To join with us, and sacrifice to justice. [Exit. By cares on earth, and by my pray'rs to heav'n, SCENE I.-A Room hung with black; on one Side LOTHARIO'S Body on a Bier; on the other a Table, with a Scull and other Bones, a Book and a Lamp on it. CALISTA is discovered on a Couch, in black; her Hair hanging loose and disordered. After soft Music she rises and comes forward. A poor, imperfect copy of my father; But of that joy, as of a gem long lost, sorrow. Sci. Ha! answer me! Say, hast thou coolly Cal. 'Tis well! these solemn sounds, this How thy account may stand, and what to pomp of horror, answer? Cal. I've turn'd my eyes inward upon myself, Where foul offence and shame have laid all waste; Sci. 'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that spirit That dwelt in ancient Latian breasts, when Rome Are fit to feed the frenzy in my soul. Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night, Enter SCIOLTO. Sci. This dead of night, this silent hour of Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose; I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee, Cal. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain, And write the meaning with your poniard here. Sci. Oh! truly guess'd-seest thou this trembling hand? [Holding up a Dagger. Thrice justice urg'd—and thrice the slackning sinews Forgot their office, and confess'd the father. And know the rest untaught. Cal. Ha! is it possible? and is there yet Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took in thee, What joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling infancy, By my strong grief, my heart ev'n melts with in me; That all the blessings I could gather for thee, I could curse nature, and that tyrant, honour, For making me thy father and thy judge; Cal. For that kind word, Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth, Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch, Cal. That I must die, it is my only comfort; Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last, There is I know not what of sad presage, That, were I not abandon'd to destruction, Enter HORATIO. Hor. Now mourn indeed, ye miserable pair! For now the measure of your woes is full. The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment. Cal. My father! Alt. That's a deadly stroke indeed. Hor. Not long ago, he privately went forth, But found him compass'd by Lothario's faction, Ere that, his frantic valour had provok'd tient earth? Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight? And you, ye glitt'ring, heav'nly host of stars, Hide your fair heads in clouds, or I shall blast you; For I am all contagion, death, and ruin, And nature sickens at me. Rest, thou world, This parricide shall be thy plague no more; Cal. Now think, thou curs'd Calista, now Thus, thus I set thee free. [Stabs herself. behold The desolation, horror, blood, and ruin, natures, How blind with passions, and how prone to evil, Enter ALTAMONT. Hor. Oh, fatal rashness! Enter SCIOLTO, pale and bloody, supported Cal. Oh, my heart! wounds? Lift up your hand and bless me, ere I go Sci. Alas, my daughter! All Hail to you, horrors! hail, thou house Where life, fame, virtue, all were wreck'd of death! and lost. And thou, the lovely mistress of these shades, But sure thou hast borne thy part in all the Whose beauty gilds the more than midnight darkness, anguish, And smarted with the pain. Then rest in peace: And makes it grateful as the dawn of day. Thou com'st to urge me with the wrongs I've But know I stand upon the brink of life, Dost thou accuse me! O, forbid me not To wish some better fate had rul'd our loves, my soul, And ev'ry pain grows less-Oh, gentle Altamont! Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Come near, and let me bless thee ere I die. Thou that hast endless blessings still in store And bends him, like a drooping flow'r, to earth. By such examples are we taught to prove Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away; The sorrows that attend unlawful love. But multiply thy mercies on his head. Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with him, The injur'd bridegroom from his guilty bride. And peace in all his ways[Dies. If you would have the nuptial union last, Hor. The storm of grief bears hard upon Let virtue be the bond that ties it fast. his youth, [Exeunt. HUGHES. THIS amiable man, and elegant author, was the son of a citizen of London, and was born at Marlborough, in Wiltshire, on the 29th of Jan. 1677, but received the rudiments of his education in private schools at London. Even in the very earliest parts of life his genius seemed to show itself equally inclined to each of the three sister arts, music, poetry, and design, in all which he made a very considerable progress. To his excellence in these qualifications, his contemporary and friend, Sir Richard Steele, bears the following extraordinary testimonial: "He may (says that author) be the emulation of more persons of different talents than any one I have ever known. His head, hauds, or heart, were always employed in something worthy imitation. His pencil, his bow, or his pen, each of which he used in a masterly manner, were always directed to raise and entertain his own mind, or that of others, to a more cheerful prosecution of what is noble and virtuous." Such is the evidence borne to his talents by a writer of the first rank; yet he seems, for the most part, to have pursued these and other polite studies little further than by the way of agreeable amusements, under frequent confinement, occasioned by indisposition and a valetudinarian state of health. Mr. Hughes had, for some time, an employment in the office of ordnance, and was secretary to two or three commissions under the great seal for the purchase of lands, in order to the better securing the docks and harbours at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Harwich. In the year 1717, the Lord Chancellor Cowper, to whom our author had not long been known, thought proper, without any previous solicitation, to nominate him his secretary for the commissions of the peace, and to distinguish him with singular marks of his favour and affection; and, upon his Lordship's laying down the great seal, he was, at the particular recommendation of this his patron, and with the ready concurrence of his successor the Earl of Macclesfield, continued in the same employment, which he held till the time of his decease, the 17th, of Feb. 1719, being the very night on which his celebrated tragedy of The Siege of Damascus made its first appearance on the stage; when, after a life mostly spent in pain and sickness, he was carried off by a consumption having but barely completed his 42d year, and at a period in which he had just arrived at an agreeable competence, and was advancing, with rapid steps, towards the pinnacle of fame and fortune. He was privately buried in the vault under the chancel of St Andrew's church, in Holborn. THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. ACTED at Drury Lane 1719. It is generally allowed, that the characters in this tragedy are finely varied and distinguished; that the sentiments are just and well adapted to the characters; that it abounds with beautiful descriptions, apt allusions to the manners and opinions of the times wherein the scene is laid, and with noble morals; that the diction is pure, unaffected and sublime, without any meteors of style or ambitious ornaments; and that the plot is conducted in a simple and clear manner, When it was offered to the managers of Drury Lane House, in the year 1718, they refused to act it, unless the author made an alteration in the character of Phocyas, who, in the original, had been prevailed upon to profess himself a Mahometan: pretending that he could not be a hero, if he changed his religion, and that the audience would not bear the sight of him after it, in how lively a manner soever his remorse and repentance might be described. The author (being then in a very languishing condition) finding, if he did not comply, his relations would probably loose the benefit of the play, consented, though with reluctance, to new-model the character of Phocyas. The story on which this play is founded, is amply detailed in Mr. Gibbon's History, vol. V. p. 310, where we find the real name of Phocyas to have been Jonas. That author says, "Instead of a base renegado, Phocyas serves the Arabs as an honourable ally; instead of prompting their pursuit, he flies to the succour of his countrymen, and, after killing Caled and Daran, is himself mortally wounded, and expires in the presence of Eudocia, who professes her resolution to take the veil at Constantinople. SCENE.The City of DAMASCUS, in SYRIA, and the Saracen Camp before it; and, in the last Act, a Valley adjacent. ACT 1. SCENE I.-The City. |As brave men should.-Pity your wives and children! Yes, I do pity them, heav'n knows I do, Enter EUMENES, followed by a Crowd of E'en more than you; nor will I yield them up, People. Eum. I'LL hear no more. Be gone! Or stop your clam'rous mouths, that still are open Though at your own request, a prey to ruffians.- Enter HERBIS. Her. News!-we're betray'd, deserted; And follow to the walls; there earn your safety, The works are but half mann'd; the Saracens Perceive it, and pour on such crowds, they blunt To leave us desperate. Aids may soon arrive; Our weapons, and have drain'd our stores of Mean time, in spite of their late bold attack, death. The city still is ours; their force repell'd, A more than common ardour seems to warm Eum. No-let us first Believe th' occasion fair, by this advantage, To purchase their retreat on easy terms: That failing, we the better stand acquitted And though I brav'd it to the trembling crowd, To our own citizens. However, brave Phocyas, I've caught th' infection, and I dread th'event. Cherish this ardour in the soldiery, Would I had treated!-but 'tis now too late. And in our absence form what force thou canst; [Aside. Then if these hungry bloodhounds of the war Come, Herbis. [Exeunt. Should still be deaf to peace, at our return Our widen'd gates shall pour a sudden flood A great Shout. Re-enter HERBIS. Of vengeance on them, and chastise their scorn. Her. So-the tide turns; Phocyas has driv'n it back, The gate once more is ours. Flourish. Re-enter EUMENES, with PHOCYAS, Eum. Brave Phocyas, thanks! mine and the Yet, that we may not lose this breathing space, Pho. What means Eumenes? Pho. On terms of peace! What peace can you expect from bands robbers? of What terms from slaves but slavery? -You know eyes, Our fruitful vales, and all the verdant wealth For barren sands and native poverty, ́ Eum. What can we do? Our people in despair; our soldiers harrass'd [Exeunt. SCENE II.—A Plain before the City. A Pros- That only come to traffic with those Syrians, lives Of mussulmans, not Christians, I would treat. This earth, it seems, has gifts that please him more. Caled. Check not his zeal, Abudah. Abu. No; I praise it. Yet I could wish that zeal had better motives. For conquest, not destruction. That obtain'd, Enter EUMENES, HERBIS, and ARTAMON. That went to ask them; one brave army beaten; At your request, has still'd his angry voice, Th' Arabians num'rous, cruel, flush'd with To hear what you will purpose. conquest. their minds, Eum. We come to know, Her. Besides, you know what frenzy fires After so many troops you've lost in vain, Of their new faith, and drives them on to danger. Eum. True:-they pretend the gates of Why on your heads you call our pointed Paradise Stand ever open to receive the souls Of all that die in fighting for their cause. When first we march'd against you, to surrender. You see we are return'd; our hearts, our cause, Her. But why those swords were drawn, Eum. Speak your wrongs, Caled. Blasphemer, know, your fields and towns are ours; Our prophet has bestow'd them on the faithful, Eum. Oh! now indeed you boast a noble title! To sooth his pride, and bribe his fellow madmen! If wrongs you have receiv'd, and by what means T" affront our faith, and to traduce our prophet? They may be now repair'd. Abu. Then, Christians, hear, Immutable. By us great Mahomet, Eum. Now, in the name of heaven, what That stalks gigantic forth thus arm'd with terrors, Her. Bold, frontless men! that impudently dare Have you e'er sent t' instruct us in its precepts, And well might claim our thanks. Well might we answer you with quick revenge soldier Two, Caled, shall be thine; two thine, Abudah. Will soon be ours. Behold our march And, last, view Aiznadin, that vale of blood! Her. Presumptuous men! With scorn had been receiv'd: your numer-What though you yet can boast successful guilt, ous vices, Is conquest only yours? Or dare you hope Your clashing sects, your mutual rage and strife, Eum. Have you forgot! Not twice seven years are past, since e'en your prophet, impious tongue! [Aside. Abu. No-forgot! That we're unworthy of our holy faith, We well remember how Medina screen'd To heaven, with grief and conscious shame, That holy head, preserv'd for better days, And ripening years of glory. we own. But what are you that thus arraign our vices, Are you not sons of rapine, foes to peace, Caled. Christians, no. Why have you ravag'd all our peaceful borders? Daran. Why, my chiefs, Will you waste time, in offering terms despis'd, Caled. Daran, thou say'st true. more Plunder'd our towns? and by what claim, e'en The sword of heaven is drawn! nor shall be You tread this ground? [now, sheath'd, Her. What claim, but that of hunger? But in the bowels of Damascus, The claim of ravenous wolves, that leave their dens To prowl at midnight round some sleeping village, Eum. That, Or speedy vengeance and destruction, due [Exeunt. |