port.

SONG.

Ah, stay! ah, turn! ah, whither would you fly,
Too charming, too relentless maid ?

I follow, not to conquer, but to die;
You of the fearful are afraid.
In vain I call; for she, like fleeting air,
When pressed by some tempestuous wind,
Flies swifter from the voice of my despair,
Nor casts one pitying look behind.

Sci. Take care my gates be open, bid all wel

come;

All who rejoice with me to-day are friends:
Let each indulge his genius, each be glad,
Jocund and free, and swell the feast with mirth;
The sprightly bowl shall chearfully go round,
None shall be grave, nor too severely wise;
Losses and disappointments, cares and poverty,
The rich man's insolence, and great man's scorn,
In wine shall be forgotten all. To-morrow
Will be too soon to think, and to be wretched.
Oh, grant, ye powers, that I may see these happy,
[Pointing to Alt. and Cal.

Completely blest, and I have life enough;
And leave the rest indifferently to fate. [Exeunt.
Hor. What if, while all are here intent on re-
velling,

I privately went forth, and sought Lothario?
This letter may be forged; perhaps the wanton-

ness

Of his vain youth, to stain a lady's fame;
Perhaps his malice to disturb my friend.
Oh, no! my heart forebodes it must be true.
Methought, even now, I marked the starts of
guilt

And any eye that lights by chance on you, Shall put your life and safety to the hazard. [ They confer aside.

Enter HORATIO.

Hor. Still I must doubt some mystery of mis

chief,

Some artifice beneath. Lothario's father! I knew him well; he was sagacious, cunning, Fluent in words, and bold in peaceful counsels, | But of a cold, inactive hand in war; Yet, with these coward's virtues, he undid My unsuspecting, valiant, honest friend. This son, if fame mistakes not, is more hot, More open and unartful-Ha! he is here! [ Seeing him. Loth. Damnation ! He again! This second time

To-day he has crossed me, like my evil genius. Hor. I sought you, sir.

Loth. 'Tis well, then, I am found.

Hor. Tis well you are. The man, who wrongs my friend,

To the earth's utmost verge I would pursue. No place, though e'er so holy, should protect him;

No shape, that artful fear e'er formed, should

hide him,

Till he fair answer made, and did me justice.

view

A specious face of innocence and beauty. Oh, false appearance! What is all our sovereignty,

Our boasted power? When they oppose their arts, Still they prevail, and we are found their fools. With such smooth looks, and many a gentle word,

The first fair she beguiled her easy lord; Too blind with love and beauty to beware, He fell unthinking in the fatal snare; Nor could believe that such a heavenly face Had bargained with the devil, to damn her wretched race. [Exit.

SCENE II.-The street near Sciolto's Palace.

Enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO.

Loth. To tell thee then the purport of my thoughts;

The loss of this fond paper would not give me

Loth. Ha! dost thou know me, that I am Lothario?

great a name as this proud city boasts of? Who is this mighty man, then, this Horatio, That I should basely hide me from his anger, Lest he should chide me for his friend's displeasure?

Hor. The brave, it is true, do never shun the light;

Just are their thoughts, and open are their tempers,

Freely without disguise they love and hate,
Still are they found in the fair face of day,
And Heaven and men are judges of their actions.
Loth. Such let them be of mine; there is not

you,

Hate

you like age,

like ugliness and impotence:

A pilferer, descried in some dark corner,
Who there had lodged, with mischievous intent,
To rob and ravish at the hour of rest,
And do a midnight murder on the sleepers!
Loth. Slave! villain!

[Offers to draw, Rossano holds him.
Ros. Hold, my lord! think where you are,
Think how unsafe and hurtful to your honour
It were to urge a quarrel in this place,
And shock the peaceful city with a broil.

Loth. Then, since thou dost provoke my vengeance, know,

I would not, for this city's wealth, for all
Which the sea wafts to our Ligurian shore,
But that the joys I reaped with that fond wanton,
The wife of Altamont, should be as public
As is the noon-day sun, air, earth, or water,
Or any common benefit of nature.

Think'st thou I meant the shame should be concealed?

Oh, no! by hell and vengeance, all I wanted
Was some fit messenger to bear the news

To the dull doating husband: now I have found him,

And thou art he.

Hor. I hold thee base enough

To break through law, and spurn at sacred order,
And do a brutal injury like this;

Yet mark me well, young lord; I think Calista
Too nice, too noble, and too great a soul,
To be the prey of such a thing as thou art.
"Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man,
To forge a scroll so villainous and loose,
And mark it with a noble lady's name:
These are the mean dishonest arts of cowards,
Strangers to manhood, and to glorious dangers;
Who, bred at home in idleness and riot,
Ransack for mistresses the unwholesome stews,
And never know the worth of virtuous love,
Loth. Think'st thou I forged the letter? Think
so still,

Till the broad shame come staring in thy face,
And boys shall hoot the cuckold as he passes.

Hor. Away! no woman could descend so low:
A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are;
Fit only for yourselves, you herd together;
And when the circling glass warms your vain
hearts,

You talk of beauties that you never saw,
And fancy raptures that you never knew.
Legends of saints, who never yet had being,
Or, being, ne'er were saints, are not so false
As the fond tales which you recount of love.
Loth. But that I do not hold it worth my lei-

sure,

I could produce such damning proof Hor. 'Tis false !

gins,

And stop the propagation of mankind.

Loth. It is the curse of fools to be secure; And that be thine and Altamont's. Dream on; Nor think upon my vengeance till thou feel'st it. Hor. Hold, sir! another word, and then farewell:

Though I think greatly of Calista's virtue,
And hold it far beyond thy power to hurt;
Yet, as she shares the honour of my Altamont,
That treasure of a soldier, bought with blood,
And kept at life's expence, I must not have
(Mark me, young sir) her very name profaned.
Learn to restrain the licence of your speech;
Tis held you are too lavish. When you are met
Among your set of fools, talk of your dress,
Of dice, of whores, of horses, and yourselves;
Tis safer, and becomes your understandings.
Loth. What if we pass beyond this solemn or
der,

And, in defiance of the stern Horatio,
Indulge our gayer thoughts, let laughter loose,
And use his sacred friendship for our mirth?
Hor. 'Tis well, sir, you are pleasant-
Loth. By the joys

Which my soul yet has uncontrouled pursued,
I would not turn aside from my least pleasure,
Though all thy force were armed to bar my way;
But, like the birds, great Nature's happy com-

moners,

That haunt in woods, in meads, and flowery gardens,

Rifle the sweets, and taste the choicest fruits,
Yet scorn to ask the lordly owner's leave.

Hor. What liberty has vain presumptuous youth,
That thou shouldst dare provoke me unchastised?
But henceforth, boy, I warn thee, shan my walks!
If, in the bounds of yon forbidden place,
Again thou art found, expect a punishment,
Such as great souls, impatient of an injury,
Exact from those who wrong them much; even
death,

Or something worse: an injured husband's vengeance

Shall print a thousand wounds, tear thy fair form, And scatter thee to all the winds of Heaven!

Loth. Is, then, my way in Genoa prescribed By a dependent on the wretched Altamont, A talking sir, that brawls for him in taverns, And vouches for his valour's reputation?

Hor, Away! thy speech is fouler than thy

Loth. Damnation!

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

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.

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 man.
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;

That hurt your peace, and quench those eyes in

tears.

Cal. To steal, unlooked for, on my private sorrow,

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 friendship,

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 bet

ter.

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,

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,

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;
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-

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 see,
Nor think, if possible, on him that ruined thee;
Or, by my Altamont's dear life, I swear,

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

To offer at an injury like that?
Priesthood, nor age, nor cowardice itself,
Shall save him from the fury of my vengeance.
Cal. The man who dared to do it was Horatio;
Thy darling friend; 'twas Altamont's Horatio.
VOL. I.

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 scen
That idol of thy soul, that fair Calista;
Thou hast beheld her tears.

Alt. 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 thee. 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