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Loth. Hear this, ye pow'rs! mark, how the fair deceiver Sadly complains of violated truth; She calls me false, ev'n she, the faithless she, Whom day and night, whom heav'n and earth have

heard Sighing to vow, and tenderly protest,

Ten thousand times, she would be only mine;
And yet, behold, she has given herself away,
Fled from my arms, and wedded to another,
Ev’n to the man whom most I hate on earth.-
Cal. Art thou so base to upbraid me with a crime,
Which nothing but thy cruelty could cause : 61
If indignation raging in my soul,
For thy unmanly insolence and scorn,
Urg'd me to a deed of desperation,
And wound myself to be reveng'd on thee,
Think whom I should devote to death and hell,
Whom curse as my undoer, but Lothario;
Hadst thou been just, not all Sciolto's pow'r,
Not all the vows and pray'rs of sighing Altamont,
Could have prevail'd, or won me to forsake thee.
Loth. How have I fail'd in justice, or in love 2
Burns not my flame as brightly as at first?
Ev’n now my heart beats high, I languish for thee,
My transports are as fierce, as strong my wishes,
As if thou ne'er hadst blest me with thy beauty.

Cal. How didst thou dare to think that I would live

A slave to base desires, and brutal pleasures,
To be a wretched wanton for thy leisure,

To toy, and waste an hour of idle time with ?
My soul disdains thee for so mean a thought. 80
Loth. The driving storm of passion will have way,
And I must yield before it. Wert thou calm,
Love, the poor criminal, whom thou hast doom’d,
Has yet a thousand tender things to plead,
To charm thy rage, and mitigate his fate.

Enter behind them ALTAM on T. Alt. “I have lost my peace”—Ha! do I live and wake *

Cal. Hadst thou been true, how happy had I been 1 Not Altamont, but thou, hadst been my lord. But wherefore nam'd I happiness with thee? It is for thee, for thee, that I am curst; For thee my secret soul each hour arraigns me, Calls me to answer for my virtue stain'd, My honour lost to thee: for thee it haunts me; With stern Sciolto vowing vengeance on me: With Altamont complaining for his wrongs—

Alt. Behold him here— [Coming forward.

Cal. Ah! [Starting.

Alt. The wretch l whom thou hast made. Curses and sorrows hast thou heap'd upon him, 99 And vengeance is the only good that's left. [Drawing.

Loth. Thou hast ta'en me somewhat unawares, ’tis

true: But love and war take turns, like day and night, And little preparation serves my turn, Equal to both, and arm'd for either field. * * * *

We’ve long been foes, this moment ends our quarrel; Earth, Heav'n, and fair Calista judge the combat I Cal. Distraction 1 Fury | Sorrow I Shame 1 and death ! - “Alt. Thou hast talk’d too much, thy breath is poison to me; “ It taints the ambient air; this for my father, “ This for Sciolto, and this last for Altamont.” [They fight; Lothario is wounded once or twice, and then falls. Loth. Oh, Altamont, thy genius is the stronger! Thou hast prevail’d l—My fierce ambitious soul Declining droops, and all her fires grow pale; Yet let not this advantage swell thy pride, I conquer'd in my turn, in love I triumph'd. Those joys are lodg’d beyond the reach of fate; That sweet revenge comes smiling to my thoughts, Adorns my fall, and cheers my heart in dying. [Dies. Cal. And what remains for me, beset with shame, Encompass'd round with wretchedness There is 120 But this one way to break the toil, and 'scape. [She catches up Lothario's sword, and offers to #ill herself; Altamont runs to her, and wrests it from her. Alt. What means thy frantic rage Cal. Off! let me go. Alt. Oh I thou hast more than murder'd me; yet still, Still art thou here ! and my soul starts with horror, At thought of any danger that may reach thee.


Cal. Think'st thou I mean to live to be forgiv'n 2 Oh, thou hast known but little of Calistal If thou had'st never heard my shame, if only The midnight moon and silent stars had seen it, I would not bear to be reproach'd by them, But dig down deep to find a grave beneath, And hide me from their beams. Sciolto within..] What, hol my son 1 “Alt. It is Sciolto calls; come near and find me; “The wretched'st thing of all my kind on earth.” Cal. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father? Madness! Confusion 1 let the storm come on, Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me; Dash my devoted bark, ye surges, break it! 243 '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 Scio LTO.

Sci. Ev’n now Rossano leap'd the garden wall—
Ha! Death has been among you—Oh, my fears!
Last night thou had'st a diff'rence with thy friend,
The cause thou gav'st me was a damn'd one.
Did'st thou not wrong the man who told thee truth
Answer me quick

Alt. Oh I press me not to speak;
Ev’n now my heart is breaking, and the mention
Will lay me dead before you. See that body,
And guess my shame: my ruin! Oh, Calista!

Sci. It is enough 1 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: 16o
So shall my love be perfect, while for her
I die, for whom alone I wish'd to live.
Cal. No, Altamont; my heart that scorn'd thy love,
Shall never be indebted to thy pity.
Thus torn, defac'd, 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 heav'n, and thee,
Ev’n thee, thou venerable good old man,
For being author of a wretch like me.
Alt. Listen not to the wildness of her raving;
Remember naturel Should thy daughter's murder
Defile that hand, so just, so great in arms,
Her blood would rest upon thee to posterity,
Pollute thy name, and sully all thy wars.
Cal. Have I not wrong’d his gentle nature much
And yet behold him pleading for my life 180
Lost as thou art to virtue, Oh, Calista!
I think thou can'st not bear to be outdone;
Then haste to die, and be oblig'd no more.

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