Re-enter THEODORE, with his Sword drawn.
Theo. Where, where's the assassin?✓✓
Count. Boy, the avenger's here.
Behold, this dagger smokes with her heart's blood!
That thou stand'st there to brave me, thank that mail,
Or, traitor, thou hadst felt me. --But 'tis done.
Theo. Oh, monstrous! monstrous!
Count. Triumph now o'er Narbonne;
Boast, how a stripling and a monk deceiv'd
The easy count; but, if thou lov'st thy bride,
Take that, and use it nobly. [Throws down the Dagger.
Theo. 'Gainst thy heart,
Barbarian, would I use it: but look there;
There are ten thousand daggers.
Aust. [Without] Ring out the alarm;
Fly all; bring aid, if possible, to save her.
Re-enter ADELAIDE, wounded and supported by AusTIN; THEODORE advances to her, and assists in supporting and bringing her forward. Some of the COUNT'S Attendants enter from the Castle, with lighted Torches.
Count. Ha! lightning shiver me!
Adel. My lord! my father!
Oh, bear me to his feet.
Aust. Thou man of blood,
Past utterance lost, see what thy rage has done!
Count. Ruin! despair! my child! my Adelaide!
Art thou the innocent victim of my fury?
Adel. I am, indeed. I know not my offence; Yet sure 'twas great, when my life answers it. Will you forgive me now?
Had I unnumber'd lives, I'd give them all,
To lengthen thine an hour. What frenzy seiz'd me?
That veil, the glimmering light, my rage, deceiv'd me.
Unnatural wound! detested parricide!-
Good youth, in pity strike this monster dead!
Adel. Listen not to his ravings.
I struggle for a little gasp of breath;
Draw it with pain; and sure, in this last moment,
You will observe me.-
Live, I charge you:
Forget me not, but love my memory.
If I was ever dear to thee, my father
(Those tears declare I was), will you not hear me, And grant one wish to your expiring child?
Count. Speak, tell me quickly, thou dear suffering
Adel. Be gentle to my mother; her kind nature
Has suffer'd much; she will need all your care:
Forsake her not; and may the All-merciful
Look down with pity on this fatal error;
Bless you-and-oh
Count. She dies in prayer for me;
Prays for me, while her life streams from my stroke. What prayers can rise for such a wretch as I am?
Seize me, ye fiends! rouse all your stings and torments!
See hell grows darker as I stalk before them.
Theo. [After looking some time at Adelaide's Body] "Tis my black destiny has murder'd thee.
Stand off. [They hold him] I will not live.
This load of being is intolerable;
And, in a happier world my soul shall join her.
Aust. Observe, and keep him from all means of death. Enter the COUNTESS, FABIAN, and other Attendants.
Countess. Whence were those cries? what meant that fearful bell?
Who shall withhold me? I will not return.
Is there a horror I am stranger to?
Aust. There is; and so beyond all mortal patience, I can but wish you stripp'd of sense and thought, That it may pass without destroying you.
Countess. What is it? speak.
Aust. [Looking towards the Body] Turn not your
eyes that way,
For there, alas
Countess. O Lord of earth and heaven!
Is it not she? my daughter, pale and bleeding!
She's cold, stark cold:-can you not speak to me?
Which of you have done this?
Count. "Twas ease till now;
Fall, fall, thick darkness, hide me from that face!
Aust. Rise, madam, 'tis in vain. -Heaven comfort her!
Countess. Shall I not strive to warm her in my breast?
She is my all; I have nothing left but her.
You cannot force me from her. Adelaide!
My child, my lovely child! thy mother calls thee.
She hears me not-she's dead! Oh, God! I know thee-
Tell me, while I have sense, for my brain burns;
Tell me yet what avails it? I'll not curse-
There is a power to punish.
Thou hadst much cause to think my nature cruel;
I wrong'd thee sore, and this was my last deed.
Countess. Was thine? thy deed? Oh, execrable mon
Oh, greatly worthy of thy blood-stain'd sire!
A murderer he, and thou a parricide!
Why did thy barbarous hand refrain from me?
I was the hated bar to thy ambition!
A stab like this had set thee free for ever;
Sav'd thee from shane, upbraiding, perjuries;
But she-this innocent-what had she done?
Count. I thank thee. I was fool enough, or coward,
To think of life one moment, to atone
By deep repentance for the wrongs I did thee.
But hateful to myself, hated by thee,
By heaven abandon'd, and the plague of earth,
This, this remains, and all are satisfied. [Stabs himself.
Forgive me, if 'tis possible-bot-oh-
[Dies.
Countess. [After looking some time distractedly] Where am I? Ruin, and pale death surround me.
I was a wife; there gasping lies my husband!
A mother too; there breathless lies my child!
Look down, oh heaven! look down with pity on me!-
I know this place;
I'll kneel once more. Hear me, great God of Nature!
For this one boon let me not beg in vain;
Oh, do not mock me with the hopes of death;
These pangs, these struggles, let them be my last;
Release thy poor, afflicted, suffering creature ;
Take me from misery, too sharp to bear,
[Falls on the Body of Adelaide.
Aust. Heaven comfort thee!Hard was your lot, you lovely innocents; But palms, eternal palms, above shall crown you. For this rash man-yet mercy's infinite. You stand amaz'd. Know, this disastrous scene, Ending the fatal race, concludes your sorrows. To-morrow meet me round this sacred shrine; Then shall you hear at full a tale of wonder; The rightful lord of Narbonne shall be own'd; And heaven in all its ways be justified. [Curtain falls.
WRITTEN BY EDMOND MALONE, ESQ.
Spoken at the original Exhibition of this Tragedy at
Covent Garden Theatre, by MISS YOUNGE.
Of all the laws by tyrant custom made,
The bardest sure on dramatists are laid.
No easy task, in this enlighten'd time,
It is with art "to build the lofty rhyme;"
To choose a fable nor too old nor new;
To keep each character distinctly true;
The subtle plot with happy skill combine,
And chain attention to the nervous line;
With weighty, clashing int'rests to perplex,
Through five long acts-each person of each sex;
And then at last, by dagger or by bowl,
"To freeze the blood, and harrow up the soul."
All this achiev'd, the bard at ease carouses,
And dreams of laurels and o'erflowing houses.
Alas, poor man! his work is done but half;
He has made you cry-but he must make you laugh;
And the same engine, like the fabled steel,
Must serve at once to wound you and to heal.
Our bard "of this bad ta'en too little care,"
And by a friend besought me to appear.
"Madam," he said, "so oft you've grac'd the scene,
An injur'd princess, or a weeping queen;
So oft been us'd to die in anguish bitter,
And then start up-to make the audience titter,
That doubtless you know best what is in vogue,
And can yourself invent an epilogue;
You can supply our author's tardy quill,
And gild the surface of his tragic pill;
Your ready wit a recipe can bring,
For this capricious, serio-comic thing."
A recipe for epilogues!" Why not?
Have you each vaunting chronicle forgot?
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