The modern British drama

And all the business of their lives be loving; The nuptial band should be the pledge of peace, And all domestic cares and quarrels cease;

The world should learn to love by virtuous rules, And marriage be no more the jest of fools. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE.-A Hall.

Enter CALISTA and LUCILLA.

Cal. Be dumb for ever, silent as the grave, Nor let thy fond officious love disturb My solemn sadness with the sound of joy! If thou wilt soothe me, tell me some dismal tale Of pining discontent and black despair; For, oh! I've gone around through all my thoughts, But all are indignation, love, or shame, And my dear peace of mind is lost for ever!

Luc. Why do you follow still that wandering fire, That has misled your weary steps, and leaves you Benighted in a wilderness of woe,

That false Lothario? Turn from the deceiver;
Turn, and behold where gentle Altamont,
Kind as the softest virgin of our sex,
And faithful as the simple village swain,
That never knew the courtly vice of changing,
Sighs at your feet, and wooes you to be happy.
Cal. Away! I think not of him. My sad soul
Has formed a dismal melancholy scene,
Such a retreat as I would wish to find;
An unfrequented vale, o'ergrown with trees,
Mossy and old, within whose lonesome shade
Ravens, and birds ill-omened, only dwell:
No sound to break the silence, but a brook
That, bubbling, winds among the weeds: no mark
Of any human shape that had been there,
Unless a skeleton of some poor wretch,
Who had long since, like me, by love undone,
Sought that sad place out, to despair and die in!
Luc. Alas, for pity!

Cal. There I fain would hide me

And this one interview shall end my cares.
My labouring heart, that swells with indignation
Heaves to discharge the burden; that once done,
The busy thing shall rest within its cell,
And never beat again.

Luc. Trust not to that;
Rage is the shortest passion of our souls:
Like narrow brooks, that rise with sudden
showers,

It swells in haste, and falls again as soon;
Still, as it ebbs, the softer thoughts flow in,
And the deceiver, Love, supplies its place.

Cal. I have been wronged enough to arm my
temper

Against the smooth delusion; but alas!
(Chide not my weakness, gentle maid, but pity
me)

A woman's softness hangs about me still:
Then let me blush, and tell thee all my folly.
I swear I could not see the dear betrayer
Kneel at my feet, and sigh to be forgiven,
But my relenting heart would pardon all,
And quite forget 'twas he that had undone me.
Luc. Ye sacred powers, whose gracious provi-

dence

Is watchful for our good, guard me from men, From their deceitful tongues, their vows, and flatteries!

Still let me pass neglected by their eyes,
Let my bloom wither, and my form decay,
That none may think it worth his while to ruin

me,

[Exit.

And fatal love may never be my bane!
Cal. Ha, Altamont !-Calista, now be wary,
And guard thy soul's accesses with dissembling:

From the base world, from malice, and from Nor let this hostile husband's eyes explore

shame!

For 'tis the solemn counsel of my soul
Never to live with public loss of honour:
'Tis fixed to die, rather than bear the insolence
Of each affected she that tells my story,
And blesses her good stars that she is virtuous.
To be a tale for fools! scorned by the women,
And pitied by the men! Oh, insupportable!
Luc. Can you perceive the manifest destruction,
The gaping gulf that opens just before you,
And yet rush on, though conscious of the danger?
Oh, hear me, hear your ever faithful creature!
By all the good I wish, by all the ill

My trembling heart forebodes, let me intreat you,
Never to see this faithless man again;
Let me forbid his coming.

Cal. On thy life

I charge thee no: my genius drives me on; I must, I will behold him once again: Perhaps it is the crisis of my fate,

The warring passions, and tumultuous thoughts, That rage within thee, and deform thy reason.

Enter ALTAMONT.

Alt. Begone, my cares, I give you to the winds, Far to be borne, far from the happy Altamont! For from this sacred æra of my love, A better order of succeeding days Comes smiling forward, white and lucky all. Calista is the mistress of the year ; She crowns the season with auspicious beauty, And bids even all my hours be good and joyful.

Cal. If I were ever mistress of such happiness, Oh! wherefore did I play the unthrifty fool, And, wasting all on others, leave myself Without one thought of joy to give me comfort! Alt. Oh, mighty Love! Shall that fair face

profane

This thy great festival with frowns and sadness! I swear it shall not be, for I will woo thee

With sighs so moving, with so warm a transport, That thou shalt catch the gentle flame from me, And kindle into joy.

Cal. I tell thee, Altamont,

Such hearts as ours were never paired above:
Ill-suited to each other; joined, not matched;
Some sullen influence, a foe to both,

Has wrought this fatal marriage to undo us,
Mark but the frame and temper of our minds,
How very much we differ. Even this day,
That fills thee with such ecstacy and transport,
To me brings nothing that should make me
bless it,

Or think it better than the day before,
Or any other in the course of time,
That duly took its turn, and was forgotten.

Alt. If to behold thee as my pledge of happi

In which my father gave my hand to Altamont ; As such, I will remember it for ever.

Enter SCIOLTO, HORATIO, and LAVINIA. Scio. Let mirth go on, let pleasure know no pause,

But fill up every minute of this day! 'Tis yours, my children, sacred to your loves; The glorious sun himself for you looks gay; He shines for Altamont and for Calista. Let there be music; let the master touch The sprightly string, and softly-breathing flute, 'Till harmony rouse every gentle passion, Teach the cold maid to lose her fears in love, And the fierce youth to languish at her feet. Begin: even age itself is cheared with music; It wakes a glad remembrance of our youth, Calls back past joys, and warms us into transport. [Music.

SONG.

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

That shook her soul, though damned dissimulation

Screened her dark thoughts, and set to public view

A specious face of innocence and beauty. Oh, false appearance! What is a!l 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, [Erit.

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
A moment of disquiet, were it not

My instrument of vengeance on this Altamont;
Therefore I mean to wait some opportunity
Of speaking with the maid we saw this morning,
Ros. I wish you, sir, to think upon the danger
Of being seen; to-day their friends are round
them;

Ah, stay! ah, turn! ah, whither would you fly, And any eye that lights by chance on you,

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,

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 | Was some fit messenger to bear the news
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.
Loth. Ha! dost thou know me, that I am Lo-
thario?

As 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 displea-
sure?

Hor. The brave, 'tis true, do never shun the
light;

Just are their thoughts, and open are their tem-
pers,

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's not

spirit,

When but this very morning I surprised thee,
In base, dishonest privacy consulting,
And bribing a poor mercenary wretch
To sell her lady's secrets, stain her honour,
And, with a forged contrivance, blast her virtue?
At sight of me thou fled'st.

Loth. Ha! fled from thee?

Hor. Thou fled'st, and guilt was on thee, like
a thief,

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 ven-
geance, 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 con

cealed!

Oh, no! by hell and vengeance, all I wanted

To the dull doating husband: now I've 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 !

You blast the fair with lies, because they scorn

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 gar-
dens,

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, shun my walks:
If, in the bounds of yon forbidden place,
Again thou'rt 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 ven-
geance

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

manners.

Loth. Or, if there be a name more vile, his parasite;

A beggar's parasite!

Hor. Now, learn humanity,

[Offers to strike him, ROSSANO interposes.
Since brutes and boys are only taught with blows.
Loth. Damnation!
[They draw.

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

[ROWE.

Exert your influence, shine strongly for me;
'Tis not a common conquest I would gain,
Since love, as well as arms, must grace my tri-
umph.

[Exeunt LOTHARIO and ROSSANO. Hor. Two hours ere noon to-morrow! ha! ere 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.

My combat with that loud vain-glorious boaster,
Could I but prosper there, I would not doubt
Were you, ye fair, but cautious whom ye trust,
Did you but think how seldom fools are just,
Of broken vows, and faithless men, complain:
So many of your sex would not in vain,
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.
[Ent.

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 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 ar
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;
Yet shouldst thou, (which the powers above for

bid!)

E'er stain the honour of thy name with infamy,
I'll cast thee off, as one whose impious hands,

Had rent asunder nature's nearest ties,
Which, once divided, never join again.
To-day I've made a noble youth thy husband!
Consider well his worth, reward his love:
Be willing to be happy, and thou art so.

[Exit SCIOLTO.
Cal. How hard is the condition of our sex,
Through every state of life the slaves of man!
In all the dear delightful days of youth
A rigid father dictates to our wills,

And deals out pleasure with a scanty hand.
To his, the tyrant husband's reign succeeds;
Proud with opinion of superior reason,
He holds domestic business and devotion
All we are capable to know, and shuts us,
Like cloistered ideots, from the world's acquaint-
ance,

And all the joys of freedom. Wherefore are we
Born with high souls, but to assert ourselves,
Shake off this vile obedience they exact,
And claim an equal empire o'er the world?
Enter HORATIO.

Hor. She's here! yet, oh! my tongue is at a
loss.

Teach me, some power, that happy art of speech,
To dress my purpose up in gracious words;
Such as may softly steal upon her soul,
And never waken the tempestuous passions.
By Heaven she weeps!-Forgive me, fair Ca-
lista,

If I presume on privilege of friendship,
To join my grief to yours, and mourn the evils
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

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,
Yours and Sciolto's, yours 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.

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The modern British drama, Том 1