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THE LAW OF LOMBARDY; A TRAGEDY: AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.
WRITTEN BY ROBERT JEPHSON, ESQ. AUTHOR OF BRAGANZA.
LONDON. PRINTED FOR T. EVANS, NEAR YORK-BUILDINGS, STRAND. MDCCLXXIX. [Price One Shilling and Sixpence.]
TO THE KING.
[]SIR,
YOUR Majeſty's having graciouſly permitted me to prefix your royal name to this tragedy, has impreſs'd me with ſo deep a ſenſe of the honor, that I deſpair of find⯑ing terms ſufficient to expreſs my acknowledgments.
Tho' the public, which is ſeldom diſpoſed to receive favourably, performances deſtitute of merit, has been pleaſed to give this a very indulgent reception, I muſt ſtill regret its imperfections, when I conſider that it may for a moment become the object of your Majeſty's atten⯑tion. Having omitted nothing in my power to render it not entirely unworthy of ſuch an exalted patronage, I can't forbear to flatter myſelf, that it may raiſe in the breaſt of your Majeſty thoſe emotions which well imagined di⯑ſtreſs never fails to excite in the nobleſt natures: but at the ſame time I more anxiouſly wiſh, that no other un⯑eaſineſs but from ſuch fictitious ſorrow may ever ap⯑proach you; and that the greateſt and moſt amiable ſo⯑vereign in Europe, may be alſo for ever diſtinguiſhed as the moſt proſperous and happy.
I am, SIR,
Your Majeſty's moſt dutiful ſubject, and moſt obliged humble ſervant, ROBERT JEPHSON.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
[]- PALADORE, Mr. SMITH.
- KING, Mr. BENSLEY.
- RINALDO, Mr. PACKER.
- ASCANIO, Mr. HURST.
- LUCIO, Mr. FARREN.
- SENATOR, Mr. CHAMBERS.
- SHEPHERD, Mr. WRIGHT.
- FORESTERS,
- Mr. WRIGHTEN.
- Mr. FAWCET.
- SQUIRE TO PALADORE, Mr. PHILEMORE.
AND
- BIRENO, Mr. HENDERSON.
- PRINCESS, Miſs YOUNGE.
- ALINDA, Mrs. ROBINSON.
THE LAW OF LOMBARDY. A TRAGEDY.
[]ACT I.
SCENE I. A Chamber in the Palace.
BIRENO, ALINDA.
ALINDA.
I Wonder not you ſhould ſuſpect me ſlow
In this ſtrange office: had you but enjoin'd me,
Shut out the ſun ten times his annual rounds,
Feed all my life on pulſe, or with coarſe weeds
Obſcure the little grace which Nature's hand
Has lent my outſide, then, without a wherefore,
(From the meek humbleneſs of love I bear you)
My obedience wou'd have follow'd.
BIRENO.
Sweet impatience,
Smooth that contracted brow—
ALINDA.
But to commend
To any other woman, thoſe fond vows
I hop'd to own unpartner'd, is it leſs
Than to expect my tongue ſuborn'd, ſhould plead
Againſt the deareſt intereſt of my life,
And make me earneſt for my own undoing?
BIRENO.
[2]Muſt I again call down the ſaints to witneſs,
That for convenience only, not from love,
I ſeek to wed the princeſs? My ambition
Aims at the crown, her dower; were that bright gem
Heir'd by a pigmy, the meer mock of ſight,
By ideot drawling, and a ſhrew's perverſeneſs,
No leſs ſhou'd I deſire it. If I proſper,
My heart, as ever, ſhall be thine; and hers,
The dull legitimate languor of the huſband.
ALINDA.
But when to royal ſtate Sophia joins
Such rare endowments, as make doubtful ſtrife
'Twixt Nature's gifts, and Fortune's; can I hope
More than ſome grateful note from memory,
How much Alinda lov'd you?
BIRENO.
Truſt me, fair one,
Beauty's degrees are in the lover's fancy,
Not in a ſcal'd perfection. Varying nature
Has lineaments for every appetite:
Not her arch'd brows, nor ſtature Juno-like,
Her criſped treſſes ſpun from fineſt gold,
Nor the intelligent luſtre of her eye,
To me have half ſuch charms as thy ſoft mien,
The pure carnation of thy dimpling cheek,
And unaſſuming ſweet ſimplicity.—
But haſt thou urg'd my ſuit?
ALINDA.
Spite of ourſelves,
The tongue interprets from the abundant heart.
Bireno's image filling all my thoughts,
Cou'd I be ſilent on a theme ſo lov'd?
BIRENO.
And how does ſhe receive the gentle tale?
ALINDA.
[3]Sometimes ſhe chides, and ſometimes ſmiling tells me,
But that ſhe knows me wiſe, ſuch laviſh praiſe
Might hint a heart touch'd deeply, and ill ſuits
The ſober preference of an humble maid,
Who cannot hope to call you hers in honour.
Then with diſcreeteſt leſſons will ſhe ſchool me,
To guard my breaſt 'gainſt love; forgetting ſtill
How much ſhe wants the counſel ſhe beſtows.
BIRENO.
Does ſhe then love?
ALINDA.
She never told me ſo;
But ſigns far more ſignificant than ſpeech
Reveal it hourly.
BIRENO.
Let me know my rival,
Tho' my foreboding heart already whiſpers
It muſt be Paladore.
ALINDA.
Oh, rightly gueſs'd!
Her love for him makes her unjuſt to you.
BIRENO.
Curſes o'ertake him! Near his brighter fires
My ſtar ſhines dimly; I was wonder'd at
Till this new meteor ſhot acroſs men's eyes,
And drew all gaze to follow. At our tournaments
He foils me like a novice; in grave council
I prate unmark'd, while hoary heads bow down
In reverence to his weighty utterance;
And thus the upſtart hereſy of opinion
Runs on this ſmooth impoſtor—By what ſigns
Take you this note of her affection towards him?
ALINDA.
By ſuch we women deem infallible.
If unexpectedly ſhe hears him nam'd,
[4]Sweet diſcompoſure ſeizes all her frame;
Suffaſion, ſofter than Aurora's bluſh,
Spreads o'er her beauteous cheek. If ſhe expect
His preſence at the court, ſtudious to pleaſe,
Beyond her wonted elegance of dreſs,
With nicer care ſhe counſels at her glaſs,
To make the daintieſt workmanſhip of nature
By ornament more winning.
BIRENO.
Indications
That ſpeak, and ſhrewdly; yet their vanity
To catch the flattery of the fool they ſcorn,
Will bait ſuch hooks as theſe. Have you no proof
More unequivocal?
ALINDA.
What wou'd you more?
We reaſon from ourſelves, looking within,
We find in our own breaſts the according ſprings
Of motions ſimilar; when firſt I lov'd,
So did I wiſh to pleaſe, ſo doubt my power.
Yet more than this; her eye ſtill follows him,
And when the unwelcome hour of parting comes,
The chearful flame that lighted up her countenance
Expires; ſighs heave, and a ſoft ſilent tear
Steals down her cheek.
BIRENO.
Enough, I'm ſatisfied
She loves him, and the froſt of my reception
Conſpires in proof. Now then, my beſt Alinda!
You muſt aſſiſt me; on this ſingle puſh
Hang all my fortunes—If my rival wed her,
Farewel my hopes, my country—
ALINDA.
How! your country!
A voluntary exile for the loſs
Of one you ſwear you love not—
BIRENO.
[5]My poſſeſſions,
The means of pleaſure to my thriftleſs youth,
Moulder in confiſcation; thus my dukedom,
My royal anceſtry, and rank in the ſtate,
So ſcantily ſupported will but mock me.
A marriage with the princeſs wou'd heal all.
But if I fail, I will not ſtay to ſee
Upſtarts made rich by my inheritance;
Nor the proud finger of the ſlave I ſcorn
Point at the princely beggar.
ALINDA.
Oh, good heaven!
Deviſe, command—Can my beſt induſtry
Prevent this ruin? Tell me but the means,
And bid me fly.
BIRENO.
No more of jealouſy,
But with appliance dext'rous call her thoughts
To me, and my deſervings; ſpeak with ſlight
(Yet not as by ſuggeſtion) of my rival.
I've known more way made in a woman's grace
By ſuch confederate arts, than could be won
By a long ſiege of amorous enginry,
Soft flatteries, ſighs, proteſtings infinite,
And all the fervor of impatient love.
ALINDA.
But ſhould this fail!
BIRENO.
I'll ſpread a finer ſnare,
Subtle as fabled Vulcan forg'd in Lemnos,
To enmeſh them: thy ſoft hand, my dear Alinda!
Muſt help to hold the toils—
ALINDA.
But ſee, ſhe comes;
The king too and her lover—
BIRENO.
[6]I'll retire,
And ſeek thee preſently: rivet thine ear
Meantime to what they utter: thy report
Shall ſomewhat ſhape my courſe. High-flighted fool!
Check thy bold ſoaring, elſe my hot revenge
Shall melt thy waxed plumes, and hurl thee down
To a devouring ſea that roars beneath thee.
Exit.
Alinda retires.
SCENE II.
KING, PRINCESS, PALADORE, ATTENDANTS.
KING.
You ſhall no more, Sophia, to the chaſe;
This morning's danger makes my blood run cold.
Had not thy well-ſped lance, brave Paladore,
Pierc'd the huge boar that gor'd her foaming horſe,
Theſe eyes, now rais'd in thanks to heaven and thee,
Had wept her lifeleſs.
PALADORE.
Ever prais'd be Fortune,
That plac'd me near her! Since a common feat
That daily dies our weapons, thus ennobled
By bleſt conjunct on with her precious ſafety,
I would not change for the beſt garland won
By Caeſar's conquering ſword.
PRINCESS.
We are not nice
In dangers imminent to chuſe the means
Of our deliverance; yet, believe me, Sir,
More than for life preſerv'd, I thank the chance
That made you my preſerver. Th' unwelcome hand
Rendering us ſervice, like ſharp froſt in ſunſhine,
Chills the freſh bloſſom of our gratitude,
Which elſe uncheck'd would put forth all its ſweetneſs.
KING.
[7]I have much ſerious matter for your ear;
To Paladore.
Our helms muſt be lac'd cloſe, our ſwords new edg'd
'Gainſt fiercer foes than theſe rude foreſters,
That make us ſport with peril.
PALADORE.
By my life!
My cruel heart beats high to give it welcome;
For Virtue's teſt is action.
KING.
Thus my paper:
(Brief its contents, but fearful) Burgundy,
Stung by refuſal of my daughter's love,
Stirs up commotion 'gainſt our kingdom's peace;
And ſoon the golden grain of Lombardy
Shall be trod down beneath the furious heel
Of peaſants cas'd in iron.
PRINCESS.
Heaven avert it!
For ſure 'twere better I had ne'er been born,
Than live the fatal cauſe why war's rude blaſt
Diſturb'd the quiet of my father's age,
Which ſoft repoſe ſhou'd foſter. The griev'd people
Will chide your gentleneſs, that did not bend
My heart to this obedience; and your virtue,
Seen thro' th' unwelcome colour of the event,
For reverence find upbraiding.
KING.
No, Sophia!
I would not violate the meaneſt right
Of my leaſt ſubject, for the fear or promiſe
Of any iſſue. Is my child, my daughter,
(Sweet, duteous, amiable, burn free and royal)
Leſs charter'd from oppreſſion than a ſtranger?
A ſelf-invited wooer here he ſojourn'd,
To thrive as your approving gave him licence:
I fed him not with promiſe, you with hope,
[8]Nor ſhall audacious menace ere extort
What courteſy denied him.
PALADORE.
To his teeth
Hurl your defiance, King! 'tis proud to threaten,
But baſeneſs to be aw'd by it. From my breaſt
I'd tear theſe hallow'd ſymbols, give this ſteel
To be a baby's play-thing, cou'd my heart,
Diſtruſtful of the event, forbode one fear,
To caſt black preſage on a cauſe ſo noble.
KING.
Thou gem of Britain! Dear in my eſteem
As wert thou native here, be Pavias' ſhield
Her pride, her pillar; yes, our hardy files,
Led on by thee, ſhall drive the boaſter back,
To mourn at home his baffled preparations.
PALADORE.
Oh, wou'd the fortune of this glorious ſtrife
Hung on my arm alone!
KING.
Our daughter's hand
Is deſtin'd for a prince who draws his blood
From the ſame ſource as mine, our kingdom's heir,
(Did not this ſweet prevention ſtand between)
To bleſs Bireno with two matchleſs gifts,
Her beauty and a royal diadem.
PRINCESS.
Bireno, Sir!
KING.
Even he, I know his worth—
But is there poiſon in my kinſman's name?
It pales the healthful vermeil of your cheek,
Dims your bright eye, and viels your wonted ſmiles.
PRINCESS.
Alas! I cannot ſpeak—
KING.
[9]Why then, hereafter
Will better ſuit this ſubject. Sir, farewel!
We ſhall expect your aid to counſel with us,
What preſent mounds our wiſdom, beſt may raiſe
'Gainſt this loud torrent that at diſtance roars,
Ere it ruſh down to ſpread its ruin round us.
Exit.
SCENE III.
PRINCESS, PALADORE.
PRINCESS.
Oh, ſtay, and hear me now! Alas! he's gone
Who ſmiles on me, and kills me; bids my heart
Be traitor to itſelf, yet with ſoft words
Fetters my tongue, which free, wou'd boldly anſwer!
Such kindneſs but deſtroys me.
PALADORE.
My ſoul's idol!
I was indeed preſumptuous to believe
Theſe humble arms were deſtin'd to enfold
So vaſt a treaſure, yet aſpiring love
Hopes things impoſſible.
PRINCESS.
Bireno! He!
I'd rather waſte my life in ſingleneſs;
Like the pale votariſt, pour faint oriſons
At the cold ſhrines of ſenſeleſs marble ſaints,
And wear the eternal pavement with my knees,
Than at the ſacred altar load my ſoul
With holy perjuries, to love the man,
At whoſe approach my heart alarm'd ſhrinks back,
While thought confirms inſtinctive Nature's hate.
PALADORE.
See, like a haughty conqueror he comes;
Pleaſure and pride on his exulting brow
At diſtance ſpeak his triumph.
PRINCESS.
[10]Arm me, Diſdain,
To meet the bold intruder!—Gentle Paladore!
'Tis thus thy rival woo's me. Courtſhip's ſeaſon
Is the ſhort date of woman's ſovereignty.
For liberty, we have but in exchange
The little tribute of a lover's ſighs,
His humble ſeeming, and ſoft courteſy;
Yet theſe, he thinks too rich a ſacrifice,
And owns no advocate but pride in love.
SCENE IV. To them BIRENO.
BIRENO.
Confirm'd, fair princeſs! By the King's command
You ſee me here a joyful viſitant.
'Tis not unknown why warlike Burgundy,
Spreading his hoſtile banners to the wind,
Makes ſword and fire his dreadful harbingers.
PRINCESS.
The cauſe I have heard—But on.
PALADORE.
[Aſide.]
Down, ſwelling heart!
BIRENO.
Your yet unplighted hand gives to this war
Its edge and colour; to remove that prize
Beyond the invader's reach, my ſovereign's wiſdom
Deems the beſt means to blunt his hoſtile ſword;
Therefore on me he deigns—
PRINCESS.
I underſtand;
But have no preſent ear for ſuch a theme.
My father's goodneſs left my choice unforc'd
Of one unwelcome ſuitor; the ſame juſtice
Secures me from compulſion in a ſecond.
BIRENO.
And muſt I bear this anſwer to the King?
PRINCESS.
[11]Myſelf will be my own interpreter,
And ſave your trouble. Once more, Sir, I thank you.
To Paladore and exit.
SCENE V. BIRENO, PALADORE.
BIRENO.
Well! go thy ways, woman's epitome!
Beauteous aenigma! Who wou'd ſolve you rightly,
Muſt thus interpret: make your outward ſemblance
An index pointing to its contrary.
When your ſmooth poliſh'd vizors beam in ſmiles,
Diſpleaſure's at your hearts; the moody brow
Tells inward ſun-ſhine; tears are joy, not ſorrow;
You ſooth where you approve not, and look gall,
When ſweet content honies your appetites.
PALADORE.
Theſe common railings 'gainſt that gentle ſex,
Denote his humour more who utters them,
Than their defect, or any deep conception.
But you have choſen a ſeaſon for hard thoughts
Rebukes your cenſure; ſtill the chamber's air
Winnows her balmy breathing; from our eyes
Scarce glides her beauteous form, when your dark ſpleen
As venom'd things ſuck poiſon from ſweet flowers,
Finds matter for diſtemper's nouriſhment,
And food for calumny in excellence.
BIRENO.
Her form indeed is fair.
PALADORE.
Ay, and her mind
(If more can be) more fair, more amiable.
Thy never-render'd ſnow-cold Apenine,
Is not ſo free from taint, as from offence
Her ſpotleſs boſom; yet has ſhe a tear,
[12]Healing as balm for others frailties,
That makes remiſſion heavenly; ſweet perſuaſion
Hangs on her words with power oracular,
To ſhame the cynic's chiding—Spirit of truth!
She is thy viſible divinity,
And 'tis thy reverence to pay homage to her.
BIRENO.
'Tis to my wiſh
[Aſide.]
—I grant her well endow'd,And in fair ſeeming moſt pre-eminent;
But for theſe other virtues you have nam'd,
They are of different climes, and earlier ages;
Our Pavias ladies, caſt in earthly moulds,
They make the moſt of Nature's liberal gifts,
Put pleaſure out to uſury, and love
As eaſe, convenience, or the moment ſways them.
PALADORE.
You're pleaſant, lord!
BIRENO.
No, ſoberly thy friend.
Shall I be plain?
PALADORE.
What call you your paſt meaſure,
Was it a courtier's ſtrain!
BIRENO.
You love the princeſs?
PALADORE.
And heaven may be belov'd—
BIRENO.
Ay, and hop'd too;
For heaven has many manſions, and receives,
Too large for limitation, all deſervers;
But in a lady's heart, there's but one place,
Though many may contend for't: therefore, friend,
Waſte not your precious ſighs, which might enkindle
Bright ſparks of equal love in ſome ſoft breaſt
Deſtined to mate your fondneſs, in hopeleſs wooing.
[13]Search not the cauſe; believe me, on my truth,
'Tis paſt all reckoning hopeleſs.
PALADORE.
Nothing's hopeleſs,
Though deeds, untried, oft ſeem impoſſible;
And craven Sloth molting his ſleekleſs plumes
With drowſy wonder views the advent'rous wing
That ſoars the ſhining azure o'er his head.
What will not yield to daring? Victory
Sits on the helm whoſe creſt is Confidence;
And boldneſs wins ſucceſs in love's ſoft ſtrife,
As in the dangerous din of rattling war.
BIRENO.
How cou'd I make me ſport were I light minded,
Were I malignant; miſchief, from this mood,
That runs ſo contrary to all ſober ſenſe—
But here I reſt in kindneſs—Be advis'd,
Puſh not a deſperate purpoſe; by my life!
The princeſs loves you not.
PALADORE.
I'll bear no more—
Matchleſs audacity! Let me take thee in
From crown to toe, walk round thee, and ſurvey thee
Like a prodigious thing; for ſuch thou ſhould'ſt be,
To put my courſe of love in circumſcription,
And ſchool me, like a boy, with unſought precept.
BIRENO.
Lovers are ſick with fevers of the brain,
Diſeas'd by airy hope, high flighted fancy,
Imaginations bred from ſelf-conceit.
An arch deluder, which preſents the Juno
Their frenzy graſps at, with a zone unbound;
While, like Ixion's miſtreſs, the coy queen
Slumbers on golden beds in high Olympus.
PALADORE.
Hear me, proud duke▪ had I no other ſpur
But thy forbidding; were there no incitement
[14]From her tranſcendent beauty; did no beam
Shoot from her eye to light eternal love
At paſſion's altar; were ſhe ſwart, and froward,
(Oh, blaſphemy to think it) in deſpight,
I would aſſume an unfelt extaſy,
Invoke her name, till echo ſhould grow faint
With the perpetual burden, and deviſe
All means of contradiction, to proclaim
Scorn of thy council, and defiance to thee.
BIRENO.
Then hear, to daſh thy pride, ſince thus you urge me.
My experience of her lightneſs, well ſhe knows
Would freeze me as her huſband, and her hand
(Which, but to ſave appearances, I aſk)
I wou'd reject, if offer'd; ſo her craft
Sooths you with feign'd endearments. As a miſtreſs,
I find her worth my holding; but a wife,
Fit for a prince, muſt come with better gifts
Than amorous blood, and beauty—Nay, but mark me.
PALADORE.
Truſt not too far the reverence of this place—
Away—thou yet art ſafe—my ſword once drawn—
BIRENO.
Am I ſo loſt in your eſteem, you hold me
(Your friend profeſs'd) in malice capable,
Or falſehood thus to wound you?
PALADORE.
Both, by Heaven!
BIRENO.
And will maintain this thinking?
PALODORE.
With my life.—
BIRENO.
'Tis a deep venture—Mine upon my truth—
When full-orb'd Phoebe wheel her fleecy car
To ſilver yon blue concave, midſt the pines
[15]That wave their green tops o'er the battlement
Of her night-chamber, in the garden meet me
Alone: when we encounter in that place,
You there ſhall liſten to conditions meet
For both our honours. So till then, farewel.
PALADORE,
alone.
I'll meet thee, be aſſur'd I will.
Gird on thy keeneſt edge: if thou haſt aught
Unſettled in this world, diſpatch it quickly;
We ſtand upon the utmoſt verge of Fate,
And one, or both of us, muſt plunge for ever.
Exit.
SCENE VI.
BIRENO
alone.
The wiſe ſhould watch the event on fortune's wheel,
That for a moment circles at the top,
And ſeiz'd not, vaniſhes—I muſt about it,
My all's at ſtake—Ye miniſters of vengeance!
That hide your gory locks in miſt-hung caves,
And roll your deadly eyeballs o'er the edge
Of your inſatiate daggers, ſhaking ever
Dews of oblivious ſleep from your ſtung brows,
Receive me of your band! ne'er to know peace
Till this keen writhing vulture quit my heart,
And with blunt beak, and flagging wings outſtretch'd,
Drowze o'er the mangled victims of my rage.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
[16]SCENE I. a Chamber.
PRINCESS,
alone.
OH, bleſſed, moſt bleſſed are the inſenſible!
In the mild zone of calm indifference:
No hatred chills them, and no paſſion burns;
To feed, and ſleep, and do obſervance due
To the ſtale ritual of quaint ceremony,
Fills up the humble meaſure of their hope;
Smooth and unruffled glides their temperate ſtream,
And one day rounds their whole life's hiſtory.
Oh, had my heart been ſuch! but Nature poiz'd
In diſtribution, when ſhe gives the touch
Alive to exſtacy, in like extreme
Subjects the ſenſe to anguiſh: the ſame ſoul,
That in the hope of wedding Paladore,
Enjoy'd its ſum of bliſs, with equal pain
Averts me from his rival: thus entranc'd
'Twixt love and fear, I feel the pangs of both,
And the ſharp conflict rends me. Ha! my father!
Now comes the trial.
SCENE II. KING, PRINCESS.
KING.
How! in tears, Sophia?
Come, 'tis not well—I fear, I gueſs the cauſe.
This morn I did but hint a purpoſe to you,
Of import, dear to your own happineſs,
And your chang'd brow reproving my intent
Cut ſhort my free diſcourſe.
PRINCESS.
[17]Oh, good my Lord!
I am not practis'd to conceal my thoughts
(And leaſt from you) by caſting o'er my looks
The unalter'd vizor of tranquility,
When perturbation, like a ſleepleſs gueſt,
Forbids my boſom's quiet.
KING.
I have lov'd thee
With fondneſs ſo unbated, that 'twere needleſs,
For confirmation, to atteſt by words,
What all my thoughts, my life's whole carriage towards thee,
Have ſet beyond the queſtion.
PRINCESS.
Oh, to me,
Your love has been like thoſe perpetual ſprings,
"That ever flow," and waſte not my leaſt wiſh
Scarce had its birth, ere its accompliſhment
In your preventive kindneſs.
KING.
Since 'tis ſo,
If chance the current of my preſent will
To yours run contrary, you muſt not deem
That meerly to enforce authority,
Or wake controlement, which might ſleep to death.
In its difuſe, I now expect the courſe
Of your deſires ſhould loſe themſelves in mine,
Or flow by my direction.
PRINCESS.
As my father,
The giver of my life, I reverence you;
Next, as your ſubject, my obedience ſtands
Bound by the general tie; but ſince your power
Has ſtill been temper'd ſo with lenity,
That even the ſtranger's cauſe, with patient hearing,
Is weigh'd ere you determine; I, your daughter,
[18]May hope, at leaſt, an equal privilege,
With favour in my audience.
KING.
I were elſe
Unnatural, withholding from my child,
What aliens claim by juſtice. Give me hearing—
The Duke Bireno loves you, has my promiſe,
That like a well-grac'd advocate, my tongue
Shou'd win your gentle favour to his ſuit,
Urging ſuch commendations of his love,
As modeſty, though conſcious of deſert,
May wiſh you hear, yet cannot ſpeak itſelf.
PRINCESS.
Ah, Sir! forbear, he knows my heart already,
Already has he heard, from my own lips
I cannot love him; poorly he engages
Your honour'd combination, in a league
That (whatſoe'er its iſſue) muſt conſpire
To wound your daughter's peace.
KING.
By heaven, you wrong him.
To wound your peace! He ſeeks your happineſs,
And ſo am I his ſecond.
PRINCESS.
But theſe means
Are adverſe to the end; for if I wed him,
(This is no raving of raſh extacy)
On death, that only can diſſolve my chain,
Will hang my future hope: as eagerly
As the poor weary ſea-beat mariner
Pants for the ſhore, ſo ſhall my outſtretch'd arms
Embrace the welcome terror. My refuſal
To you, the gentleſt, kindeſt, beſt of fathers,
Muſt ſeem repugnance harſh, and o'er my duty,
Before untainted, caſts the ſickly hue
Of pale ſuſpicion; thus begins his love,
Fearful to me in each alternative.
KING.
[19]Why, this is infant rhet'ric, to proteſt
The impulſe of a ſtrong antipathy,
Which never cauſeleſs ſways the human breaſt,
Yet give no reaſon why.
PRINCESS.
Alas! to feel it,
O'er-maſters every reaſon. Need we ſearch
To ground averſion on weigh'd argument,
When inſtinct cuts the tedious proceſs ſhort,
And makes the heart our umpire?
KING.
Hear me calmly—
My days are almoſt number'd: this white head
Bears not in vain its reverend monitors;
Time puts a tongue in every hoary hair,
To warn the wiſe man of mortality:
When I am gone, behold thy ſingle ſtate
Unhuſbanded, unfather'd, ſtands expos'd,
Ev'n as the tender ſolitary ſhrub,
On the bleak mountain's ſummit—Every blaſt
May bend or break thy ſweetneſs: this ſtrong fence,
This union, would enroot its ſhelter round,
And, like a foreſt, ſhield thee.
PRINCESS.
Let me hope
A ſtronger ſence in a whole people's love:
Their grateful memory of my father's virtue,
And loyalty hereditarly mine,
Deſcending, like the ſceptre, to your iſſue.
KING.
Think'ſt thou, my aſpiring kinſman, whoſe ambition,
Impatient, waits till my declining beam
Give place to his meridian, who, already
Wins from my ſide a moiety of my court,
By his ſucceſſion's hope, will tamely view
That ſceptre wielded by a woman's hand,
[20]Nor wreſt it from thy graſp? No, my fair kingdom!
I ſee the meeting torrents of contention
Deluge thy peaceful vales, while her weak ſex,
Unable to direct, or ſtem the tide,
Will be borne down, and ſwept to ruin with it.
PRINCESS.
Theſe evils, but in poſſibility,
May never come: but, Oh, 'tis certain ſorrow
To promiſe love, obedience, duty, honor,
When the heart's record vouches 'gainſt the tongue:
It changes order's courſe; the holy tie
Of weil-proportion'd marriage ſtill ſuppoſes
Theſe bonds have gone before; nor is there power
Creative in the ſimple ceremony,
The ſeed unſown, to give that harveſt growth.
KING.
Here break we off—To ſue, and ſue in vain,
But ill becomes a father: may my augury
Be more in fear than wiſdom. Hold; to-morrow
The council meets to ſcan this threaten'd war:
The people call it thine: then be thou preſent
To thank and animate their zeal to ſerve us.
Exit.
SCENE III.
PRINCESS,
alone.
I ſhall attend your order. This cold parting
Speaks his diſpleaſure; and my heart accuſtom'd
To the kind ſunſhine of approving ſmiles,
Droops at the chilling change. Ye gentle breaſts,
Strangers as yet to love, be warn'd by me.
Soft as the printleſs ſtep of midnight ſleep,
The ſubtle tyrant ſteals into the ſoul:
Once ſeated there, ſecurely he controuls
The idle ſtrife of unimpaſſion'd ties,
And laughs to ſcorn their ſober impotence.
As feeble vaſſals liſt their arms in vain,
In the unequal conflict ſoon o'erthrown,
They prove their weakneſs, and his power ſupreme.
Exit.
SCENE IV. A Garden.
[21]RINALDO
alone. Night.
He muſt paſs this way: thro' the poſtern gate
That leads here only, with diſtemper'd pace
I ſaw him haſten. Since the evening banquet
His wild demeanour "has put on more change"
Than yonder fickle planet in her orb.
Juſt now he ſeiz'd his ſword, look'd at, and poiz'd it,
Then girt it round him, while his bloodſhot eye,
And heaving boſom, ſpoke the big conception
Of ſome dire purpoſe. There is miſchief towards—
I may perhaps prevent it—theſe tall ſhrubs
Will hide me from his view.—Soft, ſoft, 'tis he.
Rinaldo retires.
SCENE V. PALADORE alone.
PALADORE.
Why do I ſhake thus? If, indeed, ſhe's falſe,
I ſhou'd rejoice to have the ſpell unbound
That chains me to deluſion. He ſwears deeply:
But bad men's oaths are breath, and their baſe lies
With holieſt adjurations ſtronger vouch'd
Than native truth, which center'd in itſelf,
Reſts in its ſimpleneſs; then this bold carriage
Urging the proof by teſt infallible,
The witneſs of my ſight. Why theſe combin'd,
(Spite of my ſteady ſeeming) viper-tooth'd
Gnaw at my conſtancy, and inward ſpread
Suggeſtions, which unmaſter'd, ſoon would change
The ruddy heart to blackneſs. But, Oh, ſhame!
Theſe doubts are Slander's leigers.—Sweeteſt innocence!
That now, perhaps, lapt in Elyſian ſleep
Seeſt heaven in viſion, let not theſe baſe ſounds
Creep on thy ſlumber, leſt they ſtartle reſt,
And change thy trance to horror.—Lo, he comes:
[22]Yon light that glimmers 'twixt the quivering leaves
(Like a ſmall ſtar) directs his footſteps hither.
SCENE VI.
To him BIRENO, with a Lanthorn.
BIRENO.
Your pardon, Sir; I fear I've made you wait—
But here, beneath the window of his miſtreſs,
A lover favour'd, and aſſur'd like you,
Muſt have a thouſand pleaſant fantaſies
To entertain his muſing.
PALADORE.
Sir, my fancy
Has various meditations; no one thought
Mix'd with diſloyalty of her whoſe honour
Your boldneſs wou'd attaint.
BIRENO.
Then you hold firm,
I am a boaſter?
PALADORE.
'Tis my preſent creed.
BIRENO.
'Twere kind, perhaps, to leave you in that error.
The wretch who dreams of bliſs, while his ſleep laſts,
Is happy as in waking certainty;
But if he's rous'd, and rous'd to miſery,
He ſure muſt curſe the hand that ſhook his curtain.
PALADORE.
I have no time for maxims, and your mirth
Is moſt unſeaſonable. Thus far to endure
Perhaps is too much tameneſs.—To the purpoſe—
BIRENO.
With all convenient ſpeed. You're not to learn,
We have a law peculiar to this realm,
[23]That ſubjects to a mortal penalty,
All women nobly born (be their eſtate
Single or huſbanded) who to the ſhame
Of chaſtity, o'er-leap its thorny bounds,
To wanton in the flowery path of pleaſure.
Nor is the proper iſſue of the king
By royalty exempted.
PALADORE.
So I have heard.
But wherefore urge you this?
BIRENO.
Not without reaſon.
I draw my ſword in peace. Now place your lips
Here on this ſacred croſs. By this deep oath,
Moſt binding to our order, you muſt ſwear,
Whate'er you ſee, or whatſoe'er your wrath
From what you ſee, that never ſhall your tongue
Reveal it to the danger of the princeſs.
PALADORE.
A moſt ſuperfluous bond!—But on; I ſwear.
BIRENO.
Hold yet a little. Now, Sir, once again
Let this be touch'd.—Your enmity to me,
If by the proceſs it ſhould be provok'd,
Muſt in your breaſt be ſmother'd, not break out
In tilting at my life, nor your gage thrown
For any after quarrel. The cauſe weigh'd,
I might expect your love: but 'tis the ſtuff,
And proper quality of hoodwink'd rage,
To wreſt offence from kindneſs.
PALADORE.
Should your proof
Keep pace with your aſſurance, ſcorn, not rage,
Will here be paramount, and my ſword ſleep,
From my indifference to a worthleſs toy,
Valued but in my untried ignorance.
BIRENO.
[24]So you determine wiſely. I muſt bind you
To one condition more. If I make palpable
Her preference in my favour, you muſt turn
Your back on Lombardy, and never more
Seek her encounter.
PALADORE.
By a ſoldier's faith!
Should it be ſo, I wou'd not breathe your air
A moment longer, for the ſov'reignty
Of all the ſoil waſh'd by your wand'ring Po.
BIRENO.
Summon your patience now, for ſure you'll need it.
PALADORE.
You have tried it to the laſt: dally no more,
I ſhiver in expectance. Come, your proofs.
BIRENO.
Well you will have them. Know you firſt this writing?
Gives a paper.
PALADORE.
It is the character of fair Sophia.
BIRENO.
I think ſo, and as ſuch receiv'd it from her;
Convey'd with ſuch ſweet action to my hand,
As wak'd the nimble ſpirit of my blood,
Whiſpering how kind were the contents within.
This light will aid the moon, tho' now ſhe ſhines
In her full ſplendor. At your leiſure read it.
PALADORE,
reading.
Kind words indeed; I fear, I fear too common.
BIRENO.
It works as I could wiſh. How his cheek whitens!
His fiery eye darts thro' each tender word
As it would burn the paper.
PALADORE,
reading.
Ever conſtant—
[25]Let me look once again. Is my fight falſe?
Oh, wou'd it were! Fain wou'd I caſt the blame,
To ſave her crime, on my imperfect ſenſe.
But did ſhe give you this?
BIRENO.
Look to the addreſs.
PALADORE.
Oh, darkneſs on my eyes! I've ſeen too much.
There's not a letter, but like necromancy
Withers my corporal functions. Shame confound her!
BIRENO.
As you before were tardy of belief,
You now are raſh. Behold theſe little ſhadows.
Theſe you have ſeen before.
Producing two pictures.
PALADORE.
What's this, what's this!
My picture, as I live, I gave the falſe one,
And her's ſhe promis'd me! Oh, woman's faith!
I was your champion once, deceitful ſex!
Thought your fair minds—But hold, I may be raſh—
This letter, and theſe pictures, might be your's
By the king's power, compelling her reluctant
To write and ſend them; therefore let me ſee
All you have promis'd.—You expect her ſummons
At yon Miranda—
BIRENO.
Yes, the time draws near;
She ever is moſt punctual. This ſmall light
Our wonted ſignal: ſtand without its ray;
For ſhou'd ſhe ſpy more than myſelf beneath,
Fearing diſcovery, ſhe'll retire again
Into her chamber—When her beauteous form
Breaks like the moon, as fair, tho' not ſo cold,
From yonder window.
PALADORE.
Ha! by hell it opens!—
BIRENO.
[26]Stand you apart a moment. While I climb,
Yon orb, now braz'd to this accuſtom'd ſcene,
Will ſhew you who invites me. I'll detain her,
To give you ample leiſure for ſuch note
As counterfeits abide not.
Bireno retires ▪
SCENE VII.
PALADORE
alone.
Death! 'tis ſhe!
There's not a ſilken braid that binds her hair,
One little ſhred of all that known attire
That wantons in the wind, but to my heart
Has ſent ſuch ſweet diſturbance, that it beat
Inſtinctive of her coming, ere my ſight
Enjoy'd the beauteous wonder.—Soft! What now!
See ſhe lets down the cordage of her ſhame,
To hoiſt him to her arms, I'll look no more—
Diſtraction! Devil! How ſhe welcomes him!
That's well! that's well!—Again: grow to her lips—
Poiſon and aſpics rot them! Now ſhe woo's him,
Points to her chamber, and invites him inward.
May adder's hiſs around their guilty couch!
And ghoſts of injur'd lovers riſe to ſcare them!—
Ay, get you gone—Oh, for a griffin's wing,
To bear me thro' the caſement! Deeds like this
Shou'd ſtartle every ſpirit of the grove,
And wake Enchantment from her ſpell-hung grot,
To ſhake the conſcious roof about their heads,
And bare them to the ſcoff of modeſt eyes
Twin'd in the wanton fold. Oh, wretch accurs'd!
See there the blaſted promiſe of thy joys,
Thy beſt hopes bankrupt.—Do I linger ſtill?
Here find a grave, and let thy mangled corſe,
When her laſcivious eye peers o'er the lawn,
Satiate the harlot's gaze.
Going to fall on his ſword, Rinaldo ruſhes out and prevents him.
RINALDO.
[27]What frenzy's this!
Arm'd 'gainſt your life! In pity turn the point
On your old faithful ſervant, whoſe heart heaves
Almoſt to burſting to behold you thus.
PALADORE.
Haſt ſeen it then?
RINALDO.
I have ſeen your wild deſpair;
And bleſs'd be the kind monitor within
That led me here to ſave you.
PALADORE.
Rather curs'd
Be thy officious fondneſs, ſince it dooms me
To lingering miſery. Give me back my ſword—
Is't come to this! Oh, I cou'd tear my hair!
Rip us this credulous breaſt! Blind dotard! Fool!
Did Wit, or Malice, ere deviſe a legend
To parellel this vile reality?
RINALDO.
Diſgrace not the beſt gift of manly nature,
Your reaſon, in this wild extravagance.
PALADORE.
And think'ſt thou I am mad without a cauſe!
I'll tell thee—'Sdeath! It choaks me—Lead me hence—
I will walk boldly on the billowy deep,
Or blindfold tread the ſharp and perilous ridge
Of icy Caucaſus, nor fear my footing;
Play with a faſting lion's fangs unharm'd,
And ſtroke his rage to tameneſs.—But hereafter,
When men wou'd try impoſſibilities,
Let them ſeek faith in woman.—Furies ſeize them!
Exeunt.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III.
[28]SCENE I. A Hall.
BIRENO
alone.
HER death muſt be the means. If theſe be crimes,
Thou bright Ambition, whoſe rare alchimy,
Like Midas' palm, turns all it graſps to gold,
Give them thy glorious ſplendor! What a coil
Does puny Conſcience make in little minds,
Ere they o'erleap obſtruction! Fear, not virtue,
Keeps mankind honeſt. Each inordinate wiſh
Is guilt unacted, and the canon points
More 'gainſt the coward heart, that wou'd and dare not,
Than the bold deed, that braves the penalty.
SCENE II.
BIRENO, ASCANIO.
Welcome, Aſcanio! Thanks for this kind ſpeed
To meet my ſummons. I have buſineſs for thee,
Worthy thy ſubtle genius; thou ſhalt aid me
To ſpread a banquet forth, where two ſharp gueſts,
Ambition and Revenge, ſhall both be feaſted,
Even to ſatiety.
ASCANIO.
I will not pall
Performance by proteſting. Is there aught
In which a pliant tongue, and ready hand,
(No deſpicable engines) may do ſervice?
To their beſt cunning uſe them; your poor bondman
Will think himſelf much honour'd in obedience.
BIRENO.
I have profeſs'd myſelf thy friend, Aſcanio!
[29]And when the golden autumn of my hopes,
(Whoſe rich maturity I now wou'd haſten)
Is ripe for bearing, thou ſhall taſte the fruit
That bends my ſwelling branches.
ASCANIO.
I have liv'd
The creature of your bounty; and my life
I would caſt from me, like a uſeleſs load,
When to your gracious ends unprofitable.
BIRENO.
My means have hitherto been poor and ſcanty,
My power confin'd; but I ſhall be, Aſcanio,
Like a great river, whoſe large urns diſpenſe
Abundance to the ſubject rills around him,
Till they o'erpeer their banks.
ASCANIO.
Oh, my good lord!
BIRENO.
I'll truſt thee as I know thee—for a villain.—
Aſide.
Place thyſelf near me when the council meets,
(I ſhall make matter for them they foreſee not)
Whate'er I urge, or whomſoe'er I charge,
Be ready thou with the grave mockery
Of uplift eyes, thy hand thus on thy breaſt,
And heaven-atteſting oaths to ſecond me.
ASCANIO.
Prime in the catalogue of mortal ſins,
I hold unthankfulneſs, and a friend's need,
Makes fiction virtue when its end is kindneſs.
BIRENO.
To give more ready credence to the impoſture,
Put on reluctant ſeeming; earneſtly
Entreat, they urge you not; ſadden thy brow,
And cry, "Alas! compell me not to ſpeak—
"I know not what I ſaw." Mumble ſome cant,
"Of frailty, and compaſſion, ſins of youth,
[30]"The danger of the law, if it were urg'd
"'Gainſt all tranſgreſſions;" thus ſhall thy declining
Be eked out to a ſtubborn certainty
In each ſuſpended hearer.
ASCANIO.
Nay, my Lord;
Diſparage not the good gifts were born with me,
To think I can want ſchooling for this office.
BIRENO.
I pray you pardon me.—Oh, Nature! Nature!
Aſide.
There is a pride even in ſtark villainy,
Which flattery's heat muſt ſoften, ere the metal
Bend to our purpoſes.—Come this way with me,
The hall will ſoon be throng'd; what more remains
I will impart within.—No ceremony.
Exeunt.
SCENE III.
LUCIO, an OFFICER.
OFFICER.
See where they paſs; what bodes that conference?
LUCIO.
Danger, my life on't. That ſmooth knave Aſcanio
Is the Duke's crucible, his breaſt receives
The maſs of his crude projects, and his brain
A ſubtle fire refines the droſſy ore,
To bear the ready ſtamp for preſent miſchief.
OFFICER.
The Duke of late grows paſt his cuſtom courteous,
Joins hands with us, and calls us by our names,
Gives praiſe, and largeſs to the ſoldiery,
Whom he was wont to ſtyle, State caterpillars,
Burthens of peace, and but endur'd in war,
As neceſſary evils.
LUCIO.
It denotes
[31](Or I lack charity) trouble to the ſtate.
I know him proud, ſubtle, and pitileſs;
Nor will his nature change theſe elements,
However for a ſeaſon he put on
A ſmoother guiſe, and faſhion ſuitable
To the end he aims at.
OFFICER.
Beſt conceal theſe thoughts,
For one day he may rule us.
LUCIO.
Ay, that may,
If I miſtake not, he will ſnatch from chance,
And make a certainty. But ſee the king.
The providence of heaven be ever round him!
SCENE IV.
KING, Counſellors, Knights, Attendants.
Health to your Majeſty!
KING.
Thanks, gentle friends!
But why this faintneſs in your ſalutations?
Why wear your brows that ominous livery?
I truſt our gallant ſpirits will not palter,
Becauſe a raſh invader threatens us.
When I was young as you, to hear of war
Made my blood dance: but theſe good days are paſt,
This ſapleſs trunk ſhrinks from its mailed bark;
Yet age has ſtill its uſe, count me your ſteward,
Holding the honours of the ſtate in truſt
For all deſervers;—She ſhall better thank you;
SCENE V.
To the above, PRINCESS, Attendants.
More retribution dwells in beauty's ſmile,
Than in whole volumes of an old man's praiſe.
[32]Approach, my child! Come, grace thy father's ſide:
Theſe are thy champions; give your women taſks,
Bid all the looms of Pavia ply their labors,
A ſcarf for every warrior, they'll deſerve them.
PRINCESS.
They will not want my thanks, nor ſuch poor tokens
How much I prize their worth; their high-touch'd virtue
Finds in itſelf the ſource and end of action;
Secures its right to praiſe, but ſcorns to take it.
SCENE VI.
To the above, BIRENO, ASCANIO.
KING.
Welcome, my couſin! Doubt not of my zeal;
Tho' ill has the ſucceſs kept pace with it,
To ſpeed your amorous ſuit, ſtill let us hope,
Time, and your fair pretenſions, will have weight
To win her to our wiſhes.
BIRENO.
Let it paſs;
I muſt take comfort: women's appetites
Will be their own purveyors. Are we met?
The hall, methinks, ſeems full.
KING.
Where's Paladore?
He had our ſummons, yet I ſee him not:
His ſkill in war, and wiſdom to adviſe,
Have been moſt tutelary to our realm,
And well deſerve the waiting.
BIRENO.
Take your place;
He cannot now be preſent; when we are ſeated,
I will declare the reaſon.
PRINCESS.
[Aſide.]
Ha! not preſent!
[33]What fatal bar prevents him? Oh, my heart!
Is Paladore the fountain of thy life,
That thy ſtream ſcarce can flow, when ſever'd from him?
They take their places; the Princeſs on the King's right hand, a little beneath him. Bireno and Aſcanio in the front of the ſtage, ſome ſeated, others ſtanding round.
BIRENO.
The danger of our frontiers, you, ſage lords,
Calls this aſſembly; but, as wiſe phyſicians,
The heart being touch'd, neglect the extremities,
Giving their firſt care to the ſeat of life:
So now, the wounded vitals of our honour,
Demand our prior tendence.
KING.
Speak, good couſin!
Do dark conſpiracy, and home-bred treaſon,
(Unnatural leaguers with a foreign foe)
Bid the ſharp ſword of vengeance turn its edge
'Gainſt our own children?
BIRENO.
Yes; though nature bleeds,
Juſtice will take her courſe; I ſee before me
The prime of the kingdom; and from ſome among you,
Since they, in whoſe authority abides
The executive of power, beſt can tell.
I now wou'd hear, why do our regiſters
Contain that rigorous ordinance, which reſpects
The chaſtity of women?
FIRST SENATOR.
To that queſtion,
The law's preamble anſwers. 'Tis rehears'd,
That the wild licence of our countrywomen,
O'erleapt all modeſt bounds. Sweet pudency
(That ruby of the ſex) had been caſt by
For caſual wantonneſs, till our name abroad
Became a by-word, and confuſion, ſtrange,
[34]Diſturb'd domeſtic peace. A ſpurious iſſue,
The ſlips of chance and wildneſs, were engrafted
In rich inheritances, while the ſire
Careſs'd the child, not his, and left to fortune,
The true heirs of his fondneſs: theſe abuſes
Required an iron curb; ſo paſs'd the law,
Making tranſgreſſion death, with no remittance
To high rank, or degree in the offender,
But in its bloody gripe comprizing all.
BIRENO.
And is this ſo allow'd?
FIRST SENATOR.
'Tis ſo allow'd:
Nor is there a decretal, in our rolls,
Of leſs ambiguous import, or more known.
KING.
This is beyond devining: I have mark'd
To the Princeſs, half aſide.
His changing feature: ſome ſtrong paſſion ſhakes him.
PRINCESS.
He plays emotion well, moſt maſterly,
Even to the life of feigning.
BIRENO.
May I on?
Or muſt I, like a novice to your forms,
Firſt prove my right of audience?
KING.
Be not anger'd;
We queſtioned not your right—All counſellors
Speak what they liſt with freedom. You, our couſin,
Have with your right, pre-audience.
PRINCESS.
Pray, proceed.
BIRENO
[35]to the SENATOR.
Moſt learned lord, now pleaſe you to recite
The dangerous predicament of thoſe
Who do awake this ſtatute?
FIRST SENATOR.
Willingly.
'Tis there provided, that, the accus'd being cited
In the king's preſence, he, who brings the charge,
Shou'd ſtate each circumſtance: that done, the herald
Thrice in ſix hours, firſt, in the market place,
Next, in the hippodrome, laſt, in the porch
Of the great temple, muſt invite all knights
(Whether impell'd by pity, love, or juſtice)
To appear her champions in the marſhal'd liſts:
There, if the accuſer falls, ſhe is held free,
And her fair fame reſtor'd; but, if he conquers,
The event confirms her guilt, and the ſharp axe
Severs the wanton's life.
BIRENO.
Then in this peril
Stand I at preſent—Bid your trumpets ſound;
And call forth every bold adventurer.
To try what deſperate valour may achieve
'Gainſt truth, and my keen ſword.
KING.
But whither wou'd'ſt thou?
Suſpenſe and horror fit on every brow;
Like the red comet, thy denouncing eye,
Forebodes diſaſter.
BIRENO.
Oh, relentleſs juſtice!
If theſe be drops of weakneſs, let them fall:
'Tis the laſt tribute of a human ſorrow,
And now I am wholly thine.
KING.
[36]Pr'ythee, go on.
BIRENO.
'Twere vain to waſte your patience in perſuaſion;
I would not wantonly play with the fangs
Of ſuch a lion law, whoſe terrible roar
Muſt be appeas'd with blood—So reſts my truth.
A lover's fondneſs, laſt night, prompted me,
Attended by this gentleman.
Pointing to Aſcanio.
ASCANIO.
Curs'd chance!
Oh, would the darkneſs of the delving mole
Had been my portion; then I had not ſeen—
What have I ſaid? Nay, do not call on me;
Was it for this I was commanded hither?
I'll cloſe my lips for ever.
FIRST SENATOR.
We have ways
To force a neceſſary truth—My Lord,
Pleaſe you, proceed—The rack ſhall make him anſwer.
Have eye upon him—He was your companion.
BIRENO.
He was, he was, when love or deſtiny
Led me a wanderer, in the palace garden,
To gaze upon the window of the princeſs.
When, Oh, ſad object for a lover's eyes!
The caſement open'd, and the full-orb'd moon,
Bright as the radiance of meridian day,
Shew'd me a luſty rival in her arms,
Embracing, and embrac'd—
All riſe from the table.
KING.
Shame! Death! Confuſion!
My daughter! Oh, my daughter!
PRINCESS.
Hoſt of heaven!
Does no deep thunder roll, no lightning flaſh?
[37]Can the tremendous courriers of your wrath,
Sleep o'er this perjury?
BIRENO.
My gage is thrown;
And here I ſtand to anſwer with my life,
If I have charg'd her falſely.
ASCANIO.
[Kneeling.]
On my knees,
If ever pity touch'd your noble breaſt,
I beg you ſpeak no more.
PRINCESS.
[To Aſcanio.]
Thou vile confederate
Of his bloody-thirſty malice! Have I liv'd
To hear a wretch ſuborn'd, his ſycophant,
Mock me with interceſſion?
[To Bireno.]
I behold thee,And ſcorn ſo ſtruggles with aſtoniſhment,
That my full heart, and intercepted tongue
Almoſt refuſe their active offices,
Till paſſion's choak'd in ſilence.
KING.
Powers of mercy!
Am I reſerv'd for this? My only child,
The pride, the joy, the treaſure of my ſoul,
My age's cordial, and my life's beſt prop,
In the ſweet ſpring, and bloſſom of her youth,
Thus blaſted in my ſight!—
[To Bireno.]
But, Oh, dark fiend!Whom hell lets looſe to ſpread deſtruction round thee,
Why does thy vengeance faſten upon me?
Have I deſerv'd this from thee? Well thou know'ſt,
I ſtrove to make her thine; I would have given thee
My crown, and daughter. Thou requit'ſt my love,
By daggers ſteep'd in poiſon to my heart.
BIRENO.
I thank thy kindneſs, and forgive thy rage;
The father ſhall have licence—Honor, witneſs!
Nor malice, nor ambition loos'd my tongue,
[38]To this heart-rending office. Reverend Lords!
Let your unclouded wiſdom judge between us.
PRINCESS.
Can I be patient? Moſt abandon'd ruffian!
Thou ſcoffer at all ties! with the ſame breath
That violates a virgin's ſanctity,
(Holy and pure beyond thy groſs conceiving)
Thus conſcious of thy lie, dar'ſt thou invoke
Honour to witneſs for thee? Wherefore call
On theſe to judge between us? See, barbarian!
Amaz'd, and ſtruck with horror, they have heard thee;
Too well, thou know'ſt, they muſt pronounce me guilty;
Thy oath muſt be their law: but there is one,
An unſeen judge, an all diſcerning eye:
Now if thou dar'ſt look up, poor ſhivering wretch!
He views the dark receſſes of thy ſoul:
Tremble at him thy judge.
BIRENO.
I were a ſlave,
Fit for abuſes, cou'd I tamely bear
To ſee the rich reverſion of my blood
Seiz'd by a baſe, and ſpurious progeny,
An alien Briton, in his ſport of luſt,
Stamping a brood of illegitimate kings,
To bend our necks to baſtard tyranny.
KING.
An alien Briton!
BIRENO.
Bid her anſwer thee,
Call for her paramour, her Paladore.
Say, why is he not preſent?
PRINCESS.
Why indeed!
Haſt thou not practis'd on his precious life?
And to conſummate this day's guilt and horror,
Crown'd perjury with murder?
KING.
[39]Paladore!
Search, find him out; put pinions to your ſpeed,
And bear him to our preſence.
BIRENO.
Spare your labour—
Fear will outſtrip their haſte—The daſtard's gone;
He had my challenge for this injury,
And anſwer'd it by flight.
KING.
Confuſion! fled!
Am I then doubly wretched? Muſt ſhe die?
And die diſhonour'd too?
PRINCESS.
[Kneeling.]
All-ſeeing Heaven!
If e'er thy interpoſing Providence
Daſh'd the audacious councils of the wicked;
If innocence, enſnar'd, may raiſe its eye,
In humble hope, to thy eternal throne,
Look down, and ſuccour me! I kneel before thee,
Diſtreſt, forlorn, abandon'd to deſpair,
By all deſerted, and my life beſet;
The man, my ſoul adores, traduc'd, and wrong'd:
Yet, Oh, there is a pang ſurpaſſing all!
While the envenom'd rancour of this fiend
Caſts its contagion on my ſpotleſs fame,
And, unrebuk'd, perſiſts to blaſt my virtue.
BIRENO.
Hear, ſhe avows her love—
PRINCESS.
Yes, glory in it—
KING.
Ha, have a care, raſh girl! nor turn my grief
To curſes on thy head—Dar'ſt thou confirm
Thy doubtful infamy?
PRINCESS.
[40]A love ſo pure,
What boſom might not feel, what tongue not own?
It was a fault to hide the ſecret from you:
But are ſuch fighs as veſtal breaſts might heave,
Such ſpotleſs vows as angels might record,
Pollution worthy death? Theſe are my crimes;
And if I labour with with a guilt more black,
May the full malice of that villain reach me.
KING.
What can I think? His abſence—Yet thy truth,
Thy nature's modeſty plead ſtrongly for thee—
Away with doubt—Oh, thou obdurate heart!
BIRENO.
We trifle time—The liſts muſt be-prepar'd,
The heralds ſound defiance—
PRINCESS.
Hold a moment—
I'll tell thee how to arm thee for the combat:
Steep thy keen ſword in poiſon, that no balm
May heal the wounds it gives, but each be mortal;
Let a ſtaunch blood-hound, with devouring fangs,
And eye-balls fiery red, couch o'er thy helm;
The deadly ſable of thy mail beſmear'd
With ſcaffolds, wheels, and engines, virgin's heads
Freſh bleeding from the axe's ſevering ſtroke:
Scorn thou the mean device of vulgar knights,
Who fight for what they reverence, truth and honour;
But be profeſs'd their champion whom thou ſerv'ſt,
And write in bloody letters, hell and falſhood.
BIRENO.
This paſſion, lady! ill becomes your ſtate:
Shame is waſh'd out by ſorrow, not by anger.
KING.
[41]Hence, from my ſight, deteſted parricide!
Aſſaſſin! butcher! leſt theſe feeble hands,
Brac'd by my wrongs to more than mortal ſtrength,
Fix on thy throat, and bare thy treacherous heart.
BIRENO.
Old man, I go—Compaſſion for thy grief,
Forbids me to retort theſe outrages.
Let frenzy take its courſe—When next we meet,
Summon thy fortitude; and learn, mean time,
Crowns cannot ſave the wearer from affliction,
But kings, like meaner men, were born to ſuffer.
Exeunt Bireno, Aſcanio, Senators.
SCENE VII.
KING, PRINCESS.
KING.
Morality from thee! He braves high heaven,
And well may ſcorn my anger. Oh, my child!
This little hour, while I can call thee mine,
Cloſe let me ſtrain thee to my burſting heart:
Alas! thy aged father can no more
Than thus to fold thee; pour theſe ſcalding tears,
And drench thy tender boſom with his ſorrows.
PRINCESS.
By my beſt hopes of happineſs hereafter!
To ſee that reverend frame thus torn with anguiſh;
To hear thoſe heart-fetch'd groans, is greater miſery,
Than all the horrors of the doom that waits me:
I could put on a Roman conſtancy,
And go to death like ſleep, did no ſoft ſorrow
Hang on the mourning of ſurviving friends,
And wake a keener pang for their affliction.
SCENE VIII. To them, LUCIO.
[42]LUCIO.
Forgive the obedience of reluctant duty!
I have the council's order to commit
The Princeſs to a guard's cloſe cuſtody.
KING.
Thou art my ſubject, Lucio! and my ſoldier;
Do thy unhappy maſter one laſt ſervice;
Draw forth thy ſword, and ſtrike it through my heart.
PRINCESS.
No; let our grief be ſacred: if we weep,
Let them not ſee, and triumph in our tears.
Martyrs have died in voluntary flames,
And heroes ruſh'd on death inevitable,
By faith inſpir'd, or glory. Thou, Sophia!
Suſtain'd alone by peace and innocence,
Meet fate as firmly, and tranſcend their daring.
Exeunt.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV.
[43]SCENE I. a Foreſt.
PALADORE, RINALDO following.
PALADORE.
AM I the ſlave of ſenſe, that know her fickle,
Ungrateful, perjur'd, yet ſtill doat thus fondly?
Faith, prudence, honor, govern'd appetites,
(Whoſe everlaſting bonds make paſſion wiſe)
In her were only ſeeming, or like ornament
Thrown by, or worn at pleaſure; then this ſorrow
Hangs on her outſide only, that's unchang'd,
For falſhood did not dim her radiant eyes,
Her cheek was damaſk'd with as pure a roſe,
Her breath as odorous, when ſhe moſt deceiv'd,
As when her virture, like her ſpecious form,
Seem'd ſpotleſs, and unparagon'd.
RINALDO.
My Lord!
Court not this ſolitude, ſpeak out your grief;
Mine is no flinty breaſt; this dangerous ſpleen,
That makes your bane its nurture, then ſhews worſt,
When nothing ſpent in loudneſs, and complaint,
Like a deep ſtream it rolls its noiſeleſs way,
Mining the banks in ſilence.
PALADORE.
Wou'd the pain
Vaniſh with the expoſure of the cauſe,
I ſhou'd make blunt the patience of your ear
By endleſs iteration. But why tell thee?
[44]Thinkſt thou there is a charm in ſoothing words
To pluck the ſting from anguiſh? Good Rinaldo,
Thou hadſt a ſon and loſt him.
RINALDO.
True, I had ſo.
PALADORE.
See there, his very name provokes thy tears.
Say, can wiſe counſel ſtop them? Shall I tell thee,
The lot of mortals is mortality?
That fate will take its courſe, 'twas Heaven's high will;
And man is born to ſorrow. This is wiſe;
The ſum of conſolation. Strains like theſe
Flow ſmoothly from the tongues of moraliſts,
Patient as ſleep in others ſufferings,
But vex'd as waſps and hornets in their own.
RINALDO.
From theſe imperfect ſtarts I cannot anſwer,
They ſpeak but paſſion. If my gueſs deceive not,
A woman ſure has wrong'd you.
PALADORE.
A true woman;
I thought her angel once, moſt baſely wrong'd me.
Yet if revenge kept meaſure with her ſhame,
I cou'd waſh out in her polluted blood
This ſtain to modeſty. Yes, fair falſehood!
Shou'd I appeal thee of the incontinence
My blaſted eyes have witneſs'd, the ſtern law
Wou'd give me ample vengeance.
RINALDO.
Your great ſpirit
(Whoe'er ſhe be that thus has injur'd you)
Wou'd ſcorn your reparation from that law,
The ſhame even of juſtice.
PALADORE.
Fear not; ſtill ſhe twines
Here round my heartſtrings. No, let late remorſe,
[45]For ſure it will o'ertake, puniſh her ſin.
But hie thee back to Pavia preſently,
Diſmiſs my attendants, (uſeleſs pageantry
To my now alter'd ſtate!) ſend hither to me
My arms and horſes; theſe may haſten death
Fitting a ſoldier; then return and ſeek me.
A little longer will I hold in life,
Till in requital of her father's kindneſs,
I render ſome brave ſervice. 'Midſt theſe oaks,
Till you return, I'll keep my lonely haunt.
RINALDO.
There ſtands an humble hamlet in yon glade,
Own'd by ſome ſimple peaſants, who ſupply
The weſtern ſuburbs with ſuch homely fare
As their few fields afford; thither beſtow you,
And take ſome nouriſhment. I will return
With my beſt diligence.
PALADORE.
Go, get thee gone.
Sorrow's my food; I'll drink my falling tears.
Ye ſavage denizons of this wild wood,
Gaunt wolves, and tuſky boars! No more my hounds
Shall daſh the ſpangled dew-drops from your brakes!
No more with echoing cries, or mellow horn,
I'll rouſe your dreadful ſlumber! Sleep ſecurely—
With diſpoſition deadly as your own,
I go to mingle with you.
Exeunt ſeverally.
SCENE II. TWO FORESTERS.
FIRST FORESTER.
This place will ſuit our purpoſe, 'twere loſt time
To lead her further; ſo we but diſpatch her,
No matter for the ſpot. The deed once done,
The Duke will not be nice, but pay us nobly.
SECOND FORESTER.
[46]Half of our hire's to come. How ſhall we do it
Stab her, or ſtrangle?
FIRST FORESTER.
Make this cord her necklace:
Blood may beget ſuſpicion. When ſhe's dead,
We'll drag her body to yon hazel copſe,
And leave the maws of wolves to bury it.
There's ſcarce a buſh in this green labyrinth
But is familiar to me. Many a traveller,
When I was maſter of us ſtout a gang
As ere defied the law, here has paid down
His life in conflict for the gold I wanted,
And never more was heard of.
SECOND FORESTER.
Sound your horn.
I told her, we'd a little on before
To give our horſes forage, and directed
Her way to follow; ſhou'd ſhe miſs the path,
Her ear will be her guide —See, Carlo! ſee,
The pretty innocent caught by her eye
Stops for a while to pluck the velvet bells
That blow beneath her feet, then forward bounds,
Light as the roe, till ſome freſh floweret
Lures her again.
FIRST FORESTER.
Ay, like the lamb that plays,
And crops his paſture, in the butcher's eye,
Even while the knife's a whetting. Huſh! She's here.
SCENE III. To them ALINDA.
ALINDA.
Beneath a rugged thorn I found this flower
Bluſhing unmark'd its odorous life away;
I'll wear it in my breaſt, and all who ſee,
Will praiſe its beauty, modeſt worth's ſweet emblem,
That firſt muſt be conſpicuous ere 'tis priz'd.
[47]Oh, are you there? I'm ready, my good guides!
Where is our equipage? The way's but ſhort,
We ſhall be there ere moonſhine.
FIRST FORESTER.
Pretty lady!
You have a longer journey than you wot of,
And a dark dreary road to travel thro.'
ALINDA.
Why then the Duke deceiv'd me, for he ſaid
The way was pleaſant, and the diſtance nothing.
SECOND FORESTER.
We have helped many forward the ſame way,
And all were much averſe to travel it.
ALINDA.
They had no lover to obey like me,
For I am light, and were it ten times further,
To pleaſe my Lord I'd go it blitheſomely.
Come, come, to horſe.
FIRST FORESTER.
Are you prepar'd to die?
ALINDA.
Mercy defend me! How! Prepar'd to die!
'Tis a ſtrange queſtion.
FIRST FORESTER.
But moſt ſeaſonable;
As fit as if your couch were ſpread at midnight
To aſk if you were weary. With our will
We do it not, for we were gently bred,
And hous'd with gallants once: but this rough trade
Neceſſity enforces. Come, prepare.
ALINDA.
What do you ſearch for? And why turn you pale?
You make me ſhake, to ſee your ſtedfaſt eye.
Does this become the ſervants of the Duke,
To frighten whom they ſhou'd protect from fear?
SECOND FORESTER.
[48]We are, indeed, the ſervants of the Duke,
For we receive his hire; then for your fears,
We mean to rid you of them by your death.
ALINDA.
Can this be ſport? Alas! What have I done,
That ſuch deteſted thoughts ſhou'd riſe in you?
FIRST FORESTER.
You are troubleſome. Our buſineſs is to kill you.
If you have a ready prayer, and brief, kneel there,
And ſay it preſently. We run great hazard
To let you live ſo long.
ALINDA.
I'll kneel to you,
Make you my ſaint, if you'll have mercy on me.
I never injur'd you, nay, cou'd not injure,
For till this hour that I was made your charge,
I never ſaw you. Do not turn away.
Think how you'll anſwer this to him whoſe love
Truſted me to your care. He will require
A ſtrict account.
SECOND FORESTER.
Pr'ythee let go my arm.
ALINDA.
May I not know why you do wiſh to kill me?
If for theſe ſparkling bawbles, take them freely;
Rob me of all, but do not murder me.
I am not fit to die.
FIRST FORESTER.
We need not thank you
For what you can't withhold. Fall to your prayers.
ALINDA.
But are you not the ſervants of the Duke?
Think how you ſwore to tend me faithfully,
How he enjoin'd you, as you priz'd his favor.
[49]Ev'n in your looks he'll read this cruelty,
And find how you have abus'd him. Think on that.
FIRST FORESTER.
'Twere pity ſhe ſhou'd die in ignorance.
Caught in the falcon's pounce, the dove as well
Might gurgle to the kite to ſtoop, and ſave her,
As you cry to Bireno. Know, 'tis he
Who laid this ſnare, and pays us for your blood.
ALINDA.
The Duke Bireno?
SECOND FORESTER.
Yes, the Duke Bireno.
You have been privy to ſome paſſages
Require concealment. Being wiſe, he thinks
They are ſafeſt when you are dumb, ſo gives us gold
To ſtop your blabbing. If you doubt our word,
Peruſe that paper. Are you ſatisfied?
Shews a paper.
ALINDA.
Yes, if 'tis ſatisfaction to be torn
With worſe than death ere death, I'm ſatisfied.
But yet you will not kill me.
FIRST FORESTER.
There's no end.
She'll prate us from our purpoſe. Bind her arms.
All ſtrife is vain.
ALINDA.
Oh, Sir! yet hold a moment;
You murder more than one. An innocent pledge
Of my diſaſtrous love leaps at my ſide,
And joins his ſpeechleſs prayer.
SECOND FORESTER.
And not his wife!
Why then your head's a forfeit to the law,
And we but take before, what ſport or malice
Might make you render at the bloody block,
With proceſs more afflicting.
ALINDA.
[50]Barbarous villains!
Is there no help? Oh, ſpare me!—With my cries
I'll wake the dead.
SCCOND FORESTER.
Diſpatch her with your dagger.
Be quick.
FIRST FORESTER.
'Tis done.
Stabs her.
SCENE IV. To them PALADORE.
PALADORE.
Sure 'twas the ſcream of woe—
A woman ſtruggling! Villains, looſe your hold!
Dogs! hell-hounds!
He drives them out and returns.
ALINDA,
fainting.
Oh!
PALADORE.
Guilt has the wings of wind,
My ſight can ſcarce o'ertake them. On the ground!
I came too late to ſave her. Hearts of ſtone
Might feel compunction ſure, to mar a form
So ſoft and fair as this. Thou beauteous marble,
Forgive my tardy ſuccour! Here's a mould
So delicate, 'twere worth a miracle
To give it ſecond life. I've ſeen this face.—
Ha! As I live, 'tis ſhe; the beauteous girl
That waited on the Princeſs. Soft! the blood
Steals to her cheek again, the azure lids
Begin to open.
ALINDA.
Oh!
PALADORE.
Lock up, ſweet maid!
ALINDA.
[51]Bleſs me! Where am I?
PALADORE.
Safe from violence,
Nor in a ſtranger's arms.
ALINDA.
Your voice is gentle.
But will you ſave me from theſe barbarous men,
Shou'd they again return? I tremble ſtill,
Still feel their ruffian gripe, nor can believe
I yet am ſafe, tho' I no more behold them.
PALADORE.
They are fled far: but, ah! thy ſide is pierc'd;
Nor does this houſeleſs ſolitude afford
The chance of timely ſuccour.
ALINDA.
Heaven is juſt,
(For now I know you) ſince it bids me die,
Weeping for pardon at your injur'd knees;
For I have baſely wrong'd you.
PALADORE.
Wrong'd me! How?
All who have ever ſerv'd, or lov'd that falſe one,
As they bring back her irkſome memory,
I ſhou'd avoid in wiſdom. So confin'd,
It is not in thy ſphere to wake a thought,
More than compaſſion for thy helpleſs ſex,
And aid my order binds to.
ALINDA.
Have but patience,
Nor waſte the few ſhort moments fate allows me
To doubt my truth; the ſeal of death is on it.
You left the court on much ſuppoſed proof
Of her incontinence.
PALADORE.
Suppoſed proof!
[52]By Heaven! I ſaw her in the fulſome twine
Of riotous dalliance with one ſhe ſwore,
That very noon, (a budding perjury)
Excited but her loathing.
ALINDA.
At her window
I know you think you ſaw her.
PALADORE.
Think I ſaw her!
Is there for viſible objects better ſenſe
Than ſight to hold by?
ALINDA.
Oh, moſt injur'd lady!
My ſullied lips wou'd but profane thy virtue
To ſay I know it ſpotleſs.
PALADORE.
Do not mock me
With hopes impoſſible. I ſee her ſtill—
Her ſnowy veil and ſparkling coronet,
Peculiar in their form—
ALINDA.
By me were worn,
While ſhe and harmleſs thoughts ſlept ſound together:
Bireno's was the fraud; my boundleſs love
Made me his inſtrument.
PALADORE.
Oh, hold my brain!—
But one thing more—How came he by that letter?
Her picture, mine?
ALINDA.
Theſe too I found, and gave him,
By her for you intended. 'Midſt her notes
I found his title writ, and trac'd the addreſs
Stroke after ſtroke agreeing.
PALADORE.
[53]Wretch! fond wretch!
Have I for this with viperous calumny
Traduc'd her virgin fame? With deſperate hand
Rais'd this ſharp ſword againſt my tortur'd breaſt?
But I will turn an uſurer in revenge,
And take ſuch bloody intereſt for my wrongs—
ALINDA.
Let Heaven be my avenger—How I lov'd him!
Oh, ſavage! mercileſs! To ſnare my life,
From mere ſuſpicion my unwary tongue
Might publiſh his contrivance—
PALADORE.
How! thy life!
Inhuman dog! Were theſe his ruffians then,
I found thee ſtruggling with?
ALINDA.
I thought they led me,
By his eſpecial care, far from the city,
Where he ordain'd I ſhou'd remain ſecure
To hide this ſwelling witneſs of my ſhame
My fatal paſſion bears him.
PALADORE.
Heaven defend me!
ALINDA.
There lies the bloody contract. Oh, forgive me!
I have ſtruggled hard to make this laſt confeſſion:
The icy graſp of death chills my ſhrunk heart.
PALADORE.
Wou'd I cou'd ſave thee!
ALINDA.
Say but you forgive me.
PALADORE.
As I wou'd be forgiven.
ALINDA.
[54]And will you plead
My pardon with my ever gracious miſtreſs,
When ſhe ſhall know?—'Tis dark—Let this attone.
Dies.
PALADORE.
Peace to thy hapleſs ſhade! Thou haſt waſh'd out
Thy offences in thy blood.—Unnatural ſlave!
Hell ſhou'd invent new torments for thy crimes,
And howling fiends avoid thee. I have heard,
Have read, bold fables of enormity,
Devis'd to make men wonder, and confirm
The abhorrence of our nature, but this hardneſs
Tranſcends all fiction. Mover of the world!
Send not thy ſulphurous lightning forth to ſtrike,
Nor cleave the ground to gape and ſwallow him;
But, Oh! reſerve him for the ſharper pangs
My vengeance meditates. Poor blaſted flower!
Which way ſhall I beſtow thee? It were cruel
To leave thee thus to inſult.—Hold, yon peaſant
May help to bear her hence. Shepherd, approach.
SCENE V.
To PALADORE a SHEPHERD.
Haſt thou a habitation near this place?
SHEPHERD.
Fair Sir, I have. There eaſtward turn your eyes;
The curling ſmoke above yon tufted trees
Mounts from my cottage fire.
PALADORE.
Then call for aid,
And bear this body thither.
SHEPHERD.
Mercy guard us!
This is a piteous ſight. What cou'd provoke
[55]A youth of ſuch a ſweet and comely outſide,
To act ſo ſad a deed?
PALADORE.
You wrong me, ſhepherd;
She fell by ruffians. Pr'ythee call thy hinds,
And for thy ſoul's ſake do this courteſy.
SHEPHERD.
Good Sir, detain me not. I haſte to the city,
Where all our villagers flock to behold
A moſt ſtrange ſight, and ſad as it is ſtrange;
With their beſt ſpeed, my old limbs will be late;
The ſun goes down apace.
PALADORE.
Whate'er the ſight,
Reſpite thy curioſity for gold.
Take this, and give a covering to that corſe.
Gives a purſe.
I muſt away; you ſhall hear further from me.
Exit.
SCENE VI.
To the SHEPHERD, at an oppoſite Entrance, RINALDO.
SHEPHERD.
He had a hard heart, lady, ſtruck thee down.
I wou'd not for the herds that graze theſe hills
Beyond my eyes, not, no, nor for the wealth
Of all who throng the city, I or mine
Shou'd anſwer for a ſin like this at doom's-day.
Oh, if thy father lives, what bitter tears
Will this miſdeed wring from his watery eyes!
Thou ſhalt not want what I can do for thee.
I'll make thy bed with leaves, and ſtrew thee o'er
With herbs and flowers, wild thyme and lavender,
White lilies, and the prime of all our fields:
And for thy ſoul's peace, till thy knell is toll'd,
I'll number many an ave.—Come, for help.
RINALDO.
[56]Oh, curſed chance! Vain is my ſearch to find him;
Yet all his life to come, from one loſt moment
May take its mournful colour. Doom'd to die;
And he alike accus'd, leave her to periſh!
Moſt horrible!—Kind ſhepherd! anſwer quickly;
Saw'ſt thou a youth clad in a ſhining robe,
Of noble port, wandering theſe tangled woods?
SHEPHERD.
Even ſuch a one as you deſcribe, but now,
(Him of your queſtion doubtleſs) went from hence,
And left with me in charge—
RINALDO.
No matter what.
Know you the path he took, which way his courſe?
SHEPHERD.
I follow'd him a little with my eye,
And ſaw him wind round yonder ſhrubby hill,
Then paſs the row of olives.
RINALDO.
Leads it not
Strait to the city?
SHEPHERD.
As the falcon flies.
RINALDO.
Oh, Fortune! Guide his ſteps once more to Pavia,
Elſe, never ending miſery awaits him.
Exeunt ſeverally.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V.
[57]SCENE I. a Hall.
LUCIO, an OFFICER.
OFFICER.
THINK on the danger.
LUCIO.
Who ſees only that,
Will ne'er ſurmount it. More than life I owe her.
Adverſity's hard hand had cruſh'd my hopes,
Doom'd my ſweet wife, and infant family,
To ſhameful beggary: my affliction reach'd her:
Can I forget her all-diſpenſing bounty,
That rais'd my ſoul from comfortleſs deſpair,
That bad my cheerful houſe again receive me,
Bleſs'd us with plenty?—If I fall, and ſave her,
'Tis well; I aſk no nobler epitaph.
OFFICER.
There's virtue in your motive, and your purpoſe;
But how effect her reſcue?
LUCIO.
Will you join us?
OFFICER.
Or why theſe queſtions?
LUCIO.
I dare truſt your honour,
The bond of ſoldiers. Know then, I command
(And ſought it with this hope) her priſon guard:
I have ſounded them, they hate the cruel ſervice.
A little, ere the fatal hour's approach,
[58]We mean to paſs their unreſiſting force,
Throw wide the iron gates, and bear her ſafe
Beyond the danger of this bloody edict.
OFFICER.
It looks ſucceſs, may fortune ſecond it!
The throngs aſſembled to behold the ſight,
Will count for idle gazers, and conceal
Your bold deſign, till 'tis too late to twhart it.
How brooks ſhe her ſad plight?
LUCIO.
With fortitude
So ſweet, ſo even-temper'd, that her death
Seems but a phantom, dreſs'd by Fancy's trick,
To frighten children. All her ſoul's employ'd
In miniſt'ring, with ſofteſt piety,
To her diſtracted father.
OFFICER.
There's a ſpectacle,
Indeed, heart-rending. Caſt on the cold ground,
He ſtrews his head with aſhes, by the roots
Tears out his ſilver hair, beats his poor breaſt;
While the ſignificant dumbneſs of his geſture,
Beggars all power of words.
LUCIO.
Thou blind miſchance,
Stand neuter! we ſhall cheer him preſently.
I'll to my ſtation. Keep thy ſword conceal'd,
Nor ſheathe it drawn, but in the villain's breaſt,
That dare oppoſe us. Be but firm, and fear not.
Exeunt ſeverally.
SCENE II.
BIRENO,
alone.
By their deſcription, it was Paladore;
The place, the glittering robe, his courage too,
[59]In ſo aſſailing them. If their keen daggers
Left her enough of breath to tell the tale,
She has, no doubt, told all, and wing'd him back,
To wreak his vengeance on me; this way only,
Can I be ſafe; firm as he is, and fearleſs,
My ambuſh cuts him off; and, by his death,
The full tide of my proſperous fortune flows,
Never to ebb.
SCENE III.
To BIRENO, ASCANIO.
Well, the great period comes;
No champion meets my challenge?
ASCANIO.
No, not one.
Fear puts the livery of conſcience on:
They cannot think one of your nobleneſs,
Wou'd charge a lady falſely to the death;
And few are the examples of ſucceſs
Againſt conviction: "true, 'tis pitiful,
"That one ſo fair, ſo young, of royal birth,
"For the meer frailty of impulſive nature,
"Should meet ſo ſad a doom; the law's to blame,
"That bloodily enrolls a venial treſpaſs,
"With thoſe o'ergrown and huge enormities,
"That ſhake ſociety;" but they can no more,
Than drop a tear or two, and let her die.
BIRENO.
True; ſhe muſt die; and the heart-wounded king,
Whoſe age already totters o'er the grave,
Like a cruſh'd ſerpent, but a little longer
Will drag his painful being. Yet one fear
Sits, like a boding raven o'er my breaſt,
And flaps its heavy wing to damp my joy.
ASCANIO.
What fear can reach you now? From Paladore?
BIRENO.
[60]Perdition ſeize him! yes. But, my good ruffians,
Ere this, I truſt, have ſent to his account,
That ill-ſtar'd Briton. Doubly arm'd they wait him—
Cloſe by a brambled cavern he muſt paſs,
Returning hither. Yet, ſhould he eſcape—
It cannot be—Heart, re-aſſume thy ſeat.
But, come, the time draws on—Bear to the liſts,
My martial enſigns; I muſt ſeem prepar'd
To oppoſe a danger that will never meet me.
As be is going, a ſervant delivers a paper. Reads.
The hand of Bernardine, my truſty ſpy.
Confuſion! reſcue her! Come back, Aſcanio!
Fly to St. Mark's, collect the cohort there;
Go, place them inſtantly around the priſon;
Bid them diſarm the guard that holds that place,
And, on their lives, drive back the populace.
I'll to Honorias—Theſe ſtout veterans
Will ſweep the rabble like vile chaff before them.
Away—A moment may be fatal to us.
Exeunt ſeverally.
SCENE IV. a Priſon.
PRINCESS, WOMEN attending.
PRINCESS.
Nay, dry theſe tears—The aweful eve of death
Is but profan'd by ſhews of common ſorrow.
I have a triple armour round my heart,
'Gainſt all the ſhapes of terror; yet it owns
The ſoft contagion of affection's drops,
And melts at kindneſs. Come, this muſt not be —
You, Laura! muſt be near me at the block,
And help to diſarray me.—What, more tears?
Stop them, for ſhame; I muſt have ſtrangers elſe,
For this laſt office. When the axe has fallen,
They have no further power—Save from diſgrace,
My poor remains, and on your loves, I charge you,
[61]When I am dead, ſee, that they touch me not.
I have not been unmindful of your ſervice.
It is not much—There were too many poor,
Too many comfortleſs, to leave me rich:
But you will find a father in the king,
And, for my ſake, he will be bounteous to you.
Retire, and weep, I dare not look upon you.
Takes a picture from her breaſt.
Thou dear dumb image of a form belov'd!
Soul of my ſoul, and precious even in death,
A while be ſenſible! Receive this ſigh,
And take my laſt farewel. When thou ſhalt know
My truth, and ſufferings, let not the ſad tale
Blaſt the fair promiſe of thy noble youth,
But, with a ſweet, a ſacred melancholy,
Embalm the ſoft remembrance of my love.
My father! Oh, angelic hoſt ſupport me,
To bear this parting, and death's pang is paſt!
SCENE V.
PRINCESS, KING.
I am indeed ſubdued—To ſee thee thus!
KING.
They would not let me die—
PRINCESS.
Theſe few ſhort hours,
Alas, how have they chang'd thee! Murderous ſorrow!
Thy furrows ſink more deep than age or time.
Your cheek is aſhy pale, your eyes quite ſunk.
Will you not look upon me?
KING.
Oh, no, no;
I came to give thee comfort, to ſuſtain thee;
But, looking on thee, I ſhall weep again,
And add my load of miſery to thine.
Yet teach me to be patient.
PRINCESS.
[62]View me well;
Nor think theſe tears fall for my own diſtreſs;
The throbbings of my heart are for my father.
'Tis apprehenſion makes death terrible;
Cowards, from weakneſs, tremble; guilt, from conſcience;
But the firm boſom innocence inveſts;
Knows it a fix'd inevitable end,
Meets the pale gueſt, nor ſtartles at the encounter.
KING.
Thou wert my all, a mote that vex'd thy eye,
A thorn that raz'd thy finger, ſnatch'd my thoughts
From every care but thee. And thus to loſe thee!
PRINCESS.
Oh, were our being circumſcrib'd by earth,
This end indeed might ſhake my conſtancy:
But, faith apart: think what bright evidence
Shines here within of immortality.
Who has not felt the heavenly overflow
Of thought congenial to the eternal mind?
Why are there tears of virtuous ſympathy?
Whence that coeleſtial fluid of the eye,
That ſheds ſuch full, ſuch ſatisfied delight?
But that the God of all benevolence,
Thus gives a glimpſe of bleſſedneſs to come,
In joys refin'd from ſenſe, and far tranſcending?
KING.
What has old age to loſe? Is the poor remnant
Of life worn thread-bare, precious for itſelf?
Can we be fond of pain, and feebleneſs?
No; but our ſecond ſpring, our ſoul's renew'd
In our dear children, there we cling to life:
Mortality! thy laſt, thy heavieſt curſe.
Bids us remain the mournful monument,
The living tomb of all our comforts buried,
Telling no more in our ſepulchral ſorrow,
Than that they were, and are not.
PRINCESS.
[63]You muſt live
(For ſure the hour will come) to ſee this cloud
Paſs from my memory; and the ſhame he merits,
Fall on my baſe accuſer.
KING.
[Kneeling.]
Hear me, Heaven?
On the devoted murderer of my child,
With tenfold viſitation pour my ſorrow!
Let fear, miſtruſt, and horror ever haunt him!
Slumber forſake his couch, and joy his table!
If he muſt reign, Oh, line his crown with thorns!
Turn reverence to contempt, the friend he truſts,
Meet him for ſmiles with daggers: war abroad,
Treaſon at home, purſue, and harraſs him!
And may the ſteam, that mounts from innocent blood,
Make heavier the dire thunderbolt,
Lanc'd from thy red right arm, at laſt to cruſh him!
PRINCESS.
Spirit of peace! on his diſtemper'd rage,
Oh, ſhed thy healing balm!
A noiſe without.
What mean theſe ſhouts?
This wild tumultuous noiſe?
To them an ATTENDANT.
ATTENDANT.
Our prayers are heard:
The guard gives way, the maſſy bars are forc'd;
And, like delivering angels, the rous'd people,
Burſt in to lead you from this den of horror.
KING.
Oh, joy unhop'd! Millions of bleſſings crown them!
ATTENDANT.
Led by the gallant Lucio, they advance.
KING.
[64]The tiger then may ſeek his prey in vain;
My brave, my generous people! Hark! they come.
More noiſe.
PRINCESS.
Ah, Sir! retire—Your heart muſt thank their purpoſe;
Yet ſure 'twere moſt unmeet for royalty.
Whoſe ſway, and throne, are hallow'd in obedience,
To countenance this outrage. Pray, retire.
KING.
Yes, I will go; but, Oh, be ſwift, my child!
Nor dally with this bleſſed chance to ſave thee.
Exit.
SCENE VI.
To her, LUCIO, his ſword drawn.
PRINCESS.
[Advancing.]
Your purpoſe, quickly?
LUCIO.
[Kneeling.]
Your deliverance, lady!
I owe a debt of boundleſs gratitude,
And thus in part wou'd pay it. Madam, fly!
The people all are yours, a choſen band,
Faithful, and brave, wait to conduct you hence:
This ſmiling moment ſeiz'd, may place you ſafe,
Beyond the dreadful fate that threatens you.
PRINCESS.
But not beyond the reach of ſoul diſgrace,
The noble mind's worſt fate—I know thee, Lucio!
And thank thy kind intention. Cou'd my flight
Reſtore my name to its original whiteneſs,
Make palpable his lie who ſlanders me,
I'd think thee thus commiſſion'd from above,
And welcome life with tranſport.
LUCIO.
Do I wake!
When your good angel thus by me invites you,
[65]Is this a time to doubt? Can you devote
That roſy youth, that all commanding beauty,
To voluntary death?
PRINCESS.
Were it a pain,
Worſe than the fear of cowards can conceive,
I wou'd abide it. Have I not endur'd
A greater horror, heard myſelf proclaim'd,
The thing I ſcorn to utter? Shall I live,
To bear about a diſputable fame,
Scattering the eternal ſeeds of ſtrife and war,
Over my country, for the privilege
To draw a little tranſitory breath,
And be conſign'd to infamy, or honour,
But as the ſword of conqueſt arbitrates?
LUCIO.
Theſe are ſuggeſtions of your generous anger,
And not your reaſon—Oh, moſt honour'd lady!
Again behold me proſtrate at your feet:
Thus, thus, by me the people ſupplicate.
Kneels.
We have but one ſhort moment left to ſave you;
Seize it, and live, live to be ſtill rever'd
Your country's pride, her boaſt, her ornament.
PRINCESS.
I am not to be chang'd. But, Oh, my father!
The good old king, he wants a friend like thee.
ASCANIO.
[Without.]
Force down the bridge. Kill all who dare oppoſe.
They fly; ſtand faſt —
PRINCESS.
He cuts my purpoſe ſhort.
SCENE VII.
[67]ASCANIO, with Soldiers to them.
LUCIO.
Oh, death to all our hopes! 'tis now too late.
I caſt thee from my hand, vile inſtrument!
Since ſhe diſdains thy ſervice.
Throws down his ſword.
ASCANIO.
Seize that traitor—
Quick, bear him hence—Madam, I grieve to ſpeak it,
The herald, to the temple porch, has iſſued
For final proclamation.
PRINCESS.
Spare your ſorrow—
A ſhameful world, diſgrac'd by ſouls like thine,
Turns grief to joy, when noble natures leave it.
Exit Princeſs guarded.
SCENE VIII.
To ASCANIO, BIRENO.
BIRENO.
Oh, let me claſp thee! This was worthy ſervice.
But for thy zeal, the high-rais'd edifice
So near complete, had tumbled to the earth,
And cruſh'd me in its fall.
ASCANIO.
Haſte to the liſts;
A moment more conſummates our deſign,
And Fate itſelf may ſtrive in vain to ſhake us.
Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
[67]The Liſts in the middle of the ſtage. A ſcaffold, guard, and executioner at the bottom. Many ſpectators, officers, and ſena⯑tors, preceding the Princeſs, ſupported by women. Bireno with Aſcanio, who bears his ſhield and ſword. Heralds, with trumpets, on the ſides.
OFFICER.
Make room. Fall back. Let the proceſſion paſs.
BIRENO.
'Tis known why I ſtand here; yet once again,
And for the laſt time, herald, ſound my challenge.
Proceed, none anſwer.
Bireno's Trumpet ſounds.
PRINCESS.
I wou'd have it ſo.
You generous people, who behold with horror
Theſe gloomy preparations, do not deem me
Cold, and unthankful, for my offer'd ſafety,
Tho' I prefer'd this dire alternative.
Before the tongue of ſlander ſtruck my fame,
The rude hand of affliction never touch'd me;
Life had a thouſand bonds to tie me to it,
Young ſpirits, royal birth, fortune, and greatneſs:
But honour was the prop, round which, like ſtalks
Tender and weak, theſe acceſſaries twin'd.
When Calumny's ſharp edge cut down that trunk,
Then theſe poor tendrils loſt their hue, and wither'd.
With that great ruin fell my happineſs.
I now ſtand on eternity's dark verge,
Nor dare I to the God, and Judge of Truth,
Bring lips with falſehood fullied. Of the offence
Caſt on me by vile malice, I am free,
Even to abhorrence; this to Heaven is known,
My own heart, and my accuſer: therefore boldly,
And for your ſakes, will I arraign the law,
Which thus has paſs'd upon me.
FIRST SENATOR.
[68]Gracious lady!
If in this cenſure we too ſtand accus'd,
Think we pronounc'd, but did not make the law.
And let my bleeding heart bear witneſs for me,
I wou'd lay down the deareſt thing I own,
To ſave you from the forfeit.
PRINCESS.
Good, my Lord!
All forms of juſtice have been well obſerv'd;
My blame lights on the law, not on your office,
Which you with truth and mercy miniſter.
But let theſe mute ſpectators mark my counſel:
Fall at the king's feet, claſp the ſenate's knees,
And pray them, they wipe out clear from their rolls,
This more than cruel edict; elſe, be ſure
From every roof there hangs a dangerous ſword,
(Hangs by a thread) which each dark hand may drop
To pierce and ſever nature's deareſt ties.
She who profanes her honor's ſanctity,
Upbraided by her heart, by her own ſex
Shun'd or neglected, nay, held cheap, and vile,
Even to the loathing of the lover's ſenſe,
Who wrought her eaſy nature to tranſgreſs;
Theſe are ſharp penalties: but added death
Turns the clear ſtream of juſtice into blood,
And makes ſuch law more curs'd than anarchy.
Forget not my example; let me periſh:
But if you pluck your ſafety from my ruin,
I ſhall not die in vain. Farewel—Lead on—
Princeſs goes toward the Scaffold, a Trumpet ſounds.
FIRST SENATOR.
Hold, on your lives.
BIRENO.
What means that trumpet's voice?
It ſounds a ſhrill alarm.
SCENE X. To them a SQUIRE.
[69]SQUIRE.
Arreſt your ſentence.
I come in the name of one, who hears with horror
This barbarous proceſs, to proclaim the accuſer
Of that moſt innocent and royal lady,
A ſlanderer and villain; who accepts
Her juſt defence, and by the law of arms
Throws down this gage, and claims the combat for her.
BIRENO.
Take it, Aſcanio. Bid your knight appear,
(If ſuch his order) for to none beneath
Am I thus bound to anſwer. Speak his titles.
SQUIRE.
He wills not I reveal him; but ſuffice it,
He has a name in arms that will not ſhame
The noble cauſe he fights for.
BIRENO.
Bid him enter.
My ſhield and ſword. Say, I am deck'd to meet him.
Exit Squire.
Some raſh adventurer, prodigal of life,
Brib'd by her father's gold to grace her fall,
And add an eaſy trophy to my banners.—
Confuſion! Paladore!
SCENE XI. To them PALADORE.
PRINCESS.
'Tis he, 'tis he!—
Then, life, thou art welcome.—
A loud Murmur among the People.
BIRENO.
Marſhal, do your office!
[70]Furies and hell!—Keep order in the liſts!—
Silence that uproar—
PALADORE.
Yes, behold me, villain!
I have thee in the toils; thou can'ſt not ſcape me.—
But Oh! moſt wrong'd, and heavenly excellence!
To the Princeſs.
How ſhall I plead for pardon?—Can the abuſe
Of his deep craft, and deviliſh artifice,
Fooling my nature's plainneſs, blanch my cheek
From the deep ſhame that my too eaſy faith
Combin'd with hell againſt thee?
PRINCESS.
Riſe, my ſoldier!
Though yet I know not by what ſubtle practice
Thy nobleneſs was wrought on, nor the means
That ſince reveal'd his fraud, praiſe be to Heaven!
Thy preſence plucks my honour from the grave;
Thou liv'ſt, thou know'ſt my truth, thou wilt avenge me.
PALADORE.
Avenge thee!—Yes—Did his right-hand graſp thunder,
Did yelling furies combat on his ſide,
(Pal'd in with circling fires) I wou'd aſſail him,
Nor caſt a look to Fortune for the event.
BIRENO.
Preſumptuous Briton! Think not that bold mien,
A wanton's favour, or thy threats, have power
To ſhrink the finews of a ſoldier's arm.
PALADORE.
A ſoldier's arm! Thou double murderer!
Aſſaſſin in thy intention, and in act.
But ere my falchion cleave thy treacherous breaſt
I will divulge thee.—Bring that ruſſian forth.—
One of Alinda's murderers is brought out.
Two hell-hounds, ſuch as this, he ſet upon me;
One fell beneath my ſword; that wretch I ſpar'd,
Kneeling for mercy: let your juſtice doom him.
Look you amaz'd! Peruſe that paper, Lords,
[71]His compact for the blood of a fair minion,
He taught to ſin, and made her wages death.—
Ha! Does it ſhake thee? See Alinda's form,
Thy panting image mangled in her ſide,
Stalks from her ſanguine bed, and ghaſtly ſmiles,
To aid the proweſs of this dauntleſs ſoldier.
BIRENO.
[Aſide.]
Deſtruction! All's reveal'd!—
ASCANIO
to BIRENO.
What, turn'd to ſtone!
Droop not, for ſhame.—Be quick, retort the charge.
BIRENO.
All falſe as hell! And thou—Defend thyſelf;
Nor blaſt me thus with thy deteſted preſence.—
This to thy heart.
Fight. Bireno falls.
PALADORE.
Oh, impotence of guilt!
An infant's lath had fell'd him. Villain, die!
And know thy ſhame, and the deep wound that wriths thee,
Are but a feeble earneſt of the pangs
Reſerv'd beneath for giant crimes like thine.
PRINCESS.
Haſte to the King, proclaim this bleſs'd event!
BIRENO.
Perfidious chance! Caught in my own device!—
Accurſed!—Ha! they drag me, tear me!—Oh!—
Dies.
PRINCESS.
I have a thouſand things to aſk, to hear:
But, Oh! the joy to ſee thee thus again,
To owe my life, my honour, to thy love—
Theſe tears, theſe rapturous tears, let them ſpeak for me.
PALADORE.
I cou'd endure the malice of my fate:
But this full tide of ſuch exceſſive bliſs,
Sure 'tis illuſion all! It quite tranſports me.
[72]When I have borne thee from this ſcene of horror,
Perhaps I may grow calm, and talk with reaſon.
SCENE XII. and laſt.
To them, KING, LUCIO, &c.
KING.
Where is ſhe? Let me ſtrain her to my heart.—
They cannot part us now, my joy! my comfort!—
Thou generous youth! How can my o'erflowing ſoul
Find words to thank thee?—Words! Poor recompenſe!
Here I inveſt thee with the forfeit lands,
The wealth and honours of that proſtrate traitor.
This too is little—then receive her hand,
Due to thy love, thy courage, and thy virtue,
And joys unutterable crown your union.
END OF THE FIFTH ACT.
Appendix A PROLOGUE to the LAW of LOMBARDY,
[]HARD is the taſk, in modern days to chooſe,
Congenial ſubjects for the tragic muſe:
The hiſtorian's page, the fertile epic ſtore,
Were known, and ranſack'd centuries before:
Like luſcious gardens, unenclos'd they lay,
To ev'ry ſaunt'ring bard an eaſy prey.
They enter'd, and, as taſte impell'd, they fed
On Homer ſome, and ſome on Hollingſhead.
From loftieſt numbers, or from humbleſt proſe,
As each conſpir'd, the artleſs ſtructures roſe.
Thus one great labour of their work was o'er,
They found a fable, and they fought no more.
Careleſs were they of action, place, or time,
Whoſe only toil was dialogue and rhyme.
"Rules which the rigid Stagyrite devis'd,
"Our fathers knew not, or, if known, deſpis'd.
Whilſt ſide by ſide, were mingled in the ſcene,
A laughing ruſtic, and a weeping queen.
Space was obedient to the boundleſs piece,
That op'd in Mexico, and clos'd in Greece.
Then thick with plots the crowded tale was ſown,
'Till the divided boſom felt for none;
"They fear'd no cenſures of a frowning pit,
"That judg'd as looſely as the authors writ."
But we, who poſted in time's tardy rear,
Before a learn'd tribunal now appear;
With anxious art a fable muſt deſign,
Where probability, and intereſt join:
Where time, and place, and action, all agree
To violate no ſacred unity.
And thus each candid critic muſt confeſs
The labour greater, and indulgence leſs;
When ſuch the taſk, the wonder is to meet,
Not many pieces bad, but one complete.
Nor let preſumptious poets fondly claim
From rules exemption, by great Shakeſpeare's name;
Though comets move with wild excentric force,
Yet humbler planets keep their ſtated courſe.
But now, a bard, who touch'd your hearts before,
Again ſalutes you from a neighbouring ſhore.
Fir'd by the applauſe you gave his early lays,
He ſtands again a candidate for praiſe;
Nor from your former favour dares foreſee
To worthleſs ſtrains a partial deſtiny.
But if his virgin palm was fairly won,
And this next courſe with equal vigour's run,
Now join to bind his freſher laurels on.
He fears no jaundic'd rival's envious [...]reath,
The hands which twin'd, ſhall ſtill preſerve the wreath.
Appendix B EPILOGUE to the LAW of LOMBARDY.
[]OF all the Gothic laws I ever heard,
This Lombard Law was ſure the moſt abſurd:
What! could the monſters mean to make us die,
But for a little harmleſs gallantry?
Were ſuch a barbarous cuſtom now in faſhion,
Good Lord! it would unpeople half the nation.
Scaffolds on ſcaffolds now the ſtreets would fill,
As ſign-poſts did, before the paving-bill.
Were Britiſh law-makers ſuch rigorous churls,
They'd hardly leave a head to wear falſe curls.
Beſides, what champion now would riſque his life,
To gain what moſt men ſhudder at—a wife.
Inſtead of arm'd knights, at trumpet's ſummons,
Commend me to our proctors, and the Commons.
There, though we loſe our huſbands, and our fame,
We get our portion, and a maiden name.
And if her fortune, and her charms remain,
Then Miſs may wed—and be divorc'd again.
Yet, though theſe frolics have of late been common,
Lay not the blame entirely on weak woman.
The careleſs mate his rival recommends,
We find him 'midſt his own obliging friends.
Some ſwain, who ſwears he lives but in our eyes,
And plies us with ſuch cunning flatteries,
That ſpouſe neglecting us, and lover wooing,
One ſtrives, and t'other leads us, to our ruin.
So, if weak ladies, chance to go aſtray,
Their lords, methinks, are more in fault than they:
The goal of marriage reach'd, the men lie down,
Like weary racers when the prize is won;
Mere catching us alone their care engages;
The nets they ſpread, but never mind the cages.
The married gameſter more delight can find,
In "Seven's the main," than all dear womankind.
Acteon wedded, to our voice prefers
The ſweeter muſic of his yelping ours;
While the dull ſot, who his ſix bottles boaſts,
Thinks women good for nothing—but for toaſts.
Thus ſlighted for the glaſs, the hound, the die,
Our pride ſteps in, and to revenge we fly;
One obvious method only can preſerve us,
Strive, by your own attentions, to deſerve us;
And now, as formerly, be ſure you'll prove,
Contempt will meet contempt, as love meets love.
Appendix C Books printed for T. Evans in the Strand.
[]- 1 BRAGANZA, a Tragedy, by Robert Jephſon, Eſq 1s. 6d.
- 2 The Counteſs of Saliſbury, a Tragedy, by Hall Hartſon, Eſq 1s. 6d.
- 3 The Heroine of the Cave, a Tragedy, by the Author of the Earl of Eſſex, 1s. 6d.
- 4 Cleonice, a Tragedy, by John Hoole, Eſq 1s. 6d.
- 5 The Man is the Maſter, a Comedy, by Sir William Davenant, 1s. 6d.
- 6 Zenobia, a Tragedy, by Arthur Murphy, Eſq 1s. 6d.
- 7 The Songs in the Duenna, by R. B. Sheridan, Eſq 1s.
- 8 The Brothers, a Comedy, by R. Cumberland, Eſq 1s. 6d.
- 9 The Faſhionable Lover, a Comedy, by R. Cumberland, Eſq 1s. 6d.
- 10 The Duelliſt, a Comedy, by Dr. Kenrick, 1s. 6d.
- 11 Southerne's Plays, with an Account of his Life and Writings, 3 vol. price bound 10s. 6d.
- 12 Shakeſpeare's Plays, with the Notes of various Commentators, and S. Johnſon and George Steevens, Eſqrs; 10 vol. new edit. price bound 3l. 10s.
- 13 Beaumont and Fletcher's Plays, with Notes of various Com⯑mentators, and a preface by George Colman, Eſq adorned with fifty-five elegant Engravings, price bound 3l. 10s.
- 14 Maſſinger's Plays, with Notes, by Mr. Maſon, and Critical Reflections on old Engliſh Dramatic Writers, by George Col⯑man, Eſq 4 vol. new edit. price bound 1l. 4s.
- 15 A Collection of old Plays, illuſtrative of Shakeſpeare, with a Preface, 2 vol. price bound 8s.
- 16 Plays and Poems written by his Grace George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, 2 vol. price bound 8s.
- 17 Plays and Poems written by Richard Savage, Eſq ſon of the Earl Rivers, with an Account of his Life and Writings, by Dr. Samuel Johnſon, 2 vol. price bound 8s.
- 18 Plays and Poems written by T. Smollet, M. D. with an Ac⯑count of his Life and Writings, price bound 4s.
- 19 Poems written by William Shakeſpeare, price bound 4s.
- 20 Old Ballads, Hiſtorical and Narrative, (none of which are in⯑cluded in Dr. Percy's Collection) with Notes, 2 vol. with an elegant Engraving, price bound 8s.
- 21 The complete Works of M. De Monteſquieu, containing his Spirit of Laws, and other Pieces, now firſt collected, with his Eulogium, by M. D'Alembert, 4 vol. large 8vo. with an elegant Engraving, price bound 1l. 4s.
- []22 The Univerſal Hiſtory of M. Boſſuet, Biſhop of Meaux, Pre⯑ceptor to the Dauphin, a new edit. complete, in one volume, large 8vo. price bound 6s.
- 23 Letters from Yorick to Eliza, price ſewed 2s. Theſe Letters complete Mr. Sterne's Works.
- 24 Select Works of Mr. Abraham Cowley, a Supplement to Biſhop Hurd's Edition, price ſewed 3s.
- 25 The Univerſal Mentor, or entertaining Inſtructor; conſiſting of Eſſays on the moſt important Subjects in Life, ſelected from the beſt Writers, by Sir John Fielding, price bound 3s.
- 26 The Grand Tour; or a Journey through the Netherlands, Germany, Italy and France: containing a Deſcription of the principal Cities and Towns, the public Edifices, Seats and Pa⯑laces, their Libraries, Cabinets, Paintings and Statues, Coins, Commerce, &c. and an exact Liſt of the Poſt Routs and Prices, by M. Nugent, 4 vol. new edit. price bound 14s.
- 27 Deſiderata Curioſa, a Collection of curious Tracts, chiefly on Engliſh Hiſtory, Lives, Memoirs, Wills, Letters, Epitaphs, &c. from Original MSS. by Francis Peck, 2 vol. Royal Quarto, with Plates, price in boards, 1l. 11s. 6d.
In a few Days will be publiſhed,
- THE WORKS OF THE ENGLISH POETS, With Portraits elegantly engraven, and Prefaces Biographical and Critical, by Dr. Johnſon, 57 vol. price, ſewed, 7l.
- In 2 vol. ſmall Octavo, adorned with a moſt exquiſite En⯑graving by Sherwin, from a Deſign of Mortimer, price, ſewed, 7s. THE POETICAL WORKS OF MATTHEW PRIOR, New, firſt collected with Explanatory Notes and Memoirs of the Author.
- Propoſals for printing by Subſcription, an elegant Edition, in one Volume, Folio, NOTITIA MONASTICA. By WILLIAM TANNER, Lord Biſhop of St. Aſaph.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 4012 The law of Lombardy a tragedy as it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane Written by Robert Jephson. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D475-8