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COLUMBUS: AN HISTORICAL PLAY.

ENTERED AT STATIONER'S-HALL.

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COLUMBUS: OR, A WORLD DISCOVERED.

AN HISTORICAL PLAY.

AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

BY THOMAS MORTON, OF THE HONOURABLE SOCIETY OF LINCOLN'S-INN.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR W. MILLER, OLD BOND-SRREET. 1792.

[]

THE ſpectator and reader of the following performance, will find the manners and cuſtoms of Mexico and Peru introduced, as appertaining to the firſt diſcovered natives of the weſtern world.—This deviation afforded the author an opportunity of introducing manners and cuſtoms, more congenial to dramatic uſe, and more particularly of preſenting from MARMONTEL'S INCAS, the pathetic tale of Cora and Alonzo.

To MR. HARRIS, the author offers his acknowledgments for the extreme attention he has paid to this performance, and the magnificent decorations he has beſtowed on it.

For the zeal and talent, manifeſted by the performers, the author's beſt thanks are due.—

PROLOGUE.

[]
WHEN famed Columbus nobly dared to brave,
The untry'd perils of the Weſtern wave;
Ten thouſand dangers in his paſſage lay,
Dark was his night, and dreary was his day!
The rude companions of his bold deſign,
Fatigued with toil, againſt their chief combine:
When ſudden—burſting on th' aſtoniſh'd view!
A world diſcovered, proved his judgment true.—
"Yet black ingratitude, the Great Man's fate!
"Purſued Columbus with envenomed hate;
"But minds like his a baſe degenerate race,
"Might meanly perſecute—but not diſgrace:
"The noble ſoul its energy maintains,
"In ſpite of dungeons, tyranny, and chains."
The ſons of Europe found a guileleſs race,
No fraud was veiled beneath the ſmiling face;
Their manners, mild, benevolent, and kind,
Pourtrayed the cloudleſs ſunſhine of the mind:
Bleſs'd in their Prince's patriarchal reign,
Whoſe power relieved, but ne'er inflicted pain,
Their placid lives no fancy'd evils knew;
Their joys were many, and their wants were few.
One cuſtom with their virtues ill agreed,
Which made Humanity with anguiſh bleed;
Compelled at Superſtition's ſhrine to bow,
The hapleſs victims of a cruel vow!
[]Their ſweeteſt maids were often doomed to prove,
No joy in friendſhip, nor no bliſs in love!
Yet love and nature cannot be ſuppreſt,
The ſigh will heave, and palpitate the breaſt;
For ſpite of vows, which Heaven's wiſe laws diſown,
Love ſits triumphant on the heart—his throne!
And breaks thoſe fetters bigots would impoſe,
To aggravate the ſenſe of human woes!
The rigid laws of time, and place, our bard,
In this night's drama, ventures to diſcard:
If here he errs—he errs with him whoſe name,
Stands without rival on the rolls of Fame;
Him whom the paſſions own with one accord,
Their Great Dictator, and deſpotic Lord!
Who placed aloft on Inſpiration's throne,
Made Fancy's magic kingdom all his own,
Burſt from the trammels which his muſe confined,
And poured the wealth of his exhauſtleſs mind!
Though SHAKSPEARE'S flight no mortal ſhall purſue—
COLUMBUS' ſtory patronized by you,
Will yield an off'ring, grateful to his duſt—
A Britiſh laurel on a hero's buſt!

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

[]
  • Columbus Mr. POPE.
  • Alonzo Mr. HOLMAN.
  • Harry Herbert Mr. LEWIS.
  • Doctor Dolores Mr. QUICK.
  • Bribon Mr. MUNDEN.
  • Roldan Mr. M'CREADY.
  • Valverdo Mr. THOMPSON.
  • Moſcoſo Mr. CUBIT.
  • Captain Mr. FARLEY.
  • Adventurers and Soldierss.
INDIANS.
  • Orozimbo Mr. FARREN.
  • Solaſco Mr. HARLEY.
  • Catalpo Mr. POWELL.
  • Cuto Mr. EVATT.
INDIAN WOMEN.
  • Cora Mrs. POPE.
  • Nelti Mrs. ESTEN.

Prieſts, Prieſteſſes, Warriors, &c.

*⁎* Thoſe Lines with inverted Comma's are omitted in the repreſentation.

COLUMBUS: AN HISTORICAL PLAY.

[]

ACT I.

SCENE I.—On one ſide of the ſtage a flight of ſteps, with a Portico leading to the Temple of the Sun.—In the background the ſea. Time, ſun-riſe.

Catalpo and Prieſts from the Temple, who range themſelves—then enter Orozimbo—they bow to him as he paſſes.
OROZIMBO, proſtrating himſelf to the ſun.

SOUL of the univerſe, who from they glittering throne beameſt immortal ſplendour, as thou haſt permitted the ſtars for their appointed hour to beſpangle the veil of night, now o'erwhelm all manner of glories in the greatneſs of thy effulgence, and be once more welcom'd by thy devoted ſervants to delight and bleſs the world!—Catalpo, conduct hither the virgin deſtined to receive a prieſteſs' ſacred office.

[2]CATALPO exit, and re-enters with SOLASCO, leading in CORA.
Solaſco
(kneels.)

Mighty chief!

Orozimba.

Riſe, good Solaſco.

Solaſco.

I here preſent the darling of my age to be devoted to the ſervice of our god. It will be worſe than parting with my life to loſe the comforts of her dear ſociety—but the bright ſun, our glorious deity, demands ſuch excellence to be conſigned alone to do him honour.—Pardon, my king, an old man's tears; but nature will not always, without a ſtruggle, yield to duty.

Orozimbo.

Thou haſt, indeed, devoted to thy god a precious treaſure; but tell me, Cora, can thy youthful mind freely reſign the livelier joys of ſocial life, and reſt contented in ſecluſion and tranquillity?

Cora.

My father's will has ever ſway'd my thoughts, from the firſt hour that infant ſenſe cou'd learn obedience:—Should he doom my death, his mandate would be met with equal reſignation.

Orozimbo.

Thy pious mind, which knows to yield ſuch duty to a father, will well befit the ſervice of thy god.—But hear the ſacred tenour of the law which binds a prieſteſs to her duty.— Should the heart, to heaven devoted, become the prey of ſacrilegious love, our law conſigns its prieſteſs, and the accomplice of her guilt, to inſtant death. Her parents and their offspring are pledges for her faith, and ſhould her flight elude offended juſtice, their forfeit lives muſt expiate her crime.

[Cora bows to the ſun.]

Now to the altar, and record your vows; then, as our cuſtom is, come forth to ſhine Queen of this feſtive day, [3]the laſt you are to know exempt from ſacred duty.

Exeunt Cora, Solaſco, and Prieſts, to the Temple.
During the latter part of this ſcene the ſun becomes obſcured by clouds, and thunder and lightning iſſue from them—the ſea much agitated.
Catalpho.

Great chief, behold what envious clouds obſcure the glories of our god.

Orozimbo.

Say, Catalpo, what mean theſe bodings!

A ſhip appears from behind a projecting rock.

And lo!—What monſter's that, whoſe wings bear it buoyant on the angry main?

A cannon is diſcharged from the ſhip.
Catalpo.

See!—From its throat thunder and fire burſt forth, ſeeming to brave high heaven.

Orozimbo.

Be not diſmay'd—ſummon our warriors.

[to Cuto.]

Catalpo, let the prieſts attend.

Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Country.

Enter Orozimbo meeting Cuto, Warriors, and Indians.
Orozimbo.

My people, we'll to the ſhore— Should they prove mortal foes, we'll meet their thunders, or if the engines of infernal power, what can virtue fear?—Truſt me, the Deity we ſerve, will re-aſſume his ſplendour, and protect his choſen people.

Exeunt.

SCENE III. A View of an Indian Country.

Enter in proceſſion, Indian Officer—Warriors—Indian Muſic—Cuto—Archers—Standard of the Sun— Cora—Prieſts of the Sun—Indians bearing preſents and Banners—Nelti—Indian Women bearing [4]Preſents—Warriors—Orozimbo in a Car, burniſhed with Gold, ſupported on the ſhoulders of Indians, and attended by Nobles with golden Staves —Warriors.

SCENE IV. The Sea Coaſt.

Three Ships are ſeen at anchor, and Boats come to Shore with martial Muſic and Colours flying.
Enter from the Boat, Columbus, Alonzo, Roldan, Valverdo, Harry Herbert, and the reſt of the Spaniſh Adventurers.—Columbus lands firſt, with his Sword drawn—he falls and embraces the Earth, during which Time there are three Cheers, and a diſcharge of Artillery; then the reſt follow and come forward.
Columbus.

Firſt, to high Heaven, who thus, with never-fading honour, hath crown'd its pooreſt ſervant, let me pour forth a heart o'erwhelm'd with gratitude. And now begin the important work which heaven has delegated to us—Erect the ſacred banner of our faith.

The Croſs is erected on one ſide of the ſtage.
Alonzo.

Brave aſſociates! join with me in praiſe of him, who hath atchiev'd what ignorance, with ſapient ſhrug, and ſatisfied, benumbing prudence derided as the chimera of a madman's fancy: falling at his feet, let us be proud in being firſt to pay due homage to ſuch ſurpaſſing excellence.

They all kneel.
Columbus.

Riſe, riſe;—rather, my Alonzo, in theſe arms receive my thanks, thou, next to heaven, my firmeſt friend. Ye men of Spain, let what has paſſed admoniſh you in what may be to come—keep in your minds the time when we had gained the courſe which ſhut out the eaſtern world; how you beat your breaſts, oppreſſed [5]with fear and ſuperſtition—How, with womaniſh tears, you bade adieu to life, and blubbered out a requiem for your ſouls; then embracing deſperation inſtead of fortitude, I was to be your ſacrifice; and this body, which has been your conduct to wealth and honour, you would have given to the ſea, and ignorance and cowardice would have triumphed.

Valverdo.

Mighty Sir, forgive us!

Columbus.

Freely, good Valverdo—Let the man ſtand forth, who, at a time ſo fraught with peril, firſt diſcovered land.

Herbert.
[Coming forward.]

It was my good fortune.

Columbus.

Thou art not a Spaniard.

Herbert.

No, your Excellency, I am an Engliſhman; and tho' we Engliſhmen are an odd, whimſical ſet of fellows, yet we generally contrive (and I truſt ever ſhall) to keep a good look out a-head when our ſuperior is in danger.

Columbus.

Tell me your fortunes.

Herbert.

My name is Harry Herbert; I am deſcended from as reſpectable and independent an anceſtor as the world can boaſt, — an Engliſh yeoman; but the civil wars leaving my family little, which my imprudence ſoon made leſs, I thought that, altho' King Henry was deprived of the honour of this enterprize, that did not preclude his ſubjects; ſo I ſhipped myſelf off for Caſtille, where I had juſt time and caſh enough to fall a dozen times in love, and into other ſerapes, before I had the honour of embarking on board your Excellency's ſquadron.

Columbus.

Herbert, thou doſt honour to thy country.

Herbert.

Then, Sir, I am glad, that for once I [6]am even with it; for I am ſure my country does honour to me.

Indian muſic without.
Roldan.

Behold a crowd of people, many of whom ſeem clad in ſacred veſtments—Their dreſs and ſtandards beſpeak them greatly civilized, and full of wealth.

Enter in proceſſion Indian Warriors, bearing a Standard of the Sun—Orozimbo, Cora, &c.
Orozimbo.
[Deſcends from his car.]

Strangers, who ſeem to be above the race of mortals, inſtruct us how to honour you—If you be children of the Sun, behold our prieſts, who with perfumes and libations, will welcome you to his holy temple; or, if human, here are fruits to feed you, dwellings to ſhelter you, and garments to clothe you.

Columbus.

Chief, you behold in us the children of mortality; but the power we ſerve, in his high mercy, has beſtowed upon us ſuperior gifts; thus, thro' unknown ſeas to brave the imperious ſurge, and to conſtruct engines which can ſweep thouſands from the earth—But that Deity commands us to proclaim his name with peace—The King, our maſter, wiſhes to enrich thee and himſelf —this hardy metal, uſeful in all the purpoſes of life, he will exchange for thoſe thy country may produce.

Preſents a hatchet.
Orozimbo.

'Tis very ſtrange—Thy King much wrongs himſelf—all we have to render is our gold, but that we find ſo yielding, and ſo uſeleſs, it were an injury to offer it—Indulge the curioſity of a ſtranger.

[Orozimbo, with Columbus, Roldan, Herbert, Nelti, Catalpo, &c. move up the ſtage.
Alonzo.

Oft has a tender glance eſcap'd my eye, impell'd by Beauty's power, and from my boſom [7]the ſoft ſigh inſtinctively has ſtolen—Many a fair Caſtilian has enforced this teſt of admiration, but now my every ſenſe ſeems drawn by power magnetic to that lovely ſaint—Permit me, faireſt creature, to expreſs my admiration at the charms which now preſent themſelves—tho' all the wonders of a new diſcovered world diſplay their rival novelties, yet, now that I behold its firſt of wonders, all elſe exacts from me as little notice, as I, I fear, have power or merit to command from you.

Cora.

Strange you wrong yourſelf, and hold me unſkilful to diſtinguiſh, when you ſuppoſe deſert like yours can paſs unnoticed—Your praiſes of the humble Cora, tho' they have cauſed no vain emotion, yet ever will the mind receive with pleaſure, praiſe e'en unmerited, when 'tis beſtowed by thoſe who claim our admiration.

Alonzo.

All that the warmeſt fancy can depict in the bright colours of ideal excellence, can never reach that exquiſite perfection nature exhibits —how muſt I bleſs my happy fortune, that bore me to a clime which boaſts an ornament like thee.

Cora.
[Aſide.]

What new emotion riſes in my breaſt—I fear to aſk my heart from whence it ſprings. Oh, Cora! think of thy ſacred duty— think of the vow which paſs'd thy lips ſo lately.— Stranger, tho' ſacred hoſpitality commanded me to pay this courteſy, yet now a higher duty enjoins me to deſiſt from further converſe.

Alonzo.

Let me entreat one inſtant—

Cora.

It muſt not be—my conduct is controlled by rigid laws. Farewell.—Oh Cora, what days of wretchedneſs art thou doom'd to ſuffer!

Aſide, as ſhe retires to the prieſts. Alonzo.
Alonzo.
[8]

What cou'd ſhe mean? "Her conduct is controlled by rigid laws"—If ſhe be deſtined to another, my lot is miſery.

Orozimbo
[with Columbus, coming forward.]

In harmony and peace I rule a free and happy people, and I were unworthy of my kingdom, did I not endeavour to the utmoſt to convert the name of ſtranger into friend.

[Exeunt Orozimbo and Columbus, hand in hand; Prieſts follow; then Alonzo, Roldan, Valverdo, &c. and the Spaniſh and Indian ſoldiers —One party bow to the croſs, the other to the ſun.]
Manent Herbert and Nelti.
Herbert.

And ſo, my pretty Indian, you live very happily.

Nelti.

Yes, all the day long.

Herbert.

And have you no monks who pray for you, diſpute with you, and burn you alive when you don't think as they do?

Nelti.

Oh! no.

Herbert.

Poor devils, what a way they muſt be in.

Nelti.

Don't you come from the other world?

Herbert.

What, you ſee ſomething angelic about me, eh!—Yes, my love, I come from a little paradiſe, call'd England.

Nelti.

Is England a world?

Herbert.

A bit of one; but, little as it is, it ſomehow contrives to manage all the reſt.— Shou'd you like to live in England?

Nelti.

O yes; I ſuppoſe Engliſh women, arm'd with ſpears made of that pretty, hard iron, climb the mountains, and deſtroy the wild bull.

Herbert.

Deſtroy the wild bull! No, my dear; our Engliſh women find prettier amuſement in [9]encouraging the breed of horned cattle—the uſe of the pretty, hard iron is confined to the men, and no great favourite there; for I know many flouriſhers of ſpontoons, who have a curſed antipathy to cold iron.—Who is that elegant creature you were converſing with?

Nelti.

Her name is Cora; ſhe was this day admitted a prieſteſs of the Sun.—The handſomeſt virgins are always ſelected to ſuſtain that ſacred office.

Herbert.

The handſomeſt! you were then, on that account, not—

Nelti.

Did I ſay the handſomeſt? Oh dear, I mean they ſelect the moſt ſedate—for, from this day ſhe muſt never leave the temple, or converſe with any except the prieſts.

Herbert.

Except the prieſts! Go where you will, you find thoſe gentlemen always contrive to be well taken care of—would you like to become a prieſteſs?

Nelti
[ſighing.]

Laſt night perhaps I ſhould.

Herbert.

Charming ſenſibility! and may I, my ſweet girl, interpret that ſigh in my favour?

Nelti.

Ah, you will not love me.

Herbert.

Not love thee!—By Magna Charta, I'll reſign my life, fortune, and liberty to thee.— beſides, I'll bring thee beads, cloathes, muſic—

Nelti.

Ah, that is not love.—They only try to pleaſe the eye, who find their actions cannot touch the heart.—no preſents or toys could influence Nelti.—no, not if you were to give her an iron javelin and a tame tiger.

Herbert.

Indeed!—very delicate preſents for a young lady.

Nelti
[aſide.]

I wiſh I cou'd make him love me— how do women in England gain their lover's hearts?

Herbert.

Generally by uſing them like dogs.— for, when a woman ſtudiouſly avoids looking at [10]a man, abuſes him on all occaſions, and is kind to every one elſe, we naturally conclude they love each other to diſtraction.

Nelti .
[aſide]

I never can find in my heart to uſe him ill—What ugly thing is that?

Enter Dolores and Bribon, from a boat.
Herbert.

A doctor of phyſic, who having killed all his patients in the old world, except his wife, who wou'd never take his medicines, has ventured hither, in purſuit of new patients, new fees, and perhaps a new bed-fellow.

Nelti.

And what's the other?

Herbert.

A lawyer and a coxcomb.

Nelti.

What's a coxcomb?

Herbert.

A reptile, my dear, that is found in abundance in all countries, and yet is not eaſily deſcribed—it is a kind of mongrel, which men drive from them, becauſe they hardly conſider it as belonging to them, and the women won't receive, becauſe they think it won't breed.

Dolores.

All ſeems pretty quiet.—I ſay, Bribon—

Bribon.

What do you ſay, Doctor Dolores?

Dolores.

This ſeems curſed mild, wholeſome, unprofitable air for a phyſician.—But heaven is merciful, wherever I go, patients increaſe.

Bribon.

There ſeems plenty of gold, and plenty of gold, plenty of law, follows as naturally as a bill of coſts.—I ſay, Doctor, do you ſee that ſweet, pretty, wealthy-looking girl—

Dolores.

I fancy I ſhall have ſome pretty female practice here.—I was a great favourite in Spain; for my maxim was, always to ſtick to my friends to the laſt.

Herbert.

Doctor, welcome to the new world.— So, you kept on board till all was quiet.

Dolores.
[11]

To be ſure—conſider the importance of my life to you all; but my chief reaſon was, that the famous aſtrologer, Doctor Diego Diablaſco, told me ſomething ill would happen if I were raſh—but there ſeems no danger—that's a very pretty girl, and I love a fine young girl, almoſt as much as I do fine old gold

Herbert.

And have you, Doctor, ſo ſoon forgot your old helpmate in Valladolid?

Dolores.

Ah, poor old Dorothy! But, Lord, I hate conſtancy as much as I hate health

[addreſſing Nelti.]

Permit me, ſweeteſt of ſavages, to enquire after the ſtate of your health—how is your pulſe? let me feel how it beats—beats.—

Takes her hand.
Nelti.

Feel how it beats? Perhaps it beats harder than you think

Dolores.

Then there's the more neceſſity I ſhould feel it, my pretty, pretty—

Nelti.

There, then.

Strikes him.
Dolores.

Zounds! a dozen ſuch patients wou'd do for me!

Herbert.

Doctor, I hope to be honoured with the hand of this charming girl.

Dolores.

Oh, with all my heart—I'm ſure I've had enough of it—but you can't marry her.

Herbert.

Why, thou profeſſor of the glorious art of manſlaughter?

Dolores.

Becauſe the Pope allows no religious ceremonies with hereticks—all dealings with them muſt be in the way of plunder and glorious intrigue.

Herbert.

The Pope! pſhaw—I ſhall ſit down here for life, contented with a little—I'll build a neat, convenient houſe, after the faſhion of the country, with a plain ſilver door, and a diamond knocker. The apartments ſhall be merely lined [12]with plates of gold, neatly carved—the ſophas of ſilver tiſſue, and ſtuffed with the down of humming-birds —As for freſco-work of emeralds, rubies, pearls, amethyſts, and ſuch nicknacks, my wife may ornament her dairy and dreſſing-room with them—in ſhort, I'll have every thing in a ſnug, comfortable way, without ſhew or expence

Dolores.

Without ſhew or expence!—Pray, great Sir, —will you allow a poor man to gather up the chips, and now and then take a peep into your golden apartments?

Herbert.

Why, Dolores, by the time I build, I fancy you'll have a ſnug leaden apartment of your own—ſo, go count beads inſtead of ducats, and try not to cheat young Harry out of his miſtreſs, but old Harry out of your ſoul.

Exeunt Herbert and Nelti.
Bribon.

Zounds! let's follow; for who knows, but in a minute, theſe ſavages may knock my brains out, with one of your ſhin-bones.

Dolores.

Come along—Oh, I wiſh I had the doctoring of you for a week, you Engliſh maſtiff.

Exeunt.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

[13]

SCENE I.—The Spaniſh Camp.

Enter Columbus, with a party of ſoldiers, guarding others, chained, meeting Roldan and Valverdo.
Columbus.

UNGRATEFUL men, thus, in a moment, to deſtroy my brighteſt hopes.—ſee them cloſely guarded.

Exeunt Soldiers, guarded.

Roldan, would thou think it, thoſe wretches (dead to prudence as to honor) have damn'd the name of Spaniard, they have reviled the Indian prieſts, and with unmanly outrage, have torn away the golden ornamen's that decked the lovely breaſts of innocence.—The men, exaſperated, call to the Cacique for vengeance; I, at the hazard of my life muſt follow, and appeaſe his juſt reſentment.

Exit.
Valverdo.

Shall then a brave Caſtilian be diſgraced with bonds, for ſhewing diſreſpect to vile idolatry?

Roldan.

No, Valverdo.—Soon ſhall this upſtart Genoeſe, Columbus, feel the juſt vengeance of inſulted Spain

[ſhewing a paper].

—My brother in ambition, look on this paper.

Valverdo.

What's this—the royal ſignature?

Roldan.

Mark me.—When our gracious Queen embraced the fortunes of this foreign Viceroy, [14]even proffered her regal ornaments to equip his fleet, the miniſter, Foneſca, jealous of the fame that might attend this enterpriſe, worked on the fears of the ſuſpicious Ferdinand, to execute this commiſſion of control, which, now Columbus' conduct gives pretence, arrays me with the power of cruſhing his authority, and with diſgrace returning him to Spain.

Valverdo.

Glorious hearing!

Roldan.

Do thou, Valverdo, tamper with the troops, —preſs on their ſuperſtitious minds the injury our faith will ſuffer by winking at idolatry; tell them, the way to ſudden wealth is eaſy, had they a fit commander—inſinuate—but we waſte words—about it, good Valverdo.

Exit Valverdo.

'Twere preſumption to inſtruct a monk in wiles of glozing cozenage.

Retires up the ſtage.
Enter Alonzo.

The fatal wound is given to all my hopes—what years of bliſs had my ſoul fondly pictured as Alonzo's lot—Oh, lovely Cora, muſt then thy beauties never more beam their bright radiance on me? —Had'ſt thou been doom'd to fill another's arms, I had indeed been curſed, but not ſo deeply; for I might ſtill have gazed upon thy heavenly form —have liſtened to the ſweet melody of thy loved voice, and known delight even in miſery—But all is gloomy horror now before me.

Roldan.

I hope I not untimely interrupt your meditations.

Alonzo.

Roldan, the conduct of theſe Indians obſcures our European virtues, and we are come to be inſtructed, not to teach—The good Columbus has appeaſed their juſt reſentment, and, at the requeſt of Orozimbo, conſents to liberate the priſoners.

Roldan.
[15]

'Tis well [ſhews a plan of attack] but as we muſt ſecure a place of ſafety (for it were madneſs to repoſe confidence in ſavages) here have I drawn a plan which muſt render the town an eaſy capture.

Alonzo.

The town a capture!

Roldan.

Doſt thou not underſtand me?

Alonzo.

I hope I do not.

Roldan.

There is no ſafety but in their deſtruction.

Alonzo.

Roldan, thou ſurely can'ſt not be ſo damn'd as think it—What, ſtab the fond heart which overflows with love and adoration for thee— trample down ſacred hoſpitality, and erect the throne of treachery and murder—by the great God of juſtice, firſt thro' this body thou muſt force thy way, thou traitor to humanity.

Roldan.

Soft-hearted fool, theſe mawkiſh virtues have ever been the ſainted garb of cowards.

Alonzo.

Coward!

They fight.
Enter Cuto, with Indians, who ruſh in between'em.
Cuto.

Thanks to the God, this arm receiv'd the ſtroke that wou'd have ſlain thee.

To Roldan.
Alonzo.

Good youth, thou bleed'ſt—Pray take all care of him

[binds his handkerchief round Cuto's arm]

Roldan, if yet thou need'ſt a ſtimulus to virtue, look on that Indian, and in the name of heaven, ſtain not thy honour and thy manhood with treachery and ingratitude.

Roldan.

Fortune permits thee now to ſchool me—but, boy, thou ſhalt feel my power; go to the Viceroy, tell him that Roldan lacketh brotherly affection for the poor Indians, and add (for by the power of vengeance it is true) that Roldan is his covenanted foe—that he hath given [16]freedom to thoſe Caſtilians he dared diſgrace with bonds, and that, by thee, he greets his Excellency with defiance and contempt.

Exit Roldan.
Alonzo.

Perfidious, bloody villain! Oh, my friends, dangers I fear await you—I bluſh to ſay we have among us thoſe whoſe vileneſs your pure nature cannot image. Let us prepare to meet the worſt—ſummon your warriors, while I inſtruct them how beſt to guard each place of 'vantage—and ſhould this Roldan attempt to execute his villainous intent, depend on the protection of Columbus.

Exit Alonzo, with Indians.

SCENE II. A Retired Place.

Enter Columbus.
Columbus.

All happineſs is mingled with alloy— I've triumphed over every oppoſition malice and folly raiſed to check my glory—I, now, in Europe's eye ſhall ſtand arrayed in all the honours which ſucceſs commands— thoſe, who if accident had thwarted my reaſon-founded ſchemes would with important ignorance have ſcoffed at the ſilly vague projector—will now, with panegyric full as thoughtleſs, admire my courage, and applaud my preſcience—yet, when I have attained the ſummit of my wiſhes, when I ſhou'd give ſome little reſt to my care-worn mind, which long has ſtruggled with adverſity; when I might contemplate with joy, the virtues I have found in this new world, virtues more rare than all the riches it abounds in, —I ſind I have conducted to this hapleſs ſpot, hearts black with diſcontent, and factious jealouſy, thirſting for plunder and for blood! But if determined rigour—virtuous example—

[17] Enter Herbert, running.
Herbert.

May it pleaſe your Excellency—I beg your excuſe;—but I am ſo choaked with rage, and breathleſs with running, that I have ſcarce power to tell you—your troops have mutinied.

Columbus.

Mutinied! Explain.

Herbert.

Roldan, Sir, that—but I know a ſoldier's duty too well, to ſpeak ill of a ſuperior officer, or I'd tell your Excellency what a curſed inhuman ſcoundrel I think him—Their villainy and ingratitude is beyond belief—they murmur that you won't give them leave to cut the throats of theſe innocent Indians—They call for Roldan to head them, and I'll do him the juſtice to ſay, he would let them indulge in ſuch pretty, harmleſs diverſion, as long as there was a throat left in the country.

Columbus.

This demands my inſtant preſence— Herbert, in half an hour, attend me at the camp.

Exit.
Herbert.

Oh, if I had that Roldan in England, I'd hang him up without judge or jury—tho', on recollection, I have fixed on the worſt place in the world for hanging folks up, becauſe a great man like me wills it—but now for vengeance— and yet I don't know how it happens, that altho' in ſome things I am a tolerably active, induſtrious fellow, yet when I have to ſeek revenge, I grow ſo infernally lazy I can ſcarce find in my heart to ſet about it.

Exit.

SCENE III.—The Sea Coaſt—a boat ſtationed.

[18]
Enter Roldan, with Troops, meeting Valverdo.
Roldan.

May I truſt that look propitious—Oh, let thy words confirm it—how haſt thou proſpered with the ſoldiers?

Valverdo.

They more than met my wiſhes, and the daſtard few, whom conſcience kept in doubt, I ſoon won over by the ſtimulus of plunder, ſpiced with our Church's diſpenſation—in a word, they have all ſworn, that on a ſignal given, they will deſert Columbus.

Roldan.

And in an hour, to a fairer promiſer, wou'd they abandon me.—It mads me that I muſt climb the heights of proud ambition on the ſhoulders of ſuch a crew of mongrels.—My deſign is to ſend Columbus, loaded with chains and accuſation, a priſoner to Spain, and with him, thoſe hen-hearted fools, whoſe ſuperſtitious ſcruples might prove troubleſome.

Valverdo.

With deference to your happier policy, do you not riſk by this the wrath of Iſabella?

Roldan.

Not a whit. For, unleſs Valverdo, thou haſt made ſome ſaint thy enemy, who, in mere ſpite, may work for them a miracle, they'll not fatigue the royal ear with much complaining. —To be plain, the veſſel which ſhall convey them hence, is ſo ſtrained, crazy, and unfit for ſervice, ſhe cannot weather out the ſlighteſt ſtorm, therefore, the firſt rude wind that blows, will ſend them to explore another world.—But hark, that trumpet ſpeaks Columbus.—Now, fortune, be my friend.

[19] Enter Columbus, Moſcoſo, and Troops.
Columbus.

Roldan, what means this outrage, this treaſon to thy King? Why ſpur on to deſperation and rebellion, your few miſtaken followers, whom my power, did I not abhor revenge, could in an inſtant ſweep from the earth?

Roldan.

Columbus, on thee let me retort the name of traitor.—I ſtand here, choſen by the general voice, the avenger of their wrongs.— 'Tis thee they charge with treaſon to their King, aſſert thou wink'ſt at hereſy, and haſt made them the ſlaves of ſavages.—How doſt thou anſwer?

Enter Herbert.
Columbus.

Anſwer to thee?—Roldan, preſs not my patience farther.—But to convince thee, traitor, how falſe are thy aſperſions, and that I reign ſovereign in my people's love—mark me, be this the teſt.

[Takes a ſpear from one of the ſoldiers, and throws it between him and Roldan, dividing the ſtage.]

Let all, who do not in their hearts believe I mean them fairly, and judge thee worthier to command them, paſs that javelin without fear or doubt.—Be that the barrier betwixt my influence and thine.

Roldan.

Much it glads me thou haſt proffered ſo fair a trial; and I ſwear, if they approve thee, I will reſign into thy hand my ſword and life.

Columbus.

Now, my brave ſoldiers, hear my firm intent; I will lead you on to wealth, but not by maſſacre; I'll make you all, the wonders of the world, rich and beloved.—Then, without controul, decide your fate; but, remember, —you have but one ſtep to make from honor to diſgrace.

[Valverdo, and thoſe on Columbus's ſide, paſs over to Roldan.
Columbus.
[20]

Be it ſo—men without hearts are not worth regretting.

[Herbert, who has been ſtanding on Roldan's ſide, after eyeing with contempt thoſe who deſerted Columbus, paſſes between the front of the ſtage and Roldan, to Columbus.]
Herbert.

Great Sir, accept my humble ſervices. —deſpiſe not him, who honours you—pray excuſe theſe tears—let me embrace your knees.

Falls, and embraces his knees.
Columbus.

My heart! my heart!—Herbert, thy gratitude unmans me,

Embraces him.
Roldan.

Now, Columbus, look on that paper; by it thou'lt find thy King diſtruſted thee

[giving the paper.]

And pray you all remember, I exerted not the high authority of which my ſovereign thought me worthy, 'till he was deſerted, and deſpiſed.

Columbus.

Peace, fiery indignation;—down rebel heart, —and do not choak my utterance.— Well, Viceroy,

[giving his ſtaff to Roldan]

where are your racks, —your inſtruments of vengeance?

Roldan.

Oh, do not fear—we mean no torture.

Columbus.

And think'ſt thou, villain, the ſubtileſt inquiſitor, who has out-damn'd his fellows in inventive cruelty, could give a pang like that I feel, in ſeeing thee poſſeſſed of power to make the happy wretched?—Oh my poor Indians, who ſhall now defend you, when this traitor, fit leader of his band of daemons, like the arch-fiend, new lighted on a world of innocence, ſhall diffuſe his deviliſh ſpirit, and extend hell's empire.

Roldan.

Bring forth his chains

[Columbus is chained]

—for ſo the King enjoin'd he ſhou'd be ſent to Spain whenever he proved unworthy.

Herbert.
[21]

Chains! Hell and fury

[draws his ſword, but is diſarmed]

Confuſion!

Roldan.

Captain, obſerve that with ſtrict attention you obey your orders,

[pointing to Herbert]

— for that ſtubborn rebel—bear him to torture.

Columbus.

Hold, Roldan—thy vengeance muſt be moſt complete when I deſcend to aſk a favour from thee—let my humility glut thy vindictive wrath.—Allow that Engliſhman to ſhare my fortunes.

Roldan.

Bear him away.

Columbus.

Roldan, a wretch like thee ſhould have a coward's caution.—Doſt thou not dread, that in his dying moments, when, in defiance of thy tortures, (for I can read his noble ſoul,) he braves thee to the laſt, and glories in a death of honour, doſt thou not fear he may infect this ruffian crew with ſome faint ſparks of honeſty, and make them leſs fit inſtruments for thee?

Roldan.

Bear him to death.

Herbert.

Heaven preſerve your Excellency.— Will you, great Sir, condeſcend to indulge the laſt wiſh of vanity, and, when you have nothing elſe to do, write to England the ſtory of my fate; that when my fortunes ſhall be enquired after, my friends, with joy ſparkling thro' a tear, may ſay, Herbert ſtuck to his commander to the laſt, and died as an Engliſhman ought.

Columbus.

My noble fellow, this hand ſhall juſtify thy fame.

Herbert.

Then I am eaſy.—May your portion of happineſs be equal to your virtues—farewell. —

[To Roldan.]

Perhaps, Sir, you never were at the death of an Engliſh game-cock.—Will you do me the favour of attending my execution?

Roldan.
[22]

Take him from my ſight.

Herbert.

Hands off, reptiles!

[to Roldan.]

That you are the moſt infernal ſcoundrel the devil ever made a friend of, all your worthy aſſociates about you will, I dare ſay, allow—but I brand you with the name of fool, for enabling an humble man like me, thus to triumph over you, to defy you— ſcorn you—laugh at you—Hands off, reptiles!

Exit Herbert, guarded.
Columbus.
[to Roldan]

Is then my triumph for a world's diſcovery, and the trophies which I bear to Spain, to tell attending crowds my glory, a body bowed by ignominious fetters?

Captain.

Pardon me, Sir, if I preſume to beg, that I may ſo far mitigate their rigour, as when on board, to free the noble priſoner from their weight.

Columbus.

You know not what you aſk—wiſh me to forfeit the honours my King has heaped on me—no, theſe are his gracious gifts, and I've not yet learnt to diſobey him—and here I vow before that power who cheers the ſoul of ſuffering virtue, tho' their cankerous rivets corrode my very bones, no hand but Ferdinand's ſhall free me from them— By heaven, my ſoul pants for the moment, when thus accoutered, I may meet his preſence, and aſk him—how I have deſerved theſe favours from him.

Officer.

All is ready.

Roldan.

Bear him then on board.

Exeunt Roldan and Troops.
Columbus.

Thou guardian of the innocent, to thy ſupreme protection I commend the generous natives of this hapleſs land; aſſiſt them to defend [23]their liberties from the fell graſp of this deteſted crew—To them extend thy mercy; and let me pour my thanks for that celeſtial fortitude which glows within my breaſt—with it I can defy the ſtorms of fortune, ſafe in the approval of a guiltleſs mind, which, not deſerving wrong, can never feel diſgrace.

Exeunt Columbus and Attendants to the Boat.
Enter Orozimbo, Alonzo, and Indian Warriors.— Alonzo ruſhes to the top of the Stage.
Alonzo.

Great chief, your ſuccours come too late—alas! he's gone! Oh! for vengeance on that traitor, Roldan;—may this arm drive him from the earth, which groans at bearing ſuch a wretch, and hurl him to the infernal gulph, as yet untenanted by any fiend ſo curſed.

Orozimbo.

Alonzo, doſt thou not bluſh to call theſe wretches, countrymen, who ſpurn at ſacred virtue, and ſeem to court pre-eminence in perdition.

Alonzo.

Spain, thou haſt loſt thy glory—pride and fanaticiſm have rear'd their bloody banner, and virtue flies to foreign climes for ſhelter— Orozimbo, to thee and to thy country I dedicate my life—Hark!

[Cannon diſcharged]

The cannon's ireful throat, wont proudly to proclaim defiance, now throws along the wave a ſolemn ſound, as knolling a departed friend.

Enter Herbert without his Cloak and Doublet.
Herbert.

I have eſcaped the blood-hounds— Zounds! how I ſcampered—I never before knew [24]I was ſo eminently gifted with that faſhionable military accompliſhment, retreating.

Alonzo.

What means this ſtrange appearance?

Herbert.

I'll tell you—that cannibal, Roldan, was, I believe, a little inclined to be dainty, and, wiſhing for a choice bit, conſigned me over to Valverdo, who ſtood man-cook on the occaſion— he ordered me to be ſcored like pork, and then to be roaſted; and the humane prieſt remarked, there was not ſo excellent a receipt for inſuring the love of heaven, as taking half a dozen hereticks and broiling them gently over a ſlow fire— Acknowledge Roldan Viceroy, ſays he—I'd ſee you damn'd firſt, ſays I—ſo, watching my opportunity, I gave the prieſt a Corniſh hug, ſhewed his ſcullions a ſpecimen of Engliſh wreſtling, and off I came, truſſed for dreſſing, as you ſee me.

Alonzo.

Well, my brave friend, thou then wilt aid our cauſe?

Herbert.

Do you ſuppoſe that I, who had my forefathers chopped to atoms in deciding the preference between a red roſe and a white one, will ſtand idle in the cauſe of humanity?—No, give me a ſword, and if I don't, without benefit of clergy, execute that prieſt, Valverdo, whom the devil has ſent hither as his plenipotentiary, make me commander in chief to all the cowards in Europe.

Alonzo.
[to Orozimbo.]

Act in purſuance of the plan I gave, and with a rampart circle in the town, then let but hunger, that harbinger of mutiny once aſſail them, they, like oppoſing poiſons, will ſoon deſtroy each other, and ſave your darts the labour.

Orozimbo.
[25]

Truſt me, brave people, theſe gods are vulnerable—ſoon ſhall you behold your javelins burniſhed with their blood—hunger and thirſt is their's as well as our's, and the ſoul of a Spaniard takes its flight from a wound, as ſwiftly as an Indian's—Lead on.

Exeunt.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

[26]

SCENE I.—The Temple of the Sun.

Catalpo and Prieſts aſſembled round the Altar. Enter Orozimbo and Alonzo.
Orozimbo.

MATCHLESS infamy! how could the villain Roldan think ſo poorly of me? the tender of his friendſhip was ſufficient inſult, without the terms on which he offers it. Reſign thee to him! purchaſe by treachery the friendſhip of a traitor, —and for what? Had he the power to raiſe me above all the glories ambition ever coveted, ſhould I not, after ſuch a crime, ſit pining 'midſt my ſplendour, the victim of accuſing conſcience, finding a curſe in every bleſſing.

Alonzo.

My heart burns with impatience to lead your valiant troops to juſt revenge—but let vigilance and caution guide us.

Orozimbo.

My friend, do thou direct us at thy will—[to the prieſts]—prepare the rites, the ſacrifice for war, and let the prieſteſs who was laſt received a ſervant of the Sun, approach the altar with her ſacred preſent.

The prieſts range round the altar—folding-doors open, and prieſteſſes enter and range on each ſide— Cora enters, bearing offerings in a golden baſket.
Alonzo.
[27]

'Tis ſhe—'tis Cora—ſupport me, heaven—this unexpected ſight o'erpowers me.

[Aſide.]
Cora.
[not ſeeing Alonzo, advances and kneels at the altar.]

Thou, glorious Sun, accept our humble offerings—receive with favour the righteous homage of our grateful hearts—If thy children e'er have broken the laws of hoſpitality, if ever they have failed to greet a ſtranger with a brother's love, they nor deſerve, nor dare to hope thy fatherly protection—but if they have not merited the wrongs they ſuffer, preſerve—protect them!

[Prieſts and prieſteſſes proſtrate themſelves;— Catalpo takes from the altar an Indian weapon, and gives it to Cora.]
Catalpo.

Prieſteſs, bear to our chief this conſecrated weapon, it ſhall defend the Sun's inſulted glory, our ſovereign's, and his people's rights.

[Cora receives the weapon, and in bearing it to Orozimbo, ſees Alonzo—exclaims, —"Oh, heavens!"—drops the weapon, and faints— Alonzo endeavours to aſſiſt her.]
Catalpo.
[to Alozo.]

Forbear—the proffered kindneſs claims our thanks; but thy unhallowed hand wou'd be a profanation to a prieſteſs' ſacred perſon.

Orozimbo.

What means this tremor?—What ſhock ſo ſuddenly has ſtruck that lovely frame?

Cora.

I know not—a momentary weakneſs—

[Cora is borne off by the prieſteſſes.
Orozimbo.

Let all attention wait her—'tis but the effect of apprehenſion from her inexperience in her ſacred office—

Alonzo.
[28]

She ſeemed much agitated—How ſhall I bear this aggregate of miſery—my agony I fear will ſpeak, what ſhou'd be hid from all.—

[Aſide.]
Orozimbo
[to the prieſts.]

Conclude your rites; and may the power ſupreme accept our fervent prayers, and be our humble offerings grateful to him.

[The Scene cloſes.]

SCENE II. An Indian Town.

Enter Dolores and Bribon.
Dolores.

I tell you, this new world is crammed with wizzards and aſtrologers, that whiz about in the night time, raiſing ſtorms, tempeſts, and miſchief; and can tell the day a man is to die, with as much certainty as—as—

Bribon.

As you can the death of your own patients.

Dolores.

And can prolong your life year after year as eaſily—as you can a law-ſuit.

Bribon.

But what curſed luck it is to be cooped up here with a parcel of ſavages, who know as much of litigation, as I do of the war-whoop— here I ſee gold enough to make me a judge; but I can't get a bit big enough to buy a ſcrap of parchment.

Dolores.

Curſe the new world, I ſay—there is not a man in it wants a phyſician but myſelf— If I cou'd but have gone back with Columbus— he muſt by this time be near Spain, and perhaps old Dorothy's dead.

Enter Nelti.
Nelti
[ſighs.]

Shall I never ſee my dear Engliſhman [29]again? He pleaſes my heart when preſent, but ah, how he plagues it when abſent.

Bribon.

Singular caſe—always plagued my wife when preſent, pleaſed her when abſent.—

[addreſsing Nelti]

Moſt amiable and wealthy ſavage, behold a lawyer and a chriſtian, who will give you the fee ſimple of his heart, and receive in return, all your love, and

aſide]

all your money.—Doctor, I wiſh to join iſſue here—I'll employ you as counſel, —ſay ſomething for me.

Dolores.

I will—I will—

[apart to Nelti.]

My dear, beautiful goldfinch, that fellow is a wicked, cheating lawyer.

Bribon.

I ſee he's doing my buſineſs for me.

Dolores.

Look with an eye of commiſeration on one who loves thee.—Oh, how I long to kiſs thoſe pouting lips.

Nelti.

You ugly creature, if you touch me, I'll cry out.

Dolores.
[aſide.]

Cry out, ha, ha!—when a woman declares ſhe will cry out, and when I ſay I will give a man a ducat to ſave him from ſtarving, I believe we are both apt to be curſedly worſe than our words—come, one buſs—Oh lud, oh lud! how much in love I am!

Bribon.

You old propagator of poiſons, is this the way you plead my cauſe? By heaven, my dear, that old aſſaſſin has killed more than all the bravoes in Spain.

Nelti.

Is a Doctor a bravo?

Bribon.

Yes, my dear, with an univerſity education—why, you old idol of grave-diggers, have not you confounded all diſtinction between a preſeription and a death-warrant—had not you a regular [30]annuity from the undertakers—have not you cheated me out of thouſands, by making people die ſo faſt, I had not time to make their wills?—here's a pretty fellow to make love to a ſweet girl—Why, he's as blind as juſtice, as unfeeling as a whipping-poſt, as diſeaſed as a lazaretto, and as old as a chancery ſuit.

Dolores.

Oh, you Janus-faced villain—What, traduce my fame?—was not I always a favourite with the women?—when their huſbands were ill, did not the dear creatures always ſend for me? —had not I the honour of receiving a gold medal from the inquiſition for keeping a man alive nine days, during the moſt excruciating torture?— and did not I cure you of a crick in the neck, which you got by ſtanding in the pillory, you one-ear'd raſcal?

Nelti.

Yonder I ſee Herbert, and ſhou'd he find you here—

Bribon.

He, I ſuppoſe, wou'd make his cane join iſſue with my head—I abſcond.

Exit.
Dolores.

Oh, you cowardly villain! what, run away—egad, I'll be off too.

Exit.
Nelti.
[alone]

Now I'm alone, I'll practice ſuch behaviour as, I am told, the women in the other world uſe, that I may win the heart of my dear Engliſhman.—Firſt then, I muſt avoid him— certainly—but that I'll do ſome other time—then I muſt abuſe him—true, but how!—Oh, were it my taſk to praiſe, how prodigal would this heart be in pouring forth its ſtore, which niggard now, will not afford one harſh idea. But I muſt try— ah, yonder he comes—well, I'm quite indifferent [31]whether I ſee him or not—I'll not walk in his way, I'm determined.

Retires up the ſtage.
Enter Herbert.
Herbert.

It's always my infernal luck to be in a rage—to think that theſe innocent people, who lived as happily before the Spaniard's came, as the people in a village do before an attorney comes among them—ſhould now have gridirons for beds—and what they think worſe—the Spaniards place on their bodies, which were as free as Engliſhmens—an indelible mark of ſlavery.— Oh, I hope nobody will contradict me to day—I wiſh I could ſee Nelti—her ſoothing fondneſs would—

Nelti paſſes him [ſinging.]

Ah, Nelti, how do you do?

[loud.]

—My love! my love!!

[louder.]
Nelti.

Is it you? I declare I did not obſerve you.

Herbert.

No—what might you be thinking of, my dear?

Nelti.

That ſuperior being, the elegant Alonzo.

Herbert.

You were? and pray what might induce you?

Nelti.

Heigho!

[ſighs.]
Herbert.

My ſweet girl, I'll tell you what. I have been in a moſt infernal rage, and I am not ſure it is quite abated—ſo, to prevent miſtakes, kiſs me, —and, if you pleaſe, we'll have no jokes at preſent; for, tho' I love joking pretty well, I love kiſſing a deviliſh deal better.

Nelti.
[apart]

What a charming effect unkindneſs [32]has—I'll even give him plenty on't—really, Sir, you muſt poſſeſs a conſiderable ſhare of vanity, in ſuppoſing there is no object worthy my regard but you—don't deceive yourſelf—you, —whom Dolores ſays, kicked the women, and were kicked by the men.

Herbert.

He ſaid that, did he? When I have the honour of meeting him, I'll try whether I have forgot my kicking. But—zounds, did not you tell me you adored me?

Nelti.

But then I had ſcarcely ſeen the elegant Alonzo, the ſage Dolores,—beſides, that was ſome time ago.

Herbert.

Whew !!! Oh, there muſt be ſome miſtake—certainly one of the wizards old Dolores talks of muſt have been buſy here—but come, Nelti, have done with folly, and tell me you love me ſincerely.

Nelti.

I wiſh I cou'd—but—

Herbert.

Damn your buts, yon imp of miſchief, what do you mean?—have you encouraged me one day, to make my mortifications greater the next? have I left the jilts of one world to find the ſame whirligig tricks in another— don't provoke me, or, by St. George and his dragon, I'll—damnation, that a man can't, with honour, beat any woman but his wife.

Nelti.

Oh dear, I have gone too far—Harry, Harry!

Herbert.

Keep out of my way, or by all the heroes in England I ſhall never contain myſelf— don't come near me, talk of me, or think of me— Go to Alonzo, —go to the doctor, or go to the devil; and as long as you are as miſerable as I wiſh you, dam'me if I care where you go—

Exit.
Nelti
[33]
[crying.]

I find I don't know how to uſe a man ill—I was a fool for trying it—I can't tell how Engliſh women manage—but I am very ſure I was made to uſe men kindly.

Exit.

SCENE IV.—The Spaniſh Camp. [Night.]

Enter Moſcoſo and Spaniards, with booty.
Moſcoſo.

Our commander Roldan, muſt not think of ſharing in this treaſure—damn ſubordination—are not we Chriſtians ſuperior beings? and have not we a right to murder as many Indians as we think fit?

1ſt Spaniard.

Aye, to be ſure; if they won't become Chriſtians quietly, we muſt broil them till they do.

Enter Spaniards, pulling in Cuto.
2d Spaniard.

This is the ſaucieſt Indian we have caught yet—all good words are thrown away upon him, ſo, bring in the rack.

Moſcoſo.

Come, be content to work and become a ſlave, and we'll ſhew you how to live.

Cuto.

No, give me your tortures, and I'll ſhew you how to die.

Enter Roldan.
Roldan.

The hour ſeems big with horror, and the vivid lightning, blazons the murky mantle of the night with awful ſplendour—Moſcoſo, why are you abſent from your guard?—carry that gold to my tent.

Moſcoſo.

I won't—I tell you what, Viceroy, my [34]maxim is this, —always to obey my commander to the laſt drop of my blood, while he lets me have my own way—why, you are not in Spain! by St. Lucifer, I won't part with the gold, ſo, what ſignifies oppoſition, when you know you can't help yourſelf?

Roldan.

Oh, Columbus, how fully art thou now revenged—

[aſide]

—execrable wretch!—but we are friends—the common ſafety requires obedience, and only to preſerve you all from death, I venture to oppoſe your wills.

Moſcoſo.

Well, well, I am ſatisfied—I am of a ſweet diſpoſition—I have murdered many a man without bearing him the leaſt ill will.

Roldan.

Who is that Indian?

Moſcoſo.

I don't know; but he's a damn'd ſaucy one, and minds no more dying, than we do killing him.

Roldan.

Has the torture extorted no ſecrets from him?

Moſcoſo.

We have not began to pinch him yet.

A noiſe is heard, with thunder and lightning.
Roldan.

What means this horrid noiſe? The earth trembles.

Moſcoſo.

Oh, mercy!

Roldan.

Cowards, proceed to extort confeſſion from that reptile.

Moſcoſo.

I won't touch a hair of his head—do you think I am a ſavage? how the ground ſhakes!

Noiſe again.
Roldan.

This war of elements is aweful, and may make theſe half-formed villains ſqueamiſh.

Aſide.
Moſcoſo.

Could you find in your heart to torture [35]a poor fellow-creature? We'll releaſe that Indian.

[To Roldan.]
Roldan.

Well, be it ſo.—

[Cuto is releaſed, and exit.

But let not ſouls like yours be daunted; 'tis not the firſt tempeſt you have witneſſed—cheerly, my friends.

Exit.
Moſcoſo.

I think its quite gone off—bring that raſcally Indian back, we'll—

Noiſe increaſes.

Oh, mercy! why, this is an earthquake.

1ſt Spaniard.

Earthquake—aye, a terrible one.

Moſcoſo.

The earth ſeems ready to open and ſwallow us up—let us find the prieſt and get abſolution—Oh, mercy! mercy!

Exeunt.

SCENE V.—A view of the Temple of the Sun. In the back ground a mountain.

[Thunder and lightning.]
Enter Alonzo.
Alonzo.

Where'er I turn, 'tis ruin all and death. The wrath of heaven, rouſed at the crimes it views, pours forth its mighty vengeance.— Oh God of juſtice—may thy awful power bury within that earth their ſins incumber, all who for thirſt of gold forget humanity, dare to make thy ſacred name a ſanction for their crimes.—In this hour of horror, how does my anxious heart beat for her fate, who never can be mine—this temple's hated walls encircle all that on earth could make me bleſt—but how can I approach her, and [36]to remain uncertain of her ſafety, is worſe than death

[a harſh noiſe, and part of the mountain is diſlodged.]

—E'en now, perhaps, the earth entombs its richeſt treaſure.

[A turret of the temple is thrown down]

—The dreadful ſhock increaſes.—Spare, ſpare my Cora!

A violent craſh—a part of the temple is thrown down—through the chaſm Cora is ſeen clinging to a column—Alonzo runs in, and bears her out —ſhe faints.
Alonzo.

Revive, revive, my angel! let no fears aſſail that ſpotleſs boſom—Turn not from him, who, 'midſt this ſhock of nature, knows no terror but for thee.

Cora.

Whither am I borne? What art thou? Tell me—'tis he, 'tis he—the conſtant object of my thoughts!

Alonzo.

Has Cora e'er beſtowed a thought on on her Alonzo."—Oh joy unhoped for.— In this dread hour to ſhare thy fate was all my utmoſt wiſhes could aſpire to—but now to hear thee own a mutual flame, is bliſs which bears my raptured mind almoſt beyond the check of reaſon.

Cora.

How my heart beats at this unlooked-for meeting.—How little could I hope to be thus bleſs'd a few ſhort minutes ſince, when I expected death at every rude commotion—yet, even then, on thee my thoughts were fixed—thee I implored to aid me, and my laſt ſigh would have breathed bleſſings on thee.

Alonzo.

Oh my Cora, how ſhall I tell thee what I feel at this exceſs of tenderneſs.

A violent ſhock, and a Volcano emits its fury.

[37]Ha! heaven! my joy had baniſhed from my thoughts all fear; and muſt we, muſt we, at a time like this, glut the devouring earth, or drown in floods of fire—let's fly to ſeek for ſafety.

Cora.

Safety—'tis here

[throwing herſelf into his arms].

—within thy arms I dread no danger.

Alonzo.

My heaven of bliſs, to die in thy embrace, death would have no power to inflict a pang, but thy dear life is all I have to hope of happineſs on earth, and heaven direct me to preſerve it.

Exeunt.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

[38]

SCENE I.—A rich country with an arbour.

Alonzo and Cora diſcovered.
Alonzo.

MY Cora, methinks I never lived till now— all that has paſſed of life, has been a dull journey to this point of happineſs.

Cora.

Alonzo—Oh, how that name vibrates thro' every nerve; and makes ſuch ſweet commotion in each pulſe, as tho' they ſwelled to emulate my lips, and ſtrove to utter it.—

Alonzo.

How my fancy glows with all the happineſs which awaits us—we'll fly together to the dear retreats, where nature reigns with uncontrolled dominion—there, free from every care which dwells with buſy, artificial life, each day ſhall greet us with unclouded joy, and each new hour ſhall bring increaſe of bliſs—there ſhall the dear delights of huſband and of father—

Cora.

Oh, Alonzo!

[ſhe is near fainting]
Alonzo.

Why droops my love?

Cora.

Father, ſaid'ſt thou?—that word has from my lethargy rouſed me to madneſs—What have I done?—Love has with tyrant power ſubdued my ſoul, and forced from my fond mind each ſenſe of duty and each tie of nature—where [39]ſhall I fly?—where has the earth a place to hide a wretch like me?

Alonzo.

Do not diſtract me, Cora—explain theſe terrors—be quick to tell me, that my heart may ſhare in every pang of thine.

Cora.

Doom'd to the cruell'ſt lot of human miſery, hear all the horrors of my fate—when I, with heart which ne'er had felt one ſenſe of paſſion which it glows with now, gave up my future days to holy ſolitude, that I by ſuch a ſacrifice, might heap more honours on a father's head than e'en his virtues could procure him—I then (Oh, heaven) ſhould love e'er prove my conqueror, conſigned myſelf to death, e'en thee, Alonzo, that raſh oath condemned thee too.

Alonzo.

Ceaſe to bewail without a cauſe—a few ſhort hours will bear us from the dread of all the terrors which oppreſs thy fear-ſtruck fancy— then haſte, my love.

Cora.

Whither, Alonzo?—What, leave my hapleſs father and my ſiſters to expiate my crime —they are ſureties for me—my flight would doom their innocence to bleed for my offence.

Alonzo.

What doſt thou utter?—Am I—am I the author of ſuch direful ruin—am I the murderer of thy guiltleſs race?—did not affection check my ireful arm—did not my love command me to exiſt to ſhare thy doom, whatever fate decree it, no longer wou'd I ſtruggle with the horrors that I feel, but part with life and miſery together.

Cora.

Is this the comfort thou canſt give to Cora?—Ah, why talk I of comfort—comfort's the lot of innocence—ſhall guilt like mine—ſhall blind diſtracted paſſion, hope to feel the dear [40]felicity that virtue feels—Leave me, Alonzo, and preſerve thyſelf; then let me fly to meet the worſt of deaths, ſo I may ſpare my honoured father's life, and ſave the offspring which has not diſgraced him.

Alonzo.

Oh, ceaſe, in pity ceaſe—let not thy frantic deſperation drive thee to certain ruin.

Cora.

Alonzo, can'ſt thou counſel parricide— would'ſt thou receive a murderer to thy arms?— Lead me to the temple.—The tumult of the night may have preſerved my flight unknown—then let me haſte.—

Alonzo.

Muſt I reſign thee—muſt we part—

[taking her hand]

Oh, Cora, how hard a fate is ours.

Cora.

Alonzo, if parting thus with thee, or inſtant death were left me to decide on, how ſhould I ſpurn exiſtence ſo dearly to be purchaſed. —But, oh, my father—my ſiſters—then let deſpairing love prey on my heart—the anguiſh of remorſe ſhall never reach it.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The outſide of the Temple.

Enter Alonzo and Cora, with great caution.
Alonzo.

I have beheld no creature, all ſeems as ſtill, as if the late convulſive ſhock of nature had ſpared no beings but ourſelves.

Cora.

For what a fate Alonzo, are we ſpared: —let me not think, or all my reſolution will forſake me—Leave me before I well can realize our parting; for if I give ſcope to the dire thought, madneſs or death muſt rob me of all thought.

Alonzo.
[41]

I will not, cannot ſay farewell; for yet, propitious heaven may bleſs us with each other.

Cora.

Oh! Alonzo, no more—

[Alonzo leads her to the temple—they embrace— ſhe goes into the temple.—He exit on one ſide of the ſtage.]

SCENE VI. The town.

Enter Herbert and Nelti with a Quipos.
Herbert.

Forgive thee, my angel—name not the word—I like a woman to be a little whimſical in trifles, as long as ſhe has the ſtamina of affection at bottom—I am for none of your ſtill, quiet, good ſort of women, that make a man's life one continued dead calm— no—no—refreſhing breezes for me—when one is ſure not to be driven by them on the rocks of averſion, they render the voyage of life free from languor and inſipidity—

Nelti.

Reſt aſſured every future breath of mine ſhall ſpeak only affection and eſteem—but, my Herbert, to owe my life to thy protecting arm, is ſuch joy, as makes me, ſpite of its awful horrors, bleſs laſt night, which thus reſtor'd thee to my aching heart.

Herbert.

My charming girl! Egad, I thought it was all over with us.

Nelti.

Oh, Herbert! what uneaſy hours have I paſſed, and what melancholy thoughts have been put into my head—look here—

[ſhewing the Quipos.]
Herbert.
[42]

Who gave you this—what do you call it?

Nelti.

One of our necromancers.

Herbert.

Necromancers—ha! ha! ha!

Nelti.

Every body believes in them—they ſay they can raiſe ſtorms and thunder—can tell whoſe lives are joined together—

Herbert.

Lives joined together—a curious doctrine—

Nelti.

But I'll never truſt them again.

Herbert.

No, my dear, truſt only to me, and you'll certainly not have to deal with a conjuror.

Nelti.

Here come thoſe frights, Dolores and Bribon—I ſhou'd like to plague 'em dearly.

Herbert.

Shou'd you, you rogue.—Egad, what you have told me about necromancers, and the ſtrange opinion of your country, that people's lives are joined together, has given me an idea which will plague them confoundedly, for their credulity in aſtrology is equal to their profeſſional ignorance.—This way, and I'll explain.

Retire up the ſtage.
Enter Dolores and Bribon, quarelling.
Dolores.

Why do you keep following me, and chattering your curſed jargon—

Bribon.

I'll walk where I like, and talk what I like—

"Dolores.

Very true—as nature here aſſerts her rights, of courſe monkies have privilege to chatter without fear of correction, but to [43]compare your paltry profeſſion with the noble art of healing?

Bribon.

Why, to ſay the truth, Doctors do put people out of their miſery.

Dolores.

Come, that's better than lawyers, who put them into miſery, and leave them there.

Bribon.

Call in a phyſician, he kills, or nature cures.

Dolores.

True; but call in a lawyer, and egad, kill or cure, right or wrong, is equally fatal—

[ſeeing Herbert.]

—Zounds! there's Herbert— tuſh, be quiet—let's liſten.

Herbert and Nelti come forward.
Herbert.

You amaze me! Can it be poſſible that your necromancers are ſo very potent?

Nelti.

True indeed, my love.

Herbert.

This union of lives is very wonderful, and doubtleſs very true—If old Dolores knew that his life depended on another's fate, how anxious wou'd he be to know whoſe—

Dolores and Bribon run forward, and interrupt him.
Dolores.

I am very anxious.

Bribon.

I'd give half my eſtate to know it.

Dolores.

Lives linked together!—oh! I've heard of it.

Bribon.

So have I—it's a wonderful diſcovery!

Dolores.

To be ſure it is.—Why, it accounts at once for thoſe curſed unprofitable apoplexies, What's that cat-o-nine tails?

Nelti.
[44]

Theſe varied coloured braids explain every thing as your books do.

Herbert.

By theſe knotty hieroglyphics, the necromancers expound the decrees of fate—Obſerve.

Dolores.

Keep off—I would not touch it for the world—the idea makes me paralytic. I hope my partner for life is one of theſe fine healthy Indians—long life to the worthy creatures —I love them in my heart, and ſo I ought —are not all mankind a kin to one another?

Herbert.

So Roldan and his crew ſeem to think, for they treat the Indians exactly like poor relations.—

Bribon.

I'm exceedingly alarmed—wonder who they could find to couple with a lawyer's ſoul.— Sweeteſt of women—if you would condeſcend to enquire.

Dolores.

Oh, if you would obtain from the necromancer one of theſe conjuring things, to inform me who is intereſted in my unhappy lot, I'd pray for you—I'd go to the devil for you— I'd—

Nelti.

And never again teaze me with love?

Bribon.

Never—never.

Dolores.

I'll hate you as long as I live.

Nelti.

Then meet me preſently—you ſee yonder cave.

Dolores.

Yes.

Nelti.

That's the dwelling of the necromancer.

Dolores.

I won't go there—I would not ſee his devilſhip for the fame of AEſculapius.

Bribon.
[45]

Nor I, to be the Lycurgus of the new world.

Nelti.

Well then, I'll take care you ſhall not ſee him—ſo, follow me, and I'll get you information will ſet your hearts at eaſe.

Exit.
Bridon.

I declare, what ſhe has ſaid, has made me ſo ill, I can ſcarce ſtand—Oh, lord, I am afraid my accomplice is going.

Dolores.

Come, Bribon, forget and forgive—

[gives him a phial]

and, as you are ill, there's a pretty, taſteleſs medicine that I'm ſure will do you good, my dear friend—Dam'me, but there's a doſe for you, however.

Aſide and exit.
Bribon.
[to Herbert.]

And does that old fool think I'd enſure death by taking his curſed potions— ah, Sir, there is no way to deal with doctors.

Herbert.

I beg your pardon, give them fees while you are well, and nothing when you are ill, and they are not the miſchievous animals you think them.

Bribon.

If the necromancer will but ſpeak the truth—

Exit.
Herbert.

Ha! ha! already I've perform'd a miracle—for there go a phyſician and a lawyer, wiſhing to ſind among men health and ſincerity— This partnerſhip of liver is a whimſical kind of doctrine, and yet, abſurd as it ſeems, I feel it not altogether untrue, for were my Nelti to die, I believe, Herbert, thy life wou'd not be worth many days.

Exit.

SCENE IV.—The inſide of an Indian houſe.

[46]
Enter Dolores.
Dolores.

How anxious I am to know whom my precious life is joined to—Ah! here comes Nelti— Tell me, my dear girl—

Enter Bribon.

Get out of my way—

Bribon.

I tell you what, old Hellebore, I'll— Ah, here ſhe comes—now for it

Enter Nelti with a Quipos.
Dolores.

Sweeteſt meſſenger of fate, tell me the name of him, the chords of whoſe heart are ſo twiſted with mine, that one crack will diſſever both.

Nelti.

Now attend—I ſaid to the necromancer, Moſt profound and learned ſage, on whoſe life depends that of old Doctor Dominic Dolores? ſays he, Has he not a decrepid form—withered face—ſunk eyes—pug-noſe—paper lips—leather cheeks—ſtraggling teeth—ſays I, the deſcription ſuits exactly—He then gave me this, which informs me your life is joined to—

Dolores.

Whom?

Bribon.

I hope ſome raſcal, who will be hang'd in a week.

Nelti.

Very likely, for it is joined to a lawyer's, and his name is—Bribon

[with deliberation, and ſeeming to expound the Quipos]

when one dies, the other will inevitably expire.

Bribon.

Oh, lud! Oh, lud!

Dolners.

Oh, dear! Oh, dear!

Nelti.
[47]

I ſee I've made you quite happy—ſo, good bye.

Exit laughing.
Dolores.

Oh, cruel fate! that my precious life muſt depend on my mortal enemy—I can't bear it.

Bribon.

To be in the ſame death-warrant with that old ſuperannuated villain—Oh, 'tis too much!

[They each ſit down lamenting, look at each other ſome time—firſt, with fear and anxiety, —then they ſmile and draw nearer to each other.]
Dolores.

I think it was ridiculous enough in us to quarrel about a ſilly girl, Eh, Bribon?

Bribon.

Very, Doctor; juſt as if there were not unavoidable miſeries enough in life, without making them.

Dolores.

True—how do you do?

Bribon.

You don't look well.

Dolores.

My dear friend, let me feel your pulſe —Oh, lord, 'tis very quick.

Bribon.

Dear Doctor, ſit down.

Dolores.

I ſay, Bribon, you did not, (may be,) happen to ſwallow the contents of the bottle I gave you

[with heſitation.]
Bribon.

Oh, the ſcoundrel!—

[aſide]

—Firſt tell me how you are.

Dolores.

Why, independent of my care for you, I am very well—ſo, you did not take the medicine? Well, its no great matter—I'm not offended with you—perhaps it is well as it is.

Bribon.

What an old villain! If I thought it would not endanger his life, I would plague him [48]heartily

[aſide.]

I don't think, my dear Doctor, you look ill.

Dolores.

Ill! I never was better in my life

Bribon.

Egad I will—I'll plague him

[aſide]

and, thank heaven, the cordial you gave me, and which I have juſt ſwallowed—

Dolores.
[greatly alarm'd.]

Why, you did not take it, did you?

Bribon.

Every drop—I dare ſay it will do me infinite good.

Dolores.

Oh, I dare ſay it will—let me feel your pulſe again—perhaps it may give you a bit of a twinge acroſs the ſtomach—but don't mind it.

Bribon.

No—you ſeem frighten'd.

Dolores.

Not at all—don't agitate yourſelf— let me feel your pulſe again—how lucky it is, my dear friend—any thing the matter?—How lucky, I ſay, that the lives of two men ſhould be linked together, who love each other ſo ſincerely— Eh, what's the matter?

Bribon.

Nothing—I felt a little ugly pain, but its gone off—I can't help laughing to think we ſhould quarrel about a girl—Ha, ha! ha, ha!

Dolores.

Ha, ha!—Oh, Lord! Ha, ha, ha! Are you ſure the pain's gone off—Ha, ha!—Oh, Lord! oh, dear!

Bribon.

Oh, there again—they increaſe—they increaſe—Oh! oh!

Dolores.

I am a miſerable old man! What, again, Eh?

Bribon.

Have you any more of the bottle?

Dolores.

Oh, no—I have a notion you have had enough of that.

Aſide.
Bribon.
[49]

I'm torn to death—pray preſcribe for me.

Dolores.

Oh, Lord! not for the world—Leave it to nature—ſhe's the beſt phyſician—Do you feel better?—I think you look better.

Bribon.
[ſitting down on a chair.]

I feel I am dying—as a proof of my love for you, Doctor, I bequeath you—(Oh!) all my property whatever, and wiſh you a long and happy life.

Dolores.

But, zounds! you forget I ſha'n't outlive you a minute

[Bribon appears convulſed]

Oh! he's going—help! help!

Enter Herbert (after having been peeping.)
Herbert.

What's all this bawling?

Dolores.

Can nothing ſave my dear friend?— my life is wound up in his.

Herbert.

Ah, poor Bribon! what, he's going—now, is not it a ſhocking thing, Doctor, that, becauſe this ſcoundrel is dying, ſome amiable gentleman won't live half an hour?

Dolores.

O, very ſhocking! and between you and I, Herbert, I am that amiable, miſerable old gentleman.

Herbert.

How will you part with Nelti?

Dolores.

Pooh! ſtuff—Do you think I mind parting with Nelti, or you, or all the world?—No; all my ſtruggles are, how to part with my ſweet ſelf, how to bid adieu to this dear, delicious little body—Oh! he's going—he's going.

Herbert.

Can you do nothing for him?

Dolores.

Bleeding,—bleeding's all that's left—If my hand's ſteady enough, I'll open a vein.

Herbert.
[50]

Be ſure you cut deep enough.

Dolores.

I will—I will—but I hav'n't my inſtruments about me.

Herbert.

Here's my ſword.

Dolores.

Give it me—I'll bleed him—

Bribon.
[jumping up.]

No, you don't—don't be frightened

[to Dolores]

bleſs your ſoul, it was all a fetch.

Dolores.

Come to my arms

[to Herbert]

what are you grinning at?

Bribon.

Ay, what are you—

Dolores.

I'll be revenged on him—I'll trick him out of Nelti yet.

Bribon.

What?

Dolores.

I'll marry Nelti.

Bribon.

What, are you mad? marry a young mettleſome wench that—pooh—nonſenſe—why, arſenic wou'd not ſend you to your grave with more expedition.

Herbert.

True, Bribon—I'll go to Nelti—ſo, farewell, Doctor.

Going.
Dolores.

You ſha'n't—you ſha'n't—I demand ſatisfaction—Oh, you cowardly—

[Dolores attempts to follow him, which Bribon prevents—Herbert returns, in apparent anger; then Bribon ſnatches up Dolores in his arms, and runs off with him.
Exit Herbert, laughing.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

[51]

SCENE. I.—Outſide of the Temple of the Sun.

Enter Alonzo.
Alonzo.

STILL muſt I wander near theſe awful walls, uncertain of my fate.—Though days and weeks paſs on, yet nought I gain from lengthened time, but added woe.—Still, ſtill I tremble for her life! And were my mind relieved from that diſtracting fear, what comfort even then could reach me—The treaſure of my ſoul's immured in yon impenetrable ſhrine—buried for ever in that grave of youth and beauty.—Where can I find a thought of ought but wretchedneſs—

Stands in a poſture of deſpair.
Solaſco comes from the Temple and obſerves Alonzo.
Solaſco.

Alonzo!

Alonzo.

What wou'd'ſt thou?

Solaſco.

I come from Cora.

Alonzo.

From Cora ſay'ſt thou? I dread—

Solaſco.

Dread the worſt.—The hapleſs victim of unholy love ſends to Alonzo her dying bleſſing.

Alonzo.

Oh heaven!

Solaſco.

Her abſence from the temple was diſcovered.—She was ſeen with thee.—She begged [52]me to conjure thee by her love, to ſave thyſelf from death by inſtant flight—obey her quickly—

Going.
Alonzo.

Stay, ſtay I charge thee.

Solaſco.

I have performed my office; urge not my ſtay, for I have feelings hard to be ſuppreſſed, and which, if not ſuppreſſed, might wound thee.

Alonzo.

What can now wound me more?

Solaſco.

We thought thee perfect, we adored thee with reverence, fit only for the power whoſe worſhip thou haſt violated.

Alonzo.

Forbear old man; ceaſe thy untimely chidings.

Solaſco.

My woes may ſurely juſtify my chidings. — I, who behold a race, in which each virtue heaven could give, all honour human power could beſtow, has bloomed for ages, blaſted with infamy, with infamy by thee.

Alonzo.

"Forbear, forbear."—

Solaſco.

I, who am doomed to view the deareſt object of my doating fondneſs, whoſe goodneſs oft' has ſteeped theſe aged eyes in tears of joy, to ſee her branded with guilt, devoted to deſtruction.—Have not I full cauſe, thus loudly to complain, and to upbraid thee, —I, her hapleſs father?—

Alonzo.

Father ſay'ſt thou?

[falling on his knees]

Thou, the father of my Cora.— Oh forgive me; yet how can'ſt thou forgive the murderer of thy child? Strike, ſtrike this weapon in my guilty breaſt—Oh give me death; it will at once to thee be vengeance, and to me be mercy.

Solaſco.
[53]

I ſeek not vengeance; vengeance is for weaker woes.—But tell me, how could'ſt thou heap ſuch anguiſh on a heart that never injured thee?

Alonzo.

Oh father, let me call thee ſo— wring not my ſoul thus—I love thy daughter with a flame pure as her virtues; think then what I muſt feel, and even thou may'ſt pity me.

Solaſco.

If thou doſt truly love my hapleſs child, e'en in the midſt of all my woes, my boſom owns one pang for thee—The torments of my Cora ſoon muſt end.—Thine, alas!—but let me not encreaſe the ſorrows I could wiſh to ſoothe —Farewell—obey my dying child, and grant her all the joy ſhe now can taſte—to know that thou art ſafe.

Alonzo.

Think'ſt thou I am baſe enough to live the monument of her deſtruction, and my own diſgrace.—No, if my life cannot alone appeaſe your violated laws, let me at leaſt partake my Cora's doom, and in a fond embrace expiring, I'll bleſs the fate, that e'en in death unites us.

Solaſco.

Our law allows no partial mitigation— leave her to meet the doom thou can'ſt not ſave her from; and do thou bear life a little longer, to give unhappy Cora, in her dying pangs, one ray of comfort.

Alonzo.

Oh my father!

Solaſco.

Farewell, farewell my ſon; and if thou can'ſt be happy, heaven can tell I wiſh thee ſo.

Exit.
Alonzo.

Now then the ſum of horror is complete.—

Indian inſtrument ſounds.
[54] Enter Orozimbo attended.
Orozimbo.

Alonzo, thy aid is now our chief reliance—Roldan prepares to attack us; and ſince the good Columbus left our coaſt, thro' many tedious months of care and danger, thy counſel and thy valour, ſtill have been defence and ſafety to us. But, why droops the brave Alonzo?— If any tender ſcruple of ſhedding native blood now check thy wonted ardour, freely avow the generous weakneſs, —On thee depends our fate— yet would I welcome the loſs of empire and of life, rather than ſave them by Alonzo's miſery.

Alonzo.

No—With honeſt zeal I draw my ſword againſt the enemies of innocence, tho' the ſame clime hath bred us.—He who regards his country's real honour, owns for his countrymen, none but the virtuous.—Yet, Orozimbo, this heart is burſting with its anguiſh.

Orozimbo.

Thy ſorrows, tho' I am unconſcious of the cauſe, have found their way into my kindred breaſt.—Tell me thy griefs, that I may ſoothe, perhaps relieve them.

Alonzo.

Thou, thou alone haſt power to do it.

Orozimbo.

Then, by my kingdom, thou ſhalt find relief.

Alonzo.
[Looking round]

Command that all remain at diſtance.

Orozimbo.

Retire!

Troops retreat to the back of the ſtage.
Alonzo.
[Points to the Temple]

Behold thoſe walls! does thy exalted mind, which owns the nobleſt energies of reaſon, does it approve that ſtructure, reared by miſtaken zeal, to glorify the Deity, by the dire ſacrifice of all his deareſt bleſſings?

Orozimbo.
[55]

Say on.

Alonzo.

Does ſhe, who, in the prime of youth, when every fine affection of the ſoul glows with its nobleſt fervour, when all the joys of life ſeem decked with magic ſplendour, does ſhe deſerve the puniſhment of guilt, who, buried in yon' ruthleſs priſon, caſts a fond thought on the delights ſhe has loſt, dares to condemn the tyranny which binds her, and claims her right to liberty and love?

Orozimbo.

I would aſpire to reign beyond the limits of weak prejudice; but reflect, Alonzo, how ſacred are a country's cuſtoms.

Alonzo.

There, there's the ſource of half the miſery of human kind—cuſtom is the vile confounder of virtue and of vice.—It checks the operation of our godlike reaſon, and makes the greateſt glory of creation, a being void of will— Oh, Orozimbo, ſoar ſuperior to the miſts of error —when thy great ſoul diſplays unmanacled its glorious attributes—thou'lt ceaſe to think that God delights in cruelty, whoſe bleſt infuſion in the human heart breathes mercy and benevolence.

Orozimbo.

Oft have I admired thy wiſdom and thy virtue; but, now methinks, in thee I hear the voice of heaven, and it ſhall be obeyed.— But I muſt praiſe thy wonderous goodneſs, which can thus plead for other's miſery.

Alonzo.

There I am unworthy of thy praiſe— mine is a ſelfiſh zeal—I've ſued for one whom I adore; nay for myſelf I've ſued.—Oh, Orozimbo, in the repeal of an inhuman law, thou haſt reſtored my forfeit life—nay more—the life of her I love.

Orozimbo.

What do I hear?

[56] Enter Cuto.
Cuto.

Great chief, the foe is on their march— your warriors are aſſembled, anxious for your preſence to lead them to victory.

Orozimbo.

On my friends.

Alonzo.

One moment ſtay.—Leſt the fell chance of war (which, heaven avert) ſhou'd leave my lovely Cora without the generous friend ſhe has found in thee; firſt let me bear your royal mandate to the temple, ſtrictly commanding, (whatever fate may in the battle wait us) pardon and liberty for her.

Orozimbo.

I muſt in perſon give the important mandate—Lead on the troops

[to Alonzo,]

and I with ſpeed will join you.

[to the troops.]

I leave you to the conduct of the brave Alonzo.

Orozimbo goes towards the temple, Alonzo heads the troops
Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Battle.

Excurſions—Alonzo is ſeen ſucceſsfully to attack Roldan, who is relieved by a party of Spaniards —Alonzo retreats fighting—Indians driven acroſs the ſtage.]
Enter Orozimbo, attended, and Herbert.
Orozimbo.

Alas! our efforts are, I fear, in vain.

Herbert.

We'll fight, my noble chief, 'till we force victory to crown us—our deeds ſhall ſhame her for inclining to our daſtard enemies—Alonzo bears about him like an hungry lion.

Orozimbo.

Heaven protect and aid him.

Exit.
Herbert.
[57]

What an unlucky dog am I—I was within ſix yards of that deſtroyer of innocents, Roldan, and yet the villain had the good luck to eſcape me—I have not had a bit of fighting ſo long, and this whet has given me ſuch an appetite—ha, ha! here comes work for me—now, my boy, Herbert, ſtick to them.

Enter two Spaniards.
1ſt Spaniard.

Yield directly, you Engliſh deſerter.

Herbert.

Yes, I am a deſerter; but there alone where an Engliſhman will be one, from villainy and oppreſſion to honour and humanity—Have at you, bloodhounds!

[They fight, ſeize Herbert's ſword-arm, and force him off the ſtage; during which Nelti enters in the dreſs of a female warrior.]
Nelti.

Herbert in danger

[draws her bow]

Aid me, ye powers!

[heſitates]

Alas! his manly breaſt preſents itſelf, and my erring hand may ſlay my love—They overpower him—now, heaven direct me

[ſhe lets fly an arrow]

—he's ſafe—

[falls on her knees.]
Re-enter Herbert, driving a Spaniard acroſs the ſtage.
Herbert.

Saved by a woman's hand!—ſhe faints —the ſpirit which animated her to preſerve me, now ſinks beneath the weight of its own effort— Good heaven! can it be?—'Tis Nelti.

Hugging her.
Nelti.

Oh, Herbert, joy has almoſt the ſame effect that terror had, and I am ſcarce able to bear the exceſs of happineſs your ſafety gives me.

Herbert.
[58]

My dear angelic girl, I am in ſuch tranſport, I ſcarcely know, whether I am in earth or in heaven.

[ſhouts.]

But let me beſtow you in a place of ſafety, for you hear I am wanted.

Nelti.

Then my buſines is not done—I came here to watch your ſafety, and I'll not leave you; ſo, obey me—you are not the firſt hero who has had a female commander.

Herbert.

Then act, my love, like a commander, and get out of the reach of danger as faſt as you can—See how the Indians fly—Hah! we are ſurprized, and our retreat cut off—This way—this way—

Exeunt, [a troop of Spaniards purſuing.]

SCENE THE LAST.—A garden of the Temple of the Sun—at the upper end an arch.

Enter Catalpo and prieſts.
Catalpo.

Tho' I receiv'd, with all apparent reverence, the mandate of the King, to ſpare the impious prieſteſs, I but diſſembled, to preſerve our ſacred rites inviolate—had I oppoſed the hated order, his power would have reſcued from our graſp, the object of our vengeance.

Prieſt.

But, ſay, Catalpo, does no doubt remain of this young prieſteſs' crime! For, by our chief's command to ſpare her life, he ſurely [...] her innocent.

"Catalpo.

There can exiſt no doubt—On the [...] which followed that dreadful night, when [...]e dire war of elements diffuſed ſuch general horror, Bleſſco, whoſe truth none yet e'er doubted, beheld her conducted to the temple by one of theſe hated ſtrangers, with whom ſhe parted [59]with every mark of fond endearment—Long he concealed this, till at length his conſcience ſorely wounded by the guilt he ſecreted, he on his oath declared to me this profanation. Inſtant conduct the offender to her doom.

Enter prieſts, conducting Cora in proceſſion, with archers and Solaſco.
Solaſco.
[falling on his knees.]

Oh, reverend prieſt, on my devoted head let fall the vengeance of the offended law—the crime was mine; I heeded not the tears which trickled down my Cora's angel-face; I liſtened not to the reproving ſighs, which forced their way from her lamenting boſom; but, deaf to nature's voice, compelled her to dedicate her youth to ſolitude and miſery.

Catalpo.

Hence, nor offer further inſult to offended heaven, by pleading for a wretch who braves its laws.

Solaſco.

Sure heaven will pardon a poor old man, who pleads for mercy to his child—the offence was mine, then take my forfeit life, but ſave, O ſave my Cora.

Catalpo.

Retire; for tho' no pray'rs ſhall urge me to neglect the duty which I owe to heaven, I do not wiſh a father's eyes to view the ſhedding of his daughter's blood.

Solaſco.

And does thy piety, thy filial love, then doom thee to deſtruction? Curſed Solaſco! how worthleſs art thou of thy child—thy injuſtice devoted her to miſery, and in return ſhe dooms herſelf to death, to ſave her cruel father's life.

[Cora throws herſelf round his neck.
Catalpo.
[60]

Dost thou ſtill with impious ſtubbornneſs, perſiſt to keep concealed the partner of thy guilt? Say, who it was ſeduced thy innocence?

Cora.

Oh, for mercy, ſpare me ſo dire a thought—Shall I be his accuſer—Oh bleſs, preſerve him, Heaven.

Catalpo.

This inſtant meet thy fate.

Enter Cuto.

What raſh foot dares, unbidden, to approach the ſacred Temple?

Cuto.

I wiſh my tidings did not juſtify intruſion —Reverend Prieſt, freedom is loſt—the barbarous foe hath conquered.

Catalpo.
[to Cora]

‘Thou haſt armed the hand of Heaven againſt us—its indignation falls on ourheads in vengeance for thy crime’—Lead to her death.

Cora.
[as they ſeize her]

Hold—doth Alonzo live?

Cuto.

He was too brave for life—With ardour more than human he ſought the fierceſt dangers of the fight, and hurled deſtruction round him; but at length hemmed in by numbers more than mortal arm could force, he muſt have fallen, to ſwell the horrors of this dreadful day.

Cora.

Then welcome, death

[fixed in a poſture of deſpair]
Catalpo.

Ha! it muſt be ſo—the ſecret is revealed.

Cora.

Lead me to my fate—Your cruelty will now be mercy—My ſoul's impatient to throw off this load of life, eager to join the ſpirit of my lord, and ſoar in union to the realms of bliſs.

Catalpo.
[61]

Silence this frenzy—or if thou muſt be loud in exclamation, curſe with your dying breath your impious violator.

Cora.

Peace, monſter, dare not to breathe a ſound reproachful to my Alonzo's memory, leſt I forget the calm ſolemnity this awful moment claims, and pour on thee my curſes.

Catalpo.

To death with her, and thou, old man, this inſtant quit the Temple, or behold thy daughter bleed.

Solaſco.

Farewell, my child, I'll weep no more. —This burſting heart will ſoon force out a paſſage for my ſoul to take its ſlight and follow thee.

Embraces Cora and Exit.
The ceremony takes place, the Archers range, and Cora is led to the upper part of the ſtage—The Archers draw their arrows, then Alonzo ruſhes down, covers her with his ſhield, and exclaims Hold, monſters, hold! They are aſtoniſhed at the appearance of Alonzo and drop their bows— Cora ſaints, Alonzo bears her forward.
Alonzo.

My life, my Cora—Could their barbarian hands dare point their vengeance at thy lovely form? And have I then the bliſs to claſp thee once again—Tho' danger, and tho' death on every ſide ſurround us, ſtill to enfold thee thus is extacy.

Cora.

My loved Alonzo—They told me thou wen't dead, and I was eager to eſcape from life, again to meet thee.

Alonſo.

By miracle hath Heaven preſerved me— But ſay, what meant thoſe bloody rites?

[to Catalpo]
Catalpo.

Think not thy frenzy ſhall impede our juſtice.

[62] [Orozimbo without]

Make faſt the Temple gates—The foe will ſoon be here

[comes forward]

Alonzo—doſt thou live, my friend?

Alonzo.

The arm of heaven was ſurely ſtretched to ſave me—I forced my way thro' the oppoſing multitude, and ſeeing all was loſt, I came once more to view this precious treaſure, and die defending it—here I met death in all his direſt horror, cloathed in the garb of prieſtly cruelty, not even thy command—their king's decree, could ſtop the torrent of their barbarous zeal.

Orozimbo.

Thou traitor—hence from my ſight —begone—

[Exit Catalpo]

—death waits us all— let's meet it as we ought.

Diſtant ſhouts.
Alonzo.

Oh! what a moment of diſtraction— muſt I behold thee—[to Cora] ſinking beneath the weight of butchering ſwords, or worſe, leave thee the victim of a brutal conqueror.

Cora.

Can my Alonzo grudge me the bliſs to die with him—ſouls linked like ours, the call of death ſhould never ſummon ſingly.—The horrors of captivity, thou need'ſt not dread for me. —This

[ſnatching Alonzo's poignard]

if the ſabres of the foe ſhrink from ſhedding a woman's blood, this ſhall prevent my lingering in life, when my dear lord has left it.

Noiſe at the gate of the Temple and ſhouts.
Alonzo.

They come—now then for death.

Orozimbo.
[Embraces Alonzo and Cora]

Farewell—farewell.—

They all ſtand in poſtures of defence; a noiſe is heard like the burſting of a gate, Herbert ruſhes in.
Herbert.
[63]

Huzza! victory! victory!

Alonzo.

Herbert!

Herbert.
[comes down]

Victory!—juſtice—happineſs. —

[embraces Alonzo]

huzza!

Alonzo.

Inſtant eaſe this anxious heart.

Herbert.

Give me breath

[ſhouts without]

huzza! —now for it—in our late overthrow, finding our retreat cut off, Nelti and I ſcampered towards the ſhore, with a troop of the whiſkered bloodhounds at our heels.—There, to my ſurprize I beheld a fleet—Spaniſh colours—they were landing —I hailed the firſt boat—Who's your admiral ſays I—Columbus!—Columbus!

Orozimbo and Alonzo.

Columbus—

Herbert.

I ſay, Columbus—

Alonzo.

Then, Spain, thou haſt retrieved thy name.

Herbert.

Who's your admiral, ſays I—Columbus.—

Alonzo.

Say on.

Herbert.

He landed, and when I had done crying, I informed him what had happened.— On the inſtant his troops flew to arms.—But Roldan's crew ſaved us the trouble of fighting—they fell on their coward knees

[ſhouts]

but here they come, and as they ought—Roldan in chains, and Columbus triumphant.

Alonzo.

Hear'ſt thou, my love—let theſe delightful ſounds diſpel the hideous horrors which oppreſſed thee, and elevate thy ſoul, like mine, to heavenly bliſs.

Cora.

Bliſs Alonzo! Can happineſs be ours?

Alonzo.

For ever.

[Embraces her.]
Orozimbo.
[64]

Receive, Alonzo, receive thy Cora to thy arms, and may the giver of all bliſs ſhower down upon your faithful loves, his choiceſt bleſſings.

Enter in proceſſion—Trumpeters—Spaniſh ſoldiers—Others bearing preſents—Models of guns— Sailors with model of a ſhip— Monks bearing the bible and croſs—Spaniſh banners — Dolores and Bribon—Spaniſh ſoldiers—Roldan, Moſcoſo, and Spaniſh ſoldiers, chained— Solaſco — Nelti, with Indian women ſcattering flowers—Banner of the order of Alcantara—Attendants bearing inſignia —Columbus.
Columbus.

Oh, my dear country, for I muſt call thee mine, do I again behold thee? This happy hour o'erpays my utmoſt toil.—My friends, much have I to enquire.

Alonzo.

Great Columbus, till my heart is made acquainted with thy fortunes, I cannot tell thee of my happineſs—Has Spain redreſſed thy injuries — has Ferdinand —

Columbus.

Alonzo, my wrongs were enviable— captivity was triumph — When amidſt the applauding ſhouts of thouſands, I approached the royal preſence, the ſuffering monarch ſhrunk from the fight, and threw his mantle o'er his face, crimſoned with ſhame; then raiſed me to his arms, ſtill my pride ſuſtained me; but when I beheld the beauteous Iſabella, try to force from their dire graſp my galling chains, and on each wound drop a balmy tear, loyalty and love ruthed on my ſoul, I embraced her royal feet, and gave her tears for thanks; then all the pride of pageantry was decreed, but my ſoul languiſhed for [65]the time, when, Orozimbo, I might thus again enfold thee, and reſtore to thee thy kingdom, freed from the gripe of ruthleſs tyranny.

Orozimbo.

Greateſt of men, in firmeſt confidence of thy excelling virtues, I repoſe my people's ſafety.

Columbus.
[to Herbert]

My noble Engliſhman, receive from my hand this lovely maid, and ſuch benefits as I can beſtow, you may command.

Talks apart with Orozimbo, Alonzo, and Cora.
Nelti.

Now, my dear Herbert, you will become a great man, and live at your eaſe.

Herbert.

A great man, and be at eaſe!—never was ſuch a thing heard of. This is the ſort of being which paſſes for a great man, and I hope you don't call this being at eaſe—

[Erects his head, and walks about ſtruttingly.]

—Ha, ha! No, my love, it requires a curſed deal more hard labour to impoſe on the world, than ſuits the tranquil indolence of my diſpoſition. And now, that all may this day be happy, Doctor, a word with you.

Bribon
[running before Dolores.]

What do you want, Sir, with my friend?

Dolores.

Aye, what do you want?

Herbert.

Only this, my excellent friends, I have abuſed your credulity.

Dolores.

How?

Herbert.

Your lives are independent of each other, and now you may hate him again as heartily as ever.

Dolores

Did not the necromancer?

Nelti.

I was the necromancer, old Dominic.

Dolores.
[66]

You were—Get out of my way, you—

Kicks at Bribon.
Bribon.

Ha, ha!

Snaps his fingers at Doroles.
Columbus and the reſt come forward.
Columbus.

That was indeed a triumph.—See thoſe wretches cloſely guarded—their puniſhment muſt not now damp the joy I feel. Oh, were I ſatisfied no future Roldans would alarm your peace, I ſhould be bleſt indeed.—Had I earlier known that Englands monarch would have graced my fortunes with his victorious banner, then would your freedom been firmly ſixed.—They only, who themſelves are free, give liberty to others.

BRITONS again behold Columbus ſue
To have his fortunes patronized by you;
To your ſupport alone he truſts his cauſe,
And reſts his fame, on Engliſhmens applauſe.
FINIS.

Appendix A EPILOGUE.

[]
OLD ſtories done—old times long ſince forgotten,
Like muſty records, little read, and rotten,
Return we now, to periods ſounder grown,
To happier days, and readings of our own;
Where'er we ope the book, the ſtile is clear,
The int'reſt charming, the concluſions, dear;
Our means are flouriſhing, our joys not ſcant,
Poſſeſs'd of every good, the heart can want,
Old tales of conqueſts, thrown on diſtant ſhelves,
We've little left to conquer—but ourſelves:—
An arduous taſk—and yet to do us right,
We loſe no time in entering on the fight;
Miſs, ſcarcely in her teens, attacks Mama,
Already having routed ſage Papa;
"I'm not a chit—I will turn up my locks, —
"I will wear powder, and I won't wear frocks;—
"I hate to dance with boys, now I'm ſo tall,
"I'm fit for any man, at any ball;
"You want to keep me back, becauſe its known,
"When girls grow up, their mothers, they grow down."
Pert Maſter Bobby too, releas'd from ſchool,
Hectors at home, and early learns to rule;
The ſplendid ſtud, relinquiſh'd by his ſire,
In grand diſplay, awaits the youthful Squire;
And while to Cambridge he ſhould ſtudious ſteer,
New market's courſe arreſts his gay career;
[]There he, long odds, ſhort betts, paſs dice, all pat in,
Sticks to the Greeks, and diſregards the Latin;
Flown up to town, our fierce-cock'd, captious Bobby,
Drives to the play, and quarrels in the lobby;
"Sir, you're a ſcoundrel! damme Sir, you lie"—
"Sir, here's my card, for damme I am—I."—
Thus is the boy, intent to ape the man,
A puff of diſcord, and a flaſh in pan.—
In married life, reſolving each to drive,
A ſweet contention keeps the flame alive;
"I know my province—ſo do I, my Lady—
"You'll prove my torment—you've proved mine already.
"To guard my rights, my Lord, I muſt endeavour—
"You're always out—and you are out for ever—
"Then both I truſt are happy, ſpoſo caro
with ironical tenderneſs)
"You throw at hazard, and I punt at pharo;
"Each have their object—ſo reſentment ſmother—
"Hold out the olive branch, or wear another."
Suffice this raillery—enough to prove,
Our nobleſt conqueſt, is our own ſelf-love;
The Author, who to night has greatly dar'd,
To brave the iſſue of your high award;
Tho' old, the legend whence his ſcenes he drew,
Humbly preſumes, the inſerence may be new;
Should then the efforts of his untaught muſe,
By juſt, tho' ſmall deſert, his flights excuſe;
Let him enjoy, for all his anxious toils,
That bright reward—the triumph of your ſmiles.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3550 Columbus or a world discovered An historical play As it is performed at the Theatre Royal Covent Garden By Thomas Morton. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5873-0