Perverse and sullen all this day of joy?
When every heart was cheer'd and mirth
went round,
Sorrow, displeasure, and repining anguish
Sat on thy brow.
Cal. Is then the task of duty half perform'd?
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 vow'd obedience,
A sigh breaks out, or a tear falls by chance:
For, oh! that sorrow which has drawn your
Is the sad native of Calista's breast.
May bind two bodies in one wretched chain;
But minds will still look back to their own choice.
Hor. When souls that should agree to will
the same,
To have one common object for their wishes,
Look different ways, regardless of each other,
Think what a train of wretchedness ensues:
Love shall be banish'd from the genial bed,
The night shall all be lonely and unquiet,
And ev'ry day shall be a day of cares.
Cal. Then all the boasted office of thy
friendship,
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, Was but to tell Calista what a wretch she is.
Iswear, some sullen thought that shuns the light, Alas! what needeth that?
Lurks underneath that sadness in thy visage. Hor. Oh! rather say,
But mark me well, though by yon heaven II came to tell her how she might be happy;
As much, I think, as a fond parent can;
Yet shouldst thou (which the pow'rs above forbid)
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.
To sooth the secret anguish of her soul;
To comfort that fair mourner, that forlorn one,
And teach her steps to know the paths of peace.
Cal. Say, thou, to whom this paradise is
known,
Where lies the blissful region? Mark my way
to it;
For, oh! 'tis sure, I long to be at rest.
Hor. Then-to be good is to be happy-
Angels
[Exit. Are happier than mankind, because they're
Cal. How hard is the condition of our sex,
Through ev'ry 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 bus'ness and devotion
All we are capable to know, and shuts us,
Like cloister'd idiots, from the world's ac-
quaintance,
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?
[She sits down.
Enter HORATIO.
Hor. She's here! yet, oh! my tongue is at a loss.
Teach me, some pow'r, 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 heav'n she weeps!-Forgive me, fair Calista,
[She starts up.
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
Cal. To steal unlook'd for, on my private
Guilt is the source of sorrow; 'tis the fiend,
Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behind
With whips and stings. The blest know none
of this,
But rest in everlasting peace of mind,
And find the height of all their heav'n is goodness.
Cal. And what bold parasite's officious tongue
Shall dare to tax Calista's name with guilt?
Hor. None should; but 'tis a busy, talking
world,
That with licentious breath blows like the wind,
As freely on the palace as the cottage.
Col. What mystic riddle lurks beneath thy
words,
Which thou wouldst seem unwilling to express,
As if it meant dishonour to my virtue?
Away with this ambiguous shuffling phrase,
And let thy oracle be understood.
Cal. Ha! what wouldst thou mean by him? Hor. Lothario and Calista! - Thus they join Two names, which heav'n decreed should never
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 giv'n her honour to a wretch.
Cal. Death and confusion! Have I liv'd to this?
Thus to be treated with unmanly insolence!
To be the sport of a loose ruffian's tongue!
Thus to be us'd! thus! like the vilest creature
That ever was a slave to vice and infamy.
Hor. By honour and fair truth, you wrong
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.
Cal. Is this the famous friend of Altamont,
For noble worth and deeds of arms renown'd?
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 'em.
'Tis now the lucky minute of your fate.
By me your genius speaks, by me it warns you,
Never to see that curs'd Lothario more;
Unless you mean to be despis'd, be shunn'd
By all our virtuous maids and noble matrons;
Unless you have devoted this rare beauty
To infamy, diseases, prostitution-
Cal. Dishonour blast thee, base, unmanner'd slave!
That dar'st forget my birth, and sacred sex,
And shock me with the rude, unhallow'd sound!
Hor. Here kneel, and in the awful face of
heav'n
Breathe out a solemn vow, never to see,
Nor think, if possible, on him that ruin'd 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
Could he do this? 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,
Thou art perhaps confederate in his mischief,
And wilt believe the legend, if he tells it.
Alt. 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 dar'd to do it was Horatio;
Thy darling friend; 'twas Altamont's Horatio.
But mark me well; while thy divided heart,
Dotes on a villain that has wrong'd me thus,
No force shall drag me to thy hated bed.
Nor can my cruel father's pow'r do more
Than shut me in a cloister: there, well pleas'd,
Religious hardships will I learn to bear,
To fast and freeze at midnight hours of pray'r:
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
tyrant, man.
[Exit.
Alt. She's gone; and as she went, ten thousand 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 with thee, And thou wert doubtful which should get the better?
Hor. I would be dumb for ever; but thy fale
That idol of thy soul, that fair Calista; Thou hast beheld her tears.
Alt. I have seen her weep;
Hast thou been forging to deceive my father; Has otherwise decreed it. Thou hast seen
To turn his heart against his wretched daughter;
That Altamont and thou may share his wealth?
A wrong like this will make me ev'n forget
The weakness of my sex.-Oh, for a sword,
To urge my vengeance on the villain's hand
That forg'd the scroll!
Hor. Behold! Can this be forg'd? See where Calista's name
[Showing the Letter near. Col. 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, ev'n 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.
I have seen that lovely one, that dear Calista,
Complaining, in the bitterness of sorrow,
That thou, my friend Horatio, thou hast
wrong'd her.
Hor. That I have wrong'd her! Had her
eyes been fed
From that rich stream which warms her heart,
and number'd
For ev'ry falling tear a drop of blood,
It had not been too much; for she has ruin'd
thee,
Ev'n thee, my Altamont. She has undone thee.
Alt Dost thou join ruin with Calista's name?
What is so fair, so exquisitely good?
Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?
Does she not come, like wisdom, or good fortune,
Alt. Where is my life, my love, my charm-Replete with blessings, giving wealth and
Joy of my heart, and pleasure of my eyes?
Disorder'd!-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 find out the offender,
may
And do thee ample justice.
She has charm'd thee, like a siren, to her bed, Oh, turn your cruel swords upon Lavinia. With looks of love, and with enchanting sounds: If you must quench your impious rage in blood, Too late the rocks and quicksands will appear, Behold, my heart shall give you all her store, When thou art wreck'd upon the faithless shore, To save those dearer streams that flow from Then vainly wish thou hadst not left thy friend,
To follow her delusion.
Alt. If thy friendship
Does 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 shar'd the task of nature with thy father,
And form'd with care thy unexperienc'd youth
To virtue and to arms.
Thy noble father, oh, thou light young man!
Would he have us'd me thus? One fortune
fed us;
For his was ever mine, mine his, and both
Together flourish'd, and together fell.
He call'd me friend, like thee: would he have
left me
Thus for a woman, and a vile one, too?
Alt. Thou canst not, darst not mean it!
Speak again,
Say, who is vile; but dare not name Calista.
Hor. I had not spoke at first, unless compell'd,
And forc'd to clear myself; but since thus urg'd
I must avow, I do not know a viler.
Alt. Thou wert my father's friend; he lov'd
thee well;
A kind of venerable mark of him
Hangs round thee, and protects thee from my
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,
Ev'n in despite of thee.
[Holds him.
Hor. Ifhonour be thy care, if thou wouldst live
Without the name of credulous, wittol husband,
Avoid thy bride, shun her detested bed,
The joys it yields are dash'd with poison -
Alt. Off!
To urge me but a minute more is fatal.
Hor. She is polluted, stain'd-
Alt. Madness and raging!
But hence-
Hor. Dishonour'd by the man you hate-
Alt. Ipr'ythee loose me yet, for thy own sake,
If life be worth thy keeping—
Alt. 'Tis well thou hast found a safeguard;
none but this,
No pow'r on earth, could save thee from my fury.
Hor. Safety from thee!
Away, vain boy! Hast thou forgot the rev'rence
Due to my arm, thy first, thy great example,
Which pointed out thy way to noble daring,
And show'd thee what it was to be a man?
Lav. What busy, meddling fiend, what foe
to goodness,
Could kindle such a discord?
Hor. Ask'st thou what made us foes? 'Twas
base ingratitude,
'Twas such a sin to friendship, as heav'n'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,
With barb'rous, bloody malice, sought my life.
Alt. Thou art my sister, and I would not
The lonely mourner of a widow'd bed;
Therefore thy husband's life is safe: but warn him,
No more to know this hospitable roof.
He has but ill repaid Sciolto's bounty.
We must not meet; 'tis dangerous. Farewell.
[He is going, Lavinia holds him.
Lao. Stay, Altamont, my brother, stay;
Alt. It cannot, sha'not be you must not
Lav. Look kindly, then.
[hold me.
Alt. Each minute that I stay,
Is a new injury to fair Calista.
From thy false friendship, to her arms I'll fly;
Then own, the joys which on her charms attend,
Have more than paid me for my faithless friend.
[Breaks from Lavinia, and exit.
Hor. Oh, raise thee, my Lavinia, from the earth.
It is too much; this tide of flowing grief,
This wondrous waste of tears, too much to give
To an ungrateful friend, and cruel brother.
Lav. Is there not cause for weeping? Oh,
Horatio!
A brother and a husband were my treasure,
Twas all the little wealth that poor Lavinia
Sav'd from the shipwreck of her father's fortunes.
One half is lost already. If thou leav'st me,
If thou shouldst prove unkind to me,
as Al-
tamont,
All. Perdition take thee, villain, for the false-Whom shall I find to pity my distress,
[Strikes him. To have compassion on a helpless wanderer,
Now, nothing but thy life can make atonement. And give her where to lay her wretched head?
Hor. A blow! thou hast us'd me well Hor. Why dost thou wound me with thy
Alt. This to thy heart-
Hor. Yet hold-By heav'n 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 much-wrong'd love,
swear, the poor evasion shall not save thee.
Hor. Yet hold-thou know'st I dare.
soft complainings?
Though Altamont be false, and use me hardly,
Yet think not I impute his crimes to thee.
Talk not of being forsaken; for I'll keep thee
Next to my heart, my certain pledge of happiness.
Lav. Then you will love me still, cherish
And hide me from misfortune in your bosom? Hor. But for the love I owe the good Sciolto, From Genoa, from falsehood and inconstancy, To some more honest, distant clime I'd go. Nor would I be beholden to my country, For aught but thee, the partner of my flight. Lao. And I would follow thee; forsake, for thee, Lao. My brother, my Horatio! Is it possible? My country, brother, friends, ev'n all I have
Enter LAVINIA, who runs
Swords.
[They fight. between their
Though mine's a little all, yet were it more,
And better far, it should be left for thee,
And all that I would keep should be Horatio.
So, when a merchant sees his vessel lost,
Though richly freighted from a foreign coast,
Gladly, for life, the treasure he would give,
And only wishes to escape, and live:
Gold and his gains no more employ his mind;
But driving o'er the billows with the wind,
Cleaves to one faithful plank, and leaves the)
rest behind.
[Exeunt.
SCENE L-A Garden.
LOTHARIO and CALISTA discovered. Loth. Weep not, my fair; but let the god of love
Laugh in thy eyes, and revel in thy heart,
Kindle, again his torch, and hold it high,
To light us to new joys. Nor let a thought
Of discord, or disquiet past, molest thee;
But to a long oblivion give thy cares,
And let us melt the present hour in bliss.
Cal. Seek not to sooth me with thy false
endearments,
To charm me with thy softness: 'tis in vain:
Thou canst no more betray, nor I be ruin'd.
The hours of folly and of fond delight,
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 bless'd 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.
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 ALTAMONT behind.
Alt. Ha! do I live and wake? [Aside.
Cal. Hadst thou been true, how happy had
I been!
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 curs'd;
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!
Are wasted all, and fled; those that remain
Are doom'd to weeping, anguish, and repentance.
Alt. The wretch! whom thou hast made.
I come to charge thee with a long account Curses and sorrows hast thou heap'd upon him,
Of all the sorrows I have known already, And vengeance is the only good that's left.
And all I have to come; thou hast undone me.
[Drawing.
Loth. Unjust Calista! dost thou call it ruin Loth. Thou hast ta'en me somewhat una-
To love as we have done; to melt, to languish,
wares, 'tis true:
To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy, But love and war take turns, like day and night,
And then be blest ev'n to that wish's height? And little preparation serves my turn,
To die with joy, and straight to live again; Equal to both, and arm'd for either field,
Speechless to gaze, and with tumultuous trans-We've long been foes; this moment ends our
Cal. Oh, let me hear no more; I cannot Earth, heav'n, and fair Calista, judge the combat!
'Tis deadly to remembrance. Let that night,
That guilty night, be blotted from the year;
For 'twas the night that gave me up to shame,
To sorrow, to the false Lothario.
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 giv'n 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,
[They fight; Lothario fulls.
Oh, Altamont! thy genius is the stronger!
Thou hast prevail'd! 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
Encompass'd round with wretchedness? There is
But this one way to break the toil, and 'scape.
[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 murder'd me;
yet still,
Which nothing but thy cruelty could cause?
If indignation raging in my soul,
For thy unmanly insolence and scorn,
Urg'd me to do 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. Oh, thou hast known but little of Calista!
Loth. How have I fail'd in justice, or in love? If thou hadst never heard my shame, if only
Burns not my flame as brightly as at first? The midnight moon and silent stars had seen it,
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
forgiven?
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.
Sci. [Within] What, ho! my son!
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.
Sci. Ev'n now Rossano leap'd the garden wall
Ha! death has been among you-Oh, my fears! Last night thou hadst a diff'rence with thy friend, The cause thou gav'st me for it, was a damn'd one. Didst thou not wrong the man who told thee truth?
All. Oh! 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! 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 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.
Sci. Thy pious care has giv'n me time to think,
And sav'd 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 unpunish'd:
I will see justice executed on thee,
Ev'n 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 doom'd to live, and ber your triumph?
To groan beneath your scorn and fierce
braiding,
Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery
At morn, at noon, at night, told over to me?
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'd.
Cal. Yes, I will fly to some such dismal place,
And be more curs'd 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 chang'd,
Stretch'd 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,
At length her tears have wash'd her stains away;
At length'tis time her punishment should cease;
Die, thou poor suff'ring wretch, and be at peace.
Exit.
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. I tremble at the vengeance which you meditate On the poor, faithless, lovely, dear Calista.
Sci. Hast thou not read what brave Virgi-
nius 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 ty'd my hand.—I wo'not kill her;
Yet, by the ruin she has brought upon us,
The common infamy that brands us both,
She sha'not 'scape.
Alt. You mean that she shall die then?
Sci. Ask me not what, nor how I have resolv'd,
For all within is anarchy and uproar.
Oh, Altamont! what a vast scheme of joy
Has this one day destroy'd? Well did I hope
This daughter would have bless'd my latter days;
That I should live to see you the world's wonder,
So happy, great, and good, that none were
like you.
While I, from busy life and care set free,
Had spent the evening of my age at home,
Among a little prattling race of yours:
There, like an old man, talk'd awhile, and then
Laid down and slept in peace. Instead of this,
Sorrow and shame must bring me to my grave-
Oh, damn her! damn her!
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Arm yourself, my lord:
Rossano, who but now escap'd the garden,
Has gather'd in the street a band of rioters,
Who threaten you and all your friends with ruin,
Unless Lothario be return'd in safety. [Exit.
Sci. By heav'n, 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 curs'd with. I think my name as great, my friends as potent, As any in the state; all shall be summon'd; I know that all will join their hands to ours, And vindicate thy vengeance. When our force Is full and arm'd, we shall expect thy sword
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