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CLEMENTINA, A TRAGEDY.
A NEW EDITION.
[Price One Shilling and Six-pence.]
[]
CLEMENTINA, A TRAGEDY, As it is Perform'd with univerſal Applauſe at the Theatre-Royal in COVENT-GARDEN.
A NEW EDITION.
LONDON: Printed for EDWARD and CHARLES DILLY, in the Poultry, And T. CADELL, in the Strand.
MDCCLXXI.
TO GEORGE COLMAN, Eſq
[]DEAR SIR,
WHEN I inſcribe this Tragedy to you, I mean to pay myſelf a very high compliment; the utmoſt I could poſſibly ſay of you, would by no means extend your Reputation; but it will do me much honour to declare, that ſo celebrated a writer has diſtinguiſhed CLEMENTINA with the moſt eſſential attention; and that ſo valuable a man has given me leave to ſign myſelf, what I truly am,
DEAR SIR,
His moſt faithful and moſt obliged humble ſervant, The AUTHOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
[]THE Author of this Tragedy has printed ſe⯑veral lines for the Cloſet, which, in the Re⯑preſentation, were omitted for the ſake of brevity.—The chief buſineſs of this advertiſement, how⯑ever, is to acknowledge his obligations to the in⯑imitable performance of Mrs. YATES, and to thank Mr. BENSLEY, Mr. SAVIGNY, and Mr. WROUGH⯑TON, for their great good-nature, in undertaking their reſpective characters at the ſhort notice of a week, when Mr. Ross unexpectedly returned the part of Anſelmo *, which had been in his poſſeſſion above a fortnight, and left it no more than barely poſſible for the utmoſt diligence of theſe Gentlemen, to exhibit a piece, which the public have ſince been kindly pleaſed to honour with the moſt generous approbation.
PROLOGUE,
[]IN theſe, our moral and religious days,
Men dread the crying ſin of writing Plays;
While ſome, whoſe wicked wit incurs the blame,
Howe'er they love the treſpaſs, fly the ſhame.
If, a new holy war with Vice to wage,
Some preacher quits the pulpit for the ſtage,
The Rev [...]rend Bard, with much remorſe and fear,
Attempts to give his Evening-Lecture here.
The work engender'd, to the world muſt riſe;
But yet the father may elude our eyes.
The pariſh on this trick of youth might frown,
And thus, unown'd, 'tis thrown upon the Town.
At our Director's door he lays the ſin,
Who ſees the Babe, relents, and takes it in;
To ſwathe and dreſs it firſt unſtrings his purſe,
Then kindly puts it out to You—to nurſe.
Should ſome young Counſel, thro' his luckleſs ſtar,
By writing Plays turn truant to the Bar.
Call'd up by you to this High Court of Wit,
With non inventus we return the writ.
No latitat can force him to appear,
Whoſe failure and ſucceſs cauſe equal fear,
Whatever fees his clients here beſtow,
He loſes double in the Courts below.
Grave ſolemn Doctors, whoſe preſcribing pen
Has in the trade of Death kill'd many men,
[x]With vent'rous quill here tremblingly engage
To ſlay Kings, Queens, and Heroes, on the ſtage.
The Great, if great men write, of ſhame afraid
Come forth incog.—and Beaux, in maſquerade.
Some Demireps in wit, of doubtful fame,
Tho' known to all the town, withhold their name.
Thus each by turns ungratefully refuſe
To own the favours of their Lady-Muſe;
Woo'd by the Court, the College, Bar and Church,
Court, Bar, Church, College, leave her in the lurch.
'Tis your's to-night the work alone to ſcan;
Arraign the bard, regardleſs of the man!
If Dulneſs waves her poppies o'er his play,
To Critic fury let it fall a prey;
But if his art the tears of Pity draws,
Aſk not his name—but crown him with applauſe!
Dramatis Perſonae.
[]- ANSELMO Mr. SAVIGNY.
- GRANVILLE Mr. BENSLEY.
- PALERMO Mr. WROUGHTON.
- ADORNO Mr. GARDNER.
- CLEMENTINA Mrs. YATES.
- ELIZARA Miſs PEARCE.
CITIZENS, GUARDS, &c.
SCENE, VENICE.
TIME—The Time of Repreſentation.
CLEMENTINA, A TRAGEDY.
[1]ACT I.
An Apartment in ANSELMO's Palace. Enter CLEMENTINA and ELIZARA.
CLEMENTINA.
DISTRACTION! here ſo ſoon?
ELIZARA.
This very hour—
Your good, your noble, yet miſguided father,
This moment chill'd me with the hated tale;
Then ſeizing eagerly my trembling hand,
"Tell Clementina, tell your ſtubborn friend,"
Cry'd he, in accents poſitive and ſtern,
"That brave Palermo, juſt return'd from chains,
"Chains greatly purchas'd in his country's cauſe,
"Muſt now receive ſuch welcome, ſuch affection,
"As ſuits her virtue, and Anſelmo's daughter.—
"Tell her, my word's irrevocably giv'n,
"And bid her guard the honour of her father."
CLEMENTINA.
[2]Why let the ſtorm exert its utmoſt rage,
And burſt in thunder on my wretched head!
Let this ſevere, this unrelenting father,
Caſt me a houſeleſs wand'rer on the world,
Yet ſhall my ſoul with unabating firmneſs
Deny her ſanction to Palermo's claim.
O Elizara, you who know the cauſe,
The endleſs cauſe of Clementina's tears,
Who ſaw the awful, tho' the ſecret rite
That gave this hand, now widow'd, to Rinaldo;
Is there, in all the various rounds of woe,
A curſe ſo great, a pang ſo exquiſite,
As this poor breaſt is ſingled out to feel?
ELIZARA.
Indulge not thus a painful recollection!
CLEMENTINA.
Oh memory! ev'n madneſs cannot loſe it!
Mangled with wounds, amidſt unnumber'd foes;
My hapleſs huſband for his country fell!
Yet, the ſad ſtory of our loves conceal'd,
I was allow'd no privilege of tears,
But doom'd to hide the anguiſh of my heart.—
And now, in all the fulneſs of deſpair,
To have another forc'd upon me! horror!
It is not to be borne!—But I'm reſolv'd,
And will devote the remnant of my life
To loſt Rinaldo's memory, or die
Some little hour before my griefs would end me.
ELIZARA.
Alas, I feel the ſorrows of your boſom,
With all the ardent ſympathy of friendſhip;
And know how ſouls ſo delicate as yours,
Muſt ſpurn th' idea of a ſecond lord.
Yet blame no more the ſternneſs of Anſelmo;
[3]The antient hate too long, too idly cheriſh'd,
Between your angry father and Rinaldo's,
Firſt urg'd the meaſure of a private union.
A ſtranger therefore to your grief, Anſelmo
Claims but the right which cuſtom, and which nature,
Have long giv'n parents o'er their children's hearts.
CLEMENTINA.
What claim, what right, misjudging Elizara,
Can tyrant cuſtom plead, or nature urge
To force the free election of the ſoul?
Say, ſhould affection light the nuptial torch,
Or ſhould the raſh deciſion of a father
Doom his ſad race to wretchedneſs for ever?
No, Elizara; cuſtom has no force,
Nature no right, to ſanctify oppreſſion;
And parents vainly tell us of indulgence,
When they give all but happineſs to children.
ELIZARA.
True—yet a cruel criſis in your fate,
Has much to offer for the good Anſelmo.
He fondly thinks his daughter diſengag'd;
Believes too, fondly, that Palermo's merit
Muſt touch the gentle boſom of my friend:
If then determin'd to reject his choice,
At once throw off conſtraint—at once be open,
And ſeal his lips for ever on the ſubject,
By a frank mention of your fatal ſtory.
CLEMENTINA.
What! and expoſe my dear Rinaldo's kindred
To all the fury of enrag'd Anſelmo,
The now acknowledg'd ruler of the ſtate;
Who, tho' renown'd for wiſdom and for juſtice.
Yet in the points, the cruel points of honour,
Is rigid, ſtern, and fatally ſevere?
No, Elizara; tho' theſe fading eyes
[4]No more muſt hope to gaze upon Rinaldo,
Tho' the ſoul-ſwelling language of my woes,
Falls unregarded on the ſilent tomb,
And boaſts no pow'r to call my ſlaughter'd hero
From the dark, dreary manſions of the dead;
Still let me guard whatever he held dear,
Nor pluck down added ruin on his houſe!
ELIZARA.
Anſelmo's juſtice will o'ercome his hatred—
Were he inclin'd to make his will his law,
Or wiſh'd for means to gratify reſentment,
He has the pow'r already; but his mind,
Superior ever to the thought of wrong,
Can feel no paſſion to diſgrace his virtue.
CLEMENTINA.
The beſt may err, nor will I tempt his rage;
The mighty meaſure of my woe is full—
Why then, when fate's unmerciful decree
Has curs'd me up to ſuch a height of ill,
Why ſhould I ſhudder at the gathering ſtorm,
Or ſeek for ſhelter in another's ſorrow?
I now have no aſylum but the grave:
Tho' did peace court me from the bow'rs of bliſs,
My ſoul would ſcorn to hear the charmer's voice,
If ſhe requir'd me to perform a deed,
That either ſhock'd my juſtice, or my honour.
ELIZARA.
Then ſummon all your firmneſs, Clementina!
For here Anſelmo comes, and brings Palermo;
O that your terrors for Rinaldo's kindred,
May ſtiil ſubſide, and hear the voice of reaſon!
Your ſoul is ill adapted to diſguiſe;
And without cauſe to diſappoint his views,
Muſt be as fatal as to tell him all.
CLEMENTINA.
[5]They're here—let us retire—Palermo's preſence
Is now a thouſand deaths—and tho' prepar'd
With fortitude to act—ſtill, Elizara,
While I can ſhun the conflict, let me ſpare,
Spare ev'n the feelings of a cruel father!
[Exeunt.
Enter ANSELMO and PALERMO.
ANSELMO.
Gone ſo abruptly!—gone at our approach!—
And yet, my ſon, the crimſon hue of virtue
Will always deepen at a lover's ſight,
Who comes to aſk his certain day of tranſport,
And knows the hour of apprehenſion o'er.
PALERMO.
'Tis juſt, my lord—But ſtill however lovely,
The ſoft emotion of theſe gentle terrors,
Spreads in the blooming daughters of perfection,
Still Clementina might have kindly giv'n
A long loſt lover welcome from his bonds;
And nobly told him that his ruin'd fortunes
Were ev'n deem'd merit with Anſelmo's daughter.
ANSELMO.
Think not, Palermo, of your ruin'd fortunes;
My Clementina, with her father's eyes,
Regardleſs looks on dignity and wealth;
And holds the mind pre-eminent in both,
That boaſts a bright pre-eminence in virtue.
PALERMO.
When ſharp adverſity has ſtung the mind,
It makes us doubly conſcious of neglect:
And ſure a ſoul leſs ſenſible than mine
Had room to ſtart at Clementina's coldneſs.
Judge then by all that headlong fire of youth
[6]Which once ſwell'd up your own impaſſion'd breaſt,
If I could let indifference paſs unnotic'd?
He never lov'd that bore a ſlight with temper,
Nor ever merited a worthy heart,
Who meanly ſtoop'd, contented with a cold one.
ANSELMO.
No more, my ſon!—This day rewards your ſuff'rings,
For Clementina ſhall to-day be yours;
And while love courts you with his ripeſt roſes,
The golden ſun of honourable greatneſs
Shines out to crown you with his warmeſt beams—
Our native land—but what exceeds all price,
Our native liberty ſhall ſoon be ours;
And ſoon Palermo nobly ſhall revenge
On haughty Ferdinand, that ſcourge of earth,
The wrongs ill-fated Venice has ſuſtain'd,
The wrongs which heedleſs of a ſoldier's glory
Th' imperial plund'rer on my ſon himſelf
So poorly, meanly, infamouſly heap'd,
When in a baſe exaction for his ranſom,
He ſeiz'd his all, nor left th' indignant warrior
A home to reſt in from the weight of chains—
Our French ally, the nobly-minded Lewis,
This hour diſpatches an embaſſador,
To give our country renovated being,
And burſt aſunder ev'ry yoke of Spain.
PALERMO.
The glorious news o'erpays an age of bonds!
O for a curſe, a quick diſpatching curſe,
To blaſt the ruthleſs tyrant on his throne,
And mark him out thro' all ſucceeding ages,
A dread example to deſpotic kings!
But ſay, and bleſs me with ſome certain hope;
On what foundation does the royal Lewis,
Bid us thus boldly, conſidently look
For inſtant vengeance, and for inſtant freedom?
ANSELMO.
[7]That I am yet to learn.—But noble ſtill
I ever found him in our various treaties;
And therefore cannot, will not, doubt him now.
Sunk by his late diſtreſſes, Ferdinand
Now mourns his dreams of univerſal empire,
And ſhrinks in ſecret at the arms of France.
PALERMO.
Eternal praiſes to the God of battles!
Yes, ſcepter'd ſavage, we may reach you yer,
And boldly tell you in the face of nations,
That royal robbers from unerring juſtice
Demand a double meaſure of perdition!—
The needy ruffian, in his hour of hunger,
Has ſome excuſe for prowling on his neighbour;
But when the arm, the mighty arm of kings,
That ſhou'd protect all mankind from oppreſſion;
Is ſtretch'd to ſeize on what it ought to guard,
Then heaven's own brand, in aggravated fire,
Shou'd ſtrike th' illuſtrious villain to his hell;
And war in mercy for a groaning world.
ANSELMO.
Oh, nobly ſaid!—Our cauſe is juſt, and heaven
Fights on our ſide: for late, the Spaniſh troops
In two great fields were wholly overthrown,
And fill'd the plains with myriads of their dead.
Our navies too, tho' ſome Venetian cities
Lye humbled ſtill beneath the tyrant's yoke,
Fill Spain with conſtant and with juſt alarms;
For ſuch a blaze of unexampled glory
Has crown'd the fleets entruſted to my care,
That tho' depriv'd of more than half our realm,
We ſtill remain a formidable foe,
And rule triumphant o'er the boundleſs wave.
PALERMO.
[8]How the bright proſpect burſts upon my view,
And lifts me up in fancy to the ſtars!
O did the fair, the matchleſs Clementina,
View me with eyes leſs rigidly ſevere,
This one bleſt hour had madden'd me with rapture.
ANSELMO.
Again, Palermo?—But I ceaſe to chide,
And go, my ſon, to end your doubts for ever.—
If I know aught of Clementina's heart,
'Twill beat in honeſt uniſon to mine,
And give an added welcome to your claim,
Becauſe you've now, an added need of fortune.
PALERMO.
Too generous Anſelmo!
ANSELMO.
Nay, no thanks!
The man who bears not to a friend diſtreſs'd
A double will to ratify engagements,
Stands ſelf-convicted at the bar within,
The baſe aſſaſſin of his native honour.
[Exit.
PALERMO
alone.
Why did I wound his venerable boſom,
With any doubt of Clementina's truth?
And yet diſquiet hangs about my heart;
A ſecret voice inceſſantly ſuggeſts,
That Clementina was not born for me:
But let me not anticipate misfortune!
When fate has ſtruck, 'tis time enough to feel;
And he is beſt prepar'd againſt the blow,
Whoſe conſcious virtue never has deſerv'd it.
[Exit.
[9]Scene changes to CLEMENTINA'S Apartment.
CLEMENTINA
alone.
Now, Clementina,—now the trial comes—
Call up th' inherent greatneſs of your ſoul,
And ſhew Anſelmo; ſhew this rigid ſire;
That his own firmneſs animates his daughter!
What, does he think that force can move my temper?
No; ſacred ſpirit of my dear Rinaldo,
It kindly hov'ring round your wretched wife,
You ſtill obſerve her in this world of woe,
Look, and applaud her in an hour of terror!
Look, and behold, how faithful to her vows,
She braves a ſure deſtruction for your ſake;
Braves all the ſtings of poverty and ſcorn,
Her father's fury, and her houſe's hate,
To live the ceaſeleſs mourner of your fall!
Enter ANSELMO.
ANSELMO.
Well, Clementina,—Have I yet a daughter?
CLEMENTINA.
Say rather, Sir—if I have yet a father?
ANSELMO.
Yes, Clementina, an unhappy father,
Who now implores compaſſion from his child:
I ſee, I ſee with infinite regret,
Your ſcorn, your fix'd averſion to Palermo;
And tho' I came, determin'd to exact
A ſtrict, a rigid inſtance of your duty,
My aching ſoul, quite melted at your tears,
Rejects the ſterner ſentiment of force,
And bends the weeping ſuppliant to a daughter.
CLEMENTINA.
O could the ſecret volume of my heart,
Be laid this moment openly to view,
[10]My father there, would read my pride to pleaſe him.
Let him aſk all from Clementina's duty,
Which wretched Clementina can perform;
Let him do this, and he's at once obey'd.
But when he aſks her to direct her wiſhes,
To turn the mighty current of the mind,
And join the ſtreams, the ever-warring ſtreams
Of boundleſs love and limitleſs averſion;
There he exceeds her utmoſt ſtretch of pow'r,
And only gives occaſion for her tears.
ANSELMO.
Look round on all th' accompliſh'd ſons of Venice,
And ſay who ſhines ſuperior to Palermo?
Take then his hand, and bleſs your doating father!—
Let us not now in poverty deſert him,
Nor aid the arrow of a galling need,
With the keen dart of diſappointed love!
No, Clementina, let us nobly claim
A great alliance with his ruin'd fortunes,
And give a bright example to our country,
That worth is all things, with the truly worthy!
CLEMENTINA.
Palermo's merits, and Palermo's wants,
Alike receive my praiſes, and my pity;
But, venerable Sir, if e'er my peace,
My ſoul's dear peace, was tender to your thoughts,
Spare me, O ſpare me, on this cruel ſubject!
Let the brave youth, ſo honour'd with your friendſhip,
Partake your wealth, but do not kill your daughter.
Do not, to give him a precarious good,
Doom me to certain wretchedneſs for ever!
I have an equal claim upon your heart,
And call as much for favour as Palermo.
ANSELMO.
A little time, ſweet ſoother of my age,
Will charm that gentle boſom into reſt,
[11]And ev'n return Palermo love for love.
Then, Clementina! O my ſoul's whole comfort,
Refuſe a kneeling father if you can.
[Kneels.
Here at your feet, the author of your being,
Who never ſtoop'd to aught before but heaven,
Begs for compaſſion—Muſt he beg in vain?
CLEMENTINA.
O mercy, mercy! Will you kill your daughter?
Riſe Sir, O riſe, and ſave me from diſtraction!
ANSELMO
riſing.
My word, my child, has never yet been broken.—
Do not in age expoſe me to diſhonour!—
Save your poor father at the verge of life,
O nobly ſave him from the guilt of falſhood!
In this reverſal of Palermo's fortunes,
The ſland'rous tongue of all my houſe's foes,
Will mark me out to univerſal ſhame;
And tell the world his poverty alone,
Has loſt the daughter of the baſe Anſelmo.
CLEMENTINA.
No more—I yield—and am a wretch for ever.
ANSELMO.
O ſay not ſo, my heart's ſupreme delight!
Applanding heav'n ſhall bleſs your filial virtue,
And give your heart that joy you give your rather.
My tranſport grows too mighty to be borne—
O let me haſten to the brave Palermo,
And raiſe him from deſpondency to rapture!
[Exit.
CLEMENTINA alone.
Rinaldo's widow, wedded to Palermo!
Where ſhall I now find refuge from reflection,
Or how root up the agonizing thought,
That brings this horrid marriage to my view?
I was prepar'd for all a father's fury,
[12]But was not arm'd againſt a father's tears,
How could I ſee him weeping at my feet,
Toſt in a whirlwind of contending paſſions,
And yet retain the purpoſe of my ſoul?
Ev'n if the ſainted ſpirit of my huſband,
From the bright manſions of eternal day,
Beheld the anguiſh of his ſtruggling heart,
It muſt have kindly prompted me to pity.—
O this Palermo!—This deteſted union!—
Married to him?—The widow of Rinaldo?—
Give me, ye bleſſed miniſters of peace,
Some inſtant portion of that ſoothing ſtream,
Which pours a deep oblivion on the mind,
And drowns the ſenſe of memory for ever!
ACT II.
[13]An Apartment in ANSELMO's Palace. Enter GRANVILLE and ELIZARA.
ELIZARA.
AND is it poſſible? Do I once more
Behold Rinaldo?—
GRANVILLE.
Yes, my Elizara;
Yet oh take heed, ſweet maid, alone to know me
For what I ſeem—Th' ambaſſador of France.
As ſuch alone Anſelmo has receiv'd me,
And ſuch my king confirms me.—But declare,
How fares my Clementina?—How does ſhe
Support the oft proclaim'd, the general tale,
That now ſix moons has rank'd me with the dead?
ELIZARA.
She bears it like a wife that truly lov'd—
But by what miracle again reſtor'd
Acquaint me!—for concurring multitudes
Beheld your fall in battle, and reported,
That in a pile of greatly-ſlaughter'd heroes,
A Gallic ſquadron bore you from the field.
GRANVILLE.
I fell indeed amidſt the gen'ral carnage,
And lay ſome hours among the honour'd dead;
For whom the vanquiſh'd, France's gen'rous ſons
Made one bold effort to obtain a grave:
Here a brave youth of that exalted nation,
[14]Cloſe by whoſe ſide with emulative fire
I sought for Venice on that hapleſs day;
Beheld the man he deign'd to call his friend,
And by a kind of miracle reſtor'd me.—
Then to the king in terms of warmeſt weight,
Proclaim'd my fancied merits.—Royal Lewis
Received the ſtory with a gracious ear,
And pour'd profuſe, his favours on Rinaldo.
ELIZARA.
Why then, O why, diſtinguiſh'd thus, thus honour'd,
Did not Rinaldo ſooth his ſorrowing friends,
And eaſe the torments of a wife's deſpair?
GRANVILLE.
O Elizara! how my ſoul has felt
For all the anguiſh ſhe was doom'd to ſuffer,
That heaven, which knows the greatneſs of my love,
Alone can witneſs.—But the conquering arms
Of widely waſting Ferdinand, cut off
Our commerce with the world—and had not fate,
In two late fields propitious ſmil'd upon us,
Rinaldo yet, diſtracted and forlorn,
Had drag'd a chain of miſerab'le being;
Nor known, as now he ſhall, th' extatic bliſs
Of ſpeaking peace to weeping Clementina.
ELIZARA.
But whence this transformation?—Why conceal'd
Beneath the garb of France, does brave Rinaldo
So cloſely ſeek to hide himſelf in Granville?
GRANVILLE.
For ends of moment.—If the charge I bear
Meets, as I hope, and as I think it ought,
A warm reception from Anſelmo—Then
I come determin'd to avow my marriage;
And gracious Lewis will, I truſt, remove
The fatal feuds that ſhake our angry houſes.
ELIZARA.
[15]But ſhou'd Anſelmo diſapprove your charge,
What meaſure then remains to be purſu'd,
And what becomes of weeping Clementina?
GRANVILLE.
There my diſguiſe is ſuited to aſſiſt me;
Shou'd he refuſe to join the views of France,
My orders are that inſtant to return,
And my deſign, to bear off Clementina.
ELIZARA.
You talk, Rinaldo, with an air of triumph;
Think you the firſt of our Venetian daughters,
Can in a moment thus be borne away;
Borne from her palace compaſs'd round with guards,
Surrounding virgins, and a watchful father?
GRANVILLE.
My name conceal'd and all my train inſtructed,
My king's credentials bearing but the title,
Which he himſelf has giv'n me, and which yet
Has reach'd no ear of Venice but your own,
Can there exiſt a doubt of my ſucceſs?
Unknown—unnotic'd—unſuſpected quite,
A truſty friend ſhall lead her to the beach,
If Clementina, like myſelf, diſguis'd
Will venture aught to bleſs her faithful huſband.
ELIZARA.
Rinaldo ſhou'd purſue a diff'rent courſe,
A courſe more ſuited to his worth and honour.
Now independent, now ſo rais'd in France,
What can you dread from Venice or its leader?
Your fortunes now are equal to your birth.
Shou'd then your embaſſy diſpleaſe Anſelmo,
Act like yourſelf!—throw off this dark diſguiſe,
And nobly claim your wife.—You know his juſtice,
And know beſides he cannot hate you farther.
GRANVILLE.
[16]Fain, gentle maid, wou'd I purſue this counſel,
And in the face of day aſſert my right;
But if the purport or my public buſineſs,
Which heaven avert! ſhou'd raiſe Anſelmo's anger,
My life, once known, muſt expiate my crime.
I come, I hope, to bleſe the ſtate of Venice,
But I come alſo, with a foreign ruler—
This, you know well, is death by law declar'd,
Nor cou'd th' ambaſſador of France, preſerve
Th' offending ſubject from the ſtroke of juſtice.
ELIZARA.
May heaven indulgent ſmile upon your hopes!
But oh! I dread, I dread a diſappointment.
And ſee, impatience frowning on his brow,
Hither Anſelmo comes.—Let me fly hence,
And bleſs my friend, with tidings of her lord!
[Exit.
Enter ANSELMO, with Papers.
ANSELMO.
Well, Sir, the views of Lewis are at length
Reveal'd; and here, I ſee, he ſpeaks them plainly.
GRANVILLE.
Why, ſage Anſelmo, this offended brow?
I truſt my maſter's offers have deſerv'd
Your higheſt approbation; for they breathe
Nought but attachment, and regard for Venice.
ANSELMO.
Is this the baſis of his love for Venice?
Has he ſtood forth a champion for our freedom,
Merely himſelf to tread us into ſlaves?
And ſav'd us from the arm of haughty Spain,
To make us bear his own oppreſſive yoke?
Go tell your king, and tell him from Anſelmo,
[17]That France and Venice can be friends no more;
Tell him, to us, all tyrants are the ſame;
Or if in bonds the never-conquer'd ſoul
Can feel a pang more keen than ſlav'ry's ſelf,
'Tis when the chains, that cruſh us into duſt,
Are forg'd by hands from which we hop'd for freedom.
GRANVILLE.
And what idea does my buſineſs raiſe,
Of ſlaves or tyrants, ſervitude or chains?
'Tis true, the gracious Lewis has propos'd
To take the ſtate of Venice to his care,
If ſage Anſelmo, her illuſtrious leader,
Approves the ſcheme of well-concerted empire—
He ſees with deep, with nobly-minded ſorrow,
How, ſtill expos'd to ev'ry pow'rful neighbour,
You fall a victim to alternate ſpoilers;
Hence, with paternal tenderneſs, he wiſhes
T' enroll your ſons among the ſons of France,
And make the ſubjects of his diff'rent realms,
One equal, common, and united people.
If this be ſlav'ry—
ANSELMO.
'Tis the worſt of ſlav'ry,
Tamely to bend Our necks beneath the yoke,
And ſuffer fraud, to talk us out of freedom.—
If we muſt yield before ſuperior force,
Let us at leaſt deſerve the name of men;
Let us fall nobly, if we are to fall,
And give the world in characters of blood,
Eternal cauſes to lament our fate,
But never one occaſion to deſpiſe us!
GRANVILLE.
Far from my boſom be the abject thought!
To ſtoop the ſervile miniſter of greatneſs,
Or crouch the advocate for lawleſs pow'r:
The heir myſelf of heav'n-deſcended freedom,
I wiſh the ſame bright heritage to all.
[] [...][] [...][18]And inly ſcorn a brotherhood with ſlaves.
Yet ſure, ſome form your government muſt know;
The reins of ſtate muſt ſomewhere be devolv'd;
And he who holds them, name him as you pleaſe,
Muſt be your prince, and you muſt be his ſubjects,
Why then, if Lewis ſolemnly ſhall ſwear,
To hold your rights inviolably ſacred;
Still to maintain the ſpirit of your laws,
And never know another line of action;
Why ſhould you turn indignantly away,
And ſlight the offer of a mighty monarch,
Who knows that form of government is beſt,
Which beſt ſecures the welfare of the people?
ANSELMO.
Becauſe your monarch, in this very offer,
Seeks to ſubvert our glorious conſtitution;
Seeks to erect hereditary rule,
Where virtue only, gives ſuperior rank;
And where the genius of deſcended Rome,
Has levell'd all diſtinctions but in goodneſs.
What is his promiſe to maintain us free?
Sir, we'll maintain that freedom for ourſelves;
And to maintain it, we reject your maſter.
The pow'r, ſo ſafe in his benignant hand,
Is ſafer ſtill, retain'd within our own;
We know the worth of liberty too well,
Ever to caſt the bleſſing baſely from us,
Or ſtill more baſely to ſurvive our honour.
GRANVILLE.
You need not caſt the mighty bleſſing from you.—
The king my maſter, wiſhes for no more,
Than ſuch mere title to the realms of Venice,
As to his ſubjects and the world may warrant,
A warm exertion of continual care
For this his dear ally.—And mark, my lord;
[ſhewing a paper.
[19]The moment Venice owns him for her ſovereign,
This inſtrument confirms the viceroy's office,
With all the active rule, to great Anſelmo
And his heirs for ever.—
ANSELMO.
Am I awake?
Or can I truſt my reaſon?—Patience—Patience!
Are all the bright atchievements of my life
Unable now to ſave me from diſgrace?
Thus to the winds I give the vile propoſal:
[tearing the paper.
Thus tear the record of imputed ſhame;
Nor let ſucceeding ages be inform'd
That mortal man has dar'd to doubt my honour!
GRANVILLE.
No more, my lord! my king I ſee has err'd,
In off'ring peace and happineſs to Venice.
Yet let me mourn for you, her wretched race!
Her ſlaughter'd ſons, and violated virgins;
For you, her ſhrieking matrons; and for you,
O ye unconſcious, wnoffending babes,—
Driv'n from your humble yet your chearful homes,
To timeleſs graves, or everlaſting exile!
Anſelmo dooms you to this dreadful fate,
And ſpurns the friendſhip offer'd to preſerve you.
ANSELMO.
Eternal curſes on the baleful friendſhip,
That ſeeks to cheat us of our native juſtice!
And did your mean, your poorly-thinking prince
Suppoſe Anſelmo would betray his country,
Hang up his name to everlaſting ſcorn.
And ſell the brighteſt birthright of a people,
To gain a robber's portion of the plunder!
What cou'd repay me for internal peace,
Or give diſtinction where I ſold my honour?
The wildeſt prodigal the world can know,
Is he who madly caſts away his virtue;
[20]And tho' he gains a ſceptre in return,
He's ſtill a wretched loſer by the change—
GRANVILLE.
Enough, my lord; we end our conf'rence here.—
Venice, 'tis true, admires the good Anſelmo,
And truſts her preſent ſafety to his wiſdom;—
Yet if his fellow-citizens ſhall hear,
How light their happineſs is held, when weigh'd
In glory's grand, tho' too romantic ſcale,
Well may they mourn this honourable madneſs,
This dread, thro' bright, delirium of the mind,
Which ſeeks for ſafety in aſſur'd deſtruction,
And blindly murders nations to preſerve them.
ANSELMO.
Whene'er they ſhew ſuch turpitude of ſoul,
Make them again an offer of your chains!—
But now, the purport of your buſineſs o'er,
And public character thrown wholly off,
In the plain province of a private man,
Let me ſalute the noble lord of Granville;
And beg, while Venice boaſts of ſuch a gueſt,
He'll not diſdain the dwelling of Anſelmo!
GRANVILLE.
My lord, with equal gratitude and pleaſure,
I meet your kindneſs for my little ſtay;
My ſcarce furl'd ſails muſt quickly court the wind,
And bear me back to my expecting maſter.
ANSELMO.
Th' aſſembled ſenate now requires my preſence—
My lord, farewell!—I treat you as a friend.—
I never dealt in ceremony yet; and you'll excuſe
Th' unpoliſh'd manners of Venetian ſailors.
GRANVILLE.
The gen'rous frankneſs of your temper here,
Beſpeaks a native honeſty and wiſdom,
[21]That makes me doubly anxious for the ſtate,
And doubly mourn your harſh reply to Lewis.
ANSELMO.
Mourn not for us, my lord!—a free-born people
Can have but two bright objects of ambition;
A life of honour, or a death of glory:
And when for virtuous liberty they fall,
They ſhare at leaſt the ſecond greateſt bleſſing
Which heav'n e'er pour'd in mercy on mankind.
[Exit.
GRANVILLE
alone.
How I admire his fortitude of ſoul,
And love his pride, tho' adverſe to my wiſhes!
Once my own boſom vehemently flam'd
With all the phrenzy of his noble zeal,
And look'd on death more eligible far,
Than ev'n a government of certain bliſs,
Beneath the reign of any foreign ruler.—
But I now wake from all this glitt'ring dream
Of fancied virtue and ideal honour—
My Clementinal—
Enter CLEMENTINA.
CLEMENTINA.
My long-loſt Rinaldo!
'Tis he—'tis he, and Elizara err'd not!
The grave has giv'n him back.—All-ſeeing heaven,
In kind compaſſion to a wife's deſpair,
By ſome benignant miracle has rais'd him;
And theſe tranſported arms again enfold
The beſt belov'd, the moſt deptor'd of huſbands.
GRANVILLE.
My life's great bliſs! here let me grow for ever.
CLEMENTINA.
It is too much—I ſhall run wild with rapture—
How are you ſav'd, and wherefore thus diſguis'd?
[22]Yet do not anſwer—partly Elizara
Has told me of your views—and 'tis enough
I ſee you ſafe—That providence be prais'd!
Whoſe mercy ſent you at an hour of dread,
To ſnatch me from deſtruction!—
GRANVILLE.
O my love!
I cannot tell you half of what I feel;
Words are too poor.—Yet ſay, my chiefeſt good,
Say, do you love with ſuch tranſcendent truth,
That if the kindneſs of indulging fate,
Shou'd point out ways of flying with Rinaldo,
To ſome ſecure, ſome hoſpitable coaſt,
Alike propitious to our peace and fortune;
Wou'd Clementina, wou'd a wife prefer
The fond, the ardent boſom of a huſband,
To the ſtern manſion of a ruthleſs father?
CLEMENTINA.
Wou'd ſhe prefer?—O quickly let him lead her
Thro' dreary waſtes, and never-trodden wilds,
Where heat, cold, famine, in their dread extremes,
At each new footſtep ſtrike an added horror;
Thro' the noon-blaze of fierce autumnal ſuns,
O'er burning deſarts inſtantly conduct her;
Or where the ſtiff'ning nations of the night,
In more than winter freeze beneath the pole;
Thro' theſe bear off your faithful Clementina;
And tho' a filial anguiſh drowns her eye,
At what her poor, her rev'rend father feels,
O never queſtion if ſhe loves Rinaldo!
GRANVILLE.
Thus let me preſs you to my grateful boſom,
Thus ſpeak the raptures of my ſwelling heart!
CLEMENTINA.
[23]O I have much to tell you of my ſorrows.—
But what are ſorrows now?—The gracious being,
Who from a precipice of guilt and woe,
In this dread criſis, ſnatch'd me by your hand,
O'erpays me tenfold for my paſt afflictions,
And all my tears were miniſters of joy.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
[24]ANSELMO'S Palace. Enter ANSELMO with a Paper, and ADORNO.
ANSELMO.
FROM Ferdinand himſelf.—
ADORNO.
From Ferdinand!
ANSELMO.
From him, Adorno.—But obſerve his words!—
"Touch'd with the various miſeries of Venice,
The firſt of Europe's kings ſalutes the ſenate;
And offers peace, nay friendſhip to their realms,
Peace uncondition'd, and eternal friendſhip."
ADORNO.
What! has the royal ruffian been inform'd
That France has ſued us to become her ſubject;
And does he, fearful of our baſe aſſent,
Fearful his rival ſhou'd obtain our homage,
Give up his own deſpotic claim upon us,
And rather chooſe to ſet us wholly free,
Than ſee his foe acknowledg'd for our maſter?
ANSELMO.
Too plain.—Perdition on his recreant head!
His motive may be ſeen.—Too plain, his fears
Wou'd now uſurp the guiſe of high-ſoul'd virtue:
But tho' we know the ſource of this propoſal,
Tho' we are certain that his late defeats,
Join'd to his dread of our receiving Lewis,
[25]Have dragg'd the trembling tyrant from his throne,
To daſtard ſupplication—ſtill his offers
Demand our prompt acceptance—he conſents
To yield up all our towns—our captive ſons—
To ceaſe for ever his deteſted claim,
And treat us henceforth, as a ſep'rate nation,
A dear ally, but independent people.
ADORNO.
But ſay, my lord, what miniſter he ſends,
To ſign theſe terms of unexpected peace?
Fraud and the royal hypocrite are one;
Nor can we truſt ſecurely to his word,
When once his int'reſt urges him to break it.
ANSELMO.
That very int'reſt is our hoſtage now—
And here too, conſcious of our glad concurrence,
He ſpeeds his Alva to confirm the treaty;
Who comes beneath ſafe-conduct from Colonna,
(Supplying now my abſence in the fleet)
And will arrive at Venice ere the eve.
ADORNO.
So ſoon?
ANSELMO.
So ſays the letter.—But, my friend,
Haſte hence!—Convene the ſenators—the people!—
Within an hour I'll meet them at Saint Mark's;
There, when our peace is happily reſtor'd,
They ſhall receive their government again,
And find a ſubject in their preſent ruler.
[Exit ADORNO.
Enter PALERMO.
Joy to my ſon!—to Venice boundleſs joy!—
O my Palermo! I have news that aſks
An angel's tongue.—
PALERMO.
[26]And I have news, that howl'd
In deepeſt hell, wou'd make the demons tremble.—
Clementina—
ANSELMO.
Ha! what of her, Palermo?
PALERMO.
Is falſe, perſidious—
ANSELMO.
How?
PALERMO.
Doats on another!
ANSELMO.
Beware, Palermo, this capricious temper!
Doubt ſeldom lodges in a noble mind;
And he ſcarce merits to be treated juſtly,
Whoſe jealous ſoul, on light foundation, queſtions
Th' unſullied luſtre of another's virtue—
Retract then quick this haſty accuſation,
And kindly ſay my hapleſs child is dead,
But dare not once to tell me ſhe is worthleſs!
PALERMO.
On light foundation did I doubt, my lord,
This ſharp reproach had been indeed deſerv'd;
But if inceſſant coldneſs, if contempt,
If open inſult for proteſting love,
And ev'n a noon-day fondneſs for a ſtranger,
Are honeſt grounds of rational ſuſpicion,
Then have I cauſe for rage and indignation—
ANSELMO.
By heav'n, 'tis falſe! nor ſhall my child be wrong'd
By any coinage of a dotar [...]'s madneſs;
[27]Her ſoul, ſuperior to the ſland'rous charge,
Has prov'd its worth to more than Roman greatneſs;
And if ſhe meant not to accept your vows,
Her ſenſe—her pride—her virtue had repuls'd them
—Fond of a ſtranger—Tell me, Sir—what ſtranger,
What mighty object has alarm'd your fears,
And kindled hell's moſt fiercely blazing fire,
The fire of groundleſs jealouſy within you?
PALERMO.
Why will Anſelmo treat me with contempt,
And wound the wounded with the darts of ſcorn?
Think you I rave, or that my reſtleſs brain,
Ingenious, ſeeks out ſources of misfortune?
But what if hid within yon ſecret arbour
You ſhou'd yourſelf detect them—what if there
You knew them long conceal'd? What if you ſaw
Her alabaſter arm, as I have ſeen it,
O damning ſight! thrown round the happy villain,
Wou'd you not then with me conclude her loſt,
And think this ample evidence to prove
The plain perdition of her monſtrous falſhood?
ANSELMO.
And were you, Sir, like me, a father,
Like me, a doating father—had your child
Thro' life maintain'd an unſuſpected honour,
And roſe in virtue as ſhe roſe in beauty;
Wou'd you believe, at reaſon's full meridian,
A maid thus pure, thus eminently ſpotleſs,
Cou'd plunge at once in infamy eternal,
And ſet fame, fortune, happineſs at nought,
Thro' inſtant paſſion for a total ſtranger?
PALERMO.
My Lord, I come not with an idiot's tale,
Or wiſh Anſelmo in an angry mood
Shou'd, as an inſant, chide a thoughtleſs daughter:
[28]No; I diſdain the thought—I come to guard
No leſs his honour than my own—to ſhew
Our mutual danger—and adviſe, that Granville
May be this moment order'd to his France—
As yet, tho' highly erring, Clementina
Cannot be compleatly guilty—Send, then,
Her new-found fav'rite inſtantly from Venice—
She ſtill is undeſtroy'd; and Granville,
Tho' thrice my ſword avengingly was drawn,
Safe from this arm, enjoys the law of nations.
ANSELMO.
Raſh—deſp'rate youth, forbear to urge my temper—
Or, by yon heav'n, the friendſhip which I hold you,
No more o'erlooks this treatment of my child—
She falſe—She ſhameleſs—Kneel, blaſphemer, kneel,
Fall at her feet, and own you've loſt your reaſon;
For nought but madneſs can excuſe the wound,
Which virtue feels in injur'd Clementina.
PALERMO.
They're in the arbour yet—convince yourſelf—
And ſee how far I wound the cauſe of virtue,
In this report of faithleſs Clementina.
ANSELMO.
I will this inſtant—But remember, Sir,
Unleſs your charge proceeds from ſome miſtake
Of probable appearance—unleſs it ſprings
From ſome plain ſource of obvious miſconception,
The purpos'd union never ſhall take place—
I prize my child's repoſe too dearly, Sir,
To truſt it with a madman—Nor will ſhe
Be e'er prevail'd on to receive a lover;
Who dares to think her capable of baſeneſs.
Exit.
PALERMO
alone.
To think her baſe—O that I cou'd not think it—
What tho' her perſon ſpotleſs and unſullied,
[29]May vie with Zembla's now-deſcending ſnows,
What tho' her error is ideal yet,
And actual guilt has ſtamp'd no ſable on her;
Is not her mind, that all-in-all of virtue,
Polluted, ſtain'd, nay proſtitute before me?
Do I not take, O torture! to my arms,
A mental wanton, in the rage, the madneſs
Of flaming will, and burning expectation?
Will not this fiend, damnation on him, Granville,
Will he not dart like light'ning to her memory,
And fire her fancy ev'n—O hold my brain—
Let me avoid the mere imagination—
It ſtabs—it tears—On love's luxurious pillow
It blaſts the freſheſt roſes, and leaves ſcorpions,
Eternal ſcorpions only, in their room.
[Exit.
Scene changes to the Arbour in the Garden.
Clementina and Granville discovered.
CLEMENTINA.
No more, my love!—'tis time we reach the palace—
But remember, if aught adveiſe ſhou'd ariſe,
Which heav'n forbid, to intercept our flight,
On no account reveal yourſelf; Teflect,
Our law is death to all Venetian ſubjects,
Who dare propoſe a government of ſtrangors!
GRANVILLE.
Fear not, my Clementina:—with ſtrict prudence,
A prudence render'd doubly nice by love,
The whole ſhall be conducted.—
CLEMENTINA.
For my ſake
Let it—Reveal'd, your public character
Wou'd now deſtroy, and not protect you; jealous,
To fury jealous for their antiont ouſtoms,
The multitude, with all my father's rage,
[30]Wou'd burn—and O, thus wonderfully ſav'd,
Again my love, I cannot, muſt not loſe you.
[Embracing him.
Enter ANSELMO.
ANSELMO.
Death to my ſight!
CLEMENTINA.
Ha! I behold my father!
ANSELMO.
Yes, bluſhleſs girl, you do behold your father.—
And you, O baſe, inhoſpitable lord!
You too, behold the much-abus'd Anſelmo.—
But hence to France, the native nurſe of wiles:
This moment hence to France, or know the next
Is big with fate, and teeming with deſtruction!
GRANVILLE.
What is my crime, and wherefore ſhou'd I go?
Is it a crime to doat upon your daughter?
If that, my Lord, is deadly in your ſight,
I am indeed a criminal moſt guilty:
But ſure my rank, my fortune, and my fame,
Are no way leſs, than your approv'd Palermo's.
CLEMENTINA
kneeling.
O Sir, O Father, O rever'd Anſelmo!
By ev'ry name of tenderneſs and duty;
By the dear mem'ry of that ſainted matron,
Who gave me birth, and from her well-earn'd heav'n
Beholds me proſtrate at your feet for pity;
Break off the curſt engagement with Palermo.—
ANSELMO.
Kneel not to me, ungrateful, kindleſs girl!
I have been proſtrate at your feet in vain.
Aſk not my pity, yet deny your own;
[31]Nor think a father's fond forgiving heart,
While deeply bleeding, monſter! at your ſhame,
Can quite forget this baſe capricious falſhood,
Forget the vow ſcarce cold upon your lip,
To wrong'd Palermo, your affianc'd Lord,
And give its ſanction to this guilty change—
A wanton's paſſion for a ſlave of France.
CLEMENTINA.
A wanton's paſſion!
GRANVILLE.
Wanton!—hear, Anſelmo—
CLEMENTINA.
No, let me ſpeak; and let me here aſſert
The equal rights of juſtice and of nature;
A wanton's paſſion—I'm your daughter, Sir,
But am not therefore to be deem'd a ſlave;
I bear you all the rev'rence, the regard,
That can inform a filial boſom—yet
My heart is free, and muſt conſult its feelings;—
I cannot teach theſe feelings what you wiſh,
I cannot ruſh, deep perjur'd, to the altar;
Nor in the preſence of atteſting heav'n,
Profeſs to honour, what I now deſpiſe,
And ſwear to love the object of my horror.
ANSELMO.
Shameleſs deceiver, peace!—You, Sir, to France!
Th' impatient winds are ſwell'd to fill your ſails;
Hence then, and fly the fury of Anſelmo!
GRANVILLE.
Flight was not made for ſoldiers, nor befits
Th' ambaſſador of kings—I claim protection
From the known law of nations—Mark, my lord!—
And think in time, I repreſent a monarch,
Who will not bear the ſhadow of an inſult.
ANSELMO.
[32]Dare you aſſert the ſacred law of nations,
To ſcreen deceit, or ſanctify diſhonour?
I ſpurn all cuſtoms oppoſite to truth,
And own no rule, but what is own'd by virtue.—
A guard there ſtrait!
CLEMENTINA.
Yet force him not away.
Behold theſe tears, my father—O look back
On all the paſt tranſactions of my life!
Have I not ever walk'd with innocence,
And held one courſe of unſuſpected honour?
Strong as appearances may ſpeak againſt me,
Think, kindly think, there may be yet a cauſe—
What wou'd I ſay—Diſtraction! Murder Granville?
And muſt Anſelmo's boſom bleed?—O mis'ry!
What ſhall I ſay?—Indeed—indeed, my father,
I am not criminal—and O believe
At once I cannot be intirely worthleſs!
ANSELMO.
O impudence of guilt!—when my own eyes,
With ſhame have witneſs'd your licentious fondneſs!
Nought but that proof cou'd ever have convinc'd me;
For O I lov'd you with ſuch wild exceſs,
And held your purity in ſuch opinion,
That had an angel told me of this change,
This rapid, dire tranſition into vice,
I ſtill had wanted occular conviction.
What ho! a guard!—And can this be my child?
O nature, nature! this my Clementina?
And can ſhe thus deſert me after all?
In the cold ev'ning of my age deſert me,
For this once-ſeen, this hoſt-betraying ruffian?
Who, gracious heav'n! O who wou'd be a father!
Enter a Guard.
Arreſt that lord!—and bear him to his ſhip.
GRANVILLE.
[33]Stand off, ye ſlaves! by heav'n, he dies that ſtirs.
CLEMENTINA.
Oh mercy!
ANSELMO.
Strike, if madly he reſiſt you!
CLEMENTINA.
Strike here then! pay obedience to your chief,
And kill his child, his wretched child, before him.
Diſpatch us both, or let us both depart;
We go together, or together fall.
GRANVILLE.
And muſt I live to ſee you raviſh'd from me?
To think perhaps another—that Palermo—
O ſnatch me, ſnatch me from the horrid thought!
It breaks, it rends me on a thouſand wheels,
And any death is extaſy to this.—
CLEMENTINA.
And do you judge ſo poorly of my love?
O know me better, and be quite at reſt!
This arm, if it muſt come to that, ſhall free me.—
Yet, while our hope ſupplies one glimmering ray,
Let us not urge our fate, before 'tis needful;
Conceal your name and quality with care;
And recoiled 'tis time enough to die,
When ev'ry means of living is deny'd us?
ANSELMO.
What ſhallow air of myſtery is this?
Trifle not, guards,—but execute your orders!
GRANVILLE.
Off, barbarians, off!
CLEMENTINA.
You ſhall not part us.—
ANSELMO.
[34]I Iew them aſunder!
GRANVILLE.
O my Clementina!
[Borne off.
CLEMENTINA.
It is too much.
[Faints.
ANSELMO.
She faints.—
Enter ELIZARA.
Aſſiſt her, quick?
Yet why aſſiſt her? O my breaking heart!
Shou'd it not now in mercy be my wiſh,
To cloſe her eyes for ever on her ſhame,
And end her being and her crime together?
ELIZARA.
Patience! ſhe's innocent; and ſee, my Lord,
See, ſhe revives!
ANSELMO.
O gentle Elizara,
Cou'd the bright luſtre of her mind revive,
I might again behold her as I have done;
But that is ſet in one eternal night,
And now my dream of happineſs gives way
To ſure diſgrace, and aggravated anguiſh.
Ye fathers, tear the feelings from your hearts!
Ye mothers, drag your infants from the breaſt,
Daſh them remorſeleſs on their kindred flint,
And kill the embryo ſavageneſs within them.
They'll elſe blaſt all the comforts of your life,
And, viper-like, with death return your fondneſs—
O nature, nature, can this be my child!
Loſt Clementina; wretched, curſt Anſelmo!
[Exit.
ELIZARA.
[35]How does my Clementina?—Look, O look,
And ſee your trueſt friend!—
CLEMENTINA.
Where have I been?
And why am I reſtor'd?—'Tis Elizara.—
Say, O ſay kind maid—where is my huſband?
Where is he hurried by his brutal guard?
ELIZARA,
Are you a ſtranger to your father's order?
CLEMENTINA.
No—no—I rave—I know it but too well—
O this relentleſs, this unfeeling father!
Yet why do I exclaim?—His cauſe for rage
Is juſt—He only acts as virtue dictates;
And his poor heart is torn for my offence.—
'Tis fate alone that marks me out for woe,
And I ſhall never ſee Rinaldo more.
ELIZARA.
Perſiſt not thus in unavailing grief;
But praiſe the goodneſs that preſerves your huſband.
Ev'n now the head-ſtrong multitude, enrag'd
At Granville's embaſſy to change the ſtate,
Throng round the palace, and in thouſands threat
A quick and public meaſure of revenge.
Had he but ſtay'd another hour, a moment,
Perhaps Anſelmo's, ev'n your father's pow'r,
Had been too weak, tho' exercis'd, to ſave him.
CLEMENTINA.
What does this do, but aggravate my ſorrows?
But ſhew how curs'd, how doubly curs'd my fate,
My cruel fate, has mercileſsly made me?
[36]Conceal'd, my huſband falls a dreadful victim
To popular reſentment.—If acknowledg'd,
His country's juſtice leads him to the ſcaffold—
And flying, gracious, and immortal pow'rs!
Anſelmo, burning at my ſeeming crime,
Preſſes that fell Palermo to his bed.—
Why this is woe, 'tis thick ſubſtantial woe,
And ſhall behold a breaſt unſhrinking here—
Burſt from your cells ye demons of deſpair!
Ye furies clad in tenfold ſnakes ariſe!
Yawn quick ye graves with all your timeleſs dead!
Ye cannot now ſtrike terror to my ſoul;
Rinaldo's loſt, and I can fear no farther!
ELIZARA.
Why this diſtruſt in heav'n's unending mercy?
Has it not now pour'd bleſſings on your head,
And work'd an actual miracle to ſave you,
From the wide horror of a double marriage?
What is there now but to refuſe Palermo,
To ſlight the man you meant this morn to ſlight,
And end a ſuit you can receive no longer?
Hope therefore ſtill, and think the gracious hand,
Which led your lord at ſuch a criſis here,
Will crown your truth with happineſs at laſt.
CLEMENTINA.
Go talk of hope to wretches at the ſtake,
To ſhrieking mothers o'er their inſants dead—
Go bid the murd'rer, while his hands yet reek
With unoffending blood, hope to regain
His former peace of mind, or ever know
A tranquil thought, a tranquil ſlumber more!—
O, I cou'd curſe this baſe deceiver, hope,
Till echo thunder'd execration back,
And rent the air with imprecating phrenzy.—
[A ſhout,
What means that ſhout? Ha! my fears inform me.
Perhaps ev'n now the ſavage multitude
[37]Have ſeiz'd my huſband; and perhaps they now
Glut their fell vengeance on his quiv'ring limbs.
Shout.]
Again—it muſt be ſo—Barbarians, ſtay—For me, for me he falls—'Twas Clementina—
'Twas I who led him to your fatal ſhores—
Wreak then your vengeance on his wretched wife,
But ſpare, O ſpare Rinaldo!
[Runs out wildly, Elizara following.
ACT IV.
[38]Scene ANSELMO's Palace. ANSELMO and PALERMO.
ANSELMO.
WELL, my Palermo—this unlook'd-for riva [...]
Ploughs back his way to France.
I ſaw his canvaſs whitening on the breeze,
As well to know him certainly departed,
As to reſtrain the fury of the people,
Who, fir'd with honeſt, tho' miſguided zeal,
Forgot his ſanctity of public character,
And rav'd for vengeance on a foe to freedom.
PALERMO.
The people's voice, howe'er it ſometimes errs,
Means always nobly, and is rais'd by virtue;
Their very faults, illuſtrious from their motives,
Demand reſpect, nay, aſk for admiration,
And ſoar, at leaſt, half ſanctify'd to juſtice—
There—hear their voice—'tis now ſwell'd up with rapture,
Alva, the welcome miniſter of peace,
Excites their joy, and ev'ry order hails
The white-wing'd moment, that preſerves the ſtate,
And crowns the gen'rous labours of Anſelmo.
ANSELMO.
He comes, e'en earlier than my utmoſt hope,
And proves how much his ſovereign was alarm'd
[39]At the now lucky embaſſy from Lewis—
Come, my Palermo, let us haſten hence!
And ſhew due honour to the noble Alva!
PALERMO.
Fain would I greet him; but alas, my gloom
Would chill the pleaſure which it meant to grace.
ANSELMO.
Remain then here—I wou'd not have it ſaid
That aught cou'd wound a citizen of Venice
Who liv'd to ſee his liberty reſtor'd.
I am the father of that wretched girl,
Who clouds your brow with grief and diſappointment;
I am, and feel her conduct like a father:
But when I think upon the countleſs millions,
Which this unlook'd-for providence of heav'n
Deſigns to bleſs, I caſt away my griefs,
And in my country, ſtrive to loſe my daughter.
PALERMO.
Your ſpirit fires me—I adopt its juſtice,
And will attempt, if poſſible, myſelf
To looſe all memory of this ſweet deceiver.
ANSELMO.
Do—and be dearer to my heart than ever—
Your worth firſt made you mine; the ſame, that worth,
Shall keep you—Clementina now is ſunk
Below your thought; to wed her would be baſeneſs.
Deſpiſe her, therefore, as you prize my friendſhip,
And know I'd ſcorn to give a ſhameleſs woman,
Tho' ten times mine, to any man of honour.
[Exit.
PALERMO.
He's right—he's right—I were a ſlave indeed,
A ſoul-leſs ſlave, to proſtitute a thought,
A ſingle thought, on ſuch a woman longer—
Were ſhe as fair as luxury has painted
[] [...][] [...][40]The nymphs of Paradiſe to Eaſtern minds,
I ought to ſpurn her now—Her heart is loſt—
'Tis all debas'd by this licentious paſſion,
And he who weds the object of his ſcorn,
May boaſt of love, but never talk of honour—
[Exit.
Scene changes to St. Mark's.
Enter ADORNO, Senators, Citizens, Guards, &c.
ADORNO.
Now is the time, my friends, to preſs him cloſe,
And make him wholly ſov'reign of the ſtate;
Which his great talents and unequal virtue
Have thus ſo happily, ſo nobly ſav'd—
The nations round us, owe their chiefeſt ſtrength
To regal government—How were we torn
With jarring int'reſts till the rule ſupreme,
To one great arm was truſted—to Anſelmo!
France—Ferdinand—and ev'ry pow'rful neighbour,
May ſtill divide us with their ſep'rate factions:
But if we chooſe a monarch of our own,
His and the public welfare muſt be one.—
Firſt CITIZEN.
Is he acquainted with our views, Adorno?
Have you inform'd him of our grateful purpoſe?
ADORNO.
No—For I fear'd his ſtern diſapprobation,
And only hope the people's gen'ral voice
Will now induce him to accept a throne.
Second CITIZEN.
See where he comes.—
Enter ANSELMO attended.
ANSELMO.
[41]Well, my brave countrymen!
I once more ſee you free; the ſolemn league
Is happily concluded; and to heaven
Our deepeſt thanks we gratefully muſt pour
For life, for peace, for liberty immortal!
Here now my labour and commiſſion end.
This ſacred ſword, the badge of ſov'reign pow'r,
Which in the ſtorms and perils of the ſtate,
Your gen'ral voice entruſted to my care,
And bade me carry as your common leader,
'Till death or freedom finiſh'd my command,
This ſacred pledge becomes your own again—
Here to your uſe I ſolemnly reſign it,
And ſink with tranſport, to a private ſtation;
More proud the ſubject of a free-born ſtate,
Than if I rul'd a univerſe of ſlaves—
ADORNO.
My lord Anſelmo, your applauding country
Gives back the ſword to that experienc'd hand,
Which crowns her ſons with liberty and peace:
Thro' me ſhe offers you a crown, a throne,
And hails her monarch, in her great preſerver.
Start not!—with me the gen'ral voice cries out,
Long live our king—long live the good Anſelmo.
[A flouriſh.
ANSELMO.
Shall I with thanks, or deep-ſtruck indignation,
With grateful heart, or juſtly kindled ire,
Receive this flatt'ring inſtance of your favour?
Warm to the voice of virtuous approbation,
I feel a joy beyond the pow'r of words,
To find my actions honour'd with your praiſe:
But in the riſing raptures of the man,
[42]The honeſt citizen muſt do his duty;
He muſt refuſe, reſentingly refuſe,
Th' unthinking bounty, which to pay his ſervice,
Wou'd plunge his country in immediate bondage.
ADORNO.
This ſelf-denying dignity of ſoul,
Serves but to ſhew the wiſdom of our choice,
And proves how ſafe a confidence repos'd,
Will lodge in hands ſo worthy as Anſelmo's.
ANSELMO.
Long, my brave friends, againſt the Spaniſh tyrant,
Have the exalted citizens of Venice
Fought the great cauſe of juſtice and mankind:
And will you now, triumphant over force,
From downright gratitude embrace a chain?
What has your glorious, fortitude effected,
If in the full fraught tranſport of your ſouls,
You lift the man you fondly call deliverer,
To ſov'reign rule, and crown him for your maſter?
In ſuch a caſe your bleſſing is your, bane,
And Spain, a foe leſs deadly than Anſelmo.
ADORNO.
Does not the uſe which you have made of pow'r,
Proclaim how much, how amply we ſhou'd truſt you.
Have you employ'd it, but for public good,
Or wiſh'd to keep it, when that good was anſwer'd?
Hear then your grateful countrymen, and know
Adorno ſpeaks the wiſhes of the people,
The people's wiſhes joyfully conven'd,
Who with one voice now offer you a kingdom.
ANSELMO.
I ſcorn the kingdom that can court a tyrant,
And while I live my country ſhall be free.
If then my voice deſerves the leaſt attention,
Let me exhort, nay, ſhame you from your purpoſe.
[43]I fought to ſave you from deſpotic pow'r,
Not, giddy men, to be myſelf your lord:
You may forget your duty to the ſtate,
But I'll remember mine, and keep all equal,
Tho' I myſelf am ſingled out for maſter.
Firſt CITIZEN.
We'll urge the point no more.
ADORNO.
I ne'er had urg'd it,
But for the public welfare, from belief,
That all rewards were properly his due,
Whoſe arm and wiſdom had preſerv'd our freedom.
ANSELMO.
Rewards, Adorno! talk not of rewards—
The man is half a traitor to the ſtate,
Who only ſerves it from a ſordid motive—
Yet, if too warm, too rude in my refuſal,
I give offence to any ſon of Venice,
Here I abjure th' intention of offending,
And beg my kind, my too indulgent friends,
May now diſperſe, and ſeek their ſeveral homes—
Who moſt loves freedom, will keep order moſt;
And know, the beſt way each can ſerve his country,
Is to hold tumult in a deep abhorrence,
And labour cloſely in his private ſtation.
ADORNO.
Long live Anſelmo—long live great Anſelmo.
[Exit. Adorno, Citizens, &c.
ANSELMO
alone.
Lo there—the phrenzy of a nation's virtue!
Who cou'd abuſe their elevated weakneſs?
Curſe on the deſpicable ſlave that cou'd!—
Curſe on the ſlave, however he poſſeſſes
A nation's confidence, whoſe grov'ling intereſt,
[44]Or abject pride, can tempt him to betray it!
The more his weight, his merit with a country,
The more he's bound, by ev'ry tye of honour,
To guard the laws; and he's a double villain,
When once he vilely turns that very power,
Which he derives from popular eſteem,
To ſap the bulwarks of the public freedom.
Enter an Officer.
What means this haſte?
OFFICER.
To tell my lord Anſelmo,
That Granville's veſſel, which ſo late you forc'd
To ſea, has unexpectedly borne back,
And ſeems to ſteer directly for the point
Which bounds the palace-garden from the ſurge—
ANSELMO.
Where is my daughter?—Where is Clementina?
I've ſcarcely left a ſoldier at the palace,
Sole tho' it ſtands, and ſep'rate from the city—
Hence quick, and ſeize on Granville, if he lands.
Take ample force—My ſoul forebodes his purpoſe—
[Exit Officer.
Yet ſhou'd he dare—by heaven's high hoſt he dies—
No character can ſanctify ſuch outrage—
The laws—the laws ſhall vindicate themſelves,
And teach the miniſters of neighb'ring kings,
To look for ſafety, only in their juſtice.
[Exit.
Scene changes to an Apartment in ANSELMO's Palace.
Enter PALERMO, followed by CLEMENTINA.
CLEMENTINA.
Nay, for your own ſake, give me up, Palermo;
Give me again my former peace of mind,
[45]Give me again, my father's dear regards,
Of which your fatal paſſion has depriv'd me:
O prideleſs lord, tho' dead to my repoſe,
At leaſt reflect and tremble for your own.
What peace, what comfort ever can you hope
From one, not only ſickening at your ſight,
But hear, and fly me—doating on another—
To madneſs doating—
PALERMO.
O, I know it well—
Your once-ſeen Granville, light capricious beauty!
And ſeen too, while your plighted vow to me
Was yet all warm, and flying up to heaven!
For him you trampled on your ſacred promiſe;
For this light Frenchman, in a ſingle moment,
Broke ev'ry roſy nicety of ſex,
And at a word, a glance—nay, without either—
Loſt a whole life of innocence and honour.—
CLEMENTINA.
Licentious railer—therefore give me up!
Nought but contention, wretchedneſs, and ſhame,
Can wait a union circumſtanc'd like ours:
Thro' life our fiend-like fury to each other,
Muſt make our home the dwelling of deſpair;
And after death, our ſtill oppoſing ſpirits,
If after death our enmity can live,
With thoſe in ſtory of the Thaeban brothers,
Will ſhun all commerce, and as hating here,
Diffuſe their hate throughout the whole hereafter.—
PALERMO.
Swell not the picture with a needleſs horror,
Nor once imagine that my ſoul requires
Such ſtriking pleas to ſhun an obvious baſeneſs—
Think you I mean, perſiſting in my claim—
To ſeize a hand that juſtice bids me ſcorn;
No: I deſpiſe the meanneſs, and intend
[46]Not to aſſert my title, but reſign it;
I am a lover,—yet I'm ſtill a man;
Acquainted therefore with the blotted mind,
I turn affrighted from the faultleſs perſon,
And wed diſtraction ſooner than diſhonour.
CLEMENTINA.
Bleſt may you be for this exalted ſcorn,
This noble warmth of manly indignation,
Dearer to me than all the melting ſtrains
Which ſong e'er fancied for proteſting love—
My ſoul is now ſecurely at her eaſe,
And glows with grateful rev'rence for Palermo.
PALERMO.
Deem not unjuſtly, Madam, of my feelings;
You may betray, but never ſhall deſpiſe me—
I come no whimp'rer of a tragic ſtory,
To ſhield beneath an angry father's ſanction,
And act the legal ruffian on averſion.
Falſe, therefore, Clementina, you are free—
Take back your vows—take your engagements back—
And tho' I own this heart muſt bleed profuſely,
For ſtill, O ſtill your image triumphs here:
Yet know, I'd ſooner tear it from my boſom,
Than once be rivall'd in the woman's thought,
Who made my wife, ſhould think alone for me.
Enter GRANVILLE.
GRANVILLE.
Where, where is Clementina?
CLEMENTINA.
Granville again!
Yet here again in danger.
GRANVILLE.
My love! away—
Fly hence—Eſcape is certain now.
PALERMO
puſhing him away.
[47]Vile Franc,
Stand off, 'tis death, 'tis death again to touch her—
GRANVILLE.
Forbear, raſh man, to tempt my greedy vengeance.
Wild with my wrongs, its appetites are raging—
There is not now a coward guard to call;
My friends make pris'ners of your paltry force,
And e'er a band ſuperior can arrive,
That lady will be ſafe on board—Dare not,
Therefore, to withſtand us—her heart is mine—
So ſhall her hand be, tho' yours graſp'd the thunder.
PALERMO.
Heaven's own red bolt will not be then more deadly—
For know, injurious lord, tho' I deſpiſe
The hand and heart, that can deſcend ſo low;
Yet while I wield this ſword, my noble friend
Shall not be baſely plunder'd of his daughter:
Draw, Granville, boldly then, and prove which arm
Can beſt protect its maſter.
CLEMENTINA.
Hold, O hold
Your dread deſtructive ſwords—For my ſake, Granville,
Plunge not thus in blood—And O Palermo!
If the bright flame of honour fires your ſoul,
As ſure it does, from ſentiments ſo noble,
Reſtrain your rage—The man whoſe life you ſeek—
GRANVILLE.
No more, my Clementina—Why entreat
Where we command with abſolute dominion?
Without there, friends—
Enter a Rarty of Guards.
My ſpirited companions,
Secure thar headſtrong lord—I join you on the inſtant.
[48]Treat him, however, with a juſt reſpect!
I know him noble, though he is my foe,
And ev'n admire him for his very hatred—
PALERMO.
Coward, is this your boaſted reſolution,
Is this the way you dare me to the fight,
And raiſe your merit with your peerleſs miſtreſs?
GRANVILLE.
And thinks Palermo that I fear his ſword,
Or uſe this method to elude his fury?
No—once eſcap'd from this oppreſſive ſtate,
Demand your reparation, and receive it—
The fate of many hangs upon me now,
And honour bids me rather bear you hence,
Than take your life in vengeance for your virtue.
Lead him away.
PALERMO.
O infamous aſſaſſin.
Now more than ever worthy of her heart—
But let your murd'rers bind me down ſecurely:
For if I once can ruſh upon your throat,
Theſe hands, unarm'd, ſhall do a noble vengeance,
And tear you piece-meal, inſtantly before her.
GRANVILLE.
Lead him away—
[Palermo is carried off.
CLEMENTINA.
O ſay, my dear Rinaldo,
Say while ſurprize and joy have left me words,
By what bleſt accident again I ſee you?
Heaven ſure exhauſts its mercy on our heads,
And all its wonders are reſerv'd for love!
GRANVILLE.
The time will ſcarce admit ſufficient anſwer—
In brief know, therefore, that when torn from hence,
[49]I heard Anſelmo's order to the troops,
To line the ſpacious quarters of St. Mark's;
Some angel then inſpir'd me with the thought
Of ſteering back, and forcing to my love,
Left now unguarded in a palace, diſtant
From inſtant aid, and dreaming not of danger;
Th' event, how happy! juſtified the action.
My brave attendants caught my honeſt flame,
And, heaven-aſſiſted, eaſily acquir'd
A bloodleſs conqueſt o'er your people.
[A Shout without, and a claſhing of ſwords.
CLEMENTINA.
Ha!
What means that ſhout, this ſudden claſh of arms?
GRANVILLE.
Stand firm, my friends; I fly to your ſupport.
[Exit.
ANSELMO
without.
Seize him, ſeize Granville.
CLEMENTINA.
O almighty heav'n!
We're loſt again—again undone—
ANSELMO
without.
Palermo,
Send off his bravoes to the common dungeon.
CLEMENTINA.
Some mountain fall on my devoted head,
And ſhield me from, the fury of Anſelmo!—
My dear Rinaldo! How ſhall I preſerve him!
O that the daughters of indulgent ſires
Cou'd know my ſorrows, know my anguiſh now!
They'd fly from diſobedience, and wou'd ſhudder
In downright prudence, to admit a thought
That madly tended to deceive a Father.
[] [...]
[] [...]
[50]Enter ANSELMO, GRANVILLE, Guards, &c.
ANSELMO.
And now conduct the hero to his priſon.
His monarch maſter, tho' in priſon here,
Shou'd not unpuniſh'd violate our laws,
Nor offer ſuch an outrage to Anſelmo.
GRANVILLE.
Why all this pomp of needleſs preparation?
I know my crime, and dare your inſtant ſentence.
Bring forth your knives, your engines, or your fires—
Next to ſucceeding in a noble cauſe,
The gen'rous mind eſteems to ſuffer nobleſt.
Bring forth your racks then, witneſs to my triumph,
And be yourſelf, obdurate Lord, the judge,
Which is moſt brave, the torturer or tortur'd.
CLEMENTINA.
Stop not with him—Prepare your racks for me—
I am moſt guilty, and to heav'n I ſwear,
Whate'er his fate is, that is Clementina's.
Yet, my dear Granville, if we are to fall,
We'll vindicate our fame; and tho' offending,
Aſſert at leaſt the honour of our loves.
Let us inform this venerable chief,
It is a ſon he hurries to the block,
And that my fancy'd ſpoiler is my huſband.
ANSELMO.
Your huſband, traitreſs!—infamous evaſion,
To varniſh o'er your unexampled baſeneſs,
And ſnatch, if poſſible, this foreign caitiff,
This foul offender, from the ſtroke of juſtice.
GRANVILLE.
Take heed, reveal not all, my Clementina.
Fate's worſt is done, and dying undiſcover'd,
[51]Guards thoſe I prize much dearer than my life.
Remember this; and O remember too,
Known, or unknown, that equal death awaits me.
CLEMENTINA.
My father, hear me—Yes, he is my huſband.
However ſtrange, myſterious, or unlikely—
I muſt no more—But time, a little time,
Will prove it all—Then, gracious Sir, diſtreſs
No longer an unhappy pair, whoſe hands
High heaven has join'd—Allow the wretched wife
To gain her wedded lord; and judge, O judge,
If aught but this, the firſt of human duties,
Cou'd tear her thus from Venice and her father.
ANSELMO.
Your huſband—married—when—by whom, and where?
Away, degen'rate, infamous deceiver,
Away, and from the world hide quick
That guilty head—Your minion dies this hour—
The next, a cloyſter ſhuts you in for ever.
Take him from hence—
CLEMENTINA.
And take me with him.
GRANVILLE.
Unman me not with this exceſſive ſoftneſs,
My life's ſole joy; but let me meet my fate
As may become a ſoldier—Where's my dungeon?
Perhaps Anſelmo, when a little calmer,
May think my blood ſufficient expiation,
And let my guiltleſs followers eſcape,
Whoſe only crime is duty to their leader.
Gracious heav'n compoſe her—
[Borne off.
CLEMENTINA
to the Guard preventing her.
Off—let me go—
Is this a time to drag me from my huſband?
[52]Will not his blood ſuffice your utmoſt rage,
But muſt he, in the bitter hour of death,
Loſe the poor comforts of a wife's attendance?
Where is the mighty freedom of your ſtate,
Where your ſtrict love of liberty and juſtice?
Why, ſay, O why, ye too benignant pow'rs!
Did you from ruin ſnatch this barbarous realm,
Where ev'n our virtues are conſider'd crimes,
And ſoft compaſſion's conſtituted treaſon—
Revoke, revoke your merciful decrees;
From your dread ſtores of everlaſting wrath
Hurl inſtant fury down, and blaſt thoſe laws
Which talk of freedom, yet enſlave the mind,
And boaſt of wiſdom, while they chain our reaſon!
ANSELMO.
Blaſpheming monſter—ſtop that impious tongue,
Nor thus provoke me longer, to commit
Some dreadful deed of honourable phrenzy:
Already driv'n beyond a father's patience,
I ſcarce can ſpare the very life I gave.
Hence from my ſight then, execrable wretch—
To urge me farther, is to ruſh on death,
And add new horrors to the fate of Granville.
CLEMENTINA.
Do ſtrike at once—behold my ready boſom—
Yet ſpare, Anſelmo, my unhappy huſband:
He is not what he ſeems—O Sir—he is—
My brain—my brain—When, when ſhall I have reſt?
My father, be conſiſtently ſevere,
Wreak not this cruel murder on my peace,
And think that nature ſanctifies my perſon.
ANSELMO.
He is not what he ſeems—Declare who is he?
How loſs of truth attends the loſs of honour!
Abandon'd girl, your arts are all in vain,
[53]Are all unable to prevent his fate.
At my requeſt, th' aſſembling ſenate now
Prepare to hear his crime, and will pronounce
His doom directly—Nay, this wretched tale
Shall ev'n give vengeance wings—accelerate
His fall; and, like the dreadful whirlwind, ſweep
Him to deſtruction.
[Exit.
CLEMENTINA.
Stay, Anſelmo, ſtay—
He is—but that is alſo certain death,
And I myſelf prepare the horrid axe
If I reveal him—Which way ſhall I act?
The lab'ring globe convulſing to its baſe,
Is downy ſoftneſs to my mad'ning boſom:
I'm all diſtraction—Reaſon drops her rein,
And the next ſtep is dreadful deſperation.
[Exit.
ACT V.
[54]Scene a Priſon.
Enter GRANVILLE in Chains.
GRANVILLE.
WHERE ſhall I turn—they have me now ſe⯑cure—
Was I however ſingled out alone,
To bear the utmoſt malice or the ſtars,
I cou'd, unſhrinking, look upon theſe chains;
But when I think what Clementina ſuffers,
When in the eye of agonizing fancy,
I paint my wife all weltring in her blood,
Or what more deeply damns me in reflection,
Suppoſe her drag'd to hot Palermo's bed;
My heart faints inſtantly with apprehenſion,
And almoſt dies at bare imagination;
Yet, gracious fountain of unbounded mercy!
Let one bleſt drop from your exhauſtleſs, ſource,
In pity fall, and ſave my Clementina;
Save her, O ſave her in the hour of peril,
And teach the world that—
CLEMENTINA
within.
Hear me, O Anſelmo!
I conjure you hear me—
GRANVILLE.
She's now in danger—
The ſlaves now tear their victim to the altar.
She is my wife—Barbarians, hear you that!
Theſe chains—theſe chains—damnation on theſe chains—
[55]The priſon blazes—Hell yawns quick before me—
Where does this lead? No matter where—Deſpair
Is prudence now—
[Exit.
Scene changes to an Apartment in ANSELMO's Palace.
Enter ANSELMO and PALERMO.
ANSELMO.
And yet, my good Palermo,
My ſecret ſoul inclines to hear her too.
O did you mark her undiſſembled anguiſh?
PALERMO.
I did—I did—and felt it moſt ſeverely—
Her burning eye expanding into blood,
Stood deſperately fix'd, while on each cheek,
Each pallid cheek, a ſingle tear hung quiv'ring,
Like early dew-drops on the ſick'ning lily,
And ſpoke a mind juſt verging into madneſs.
ANSELMO.
I'll ſee her once again—for when I weigh
All the nice ſtrictneſs of her former conduct;
When I reflect, that to this curſed day,
She look'd, as if her perſon, wholly mind,
In Dian's breaſt cou'd raiſe a ſigh of envy,
I cannot think her utterly abandon'd:
Abandon'd too, in ſuch a little ſpace!
Deſpiſe me not, Palermo—for the father
Still ruſhes ſtrongly on my aching heart,
And fondly ſeeks for argument to ſave her.
PALERMO.
Check not the tender ſentiments of nature,
But ſee her—make her, if poſſible, diſcloſe
Who Granville truly is, ſince ſhe affirms
He is not what he ſeems, and is her huſband—
That he's a Frenchman, and of noble rank,
Appears too plainly from his high commiſſion—
[56]But ſtill ſome ſecret ſtrongly heaves her ſoul;
And hid beneath this myſtery of woe,
Who knows how far that ſecret may not merit
Compaſſion, or excuſe—
ANSELMO.
I'll try at leaſt—
I'll act as fits the fondneſs of a father;
Forgive, as far as honour can forgive,
And if her guilt exceeds a father's mercy,
I'll beg of heaven the firmneſs of a man—
[Exit.
PALERMO.
Unhappy, gen'rous, excellent old man!
I cou'd not quench his little ray of hope,
And tell him all I thought of Clementina.
She is indeed diſtreſt—But pride alone,
A diſappointed pride, and lawleſs love,
Now harrow up her ſoul—Had ſhe an honeſt,
Rational excuſe—a tale that cou'd behold
The light—ere now ſhe had diſcover'd it—
This ſeeming myſtery, is wholly art,
To ſave this new-made huſband—Monſtrous—mon⯑ſtrous!
Shame riſes upon ſhame, and each freſh guilt
Out-damns the former with its deep'ning blackneſs—
Enter GRANVILLE, burſting from the back Scene.
GRANVILLE.
I've forc'd a way—Infernal villain, turn!
Chain'd as I am, you ſhall not fly me now.
PALERMO.
Why this exceeds my utmoſt expectation—
This is revenge that pays an age of torture.
Yes, fraudful lord, this meeting gives me tranſport;
And long ere now my vengeance had you felt,
But that the perjur'd partner of your crimes
[57]Appear'd moſt guilty, and to juſtice ſeem'd
Leſs the ſeduc'd, than infamous ſeducer—
GRANVILLE.
Talk not of juſtice, O conſummate coward!
Talk not of juſtice, little-minded ſpoiler!
When, dead alike to ſentiment and ſhame,
You ſeek by force—by force, inhuman ruffian!
To drag a helpleſs woman to your bed;
And tho' deſpis'd—deteſted—execrated—
Attempt, aſſiſted by her ſavage father,
To make her yours, thro' actual rape and murder.
PALERMO.
Ere I reply to this injurious charge,
Let me, tho' fate hangs o'er your guilty head,
On equal terms, allow you room to anſwer.
Here I unlooſe your chains—Now hence with me,
And fight the cauſe of this abandon'd woman.
Palermo dares you forth to ſingle combat:
Palermo too, ſhall arm his vanquiſh'd foe,
Nor ev'n, while Venice dooms him to the axe,
Once name his crimes, to ſhun the claims of honour—
GRANVILLE.
Hence—With the promis'd ſword alone I'll anſwer;
For tho' my ſoul thro' all her enmity,
Feels a kind ſomething for this gallant anger,
In blood alone ſhe'll ſpeak her obligation.
[Exeunt.
Scene changes to a Chamber.
Enter CLEMENTINA.
CLEMENTINA.
He'll ſee me—endleſs bleſſings on his head—
Yes—Elizara's counſel was moſt juſt:
There is no other way to ſave my huſband—
If I perſiſt in hiding who he is,
He dies beyond a doubt—whereas revealing
The fatal ſecret, tho' replete with horror,
[58]May wake the father in Anſelmo's boſom;
And when he finds his daughter ſtill unſullied,
The ſudden torrent of ſurprize and joy,
May lead him yet to pity and forgiveneſs—
Enter ANSELMO.
ANSELMO.
I come at laſt, unhappy girl, to hear
If there's indeed, in this myſterious conduct,
Aught that can have pretenſions to excuſe?
I come ev'n hoping ardently for motives
To juſtify an offer of my pardon;
For O! I wiſh, I wiſh to find you guiltleſs—
Speak then at once, I earneſtly conjure you:
Give me but room to exerciſe my fondneſs,
And come again ſecurely to my heart—
CLEMENTINA.
O Sir! reſtrain, reſtrain this wond'rous goodneſs!
It pierces like a dagger thro' my heart,
And ſhews me doubly, what a wretch I was
To wrong ſo good, ſo excellent a father.
Had I at firſt reveal'd my wretched ſtory—
Had I but ſaid who Granville truly is,
I ſee, 'twere poſſible to hope for pity.
ANSELMO.
Deſerve that pity, and receive it now—
Prove that you are not loſt—prove that this Granville
Is not the vile ſeducer of an inſtant,
Shew me but this—and leave a partial father,
If you can wipe away the charge of ſhame,
To overlook the crime of diſobedience.
CLEMENTINA.
How cou'd I be a monſter ſo deprav'd,
As once to forfeit tenderneſs like this
O Sir—if you can graciouſly forgive
[59]One fault—one fatal fault—wretch as I am,
We may be happy yet; and long, long days
Of future joy o'erpay theſe hours of ſorrow—
Know then that Granville—
ANSELMO.
Well.
CLEMENTINA.
Is not of France.
ANSELMO.
Proceed.
CLEMENTINA.
He is a citizen of Venice—
ANSELMO.
What citizen?
CLEMENTINA.
Rinaldo—
ANSELMO.
Ha! confuſion!
Son of my foe—nay more, a foe to freedom!
CLEMENTINA.
He's not your foe, Sir, nor a foe to freedom;
Our hearts were juſt united, when the fatal
Quarrel, between his ſire and you, took place;
I need not mention how he fought for Venice;
You ſaw him fall, and ſaw his country weep:
A train of wonderful events has ſince
High-rais'd him in the court of France, and duty
To an indulgent, to a royal maſter,
Join'd with his wiſhes to behold your daughter,
Has led him to this dang'rous embaſſy:
O ſave him then, my father—I know
His life is forfeit to the laws—But ſure,
[60]As your unequall'd virtue has preſerv'd
The ſtate, the ſtate will readily preſerve
Your hapleſs ſon.
ANSELMO.
'Tis hard, 'tis hard at once
To conquer our reſentments—Hard to take
Thoſe to our hearts, whom we have hated deadly:
But 'tis ſuch bliſs to find you ſtill unſpotted,
That what before had fir'd my ſoul to madneſs,
Brings rapture now, and cancels diſobedience.
CLEMENTINA.
How ſhall I ſpeak the feelings of my heart!
How, ſacred Sir, repay this wond'rous goodneſs!
ANSELMO.
I have a daughter ſtill—Rinaldo never
Was loſt to worth, tho' I abhorr'd his father;
Nor ſhall his country, for this firſt tranſgreſſion,
Forget the merit of his former ſervice.
Now you're my child again—your huſband lives;
Thus, thus I bury your offence for ever,
[Embracing her.
And fly to bring Rinaldo to your arms.
[Exit.
CLEMENTINA.
O teach me, heaven! O teach me to expreſs
The ſtrong ſenſations of my ſwelling boſom!
Do not oppreſs me with this weight of mercy,
And yet deſtroy my feeble pow'r to thank you:
But my Rinaldo, my deliver'd lord,
Shall ſpeak our mutual praiſe—Joy, boundleſs joy
And gratitude abſorb my little ſenſe
Beyond the reach of recollection—and
Tranſport grows too exquiſite for words.
[61]Enter GRANVILLE, leaning on bis Sword, pale and bloody: entering he falls againſt the ſide of the Scene, where be continues ſome time.
CLEMENTINA.
My huſband—horror—welt'ring in his blood!
O who has rais'd his arm againſt your life?
GRANVILLE.
Behold I come ev'n in the pangs—ſupport me,
Clementina—of death to ſave my love,
To prove my right—and guard her from diſhonour.
CLEMENTINA.
Ye heavenly miniſters—O ſay if this,
If this is all my happineſs at laſt!
GRANVILLE.
My Clementina—But it will not be—
The hand of fate is on me—and Palermo
Triumphs after all—O had I giv'n him
Blow for blow—I cou'd enjoy theſe pangs—But
Thus, thus to fall—
[Falling down, Clementina kneeling over him.
CLEMENTINA.
Well now what farther buſineſs
Have I with life?—
GRANVILLE.
My deareſt Clementina!
CLEMENTINA.
What ſays my love?
GRANVILLE.
They have not yet undone you?
CLEMENTINA.
[62]Am I not yet alive—let that convince you—
Anſelmo too is reconcil'd—And O!
I look'd for years, for long, long years of joy:
But what is reconciliation now?
Or what is joy?—From dreams of heav'n I wake,
To added woe, to aggravated torture—
And muſt we part, Rinaldo?
GRANVILLE.
O for ever!
Life ebbs apace, and all is darkneſs round me,
Save Clementina—Save my gallant friends—
They're yours—my father too—farewell One look,
One laſt dear look—farewel—farewel for ever.
[Dies.
CLEMENTINA.
Here too my ſun eternally ſhall ſet—
Rinaldo—friend—companion—lover—huſband—
Hard as our doom is, it is kind in this,
And joins us now, to ſever us no more!
Enter ANSELMO.
ANSELMO.
Palermo has acquainted me with all—
And is he gone ſo ſoon?—O hapleſs girl!
But yet Palermo's not to blame—Rinaldo
Provok'd his fate—He urg'd him to the combat,
And the ſurvivor, conſcious who has fall'n,
Deplores moſt deeply the diſaſt'rous blow.
CLEMENTINA.
Hence with his more than crocodile complaining,
Hence, to th' inferior monſter of the Nile,
Let him teach tears of yet unfancy'd falſhood—
There lies my huſband ſlaughter'd by his hand,
[63]Heav'n's worſt of woes—Heav'n's worſt of woes upon him!
And thinks he now with founds of lamentation,
To charm down griefs of magnitude like mine?
No, here I ſhake off wretchedneſs and life;
Here I attend my dear Rinaldo's ſpirit,
And leave the world to beings like Palermo.
[Stabs herſelf.
ANSELMO,
O Clementina—O my child—my child!
Had you no pity for a weeping father?
Was I not curs'd enough, enough a wretch,
Without this blow to rend my breaſt aſunder?
CLEMENTINA.
I ſcarce know what I act—my reaſon totters;
Yet while an interval of ſenſe remains,
O ſee me, Sir, with leſs endearing goodneſs—
Wretched no leſs as daughter than as wife:
In life's decline I mark you out to woe,
And here I murder my unhappy huſband:
'Tis time the grave ſhou'd hide ſo foul a monſter!
My brain, my brain, my brain—Who's that—Palermo—
[Raving.
Again—There, ſavage—there, that blow is ample ven⯑geance—
Look down—look down, Rinaldo—ſee your wife!
There lies the murd'rer ſlain by Clementina!
Prepare to meet my ſpirit in the ſkies!
Prepare to meet me in eternal morning!
Elyſium ſpreads upon my raptur'd view,
And I die bleſt, ſince dying I revenge you—
[Sinks.
ANSELMO.
O when I caſt a retroſpective glance
On all the graces of her infant years;
When I reflect how, rip'ning into beauty,
[64]My eager eyes wou'd ſtrain in tranſport on her,
Her faults, her follies vaniſh from my view,
And nought remains but tenderneſs to torture.
CLEMENTINA.
Where am I?—O I ſhall remember ſoon—
That is Anſelmo—that my rev'rend father:
O Sir, forgive me—beg down mercy on me,
And in the grave unite me to Rinaldo.
[Dies.
ANSELMO.
She's gone—ſhe's gone; [...] lily there lies blaſted,
No more to know returning ſpring—no more
To bloſſom in the pride of beauty.—Where,
Where ſhall I fly to loſe my recollection?
The world is now deteſtable to thought,
Since all that once delighted me is loſt.
O wretched child—O miſerable father!
But let me not blaſpheme: good heav'n—good heav'n!
I yield ſubmiſſive to the dreadful ſtroke,
And only aſk that this unhappy ſtory,
To future times, may forcibly point out
The dire effects of filial diſobedience.
[Exit.
THE END.
EPILOGUE,
[65]FROM Otway's and immortal Shakeſpeare's page
Venice is grown ſamiliar to our ſtage.
Here the Rialto often has diſplay'd
At once a bridge, a ſtreet, and mart of trade;
Here, treaſon threat'ning to lay Venice flat,
Grave candle-ſnuffers oft in Senate ſat.
To-night in Venice we have plac'd our ſcene,
Where I have been—liv'd—died—as you have ſeen.
Yet, that my travels I may not diſgrace,
Let me—ſince now reviv'd—deſcribe the place!
Nor wou'd the Tour of Europe prove our ſhame,
Cou'd every Macaroni do the ſame.
The City's ſelf—a wonder, all agree—
Appears to ſpring, like Venus, from the ſea.
Founded on piles, it riſes from the ſtrand,
Like Trifle plac'd upon a ſilver ſtand:
While many a leſſer iſle the proſpect crowns,
Looking like ſugar plums, or floating towns.
Horſes and mules ne'er pace the narrow ſtreet,
Where crouded walkers elbow all they meet:
No carts and coaches o'er the pavement clatter;
Ladies, Prieſts, Lawyers, Nobles,—go by water:
Light boats and gondolas tranſport them all,
Like one eternal party to Vauxhall.
Now hey for merriment!—hence grieſ and ſear!
The jolly Carnival leads in the year;
[66]Calls the young Loves and Pleaſures to its aid;
A three-months jubilee and maſquerade!
With gaiety the throng'd piazza glows,
Mountebanks, jugglers, boxers, puppet-ſhows:
Maſk'd and diſguis'd the ladies meet their ſparks,
While Venus bails the mummers of St. Mark's.
There holy friars turn gallants, and there too
Nuns yield to all the frailties—"Fleſh is heir to."
There dear Ridottos conſtantly delight,
And ſweet Harmonic Meetings ev'ry night!
Once in each year the Doge aſcends his barge,
Fine as a London Mayor's, and thrice as large;
Throws a huge ring of gold into the ſea,
And cries—"Thus We, thy Sov'reign, marry thee.
Oh may'ſt thou ne'er, like many a mortal ſpouſe,
Prove full of ſtorms, and faitbleſs to thy vows!"
One word of politics—and then Pve done—
The ſtate of Venice Nobles rule alone.
Thrice happy Britain, where with equal band
Three well pois'd ſtates unite to rule the land!
Thus in the theatre, as well as ſtate.
Three ranks muſt join to make us bleſs'd and great.
King, Lords, and Commons, o'er the nation ſit;
Pit, Box, and Gallery, rule the realms of wit.
Notes
*
This circumſtance obliged Mr. B [...]Y, who was caſt for Palermo, to undertake Mr. SAVIGNY'S part, which was originally Granville—Mr. SAVIGNY taking Anſelmo, and Mr. WROUGHTON, Palermo.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 5106 Clementina a tragedy as it is perform d with universal applause at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. 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-DBB3-A