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Loth. Damnation!

[They draw. Since love, as well as arms, must grace my triumph. [Exeunt Lothario and Rossano. Hor. Two hours ere noon to-morrow! ha! ere

Ros. Hold, this goes no further here. Horatio, 'tis too much; already see The crowd are gathering to us.

Loth. Oh, Rossano !

Or give me way, or thou art no more my friend. Ros. Sciolto's servants, too, have ta'en the alarm;

You'll be oppressed by numbers. Be advised,
Or I must force you hence. Take it on my word,
You shall have justice done you on Horatio.
Put up, my lord.

Loth. This will not brook delay;
West of the town a mile, among the rocks,
Two hours ere 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-mor

row

Exert your influence: shine strongly for me; 'Tis not a common conquest I would gain,

that

He sees Calista! Oh, unthinking fool-
What if I urged her with the crime and danger?
If any spark from Heaven remain unquenched
Within her breast, my breath, perhaps, may wake
it.

Could I but prosper there, I would 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 would 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 betrayed!
Convinced by reason, they your power confess,
Pleased to be happy, as you're pleased to bless,
And, conscious of your worth, can never love you
less.
[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I-An apartment in Sciolto's palace.

Enter SCIOLTO and CALISTA.

Sci. Now, by my life, my honour, 'tis too much! Have I not marked thee, wayward as thou art, Perverse and sullen all this day of joy?

When every heart was cheered, and mirth went round,

Sorrow, displeasure, and repining anguish,
Sat on thy brow, like some malignant planet,
Foe to the harvest and the healthy year,
Who scowls adverse, and lours upon the world;
When all the other stars, with gentle aspect,
Propitious shine, and meaning good to inan.
Cal. Is then the task of duty half performed?
Has not your daughter given herself to Altamont,
Yielded the native freedom of her will
To an imperious husband's lordly rule,
To gratify a father's stern command?
Sci. Dost thou complain?

Cal. For pity do not frown then,

If, in despite of all my vowed obedience,
A sigh breaks out, or a tear falls by chance:
For, oh! that sorrow, which has drawn your an-
ger,

Is the sad native of Calista's breast:

And once possessed, will never quit its dwelling, Till life, the prop of all, shall leave the building, To tumble down, and moulder into ruin.

Sci. Now by the sacred dust of that dear saint That was thy mother; by her wondrous 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! though, by yon Heaven, I love thee

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

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That hurt your peace, and quench those eyes in

tears.

Cal. To steal, unlooked for, on my private sor-
row,

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 falsely,
I come to prove myself Calista's friend.

Cal. You are my husband's friend, the friend
of Altamont.

Hor. Are you not one? Are you not joined by
Heaven,

Each interwoven with the other's fate?
Are you not mixt, like streams of meeting rivers,
Whose blended waters are no more distinguished,
But roll 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 shore, and sends his wishes back
To the dear native land from whence he came.
Hor. When souls, that should agree to will the
same,

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 banished from the genial bed,
The night shall all be lonely and unquiet,
And every day shall be a day of cares.

Cal. Then all the boasted office of thy friend-
ship,

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 soothe 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 lies 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're

ter.

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Hence have the talkers of this populous city
A shameful tale to tell, for public sport,
Of an unhappy beauty, a false fair one,
Who plighted to a noble youth her faith,
When she had given her honour to a wretch.

Cal. Death and confusion! Have I lived to this?
Thus to be treated with unmanly insolence!
To be the sport of a loose ruffian's tongue!
Thus to be used! 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
Could urge my tongue to this ungrateful office.
I came with strong reluctance, as if death
Had stood across my way, to save your honour,
Your's and Sciolto's, your's and Altamont's;
Like one who ventures through a burning pile,
To save his tender wife, with all her brood
Of little fondlings, from the dreadful ruin.

Cal. Is this the famous friend of Altamont,
For noble worth and deeds of arms renowned?
Is this the tale-bearing officious fellow,
That watches for intelligence from eyes;
This wretched Argus of a jealous husband,
That fills his easy 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 with your care, you must be calm,
And listen to the means are left to save them.
'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;
bet-Unless you mean to be despised, be shunned
By all our virtuous maids and noble matrons;
Unless you have devoted this rare beauty
To infamy, diseases, prostitution-

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,

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But rest in everlasting peace of mind,
And find the height of all their heaven is good-

ness.

Cal. And what bold parasite's officious tongue Shall dare to tax Calista's name with guilt?

Hor. None should; but 'tis a busy, talking world,

Cal. Dishonour blast thee, base, unmannered
slave!

That darest forget my birth, and sacred sex,
And shock me with the rude, unhallowed sound!
Hor. Here kneel, and in the awful face of

Heaven

Breathe out a solemn vow, never to sec,
Nor think, if possible, on him that ruined 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 meanest 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 even forget
The weakness of my sex.Oh, for a sword,
To urge my vengeance on the villain's hand,
That forged the scroll!

Hor. Behold! Can this be forged?
See where Calista's name-

[Shewing the letter near. Cal. To atoms thus, [Tearing it. Thus let me tear the vile, detested falsehood, The wicked, lying evidence of shame.

Hor. Confusion!

Cal. Henceforth, thou officious fool, Meddle no more, nor dare, even on thy life, To breathe an accent that may touch my virtue. I am myself the guardian of my honour, And will 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, and care, and business 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 even sickens with desire.
Disordered!-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!

Could he do this? He, who was half myself? One faith has ever bound us, and one reason Guided our wills. Have I not found him just, Honest as truth itself? And could he break The sanctity of friendship? Could 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 would 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

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But mark me well; while thy divided heart
Doats on a villain that has wronged me thus,
No force shall drag me to thy hated bed.
Nor can my cruel father's power do more
Than shut me in a cloister: there, well pleased,
Religious hardships will I learn to bear,
To fast and freeze at midnight hours of prayer:
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 ty-
[Exit Calista.
Alt She's gone; and, as she went, ten thousand
fires

rant man.

Shot from her angry eyes; as if she meant
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 thyself,
Madness and reason combating within thee,
And thou wert doubtful which should get the
better?

Hor. I would 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.

Att. 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 hast wronged her.

Hor. That I have wronged her! had her eyes been fed

From that rich stream which warms her heart, and numbered

For every falling tear a drop of blood,

It had not been too much; for she has ruined thee,

Even 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, Replete with blessings, giving wealth and honour? The dowry which she brings is peace and plea

sure,

And everlasting joys are in her arms.

Hor. It had been better thou had'st lived a

beggar,

And fed on scraps at great men's surly doors, Than to have matched with one so false, so fatal.—

Alt. It is too much for friendship to allow thec. Because I tamely bore the wrong thou didst her, Thou dost avow the barbarous, brutal part, And urge the injury even to my face!

Hor. I see she has got possession of thy heart; She has charmed thee, like a syren, to her bed, With looks of love, and with enchanting sounds: Too late the rocks and quicksands will appear, When thou art wrecked upon the faithless shore,

Nn

Then vainly wish thou had'st not left thy friend, | I swear, the poor evasion shall not save thec.
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 I've been to thee?

I shared the task of nature with thy father, And formed with care thy inexperienced youth To virtue and to arms.

Thy noble father, oh, thou light young man! Would he have used me thus? One fortune fed us; For his was ever mine, mine his, and both Together flourished, and together fell.

Hor. Yet hold-thou know'st I dare-think how we've lived

[They fight; Aliamont 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,

He called me friend, like thee: would he have To save those dearer streams that flow from

left me

Thus, for a woman, and 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 compelled, And forced to clear myself; but since thus urged, I must avow, I do not know a viler.

Alt. Thou wert my father's friend; he loved thee well;

A kind of venerable mark of him

Hangs round thee, and protects thee from my

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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 shewed thee what it was to be a man?

Lav. What busy, meddling fiend, 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 corse, 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,

Unwearied with forgiving, scarce could pardon. He, who was all to me, child, brother, friend, With barbarous, bloody malice, sought my life.

Alt. Thou art my sister, and I would not make thee

The lonely mourner of a widowed 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. ́ Farewell.
[He is going out, 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, shall not be-you must not
hold me.

Lav. Look kindly, then.

Alt. Each minute that I stay, Is a new injury to fair Calista.

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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,
This wondrous waste of tears, too much to give
To an ungrateful friend, and cruel brother.

Lav. Is there not cause for weeping? Oh, Ho-
ratio!

A brother and a husband were my treasure;
'Twas all the little wealth that poor Lavinia
Saved from the shipwreck of her father's for-

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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 Power, who cloathes the senseless

earth

With woods, with fruits, with flowers, 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 falsehood and incon

stancy,

To some more honest, distant clime we'll go,
Nor will I be beholden to my country,
For aught but thee, the partner of my flight.

Lay. Yes, I will follow thee; forsake, for thee,
My country, brother, friends, even all I have.
Though mine's a little all, yet were it more,
And better far, it should be left for thee,
And all that I would keep, should be Horatio.
So, when a merchant sees his vessel lost,
Though richly freighted from a foreign coast,
Gladly, for life, the treasure he would 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.
[Ercunt.

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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
Of discord, or disquict past, molest thee;
But to a long oblivion give thy cares,
And let us melt the present hour in bliss.

One day the soul, supine with ease and fulness,
Revels secure, and fondly tells herself
The hour of evil can return no more;
The next, the spirits, palled 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 the mass of friendship which I squander-Thou canst no more betray, nor I be ruined.
ed?

Coldness, aversion, tears, and sullen sorrow,
Dashed all my bliss, and damped my bridal bed.
Soon as the morning dawned, she vanished from me,
Relentless to the gentle call of love.

I've lost a friend, and I have gained—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 assuage this pain of thinking. [Erit.

Cal. Seek not to soothe me with thy false endear

ments,

To charm me with thy softness: 'tis in vain :

The hours of folly, and of fond delight,
Are wasted all, and fled; those that remain
Are doomed to weeping, anguish, and repentance.
I come to charge thee with a long account,
Of all the sorrows I have known already,
And all I have to come; thou hast undone me.

Loth. Unjust Calista! dost thou call it ruin,
To love as we have done; to melt, to languish,
To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy,
And then be blest even to that wish's height?

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