My heart still doubts if I should love or hate you-And call him to this hated light again,
But, oh, since you resolve to wed another, To see Andromache in Pyrrhus' arms?
Defer your cruel purpose till to-morrow, Would Hector, were he living, and I dead,
That I may not be here to grace your triumph! Forget Andromache, and wed her foe?
This is the last request I e'er shall make you. Ceph. I cannot guess what drift your thoughts
See, if the barbarous prince vouchsafes an
answer!

Go, then, to the lov'd Phrygian; hence! be gone!
And bear to her those vows that once were mine:
Go, in defiance to the avenging gods!
Be gone! the priest expects you at the altar;
But, tyrant, have a care I come not thither. [Exit.

Enter PHOENIX.

Phoe. Sir, did you mind her threats? your
life's in danger:

There is no trifling with a woman's rage.
The Greeks that swarm about the court, all
hate you;

Will treat you as their country's enemy,
And join in her revenge: besides, Orestes
Still loves her to distraction. Sir, I beg -
Pyr. How, Phoenix, should I fear a wo-
man's threats?

greatness,

Should leave thee so expos'd to wild desires, That hurry thee beyond the bounds of reason! [Flourish.

But

see, the queen, Magnificent in royal pride, appears.

I must obey, and guard her son from danger.

pursue;

But, oh, I fear there's something dreadful in it!
Must, then Astyanax be doom'd to die,
And you to linger out a life in bondage?
Andro. Know then the secret purpose of
my soul:

Andromache will not be false to Pyrrhus,
Nor violate her sacred love to Hector.
This hour I'll meet the king; the holy priest
Shall join us, and confirm our mutual vows.
This will secure a father to my child:
That done, I have no further use for life:
This pointed dagger, this determin'd hand,
Shall save my virtue, and conclude my woes.
Cephisa, thou

Wilt lend a hand to close thy mistress' eyes.
Ceph. Oh, never think that I will stay behind

you!

Andro. No, my Cephisa, I must have thee live. A nobler passion takes up all my thoughts: I must commit into thy faithful hands I must prepare to meet Andromache. All that is dear and precious to my soul. Do thou place all my guards about her son: Live, and supply my absence to my child; If he be safe, Pyrrhus is free from fear. [Exit. All that remains of Troy; a future progeny Phoe. Oh, Pyrrhus! oh, what pity 'tis, the gods, Of heroes, and a distant line of kings, Who fill'd thy soul with every kingly virtue, In him, is all intrusted to thy care. Form'd thee for empire and consummate Tell him my soul repos'd itself on him, When I resign'd my son to his protection. Ceph. Oh, for a spirit to support my grief! Is there aught more, before you go for ever? Andro. Oh, my Cephisa! my swoln heart is full! I have a thousand farewells to my sonBut tears break in! Grief interrupts my speech! My soul o'erflows in fondness! Let him know I died to save him-and would die again. Season his mind with carly hints of glory; Make him acquainted with his ancestors; Trace out their shining story in his thoughts; Dwell on the exploits of his immortal father; And sometimes let him hear his mother's name. He must be taught to stifle his resentments, And sacrifice his vengeance to his safety. Should he prove headstrong, rash, or unadvis'd, He then will frustrate all his mother's virtue, Provoke his fate, and I shall die in vain. Geph. Alas, I fear I never shall outlive you! Andro. No more; thy tears, Cephisa, will betray me;

[Exit.

and

Enter ANDROMACHE and CEPHISA.
Ceph. Madam, once more you look
move a queen.
Your sorrows are dispers'd, your charms revive,
And every faded beauty blooms anew.
Andro. Yet all is not as I could wish, Cephisa.
Ceph. You see the king is watchful o'er
your son;

Decks him with princely robes, with guards
surrounds him.

Astyanax begins to reign already.

Andro. Pyrrhus is nobly minded; and I fain
Would live to thank him for Astyanax:
Tis a vain thought. flowever, since my child
Hlas such a friend, I ought not to repine.
Ceph. These dark unfoldings of your soul
perplex me.

For heaven's sake, madam, let me know your
griefs.

If you distrust my faith

Andro. That were to wrong thee.
Oh, my Cephisa! This gay, borrow'd air,
This blaze of jewels, and this bridal dress,
Are but mock trappings, to conceal my woe:
My heart still mourns; I still am Hector's widow.
Ceph. Will you then break the promise
giv'n to Pyrrhus,

Blow

up his rage again, and blast your hopes? Andro. I thought, Cephisa, thou hadst known thy mistress.

Couldst thou believe I would be false to Hector?
Fall off from such a husband! Break his rest,

Assume a cheerful look. But still remember-
[Flourish within.
Hark how the trumpet, with its sprightly notes,
Proclaims th'appointed hour, and calls us hence:
Hector, I come once more a queen, to join thee!
Thus the gay victim, with fresh garlands crown'd,
Pleas'd with the sacred fife's enlivening sound,
Through gazing crowds,in solemn state proceeds,
And dress'd in fatal pomp magnificently bleeds.
[Exeunt.

ACT V.
SCENE I.

Enter HERMIONE.

Her. What have I done? Where am I?
Where is Pyrrhus?

Ye gods! what mean these horrors? I'm undone
My soul is on the rack! I cannot bear it
Why do I wander like some guilty ghost?

What brought me to this place? What keeps

me here?

Her. No, I'll avenge myself; I'll to the temple;
I'll overturn the altar, stab the priest;
I'll hurl destruction, like a whirlwind, round me!
They must not wed! they must not live! they
shall not!

The court of Pyrrhus has no room for me!
Do I still doubt if I should love or hate him?
Hard-hearted man! how unconcern'd he left me!
Did he once sigh? bestow one pitying look? Let me be gone; I have no time to lose;
Once shed a tear? or speak one soft, kind word? Stand off! hold me not! I am all distraction!
Did he so much as feign one moment's sorrow, O Pyrrhus! tyrant! traitor! thou shalt bleed.
To calm my grief, and mitigate his falsehood?
Why am I still thus anxious for his life?
Why do I start at his impending fate?

Shall he then live? Shall the base traitor live
To laugh at my distress? No, let him perish!
Be quick, Orestes! Execute my orders!
Alas! my orders! Oh, preposterous guilt!
Can I decree the death of him I love?
Was it for this my soul delighted in him?
Was it for this I left my father's court?
Have I then cross'd so many realms and seas
To murder Pyrrhus?

Enter CLEOne.

Oh, Cleone, help me!
What have I done? Is Pyrrhus yet alive?
What say'st thou? Answer me. Where is
the king?

Cle. Madam, I saw the cruel prince set forward,
Triumphant in his looks, and full of joy.
Still as he walk'd, his ravish'd eyes were fix'd
On the fair captive; while through shouting
crowds

Enter OREStes.

Ores. Madam, 'tis done: your orders are
obey'd:

The tyrant lies expiring at the altar.
Her. Is Pyrrhus slain?

Ores. Even now he gasps in death.
Our Grecks, all undistinguish'd in the crowd,
Flock'd to the temple and dispers'd themselves
On every side the altar: I was there:
Pyrrhus observ'd me with a, haughty eye,
And, proud to triumph over Greece in me,
From his own brows he took the diadem,
And bound it on the temples of his captive.
Receive, said he, my crown; receive my faith;
Mine and my people's sovereign reign for ever.
From this blest hour, a father to your son,
I'll scourge his foes: henceforward be he styl'd
The Trojan king: I swear it at the altar,
And call the gods to ratify my vows.
His subjects with loud acclamations shook
The spacious dome! our Greeks enrag'd cry'd out
"Revenge! revenge!" broke through the throng-
ing press,

She pass'd along with a dejected air,
And seem'd to mourn her Hector to the last.
Her. Insulting tyrant! I shall burst with rage! And rush'd tumultuous on the unguarded king.
But say, Cleone, didst thou mark him well? Pyrrhus awhile oppos'd their clashing swords,
Was his brow smooth? Say, did there not appear And dealt his fatal blows on every side
Some shade of grief? some little cloud of sorrow? With manly fierceness; till oppress'd by
Did he not stop? Did he not once look back?

numbers,

Didst thou approach him? Was he not con- Streaming with blood, all over gash'd with

founded?

Did he not-Oh, be quick, and tell me all!
Cle. Madam, the tumult of his joy admits
No thought but love. Unguarded he march'd on,
'Midst a promiscuous throng of friends and foes,
His cares all turn upon Astyanax,
Whom he has lodg'd within the citadel,
Defended by the strength of all his guards.
Her. Enough! he dies! the traitor! Where's
Orestes?

Cle. He's in the temple, with his whole retinue.
Her. Is he still resolute? Is he still determin'd?
Cle. Madam, I fear-

Her. How? Is Orestes false?
Does he betray me too?

Cle. A thousand doubts

Perplex his soul, and wound him with remorse;
His virtue and his love prevail by turns.
He told me Pyrrhus should not fall ignobly;
Pyrrhus, the warlike son of great Achilles,
He dreads the censure of the Grecian states,
Of all mankind, and fears to stain his honour.
Her. Poor tim'rous wretch! 'tis false! he
basely fears

To cope with dangers, and encounter death!
Tis that he fears. Am I bright Helen's daughter?
To vindicate her wrongs all Greece conspir'd;
For her confederate nations fought, and kings
were slain;

wounds,

He reel'd, he groan'd, and at the altar fell.
Haste, madam, let us fly! haste to our ships!
They lie unmoor'd: our friends attend us there.
Her. What have they done?

I

Ores. Madam, forgive their rage.
own your vengeance had been more complete
Had Pyrrhus fall'n by me; and had he known
Hermione chastis'd him by my arm.

Her. Peace, monster, peace! Go tell thy
horrid tale

To savages, and howl it out in deserts.
Wouldst thou impute to me thy barbarous guilt?
Me wouldst thou make th' accomplice of thy

crimes?

Hence, to thy Greeks, and boast thy foul ex-
ploits!

My soul abhors them! I disclaim the deed.
Be gone! I know thee not, thou fell barbarian!
What had he done? What could provoke thy
madness

To assassinate so great, so brave a man?
Who set thee on?

Ores. Oh, grant me patience, heaven!
With your own lips did you not curse the tyrant,
Pronounce his death, and urge me to destroy
him?

Her. What if, transported by my boundless passion,

Troy was o'erthrown, and a whole empire fell. I could not bear to see him wed another, My eyes want force to raise a lover's arm Were you t' obey a jealous woman's frenzy? Against a tyrant that has dar'd to wrong me! You should have div'd into my inmost thoughts: Cle, Madam, like Helen, trust your cause My heart, though full of rage, was free from

to Greece.

malice;

And all my anger was excess of love.
Why did you take me at my word? You saw
The struggles of my soul; you heard me rave:
You should have question'd me a thousand times,
Yet still have doubled, and have question'd on,
Before you ventur'd on a life so precious.
Ores. Hear me but speak. Heaven knows,
against my will —

Her. Why did you not return? Why not
consult me

A second time? and, undetermin'd still,
Again return, and still find new delays?
What had your rash officious Greeks, dire
bloodhounds!

To do with my revenge? What drew you hither?
To bring on me the vengeful foes that haunt you?
Are these the fruits of your detested love?
Your fatal embassy, your hateful presence
Drove Pyrrhus to my rival, and destroys
Both him and me. He might have lov'd me still,
Had you ne'er interpos'd. Avaunt! be gone!
And leave me in Epirus. I renounce
My friends, my country, Greece, and all
mankind:

But chiefly I renounce thee! monster, thee!

[Exit.

A dreadful instance of your power to punish.
I'm singled out to bear the wrath of heaven.
Pyl. You hazard your retreat by these delays.
The guards will soon beset us. Your complaints
Are vain, and may be fatal.

Ores. True, my friend:

And therefore 'twas I thank'd the bounteous gods.
My fate's accomplish'd; I shall die content.
Oh, bear me hence. Blow winds!

Pyl. Let us be gone.

Ores. The murder'd lovers wait me. Hark!
they call.

Nay, if your blood still reeks, I'll mingle mine;
One tomb will hold us all.
Pyl. Alas! I fear

His raving will return with his misfortunes.
Ores. I am dizzy! Clouds! Quite lost in
utter darkness!

Guide me, some friendly pilot! through the storm,
I shiver! Oh, I freeze! So-light returns;
'Tis the grey dawn. See, Pylades! behold,
I am encompass'd with a sea of blood!
The crimson billows! Oh, my brain's on fire!
Pyl. How is it, sir? Repose yourself on me.
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;

Be not too rash. Was that Hermione?
Why should her anger thunder against me?
Was not this blood shed all by her command?
I am indeed a most outrageous monster!
A ruffian, murderer, a base assassin!
And all to please a false ungrateful woman.
Henceforward let the laws of nature cease;
And let the pale that severs right and wrong,
Things sacred and profane, be broken down;
Gods in their temples, kings upon their thrones,
Are not in safety while Orestes lives.

Oh, never more shall my torn mind be heal'd,
Nor taste the gentle comforts of repose!
A dreadful band of gloomy cares surround me,
And lay strong siege to my distracted soul.

Enter PYLADES, attended by Greeks.
Pyl. Haste, prince; let us be gone: 'tis death
to stay.
Andromache reigns queen: she gives the alarm,
And vows revenge upon the foes of Pyrrhus.
The people arm and muster in the streets:
Our Greeks will not he able long to guard
The palace gates, and to secure our flight.
We must be speedy, sir.

Ores. You may depart,

My friends: Hermione and 1 remain.
Her cruelty has quite undone me.

Go.

Have at thee.

It is Hermione that strikes. Confusion!
She catches Pyrrhus in her arms. Oh, save me
me!
How terrible she looks! She knits her brow;
She frowns me dead; she frights me into madness.
Where am I? Who are you?

Pyl. Alas, poor prince!

Help to support him. How he pants for breath!
Ores. This is most kind, my Pylades. Oh, why,
Why was I born to give thee endless trouble?
Pyl. All will go well: he settles into reason.
Ores. Who talks of reason? Better to have
none,

Than not enough. Run, some one, tell my Greeks
I will not have them touch the king. Now, now!
I blaze again! See there: look where they come;
A shoal of furies. How they swarm about me
My terror! Hide me! Oh, their snaky locks!
Hark,how they hiss! See,see their flaming brands!
Now they let drive at me! How they grin,
And shake their iron whips! My ears! what
yelling!

And see, Hermione! she sets them on.
Thrust not your scorpions thus into my bosom!
Oh, I am stung to death! Dispatch me soon!
There-take my heart, Hermione! Tear it out!
Disjoint me! kill me! Oh, my tortur'd soul!
Pyl. Kind heaven, restore him to his wonted
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! Waken'd from the dire amaze, Triumphant villains! The base, giddy rabble,
She rais'd her eyes to heaven with such a look Whose hands should all have been employ'd
As spoke her sorrows, and reproach'd the gods;
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.

with fire,

princess:

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

[To Phoenix.

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 majesty secure, if in your temples
You give it no protection? See, the queen.
A Flourish of Trumpets. Enter ANDROMACHE
and CEPHISA with Attendants.
Andro. Yes, ye inhuman Greeks! the time
will come

Let him be rob'd in all his regal state;
Place round him every shining mark of honour;
And let the pile that consecrates his ashes,
Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds.
[Exit Phoenix. A Flourish of Trumpets.
Ceph. The sound proclaims th' arrival of
the prince,

When you shall dearly pay your bloody deeds!!
How should the Trojans hope for mercy from you,
When thus you turn your impious rage on The guards conduct him from the citadel.
Andro. With open arms I'll meet him!-
: O Cephisa!

Pyrrhus?

Pyrrhus, the bravest man in all your league;
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,
An ecstasy that mothers only feel,
Plays round my heart, and brightens up my

Is my child there?
Ceph. It is the corpse of Pyrrhus;
The weeping soldiers bear him on their shields.
Andro. Ill-fated prince! too negligent of life,
And too unwary of the faithless Greeks!
Cut off in the fresh rip'ning prime of manhood,
E'en in the prime of life! thy triumphs new,
And all thy glories in full blossom round thee!
The very Trojans would bewail thy fate.

sorrow,

Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring sky.
Though plung'd in ills, and exercis'd in care,
Yet never let the noble mind despair.
When press'd by dangers, and beset with foes,
The gods their timely succour interpose;
And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with
grief,

Ceph. Alas! then will your sorrows never end?
Andro. Oh, never, never! - While I live, By unforeseen expedients bring relief. [Exeunt.
my tears

ROWE.

NICHOLAS ROWE, son of John Rowe, Esq. sergeant at law, was born at Little Berkford, in Bedfordshire, anno 1673. His education was begun at a private seminary in Highgate, from whence he was removed to Westminster school, where he was perfected in classical literature under Doctor Busby. 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 profession, if the love of poetry and the belles lettres had not to much attracted his attention. At the age of twenty-five he wrote his first tragedy, The Ambitious Step-mother, the great success of which made him eatirely lay aside all thoughts of the law. Dr. Johnson demands: "Whence then has Rowe his reputation? From the reasonableness and propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his diction, and the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves either pity or terror, but he often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he always delights the ear, and often improves the understanding." Being a great admirer of Shakspeare, he gave the public an edition of his plays, to which he prefixed an account of that great man's life. But the most considerable of Mr. Rowe's performances, was a translation 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 not 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 retirement during the rest of Queen Anne's reign. On the accession of George I, he was made poet 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 45th year of his age.

THE FAIR PENITENT.

ACTED at Lincoln's Inn Fields 1705. This, as Dr. Johnson observes, is one of the most pleasing tragedies on the stage, where it still keeps its turns of appearing, and probably will long keep them; for there is scarcely any work of any poet at once so interesting by the fable, and so delightful by the language. The story is domestic, and therefore casily received by the imagination, and assimilated to common life; the diction is exquisitely harmonious, and soft or sprightly as occasion requires. The character of Lothario seems to have been expanded by Richardson into Lovelace; but he has excelled his original in the moral effect of the fiction. Lothario, with gaiety which can not be hated, and bravery which cannot be despised, 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 which wit, and elegance, and courage, naturally excite; and to loose at last the hero in the villain. In the year 1699 Mr. Powell played Lothario, 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 about him, which unfortunately were tied fast to the handles of the bier, and dragged it after him. But 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 inmoderate fits of laughter

SCENE.-SCIOLTO's Palace and the Garden, with some Part of the Street near it, in GENOA,

ACT I.

That kindly grants what nature had deny'd me,

SCENE I-A Garden belonging to SCIOLTO'S And makes me father of a son like thee.

Palace.

Enter ALTAMONT and HORATIO.

Alt. LET this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it: Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings; Let happy lovers ever make it holy,

Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their wishes.

Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast,
Pour out the fulness of my soul before you;
Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful thought,
This wondrous goodness stirs. But'tis impossible,
And utterance all is vile; since I can only
Swear you reign here, but never tell how much.
Sci. O, noble youth! I swear, since first I
knew thee,

Ev'n from that day of sorrow when I saw thee
Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial tears,
The mourner and redeemer of thy father,
I set thee down and seal'd thee for my own:
Thou art my son, ev'n near me as Calista.
Horatio and Lavinia too are mine;

[Embraces Hor.

This happy day, that gives me my Calista.
Hor. Yes, Altamont; to-day thy better stars
Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee;
Sciolto's noble hand, that rais'd thee first,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave,
Completes its bounty, and restores thy name
To that high rank and lustre which it boasted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The merit of thy god-like father's arms;
Before that country, which he long had serv'd
In watchful councils and in winter camps,
Had cast off bis white age to want and wretch-And swears thou com'st not with a bridegroom's

edness,

And made their court to factions by his ruin. Alt. Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than father!

All are my children, and shall share my heart.
But wherefore waste we thus this happy day?
The laughing minutes summon thee to joy,
And with new pleasures court thee as they pass;
Thy waiting bride ev'n chides thee for delaying,

haste.

Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one thought of Altamont,

One kind remembrance in Calista's breast,
The winds, with all their wings, would be too
slow

Let me not live, but at thy very name
My eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy.
When I forget the vast, vast debt I owe thee-To bear me to her feet. For, oh, my father!

Forget! (but 'tis impossible) then let me
Forget the use and privilege of reason,
Be driven from the commerce of mankind,
To wander in the desert among brutes,
To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heav'n!
Hor. So open, so unbounded was his goodness,
It reach'd even me,
because I was thy friend.
When that great man I lov'd, thy noble father,
Bequeath'd thy gentle sister to my arms,
His last dear pledge and legacy of friendship,
That happy tie made me Sciolto's son;
He call'd us his, and with a parent's fondness,
Indulg'd us in his wealth, bless'd us with plenty,
Ileal'd all our cares, and sweeten'd love itself.
Alt. By heav'n, he found my fortunes so
abandon'd,

That nothing but a miracle could raise 'em:
My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude,
Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him e'en a grave.
Undone myself, and sinking with his ruin,
had no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him,
But fruitless tears.

Hor. Yet what thou couldst thou didst,
And didst it like a son; when his hard creditors,
Urg'd and assisted by Lothario's father
(Foe to thy house, and rival of their greatness),
By sentence of the cruel law forbade
His venerable corpse to rest in earth,
Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones;
Heav'n, who beheld the pious act, approv'd it,
And bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy,
To bless thy filial virtue with abundance.
Alt. But see, he comes, the author of my
happiness,

The man who sav'd my life from deadly sorrow,
Who bids my days be blest with peace and plenty,
And satisfies my soul with love and beauty.

Enter SCIOLTO; he runs to ALTAMONT, and

embraces him.

Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont! Joy to myself! Joy to this happy morn, that makes thee mine;

Amidst the stream of joy that bears me on,
Blest as I am, and honour'd in your friendship,
There is one pain that hangs upon my heart.
Sci. What means my son?

All. When, at your intercession,
Last night, Calista yielded to my happiness,
Just ere we parted, as I seal'd my vows
With rapture on her lips, I found her cold,
As a dead lover's statue on his tomb;

A rising storm of passion shook her breast,
Her eyes a piteous show'r of tears let fall,
And then she sigh'd as if her heart were
breaking.

I

With all the tend'rest eloquence of love
begg'd to be a sharer in her grief:
But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze me,
Sadly reply'd, her sorrows were her own,
Nor in a father's power to dispose of.

Sci. Away! it is the coz'nage of their sex;
One of the common arts they practise on us:
To sigh and weep then when their hearts beat high
With expectation of the coming joy.
Thou hast in camps and fighting fields been bred,
Unknowing in the subtleties of women;
The virgin bride, who swoons with deadly fear,
To see the end of all her wishes near,
When blushing from the light and public eyes,
To the kind covert of the night she flies,
With equal fires to meet the bridegroom moves,
Melts in his arms, and with a loose she loves.
[Exeunt.

Enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO.
Loth. The father, and the husband!
Ros. Let them pass.

They saw us not.

Lot. I care not if they did;
And gall 'em with my triumph o'er Calista.
Ere long I mean to meet 'em face to face,
Ros. You lov'd her once.

Loth. I lik'd her, would have marry'd her,
But that it pleas'd her father to refuse me,