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SCENE, Sciolto's palace and garden, with some part of the street near it, in Genoa,

SCENE I.-A Garden.

ACT I.

Enter ALTAMONT and HORATIO. Alt. LET this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it: Let it be marked for triumphs and rejoicings; Let happy lovers ever make it holy, Choose 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 raised thee first,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave,
Completes its bounty, and restores thy name
To that high rank and lustre which it boasted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The merit of thy god-like 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 wretch-
edness,

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 desert among brutes,
To bear the various fury of the seasons,
The night's unwholesome dew, and noon-day's
heat,

To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heaven!
Hor. So open, so unbounded was his good-

ness,

It reached even me, because I was thy friend.
When that great man I loved, thy noble father,
Bequeathed thy gentle sister to my arms,
His last dear pledge and legacy of friendship,
That happy tie made me Sciolto's son;
He called us his, and, with a parent's fondness,
Indulg'd us in his wealth, blessed us with plenty,
Healed all our cares, and sweetened love itself.
Alt. By Heaven, he found my fortunes so
abandoned,

That nothing but a miracle could raise them:
My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude,
Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him even a grave.
Undone myself, and sinking with his ruin,

I had no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him,

But fruitless tears.

Hor. Yet what thou couldst, thou didst, And didst it like a son; when his hard creditors,

Urged and assisted by Lothario's father,

(Foe to thy house, and rival of their greatness)
By sentence of the cruel law forbid
His venerable corpse to rest in earth,
Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones;
With piety uncommon didst give up

Thy hopeful youth to slaves, who ne'er knew mercy,

Sour, unrelenting, money-loving villains,
Who laugh at human nature and forgiveness,
And are, like fiends, the factors of destruction.
Heaven, who beheld the pious act, approved it,
And bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy,
To bless thy filial virtue with abundance.

All. But see, he comes, the author of my hap piness,

The man who saved 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 myself! Joy to this happy morn that makes thee mine; That kindly grants what nature had denied me, And makes me father of a son like thee!

Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast, Pour out the fulness of my soul before you; Shew every tender, every grateful thought, This wondrous goodness stirs. But 'tis impos sible,

And utterance all is vile; since I can only Swear you reign here, but never tell how much. Sci. It is enough; I know thee, thou art ho

nest;

Goodness innate, and worth hereditary,
Are in thy mind; thy noble father's virtues
Spring freshly forth, and blossom in thy youth.
Alt. Thus Heaven from nothing raised his

fair creation,

And then, with wondrous joy, beheld its beauty, Well pleased to see the excellence he gave.

Sci. O, noble youth! I swear, since first I

knew thee,

Even from that day of sorrows when I saw thee,
Adorned and lovely in thy filial tears,
The mourner and redeemer of thy father,
I set thee down, and sealed thee for my own:
Thou art my son, even near me as Calista.
Horatio and Lavinia too are mine;

[Embraces HORatic.
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 even chides thee for delaying,
And swears thou com'st not with a bridegroom's
haste.

Alt. Oh! could F 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 the stream of joy that bears me on, Blest as I am, and honoured 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 sealed my vows
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 shower of tears let fall,
And then she sighed, as if her heart were break-
ing.

With all the tenderest eloquence of love,
I begged to be a sharer in her grief;

But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze

me,

Sadly replied, her sorrows were her own,
Nor in a father's power to dispose of.

Sci. Away! it is the cozenage 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 subtleness 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 public 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!

Ros. Let them pass.

They saw us not.

Loth. I care not if they did;

Ere long I mean to meet them face to face,
And gall them with my triumph o'er Calista.
Ros. You loved her once.

Loth. I liked her, would have married her,
But that it pleased her father to refuse me,
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!
Ros. She, gentle soul, was kinder than her fa-
ther?

Loth. She was, and oft in private gave me
hearing;

Till, by long listening to the soothing tale,
At length her easy heart was wholly mine.
Ros. 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 will tell thee: Once in a lone and secret hour of night,

When every eye was closed, and the pale moon

And stars alone shone conscious of the theft,
Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood,
Haply I stole unheeded to her chamber.
Ros. That minute sure was lucky.
Loth. Oh, 'twas great!

I found the fond, believing, love-sick maid,
Loose, unattired, warm, tender, full of wishes;
Fierceness and pride, the guardians of her ho-

nour,

Were charmed to rest, and love alone was wa king.

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 snatched the glorious golden opportunity,
And with prevailing, youthful ardour pressed her,
"Till with short sighs, and murmuring reluctance,
The yielding fair one gave me perfect happiness.
Even all the live-long night we passed in bliss,
In extacies too fierce to last for ever;
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.
Ros. 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 trans-

port,

No more I sighed, and languished for enjoyment; 'Twas past, and reason took her turn to reign, While every weakness fell before her throne. Ros. What of the lady?

Loth. With uneasy fondness

She hung upon me, wept, and sighed, and swore She was undone; talked of a priest, and marriage;

Of flying with me from her father's power;
Called every saint, and blessed angel down,
To witness for her that she was my wife.
I started at that name.

Ros. What answer made you?

Loth. None; but pretending sudden pain and illness,

Escaped the persecution. Two nights since,
By message urged and frequent importunity,
Again I saw her. Straight with tears and sighs,
With swelling breasts, with swooning, with dis-
traction,

With all the subtleties and powerful arts
Of wilful women, labouring for her purpose,
Again she told the same dull nauseous tale.
Unmoved, I begged her spare the ungrateful sub-

ject,

Since I resolved, that love and peace of mind
Might flourish long inviolate betwixt us,
Never to load it with the marriage chain;
That I would still retain her in my heart,
My ever gentle mistress and my friend!
But for those other names of wife and husband,
They only meant ill-nature, cares, and quarrels.
Ros. How bore she this reply?
Loth. Even 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 Delphic god,
Enthusiastic passion swelled her breast,
Enlarged her voice, and ruffled all her form.
Proud, and disdainful of the love I proffered,
She called me villain! monster! base betrayer!
At last, in very bitterness of soul,
With deadly imprecations on herself,
She vowed severely ne'er to see me more;
Then bid me fly that minute: I obeyed,
And, bowing, left her to grow cool at leisure.
Ros. She has relented since, else why this

message

To meet the keeper of her secrets here
This morning?

Loth. See the person whom you named !

Enter LUCILLA.

Well, my ambassadress, 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 the agreement.
Luc. 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, though cruel, should disclaim you,
And judge you to be numbered with the brutes.
Loth. I see thou'st learned to rail.
Luc. I've learned 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 for-

tune:

Some keeping cardinal shall doat upon thee,
And barter his church treasure for thy freshness.
Luc. What! shall I sell 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!

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Loth. Nay, no more angry words: say to Calista,

The humblest of her slaves shall wait her plea-
sure;

If she can leave her happy husband's arms,
To think upon so lost a thing as I am.

Luc. Alas! for pity, come with gentler looks;
Wound not her heart with this unmanly triumph:
And, though you love her not, yet swear you do,
So shall dissembling once be virtuous in you.
Loth. Ha! who comes here?

Luc. 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, and LUCILLA another.

Enter HORATIO.

Hor. Sure 'tis the very error of my eyes;
Waking I dream, or I beheld Lothario;
He seemed conferring with Calista's woman:
At my approach they started, and retired.
What business could 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.
[Reads it.

Confusion and misfortunes!

Your cruelty has at length determined me, ' and I have resolved this taorning to yield a per'fect obedience to my father, and to give my hand to Altamont, in spite of my weakness for 'the false Lothario. I could almost wish I had

Loth. Does she send thee to chide in her be- that heart, and that honour to bestow with it,

half?

I swear thou dost it with so good a grace,
That I could almost love thee for thy frowning.
Luc. Read there, my lord, there, in her own
sad lines,
[Giving a letter.
Which best can tell the story of her woes,
That grief of heart which your unkindness gives
her.

which you have robbed me of:' Damnation to the rest――

[Reads again.

'But, Oh! I fear, could I retrieve them, 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 shail 'conduct you, if you are kind enough to let me

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see you; it shall be the last trouble you shall | Why did you falsely call me your Lavinia, '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!
Thou wilt even make thy father curse his age;
At sight of this black scroll, the gentle Altamont
(For, Oh! I know his heart is set upon thee)
Shall droop, and hang his discontented head,
Like merit scorned by insolent authority,
And never grace the public with his virtues.
Perhaps even now he gazes fondly on her,
And, thinking soul and body both alike,
Blesses the perfect workmanship of Heaven!
Then sighing, to his every care speaks peace,
And bids his heart be satisfied with happiness.
Oh, wretched husband! while she hangs about
thee

With idle blandishments, and plays the fond one,
Even then her hot imagination wanders,
Contriving riot, and loose 'scapes of love;
And whilst 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 heaped on us!
Hold, let me take a moment's thought-

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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 raised to Heaven! 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 exit.
Hor, Oh, no! thou hast mistook my sickness
quite;

These pangs are of the soul. Would I had met
Sharpest convulsions, spotted pestilence,
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?

And swear I was Horatio's better half,
Since now you mourn unkindly by yourself,
And rob me of my partnership of sadness?
Witness, ye holy powers, who know my truth,
There cannot be a chance in life so miserable,
Nothing so very hard, but I could 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 would hide from all,

But most from thee. I never knew a pleasure,
Aught that was joyful, fortunate or good,
But straight I ran to bless thee with the tidings,
And laid up all my happiness with thee:
But wherefore, wherefore should I give thee pain?
Then spare me, I conjure thee; ask no further;
Allow my melancholy thoughts this privilege,
And let them 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 to weep out part of your misfortunes:
I would not press to know what you forbid me.
Yet, my loved 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.
Even now the jocund bridegroom waits your
wishes;

He thinks the priest has but half blessed his mar riage,

Till his friend hails him with the sound of joy. Hor. Oh, never, never, never! Thou art in

nocent:

Simplicity from ill, pure native truth,
And candour of the mind, adorn thee ever;
But there are such, such false ones, in the world,
"Twould fill thy gentle soul with 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, in habit;

But all that gaze upon them are undone;
For they are false, luxurious in their appetites,
And all the Heaven 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 loved his hour out, he gives place,
And mingles with the herd that went before him,

Lav, Čan there be such, and have they peace

of mind?

Have they, in all the series of their changing,
One happy hour? If women are such things,
How was I formed so different from my sex?
My little heart is satisfied 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 them,

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