliſh youth,—

Bright beauty of the world, only pronounce your wiſhes, and command us.

Generous conquerors!—Vouchſafe then to give this young man freedom, to ſet my father and myſelf upon our road to Warſaw, and—

For your Father, and the youth you ſpeak of, they have free leave to chooſe their path;—

Oh, Sir!

But you, victorious captive, you muſt go with me.

Heavens and Earth!

Thee! follow thee, Tartar!

Old man, I am providing for her happineſs.—Fine women never complain of us Tartars; when once ſhe knows us, ſhe'll never wiſh to leave us—I have no time to loſe—Come, be quick, bear her away.

Off, ſlaves, or I will daſh you piecemeal.

Floreski!

Oh! valiant Tartar, do we meet again?

My friend!—Why do I find you here, ſpite of the caution I laſt night gave you?— Your life might have paid the forfeit of your raſh⯑neſs.

That villain Lovinski ſeiz'd, and de⯑tain'd us;—But could I, could I, have leſt my Lodoiska?

What, ſhe you were wildly wander⯑ing after?

Here,—this, this is my love, my deareſt Lodoiska.

Hold— What's to be done?—Your love? your Lodoiska? She's mine, mine by a conqueror's right.

A conqueror's right!

By a conqueror's right;—and I exert it thus.—Take her, ſhe's your's.—You gave me life once, I have ſav'd yours a ſecond time.

Complete thy work; obtain for me the conſent of her Father,—

Father!—Haven't I reſign'd my right to you.

O, Sir, make not ſidelity [55]to his Prince a crime in him; think what he has ſuffer'd for me; think what we owe him here; re⯑member the promiſe you once gave him;—

To arms, to arms.—Lovinski's reſcued, the caſtle's blazing, they've ſeiz'd the ramparts, he's at their head.

Well, we muſt conquer him again then, that's all.—Follow me.

Now for revenge and Lodoiska!—Give me a ſword, a ſword.—

Holla! and me another—My dun⯑geon's as hot as a furnace. Give me a ſword; I'd as lieſ be kill'd in a battle, as ſtay there to be roaſted alive.

During the combat, we'll place this lovely creature in ſafety with her father in yonder tower.

I wiſh you'd place me along with 'em.

I ſcorn to owe thee any thing.

Obſtinate man!—We'll ſave you then againſt your will.

Will you expoſe her life?

My child! My child!

Come, come, my father.—

AN ENGAGEMENT COMMENCES BETWEEN THE POLANDERS and the TARTARS;

The Tartars having ſtormed the Caſtle, which they fire in various places, the battlements and towers fall in the midſt of loud exploſions.

LUPAUSKI and LODOISKA

Are diſcover'd in a blazing tower;

FLORESKI ruſhes through the flames, and reſcues them.

During this action

LOVINSKI and KERA KHAN

meet hand to hand, and, after a deſperate conflict, the Baron is killed.

Since theſe are ſafe, and my injuries fully aveng'd by Lovinski's fall, I pardon his de⯑luded followers.—Set your captives at liberty;— This ſhall be to all a day of triumph and joy.

And now, my father,—

Your requeſt upbraids me, my daughter. —Come hither, Count.—The only proof I now ask of your obedience is to love him truly— Take her, Floreski; you have indeed deſerv'd her.