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Come, put it off, and let thy heart be cheerful!
Be gay again, and know the joys of friendship,
The trust, security, and mutual tenderness,
The double joys, where each is glad for both;
Friendship, the wealth, the last retreat

Secure against ill-fortune, and the world.

Hor. I am not apt to take a light offence,
But patient of the failings of my friends,
And willing to forgive; but when an injury
Stabs to the heart, and rouses my resentment,
(Perhaps it is the fault of my rude nature)
I own I cannot easily forgive it.
Alt. Thou hast forgot me!

Hor. No.

Alt. Why are thy eyes

Impatient of me then, scornful, and fierce?


Hor. Because they speak the meaning of my

Because they are honest, and disdain a villain !
Alt. I've wronged thee much, Horatio.
Hor. True, thou hast.

When I forget it, may I be a wretch,
Vile as thyself, a false perfidious fellow,
An infamous, believing, British husband.

Alt. I've wronged thee much, and Heaven has
well avenged it.

I have not, since we parted, been at peace,
Nor known one joy sincere; our broken friend-

Pursued me to the last retreat of love,

And be a tame, fond wretch.

Lav. Where wouldst thou go?

Wouldst thou part thus? you shalt not, 'tis im-

For I will bar thy passage, kneeling thus:
Perhaps, thy cruel hand may spurn me off,
But I will throw my body in thy way,

And thou shalt trample over my faithful bosom,
Tread on me, wound me, kill me, ere thou pass.

Alt. Urge not in vain thy pious suit, Lavinia,
I have enough to rid me of my pain.
Calista, thou hadst reached my heart before;
To make all sure, my friend repeats the blow:
But in the grave our cares shall be forgotten,
There love and friendship cease.

[Falls. [Lavinia runs to him, and endeavours to raise


Lav. Speak to me, Altamont!

He faints! He dies! Now, turn and see thy tri


My brother! But our cares shall end together;
Here will I lay me down by thy dear side,
Bemoan thy too hard fate, then share it with

And never see my cruel lord again.

[Horatio runs to Altamont, and raises him in
his arms.

Hor. It is too much to bear! Look up, my
Altamont !

My stubborn, unrelenting heart has killed him.
and bless me! tell me that thou livest!

Stood glaring like a ghost, and made me cold with Oh! I have urged thy gentleness too far;


Misfortunes on misfortunes press upon me,
Swell o'er my head like waves, and dash me down;
Sorrow, remorse, and shame, have torn my soul;
They hang, like winter, on my youthful hopes,
And blast the spring and promise of my year.

Lav. So flowers are gathered to adorn a grave, To lose their freshness amongst bones and rottenness,

And have their odours stifled in the dust.
Canst thou hear this, thou cruel, hard Horatio?
Canst thou behold thy Altamont undone?

That gentle, that dear youth! canst thou behold

His poor heart broken, death in his pale visage,
And groaning out his woes, yet stand unmoved?
Hor. The brave and wise I pity in misfortune;
But when ingratitude and folly suffers,
'Tis weakness to be touched.

Alt. I will not ask thee

To pity or forgive me; but confess,
This scorn, this insolence of hate, is just;
'Tis constancy of mind, and manly in thee.
But, Oh! had I been wronged by thee, Horatio,
There is a yielding softness in my heart
Could ne'er have stood it out; but I had ran,
With streaming eyes, and open arms, upon thee,
And pressed thee close, close!

Hor. I must hear no more;

Thy weakness is contagious; I shall catch it,


[He revives.

Do thou and my Lavinia both forgive me;
A flood of tenderness comes o'er my soul;

I cannot speak-I love, forgive, and pity thee-
Alt. I thought that nothing could have stayed

my soul;

That long cre this her flight had reached the

But thy known voice has lured her back again.
Methinks, I fain would set all right with thee,
Make up this most unlucky breach, and then,
With thine and Heaven's forgiveness on my soul,
Shrink to my grave, and be at ease for ever.

Hor. By Heaven, my heart bleeds for thee;
even this moment,

I feel thy pangs of disappointed love.
Is it not pity that this youth should fall,
That all his wondrous goodness should be lost,
And the world never know it? Oh, my Altamont!
Give me thy sorrows, let me bear them for thee,
And shelter thee from ruin!

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SCENE I-A Room hung with black; on one side Lothario's body on a bier; on the other a table, with a skull and other bones, a book and a lamp on it.

Calista is discovered on a couch, in black; her hair hanging loose and disordered. After soft music, she rises and comes forward.


Hear, you midnight phantoms, hear,
You who pale and wan appear,
And fill the wretch who wakes with fear;
You, who wander, scream and groan
Round the mansions once your own ;
You, who still your crimes upbraid;
You, who rest not with the dead;

From the coverts where you stray,
Where you lurk and shun the day,
From the charnel and the tomb,
Hither haste ye, hither come.

Chide Calista for delay,
Tell her, 'tis for her you stay ;
Bid her die and come away.
See the sexton with his spade,
See the grave already made;
Listen, fair one, to thy knell,
This music is thy passing bell.


Sci. This dead of night, this silent hour of

Nature for rest ordained, and soft repose;
And yet distraction, and tumultuous jars,
Keep all our frighted citizens awake:
The senate, weak, divided, and irresolute,
Want power to succour the afflicted state.
Vainly in words and long debates they are wise,
While the fierce factions scorn their peaceful or-

And drown the voice of law in noise and anar


Amidst the general wreck, see where she stands, [Pointing to Calista. Like Helen, in the night when Troy was sacked, Spectatress of the mischief which she made.

Cal. It is Sciolto! Be thyself, my soul; Be strong to bear his fatal indignation, That he may 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 had I 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,

Cal. 'Tis well! these solemn sounds, this pomp That all the blessings I could gather for thee,

of horror,

Are fit to feed the frenzy in my soul.

Here's room for meditation even to madness; Till the mind burst with thinking. This dull flame

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, laxurious gownmen
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 ever 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 owned

Safe from disquiet sit, and smile to see
The farce their miserable relicks play?
But here's a sight is terrible indeed!

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

Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night,
In all your different dreadful shapes ascend,
And match the present horror, if ye can!

By cares on earth, and by my prayers to Hea

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How thy account may stand, and what to answer?

Cal. I have turned 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 happy place of rest.
Sci. 'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that

That dwelt in antient Latian 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, aad cannot find a way.

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: Thither the poor, the prisoner, and the mourner, Fly for relief, and lay their burthens down. Come then, and take me into thy cold arms, Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last,

Charmed with my father's pity and forgiveness, More than if angels tuned their golden viols, And sung a requiem to my parting soul.

Sci. I am summoned hence; ere this my friends expect me.

Cal. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain, And write the meaning with your poignard here. There is I know not what of sad presage, Sci. Oh! truly guessed-see'st thou, this trem-That tells me, I shall never see thee more; bling hand- [Holding up a dagger. If it be so, this is our last farewell, Thrice justice urged-and thrice the slacken- And these the parting pangs, which nature feels, ing sinews When anguish rends the heart-strings-Oh, my daughter! [Exit Sciolto.

Forgot their office, and confessed the father.
At length the stubborn virtue has prevailed,
It must, it must be so-Oh! take it then,
[Giving the dagger.

And know the rest untaught!
Cal. I understand you.

It is but thus, and both are satisfied.

[She offers to kill herself: Sciolto catches hold of her arm.

Sci. A moment, give me yet a moment's space. The stern, the rigid judge has been obeyed; Now nature, and the father, claim their turns. I've held the balance with an iron hand, And put off every tender human thought, To doom my child to death; but spare my eyes The most unnatural 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!

Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took

in thee,

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Cal. Now think, thou cursed 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 Heaven, who knows our weak, imperfect na-

How blind with passions, and how prone to evil,
Makes not too strict inquiry for our offences,
But is atoned by penitence and prayer:
Cheap recompence! herc 'twould not be recei-

Nothing but blood can make the expiation,
And cleanse the soul from inbred, deep pollu-

And see, another injured wretch is come,
To call for justice from my tardy hand.

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I bore my load of infamy with patience,
As holy men do punishment from Heaven;
Nor thought it hard, because it came from thee.
Oh, then, forbid me not to mourn thy loss,
To wish some better fate had ruled our loves,
And that Calista had been mine, and true.

Cal. Oh, Altamont! 'tis hard for souls like

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,
Such are the graces that adorn thy youth,
That, were I not abandoned to destruction,
With thee I might have lived for ages blessed,
And died in peace within thy faithful arms.

Alt. Then happiness is still within our reach.
Here let remembrance lose our past misfortunes,
Tear all records that hold the fatal story;
Here let our joys begin, from hence go on,
In long successive order.

Cal. What! in death?

Alt. Then, art thou fixed to die?-But be it so; We'll go together; my adventurous love Shall follow thee to those uncertain beings. Whether our lifeless shades are doomed to wander

In gloomy groves, with discontented ghosts; Or whether through the upper air we flit, And tread the fields of light; still I'll pursue thee, 'Till fate ordains that we shall part no more. Cal. Oh, no! Heaven has some other better lot in store

To crown thee with. Live, and be happy long; Live, for some maid that shall deserve thy good


Some kind, unpractised heart, that never yet
Has listened to the false ones of thy sex,

Nor known the arts of ours; she shall reward thee,

Meet thee with virtues equal to thy own, Charm thee with sweetness, beauty, and with truth;

Be blest in thee alone, and thou in her.


Hor. Now, mourn indeed, ye miserable pair;
For now the measure of your woes is full.
Alt. What dost thou mean, Horatio?
Hor. Oh, 'tis dreadful!

The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment.
Cal. My father!

Alt. That's a deadly 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 pursued him;

But found him compassed by Lothario's faction, Almost alone, amidst a croud of foes.

Too late we brought him aid, and drove them

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But at that beauty must of force relented,
Melted to pity, love, and to forgiveness ?
Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Al-
tamont !

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 Heaven!
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-
[He dies.

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