The British Drama: Illustrated

To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy,
And then be blest ev'n to that wish's height?
To die with joy, and straight to live again;
Speechless to gaze, and with tumultuous trans-
port-

Cal. Oh! let me hear no more; I cannot bear it;
'Tis deadly to remembrance. Let that night,
That guilty night, be blotted from the year;
For 'twas that night that gave me up to shame,
To sorrow, to the false Lothario.

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;
And yet, behold, she has giv'n herself 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 myself 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 ne'er hadst bless'd 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. Wert 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.
Enter ALTAMONT behind.

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!
(They fight; Lothario falls.)

Oh, Altamont! thy genius is the stronger!
Thou hast prevail'd! My fierce, ambitious soul
Declining droops, and all her fires grow pale;
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 cheers my heart in dying.
(Dies.)
Cal. And what remains for me, beset with
shame,

Encompass'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 herself; Altamont runs to her, and
wrests it from her.)

Alt. What means thy frantic 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 for-

given?

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.

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.
Thus torn, defac'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 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,
For being author of a wretch like me.

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,
Nor will I 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 p cad'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 flerce upbraid-
ing?

Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery
At morn, at noon, at night, told over to me?

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
days;

That I should live to see you the world's wonder,
So happy, great, and good, that none were like

Serv. Arm yourself, my lord;
Rossano, but now escap'd the garden,
Has gather'd in the streets a band of rioters,
Who threaten you and all your friends with ruin,
Unless Lothario be returned 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

{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,
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 curs'd than you can wish I were;
This fatal form, that drew on my undoing,
Fasting, and tears, and hardships, shall des-
troy;

Nor light, nor food, nor comfort will I know,
Nor aught 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 should cease;
Die, thou poor suff'ring wretch, and be at peace,

Sci. Who of my servants wait there?

Enter two or three Servants.

[Exit.

Raise that body, and bear it in. On your lives
Take care my doors be guarded well, that none
Pass out, or enter, but by my appointment.

[Exeunt Servants, with Lothario's body.
Alt. There is a fatal fury in your visage,
It blazes flerce, and menaces destruction.
I tremble at the vengeance which you meditate
On the poor, faithless, lovely, dear Calista.

Sci. Hadst thou not read what brave Virginius
did?

With his own hand he slew his only daughter,
To save her from the fierce Decemvir's last.
He slew her, yet unspotted, to prevent
The shame which she might know.

should I do?

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. When our force
Is full and arm'd, we shall expect thy sword
To join with us, and sacrifice to justice.

[Exit.

Alt. There is a heavy 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.
Would it were death, as sure 'tis wondrous like it,
For I am sick of living; my soul's pall'd,
She kind es 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.

ACT V.

[Exit.

flame

This dull

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 gownmen
Then what 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 uncouthly.
But what of that, if he or she that own'd 'em
re. Safe from disquiet sit, and smile to see
The farce their miserable relics play?
But here's a sight is terrible indeed!

But thou hast tied my hand. I won't kill her;
Yet, by the ruin she has brought upon us,
The common infamy that brands us both,

She sha'n't escape.

Alt. You mean that she shall die, then?
Sci. Ask me not what, nor how I have

solv'd,

For all within is anarchy and uproar.

Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario,
That dear, perfidious-Ah!-how pale he looks!
And those dead eyes!-How grim with clotted
blood!-

Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night,
In all your diff'rent, dreadful shapes ascend,
And match the present horror, if you can.
Enter SCIOLTO.

Sci. This dead of night, this silent hour of
ness,

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;
And yet distraction and tumultuous jars,
Keep all our frighted citizens awake:
Amidst the gen'ral 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 thyself, my soul,
Be strong to bear his fatal indignation,
That he might 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 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,
That all the blessings I could gather for thee,
By cares on earth, and by my pray'rs 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,

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,
Beyond redemption gone, think we no more.
Hast thou o'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 coolly thought?

"Tis not the stoic'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 noble of it,
But when the trial comes, they stand aghast;
Hast thou consider'd what may happen after it?
How thy account may stand, and what to answer?
Cal. I've turn'd my eyes inward upon myself,
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 Latin 'breasts, when Rome
Was mistress of the world. I would 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 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.
At length the stubborn virtue has prevail'd;
It must, it must be so-Oh! take it then,

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 have I stood and fed my eyes upon thee,
Then, lifting up my hands and wond'ring bless'd
thee;

By my strong grief, my heart even melts within me;
I could 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,
Weep on your feet, and bless you for this good-

ness.

Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch,
This parricide, that murders with her crimes.
Shortens her father's age, and cuts him off,
Ere little more than half his years be number'd.
Sci. Would 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:
Come then,

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; 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 mourn thy loss,

To wish some better fate had rul'd our loves,
And that Calista had been mine, and true.

Cal. Oh, Altamont! 'tis hard for souls like mine,
Haughty and fierce, to yield they've 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,
That, were I not abandon'd to destruction,
With thee I might have liv'd for ages bless'd,
And died in peace within thy faithful arms.
Enter HORATIO.

Hor. Now mourn indeed, ye miserable pair!
For now the measure of your woes is full.
The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment.
Cal. My father!

Alt. That's a dreadful stroke indeed.
Hor. Not long ago, he privately went forth,
Attended but by few, and those unbidden.

I heard which way he took, and straight 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;

Ere that, his frantic 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 thy 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 parricide shall be thy plague no more;
Thus, thus I set thee free.

Ho Oh, fatal rashness!

(Stabs herself.)

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, ere I go
Down to my dark abode!

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.
To thee and brave Horatio I bequeath
My fortunes. Lay me by thy noble father,
And love my memory as thou hast 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.
(Dies.)
Hor. The storm of grief bears hard upon his
youth.

And bends him, like a drooping flow'r, to earth.
By such examples we are taught to prove
The sorrows that attend unlawful love,
Death, or some worse misfortune, 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

THE

PROVOKED HUSBAND.

A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.--BY VANBRUGH AND CIBBER.

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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.

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