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 worth 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 dar'st 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,
This paper,-nay, you must not fly, this paper,
[Holding her.

This guilty paper shall divulge your shame.
Cal. What mean'st thou by that paper? What

contrivance

Hast thou been forging to deceive my father;
To turn his heart against his wretched daughter,
That Altamont and thou may share his wealth?
A wrong like this will make me even forget
The weakness of my sex.-Oh, for a sword,
Το urge my vengeance on the villain's hand,
That forged the scroll!

Hor. Behold! Can this be forged?
See where Calista's name-

[Showing the Letter near. Cal. To atoms thus, [Tearing it. Thus let me tear the vile detested falsehood, The wicked, lying evidence of shame.

Hor. Confusion!

Cal. Henceforth, thou officious fool, Meddle no more, nor dare, even on thy life, To breathe an accent that may touch my virtue. I am myself the guardian of my honour, And will not bear so insolent a monitor.

Enter ALTAMONT.

Alt. Where is my life, my love, my charming bride,

Joy of my heart and pleasure of my eyes,
The wish, the 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.

Ait. 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 Hora.

tio;

Thy darling friend; 'Twas Altamont's Horatio.
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
[Erit CALISTA

rant man.

Alt. She's gone; and, as she went, ten thou

sand fires

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

Alt. I've seen her weep;

I've 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,

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, Then vainly wish thou hadst not left thy friend, To follow her delusion.

Alt. If thy friendship

Do churlishly deny my love a room,
It is not worth my keeping; I disclaim it.

Hor. Canst thou so soon forget what I've been
to thee?

I shared the task of nature with thy father, And formed with care thy inexperienced youth To virtue and to arms.

Thy noble father, oh, thou light young man! Would he have used me thus? One fortune fed

us;

For his was ever mine, mine his, and both
Together flourished, and together fell.
He called me friend, like thee: would he have
left me

Thus for a woman, and a vile one, too?

Alt. Thou canst not, dar'st not mean it! Speak again!

Say, who is vile; but dare not name Calista.

Hor. I had not spoke at first, unless compelled, And forced to clear myself; but since thus urged, I must avow, I do not know a viler.

Alt. Thou wert my father's friend; he loved
thee well;

A kind of venerable mark of him
Hangs round thee, and protects thee from my

vengeance.

I cannot, dare not, lift my sword against thee; But henceforth never let me see thee more. [Going out. Hor. I love thee still, ungrateful as thou art, And must and will preserve thee from dishonour, Even in despite of thee. [Holds him.

Alt. Let go my arm !

Hor. If honour be thy care, if thou would'st live Without the name of credulous, wittol husband,

Hor. Yet hold-By Heaven, his father's in his face!

Spite of my wrongs, my heart runs o'er with tenderness,

And I could rather die myself than hurt him. Alt. Defend thyself; for, by my much wrong.

ed love,

I swear, the poor evasion shall not save thee. Hor. Yet hold-thou know'st I dare-think how we've lived

[They fight: ALTAMONT presses on HoRATIO, who retires.

Nay then, 'tis brutal violence; and thus, Thus nature bids me guard the life she gave. [They fight.

LAVINIA enters, and runs between their swords.

Lan. My brother, my Horatio! Is it possible! If you must quench your impious rage in blood, Oh, turn your cruel swords upon Lavinia! Behold, my heart shall give you all her store, To save those dearer streams that flow from yours.

Alt. 'Tis well thou hast found a safe-guard; none but this,

No power on earth could save thee from my fury.
Lav. O fatal, deadly sound!
Hor. Safety from thee!

Away, vain boy! Hast thou forgot the reve

rence

Due to my arm, thy first, thy great example,
Which pointed out thy way to noble daring,
And shewed thee what it was to be a man?

Lav. What busy, meddling fiend, what foe to
goodness,

Could kindle such a discord! Oh, lay by
Those most ungentle looks, and angry weapons,
Unless you mean my griefs and killing fears
Should stretch me out at your relentless feet,
A wretched corse, the victim of your fury.

Hor. Ask'st thou what made us foes? 'Twas
base ingratitude;

'Twas such a sin to friendship, as Heaven's mercy, That strives with man's untoward, monstrous wickedness,

Unwearied with forgiving, scarce could pardon. He, who was all to me, child, brother, friend,

[She catches up LOTHARIO's sword,
and offers to kill herself; ALTA-
MONT runs to her, and wrests it
from her.

Alt. What means thy frantic rage?
Cal. Off! let me go.

Alt. Oh! thou hast more than murdered me; yet still,

Still art thou here! and my soul starts with hor

ror,

At thought of any danger that may reach thee. Cal. Think'st thou I mean to live to be forgiven ?

Oh, thou hast known but little of Calista!
If thou hadst never heard my shame; if only
The midnight moon and silent stars had seen it,
I would not bear to be reproached by them,
But dig down deep to find a grave beneath,
And hide me from their beams.

Sci. [within.] What, ho! my son!

Alt. It is Sciolto calls; come near and find me, The wretchedest thing of all my kind on earth.

Cal. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father! Madness! Confusion! let the storm come on, Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me; Dash my devoted bark, ye surges, break it! 'Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises. When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low, Peace shall return, and all be calm again.

Enter SCIOLTO.

Sci. Even now Rossano leaped the garden wall

Ha! Death has been among you-Oh, my fears! Last night thou had'st a difference with thy friend; The cause thou gav'st me was a damned one. Didst thou not wrong the man who told thee truth?

Answer me quick—

Alt. Oh! press me not to speak; Even now my heart is breaking, and the mention Will lay me dead before thee. See that body, And guess my shame, my ruin! Ob, Calista!

Sci. It is enough! but I am slow to execute, And justice lingers in my lazy hand; Thus let me wipe dishonour from my name, And cut thee from the earth, thou stain to goodness!

[Offers to kill Calista, AltamONT holds him. Alt. Stay thee, Sciolto! thou rash father, stay! Or turn the point on me, and through my breast Cut out the bloody passage to Calista! So shall my love be perfect, while for her I die, for whom alone I wished to live.

And yet behold him pleading for my life!
Lost as thou art to virtue, oh, Calista!
I think thou canst not bear to be outdone;
Then haste to die, and be obliged no more.

Sci. Thy pious care has given me time to think,
And saved me from a crime; then rest, my sword:
To honour have I kept thee ever sacred,
Nor will I stain thee with a rash revenge.
But mark me well! I will have justice done;
Hope not to bear away thy crimes unpunished:
I will see justice executed on thee,
Even to a Roman strictness; and thou, Nature,
Or whatsoe'er thou art, that plead'st within me,
Be still; thy tender strugglings are in vain.

Cal. Then am I doomed to live, and bear your triumph?

To groan beneath your scorn and fierce upbraiding,

Daily to be reproached, and have my misery
At morn, at noon, at night, told over to me,
Lest my remembrance might grow pitiful,
And grant a moment's interval of peace!
Is this, is this the mercy of a father?
I only beg to die, and he denies me.

Sci, Hence, from my sight! thy father cannot
bear thee;

Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell,
Where, on the confines of eternal night,
Mourning, misfortune, cares, and anguish dwell;
Where ugly shame hides her opprobrious head,
And death and hell detested rule maintain;
There howl out the remainder of thy life,
And wish thy name may be no more remember.
ed!

Cal. Yes, I will fly to some such dismal place,
And be more cursed than you can wish I were;
This fatal form, that drew on my undoing,
Fasting, and tears, and hardships shall destroy;
Nor light, nor food, nor comfort will I know,
Nor aught that may continue hated life.
Then, when you see me meagre, wan, and changed,
Stretched at my length, and dying in my cave,
On that cold earth I mean shall be my grave,
Perhaps you may relent, and sighing say,

love,

Shall never be indebted to thy pity.
Thus torn, defaced, and wretched as I seem,
Still I have something of Sciolto's virtue.
Yes, yes, my father, I applaud thy justice;
Strike home, and I will bless thee for the blow!
Be merciful, and free me from my pain;
'Tis sharp, 'tis terrible, and I could curse
The cheerful day, men, earth, and heaven, and
thee,

At length 'tis time her punishment should cease; Die, thou poor suffering wretch, and be at peace. [Exit CALISTA. Sci. Who of my servants wait there?

Enter two or three Servants. Raise that body, and bear it in. On your lives Take care my doors be guarded well, that none Pass out, or enter, but by my appointment.

[Exeunt Servants, with LOTHARIO's body.

Alt. There is a fatal fury in your visage;
It blazes fierce, and menaces destruction.
My father, I am sick of many sorrows,
Even now my easy heart is breaking with them;
Yet, above all, one fear distracts me most;
I tremble at the vengeance which you meditate
On the poor, faithless, lovely, dear Calista.
Sci. Hast thou not read what brave Virginius
did?

With his own hand he slew his only daughter,
To save her from the fierce Decemvir's lust.
He slew her, yet unspotted, to prevent
The shame which she might know. Then what
should I do?

But thou hast tied my hand. I will not kill her;
Yet, by the ruin she has brought upon us,
The common infamy that brands us both,
She shall not 'scape.

Alt. You mean that she shall die then?
Sci. Ask me not what, nor how, I have re-
solved,

For all within is anarchy and uproar !
Oh, Altamont! What a vast scheme of joy
Has this one day destroyed? Well did I hope
This daughter would have blest my latter days;
That I should live to see you the world's wonder,
So happy, great, and good, that none were like

Serv. Arm yourself, my lord: Rossano, who but now escaped the garden, Has gathered in the street a band of rioters, Who threaten you, and all your friends, with ruin,

Unless Lothario be returned in safety.

[Exit.

Sci. By Heaven, their fury rises to my wish,
Nor shall misfortune know my house alone,
But thou, Lothario, and thy race, shall pay me
For all the sorrows which my age is cursed with!
I think my name as great, my friends as po-
tent,

As any in the state; all shall be summoned ;
I know that all will join their hands to ours,
And vindicate thy vengeance. When our force
Is full, and armed, we shall expect thy sword
To join with us, and sacrifice to justice.-

[Exit SCIOLTO.
Alt. There is a stupid weight upon my senses;
A dismal sullen stillness, that succeeds
The storm of rage and grief, like silent death,
After the tumult and the noise of life.
Would it were death, as sure 'tis wondrous like it,
For I am sick of living! my soul's palled,
She kindles not with anger or revenge:
Love was the informing, active fire within:
Now that is quenched, the mass forgets to move,
VOL. I.

And longs to mingle with its kindred earth. A tumultuous noise, with clashing of swords, as at a little distance.

Enter LAVINIA, with two Servants, their swords drawn.

Lav. Fly, swiftly fly, to my Horatio's aid, Nor lose your vain officious cares on me! Bring me my lord, my husband, to my arms! He is Lavinia's life! bring him me safe, And I shall be at ease, be well, and happy. [Exeunt Servants.

Alt. Art thou Lavinia? Oh! what barbarous hand

Could wrong thy poor defenceless innocence,
And leave such marks of more than savage fury?
Lav. My brother! Oh! my heart is full of
fears;

Perhaps even now my dear Horatio bleeds!—
Not far from hence, as passing to the port,
By a mad multitude we were surrounded,
Who ran upon us with uplifted swords,
And cried aloud for vengeance, and Lothario.
My lord, with ready boldness, stood the shock,
To shelter me from danger; but in vain,
Had not a party from Sciolto's palace
Rushed out, and snatched me from amidst the fray.
Alt. What of my friend?

Lav. Ha! by my joys, 'tis he! [Looking out. He lives, he comes to bless me! he is safe!Enter HORATIO, with two or three Servants, their swords drawn.

1st Ser. 'Twere at the utmost hazard of your
life

To venture forth again, till we are stronger:
Their number trebles ours.

Hor. No matter; let it:

Death is not half so shocking as that traitor.
My honest soul is mad with indignation,
To think her plainness could be so abused,
As to mistake that wretch, and call him friend;
I cannot bear the sight.

And knows me for its counterpart no more! Hor. Thou know'st thy rule, thy empire in Horatio ;

Nor canst thou ask in vain, command in vain,
Where nature, reason, nay, where love is judge;
But when you urge my temper to comply
With what it most abhors, Î cannot do it.

Lav. Where didst thou get this sullen gloomy hate?

It was not in thy nature to be thus ;
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 and
strength,

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
heart;

Because they're 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 friendship

Pursued me to the last retreat of love,

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,
And be a tame, fond wretch.

Lav. Where wouldst thou go? Wouldst thou part thus? you shall not, 'tis im possible;

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 o'er 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 rais him.

Lav. Speak to me, Altamont!He faints! He dies! Now, turn and see thy tri umph!

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 thee,

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.
Look up
and bless me! tell me that thou liv'st!
Oh! I have urged thy gentleness too far;

horror.

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
him,

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.

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

my soul;

That long ere this her flight had reached the¦

stars;

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!

Lav. Oh, my brother,

Think not but we will share in all thy woes; We'll sit all day, and tell sad tales of love: And when we light upon some faithless womary Some beauty, like Calista, false and fair,