페이지 이미지
[ocr errors]

And all my anger was excess of love. A dreadful instance of your power to punish.
Why did you take me at my word? You saw I'm singled out to bear the wrath of heaven.
The struggles of my soul; you heard me rave: Pyl. You hazard your retreat by these delays.
You should have question’d me a thousand times, The guards will soon beset us. Your complaints
Yet still have doubted, and have question'd on, Are vain, and may be fatal.
Before you ventur'd on a life so precious. Ores. True, my friend:
Ores. Hear me but speak. Heaven knows, And therefore 'twas I thank'd the bounteous gods.
against my will

My fate's accomplish'd; I shall die content.
Her. Why did you not return? Why nou Oh, bear me bence. Blow winds!
consult me

Pyl. Let us be gone. A second time? and, undetermin'd still,

Ores. The murder'd lovers wait me. Hark! Again return, and still find new delays?

they call. vị bat had your rash oflicious Greeks, dire Nay, if your blood still reeks, I'll mingle mine; bloodhounds!

One tomb will hold us all. To do with my revenge? What drew you hither? Pyl. Alas!. I fear To bring on me the vengeful foes that haunt you? His raving will return with his misfortunes. Are these the fruits of your detested love? Ores. I am dizzy! Clouds! Quite lost in Your fatal embassy, your hateful presence

utier darkness! Drose Pyrrbus to my rival, and destroys Guide me, some friendly pilot!through the storm. Both him and me. He might have lov'd me still, I shiver! Oh, I freeze! So-light returns; Had you ne'er interpos'd. Avaunt! be gone!'Tis the grey dawn. See, Pylades! behold, And leave me in Epirus. I renounce I am encompass'd with a sea of blood! My friends, my country, Greece, and all The crimson billows! Oh, my brain's on fire! mankind:

Pyl. How is it, sir? Repose yourself on me. But chiefly I renounce thee! monster, thee! Ores. Pyrrhus, what wouldst thou ? How


he glares! Ores. Am I awake? where am I? Soft, What envious hand has clos'd thy wounds ? my soul;

Have at thee. Be not too rash. Was that Hermione? It is Hermione that strikes. Confusion! Why should her anger thunder against me? She catches Pyrrhus in her arms. Oh, save me! Was not this blood shed all by her command? How terrible she looks! She knits her brow; I am indeed a most outrageous monster! She frowns me dead; she frights me into madness. A ruffian, murderer, a base assassin!

Where am I? Who are you? And all to please a false ungrateful woman. Pyl. Alas, poor prioce! Henceforward let the laws of nature cease;

Help to

support him. How he pants for breath! And let the pale that severs right and wrong,

Orės. This is most kind, my Pylades. Oh, why, Things sacred and profane, be broken down; Why was I born to give thee endless trouble? Gods in their temples, kings upon their thrones, Pyl. All will go well: he settles into reason. Are not in safety' while Orestes lives.

Ores. Who talks of reason? Better to have Ok, never more shall my torn mind be heald,

none, Nor taste the gentle comforts of repose! Than not enough. Run, some one, tell my Greeks A dreadful band of gloomy cares surround me, I will not have them touch the king. Now, now! And lay strong siege to my distracted soul. I blaze again! See there: look where they come;

A shoal of furies. How they swarm about me! Enter PYLADES, attended by Greeks.

My terror! Hide me! Oh, their snaky locks! Pyl. Haste, prince; let us be gone: 'tis death Hark, how they hiss! See,see their flaming brands! to stay.

Now they lei drive at me! How they grin, Andromache reigns queen: she gives the alarm, And shake their iron whips! My ears? what And vows revenge upon the foes of Pyrrhus.

yelling! The people arm and 'muster in the streets: And see, Hermione! she sets them on. Our Greeks will not he able long to guard Thrust not your scorpions thus into my bosom! The palace gates, and to secure our flight. Oh, I am stung to death! Dispatch me soon! We must be speedy, sir.

There-take my heart, Hermione! Tear it out! Ores. You may depart,

Disjoint me! kill me! Oh, my tortur'd soul! My friends: Hermione and I remain.

Pyl. Kind heaven, restore him to his wonted Her cruelty has quite undone me. Go.

calm! Pyl

. Alas, unhappy princess! she's no more. Oft have I seen him rave, but never thus. Ores. Hermione no more! O, all ye powers ! Quite spent! Assist me, friends, to bear him off. Pyl. Full of disorder, wildness in her looks, Our time is short: should his strong rage return, With hands expanded, and dishevell'd hair, 'Twould be beyond our power to force him hence. Breathless and pale, with shrieks she sought Away, my friends! I hear the portal open. the temple ;

[Exeunt. In the mid-way she met the corpse of Pyrrhus: Enter Phoenix, attended by Guards. She startled at the sight; then, stiff with horror, Phoe. All, all are fled! Orestes is not here! Gaz'd frightful! Wakend from the dire amaze, Triumphant villains! The base, giddy rabble, She raiså her eyes to heaven with such a look Whose hands should all have been employ'd As spoke ber sorrows, and reproach'd the gods;

with fire, Then plung'd a poniard deep within her breast

, To waste the fleet, flock'd round the dying And fell on Pyrrhus, grasping him in death.

princess : Ores. I thank you, gods: I never could expect And, while they stand agaze,

Greeks embark. To be so wretched! You have been industrious Oh, 'tis too plain! this sacrileg’ous murder To finish your decrees; to make Orestes Was authoriz'd. The ambassador's escape

[ocr errors]

Declares his guilt. Most bloody embassy! Will never cease; for I was born to grieve.
Most unexampled deeds! Where, where, ye gods, Give present orders for the funeral pomp.
Is majesly secure, if in your temples

[To Phoenir. You give it no protection? See, the queen.

Let him be rob’d in all his regal state; A Flourish of Trumpets. Enter ANDROMACHE Place round him every shining mark of honour;

and CEPHSA with Altendants. And let the pile that consecratcs bis ashes, Andro. Yes, ye inhuman Greeks! the time Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds. will come

[Exit Phoenix. A Flourish of Trumpets. When

you shall dearly pay your bloody deeds! Ceph. The sound proclaims th' arrival of llow should the Trojans hope for mercy from you,

the prince, When thus you turn your impious rage on The guards conduct him from the citadel. Pyrrhus?

Andro. With open arms I'll meet bim! Pyrrhus, the bravest man in all your league ;

o' Cepbisa ! The man, whose single valour made you triumph. A springing joy, mix'd with a soft concern,

[A dead March behind. A pleasure, which no language can express, Is my child there?

An ecstasy that mothers only feel, Ceph. It is the corpsc of Pyrrhus; Plays round my heart, and brightens up my The weeping soldiers bear him on their shields.

Andro. IIl-fated prince! too negligent of life, Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring, sky. And too unwary of the faithless Greeks! Though plung'd in ills, and exercis'd in care, Cut off in the fresh rip’ning prime of manhood, Yet never let the noble mind despair. E'en in the prime of life! thy triumphs new, When press'd by dangers, and beset with foes, And all thy glories in full blossom round thee! The gods their timely succour interpose; The very Trojans would bewail thy fate. And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with Ceph. Alas! then will your sorrows never end?

grief, Andro. Oh, never, never! – While I live, By unforeseen expedients bring relief. [Exeunt.

'my tears



Nicholas Rowe, sun of John Rowe, Esq. sergeant at law, was born at Little Berkford, in Bedfordshire, anno 1673. His educatior was began at a privalo seminary in Highgate, from whence he was removed to Westminster school, where be was perfected in classical literature under Doctor Bushy. His father, designing him for his own profession, entered him, at sixteen years of age, a student of the Middle Temple. He soon made considerable progress in the law, and might have cut a figure in that prosession, is the love of poetry and the belles lettres had not to much attracteil his attention. the age of twenty-five he wrote his first tragedy, The Ambitious Step-mother, the great success of which made him entirely lay aside all thoughts of the law. Dr. Johnson demands : “Whence ihen has Rose his reputation ? From the reasonableness and propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his diction, and the slavity of his verse. He seldom moves either pily or terror, but he olten elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he always delights the car, and often improves the understanding.” Being a great admirer of Shahspeare, he gave the public an edition of his plays, to which he prefixed an account of that great man's life. But the most consideiable of Nr. Kowe's performances, was a transJation of Lucan's Pharsalia, which he just lived to finish, but not to publish; for it did not appear in print till ten years after his death. His attachment to the Muses, however, did noi entirely unfit him for business; for when the Duke of Queensberry was secretary of state, he made Mr Rowe his under-secretary for public all'airs; but, after the Duke's death, the avenues to his preferment being stopped, he passed his time in retireinent during the rest of Queen Anne's reign. On the accession of George I, he was made poct laureat, and one of the land-surveyors of the customs in the port of London. He was also Clerk of the council to the Prince of Wales, and the Lord Chancellor Parker made him his secretary for the presentations; but he did not long enjoy these promotions, for he died Dec. 6. 1718 in the 15th year of his age.

THE FAIR PENITENT. Acted at Lincoln's Ion Fields 1703. This, as Dr. Johnson obseryes, 'is one of the most pleasing tragedies on the stage, where it still keeps its turns of appearing, and probably will long keep thein; for there is scarcely any work of any poet at once so interesting by the fable, and so delightful hy the language. The story is domestic, and therefore easily received by the imaginalion, and assimilated to common life; the diction is exquisitely harmonious, and soft or sprightly as occasion requires. The characler of Lothario seems to have been expanded by Richardson into Lovelace; but he has excelled his original in the moral efl'ect of the fiction. Lotharin, with gaiety which can not be haled, and bravery which cannot be dess sed, retains too much of the spectators kindness. It was in the power of Richardson alone to teach us at once esteem and detestation, to make virtuous resentment overpower all the benevolence whide wit, and elegance, and courage, naturally excite; and to loose at last the hero in the villain. In the year 1099 Mr. Powell played Luihario, and his dresser Warren performed the dead Lothario, unknown to Powell. About the middle of the distressful scene, Powell called aloud for his man, who answered him as loudly from the bier on the stage, “Here, Sir!” Powell ignorant of the part his man was acting, repeated immediately, “Come here this moment, you rascal! or I'll break all the bones in your skin.” Warren knew his hasty temper; therefore, without any reply, jumped off, with all his sables ahout him, which unfortunately were tied fast to the handles of the bier, and dragged it after him. Bat this was not all; the laugh and roar began in the audience, till it frightened poor Warren so much, that, with the bier at his tail, he drew down Calista, and overwhelmed her with the table, lamp, book, bones, together with all the lumber of the charnel-house. He lugged, till he broke off his trammels, and made his escape; and the play, at once, ended with immoderate fits of laughter




Servants to Sciolto ete.
SCENE.-Sciolto's Palace and the Garden, with some Part of the Street near it, in GENOA.


| That kindly grants what nature bad deny'd me, Scene l.- A Garden belonging to Sciolto's And makes me father of a son like thee. Palace.

Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast,

Pour out the fulness of my soul before you; Enter ALTAMONT and HorATIO.

Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful thought, Alt. Let this auspicious day be ever sacred, This wondrous goodness stirs. But'tis impossible, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it: And utterance all is vile; since I can only Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings; Swear you reign here, but never tell how much. Let happy lovers ever make it boly,

Sci. O, noble youth! I swear, since first I Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their

koew thee, wishes.

Ev'n from that day of sorrow when I saw thee This happy day, that gives me my Calista. Adorn’d and lovely in thy filial tears,

Hor. Yes, Altamont; to-day thý better stars The mourner and redeemer of thy father,
Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee; I set thee down and seal'd thee for my own:
Sciolto's noble band, that rais'd thee first, Thou art my son, ev'n near me as Calista.
Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, Horatio and Lavinia too are mine;
Completes its bounty, and restores thy name

[Embraces Hor. To that high rank and lustre which it boasted, All are my children, and shall share my

heart. Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot

But wherefore waste we thus this happy day? The merit of thy god-like father's arms; The laughing minutes summon thee to joy, Before that country, which he long had serv'd And with new pleasures court thee as they pass; In watchful councils and in winter camps, Thy waiting bride ev’n chides thee for delaying, Had cast off bis white age to want and wrelch- And swears thou com'st not with a bridegroom's edness,

haste. And made their court to factions by his ruin. Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one thought All. Oh, great Sciolto! -Oh, my more than

of Altamont, father!

One kind remembrance in Calista's breast, Let me not live, but at thy very name The winds, with all their wings, would be too My eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy.

slow When I forget the vast, vast debt I'owe thee- To bear me to her feet. For, oh, my father! Forget! (but 'lis impossible) then let me Amidst the stream of joy that hears me on, Forget the use and privilege of reason,

Blest as I am, and honour'd in your friendship, Be driven from the commerce of mankind, There is one pain that bangs upon my heart. To wander in the desert among brutes,

Sci. What means my son?
To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heav'n! Alt. When, at your intercession,

Hor. So open, so unbounded was his goodness, Last night, Calista yielded to my happiness,
It reach'd even me, because I was thy friend. Just ere we parted, as I seal'd my vows
When that great man I lov'd, thy noble father, With rapture on her lips, I found her cold,
bequeath'd ihy gentle sister to my arms,

As a dead lover's statue on his tomb; His last dear pledge and legacy of friendship. A rising storm of passion shook her breast, That happy tie made me Sciolto's son; Her eyes a piteous show'r of tears let fall, He calld us bis, and with a parent's fondness, And then she sigh'd as if her heart were lodulg'd us in his wealth, bless'd us with plenty,

breaking. Heard all our cares, and sweetend love itself. With all the tend'rest eloquence of love All. By beav'n, he found my fortunes so I bego'd to be a sharer in her grief: abandond,

But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze me, That nothing but a miracle could raise 'cm: Sadly, reply'd, her sorrows were her own, My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude, Nor in a father's power to dispose of. Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him e'en a grave. Sci. Away! it is the coz'nage of their sex; Cndone myself, and sinking with his ruin, One of the common arts they practise on us: I bad no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him, To sigh and weep then when their hearts beat high But fruitless tears.

With expectation of the coming joy. Hor. Yet what thou couldst thou didst, Thou hast in camps and fighting fields been bred, And didst it like a son; when his hard creditors, Unknowing in the subtleties of women; Urg'd and assisted by Lothario's father The virgin bride, who swoons with deadly fear, (Foe to thy house, and rival of their greatness), To see the end of all her wishes near, By sentence of the crucl law forbade When blushing from the light and public eyes, His renerable corpse to rest in earth, To the kind covert of the night she flies, Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones; With equal fires to meet the bridegroom moves, Hear'n, who beheld the pious act, approv'd it, Melts in his arms, and with a loose she loves. And bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy,

[Ereunt. To bless thy filial virtue with abundance.

Enter LOTHARIO and Rossano. Alt. But see, he comes, the author of my happiness,

Loth. The father, and the husband!
The man who sar'd my life from deadly sorrow,

Ros. Let them pass.
Who bids my days be blest with peace and plenty, They saw us not.
And satisfies my soul with love and beauty. Lot. I care not if they did;

Ere long I mean to meet 'em face to face, Enter Sciolto; he runs to ALTAMONT, and And gall 'em with my triumph o'er Calisla. embraces him.

Ros. You lov'd her once. Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont! Joy to myself! Loth. I lik'd her, would have marry'd her, Joy to this happy morn, that makes thee mine; But that it pleas'd her father to refuse me,

To make this honourable fool her husband; Never to load it with the marriage chain :
For which, if I forget him, may the shame That I would still retain her in my heart,
I mean to brand his name with, stick on mine. My ever gentle mistress and my friend;
Ros. She, gentle soul, was kinder than her But for those other names of wise and husband,

They only meant ill nature, cares, and quarrels. Loth. She was, and oft in private gave me Ros. How bore she this reply ? hearing;

Loth. At first her rage was dumb, and Till, by long list’ning to the soothing tale,

wanted words; At length her easy heart was wholly mine. But when the storm found way, 'twas wild and Ros. I've heard you oft describe her haughty,

loud: insolent,

Mad as the priestess of the Delphic god, And fierce with high disdain : it moves my Enthusiastic passion swelld her breast, wonder,

Enlarg'd her voice, and ruffled all her form. That virtue thus defended, should be yielded Proud, and disdainful of the love I proffer'd, A prey to loose desires.

She call'd me villain! monster! base betrayer! Loth. Hear then I'll tell thee:

At last, in very bitterness of soul, Once in a lone and secret hour of night, With deadly imprecations on herself, When ev'ry eye was clos'd, and the pale moon She vow'd severely ne'er to see me more; And stars alone shone conscious of the theft, Then bid me fly that minute: I obey'd, Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood, And, bowing, left her to grow cool at leisure. Hap'ly I stole unheeded to her chamber. Ros. She has relented since, else why tbis Ros. That minute sure was lucky.

'message, Loth. Oh, 'twas great!

To meet the keeper of her secrets here I found the fond, believing, love-sick maid, This morning? Loose, unattir’d, warm, tender, full of wishes; Loth. See the person whom you nam'd. Fierceness and pride, the guardians of her honour,

Enter LUCILLA. Were charm'd to rest, and love alone was waking. Well, my ambassadress, what must we treat of? Within her rising bosom all was calm, Come you to menace war and proud defiance, As peaceful seas that know no storms, and only Or does the peaceful olive grace your message? Are gently lifted up and down by tides. Is your fair mistress calmer? Does she soften? I snatch'd the glorious, golden opportunity, And must we love again? Perhaps she means And with prevailing, youthful ardour press’d her; To treat in juncture with her new ally, Till, with short sighs, and murmuring reluctance, And make her husband party to th' agreement. The yielding fair one gave me perfect happiness. Luc. Is this well done, my lord? Have you Ex'n'all the live-long night we pass'd in bliss, In ecstasies too fierce to last for ever; All sense of human nature? Keep a little, At length the morn and cold indiff'rence came; A little pity, to distinguish manhood. When, fully sated with the luscious banquet, Lest other men,though cruel,should disclaim you, I hastily took leave, and left the nymph And judge you to be number'd with the brutes. To think on what was past, and sigh alone. Loth. I see thou'st learn’d to rail. Ros. You saw her soon again?

Luc. I've learn'd to weep: Loth. Too soon I saw her:

That lesson my sad mistress often gives me: For, oh! that meeting was not like the former: By day she seeks some melancholy shade, I found my beart no more beat high with trans- To hide her sorrows from the prying world; port,

At night she watches all the long, long hours, No more I sigh'd and languish'd for enjoyment; And listens to the winds and beating rain, 'Twas past, and reason took her turn to reign, With sighs as loud, and tears that fall as fast. While ev'ry weakness fell before her throne. Then ever and anon she wrings her hands, Ros. What of the lady?

And cries, false, false Lothario! Loth. With uneasy fondness

Loth. Oh, no more! She hung upon me, wept, and, sigh'd and swore I swear thou'lt spoil thy pretly face with crying, She was undone; talk'd of a priest and marriage; And thou hast beauty that may make thy fortune: Of flying with me from her father's pow'r; Some keeping cardinal shall dote upon thee, Calld ev'ry saint and blessed angel down, And barter his church treasure for thy freshness. To witness for her that she was my wise. Luc. What! shall I sell my innocence and I started at that name.

youth, Ros. What answer' made you?

For wealth or titles, to perfidious man? Loth. None; but pretending sudden pain To man, who makes his mirth of our undoing! and illness,

The base, profess'd betrayer of our sex! Escap'd the persecution. Two nights since, Let me grow old in all misfortunes else, By message urg'd and frequent importunity, Rather than know the sorrows of Calista! Again I saw her. Straight with tears and sighs, Loth. Does she send thec to chide in her behalf? With swelling breasts, with swooning and I swear thou dost it with so good a grace, distraction,

That I could almost love thee for thy frowning; With all the subtleties and pow'rful arts Luc. Read there, my lord, there, in her own sad Of wilful woman lab'ring for her purpose,

[Giving a Letter. Again she told the same dull, nauseous tale. Which best can tell the story of her woes, Unmov'd, I begg'd her spare th' ungrateful That grief of heart which your unkindness

subject, Since I resolvd, that love and peace of mind Loth. [Reads)* Your cruelty - Obedience Might flourish long inviolate betwixt us, to my father-give my hand to Altamont.

put off


gives her.


By heav'n, 'tis well! such ever be the gifts And never grace thc public with his virtues.With which I greet the man whom my soul What if I give this paper to her father? hates,

[ Aside. It follows that his justice dooms her dead, But to go on

And breaks his heart with sorrow; hard return -wish-heurt- honour too faithless For all the good his hand has heap'd on us! weakness - to-morrow- - last trouble-- lost Hold, let me take a moment's thoughtCalista. Women, I see, can change as well as men.

Enter LAVINIA. She writes me here, forsaken as I am,

Lav. My lord! That I should bind my brows with mournful Trust me it joys my heart that I have found you. willow,

Inquiring wherefore you had left the company, For she has giv'n her hand to Altamont :

Before my brother's nuptial rites were ended, Yet tell the fair inconstant

They told me you had felt some sudden illness. Luc. How, my lord!

Hor. It were unjust-No, let me spare my
Loth. Nay, no more angry words: say to

Lock up the fatal secret in my breast

, The humblestof her slaves shall wait her pleasure; Nor tell him that which will undo his quiet If she can leave ber happy husband's arms,

Lav. What means my lord ? To think upon so lost a thing as I am.

Hor. Ha! said'st thou, my Lavinia ? Luc. Alas! for pity, come with gentler looks : Lav. Alas! you know not what you make Wound not her heart with this unmanly triumph;

me suffer. And though you love her not, yet swear you do; Whence is that sigh? And wherefore are your So shall dissembling once be virtuous in you. Severely rais'd to hear?n? The sick man thus,

Luc. The bridegroom's friend, Horatio. Acknowledging the summons of his fate,

for He must not see us here. To morrow early Lifts up his feeble hands and eyes mercy, Be at the garden gate.

And with confusion thinks upon his exit.
Loth. Bear to my love

Hor. Oh, no! thou hast mistook my sickMy kindest thoughts, and swear I will not fail her.

ness quite; (Lothario putting up the Letter hastily, These pangs are of the soul. Would I had met drops it as he goes out. E.reunt Lo-Sharpest convulsions, spotted pestilence, thario and Rossano one Way, Lucilla Or any other deadly foe to life, another.

Rather than heave beneath this load of thought!

Lav. Alas! what is it? Wherefore turn you Enter HORATIO.

from me? Hor. Sure 'tis the very error of my eyes; Why did you falsely call me your Lavinia, Waking I dream, or I beheld Lothario; And swear I was Horatio's better half, He seem'd conferring with Calista's woman: Since now you mourn unkindly by yourself, At my approach they started and retir'd. And rob me of my partnership of sadness? What business could he bave here, and with her? Hor. Seek not to know what I would hide I know he bears the noble Altamont

from all, Profess'd and deadly hate - What paper's this? But most from thee. I never knew a pleasure,

[Taking up the Letter. Aught that was joyful, fortunațe, or good, Ra! To Lothario!-'Sdeath! Calista's name! But straight I ran to bless thee with the tidings,

[Opens it and reads. And laid up all my happiness with thee: Your cruelty has at length determined me; But wherefore, wherefore should I give thee and I have resolv'd this morning to yield

pain? 4 perfect obedience to my father, and to Then spare me, I conjure thee; ask no further; give my hand to Altamont, in spite of my Allow my melancholy thoughts this privilege, peakness for the false Lothario. I could And let 'em brood in secret o'er their sorrows. almost wish I had that heart and that honour Lao. It is enough; chide not, and all is well! to bestow with it, which you have robbed Forgive me if I saw you sad, Horatio, me of:

And ask'd to weep out part of your misfortunes: Damnation! to the rest

I wo'not press to know what


forbid me. But, oh! I fear, could I retrieve 'em, 1 Yet, my lov'd lord, yet you must grant me this, should again be undone by the too faithless, Forget your cares for this one happy day, jet too lovely Lothario. This is the last Devote this day to mirth, and to your

Altamont; weakness of my pen, and to-morrow shall For bis dear sake, let


looks. be the last in which I will indulge my eyes. Ev'n now the jocund bridegroom waits your Lucilla shall conduct you, if you are kind

wishes. enough to let me see you; it shall be the He thinks the priest has but half bless'd his last trouble you shall meet with from the

marriage, lost

Calista. Till his friend hails him with the sound of joy. The lost, indeed! for thou art gone as far Hor. Oh, never, never, never! Thou art As there can be perdition. Fire and sulphur!

innocent: Hell is the sole avenger of such crimes. Simplicity from ill, pure pative truth, Oh, that the ruin were but all thy own! And candour of the mind, adorn thee ever; Thou wilt ev'o make thy father curse his age: But there are such, such false ones, in the world, At sight of this black scroll, the gentle Altamont 'Twould fill thy gentle soul with wild amazement (For, ob! I know his heart is set upon thee) To hear their story told. Shall droop and hang bis discontented head, Lav. Falșe ones, my lord! Like merit scorn'd by insolent authority, Hur. Fatally fair they are, and in their smile's


[ocr errors][merged small]

be in your

« 이전계속 »