To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy, Cal. Oh! let me hear no more; I cannot bear it; Loth. Hear this, ye pow'rs! mark, how the fair deceiver Sadly complains of violated truth; She calls me false, ev'n she, the faithless she, Whom day and night, whom heav'n and earth, have heard Sighing to vow, and tenderly protest, Ten thousand times, she would be only mine; Cal. Art thou so base to upbraid me with a crime, A slave to base desires and brutal pleasures, And I must yield before it. Wert thou calm, Alt. Ha! Do I live and wake? (Aside.) Cal. Hadst you been true, how happy had Í been! 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! Oh, Altamont! thy genius is the stronger! Encompass'd round with wretchedness? There is Alt. What means thy frantic rage? Alt. Oh! thou hast more than murder'd me; yet still, Still art thou here! and my soul starts with horror, given? Oh, thou hast known but little of Calista! Sci. (Within.) What, ho! my son! 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. 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 wall. 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 oue. 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 good ness (Offers to kill Calista; Altamont holds him.) Alt. Stay thee, Sciolto, thou rash father, stay, Or turn the point on me, and through 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. 'Tis sharp, 'tis terrible, and I could curse Oh, Altamont! what a vast scheme of joy The cheerful day, men, earth, and heaven, and Has this one day destroy'd? Well did I hope thee, Ev'n thee, thou venerable, good, old man, Sci. Thy pious care has giv'n me time to think, And say'd me from a crime; then rest, my sword: To honour have I kept thee ever sacred, Ev'n to a Roman strictness; and thou, nature, Cal. Then am I doom'd to live and bear your To groan beneath your scorn and flerce upbraid- Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery Is this, is this the mercy of a father? I only beg to die, and he denies me. This daughter would have bless'd my latter That I should live to see you the world's wonder, Serv. Arm yourself, my lord; Sci. By heav'n, their fury rises to my wish, {Exi'. Sci. Hence from my sight! thy father cannot bear For all the sorrows which my age is curs'd with. thee; Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell, Mourning, misfortune, cares, and anguish dwell; Nor light, nor food, nor comfort will I know, Sci. Who of my servants wait there? Enter two or three Servants. [Exit. Raise that body, and bear it in. On your lives [Exeunt Servants, with Lothario's body. Sci. Hadst thou not read what brave Virginius With his own hand he slew his only daughter, should I do? I think my name as great, my friends as potent, [Exit. Alt. There is a heavy weight upon my senses: ACT V. [Exit. flame This dull Sleeps in the socket. Sure the book was left But thou hast tied my hand. I won't kill her; She sha'n't escape. Alt. You mean that she shall die, then? solv'd, For all within is anarchy and uproar. Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario, Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night, Sci. This dead of night, this silent hour of Cal, I understand you. It is but thus, and both are satisfied. (Sh offers to kill herself; Sciollo 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've held the balance with an iron hand, And put off every tender human thought, dark-To doom my child to death; but spare my eyes The most unnat'ral sight, lest their strings crack, My old brain split, and I 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? Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose; But somewhat still of his great spirit lives Sci. Thou wert once My daughter. Cal. Happy were it I had died, And never lost that name. Sci. That's something yet; Thou wert the very darling of my age: I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee, A poor, imperfect copy of my father; It was because I lov'd, and was a woman, Sci. Hadst thou been honest, thou hadst been a cherubim; But of that joy, as of a gem long lost, Cal. I have, as on the end of shame and sorrow. Sci. Ha! answer me. Say, hast thou coolly thought? "Tis not the stoic's lessons got by rote, Sci. "Tis justly thought, and worthy of that spirit Cal. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain, And write the meaning with your poniard here. Sci. Oh; truly guess'd; seest thou this trembling hand? (Holding up a dagger.) Thrice justice urg'd-and thrice the slackening sinews Forgot their office, and confess'd the father. Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took in thee, What joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling infancy, By my strong grief, my heart even melts within me; Cal. For that kind word, Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth, ness. Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch, Cal. That I must die, it is my only comfort; Thou meagre shade: here let me breathe my last, Sci. I am summon'd hence; ere this my friends expect me. There is Iknow not what of sad presage, That tells me I shall never see thee more, If it be so, this is our last farewell, And these the parting pangs, which nature feels, When anguish rends the heart-strings -Oh, my daughter! [Exit. Cal. Now think, thou curs'd 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 inquiry for offences, But is aton'd by penitence and pray'r: Ch ap recompense! here, 'twould 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 appears, 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 dark ness; And makes it grateful as the dawn of day. Dost thou accuse me! O, forbid me not To wish some better fate had rul'd our loves, Cal. Oh, Altamont! 'tis hard for souls like mine, Hor. Now mourn indeed, ye miserable pair! Alt. That's a dreadful stroke indeed. I heard which way he took, and straight pursu'd him; But found him compass'd by Lothario's faction, Too late we brought him aid, and drove them back; Ere that, his frantic valour had provok'd Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight? Hide your fair heads in clouds, or I shall blast you: For I am all contagion, death, and ruin, Ho Oh, fatal rashness! (Stabs herself.) Enter SCIOLTO, pale and bloody, supported by Servants. Cal. Oh, my heart! Will you forget my shame, and those wide wounds? Sci. Alas, my daughter! Thou hast rashly ventur'd on a stormy sea, Where life, fame, virtue, all were wreck'd and lost. But sure thou hast borne 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! (Lies.) Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Altamont! Come near, and let me bless thee ere I die. Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away; And bends him, like a drooping flow'r, to earth. [Exeunt THE PROVOKED HUSBAND. A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.--BY VANBRUGH AND CIBBER. Lady T.-"SUPPORT ME-SAVE ME-HIDE ME FROM THE WORLD.-Act V, scene 2. LORD TOWNLY. SIR F. WRONGHEAD. MANLY. SQUIRE RICHARD. ACT I. Persons Represented JOHN MOODY. COUNT BASSET. POUNDAGE. WILLIAMS. SCENE I.-Lord Tounly's Apartment. LORD TOWNLY discovered. Lord T. Why did I marry? Was it not evident, my plain, rational scheme of life was impracticable with a woman of so different a way of thinking? Is there one article of it that she has not broke in upon? Yes, let me do her justice-her reputation -that, I have no reason to believe is in question. But, then, how long her profligate course of pleasures may make her able to keep it, is a shocking consideration; and her presumption, while she kop it, insupportable; for, on the pride of that single virtue, she seems to lay it down as a fundaNo. 9.-THE BRITISH DRAMA. mental point, that the free indulgence of every other vice this fertile town affords, is the birthright prerogative of a woman of quality. Amazing! that a creature, so warm in the pursuit of her pleasures, should never cast one thought towards her happiness. Thus, while she admits of no lover, she thinks it a greater merit still in her chastity, not to care for her husband; and, while she herself is solacing in one continual round of cards and good company, he, poor wretch, is left at large, to take care of his own contentment. 'Tis time, indeed, some care were taken, and speedily there shall be; yet, let me not be rash: perhaps this disappointment of my heart may make me too impatient; and some tempers, when reproached, grow more untractable. Here she comes: let me be calm awhile. |