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Lud. Du Guernier inv. et sculp

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THE FAIR PENITENT. A TRAGEDY.

Written by N. ROWE, Eſq

Quin morere, ut merita es, ferroque averte dolorem.

Virg. Aen. Lib. 4.

[figure]

LONDON: Printed for Jacob Tonſon at Shakeſpear's Head over-againſt Catherine-ſtreet in the Strand. MDCCXIV.

TO HER GRACE the DUTCHESS OF ORMOND.

[]

MADAM,

THE Privilege of Poetry (or it may be the Vanity of the Pretenders to it) has given 'em a kind of Right to pretend, at the ſame time, to the Favour of thoſe, whom [] their high Birth and excellent Qua⯑lities have plac'd in a very diſtin⯑guiſhing manner above the reſt of the World. If this be not a receiv'd Maxim, yet I am ſure I am to wiſh it were, that I may have at leaſt ſome kind of Excuſe for laying this Tragedy at Your Grace's Feet. I have too much reaſon to fear that it may prove but an indifferent En⯑tertainment to Your Grace, ſince if I have any way ſucceeded in it, it has been in deſcribing thoſe violent Paſſions which have been always Strangers to ſo happy a Temper, and ſo noble and ſo exalted a Virtue as Your Grace is Miſtreſs of. Yet for all this, I cannot but confeſs the Va⯑nity which I have, to hope that there may be ſomething ſo moving in the Misfortunes and Diſtreſs of the Play, as may be not altogether unworthy of Your Grace's Pity. This is one of the main Deſigns of Tragedy, and to [] excite this generous Pity in the great⯑eſt Minds, may paſs for ſome kind of Succeſs in this way of Writing. I am ſenſible of the Preſumption I am guilty of by this Hope, and how much it is that I pretend to in Your Grace's Approbation; if it be my good For⯑tune to meet with any little Share of it, I ſhall always look upon it as much more to me than the general Applauſe of the Theatre, or even the Praiſe of a good Critick. Your Grace's Name is the beſt Protection this Play can hope for, ſince the World, ill-natur'd as it is, agrees in an univerſal Reſpect and Deference for Your Grace's Perſon and Cha⯑racter. In ſo cenſorious an Age as this is, where Malice furniſhes out all the Publick Converſations, where every Body pulls and is pull'd to pieces of courſe, and where there is hardly ſuch a thing as being merry, but at another's Expence; yet by a [] publick and uncommon Juſtice to the Dutcheſs of Ormond, Her Name has never been mention'd, but as it ought, tho' She has Beauty enough to pro⯑voke Detraction from the Faireſt of Her own Sex, and Virtue e⯑nough to make the Looſe and Diſſo⯑lute of the other (a very formidable Party) Her Enemies. Inſtead of this they agree to ſay nothing of Her but what She deſerves, That Her Spirit is worthy of Her Birth; Her Sweet⯑neſs, of the Love and Reſpect of all the World; Her Piety, of Her Reli⯑gion; Her Service, of Her Royal Mi⯑ſtreſs; and Her Beauty and Truth, of Her Lord; that in ſhort every part of Her Character is Juſt, and that She is the beſt Reward for one of the great⯑eſt Hero's this Age has produc'd. This, Madam, is what You muſt allow Peo⯑ple every where to ſay; thoſe whom You ſhall leave behind You in Eng⯑land will have ſomething further to [] add, the Loſs we ſhall ſuffer by your Grace's Journey to Ireland; the Queen's Pleaſure, and the Impatient Wiſhes of that Nation are about to deprive us of Two of our Publick Ornaments. But there is no arguing againſt Reaſons ſo prevalent as theſe. Thoſe who ſhall lament your Grace's Abſence will yet acquieſce in the Wiſdom and Juſtice of Her Majeſty's Choice: Among all whoſe Royal Favours none cou'd be ſo agreeable, upon a thouſand Ac⯑counts, to that People, as the Duke of Ormond. With what Joy, what Ac⯑clamations ſhall they meet a Govern⯑or, who beſide their former Obligati⯑ons to His Family, has ſo lately ven⯑tur'd His Life and Fortune for their Preſervation; What Duty, what Sub⯑miſſion ſhall they not pay to that Au⯑thority which the Queen has delegated to a Perſon ſo dear to 'em? And with what Honour, what Reſpect ſhall they receive Your Grace, when they look [] upon You as the Nobleſt and Beſt Pat⯑tern Her Majeſty cou'd ſend 'em, of her own Royal Goodneſs, and Perſo⯑nal Virtues? They ſhall behold Your Grace with the ſame Pleaſure the En⯑gliſh ſhall take when ever it ſhall be their good Fortune to ſee You return again to Your Native Country. In Eng⯑land Your Grace is become a Publick Concern, and as Your going away will be attended with a general Sorrow, ſo Your Return ſhall give as general a Joy; and to none of thoſe many, more than to,

MADAM,

Your GRACE's moſt Obedient, and moſt Humble Servant N. Rowe.

PROLOGUE,

[]

Spoken by Mr. Betterton.

LONG has the Fate of Kings and Empires been
The common Busineſs of the Tragick Scene,
As if Misfortune made the Throne her Seat,
And none cou d be unhappy but the Great.
Dearly 'tis true each buys the Crown he wears,
And many are the mighty Monarch's Cares:
By foreign Foes and home-bred Factions preſt,
Few are the Joys he knows and ſhort his Hours of Reſt.
Stories like theſe with Wonder we may hear,
But far remote and in a higher Sphere,
We ne'er can pity what we ne'er can ſhare.
Like diſtant Battles of the Pole and Swede,
Which frugal Citizens o'er Coffee read,
Careleſs for who ſhall fail or who ſucceed.
Therefore an humbler Theme our Author choſe,
A melancholy Tale of private Woes:
No Princes here loſt Royalty bemoan,
But you ſhall meet with Sorrows like your own;
Here ſee imperious Love his Vaſſals treat,
As hardly as Ambition does the Great;
See how ſucceeding Paſſions rage by turns,
How fierce the Youth with Joy and Rapture burns,
And how to Death for Beauty loſt, he mourns.

Let no nice Taſte the Poet's Art arraign,
If ſome frail vicious Characters he feign:
Who Writes ſhou'd ſtill let Nature be his Care,
Mix Shades with Lights and not paint all things fair,
But ſhew you Men and Women as they are.
With Deference to the Fair he bad me ſay,
Few to Perfection ever found the Way;
Many in many Parts are known t' excel,
But 'twere too hard for One to act all well;
Whom juſtly Life ſhould through each Scene commend,
The Maid, the Wife the Miſtreſs, and the Friend:
This Age, 'tis true has one great Inſtance ſeen,
And Heav'n in Juſtice made that One a Queen.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]

MEN.

SCiolto, a Nobleman of Genoa, Father to Caliſta.: Mr. Bowman.
Altamont, a young Lord, in Love with Caliſta, and deſign'd her Husband by Sciolto.: Mr. Verbruggen.
Horatio, his Friend.: Mr. Betterton.
Lothario, a young Lord, Enemy to Al⯑tamont.: Mr. Powell.
Roſſano, his Friend.: Mr. Baily.

WOMEN.

Caliſta, Daughter to Sciolto.: Mrs. Barry.
Lavinia, Siſter to Altamont, and Wife to Horatio.: Mrs. Bracegirdle.
Lucilla, Confident to Caliſta.: Mrs. Prince.
Servants to Sciolto.

SCENE, Sciolto's Palace and Garden, with ſome part of the Street near it, in GENOA.

[]THE FAIR PENITENT.

ACT I. SCENE I.SCENE a Garden belonging to Sciolto's Palace.
Enter Altamont and Horatio.
ALTAMONT.
LET this auſpicious Day be ever ſacred,
No Mourning, no Misfortunes happen on it;
Let it be markt for Triumphs and Re⯑joycings;
Let happy Lovers ever make it hely,
Chuſe it to bleſs their Hopes, and crown their Wiſhes,
This happy Day that gives me my Caliſta.
Hor.
Yes, Altamont; to Day thy better Stars
Are join'd, to ſhed their kindeſt Influence on thee.
Sciolto's noble Hand, that rais'd thee firſt,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy Father's Grave,
[2] Compleats its Bounty, and reſtores thy Name
To that high Rank and Luſtre which it boaſted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The Merit of thy Godlike Father's Arms;
Before that Country which he long had ſerv'd,
In watchful Councils, and in Winter Camps,
Had caſt off his white Age to Want and Wretchedneſs,
And made their Court to faction by his Ruin.
Alt.
Oh great Sciolto! oh my more than Father!
Let me not live, but at thy very Name
My eager Heart ſprings up, and leaps with Joy.
When I forget the vaſt vaſt Debt I owe thee,
Forget! (but 'tis impoſſible) then let me
Forget the Uſe and Privilege of Reaſon,
Be driven from the Commerce of Mankind,
To wander in the Deſart among Brutes,
To bear the various Fury of the Seaſons,
The Night's unwholſom Dew and Noon-day's Heat,
To be the Scorn of Earth and Curſe of Heav'n.
Hor.
So open, ſo unbounded was his Goodneſs,
It reach'd ev'n me, becauſe I was thy Friend.
When that Great Man I lov'd, thy Noble Father,
Bequeath'd thy gentle Siſter to my Arms,
His laſt dear Pledge and Legacy of Friendſhip,
That happy Tye made me Sciolto's Son;
He call'd us his, and with a Parent's Fondneſs
Indulg'd us in his Wealth, bleſt us with Plenty,
Heal'd all our Cares, and ſweeten'd Love it ſelf.
Alt.
By Heav'n, he found my Fortunes ſo abandon'd,
That nothing but a Miracle could raiſe 'em;
My Father's Bounty, and the State's Ingratitude,
Had ſtrip'd him bare, nor left him ev'n a Grave;
[3] Undone my ſelf, and ſinking with his Ruin,
I had no Wealth to bring, nothing to ſuccour him,
But fruitleſs Tears.
Hor.
Yet what thou cou'dſt thou didſt,
And didſt it like a Son; when his hard Creditors,
Urg'd and aſſiſted by Lothario's Father,
(Foe to thy Houſe, and Rival of their Greatneſs)
By Sentence of the cruel Law, forbid
His venerable Corps to reſt in Earth,
Thou gav'ſt thy ſelf a Ranſom for his Bones;
With Piety uncommon, didſt give up
Thy hopeful Youth to Slaves who ne'er knew Mercy,
Sour, unrelenting, Mony-loving Villains,
Who laugh at human Nature and Forgiveneſs,
And are like Fiends the Factors for Deſtruction.
Heav'n, who beheld the pious Act, approv'd it,
And bad Sciolto's Bounty be its Proxy,
To bleſs thy filial Virtue with Abundance.
Alt.
But ſee he comes, the Author of my Happineſs,
The Man who ſav'd my Life from deadly Sorrow,
Who bids my Days be bleſt with Peace and Plenty,
And ſatisfies my Soul with Love and Beauty.
Enter Sciolto, he runs to Altamont and embraces him.
Sci.
Joy to thee, Altamont! Joy to my ſelf!
Joy to this happy Morn, that makes thee mine,
That kindly grants what Nature had deny'd me,
And makes me Father of a Son like thee.
Alt.
My Father! oh let me unlade my Breaſt,
Pour out the fullneſs of my Soul before you,
Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful Thought,
This wond'rous Goodneſs ſtirs. But 'tis impoſſible,
And Utterance all is vile; ſince I can only
[4] Swear you reign here, but never tell how much.
Sci.
It is enough; I know thee thou art honeſt;
Goodneſs innate, and Worth hereditary
Are in thy Mind; thy noble Father's Virtues
Spring freſhly forth, and bloſſom in thy Youth.
Alt.
Thus Heav'n from nothing rais'd his fair Creation,
And then with wond'rous Joy beheld its Beauty,
Well pleas'd to ſee the Excellence he gave.
Sci.
Oh noble Youth! I ſwear ſince firſt I knew thee,
Ev'n from that day of Sorrows when I ſaw thee,
Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial Tears,
The Mourner and Redeemer of thy Father,
I ſet thee down and ſeal'd thee for my own:
Thou art my Son, ev'n near me as Caliſta.
Horatio and Lavinia too are mine;
[Embraces Horatio.
All are my Children, and ſhall ſhare my Heart.
But wherefore waſte we thus this happy Day?
The laughing Minutes ſummon thee to Joy,
And with new Pleaſures court thee as they paſs;
Thy waiting Bride ev'n chides thee for delaying,
And ſwears thou com'ſt not with a Bridegroom's Haſte.
Alt.
Oh! could I hope there was one Thought of Altamont
One kind Remembrance in Caliſta's Breaſt,
The Winds, with all their Wings, would be too ſlow
To bear me to her Feet. For oh! my Father,
Amidſt this Stream of Joy that bears me on,
Bleſt as I am, and honour'd in your Friendſhip,
There is one Pain that hangs upon my Heart.
Sci.
What means my Son?
Alt.
When, at your Interceſſion,
Laſt Night Caliſta yielded to my Happineſs,
Juſt ere we parted, as I ſeal'd my Vows
[5] With Rapture on her Lips, I found her Cold,
As a dead Lover's Statue on his Tomb;
A riſing ſtorm of Paſſion ſhook her Breaſt,
Her Eyes a piteous ſhow'r of Tears let fall,
And then ſhe ſigh'd as if her Heart were breaking.
With all the tend'reſt Eloquence of Love
I beg'd to be a Sharer in her Grief;
But ſhe, with Looks averſe, and Eyes that froze me,
Sadly reply'd, her Sorrows were her own,
Nor in a Father's Pow'r to diſpoſe of.
Sci.
Away! it is the Coſenage of their Sex,
One of the common Arts they practiſe on us,
To ſigh and weep, then when their Hearts beat high,
With expectation of the coming Joy:
Thou haſt in Camps, and fighting Fields been bred,
Unknowing in the Subtleties of Women;
The Virgin Bride, who ſwoons with deadly Fear,
To ſee the end of all her Wiſhes near,
When bluſhing from the Light and publick Eyes,
To the kind Covert of the Night ſhe flies,
With equal Fires to meet the Bridegroom moves,
Melts in his Arms, and with a looſe ſhe loves.
[Exeunt.
Enter Lothario and Roſſano.
Loth.
The Father and the Husband!
Roſſ.
Let them paſs,
They ſaw us not.
Loth.
I care not if they did,
Ere long I mean to meet 'em Face to Face,
And gaul 'em with my Triumph o'er Caliſta.
Roſſ.
You lov'd her once.
Loth.
I lik'd her, wou'd have marry'd her,
But that it pleas'd her Father to refuſe me,
[6] To make this Honourable Fool her Husband.
For which, if I forget him, may the Shame
I mean to brand his Name with, ſtick on mine.
Roſſ.
She, gentle Soul, was kinder than her Father.
Loth.
She was, and oft in private gave me hearing,
'Till by long liſt'ning to the ſoothing Tale,
At length her eaſie Heart was wholly mine.
Roſſ.
I have heard you oft deſcribe her, Haughty, Inſolent,
And fierce with high Diſdain; it moves my wonder,
That Virtue thus defended, ſhould be yielded
A Prey to looſe Deſires.
Loth.
Hear, then I'll tell thee.
Once in a lone, and ſecret Hour of Night,
When ev'ry Eye was clos'd, and the pale Moon
And Stars alone, ſhone conſcious of the Theft,
Hot with the Tuſcan Grape, and high in Blood,
Hap'ly I ſtole unheeded to her Chamber.
Roſſ.
That Minute ſure was lucky.
Loth.
Oh 'twas great.
I found the Fond, Believing, Love-ſick Maid,
Looſe, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of Wiſhes;
Fierceneſs and Pride, the Guardians of her Honour,
Were charm'd to Reſt, and Love alone was waking.
Within her riſing Boſom all was calm,
As peaceful Seas that know no Storms, and only
Are gently lifted up and down by Tides.
I ſnatch'd the glorious, golden Opportunity,
And with prevailing, youthful Ardour preſt her,
Till with ſhort Sighs, and murmuring Reluctance,
The yielding Fair One gave me perfect Happineſs.
Ev'n all the live-long Night we paſt in Bliſs,
In Extaſies too fierce to laſt for ever;
[7] At length the Morn and cold Indifference came;
When fully ſated with the luſcious Banquet,
I haſtily took leave, and left the Nymph
To think on what was paſt, and ſigh alone.
Roſſ.
You ſaw her ſoon again.
Loth.
Too ſoon I ſaw her;
For oh! that Meeting was not like the former;
I found my Heart no more beat high with Tranſport,
No more I ſigh'd, and languiſh'd for Enjoyment,
'Twas paſt, and Reaſon took her turn to reign,
While ev'ry Weakneſs fell before her Throne.
Roſſ.
What of the Lady?
Loth.
With uneaſie Fondneſs
She hung upon me, wept, and ſigh'd, and ſwore
She was undone; talk'd of a Prieſt and Marriage,
Of flying with me from her Father's Pow'r;
Call'd ev'ry Saint and bleſſed Angel down,
To witneſs for her that ſhe was my Wife.
I ſtarted at that Name.
Roſſ.
What Anſwer made you?
Loth.
None; but pretending ſudden Pain and Illneſs
Eſcap'd the Perſecution; two Nights ſince,
By Meſſage urg'd, and frequent Importunity,
Again I ſaw her. Strait with Tears and Sighs,
With ſwelling Breaſts, with Swooning, with Diſtraction,
With all the Subtleties, and pow'rful Arts
Of wilful Woman lab'ring for her purpoſe,
Again ſhe told the ſame dull nauſeous Tale.
Unmov'd, I beg'd her ſpare th'ungrateful Subject,
Since I reſolv'd, that Love and Peace of Mind
Might flouriſh long inviolate betwixt us,
Never to load it with the Marriage Chain;
[8] That I would ſtill retain her in my Heart,
My ever gentle Miſtreſs, and my Friend;
But for thoſe other Names of Wiſe and Husband,
They only meant Ill-nature, Cares, and Quarrels.
Roſſ.
How bore ſhe this Reply?
Loth.
Ev'n as the Earth,
When, (Winds pent up, or eating Fires beneath
Shaking the Maſs) ſhe labours with Deſtruction.
At firſt her Rage was dumb, and wanted Words,
But when the Storm found way, 'twas wild and loud,
Mad as the Prieſteſs of the Delphick God,
Enthuſiaſtick Paſſion ſwell'd her Breaſt,
Enlarg'd her Voice, and ruffled all her Form;
Proud, and diſdainful of the Love I proffer'd,
She call'd me Villain! Monſter! Baſe! Betrayer!
At laſt, in very bitterneſs of Soul,
With deadly Imprecations on her ſelf,
She vow'd ſeverely ne'er to ſee me more;
Then bid me fly that minute; I obey'd,
And bowing left her to grow cool at leiſure.
Roſſ.
She has relented ſince, elſe why this Meſſage,
To meet the Keeper of her Secrets here
This Morning?
Loth.
See the Perſon whom you nam'd.
Enter Lucilla.
Well, my Embaſſadreſs, what muſt we treat of?
Come you to menace War and proud Defiance,
Or does the peaceful Olive grace your Meſſage?
Is your Fair Miſtreſs calmer? does ſhe ſoften?
And muſt we love again? Perhaps ſhe means
To treat in Juncture with her new Ally,
And make her Husband Party to th' Agreement.
Lucil.
[9]Is this well done, my Lord? Have you put off
All Senſe of Human Nature? keep a little,
A little Pity to diſtinguiſh Manhood,
Leſt other Men, tho' cruel, ſhould diſclaim you,
And judge you to be number'd with the Brutes.
Loth.
I ſee thou'ſt learnt to rail.
Lucil.
I've learnt to weep;
That Leſſon my ſad Miſtreſs often gives me;
By Day ſhe ſeeks ſome melancholy Shade,
To hide her Sorrows from the prying World;
At Night ſhe watches all the long long Hours,
And liſtens to the Winds and beating Rain,
With Sighs as loud, and Tears that fall as faſt.
Then ever and anon ſhe wrings her Hands.
And cries, Falſe! falſe Lothario.
Loth.
Oh no more!
I ſwear thou'lt ſpoil thy pretty Face with Crying,
And thou haſt Beauty that may make thy Fortune;
Some keeping Cardinal ſhall doat upon thee,
And barter his Church Treaſure for thy Freſhneſs.
Lucil.
What! ſhall I fell my Innocence and Youth,
For Wealth or Titles, to perfidious Man!
To Man! who makes his Mirth of our Undoing!
The baſe, profeſt Betrayer of our Sex:
Let me grow old in all Misfortunes elſe,
Rather than know the Sorrows of Caliſta.
Loth.
Does ſhe ſend thee to chide in her behalf?
I ſwear thou doſt it with ſo good a Grace,
That I cou'd almoſt love thee for thy frowning.
Lucil.
Read there, my Lord, there in her own ſad Lines, [Giving a Letter.
Which beſt can tell the Story of her woes,
[10] That Grief of Heart which your Unkindneſs gives her.
Lothario reads.]
Your Cruelty—Obedience to my Father—give my Hand to Altamont.
By Heav'n! 'tis well; ſuch ever be the Gifts,
With which I greet the Man whom my Soul hates. [Aſide.
But to go on!
—Wiſh—Heart—Honour—too faithleſs—Weakneſs—to morrow—laſt Trouble—loſt Caliſta.
Women I ſee change as well as Men;
She writes me here, forſaken as I am,
That I ſhould bind my Brows with mournful Willow,
For ſhe has given her Hand to Altamont:
Yet tell the Fair Inconſtant—
Lucil.
How, my Lord?
Loth.
Nay, no more angry Words, ſay to Caliſta,
The humbleſt of her Slaves ſhall wait her Pleaſure;
If ſhe can leave her happy Husband's Arms,
To think upon ſo loſt a thing as I am.
Lucil.
Alas! for pity come with gentler Looks;
Wound not her Heart with this unmanly Triumph;
And tho' you love her not, yet ſwear you do,
So ſhall Diſſembling once be virtuous in you.
Loth.
Ha! who comes here?
Lucil.
The Bridegroom's Friend, Horatio.
He muſt not ſee us here; to morrow early
Be at the Garden Gate.
Loth.
Bear to my Love
My kindeſt Thoughts, and ſwear I will not fail her.
[Lothario putting up the Letter haſtily, drops it as he goes out.
[Exeunt Lothario and Roſſano one way, Lucilla another.
[11] Enter Horatio.
Hor.
Sure 'tis the very Error of my Eyes:
Waking I dream, or I beheld Lothario;
He ſeem'd conferring with Caliſta's Woman:
At my approach they ſtarted, and retir'd.
What Buſineſs cou'd he have here, and with her?
I know he bears the noble Altamont
Profeſt and deadly Hate—What Paper's this? [Taking up the Letter.
Ha! to Lothario!—'s Death! Caliſta's Name! [Opening it.
Confuſion and Misfortune!
[Reads.
YOUR Cruelty has at length determin'd me, and I have reſolv'd this Morning to yield a perfect Obedience to my Father, and to give my Hand to Altamont, in ſpight of my Weakneſs for the falſe Lothario. I could almoſt wiſh I had that Heart, and that Honour to beſtow with it, which you have robb'd me of:
Damnation! to the reſt—
[Reads again.
But oh! I fear, could I retrieve 'em I ſhould again be undone by the too faithleſs yet too lovely Lothario; this is the laſt weakneſs of my Pen, and to morrow ſhall be the laſt in which I will indulge my Eyes. Lucilla ſhall conduct you if you are kind enough to let me ſee you; it ſhall be the laſt Trouble you ſhall meet with from
The loſt Caliſta.
The loſt indeed! for thou art gone as far
As there can be Perdition. Fire and Sulphur,
Hell is the ſole Avenger of ſuch Crimes.
Oh that the Ruin were but all thy own!
[12] Thou wilt ev'n make thy Father curſe his Age,
At ſight of this black Scrowl, the gentle Altamont,
(For oh! I know his Heart is ſet upon thee)
Shall droop and hang his diſcontented Head,
Like Merit ſcorn'd by inſolent Authority,
And never grace the Publick with his Virtues.—
Perhaps ev'n now he gazes fondly on her,
And thinking Soul and Body both alike,
Bleſſes the perfect Wormanſhip of Heav'n;
Then ſighing, to his ev'ry Care ſpeaks Peace,
And bids his Heart be ſatisfy'd with Happineſs.
Oh wretched Husband! while ſhe hangs about thee
With idle Blandiſhments, and plays the fond one,
Ev'n then her hot Imagination wanders,
Contriving Riot, and looſe ſcapes of Love;
And while ſhe claſps thee cloſe makes thee a Monſter.
What if I give this Paper to her Father?
It follows that his Juſtice dooms her dead,
And breaks his Heart with Sorrow; hard Return,
For all the Good his Hand has heap'd on us:
Hold, let me take a Moment's Thought.
Enter Lavinia.
Lav.
My Lord!
Truſt me it joys my Heart that I have found you.
Enquiring wherefore you had left the Company,
Before my Brother's Nuptial Rites were ended,
They told me you had felt ſome ſudden Illneſs;
Where are you ſick? Is it your Head? your Heart?
Tell me my Love, and eaſe my anxious Thoughts,
That I may take you gently in my Arms,
Sooth you to Reſt, and ſoften all your Pains.
Hor.
It were unjuſt, no let me ſpare my Friend,
[13] Lock up the fatal Secret in my Breaſt,
Nor tell him that which will undo his Quiet.
Lav.
What means my Lord?
Hor.
Ha! ſaidſt thou my Lavinia?
Lav.
Alas! you know not what you make me ſuffer;
Why are you pale? Why did you ſtart and tremble?
Whence is that Sigh? And wherefore are your Eyes
Severely rais'd to Heav'n? The ſick Man thus,
Acknowledging the Summons of his Fate,
Lifts up his feeble Hands and Eyes for Mercy,
And with Confuſion thinks upon his Audit.
Hor.
Oh no! thou haſt miſtook my Sickneſs quite,
Theſe Pangs are of the Soul. Wou'd I had met
Sharpeſt Convulſions, ſpotted Peſtilences,
Or any other deadly Foe to Life,
Rather than heave beneath this load of Thought.
Lav.
Alas, what is it? Wherefore turn you from me?
Why did you falſly call me your Lavinia,
And ſwear I was Horatio's better half,
Since now you mourn unkindly by your ſelf,
And rob me of my Partnerſhip of Sadneſs?
Witneſs you Holy Pow'rs, who know my Truth,
There cannot be a Chance in Life ſo miſerable,
Nothing ſo very hard but I cou'd bear it,
Much rather than my Love ſhould treat me coldly,
And uſe me like a Stranger to his Heart.
Hor.
Seek not to know what I wou'd hide from all,
But moſt from thee. I never knew a Pleaſure,
Ought that was joyful, fortunate, or good,
But ſtrait I ran to bleſs thee with the Tidings,
And laid up all my Happineſs with thee:
But wherefore, wherefore ſhould I give thee Pain?
[14] Then ſpare me, I conjure thee, ask no further;
Allow my melancholy Thoughts this privilege,
And let 'em brood in ſecret o'er their Sorrows.
Lav.
It is enough, chide not, and all is well;
Forgive me if I ſaw you ſad, Horatio,
And ask'd to weep out part of your Misfortunes;
I wo'not preſs to know what you forbid me.
Yet, my lov'd Lord, yet you muſt grant me this,
Forget your Cares for this one happy Day,
Devote this Day to Mirth, and to your Altamont;
For his dear ſake let Peace be in your Looks.
Ev'n now the jocund Bridegroom wants your Wiſhes,
He thinks the Prieſt has but half bleſt his Marriage,
'Till his Friend Hails him with the ſound of Joy.
Hor.
Oh never! never! never! Thou art innocent,
Simplicity from Ill, pure native Truth,
And Candour of the Mind adorn thee ever;
But there are ſuch, ſuch falſe ones in the World,
'Twou'd fill thy gentle Soul wild Amazement
To hear their Story told.
Lav.
Falſe ones, my Lord?
Hor.
Fatally Fair they are, and in their Smiles,
The Graces, little Loves, and young Deſires inhabit;
But all that gaze upon 'em are undone,
For they are falſe; luxurious in their Appetites,
And all the Heav'n they hope for is Variety:
One Lover to another ſtill ſucceeds,
Another, and another after that,
And the laſt Fool is welcome as the former;
'Till having lov'd his Hour out, he gives place,
And mingles with the Herd that went before him.
Lav.
Can there be ſuch? And have they peace of Mind?
[15] Have they in all the Series of their changing
One happy Hour? if Women are ſuch things,
How was I form'd ſo different from my Sex!
My little Heart is ſatisfy'd with you,
You take up all her room; as in a Cottage
Which harbours ſome Benighted Princely Stranger,
Where the good Man, proud of his Hoſpitality,
Yields all his homely Dwelling to his Gueſt,
And hardly keeps a Corner for himſelf.
Hor.
Oh were they all like thee Men would adore 'em,
And all the Bus'neſs of their Lives be loving;
The Nuptial Band ſhou'd be the Pledge of Peace,
And all Domeſtick Cares and Quarrels ceaſe;
The World ſhou'd learn to love by Virtuous Rules,
And Marriage be no more the Jeſt of Fools.
[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.[16]SCENE, a Hall.
Enter Caliſta and Lucilla.
Cal.
BE dumb for ever, ſilent as the Grave,
Nor let thy fond officious Love diſturb
My ſolemn Sadneſs, with the ſound of Joy.
If thou wilt ſooth me, tell ſome diſmal Tale
Of pining Diſcontent, and black Deſpair;
For oh! I've gone around thro' all my Thoughts,
But all are Indignation, Love, or Shame,
And my dear Peace of Mind is loſt for ever.
Luc.
Why do you follow ſtill that wand'ring Fire,
That has miſ-led your weary Steps, and leaves you
Benighted in a Wilderneſs of Woe?
That falſe Lothario! Turn from the Deceiver;
Turn, and behold where gentle Altamont,
Kind as the ſofteſt Virgin of our Sex,
And faithful as the ſimple Village Swain,
That never knew the Courtly Vice of Changing,
Sighs at your Feet, and wooes you to be happy.
Cal.
Away, I think not of him. My ſad Soul
Has form'd a diſmal melancholy Scene,
Such a Retreat as I wou'd wiſh to find;
An unfrequented Vale, o'er-grown with Trees
Moſſie and old, within whoſe loneſome Shade,
Ravens, and Birds ill omen'd, only dwell;
No Sound to break the Silence, but a Brook
That bubling wind's among the Weeds: no Mark
Of any Human Shape that had been there,
[17] Unleſs a Skeleton of ſome poor Wretch,
Who had long ſince, like me, by Love undone,
Sought that ſad Place out to deſpair and die in.
Luc.
Alas for Pity!
Cal.
There I fain wou'd hide me,
From the baſe World, from Malice, and from Shame;
For 'tis the ſolemn Counſel of my Soul,
Never to live with publick Loſs of Honour:
'Tis fix'd to die, rather than bear the Inſolence
Of each affected She that tells my Story,
And bleſſes her good Stars that ſhe is virtuous.
To be a Tale for Fools! Scorn'd by the Women,
And pity'd by the Men! oh inſupportable!
Luc.
Can you perceive the manifeſt Deſtruction,
The gaping Gulf that opens juſt before you,
And yet ruſh on, tho' conſcious of the Danger?
Oh hear me, hear your ever faithful Creature;
By all the Good I wiſh, by all the Ill
My trembling Heart forebodes, let me intreat you,
Never to ſee this faithleſs Man again:
Let me forbid his coming.
Cal.
On thy Life
I charge thee no; my Genius drives me on;
I muſt, I will behold him once again:
Perhaps it is the Criſis of my Fate,
And this one Enterview ſhall end my Cares.
My lab'ring Heart, that ſwells with Indignation,
Heaves to diſcharge the Burthen; that once done,
The buſie thing ſhall reſt within its Cell,
And never beat again.
Luc.
Truſt not to that;
Rage is the ſhorteſt Paſſion of our Souls,
[18] Like narrow Brooks that riſe with ſudden Show'rs.
It ſwells in haſte, and falls again as ſoon;
Still as it ebbs the ſofter Thoughts flow in,
And the Deceiver Love ſupplies its place.
Cal.
I have been wrong'd enough, to arm my Temper
Againſt the ſmooth Deluſion; but alas!
(Chide not my Weakneſs, gentle Maid, but pity me)
A Woman's Softneſs hangs about me ſtill:
Then let me bluſh, and tell thee all my Folly.
I ſwear I could not ſee the dear Betrayer
Kneel at my Feet, and ſigh to be forgiven,
But my relenting Heart would pardon all,
And quite forget 'twas he that had undone me.
Lucil.
Ye ſacred Powers, whoſe gracious Providence
Is watchful for our Good, guard me from Men,
From their deceitful Tongues, their Vows and Flatteries;
Still let me paſs neglected by their Eyes,
Let my Bloom wither, and my Form decay,
That none may think it worth his while to ruin me,
And fatal Love may never be my Bane.
Cal
Ha! Altamont? Caliſta now be wary,
And guard thy Soul's Acceſſes with Diſſembling;
Nor let this Hoſtile Husband's Eyes explore
The warring Paſſions, and tumultuous Thoughts,
That rage within thee, and deform thy Reaſon.
Enter Altamont.
Alt.
Be gone my Cares, I give you to the Winds,
Far to be born, far from the happy Altamont;
For from this ſacred Aera of my Love,
A better Order of ſucceeding Days
Come ſmiling forward, white and lucky all.
Caliſta is the Miſtreſs of the Year,
[19] She crowns the Seaſons with auſpicious Beauty,
And bids ev'n all my Hours be good and joyful.
Cal.
If I was ever Miſtreſs of ſuch Happineſs,
Oh! wherefore did I play th' unthrifty Fool,
And waſting all on others, leave my ſelf
Without one Thought of Joy to give me Comfort?
Alt.
Oh mighty Love! Shall that fair Face profane
This thy great Feſtival with Frowns and Sadneſs!
I ſwear it ſha' not be, for I will wooe thee
With Sighs ſo moving, with ſo warm a Tranſport,
That thou ſhalt catch the gentle Flame from me,
And kindle into Joy.
Cal.
I tell thee, Altamont.
Such Hearts as ours were never pair'd above,
Ill ſuited to each other; join'd, not match'd;
Some ſullen Influence, a Foe to both,
Has wrought this fatal Marriage to undo us.
Mark but the Frame and Temper of our Minds,
How very much we differ. Ev'n this Day,
That fills thee with ſuch Extaſie and Tranſport,
To me brings nothing that ſhould make me bleſs it,
Or think it better than the Day before,
Or any other in the Courſe of Time,
That dully took its turn, and was forgotten.
Alt.
If to behold thee as my Pledge of Happineſs,
To know none fail, none excellent beſide thee;
If ſtill to love thee with unweary'd Conſtancy,
Through ev'ry Seaſon, ev'ry Change of Life,
Through wrinkled Age, through Sickneſs and Misfortune,
Be worth the leaſt Return of grateful Love,
Oh then let my Caliſta bleſs this Day,
And ſet it down for happy.
Cal.
[20]'Tis the Day
In which my Father gave my Hand to Altamont;
As ſuch I will remember it for ever.
Enter Sciolto, Horatio, and Lavinia.
Sci.
Let Mirth go on, let Pleaſure know no pauſe,
But fill up ev'ry Minute of this Day.
'Tis yours, my Children, ſacred to your Loves;
The glorious Sun himſelf for you looks gay,
He ſhines for Altamont and for Caliſta.
Let there be Muſick, let the Maſter touch
The ſprightly String, and ſoftly-breathing Flute,
'Till Harmony rouſe ev'ry gentle Paſſion,
Teach the cold Maid to loſe her Fears in Love,
And the fierce Youth to languiſh at her Feet.
Begin, ev'n Age it ſelf is chear'd with Muſick,
It wakes a glad Remembrance of our Youth,
Calls back paſt Joys, and warms us into Tranſport.
[Here an Entertainment of Muſick and Dancing.
SONG.By Mr. GONGREVE.I.AH ſtay! ah turn! ah whither would you fly
Too charming, too relentleſs Maid?
I follow not to Conquer but to Die,
You of the fearful are afraid.
[21]II.In vain I call; for ſhe like fleeting Air,
When preſt by ſome tempeſtuous Wind,
Flies ſwifter from the Voice of my Deſpair,
Nor caſts one pitying Look behind.
Sci.
Take care my Gates be open, bid all welcome;
All who rejoice with me to Day are Friends:
Let each indulge his Genius, each be glad,
Jocund and free, and ſwell the Feaſt with Mirth.
The ſprightly Bowl ſhall chearfully go round,
None ſhall be grave, nor too ſeverely wiſe;
Loſſes and Diſappointments, Cares and Poverty,
The rich Man's Inſolence, and great Man's Scorn,
In Wine ſhall be forgotten all. To-Morrow
Will be too ſoon to think, and to be wretched.
Oh! grant, ye Powers, that I may ſee theſe happy, [Pointing to Alt. and Caliſta.
Compleatly bleſt, and I have Life enough;
And leave the reſt indifferently to Fate.
[Exeunt.
Manet Horatio.
Hor.
What if, while all are here intent on Revelling,
I privately went forth, and ſought Lothario?
This Letter may be forg'd; perhaps the Wantonneſs
Of his vain Youth, to ſtain a Lady's Fame;
Perhaps his Malice, to diſturb my Friend.
Oh no! my Heart forebodes it muſt be true.
Methought ev'n now I mark'd the ſtarts of Guilt,
That ſhook her Soul; tho' damn'd Diſſimulation
Skrcen'd her dark Thoughts, and ſet to publick View
A ſpecious Face of Innocence and Beauty.
Oh falſe Appearance! What is all our Soveraignty,
[22] Our boaſted Pow'r? when they oppoſe their Arts,
Still they prevail, and we are found their Fools.
With ſuch ſmooth Looks, and many a gentle Word,
The firſt fair She beguil'd her eaſie Lord;
Too blind with Love and Beauty to beware,
He fell unthinking in the fatal Snare;
Nor could believe, that ſuch a Heav'nly Face
Had bargain'd with the Devil, to damn her wretched Race.
[Exit.

SCENE II.

SCENE, the Street near Sciolto's Palace.

Enter Lothario and Roſſano.

Loth.

To tell thee then the Purport of my Thoughts;

The Loſs of this fond Paper would not give me

A moment of Diſquiet, were it not

My Inſtrument of Vengeance on this Altamont:

Therefore I mean to wait ſome Opportunity

Of ſpeaking with the Maid we ſaw this Morning.

Roſſ.

I wiſh you, Sir, to think upon the Danger

Of being ſeen; to Day their Friends are round 'em,

And any Eye, that lights by chance on you,

Shall put your Life and Safety to the Hazard.

[They confer aſide.

Enter Horatio.

Hor.

Still I muſt doubt ſome Myſtery of Miſchief,

Some Artifice beneath; Lothario's Father

I knew him well, he was ſagacious, cunning,

Fluent in Words, and bold in peaceful Councils,

But of a cold, unactive hand in War.

Yet with theſe Coward's Virtues he undid

[23] My unſuſpecting, valiant, honeſt Friend.

This Son, if Fame miſtakes not, is more hot,

More open, and unartful—Ha! he's here!

[Seeing him.

Loth.

Damnation! He again!—This ſecond time

To Day he has croſt me like my evil Genius.

Hor.

I ſought you, Sir.

Loth.

'Tis well then I am found.

Hor.

'Tis well you are: The Man who wrongs my Friend

To the Earth's utmoſt Verge I would purſue;

No Place, tho' e'er ſo holy, ſhould protect him;

No Shape that artful Fear e'er form'd ſhould hide him,

'Till he fair Anſwer made, and did me Juſtice.

Loth.

Ha! doſt thou know me? that I am Lothario?

As great a Name as this proud City boaſts of.

Who is this mighty Man then, this Horatio,

That I ſhould baſely hide me from his Anger,

Leſt he ſhould chide me for his Friend's Diſpleaſure?

Hor.

The Brave, 'tis true, do never ſhun the Light,

Juſt are their Thoughts, and open are their Tempers,

Freely without Diſguiſe they love and hate,

Still are they found in the fair face of Day,

And Heav'n and Men are Judges of their Actions.

Loth.

Such let 'em be of mine; there's not a Purpoſe,

Which my Soul ever fram'd, or my Hand acted,

But I could well have bid the World look on,

And what I once durſt do, have dar'd to juſtifie.

Hor.

Where was this open Boldneſs, this free Spirit?

When but this very Morning I ſurpriz'd thee,

In baſe, diſhoneſt Privacy, conſulting

And bribing a poor mercenary Wretch,

To ſell her Lady's Secrets, ſtain her Honour,

And with a forg'd Contrivance blaſt her Virtue:

[24] At Sight of me thou fledſt!

Loth.

Ha! Fled from thee?

Hor.

Thou fled'ſt, and Guilt was on thee, like a Thief,

A Pilferer deſcry'd in ſome dark Corner,

Who there had lodg'd, with miſchievous Intent

To rob and ravage at the Hour of Reſt,

And do a Midnight Murder on the Sleepers.

Loth.

Slave! Villain!—

[Offers to draw, Roſſano holds him.

Roſſ.

Hold, my Lord! think where you are,

Think how unſafe, and hurtful to your Honour,

It were to urge a Quarrel in this Place,

And ſhock the peaceful City with a Broil.

Loth.

Then ſince thou doſt provoke my Vengeance, know

I wou'd not for this City's Wealth, for all

Which the Sea wafts to our Ligurian Shoar,

But that the Joys I reap'd with that fond Wanton,

The Wife of Altamont, ſhou'd be as publick

As is the Noon-day Sun, Air, Earth, or Water,

Or any common Benefit of Nature:

Think'ſt thou I meant the Shame ſhou'd be conceal'd?

Oh no! by Hell and Vengeance, all I wanted

Was ſome fit Meſſenger to bear the News

To the dull doating Husband; now I have found him,

And thou art he.

Hor.

I hold thee baſe enough,

To break through Law, and ſpurn at Sacred Order,

And do a brutal Injury like this;

Yet mark me well, young Lord, I think Caliſta

Too Nice, too Noble, and too Great of Soul,

To be the Prey of ſuch a Thing as thou art.

'Twas baſe and poor, unworthy of a Man,

[25] To forge a Scrowl ſo villanous and looſe,

And Mark it with a noble Lady's Name;

Theſe are the mean, diſhoneſt Arts of Cowards.

Strangers to Manhood, and to glorious Dangers;

Who bred at Home in Idleneſs and Riot,

Ranſack for Miſtreſſes th' unwholſome Stews,

And never know the worth of virtuous Love.

Loth.

Think'ſt thou I forg'd the Letter? Think ſo ſtill,

'Till the broad Shame comes ſtaring in thy Face,

And Boys ſhall hoot the Cuckold as he paſſes.

Hor.

Away, no Woman cou'd deſcend ſo low:

A skipping, dancing, worthleſs Tribe you are,

Fit only for your ſelves, you Herd together;

And when the circling Glaſs warms your vain Hearts,

You talk of Beauties that you never ſaw,

And fancy Raptures that you never knew.

Legends of Saints, who never yet had Being,

Or being, ne'er were Saints, are not ſo falſe

As the fond Tales which you recount of Love.

Loth.

But that I do not hold it worth my Leiſure,

I cou'd produce ſuch damning Proof—

Hor.

'Tis falſe,

You blaſt the Fair with Lies becauſe they ſcorn you,

Hate you like Age, like Uglineſs and Impotence:

Rather than make you bleſt they wou'd die Virgins,

And ſtop the Propagation of Mankind.

Loth.

It is the Curſe of Fools to be ſecure,

[...]nd that be thine and Altamont's: Dream on,

[...]or think upon my Vengeance 'till thou feel'ſt it.

Hor.

Hold, Sir, another Word, and then farewel;

Tho' I think greatly of Caliſta's Virtue,

[...]nd hold it far beyond thy Pow'r to hurt;

[26] Yet as ſhe ſhares the Honour of my Altamont,

That Treaſure of a Soldier, bought with Blood,

And kept at Life's Expence, I muſt not have

(Mark me, young Sir) her very Name prophan'd.

Learn to reſtrain the Licence of your Speech;

'Tis held you are too laviſh, when you are met

Among your Set of Fools, talk of your Dreſs,

Of Dice, of Whores, of Horſes, and your Selves;

'Tis ſafer, and becomes your Underſtandings.

Loth.

What if we paſs beyond this ſolemn Order?

And, in Defiance of the ſtern Horatio,

Indulge our gayer Thoughts, let Laughter looſe,

And uſe his ſacred Friendſhip for our Mirth.

Hor.

'Tis well! Sir, you are pleaſant—

Loth.

By the Joys,

Which yet my Soul has uncontroll'd purſu'd,

I wou'd not turn aſide from my leaſt Pleaſure,

Tho' all thy Force were arm'd to bar my Way;

But like the Birds, great Nature's happy Commoners,

That haunt in Woods, in Meads, and flow'ry Gardens,

Rifle the Sweets, and taſte the choiceſt Fruits,

Yet ſcorn to ask the Lordly Owners leave.

Hor.

What Liberty has vain preſumptuous Youth,

That thou ſhou'dſt dare provoke me unchaſtis'd?

But henceforth, Boy, I warn thee ſhun my Walks;

If in the Bounds of yon forbidden Place

Again thou'rt found, expect a Puniſhment,

Such as great Souls, impatient of an Injury,

Exact from thoſe who wrong 'em much, ev'n Death;

Or ſomething worſe; an injur'd Husband's Vengeance

Shall print a thouſand Wounds, tear thy fine Form,

And ſcatter thee to all the Winds of Heav'n,

Loth.

[27]

Is then my Way in Genoa preſcrib'd,

By a Dependant on the wretched Altamont,

A talking Sir, that brawls for him in Taverns,

And vouches for his Valour's Reputation?

Hor.

Away, thy Speech is fouler than thy Manners.

Loth.

Or if there be a Name more vile, his Paraſite.

A Beggar's Paraſite!—

Hor.

Now learn Humanity,

[Offers to ſtrike him, Roſſano interpoſes.

Since Brutes and Boys are only taught with Blows.

Loth.

Damnation!

[They Draw.

Roſſ.

Hold, this goes no further here,

Horatio, 'tis too much; already ſee,

The Crowd are gath'ring to us.

Loth.

Oh Roſſano!

Or give me way, or thou'rt no more my Friend.

Roſſ.

Sciolto's Servants too have ta'en th' Alarm.

You'll be oppreſt by Numbers, be advis'd,

Or I muſt force you hence; take't on my Word

You ſhall have Juſtice done you on Horatio.

Put up, my Lord.

Loth.

This wo' not brook Delay;

Weſt of the Town a Mile, among the Rocks,

Two Hours e'er Noon to morrow I expect thee,

Thy ſingle Hand to mine.

Hor.

I'll meet thee there.

Loth.

To morrow, oh my better Stars! to morrow,

Exert your Influence, ſhine ſtrongly for me;

'Tis not a common Conqueſt I wou'd gain,

Since Love, as well as Arms, muſt grace my Triumph.

[Exeunt Lothario and Roſſano.

[26]

[...]

[27]

[...]

Hor.

[28]

Two Hours e'er Noon to morrow! ha! e'er that

He ſees Caliſta! oh unthinking Fool—

What if I urg'd her with the Crime and Danger?

If any Spark from Heav'n remain unquench'd

Within her Breaſt, my Breath perhaps may wake it;

Cou'd I but proſper there, I wou'd not doubt

My Combat with that loud vain-glorious Boaſter.

Were you, ye Fair, but cautious whom ye truſt,

Did you but think how ſeldom Fools are juſt,

So many of your Sex wou'd not in vain,

Of broken Vows and faithleſs Men complain.

Of all the various Wretches Love has made,

How few have been by Men of Senſe betray'd?

Convinc'd by Reaſon, they your Pow'r confeſs,

Pleas'd to he happy, as you're pleas'd to bleſs,

And conſcious of your Worth, can never love you leſs.

[Exit.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[29]

SCENE an Apartment in Sciolto's Palace.

Enter Sciolto and Caliſta.

Sci.

NOW by my Life, my Honour, 'tis too much;

Have I not mark'd thee wayward as thou art,

Perverſe and ſullen all this Day of Joy?

When ev'ry Heart was chear'd, and Mirth went round,

Sorrow, Diſpleaſure, and repining Anguiſh

Sate on thy Brow; like ſome malignant Planet,

Foe to the Harveſt, and the healthy Year,

Who ſcouls adverſe, and lours upon the World;

When all the other Stars, with gentle Aſpect,

Propitious ſhine, and meaning Good to Man.

Cal.

Is then the Task of Duty half perform'd?

Has not your Daughter giv'n her ſelf to Altamont,

Yielded the native Freedom of her Will,

To an Imperious Husband's lordly Rule,

To gratifie a Father's ſtern Command?

Sci.

Doſt thou complain?

Cal.

For pity do not frown then,

If in deſpight of all my vow'd Obedience,

A Sigh breaks out, or a Tear falls by chance;

For oh! that Sorrow which has drawn your Anger,

Is the ſad Native of Caliſta's Breaſt,

And once poſſeſt will never quit its Dwelling,

'Till Life, the Prop of all, ſhall leave the Building,

To tumble down, and moulder into Ruin,

Sci.

[30]

Now by the ſacred Duſt of that dear Saint

That was thy Mother, by her wond'rous Goodneſs,

Her ſoft, her tender, moſt complying Sweetneſs,

I ſwear ſome ſullen Thought that ſhuns the Light,

Lurks underneath that Sadneſs in thy Viſage.

But mark me well, tho' by yon Heaven I love thee,

As much, I think, as a fond Parent can;

Yet ſhou'dſt thou (which the Pow'rs above forbid)

E'er ſtain the Honour of thy Name with Infamy,

I caſt thee off, as one whoſe Impious Hands

Had rent aſunder Nature's neareſt Ties,

Which once divided never join again.

To Day, I have made a noble Youth thy Husband,

Conſider well his Worth, reward his Love.

Be willing to he happy, and thou art ſo.

[Exit Sciolto.

Cal.

How hard is the Condition of our Sex,

Thro' ev'ry State of Life the Slaves of Man?

In all the dear delighful Days of Youth,

A riged Father dictates to our Wills,

And deals out Pleaſure with a ſcanty Hand;

To his, the Tyrant Husband's Reign ſucceeds

Proud with Opinion of ſuperior Reaſon,

He holds Domeſtick Bus'neſs and Devotion

All we are capable to know, and ſhuts us,

Like Cloyſter'd Ideots, from the World's Acquaintance,

And all the Joys of Freedom; wherefore are we

Born with high Souls, but to aſſert our ſelves,

Shake off this vile Obedience they exact,

And claim an equal Empire o'er the World?

[31] Enter Horatio.

Hor.

She's here! yet oh! my Tongue is at a loſs,

Teach me, ſome Pow'r, that happy Art of Speech,

To dreſs my Purpoſe up in gracious Words;

Such as may ſoftly ſteal upon her Soul,

And never waken the Tempeſtuous Paſſions.

By Heaven ſhe weeps!—Forgive me, Fair Caliſta,

If I preſume, on Privilege of Friendſhip,

To join my Grief to yours, and mourn the Evils

That hurt your Peace, and quench thoſe Eyes in Tears.

Cal.

To ſteal unlook'd for on my private Sorrow,

Speaks not the Man of Honour, nor the Friend,

But rather means the Spy.

Hor.

Unkindly ſaid!

For oh! as ſure as you accuſe me falſly,

I come to prove my ſelf Caliſta's Friend.

Cal.

You are my Husband's Friend, the Friend of Altamont.

Hor.

Are you not one? Are you not join'd by Heav'n,

Each interwoven with the other's Fate?

Are you not mix'd like Streams of meeting Rivers,

Whoſe blended Waters are no more diſtinguiſh'd,

But roul into the Sea, one common Flood?

Then, who can give his Friendſhip: but to one?

Who can be Altamont's, and not Caliſta's?

Cal.

Force, and the Wills of our Imperious Rulers,

May bind two Bodies in one wretched Chain;

But Minds will ſtill look back to their own Choice.

So the poor Captive in a Foreign Realm,

Stands on the Shoar, and ſends his Wiſhes back

To the dear Native Land from whence he came.

Hor.

When Souls that ſhou'd agree to Will the ſame,

[32] To have one common Object for their Wiſhes,

Look different ways regardleſs of each other,

Think what a Train of Wretchedneſs enſues,

Love ſhall be baniſh'd from the Genial Bed,

The Nights ſhall all be lonely and unquiet,

And ev'ry Day ſhall be a Day of Cares.

Cal.

Then all the boaſted Office of thy Friendſhip,

Was but to tell Caliſta what a Wretch ſhe is;

Alas! what needed that?

Hor.

Oh! rather ſay,

I came to tell her how ſhe might be happy;

To ſooth the ſecret Anguiſh of her Soul,

To comfort that Fair Mourner, that forlorn one,

And teach her Steps to know the Paths of Peace.

Cal.

Say thou to whom this Paradiſe is known,

Where lyes the bliſsful Region? Mark my way to it,

For oh! 'tis ſure, I long to be at Reſt.

Hor.

Then—to be Good is to be Happy;—Angels

Are happier than Mankind, becauſe they are better.

Guilt is the ſource of Sorrow; 'tis the Fiend,

The avenging Fiend, that follows us behind

With Whips and Stings; the bleſt know none of this,

But reſt in everlaſting Peace of Mind,

And find the height of all their Heav'n is Goodneſs.

Cal.

And what bold Paraſite's officious Tongue

Shall dare to tax Caliſta's Name with Guilt?

Hor.

None ſhou'd; but 'tis a buſie, talking World,

That with licentious Breath blows like the Wnd,

As freely on the Palace, as the Cottage.

Cal.

What myſtick Riddle lurks beneath thy Words,

Which thou wou'dſt ſeem unwilling to expreſs,

[33] As if it meant Diſhonour to my Virtue?

Away with this ambiguous ſhuffling Phraſe,

And let thy Oracle be underſtood.

Hor.

Lothario!

Cal.

Ha! what wou'dſt thou mean by him?

Hor.

Lothario and Caliſta!—Thus they join

Two Names, which Heav'n decreed ſhou'd never meet;

Hence have the Talkers of this populous City,

A ſhameful Tale to tell for publick Sport,

Of an unhappy Beauty, a falſe Fair one,

Who plighted to a noble Youth her Faith,

When ſhe had giv'n her Honour to a Wretch.

Cal.

Death! and Confuſion! Have I liv'd to this?

Thus to be treated with unmanly Inſolence!

To be the Sport of a looſe Ruffian's Tongue!

Thus to be us'd! thus! like the vileſt Creature,

That ever was a Slave to Vice and Infamy.

Hor.

By Honour and fair Truth, you wrong me much

For on my Soul nothing but ſtrong Neceſſity,

Cou'd urge my Tongue to this ungrateful Office:

I came with ſtrong Reluctance, as if Death

Had ſtood a-croſs my Way, to ſave your Honour,

Yours and Sciolto's, yours and Altamont's;

Like one who ventures thro' a burning Pile,

To ſave his tender Wife, with all her Brood

Of little Fondlings, from the dreadful Ruin.

Cal.

Is this! Is this the famous Friend of Altamont,

For noble Worth, and Deeds of Arms renown'd?

Is this! this Tale-bearing, officious Fellow,

That watches for Intelligence from Eyes;

This wretched Argus of a jealous Husband,

[34] That fills his eaſie Ears with monſtrous Tales,

And makes him toſs, and rave, and wreak at length

Bloody Revenge on his defenceleſs Wife;

Who guiltleſs dies, becauſe her Fool ran mad.

Hor.

Alas! this Rage is vain; for if your Fame,

Or Peace be worth your Care, you muſt be calm,

And liſten to the Means are left to ſave 'em.

'Tis now the lucky Minute of your Fate,

By me your Genius ſpeaks, by me it warns you,

Never to ſee that curſt Lothario more,

Unleſs you mean to be deſpis'd, be ſhunn'd,

By all your virtuous Maids and noble Matrons;

Unleſs you have devoted this rare Beauty

To Infamy, Diſeaſes, Proſtitution—

Cal.

Diſhonour blaſt thee, baſe, unmanner'd Slave?

That dar'ſt forgat my Birth, and ſacred Sex,

And ſhock me with the rude unhallow'd Sound.

Hor.

Here kneel, and in the awful Face of Heav'n,

Breath out a ſolemn Vow, never to ſee,

Nor think, if poſſible, on him that ruin'd thee;

Or by my Altamont's dear Life I ſwear,

This Paper!—Nay you muſt not fly!—This Paper,

[Holding her.

This guilty Paper ſhall divulge your Shame—

Cal.

What mean'ſt thou by that Paper? What Contrivance

Haſt thou been forging to deceive my Father,

To turn his Heart againſt his wretched Daughter,

That Altamont and thou may ſhare his Wealth?

A Wrong like this will make me ev'n forget

The Weakneſs of my Sex.—Oh for a Sword,

To urge my Vengeance on the Villain's Hand

[35] That forg'd the Scrowl.

Hor.

Behold, can this be forg'd?

See where Caliſta's Name—

[Shewing the Letter near.

Cal.

To Atoms thus,

[Tearing it.

Thus let me tear the vile, deteſted Falſhood,

The wicked, lying Evidence of Shame.

Hor.

Confuſion!

Cal.

Henceforth, thou officious Fool,

Meddle no more, nor dare ev'n on thy Life

To breath an Accent that may touch my Virtue:

I am my ſelf the Guardian of my Honour,

And wo' not bear ſo inſolent a Monitor.

Enter Altamont.

Alt.

Where is my Life, my Love, my charming Bride,

Joy of my Heart, and Pleaſure of my Eyes,

The Wiſh, the Care, and Bus'neſs of my Youth?

Oh! let me find her, ſnatch her to my Breaſt?

And tell her ſhe delays my Bliſs too long,

'Till my ſoft Soul ev'n ſickens with Deſire.

Diſorder'd!—and in Tears! Horatio too!

My Friend is in Amaze!—What can it mean?

Tell me, Caliſta, who has done thee wrong,

That my ſwift Sword may find out the Offender,

And do thee ample Juſtice.

Cal.

Turn to him,

Alt.

Horatio!

Cal.

To that Inſolent!

Alt.

My Friend!

Cou'd he do this? He, who was half my ſelf!

[36] One Faith has ever bound us, and one Reaſon

Guided our Wills: Have I not found him juſt,

Honeſt as Truth it ſelf? And cou'd he break

The Sanctity of Friendſhip? Cou'd he wound

The Heart of Altamont in his Caliſta?

Cal.

I thought what Juſtice I ſhould find from thee!

Go fawn upon him, liſten to his Tale,

Applaud his Malice, that wou'd blaſt my Fame,

And treat me like a common Proſtitute.

Thou art perhaps Confederate in his Miſchief,

And wilt believe the Legend, if he tells it.

Alt.

Oh Impious! What preſumptuous Wretch ſhall dare

To offer at an Injury like that?

Prieſthood, nor Age, nor Cowardiſe it ſelf,

Shall ſave him from the Fury of my Vengeance.

Cal.

The Man who dar'd to do it was Horatio!

Thy darling Friend! 'Twas Altamont's Horatio!

But mark me well! While thy divided Heart

Doats on a Villain that has wrong'd me thus,

No Force ſhall drag me to thy hated Bed;

Nor can my cruel Father's Pow'r do more

Than ſhut me in a Cloyſter; there, well pleas'd,

Religious Hardſhips will I learn to bear,

To faſt, and freeze at Midnight Hours of Pray'r;

Nor think it hard, within a lonely Cell,

With melancholy, ſpeechleſs Saints to dwell;

But bleſs the Day I to that Refuge ran,

Free from the Marriage Chain, and from that Tyrant, Man.

[Exit Caliſta.

Alt.

She's gone; and as ſhe went, Ten thouſand Fires

Shot from her angry Eyes, as if ſhe meant

[37] Too well to keep the cruel Vow ſhe made.

Now as thou art a Man, Horatio, tell me,

What means this wild Confuſion in thy Looks?

As if thou wert at variance with thy ſelf,

Madneſs and Reaſon combating within thee,

And thou wert doubtful which ſhou'd get the better.

Hor.

I wou'd be dumb for ever, but thy Fate

Has otherwiſe decreed it; thou haſt ſeen

That Idol of thy Soul, that fair Caliſta,

Thou haſt beheld her Tears.

Alt.

I have ſeen her weep,

I have ſeen that lovely one, that dear Caliſta,

Complaining in the Bitterneſs of Sorrow,

That thou! my Friend! Horatio! thou hadſt wrong'd her,

Hor.

That I have wrong'd her! Had her Eyes been fed

From that rich Stream which warms her Heart, and number'd

For ev'ry falling Tear a drop of Blood,

It had not been too much; for ſhe has ruin'd thee,

Ev'n thee, my Altamont! She has undone thee.

Alt.

Doſt thou join Ruin with Caliſta's Name?

What is ſo fair, ſo exquiſitely good?

Is ſhe not more than Painting can expreſs,

Or youthful Poets fancy, when they love?

Does ſhe not come, like Wiſdom, or good Fortune,

Repleat with Bleſſings, giving Wealth and Honour?

The Dowry which ſhe brings is Peace and Pleaſure,

And everlaſting Joys are in her Arms.

Hor.

It had been better thou hadſt liv'd a Beggar,

And fed on Scraps at great Mens ſurly Doors,

Than to have match'd with one ſo falſe, ſo fatal.—

Alt.

It is too much for Friendſhip to allow thee;

[38] Becauſe I tamely bore the Wrong thou didſt her,

Thou doſt avow the barb'rous, brutal Part,

And urge the Injury ev'n to my Face.

Hor.

I ſee ſhe has got Poſſeſſion of thy Heart,

She has charm'd thee, like a Siren, to her Bed,

With Looks of Love, and with enchanting Sounds:

Too late the Rocks and Quick-ſands will appear.

When thou art wreckt upon the faithleſs Shoar,

Then vainly wiſh thou hadſt not left thy Friend,

To follow her Deluſion.

Alt.

If thy Friendſhip

Do churliſhly deny my Love a Room,

It is not worth my keeping, I diſclaim it.

Hor.

Canſt thou ſo ſoon forget what l've been to thee?

I ſhar'd the Task of Nature with thy Father,

And form'd with Care thy unexperienc'd Youth

To Virtue and to Arms.

Thy noble Father, oh thou light young Man!

Wou'd he have us'd me thus? One Fortune fed us,

For his was ever mine, mine his, and both

Together flouriſh'd, and together fell.

He call'd me Friend, like thee; wou'd he have left me

Thus? for a Woman? nay, a vile one too?

Alt.

Thou canſt not, dar'ſt not mean it; ſpeak again,

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

Hor.

I had not ſpoke at firſt, unleſs compell'd,

And forc'd to clear my ſelf; but ſince thus urg'd,

I muſt avow I do not know a viler.

Alt.

Thou wert my Father's Friend, he lov'd thee well;

A kind of venerable Mark of him

Hangs round thee, and protects thee from my Vengeance;

[39] I cannot, dare not liſt my Sword againſt thee,

But henceforth never let me ſee thee more.

[Going out.

Hor.

I love thee ſtill, ungrateful as thou art,

And muſt, and will preſerve thee from Diſhonour,

Ev'n in deſpight of thee.

[Holds him.

Alt.

Let go my Arm.

Hor.

If Honour be thy Care, if thou wou'dſt live,

Without the Name of credulous, wittal Husband,

Avoid thy Bride, ſhun her deteſted Bed,

The Joys it yields are daſh'd with Poyſon.—

Alt.

Off!

To urge me but a Minute more is fatal.

Hor.

She is polluted! ſtain'd!

Alt.

Madneſs and Raving!

But hence!

Hor.

Diſhonour'd by the Man you hate—

Alt.

I prithee looſe me yet, for thy own ſake,

If Life be worth the keeping—

Hor.

By Lothario.

Alt.

Perdition take thee, Villain, for the falſhood.

[Strikes him.

Now nothing but thy Life can make Atonement.

Hor.

A Blow! Thou haſt us'd well—

[Draws.

Alt.

This to thy Heart—

Hor.

Yet hold!—By Heav'n his Father's in his Face.

Spight of my Wrongs my Heart runs o'er with Tenderneſs,

And I cou'd rather die my ſelf, than hurt him.

Alt.

Defend thy ſelf, for by my much wrong'd Love,

I ſwear the poor Evaſion ſhall not ſave thee.

Hor.

[40]

Yet hold! thou know'ſt I dare!—Think how

we've liv'd.—

[They fight; Altamont preſſes on Horatio, who retires.

Nay! then 'tis brutal Violence! And thus,

Thus Nature bids me guard the Life ſhe gave.

[They fight.

Lavinia Enters, and runs between their Swords.

Lav.

My Brother! My Horatio! is it poſſible?

Oh! turn your cruel Swords upon Lavinia.

If you muſt quench your impious Rage in Blood,

Behold, my Heart ſhall give you all her Store,

To ſave thoſe dearer Streams that flow from yours.

Alt.

'Tis well thou haſt found a Safeguard; none but this,

No Pow'r on Earth cou'd ſave thee from my Fury.

Lav.

Oh fatal, deadly Sound!

Hor.

Safety from thee!

Away, vain Boy! Haſt thou forgot the Reverence

Due to my Arm, thy firſt, thy great Example,

Which pointed out thy way to noble Daring,

And ſhew'd thee what it was to be a Man?

Lav.

What buſie, medling Friend, what Foe to Goodneſs,

Could kindle ſuch a Diſcord? Oh! lay by

Thoſe moſt ungentle Looks, and angry Weapons,

Unleſs you mean my Griefs, and killing Fears,

Should ſtretch me out at your relentleſs Feet,

A wretched Coarſe, the Victim of your Fury.

Hor.

Ask'ſt thou what made us Foes? 'twas baſe Ingratitude;

'Twas ſuch a Sin to Friendſhip, as Heaven's Mercy,

That ſtrives with Man's untoward, monſtrous Wickedneſs,

Unweary'd with Forgiving, ſcarce cou'd pardon.

[41] He, who was all to me, Child! Brother! Friend!

With barb'rous, bloody Malice, ſought my Life.

Alt.

Thou art my Siſter, and I would not make thee

The lonely Mourner of a widow'd Bed,

Therefore thy Husband's Life is ſafe; but warn him,

No more to know this Hoſpitable Roof.

He has but ill repaid Sciolto's Bounty;

We muſt not meet; 'tis dangerous; farewel.

[He is going, Lavinia holds him.

Lav.

Stay Altamont, my Brother ſtay, if ever

Nature, or what is nearer much than Nature,

The kind Conſent of our agreeing Minds,

Have made us dear to one another, ſtay,

And ſpeak one gentle Word to your Horatio.

Behold, his Anger melts, he longs to love you,

To call you Friend, then preſs you hard, with all

The tender, ſpeechleſs Joy of Reconcilement.

Alt.

It cannot, ſha' not be!—you muſt not hold me.

Lav.

Look kindly then!

Alt.

Each Minute that I ſtay,

Is a new Injury to fair Caliſta.

From thy falſe Friendſhip, to her Arms I'll fly;

There, if in any pauſe of Love I reſt,

Breathleſs with Bliſs, upon her panting Breaſt,

In broken, melting Accents I will ſwear,

Henceforth to truſt my Heart with none but her;

Then own the Joys, which on her Charms attend,

Have more than paid me for my faithleſs Friend.

[Altamont breaks from Lavinia, and Exit.

Hor.

Oh raiſe thee, my Lavinia, from the Earth;

It is too much, this Tide of flowing Grief,

[44] This wond'rous waſte of Tears, too much to give,

To an ungrateful Friend, and cruel Brother.

Lav.

Is there not cauſe for Weeping? Oh Horatio!

A Brother and a Husband were my Treaſure,

'Twas all the little Wealth, that poor Lavinia

Sav'd from the Shipwreck of her Father's Fortunes.

One half is loſt already; if thou leav'ſt me,

If thou ſhould'ſt prove unkind to me, as Altamout,

Whom ſhall I find to pity my Diſtreſs,

To have Compaſſion on a helpleſs Wanderer.

And give her where to lay her wretched Head?

Hor.

Why doſt thou wound we with thy ſoft Com⯑plainings?

Tho' Altamont be falſe, and uſe me hardly,

Yet think not I impute his Crimes to thee,

Talk not of being forſaken, for I'll keep thee,

Next to my Heart, my certain Pledge of Happineſs.

Heav'n form'd thee gentle, fair, and full of Goodneſs,

And made thee all my Portion here on Earth;

It gave thee to me, as a large amends,

For Fortune, Friends, and all the World beſide.

Lav.

Then you will love me ſtill, cheriſh me ever,

And hide me from Misfortune in your Boſom:

Here end my Cares, nor will I loſe one Thought,

How we ſhall live, or purchaſe Food and Raiment.

The holy Pow'r, who clothes the ſenſeleſs Earth,

With Woods, with Fruits, with Flow'rs, and verdant Graſs,

Whoſe bounteous Hand feeds the whole Brute Creation,

Knows all our Wants, and has enough to give us.

Hor.

From Genoa, from Falſhood and Inconſtancy,

To ſome more honeſt diſtant Clime we'll go;

[43] Nor will I be beholding to my Country,

For ought but thee, the Partner of my Flight.

Lav.

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

My Country, Brother, Friends, ev'n all I have;

Tho' mine's a little all; yet were it more,

And better far, it ſhou'd be left for thee,

And all that I wou'd keep ſhou'd be Horatio.

So when the Merchant ſees his Veſſel loſt,

Tho' richly Freighted from a Foreign Coaſt,

Gladly, for Life, the Treaſure he won'd give;

And only wiſhes to eſcape, and live.

Gold and his Gains no more employ his Mind,

But driving o'er the Billows with the Wind,

Cleaves to one faithful Plank, and leaves the reſt behind.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

[44]

SCENE, a Garden.

Enter Altamont.

Alt.

WITH what unequal Tempers are we form'd?

One Day the Soul, ſupine with Eaſe and Fulneſs,

Revels ſecure, and fondly tells her ſelf,

The Hour of Evil can return no more;

The next, the Spirits pall'd, and ſick of Riot,

Turn all to Diſcord, and we hate our Beings,

Curſe the paſt Joy, and think it Folly all,

And Bitterneſs, and Anguiſh. Oh! laſt Night!

What has ungrateful Beauty paid me back,

For all that Maſs of Friendſhip which I ſquander'd?

Coldneſs, Averſion, Tears, and ſullen Sorrow,

Daſh'd all my Bliſs, and damp'd my Bridal Bed.

Soon as the Morning dawn'd, ſhe vaniſh'd from me,

Relentleſs to the gentle Call of Love.

I have loſt a Friend, and I have gain'd—a Wife!

Turn not to Thought my Brain; but let me find

Some unfrequented Shade; there lay me down,

And let forgetful Dulneſs ſteal upon me,

To ſoften and aſſwage this Pain of Thinking.

[Exit.

Enter Lothario and Caliſta.

Loth.

Weep not my Fair, but let the God of Love

Laugh in thy Eyes, and Revel in thy Heart,

Kindle again his Torch, and hold it high,

To light us to new Joys; nor let a Thought

[45] [...] Diſcord, or Diſquiet paſt, moleſt thee;

[...] to a long Oblivion give thy Cares,

[...] let us melt the preſent Hour in Bliſs.

Cal.

Seek not to ſooth me with thy falſe Endearments,

[...] Charm me with thy Softneſs: 'tis in vain;

[...] can'ſt no more betray, nor I be ruin'd.

[...] Hours of Folly, and of fond Delight,

[...] waſted all and fled; thoſe that remain

[...] doom'd to Weeping, Anguiſh, and Repentance.

[...]me to charge thee with a long Account,

[...] all the Sorrows I have known already,

[...] all I have to come; thou haſt undone me.

Loth.

Unjuſt Caliſta! Doſt thou call it Ruin,

[...] Love as we have done; to melt, to languiſh,

[...] wiſh for ſomewhat exquiſitely Happy,

[...] then be bleſt ev'n to that Wiſh's height?

[...] die with Joy, and ſtreight to live again,

[...]chleſs to gaze, and with tumultuous Tranſport—

Cal.

Oh! let me hear no more, I cannot bear it,

[...]deadly to Remembrance; let that Night,

[...] guilty Night, be blotted from the Year,

[...] not the Voice of Mirth, or Muſick know it,

[...] it be dark and deſolate, no Stars

[...] glitter o'er it; let it wiſh for Light,

[...] want it ſtill, and vainly wait the Dawn;

[...] 'twas the Night that gave me up to Shame,

[...] Sorrow, to perfidious, falſe Lothario.

Loth.

Hear this, ye Pow'rs, mark how the Fair Deceiver

[...] complains of violated Truth;

[...] calls me falſe, ev'n She, the faithleſs She,

[...] Day and Night, whom Heav'n and Earth have heard

[46] Sighing to vow, and tenderly proteſt,

Ten Thouſand times, ſhe would be only mine;

And yet, behold, ſhe has giv'n her ſelf away,

Fled from my Arms, and wedded to another,

Ev'n to the Man whom moſt I hate on Earth—

Cal.

Art thou ſo baſe, to upbraid me with a Crime,

Which nothing but thy Cruelty could cauſe?

If Indignation, raging in my Soul,

For thy unmanly Inſolence and Scorn,

Urg'd me to do a Deed of Deſperation,

And wound my ſelf to be reveng'd on thee,

Think whom I ſhould devote to Death and Hell,

Whom Curſe, as my Undoer, but Lothario;

Hadſt thou been Juſt, not all Sciolto's Pow'r,

Not all the Vows and Pray'rs of ſighing Altamont,

Could have prevail'd, or won me to forſake thee.

Loth.

How have I fail'd in Juſtice or in Love?

Burns not my Flame as brightly as at firſt?

Ev'n now my Heart beats high, I languiſh for thee,

My Tranſports are as fierce, as ſtrong my Wiſhes,

As if thou hadſt never bleſt me with thy Beauty.

Cal.

How didſt thou dare to think that I would live

A Slave to baſe Deſires, and brutal Pleaſures,

To be a wretched Wanton for thy Leiſure,

To toy, and waſte an Hour of idle Time with?

My Soul diſdains thee for ſo mean a Thought.

Loth.

The driving Storm of Paſſion will have way,

And I muſt yield before it; wer't thou calm,

Love, the poor Criminal, whom thou haſt doom'd,

Has yet a thouſand tender things to plead,

To charm thy Rage, and mitigate his Fate.

[47] Enter behind them Altamont.

Alt.

I have loſt my Peace—Ha! do I live, and wake!—

Cal.

Hadſt thou been true, how happy had I been?

Nor Altamont, but thou hadſt been my Lord.

But wherefore nam'd I Happineſs with thee?

It is for thee, for thee, that I am curſt;

For thee, my ſecret Soul each Hour arraigns me,

Calls me to anſwer for my Virtue ſtain'd,

My Honour loſt to thee; for thee it haunts me,

With ſtern Sciolto vowing Vengeance on me;

With Altamont complaining for his Wrongs—

Alt.

Behold him here—

[Coming forward.

Cal.

Ah!—

[Starting.

Alt.

The Wretch! whom thou haſt made,

Curſes and Sorrows haſt thou heap'd upon him,

And Vengeance is the only Good is left.

[Drawing.

Loth.

Thou haſt ta'en me ſomewhat unawares, 'tis true,

But Love and War take turns like Day and Night,

And little Preparation ſerves my turn,

Equal to both, and arm'd for either Field.

We've long been Foes, this moment ends our Quarrel;

Earth, Heav'n and fair Caliſta judge the Combat.

Cal.

Diſtraction! Fury! Sorrow! Shame! and Death!

Alt.

Thou haſt talk'd too much, thy Breath is Poiſon to me,

It taints the ambient Air; this for my Father,

This for Sciolto, and this laſt for Altamont.

[They Fight; Lothario is wounded once or twice, and then falls.

Loth.

Oh Altamont! thy Genius is the ſtronger,

Thou haſt prevail'd!—My fierce, ambitious Soul

Declining droops, and all her Fires grow pale;

[48] Yet let not this Advantage ſwell thy Pride,

I Conquer'd in my turn, in Love I Triumph'd:

Thoſe Joys are lodg'd beyond the reach of Fate;

That ſweet Revenge comes ſmiling to my Thoughts,

Adorns my Fall, and chears my Heart in dying.

[Dies,

Cal.

And what remains for me? Beſet with Shame,

Encompas'd round with Wretchedneſs, there is

But this one way, to break the Toil and 'ſcape.

[She catches up Lothario's Sword, and offers to kill her ſelf, Altamont runs to her, and wreſts it from her.

Alt.

What means thy frantick Rage?

Cal.

Off! let me go.

Alt.

Oh! thou haſt more than murder'd me, yet ſtill,

Still art thou here! and my Soul ſtarts with Horror,

At thought of any Danger that may reach thee.

Cal.

Think'ſt thou I mean to live? to be forgiven?

Oh! thou haſt known but little of Caliſta;

If thou hadſt never heard my Shame, if only

The midnight Moon, and ſilent Stars had ſeen it,

I would not bear to be reproach'd by them,

But dig down deep to find a Grave beneath,

And hide me from their Beams.

Sciolto within.]

What ho! my Son!

Alt.

It is Sciolto calls; come near, and find me,

The wretched'ſt Thing of all my Kind on Earth.

Cal.

Is it the Voice of Thunder, or my Father?

Madneſs! Confuſion! let the Storm come on,

Let the tumultuous Roar drive all upon me,

Daſh my devoted Bark; ye Surges, break it;

'Tis for my Ruin that the Tempeſt riſes.

[49] When I am loſt, ſunk to the bottom low,

Peace ſhall return, and all be calm again.

Enter Sciolto.

Sci.

Ev'n now Roſſano leap'd the Garden Walls—

Ha! Death has been among you—Oh my Fears!

Laſt Night thou hadſt a diff'rence with thy Friend.

The Cauſe thou gav'ſt me for it was a damn'd one;

Didſt thou not wrong the Man who told thee Truth?

Anſwer me quick—

Alt.

Oh! preſs me not to ſpeak.

Ev'n now my Heart is breaking, and the mention

Will lay me dead before you; ſee that Body,

And gueſs my Shame! my Ruin! oh Caliſta!

Sci.

It is enough! but I am ſlow to Execute,

And Juſtice lingers in my lazy Hand;

Thus let me wipe Diſhonour from my Name,

And cut thee from the Earth, thou Stain to Goodneſs.—

[Offers to kill Caliſta, Altamont holds hins.

Alt.

Stay thee, Sciolto, thou raſh Father ſtay,

Or turn the Point on me, and thro' my Breaſt

Cut out the bloody Paſſage to Caliſta;

So ſhall my Love be perfect, while for her

I die, for whom alone I wiſh'd to live.

Cal.

No, Altamont! my Heart, that ſcorn'd thy Love,

Shall never be indebted to thy Pity;

Thus torn, deſac'd, and wretched as I ſeem,

Still I have ſomething of Sciolto's Virtue.

Yes! yes, my Father, I applaud thy Juſtice,

Strike home, and I will bleſs thee for the Blow,

Be merciful, and free me from my Pain,

'Tis ſharp, 'tis terrible, and I cou'd curſe

[50] The chearful Day, Men, Earth, and Heav'n, and Thee,

Ev'n thee, thou venerable good Old Man,

For being Author of a Wretch like me.

Alt.

Liſten not to the Wildneſs of her Raving,

Remember Nature! Shou'd thy Daughter's Murder

Defile that Hand, ſo juſt, ſo great in Arms,

Her Blood wou'd reſt upon thee to Poſterity,

Pollute thy Name, and fully all thy Wars.

Cal.

Have I not wrong'd his gentle Nature much?

And yet behold him pleading for my Life.

Loſt as thou art, to Virtue, oh Caliſta!

I think thou canſt not bear to be cutdone;

Then haſte to die, and be oblig'd no more.

Sci.

Thy pious Care has giv'n me time to think,

And ſav'd me from a Crime; then reſt my Sword;

To Honour have I kept thee ever ſacred,

Nor will ſtain thee with a raſh Revenge;

But, mark me well, I will have Juſtice done;

Hope not to bear away thy Crimes unpuniſh'd,

I will ſee Juſtice executed on thee,

Ev'n to a Roman ſtrictneſs; and thou, Nature,

Or whatſoe'er thou art that plead'ſt within me,

Be ſtill, thy tender Strugglings are in vain.

Cal.

Then am I doom'd to live, and bear your Triumph

To groan beneath your Scorn and fierce Upbraidings,

Daily to be reproach'd, and have my Miſery

At Morn, at Noon and Night told over to me,

Leſt my Remembrance might grow pitiful,

And grant a Moment's Interval of Peace;

Is this, is this the Mercy of a Father?

I only beg to die, and he denies me.

Sci.

[51]

Hence from my ſight, thy Father cannot bear thee;

Fly with thy Infamy to ſome dark Cell,

Where on the Confines of Eternal Night,

Mourning, Misfortune, Cares and Anguiſh dwell;

Where ugly Shame hides her opprobrious Head,

And Death and Hell deteſted Rule maintain;

There howl out the remainder of thy Life,

And wiſh thy Name may be no more remember'd.

Cal.

Yes, I will fly to ſome ſuch diſmal Place,

And be more curſt than you can wiſh I were;

This fatal Form that drew on my Undoing,

Faſting, and Tears, and Hardſhip ſhall deſtroy,

Nor Light, nor Food, nor Comfort will I know,

Nor ought that may continue hated Life.

Then when you ſee me meagre, wan, and chang'd,

Stretch'd at my Length, and dying in my Cave,

On that cold Earth I mean ſhall be my Grave,

Perhaps you may relent, and ſighing ſay,

At length her Tears have waſh'd her Stains away,

At length 'tis time her Puniſhment ſhou'd ceaſe;

Die thou, poor ſuff'ring Wretch, and be at peace.

[Exit Caliſta.

Sci.

Who of my Servants wait thee?

Enter two or three Servants.

On our Lives

Take care my Doors be guarded well, that none

Paſs out, or enter, but by my Appointment.

[Exeunt Servants.

Alt.

There is a fatal Fury in your Viſage,

It blazes fierce, and menaces Deſtruſtion:

My Father, I am ſick of many Sorrows,

[52] Ev'n now my eaſie Heart is breaking with 'em,

Yet, above all, one Fear diſtracts me moſt,

I tremble at the Vengeance which you meditate,

On the poor, faithleſs, lovely, dear Caliſta.

Sci.

Haſt thou not read what brave Virginius did?

With his own Hand he ſlew his only Daughter,

To ſave her from the fierce Decemvir's Luſt.

He ſlew her yet unſpotted, to prevent

The Shame which ſhe might know. Then what ſhou'd I do?

But thou haſt ty'd my Hand.—I wo' not kill her;

Yet by the Ruin ſhe has brought upon us,

The common Infamy that brands us both,

She ſha' not 'ſcape.

Alt.

You mean that ſhe ſhall dye then.

Sci.

Ask me not what, nor how I have reſolv'd,

For all within is Anarchy and Uproar.

Oh Altamont! what a vaſt Scheme of Joy

Has this one Day deſtroy'd! Well did I hope

This Daughter wou'd have bleſt my latter Days,

That I ſhou'd live to ſee you the World's Wonder;

So happy, great, and good, that none were like you.

While I, from buſie Life and Care ſet free,

Had ſpent the Ev'ning of my Age at home,

Among a little prattling Race of yours:

There, like an old Man talk'd a while, and then

Lain down and ſlept in Peace. Inſtead of this.

Sorrow and Shame muſt bring me to my Grave;

Oh damn her! damn her!

Enter a Servant.

Ser.

Arm your ſelf, my Lord;

Roſſano, who but now eſcap'd the Garden,

[53] Has gather'd in the Street a Band of Rioters,

Who threaten you, and all your Friends, with Ruin,

Unleſs Lothario be return'd in ſafety.

Sci.

By Heav'n, their Fury riſes to my Wiſh,

Nor ſhall Misfortune know my Houſe alone,

But thou, Lothario, and thy Race, ſhall pay me,

For a'l the Sorrows which my Age is curſt with,

I think my Name as great, my Friends as potent,

As any in the State; all ſhall be ſummon'd.

I know that all will join their Hands to ours,

And vindicate thy Vengeance. Raiſe the Body,

And bear it in; his Friends ſhall buy him dearly,

I will have Blood for Ranſom: When our Force

Is full, and arm'd, we ſhall expect thy Sword,

To join with us, and ſacrifice to Juſtice.—

[Exit Sciolto.

[The Body of Lothario is carried off by Servants.

Manet Altamont.

Alt.

There is a ſtupid Weight upon my Senſes,

A diſmal ſullen Stillneſs, that ſucceeds

The Storm of Rage and Grief, like ſilent Death,

After the Tumult and the Noiſe of Life.

Wou'd it were Death, as ſure 'tis wond'rous like it,

For I am ſick of Living, my Soul's pall'd,

She kindles not with Anger or Revenge;

Love was th'informing, active Fire within,

Now that is quench'd, the Maſs forgets to move,

And longs to mingle with its kindred Earth.

[A tumultuous Noiſe with claſhing of Swords as at a little diſtance.

[52]

[...]

[53]

[...]

[54] Enter Lavinia, with two Servants, their Swords drawn.

Lav.

Fly, ſwiftly fly, to my Horatio's Aid,

Nor loſe your vain, officious Cares on me;

Bring me my Lord, my Husband to my Arms;

He is Lavinia's Life, bring him me ſafe,

And I ſhall be at eaſe, be well and happy.

[Exeunt Servants

Alt.

Art thou Lavinia? Oh! what barb'rous Hand

Could wrong thy poor, defenceleſs Innocence,

And leave ſuch Marks of more than ſavage Fury?

Lav.

My Brother! Oh my Heart is full of Fears;

Perhaps ev'n now my dear Horatio bleeds.—

Not far from hence, as paſſing to the Port,

By a mad Multitude we were ſurrounded,

Who ran upon us with uplifted Swords,

And cry'd aloud for Vengeance, and Lothario.

My Lord, with ready Boldneſs ſtood the Shock,

To ſhelter me from Danger, but in vain,

Had not a Party, from Sciolto's Palace,

Ruſh'd out, and ſnatch'd me from amidſt the Fray.

Alt.

What of my Friend?

Lav.

Ha! by my Joys 'tis he,

[Looking out.

He lives, he comes to bleſs me, he is ſafe!—

Enter Horatio, with two or three Servants, their Swords drawn.

1 Serv.

'Twere at the utmoſt hazard of your Life

To venture forth again, 'till we are ſtronger;

Their number trebles ours.

Hor.

No matter, let it;

Death is not half ſo ſhocking as that Traitor.

[55] My honeſt Soul is mad with Indignation,

To think her Plainneſs could be ſo abus'd,

As to miſtake that Wretch, and call him Friend;

I cannot bear the Sight.

Alt.

Open thou Earth,

Gape wide, and take me down to thy dark Boſom,

To hide me from Horatio.

Hor.

Oh Lavinia,

Believe not but I joy to ſee thee ſafe:

Wou'd our ill Fortune had not drove us hither;

I cou'd ev'n wiſh, we rather had been wreckt

On any other Shoar, than ſav'd on this.

Lav.

Oh let us bleſs the Mercy that preſerv'd us,

That gracious Pow'r that ſiv'd us for each other:

And to adorn the Sacrifice of Praiſe,

Offer Forgiveneſs too; be thou like Heav'r,

And put away th'Offences of thy Friend,

Far, far from thy Remembrance.

Alt.

I have mark'd him,

To ſee if one forgiving Glance ſtole hither,

If any Spark of Friendſhip were alive,

That wou'd, by Sympathy, at meeting glow,

And ſtrive to kindle up the Flame anew;

'Tis loſt, 'tis gone, his Soul is quite eſtrang'd,

And knows me for its Counter-part no more.

Hor.

Thou know'ſt thy Rule, thy Empire in Horatio,

Nor canſt thou ask in vain, command in vain,

Where Nature, Reaſon, nay where Love is Judge;

But when you urge my Temper, to comply

With what it moſt abhors, I cannot do it.

Lav.

Where didſt thou get this ſullen gloamy Hate?

[56] It was not in thy Nature to be thus;

Come put it off, and let thy Heart be chearful,

Be gay again, and know the Joys of Friendſhip,

The Truſt, Security, and mutual Tenderneſs,

The double Joys, where each is glad for both;

Friendſhip, the Wealth, the laſt Retreat and Strength,

Secure againſt ill Fortune, and the World.

Her.

I am not apt to take a light Offence,

But patient of the Failings of my Friends,

And willing to forgive; but when an Injury

Stabs to the Heart, and rouſes my Reſentment,

(Perhaps it is the Fault of my rude Nature)

I own I cannot eaſily forget it.

Alt.

Thou haſt forgot me.

Hor.

No.

Alt.

Why are thy Eyes

Impatient of me then, ſcornful and fierce?

Hor.

Becauſe they ſpeak the meaning of my Heart,

Becauſe they are honeſt, and diſdain a Villain.

Alt.

I have wrong'd thee much, Horatio.

Hor.

True thou haſt:

When I forget it, may I be a Wretch,

Vile as thy ſelf, a falſe perſidious Fellow,

An infamous, believing, Britiſh Husband.

Alt.

I've wrong'd thee much, and Heav'n has well aveng'd it.

I have not, ſince we parted, been at Peace,

Nor known one Joy ſincere; our broken Friendſhip

Purſu'd me to the laſt Retreat of Love,

Stood glaring like a Ghoſt, and made me cold with Horror.

Misfortunes on Misfortunes preſs upon me,

Swell o'er my Head, like Waves, and daſh me down.

[57] Sorrow, Remorſe, and Shame, have torn my Soul,

They hang like Winter on my Youthful Hopes,

And blaſt the Spring and Promiſe of my Year.

Lav.

So Flow'rs are gather'd to adorn a Grave,

To loſe their Fre ſhneſs amongſt Bones and Rotteneſs,

And have their Odours ſtifled in the Duſt.

Canſt thou hear this, thou cruel, hard Horatio?

Canſt thou behold thy Altamont undone?

That gentle, that dear Youth! canſt thou behold him,

His poor Heart broken, Death in his pale Viſage,

And groaning out his Woes, yet ſtand unmov'd?

Hor.

The Brave and Wiſe I pity in Misfortune.

But when Ingratitude and Folly ſuffers,

'Tis Weakneſs to be touch'd.

Alt.

I wo' not ask thee

To pity or forgive me, but confeſs,

This Scorn, this Inſolence of Hate is juſt;

'Tis Conſtancy of Mind, and manly in thee.

But oh! had I been wrong'd by thee, Horatio,

There is a yielding Softneſs in my Heart

Cou'd ne'er have ſtood it out, but I had ran.

With ſtreaming Eyes, and open Arms, upon thee,

And preſt thee cloſe, cloſe!

Hor.

I muſt hear no more,

The Weakneſs is contagious, I ſhall catch it,

And be a tame fond Wretch.

Lav.

Where wou'dſt thou go?

Wou'dſt thou part thus? You ſha' not, 'tis impoſſible;

For I will bar thy Paſſage, kneeling thus;

Perhaps thy cruel Hand may ſpurn me off,

But I will throw my Body in thy way,

[58] And thou ſhalt trample o'er my faithful Boſom,

Tread on me, wound me, kill me e'er thou paſs.

Alt.

Urge not in vain thy pious Suit, Lavinia,

I have enough to rid me of my Pain.

Caliſta, thou hadſt reach'd my Heart before;

To make all ſure, my Friend repeats the Blow:

But in the Grave our Cares ſhall be forgotten,

There Love and Friendſhip ceaſe.

[Falls.

[Lavinia runs to him, and endeavours to raiſe him.

Lav.

Speak to me, Altamont.

He faints! he dies! Now turn and ſee thy Triumph;

My Brother! But our Cares ſhall end together;

Here will I lay me down by thy dear Side,

Bemoan thy too hard Fate, then ſhare it with thee,

And never ſee my cruel Lord again.

[Horatio runs to Altamont, and raiſes him in his Arms

Hor.

It is too much to bear! Look up, my Altamont!

My ſtubborn, unrelenting Heart has kill'd him.

Look up and bleſs me, tell me that thou liv'ſt.

Oh! I have urg'd thy Gentleneſs too far;

[He revives.

Do thou and my Lavinia both forgive me;

A Flood of Tenderneſs comes o'er my Soul;

I cannot ſpeak!—I love! forgive! and pity thee.—

Alt.

I thought that nothing cou'd have ſtay'd my Soul,

That long ere this her Flight had reach'd the Stars;

But thy known Voice has lur'd her back again.

Methinks I fain wou'd ſet all right with thee,

Make up this moſt unlucky Breach, and then,

With thine, and Heav'ns Forgiveneſs on my Soul,

Shrink to my Grave, and be at eaſe for ever.

Hor.

[59]

By Heav'n my Heart bleeds for thee; ev'n this mo⯑ment

I feel thy Pangs of diſappointed Love.

Is it not pity that this Youth ſhou'd fail,

That all this wond'rous Goodneſs ſhou'd be loſt,

And the World never know it? oh my Altamont!

Give me thy Sorrows, let me bear 'em for thee,

And ſhelter thee from Ruin.

Lav.

Oh my Brother!

Think not but we will ſha e in all thy Woes,

We'll ſit all Day, and tell ſad Tales of Love,

And when we light upon ſome faithleſs Woman,

Some Beauty, like Caliſta, falſe and fair,

We'll fix our Grief, and our Complaining, there;

We'll curſe the Nymph that drew the Ruin on,

And mourn the Youth that was like thee undone.

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

[60]

SCENE is a Room hung with Black; on one ſide, Lothario's Body on a Bier; on the other, a Table with a Skull and other Bones, a Book, and a Lamp on it.

Caliſta is diſcover'd on a Couch in Black, her Hair hanging looſe and diſordered: After Muſick and a Song, ſhe riſes and comes forward.

SONG.

I.HEAR, you Midnight Phantoms, hear,
You who pale and wan appear,
And fill the Wretch, who wakes, with Fear.
You who wander, ſcream, and groan,
Round the Manſions once your own,
You, whom ſtill your Crimes upbraid,
You, who reſt not with the dead;
From the Coverts where you ſtray,
Where you lurk, and ſhun the Day,
From the Charnel, and the Tomb,
Hither haſte ye, hither come.

II.Chide Caliſta for Delay,
Tell her, 'tis for her you ſtay;
Bid her die, and come away.
[61] See the Sexton with his Spade,
See the Grave already made;
Liſten, Fair one, to thy Knell,
This Muſick is thy paſſing Bell.

Cal.

'Tis well! theſe Solemn Sounds, this Pomp of Horror,

Are fit to feed the Frenzy in my Soul,

Here's room for Meditation, ev'n to Madneſs,

'Till the Mind burſt with Thinking; this dull Flame

Sleeps in the Socket; ſure the Book was left

To tell me ſomething;—for Inſtruction then—

He teaches holy Sorrow, and Contrition,

And Penitence;—Is it become an Art then?

A Trick that lazy, dull, luxurious Gown-men

Can teach us to do over; I'll no more on't;

[Throwing away the Book.

I have more real Anguiſh in my Heart,

Than all their Pedant Diſcipline e'er knew.

What Charnel has been rifled for theſe Bones?

Fie! this is Pageantry;—they look uncoothly,

But what of that? If he or ſhe that own'd 'em,

Safe from Diſquiet, ſit, and ſmile to ſee

The Farce, their miſerable Relicks play.

But here's a Sight is terrible indeed;

Is this that Haughty, Gallant, Gay Lothario,

That dear perfidious—Ah!—how Pale he looks!

How Grim with clotted Blood, and thoſe dead Eyes!

Aſcend ye Ghoſts, fantaſtick Forms of Night,

In all your diff'rent, dreadful Shapes aſcend,

And match the preſent Horror if you can.

[62] Enter Sciolto.

Sci.

This Dead of Night, this ſilent Hour of Darkneſs,

Nature for Reſt ordain'd, and ſoft Repoſe,

And yet Diſtraction, and tumultuous Jars,

Keep all our frighted Citizens awake;

The Senate, weak, divided and irreſolute,

Want Pow'r to ſuccour the afflicted State.

Vainly in Words and long Debates they're Wiſe,

While the fierce Factions ſcorn their peaceful Orders,

And drown the Voice of Law in Noiſe and Anarchy.

Amidſt the general Wreck, ſee where ſhe ſtands,

[Pointing to Caliſta.

Like Helen, in the Night when Troy was ſack'd,

Spectatreſs of the Miſchief which ſhe made.

Cal.

It is Sciolto! be thy ſelf, my Soul;

Be ſtrong to bear his fatal Indignation,

That he may ſee thou art not loſt ſo far,

But ſomewhat ſtill of his great Spirit lives

In the forlorn Caliſta.

Sci.

Thou wert once

My Daughter.

Cal.

Happy were it I had dy'd,

And never loſt that Name.

Sci.

That's ſomething yet;

Thou wer't the very Darling of my Age;

I thought the Day too ſhort to gaze upon thee,

That all the Bleſſings I cou'd gather for thee,

By Cares on Earth, and by my Prayers to Heav'n,

Were little for my Fondneſs to beſtow;

Why didſt thou turn to Folly then, and curſe me?

Cal.

Becauſe my Soul was rudely drawn from yours;

[63] A poor imperfect Copy of my Father,

Where Goodneſs, and the ſtrength of manly Virtue,

Was thinly planted, and the idle Void

Fili'd up with light Belief, and eaſie Fondneſs;

It was, becauſe I lov'd, and was a Woman.

Sci.

Hadſt thou been honeſt, thou hadſt been a Cherubin;

But of that Joy, as of a Gem long loſt,

Beyond Redemption gone, think we no more.

Haſt thou e'er dar'd to meditate on Death?

Cal.

I have, as on the end of Shame and Sorrow.

Sci.

Ha! anſwer me! ſay, haſt thou cooly thought?

'Tis not the Stoick's Leſſons got by Rote,

The Pomp of Words, and Pedant Diſſertations,

That can ſuſtain thee in that Hour of Terror:

Books have taught Cowards to talk nobly of it,

But when the Trial comes, they ſtart, and ſtand agaſ [...];

Haſt thou conſider'd what may happen after it?

How thy Account may ſtand, and what to anſwer?

Cal.

I have turn'd my Eyes inward upon my ſelf,

Where foul Offence, and Shame have laid all waſte;

Therefore my Soul abhors the wretched Dwelling,

And longs to find ſome better place of Reſt.

Sci.

'Tis juſtly thought, and worthy of that Spirit

That dwelt in ancient Latian Breaſts, when Rome

Was Miſtreſs of the World. I wou'd go on,

And tell thee all my Purpoſe, but it ſticks,

Here at my Heart, and cannot find a way.

Cal.

Then ſpare the Telling, if it be a Pain,

And write the Meaning with your Ponyard here.

Sci.

Oh! truly gueſs'd—ſeeſt thou this trembling Hand—

[Holding up a Dagger.

[64] Thrice Juſtice urg'd—and thrice the ſlack'ning Sinews

Forgot their Office, and confeſt the Father;

At length the ſtubborn Virtue has prevail'd,

It muſt, it muſt be ſo—Oh! take it then,

[Giving the Dagger.

And know the reſt untaught.

Cal.

I underſtand you,

It is but thus, and both are ſatisfy'd.

[She offers to kill her ſelf, Sciolto catches hold of her Arm.

Sci.

A Moment, give me yet a Moment's ſpace;

The ſtern, the rigid Judge has been obey'd;

Now Nature, and the Father claim their turns;

I have held the Ballance with an Iron Hand,

And put off ev'ry tender, human Thought,

To doom my Child to Death; but ſpare my Eyes

The moſt unnatural Sight, leaſt their Strings crack,

And my old Brain ſplit, and grow mad with Horror.

Cal.

Ha! Is it poſſible? and is there yet

Some little, dear Remain of Love and Tenderneſs,

For poor, undone Caliſta, in your Heart?

Sci.

Oh! when I think what Pleaſure I took in thee,

What Joys thou gav'ſt me in thy prattling Infancy,

Thy ſprightly Wit, and early blooming Beauty,

How I have ſtood, and fed my Eyes upon thee,

Then lifted up my Hands, and wond'ring, bleſt thee;

By my ſtrong Grief, my Heart ev'n melts within me,

I cou'd curſe Nature, and that Tyrant, Honour,

For making me thy Father, and thy Judge;

Thou art my Daughter ſtill.

Cal.

For that kind Word,

Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the Earth;

[65] Weep on your Feet, and bleſs you for this Goodneſs;

Oh! 'tis too much for this offending Wretch,

This Paricide, that Murders with her Crimes,

Shortens her Father's Age, and cuts him off,

E'er little more than half his Years be number'd.

Sci.

Wou'd it were otherwiſe—but thou muſt die.—

Cal.

That I muſt die! it is my only Comfort;

Death is the Privilege of human Nature,

And Life without it were not worth our taking;

Thither the Poor, the Pris'ner, and the Mourner,

Fly for Relief, and lay their Burthens down.

Come then, and take me now to thy cold Arms,

Thou meagre Shade; here let me breathe my laſt,

Charm'd with my Father's Pity and Forgiveneſs,

More than if Angels tun'd their Golden Viols,

And ſung a Requiem to my parting Soul.

Sci.

I am ſummon'd hence, e'er this my Friends expect me,

There is I know not what of ſad Preſage,

That tells me, I ſhall never ſee thee more;

If it be ſo, this is our laſt Farewel,

And theſe the parting Pangs which Nature feels,

When Anguiſh rends the Heart-ſtrings—Oh! my Daughter.

[Exit Sciolto.

Cal.

Now think thou, curſt Caliſta, now behold

The Deſolation, Horror, Blood and Ruin,

Thy Crimes, and fatal Folly ſpread around,

That loudly cry for Vengeance on thy Head;

Yet Heav'n, who knows our weak, imperfect Natures,

How blind with Paſſions, and how prone to Evil,

Makes not too ſtrict Enquiry for Offences,

But is aton'd by Penitence and Pray'r:

[66] Cheap Recompence! here 'twou'd not be receiv'd,

Nothing but Blood can make the Expiation,

And cleanſe the Soul from inbred, deep Pollution.

And ſee, another injur'd Wretch is come,

To call for Juſtice from my tardy Hand.

Enter Altamont.

Alt.

Hail to you Horrors! hail thou Houſe of Death!

And thou the lovely Miſtreſs of theſe Shades,

Whoſe Beauty gilds the more than midnight Darkneſs,

And makes it grateful as the Dawn of Day.

Oh! take me in a Fellow-Mourner with thee,

I'll number Groan for Groan, and Tear for Tear;

And when the Fountain of thy Eyes are dry,

Mine ſhall ſupply the Stream, and weep for both.

Cal.

I know thee well, thou art the injur'd Altamont,

Thou com'ſt to urge me with the Wrongs I ha' done thee;

But know I ſtand upon the Brink of Life,

And in a Moment mean to ſet me free

From Shame, and thy Upbraiding.

Alt.

Falſly, falſly

Doſt thou accuſe me; when did I complain,

Or murmur at my Fate? For thee I have

Forgot the Temper of Italian Husbands,

And Fondneſs has prevail'd upon Revenge;

I bore my load of Infamy with Patience,

As Holy Men do Puniſhments from Heav'n,

Nor thought it hard, becauſe it came from thee;

Oh! then forbid me not to mourn thy Loſs,

To wiſh ſome better Fate had rul'd our Loves,

And that Caliſta had been mine, and true.

Cal.

[67]

Oh! Altamont, 'tis hard for Souls like mine,

Haughty and fierce, to yield they have done amiſs;

But oh! behold my proud, diſdainful Heart,

Bends to thy gentler Virtue; yes, I own,

Such is thy Truth, thy Tenderneſs and Love,

Such are the Graces that adorn thy Youth,

That were I not abandon'd to Deſtruction,

With thee I might have liv'd, for Ages bleſt,

And dy'd in Peace within thy faithful Arms.

Alt.

Then Happineſs is ſtill within our reach;

Here let Remembrance loſe our paſt Misfortunes,

Tear all Records that hold the fatal Story;

Here let our Joys begin, from hence go on

In long ſucceſſive Order.

Cal,

What! in Death?

Alt.

Then art thou fix'd to die—But be it ſo,

We'll go together, my advent'rous Love

Shall follow thee to thoſe uncertain Beings;

Whether our lifeleſs Shades are doom'd to wander,

In gloomy Groves, with diſcontented Ghoſts,

Or whether thro' the upper Air we fleet,

And tread the Fields of Light, ſtill I'll purſue thee,

'Till Fate ordains that we ſhall part no more.

Cal.

Oh no! Heav'n has ſome better Lot in ſtore

To Crown thee with; live, and be happy long;

Live for ſome Maid that ſhall deſerve thy Goodneſs,

Some kind unpractis'd Heart, that never yet

Has liſten'd to the falſe ones of thy Sex,

Nor known the Arts of ours; ſhe ſhall reward thee,

Meet thee with Virtues equal to thy own,

[68] Charm thee with Sweetneſs, Beauty, and with Truth,

Be bleſt in thee alone, and thou in her.

Enter Horatio.

Hor.

Now mourn indeed, ye miſerable Pair,

For now the Meaſure of your Woes is full.

Alt.

What doſt thou mean, Horatio?

Hor.

Oh! 'tis dreadful:

The great, the good Sciolto dies this Moment.

Cal.

My Father!

Alt.

That's a deadly Stroak indeed.

Hor.

Not long ago he privately went forth,

Attended but by few, and thoſe unbidden;

I heard which way he took, and ſtrait purſu'd him,

But found him compaſs'd by Lothario's Faction,

Almoſt alone, amidſt a Crowd of Foes;

Too late we brought him Aid, and drove them back;

E'er that his frantick Valour had provok'd,

The Death he ſeem'd to wiſh for from their Swords.

Cal.

And doſt thou bear me yet, thou patient Earth?

Doſt thou not labour with my murd'rous Weight?

And you ye glitt'ring, heav'nly Hoſt of Stars,

Hide your Fair Heads in Clouds, or I ſhall blaſt you,

For I am all Contagion, Death, and Ruin,

And Nature ſickens at me; reſt thou World,

This Paricide ſhall be thy Plague no more;

Thus, thus I ſet thee free.

[Stabs her ſelf.

Hor.

Oh! fatal Raſhneſs.

Alt.

Thou doſt inſtruct me well; to lengthen Life,

Is but to trifle now.

[Altamont offers to kill himſelf; Horatio prevents him, and wreſts his Sword from him.

Hor.

[69]

Ha! what means

The frantick Altamont? Some Foe to Man

Has breath'd on ev'ry Breaſt Contagious Fury,

And Epidemick Madneſs.

Enter Sciolto, pale and bloody, ſupported by Servants.

Cal.

Oh my Heart!

Well may'ſt thou fail, for ſee the Spring that fed

Thy Vital Stream is waſted, and runs low.

My Father! will you now at laſt forgive me,

If after all my Crimes, and all your Suff'rings,

I call you once again by that dear Name?

Will you forget my Shame, and thoſe wide Wounds,

Lift up your Hand, and bleſs me e'er I go

Down to my dark Abode.

Sci.

Alas! my Daughter?

Thou haſt raſhly ventur'd in a ſtormy Sea,

Where Life, Fame, Virtue, all were wreck'd and loſt;

But ſure thou haſt born thy part in all the Anguiſh,

And ſmarted with the Pain, then reſt in Peace,

Let Silence and Oblivion hide thy Name,

And ſave thee from the Malice of Poſterity;

And may'ſt thou find with Heav'n the ſame Forgiveneſs,

As with thy Father here.—Die, and be happy.

Cal.

Celeſtial Sounds! Peace dawns upon my Soul,

And ev'ry Pain grows leſs.—Oh! gentle Altamont,

Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone,

But pity me.—Had I but early known

Thy wond'rous Worth, thou excellent young Man,

We had been happier both:—Now 'tis too late,

And yet my Eyes take Pleaſure to behold thee,

Thou art their laſt dear Object.—Mercy, Heav'n!

[She dies.

Alt.

[70]

Cold! dead and cold! and yet thou art not chang'd,

But lovely ſtill! Hadſt thou a thouſand Faults,

What Heart ſo hard, what Virtue ſo ſevere,

But at that Beauty muſt of force relented,

Melted to Pity, Love, and to Forgiveneſs?

Sci.

Oh! turn thee from the fatal Object; Altamont,

Come near, and let me bleſs thee e'er I die.

To thee, and brave Horatio, I bequeath

My Fortunes.—Lay me by thy Noble Father,

And love my Memory as thou haſt done his,

For thou haſt been my Son.—Oh! gracious Heav'n!

Thou that haſt endleſs Bleſſings ſtill in ſtore,

For Virtue, and for filial Piety,

Let Grief, Diſgrace, and Want be far away,

But multiply thy Mercies on his Head;

Let Honour, Greatneſs, Goodneſs, ſtill be with him,

And Peace in all his Ways.—

[He dies.

Alt.

Take, take it all;

To thee, Horatio, I reſign the Gift,

While I purſue my Father and my Love,

And find my only Portion in the Grave.

Hor.

The Storm of Grief bears hard upon his Youth,

And bends him like a drooping Flower to Earth.

Raiſe him, and bear him in.

[Altamont is carried off.

By ſuch Examples are we taught to prove,

The Sorrows that attend unlawful Love;

Death, or ſome worſe Misfortunes, ſoon divide

The injur'd Bridegroom from his guilty Bride:

If you would have the Nuptial Union laſt,

Let Virtue be the Bond that ties it faſt.

[Exeunt omnes.

Appendix A EPILOGUE,

[]

Spoken by Mrs. BRACEGIRDLE, who play'd Lavinia.

YOU ſee the tripping Dame could find no Favour,
Dearly ſhe paid for Breach of good Behaviour,
Nor could her loving Husband's Fondneſs ſave her.
Italian Ladies lead but ſcurvy Lives,
There's dreadful dealing with Eloping Wives;
Thus 'tis, becauſe theſe Husbands are obey'd
By force of Laws, which for themſelves they made,
With Tales of old Preſcriptions they confiae,
The Right of Marriage-rule to their Male Line,
And Huſt, and Domineer by Right Divine,
Had we the Pow'r we'd make the Tyrants know,
What 'tis to fail in Duties which they owe;
We'd teach the ſaunt'ring Squire, who loves to roam,
Forgetful of his own dear Spouſe and Home;
Who Snores at Night ſupinely by her ſide,
'Twas not for this the Nuptial Knot was ty'd.
The plodding Petty-fogger, and the Cit,
Have learn'd at leaſt this Modern way of Wit:
Each ill-bred, ſenſeleſs Rogue, tho' ne'er ſo dull,
Has th' Impudence to think his Wife a Fool;
He ſpends the Night, where merry Wags reſort,
With joking Clubs, and Eighteen-penny Port,
While ſhe poor Soul's contented to regale,
By a ſad Sea-cole Fire, with Wigs and Ale.
[] Well may the Cuckold-making Tribe find Grace,
And fill an abſent Husband's empty place:
If you would e'er bring Conſtancy in Faſhion,
You Men muſt firſt begin the Reformation.
Then ſhall the Golden Age of Love return,
No Turtle for her wand'ring Mate ſhall mourn,
No Foreign Charms ſhall cauſe Domeſtick Strife,
But ev'ry marry'd Man ſhall toaſt his Wife;
Phillis ſhall not be to the Country ſent,
For Carnivals in Town to keep a tedious Lent:
Lampoons ſhall ceaſe, and envious Scandal die,
And all ſhall live in Peace like my good Man and I.

FINIS.

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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5237 The fair penitent A tragedy Written by N Rowe Esq. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5A92-A