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LONG has the fate of kings and empires been
The common bus’ness of the tragic scene,
As if misfortune made the throne her seat,
And none could 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 should

fall 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, should 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 def'rence to the fair, he bade 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 would 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.


SCIOLT0, a nobleman of Genoa

Mr. Aickin.
ALTAMONT, a young lord, in love with

Mr. Barrymore.
Horatio, his friend

Mr. Bensley.
LOTHAR 10, a young lord and enemy to Al-

Mr. Palmer.
Rossano, his friend

Mr. Williames.

CALISTA, daughter to Sciolto

Mrs. Siddons.
LAVINIA, sister to Altamont, and wife
to Horatio

Mrs. Ward.
Lucilla, confident to Calista

Miss Palmer.



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SCIOLTO, a nobleman of Genoa

Mr. Aickin.
ALTAMONT, a young lord, in love with

Mr. Farren.
Horat 10, his friend

Mr. Harley.
LOTHARIO, a young lord, and enemy to Al-

Mr. Holman.
Rossano, his friend

Mr. Evatt.

CALISTA, daughter to Sciolto

Miss Brunton.
Lavinia, sister to Altamont, and wife to

Miss Chapman.
LUCILLA, confident to Calista

Miss Stuart.
Servants to Sciolto.
SCENE, Sciolto's palace and garden, with some part of the street

near it, in Genoa.

[graphic][subsumed][merged small][merged small]

A garden belonging to Sciolto’s palace. Enter ALTA,


Altamont. Ler this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it : Let it be mark'd 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 rais'd thee first, Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, Completes it's 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 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 desert among brutes,
“ To bear the various fary of the seasons,
to The night's unwholsome 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 tie made me Sciolto's son;
He call'd us his, and, with a parent's fondness,
Indulg'd us in his wealth, bless'd us with plenty,
Heal’d all our cares, and sweeten'd love itself.

Alt. By Heav'n he found my fortunes so abandon'd,
That nothing but a miracle could raise 'em : 40
My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude,
Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him ev'n 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 could'st, thou didst,
And didst it like a son; when his hard creditors,

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