Count. What else?

Karl, As fine an imitation of a shoulder of mutton as ever I clapp'd my eyes on.

Enter KELMAR, exhausted by haste and fatigue. Count. Kelmar!

Kel. Ah, the Count and his companion!-Thank heaven, I am arrived in time! my master will be saved, though Claudine, my poor unhappy child, is lost. Fly, I beseech you, fly from this spot! Do not question me; this is no time for explanations; one moment longer, and you are betrayed-your lives irrecoverably sacrificed.

Count. Would you again deceive us?

Kel. I have been myself deceived-fatally deceived! let an old man's prayers prevail with you! Leave, oh leave this accursed place, and

Enter WOLF, in his miller's dress.

Kel. Ay, the miller! than has hope forsaken me. Yet one ray, one effort more, andWolf. Thy treachery is known.

[He seizes Kelmar by the collar.

Kel. One successful effort more, and death is wel

come.

Wolf. Villain!

Kel. Thou art the villain-see-behold!

[With a violent effort of strength, the old man suddenly turns upon the miller, and tears open his vest, beneath which he appears armed-Wolf, at the same instant, dashes Kelmar from him, who, impelled forward, is caught by the Count-the Count "draws his sword-Wolf draws pistols in each hand from his side pockets, and his hat falls off at the same instant-appropriate music.

Count. "Tis he! the same! 'tis Wolf. Wolf. Spiller! Golotz! [Rushes out. Karl. Is it Wolf? Damn his pistols! This shall reach him.

[Throws down the poniard, and, catching the Count's sword, hastens after Wolf-the report of a pistol is immediately heard.

Exit Count Friberg and Kelmar. At the same moment, GOLOTZ, and another robber, disguised, followed by Lothair, burst from the house.

Go. We are called; Wolf called us!-Ah, they have discovered him!

Lot. 'Tis too late to follow him, he has reached the bridge.

Gol. Then he is safe; but see, at the foot of the hill, armed men, in the Friberg uniform, press forward to the mill.

Lot. This way,-we must meet them, then; in, to the subterranean pass! [Exit Golotz.] Now, Claudine, thy sufferings shall cease, and thy father's wrongs shall be revenged,

[Exit.

SCENE V.-A near View of the Mill, standing on an elevated Projection-from the foreground a narrow Bridge passes to the rocky Promontory across the Ravine.

MUSIC.-Enter RAVINA, ascending the ravine with the fusee, which she places carefully in the crannies of the rock.

Rav. My trial is over; the train is safe. From this spot I may receive the signal from Lothair, and, at one blow, the hapless victims of captivity is fired without.) Ah, Wolf! and insult are amply, dreadfully avenged. (A pistol

Enter WOLF, as pursued, and turning, fires his remaining pistol, then hurries across the bridge, which he instantly draws up-KARL following.

Wolf. (With a shout of great exultation.) Ha, ha! you strive in vain!

Karl. Cowardly rascal! you will be caught at last. [Shaking his sword at Wolf

Wolf. By whom? Karl. Your only friend, Beelzebub: run as fast as you will, he'll trip up your heels at last. descend from the spot alive, unless with liberty. Wolf. Fool-hardy slave, I have sworn never to

Karl. Oh, we'll accommodate you; you shall have liberty to ascend from it; the wings of your own mill shall be the gallows, and fly with every rascal of you into the other world.

Wolf. Golotz!-Golotz, I say!

[Calling towards the mill Enter COUNT FRIBERG, with KELMAR and the Attendants from the Chateau Friberg, in uniform, and armed with sabres.

Count. Wretch! your escape is now impossible. Surrender to the injured laws of your country.

withdraw your followers, and let my troop pass free, by my hand she dies! Kel. Oh, mercy!

Count. Hold yet a moment!

Wolf. Withdraw your followers.

Count. Till thou art yielded up to justice, they never shall depart.

Wolf. For that threat, be this your recompense! Lot. (Throwing aside his cloak.) And this my triumph.

[MUSIC.-Lothair places himself before Claudine, and receives Wolf's attack-the Robber is wounded, staggers back, sounds his bugle, and the Mill is crowded with Banditti-Lothair throws back the bridge, catches Claudine in his arms, upon his release from Wolf, and hurries upon the bridge.

Lot. (Crossing the bridge with Claudine in his arms.) Ravina, fire the train.

Rav. I cannot.

Lot. Nay, then give me the match! [Lothair instantly sets fire to the fusee, the flash of which is seen to run down the side of the rock into the gully under the bridge, from which Ravina has ascended, and the explosion immediately takes placeKelmar, rushing forward, catches Claudine in his

arms.

And hear, amid the rending tackle's roar,
The spirit of an equinoctial gale.
What, though a patient and enduring lover-
Like a tame spaniel, that, with crouching eye,
Meets buffets, and caresses-I have ta'en,
With humble thanks, her kindness and her scorn;
Yet, when I am her husband, she shall feel
I was not born to be a woman's slave!

Can you be secret?\

Count. You have found me so

In matters of some moment.

Duke. Listen, then:

I have prepar'd a penance for her pride,
To which a cell and sackcloth, and the toils
Of a barefooted pilgrimage, were pastime.
As yet she knows me, as I truly am,
The Duke Aranza: in which character
I have fed high her proud and soaring fancy
With the description of my state and fortunes,
My princely mansions, my delicious gardens,
My carriages, my servants, and my pomp.
Now, mark the contrast. In the very height
And fullest pride of her ambitious hopes,
I take her to a miserable hut,

(All things are well digested for the purpose),
Where, throwing off the title of a duke,
I will appear to her a low-born peasant.
There, with coarse raiment, household drudgery,
Laborious exercise, and cooling viands,
I will so lower her distempered blood,
And tame the devil in her, that, before
We have burnt out our happy honey-moon,

She, like a well-train'd hawk, shall, at my whistle,
Quit her high flights, and perch upon my finger,
To wait my bidding.

Count. Most excellent! A plot of rare invention! Duke. When, with a bold hand, I have weeded out

The rank growth of her pride, she'll be a garden
Lovely in blossom, rich in fruit; till then,
An unprun'd wilderness. But to your business.
How thrives your suit with her fair sister, Count?
Count. The best advancement I can boast of in it
Is, that it goes not backward. She's a riddle,
Which he that solved the sphinx's, would die
f I but mention love, she starts away, [guessing.
And wards the subject off with so much skill,
That whether she be hurt or tickled most,
Her looks leave doubtful. Yet I fondly think
She keeps me (as the plover from her nest,
Fearful, misleads the trav'ller) from the point
Where live her warmest wishes, that are breath'd
For me in secret.

Duke. You've her father's voice?

Count. Yes; and we have concerted, that this Instead of Friar Dominic, her confessor, [evening, Who from his pious office is disabled By sudden sickness, I should visit her; And, as her mind's physician feel the pulse Of her affection.

Duke. May you quickly find

Her love to you the worst of her offences!
For then her absolution will be certain.
Farewell! I see Rolando.

He is a common railer against women;
And, on my wedding day, I will hear none
Blaspheme the sex. Besides, as once he fail'd
In the same suit that I have thriven in,
"Twill look like triumph. 'Tis a grievous pity
He follows them with such a settled spleen,
For he has noble qualities.

Count. Most rare ones

A happy wit, and independent spirit.

Duke. And then he is a brave, too.

1 marvel much they suffer them to walk
Loose in the streets, whilst other untam'd monsters
Are kept in cages-three lond talking women!
They were discoursing of the newest fashions,
And their tongues went like-I have since been
thinking,

What most that active member of a woman
Of mortal things resembles.

Count. Have you found it?

[smoke-jack!

Rol. Umph! not exactly-something like a For it goes ever without winding up:

But that wears out in time-thereails the simile.
Next I be thought me of a water-mill;
But that stands still on Sundays; woman's tongue
Needs no reviving sabbath-and besides,
A mill, to give it motion, waits for grist;
Now, whether she has aught to say or no,
A woman's tongue will go for exercise.
In short, I came to this conclusion:
Most earthly things have their similitudes,
But a woman's tongue is yet incomparable,➡
Was't not the duke that left you?

Count. 'Twas.

Rol. He saw me, And hurried off!

Count. Ay! 'twas most wise in him,
To shun the bitter flowing of your gall.
You know he's on the brink of matrimony.

Rol. Why now, in reason, what can he expect? To marry such a woman!

A thing so closely pack'd with her own pride,
She has no room for any thought of him.
Why, she ne'er threw a word of kindness at him,
But when she quarrell'd with her monkey. Then,
As he with nightly minstrelsy dol'd out
A lying ballad to her peerless beauty,
Unto his whining lute, and, at each turn,
Sigh'd like a paviour, the kind lady, sir,
Would lift the casement up-to laugh at him,
And vanish like a shooting star; whilst he
Stood gazing on the spot whence she departed:
Then, stealing home, went supperless to bed,
And fed all night upon her apparition.
Now, rather than espouse a thing like this,
I'd wed a bear that never learnt to dance,
Though her first hug were mortal.

Count. Peace, Rolando!

You rail at women as priests cry down pleasure;
Who, for the penance which they do their tongues,
Give ample licence to their appetites.

Come, come, however you may mask your nature,
I know the secret pulses of your heart
Beat towards them still. A woman hater! Pshaw!
A young and handsome fellow, and a brave one →
Rol. Go on.

Count. Had I a sister, mother, nay, my grandam,
I'd no more trust her in a corner with thee,
Than cream within the whiskers of a cat.
Rol. Right! I should beat her. You are very
I have a sneaking kindness for the sex; [right,
And, could I meet a reasonable woman,
Fair without vanity, rich without pride,

Discreet though witty, learn'd, yet very humble;
That has no ear for flattery, no tongue
For scandal: one who never reads romances;
Who loves to listen better than to talk,
And rather than be gadding would sit quiet:
Hates cards and cordials, goes ill-dress'd
church;-

I'd marry certainly. You shall find two such,
And we'll both wed together.

Count. You are merry.

Where shall we dine together?
Rol. Not to-day.

Count. Nay, I insist.

Rol. Where shall I meet you, then? Count. Here, at the Mermaid,

Rol. I don't like the sign; A mermaid is half woman.

Count. Pshaw, Rolando!

You strain this humour beyond sense or measure.
Rol. Well, on condition that we're very private,
And that we drink no toast that's feminine,
I'll waste some time with you.

Count. Agreed.

Enter ZAMORA, disguised.

Rol. Go on, then;

I will but give directions to my page,
And follow you.

Count. A pretty smooth-fac'd boy:

Rol. The lad is handsome, and for one so youngSave that his heart will flutter at a drum,

And he would rather eat his sword than draw it-
He is the noblest youth in Christendom,
The kindest and most gentle. Talk of woman!
Not all the rarest virtues of the sex,

If any cunning chemist could compound them,
Would make a tythe of his. When before Tunis
I got well scratch'd for leaping on the walls
Too nimbly, that same boy attended me,
"Twould bring an honest tear into thine eye,
To tell thee how, for ten days, without sleep,
And almost nourishment, he waited on me;
Cheer'd the dull time, by reading merry tales;
And when my festering body smarted most,
Sweeter than a fond mother's lullaby
Over her peevish child, he sung to me,
That the soft cadence of his dying tones
Dropp'd like an oily balsam on my wounds,

And breath'd an healing influence throughout me.
But this is womanish! Order our dinner,
And I'll be with you presently.

Count. I will not fail.

ZAMORA comes forward.

[Exit Count.

Rol. The wars are ended, boy.

Zam. I'm glad of that, sir.

Rol. Pshaw, those tears!

Well, well, we'll talk of this some other day.
I dine with Count Montalban at the Mermaid;
In the mean time, go, and amuse yourself
With what is worthiest note in that fam'd city.
But hark, Eugenio! 'Tis a wicked place;
You'll meet (for they are weeds of ev'ry soil)
Abundance here of-women; kept aloof!
For they are like the smooth, but brittle ice,
That tempts th' unpractis'd urchin to his ruin.
Keep aloof, boy! keep aloof!

They are like comets, to be wonder'd at,
But not approach'd. Go not within their reach.
[Exit Rolando,

Zam. Doubt me not, sir.

What a hard fate is mine! to follow thus
With love a gentleman that scorns my sex,
And swears no great or noble quality
Ever yet liv'd in woman! When I read to him
The story of Lucretia, or of Portia,

Or other glorious dame, or some rare virgin, [ter,
Who, cross'd in love, has died, 'mid peals of laugh-
He praises the invention of the writer;
Or, growing angry, bids me shut the book,
Nor with such dull lies wear his patience out.
What opposition has a maid like me

To turn the headstrong current of his spleen!
For though he sets off with a lavish tongue
My humble merits, thinking me a boy,
Yet, should I stand before his jaundic'd sight
A woman, all that now is fair in me
Might turn to ugliness; all that is good
Appear the smooth gloss of hypocrisy:
Yet, I must venture the discovery,

Though, 'tis a fearful hazard. This perplexity
Of hopes and fears makes up too sad a life;
I will or lose him quite or be his wife.
SCENE II-A Room in Balthazar's House.
Enter VOLANTE and BALTHAZAR.

Balth. Not yet apparell'd?

Vol. 'Tis her wedding-day, sir:

On such occasions women claim some grace.
Balth. How bears she

The coming of her greatness?

Vol. Bravely, sir.

Instead of the high honours that await her,

Zam. Then I am very sorry.

Rol. We must part, boy!

Zam. Part?

Rol. I am serious.

Zam. Nay, you cannot mean it.

Have I been idle, sir, or negligent?
Saucy I'm sure I have not. If aught else,
It is my first fault; chide me gently for it
Nay heavily; but do not say, we part!

Rol. I'm a disbanded soldier, without pay;
Fit only now with rusty swords and helmets
To hang up in the armoury, till the wars
New-burnish me again; so poor, indeed,
I can but leanly cater for myself,
Much less provide for thee.

Zam. Let not that

Divide us, sir; thought of how I far'd Never yet troubled me, and shall not now. Indeed, I never follow'd you for hire,

[Exil

She would become her coronation:
For, when she has adjusted some stray lock,
Or fix'd at last some sparkling ornament,
She views her beauty with collected pride,
Musters her whole soul in her eyes, and says,
"Look I not like an empress ?" But, she comes.
Enter JULIANA, in her wedding dress.
Jul. Well, sir, what think you? do I to the life
Appear a duchess, or will the people say,
She does but poorly play a part which nature
Never design'd her for? But, where's the duke?
Balth. Not come yet.

Jul. How! not come? the duke not come!
Vol. Patience, sweet sister; oft without a mur
It has been his delight to wait for you.