University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A large Saracenic hall, festooned with ivy, clematis, and other parasitical plants.
On one side stands the statue of Francesca; on the other, a large sepulchral vase, half hid by orange, citron, and pomegranate trees. Round the statue lie several books and chisels; and round the vase a few blocks of porphyry and marble; on which are several musical instruments.
Marco and Bernardo arranging the books, &c.
Marco.
Well, here they are; and safe as in the quarry.

Ber.
Was he not charm'd, when he beheld this statue?

Marco.
He almost knelt in adoration.—Sardo?

[Enter Sardo and Lepardo on one side; and Fracastro on the other.
Fra.
What is the matter? why ye look as if
Ye had just risen from the grave. What is it?

Sardo.
Yonder;—look yonder. 'Tis a spirit! and
I dare as soon face panthers and hyenas.
It follow'd us from the portal. 'Tis a spirit!

Fra.
Mortal, be certain. Ye are children:—born
Of that fierce hydra-headed fiend, which stalks
The beauteous earth, and turns the grace of heaven
Into an insult. Cherish superstition;
And ye distil a poison in your hearts,
In which to drown both reason and religion.
Stand where ye are. I'll speak to him. What a sight!
Lame, bending, scarr'd with many a strange device;
Almost an Ethiop.—Never did I see
A form and visage so unlike the human.

[Enter Schidoni, disguised; playing on a harp.
Fra.
Whence,—and who art thou?

Schid.
Lead me to thy chief.

Fra.
Whence,—and who art thou?

Schid.
Lead me to thy chief!

[Recommences playing; and with great violence.
Fra.
(to Sardo.)
Go, tell the signor. (Exit Sardo.)

Didst thou ever hear
A strain like this, Lepardo? If thou hast,
I must confess, I have not.

Lep.
'Tis a spirit;
Risen from the coffin, where his body lies.

Enter Romano followed by the Palmers.
Rom.
Whence comes this prodigy? who art thou? who?

Fra.
Speak, sir. The man seems paralyzed. He shudders!
'Tis a plain question: why not answer? speak.

Schid.
(aside.)
As I do live, the awful, well-known, voice
Palsies me quite.

Rom.
Thy name? thy name? thy name?
(Aside.)
A thousand spiders crawl within my veins.
His very aspect stings me to the marrow,
Like a torpedo. Pluto's harp!—play on. [Schidoni plays.

Who taught thee that?

Schid.
(quitting his harp.)
Some horrid hag, no doubt;
That drinks the dews of night, and champs the howling storm.
To lessen fruitless questions, I'm Cavallo;
Well known at Naples, though you know me not.
Cavallo; and a friend.

Rom.
A friend?

Schid.
Why not?

Rom.
Because the age of miracles is past.
Jewels from granite, kids from leopards' dens,
Honey from spiders, and a saint from hell,
Were not more worthy of belief. But since
You proffer friendship, answer this. I have
Pass'd many a melancholy, reckless, year,
In seeking for my daughter. Large rewards!—
All have been fruitless. I could toil with dangers,
Wars, waves, and winds, 'mid lightning and the tempest;
Nay, I could bear with daggers and rack-wheels,
Till time itself grew weary of their use,
More like a man, than the intolerable torture,
With which this mystery lacerates my soul.
Can you say aught to rid me of this burden?
Say yes; I'll—worship thee.

Schid.
The, the, the—what?

Fra.
Speak, sir. You seem as if you could.

Schid.
I?—I?

Fra.
If you know, speak: and not stand stammering there.
If you know, speak; and ease his soul at once.

Schid.
How should I know? and why ask me? Perdition!
Sir—I know nothing of thy daughter:—Nothing.
(To Fracastro.)
Enough for me to guard myself. (Aside.)
Confusion!
I stand like Judas in the hall of Pilate.

Rom.
What brought thee hither, then? Declare.

Fra.
Declare.
I would not have a countenance like his,
For all the universe contains. Look, look:
Did ever mortal man behold the like?

Schid.
I am from Naples. I was charged with treason:
Perhaps not wrongfully: My gaoler—yours.
An air—you'll well remember when you hear it;—
I am no great musician; but, no doubt,
You will excuse my poverty of skill.

[Plays.
Rom.
Why, this is strange:—who taught thee that? 'Tis one,
Which I, in solace to my spirit, framed
Within my melancholy cell.

Schid.
Marcello.
Your friend;—my friend:—your gaoler;—my gaoler.
He told me, you composed it in the cell,
Where I have pass'd so many sleepless nights,
And miserable days. This was his harp.
“Go, seek Romano; play that air,” said he,
“And he will recognise his friend, Marcello;
“And give thee welcome for his sake.” I came:
And am now ready, with full power, to serve thee.
And here I must be honest, and confess,
In serving thee, I hope to serve myself.

Rom.
Serve me? in what?

Schid.
Nay softly, signor: softly.
Say—would you think to look into a harp,
For aught save melody? Behold this slide.
Draw it;—two keys reward the secret search!
Rich treasures; yet most dangerous, if found
On my poor person. They are yours; and may—

Rom.
But what keys are they?

Schid.
(in a whisper.)
Those of Naples.

Rom.
Ay?

Schid.
The town's thine own: thy very own;—to burn,
To waste, to plunder, or to pulverize.
Just as the pleasure of thy soul may be.

Rom.
Zopyrus, Hanno, Catiline;—choose which,
Thy name shall hence be class'd with. For thou hast
The life, the soul, the vigour of a giant,
Warring on heaven. I thank thee from the core.
You know,—you must know,—oh the odious harlot!
She thinks me guilty of—Ha-ha! Ha-ha!

Schid.
(aside.)
Hell and confusion—what a burst!

Fra.
(To Lepardo.)
'Tis terrible.

Schid.
(aside.)
I'd give five thousand ducats, I had thrown
These keys and dagger in a whirlpool, rather
Than I had come to hear a laugh like that.

Rom.
She thinks me guilty of a flagrant—murder!
Thou think'st the same.

Schid.
I do not.

Rom.
On thy soul?

Schid.
Ay; on my soul.

Rom.
My friend; my brother! nay—
Give me thy hand. St. Peter! In the name
Of every saint, what curdles up my blood?
I could as soon swear friendship with this man,
As with Schidon—

Schid.
(aside.)
Be angry at nothing!
His face has turn'd so wan, his hair so grey,
I had begun to pity him:—but now!
Let him go on; turn idiot; and—prosper.
These keys are genuine. I had them from
The keeper of the city gates; whom I
Have bribed with gifts and many a golden promise.
Lead thou thine army, secretly, at night,
And I'm forsworn, unless the gates fly open.
(Aside.)
Then what a capture for King Ferdinand!

Rom.
Oh yes—we'll lead them: but before we do—

Schid.
These keys—fac-similes! nay, take them, take them.

King.
(to Vercelli.)
Who can this be?

Rom.
(taking the keys.)
Who told thee, sir, that I
Would take advantage of a hangman's treason?
Not my good friend, Marcello, I am certain.
Hence, hence; get hence. I cannot trust thee, sir.
He, who is faithless to the land, that bore him,
Will be as faithless to the God, that made him;
Therefore to father, mother, friend, and wife,
All faithless:—doubly faithless then to me.

[Throws down the keys.
Schid.
(aside.)
Well is't, I brought this dagger. What a fool,
To venture on a madd'ning scheme like this!

Rom.
One lives at Naples, and his name Schidoni.
A man of reckless passions. It is long
Since I have seen him; and I'm told, he is
So bloated with indulgences, that if
I saw the fiend, I ne'er could recognise
Th'assassin of Francesca. Dost thou know him?

Schid.
Ay. I've caroused with him. He lived not far
From my poor cottage. Therefore, when I say,
I know him well, it is equivalent,
To say,—of all men breathing,—he is one,
Whom most I do—

Rom.
Abominate? you must.
In that we associate. But remember, sir,
Though I do hate him, as the gates of hell,
And would do any thing to send him there,
I hate all traitors to their country more.
He knows me pure; Naples believes me guilty.
Drive him, my signors; drive him from the camp.
I will not harbour, nor take benefit,
From one so lost to every honest feeling.
Oh—that the leaves of autumn had, long since,
Made my grave yellow!

Schid.
(to Lepardo, &c.)
Touch me, if ye dare.

Rom.
Stay, my good friends: the man abhors Schidoni.
Aged he is, and wearied, too. Lepardo!
Give him refreshment. He was wrong'd, no doubt;
And passion has misled him. He forgot,
That treason to our country is a crime,
That kneels for mercy to the end of time.
He hates Schidoni! Show the man some favour.
Let us not take upon ourselves to judge
'Twixt crime and motive, deed and aggravation.

Schid.
(aside.)
What,—am I always fated to be scorn'd,
Go where I will? Damnation! I will perish,
But I will have a full revenge this moment.

[Steals behind Romano, and attempts to stab him in the back: his arm is arrested by Fracastro.
Fra.
Signor, forbear. The man is mine. This sword—
Thou shalt not stake thine honourable life,
Against a fiend's like that. Thou shalt; thou shalt not.
I'll teach the serpent, 'tis no waste we live in.

[Closes with him.
Enter Fontano, Lavinia, Floranthe, and Lorenzo, from the ruins, and occupy a station, unobserved by Schidoni.
Lep.
What has he dropt?

Sardo
(stooping.)
A miniature!

Schid.
Stand off.

Lep.
The loveliest angel, that mine eyes e'er look'd on.

Schid.
Give it me, sir. I claim it as mine own.
And may the hand, that robs me of it, wither,
Wrist, arm, and shoulder, with a palsy; worse
Than ever paralyzed an Egyptian Jew.
Give it me, signor; give it me, I say.
Remember, I'm a stranger. I demand
Therefore a stranger's privilege. This young man,
Whom I must venerate for the trust, he show'd,
Thought I intended what I never dreamt of.
Give it Romano? By the gods, thou shalt not.
He shall not see it. Sirrah;—wretch;—confusion!
Give it to me. I'll have it. If all fiends,
Fabled to live in Tartarus, should say nay,
Still I would have it.

Rom.
Calm your passions, sir.
Now let me see the meaning of all this.

[Takes the portrait.
Schid.
May the man burn in everlasting sulphur!

Rom.
Dream I or not? Hell opens, or the world
Is fast degrading to a monstrous den,
Where hornets, vampires, serpents, and hyenas,
Only can breathe. Who art thou? who? where? when?
How came this treasure in thy curst possession?
Schidoni took it from the toilet, when
He slew Francesca. Tell me;—thine;—how came it?

Schid.
I took it;—I;—the harper:—He, whom you
Cheated so basely of the living model.
See—here I stand, unterrified; a cynosure;
A mark, a martyr to your treacherous arts.
You fawn'd, bribed, cozen'd, and inveigled her.
She loved you not;—she hated you!—the man,
Whom most she loved and doted on, stands here;
John Julian Lascaris Schidoni! Now,
You know me now: I trust, you know me now. [Strikes his foot accidentally against his harp.

Curst be all harps, and those that use them:—hence!—
Thus, thus, and thus, I break thy damned strings;
And wish the world were strung as loose as thou art.
I am an idiot. (To Cerello.)
Sirrah! as I live,
I'll not be stared at in this threatening way.

Cer.
Stared at? Thou shalt; and spurn'd, too, if I please.

Schid.
Think you to use me, as you use this hawk?

[Catching at it.
Cer.
Touch, if you dare:—for by the gods—

Schid.
Away;
Hawker and hawk, varlet and varl together.
See—he is paralyzed and speechless. See—
Shame and perdition seize thee; curse thee, serpent.
Earth! rise and bury him. Thy blood, thy blood,
May it flow black, and clot within thy veins.
May all thy flesh string, putrid, from thy bones,
And hang for vultures, kites, and wolves, to gorge on.

Rom.
Off, off, Lepardo. Do not hold me thus.
Nay, nay, Fracastro, thou hast saved my life—
You, reverend palmers? nay, ye shall not;—cease!

Fra.
Struggle, nay struggle, as thou wilt; by heaven,
Thou shalt not do it. Help us, Sardo, help.

Schid.
Nay, let him come. He dares not. He's an ocelot,
Furious, and stern; ferocious,—yet a coward!
Let him come on. Francesca;—listen!—she,
Whom all men hail'd an angel upon earth,
She had been mine; had not a man from Venice,
—Venice the damn'd!—had not a man from Venice,
You, you, sir,—you,—laid poison in her path,
And palsied all my efforts to obtain her.
You had the maid; and I the senseless image!
I was revenged beyond all human thought.
You know, how well I was revenged. Ye gods,
Angels, or devils, as ye list; come, see—
I've struck him dumb.—Schidoni stands before you!

Rom.
Away, away: I'll be restrain'd no longer.

[Breaks from them; rushes forward; and is about to close with him.
Schid.
Stop, sir: slay me; you lose the secret. Now,
My passion 's o'er; I'll reason with you.—Where
Is your lost child? Now strike me; strike; nay strike.
Here is my bosom, strike! your child—where is she?

Rom.
Angels defend me!

Fra.
He is breathless; nerveless.

Rom.
Where is my child? Oh the great gods above—
Where is my child? I'll leave thy fate to heaven,
If thou wilt place her in mine arms again.

Schid.
Dead. How she came so, I'll not answer. Dead.

Rom.
God of my fathers!

Schid.
(aside.)
Fool—oh fool, oh idiot;—
Fool, that I am, my passion has betray'd me.

Frac.
(to the King.)
Useless; all useless, reverend palmer:—He
Is past all comfort,—paralyzed! Thou villain,
Bury this sword full deep into this heart—

Schid.
And who art thou, that dar'st to call me villain?
Who would not act, as I have done? He's breathless!
Not all the hydras, gorgons, gnomes, nor fiends,
If such there are, can rob me of the joy
Of this proud moment. I'm revenged! a thousand—
Twenty, nay thirty, fifty thousand deaths,
Since death brings nothing but eternal sleep,
I'd die t'enjoy this ecstasy again.

King.
I never saw horrific ecstasy,
Equal to this. No man;—Satan himself.

Schid.
Who says, I'm mad? I am not mad: ye lie.

Fon.
Behold these eye-balls in thine ecstasy.

Schid.
Gorgons defend me—are mine eyes turn'd traitors?

Fon.
Shame to thy name, thy country, and the world.
There's not a fiend, in all the depths below,
Could do the deeds, which thou hast.

Schid.
You?—Lavinia?—you?
Ruin'd;—undone! Lorenzo? monstrous, monstrous!
Legions of demons are let loose from hell.
Ha—what is this? Francesca? Hell—oh hell— [Turning from the statue.

Turn where I will, I breathe the blast of hell;
Surrounded by the furies and the damn'd.

Rom.
Perish, thou fiend; thou hated monster, perish.

[Rushing towards him.
King.
Hold, hold; forbear:—I tell thee, hold;—forbear.
He shall not have the honours of a sword,
Jav'lin or scimetar, dagger or dirk.
The hangman shall reward him for his crimes.

Vercelli.
Behold your King.

Rom.
A magistrate from heaven!

Schid.
(dropping his sword.)
A judge from hell!

Rom.
Beyond all history.
Excuse mine error, sire;—I knew thee not.

King.
Rise, and receive this monument of truth;
A sword, which never proved unjust to any.

Rom.
(rising.)
Thanks, royal sir.—My child!—excuse me, sire;
Excuse more awful homage at this moment.
Where are the ashes of my child? where are they?
Speak, or I'll crush these venomous bones, to earth.

[Seizes him by the throat.
Schid.
Hold, then, and hear.

Rom.
Be brief.

Lep.
He falls;—he falls!

Fra.
And at the feet, too, of the Signora's statue.

Schid.
Curst be the day;—I've fallen upon my dagger!
Draw it; 'tis poison'd; draw it, or I perish.

Rom.
Then let the poison travel through thy veins,
Palsy thy nerves, and melt into thy marrow.

Schid.
Oh—my dear mother, I have wrong'd thee much.
Where is my sword? my sword, I say;—my sword.
Poison runs putrid through my veins. The fiends—
See, how they roll 'mid locusts and dead bodies,
Speckled with blood. My mother, mother, pardon!
Hold, hold, I'm poison'd:—Scorpions and torpedos!
Draw out the dagger; or I perish:—draw it.

[Wrings the dagger from his side; and, throwing it away, it strikes the foot of the statue.
Rom.
Dost thou attempt to murder her again?
Down, atheist, down; and learn in lowest hell,
If death to thee be an eternal sleep,
Or an eternal torment. Speak, I say;
Where are the ashes of my daughter? where?

Schid.
Mercy, Francesca;—call me back to life!

Fra.
See, how the poison operates upon him.

Schid.
On the dark margin of eternity—
Hide me, oh hide me. Oh, almighty Power!
Thy mercy is infinitude indeed,
If thou canst pardon such a wretch as I.

King.
The pangs of dying in a wretch like this!

Schid.
Could I but touch her statue, I were safe.
Nay. .let. .me. .touch thee. . .only.one. .slight. .touch.
I . cannot. .reach. .it—. . .oh. . .the.pangs. . .of. . .dying!

King.
Horrid;—most horrible!

Fra.
Convulsed:—he dies!

Rom.
Dead? and I left without a hope? no sign?
No word? no answer? Am I left to mourn
The death of one, who ruined me, when living?
Is the fiend dead? alas—my murder'd child,
Where? where?—oh never shall I see thee more.
Fate has so smote me with her iron wand—
A cave, a cave, amid the wilderness!
Oh let me wander, barefoot, parch'd, and wither'd,
Lions amid, and crocodiles, o'er sands,
That breathe of death in every scorching blast.
Sire, sire,—forgive me; I'm bereaved; no longer
Julio Romano; or a living man.

King.
Bear out the miscreant:—hang him on a gibbet:
And make it high, as human hands can form;
That all may see, for many a distant league,
His worthless, tarnish'd, and gangrening body,
Bleed, bleach, and ulcer, in the sultry blast.

Rom.
Stop:—let me see the vision once again.
Ye gracious powers!
And did ye make me only to be victim,
To the vile craft of such a fiend as this?
A wretch so low, that, wearing human form,
Makes me to loathe the figure of a man. [Stretches his hands towards heaven.

Receive and pardon, if ye can. I—never!

[Retires hastily up the ruins.
[Exeunt Lepardo, Marco, &c. with the body.
Re-enter Romano.
Lav.
Ah me, it makes my bleeding heart run cold,
To see him rend his flowing mantle so,
Wring his pale hands, and strike his breast so wildly.

Lor.
Do not disturb him, my Lavinia; see,
Distraction sits already on the throne,
Where reason once held empire.

Lav.
He approaches!

Rom.
Save me, oh save me, from myself, once more.

[Throws himself at the feet of the statue.
King.
This is an awful, dreadful, sight indeed.
I've climb'd Mount Sinai and Mount Horeb; drank,
In silent awe, of Siloa's sacred stream;
Knelt at thy gates, Jerusalem; and kiss'd
The tombs of Memphis, and the dust of Thebes.
Yet does this scene excite my wounded spirit,
More than them all. A melancholy, touch'd
With deeper anguish, have I never seen,
Read, heard, or dreamt of. It compels to tears.

Rom.
(rising.)
Oh earth, oh sea,—ye planets, and ye suns,
—Emblems, all pregnant, of omnipotence!—
And thou, Eternal Architect of Heaven,
All-seeing, yet unseen; all-working, yet unwork'd;
Whose matchless attributes the air, the skies,
The universe of matter and of mind,
In one harmonious concert, celebrate:—
Sole power, sole love, sole wisdom, and sole end;
Grant me thy greatest of all earthly blessings:
Death, and reunion with Francesca's spirit!

King.
Give me thy hand; and let thy heart pay homage
To the mild wisdom, Nature speaks to all men.
Do not afflict thy manly spirit thus.
Remember,—bees from poisons oft distil
The healthiest sweets. 'Tis midnight:—wait for morn.
The scene, though darken'd and afflictive now,
Will, one day, brighten; and in glory show,
Why man may build his proudest hopes on sorrow.
He, who 'mid sublunary scenes did show
The mildest spirit, midst the deepest woe,
Now sits, in holy peace, on heaven's celestial bow.

Flo.
(to Fracastro.)
(To Romano.)

Rom.
May heaven shower all its blessings on thy head!
And when old Time has strew'd upon thy locks
The snows of age and wisdom; mayst thou never
Feel the dumb, paralyzing, touch of death;
But rise, with life still blooming on thy cheek,
To the pure regions of eternal glory!

Flo.
Signor, I bend, in awful state, to thank thee.
May I presume?—The covering of the portrait,
Which, from the garments of that horrid man,
Fell on this spot, is like what I, just now,
Placed in that noble Gentelezza's hand.
May I entreat to see it once again?

Rom.
Ask; and my life shall sanctify the wish,
With most profuse performance. Take it.

Flo.
Thanks.
The very image: yes, the very image!
Is it not, signor?

Fra.
Ay—the counterpart.

Flo.
And that gold chain, which hangs around thy neck;
How came it there? I hung it on a cross,
In awful gratitude, for having past
The perils of a precipice. 'Tis mine.
It was my mother's;—grant it me.

Rom.
Thy mother's?
What may this mean? I'm breathless! In the name
Of him, who sits high arbiter, who art thou?

Flo.
That is a question, difficult to answer.
Nine years have pass'd, since from my father's house,
One stormy midnight, I was carried; 'mid
A vast, rude, multitude, who howl'd, and hiss'd,
No,—not like men,—but serpents. It was dreadful!
“What are they hissing at?” said I. “Your father;”
Was the dread answer. Upon which I fell,
Senseless; and did not, I am told, recover
Speech, sense, or motion, till I found myself
Stretch'd on a couch; my aching head reposing
On the soft lap of old Theresa; housed
In a large, sombre, solitary, mansion.

Rom.
My head turns giddy.

Fra.
Take mine arm.

Rom.
Thanks;—thanks.

Flo.
There I have lived; till, eight or nine days since,
Theresa told me to be gone. “A lady
“Comes here to-morrow;” said the dame. “The signor
“Comes hither, too. He must not see thee, child.
“For he does think, my husband poison'd thee,
“A long time since. He gave him charge to do it.
“But, Lord!—my Bernard would have slain himself,
“Rather than harm one little hair of thine.
“Indeed, my child, he wept, to think, he'd served
“So many years; and then, ah well-a-day!
“Be taken for a poisoner at last.
“Go, go, my tit-mouse: go; begone.” I wept.
For the old lady had been kind to me;
And, ere I went, placed this dear portrait near
My throbbing heart; and hung that golden chain
Around my neck.” “They came with thee;” said she,
“And may, one day, do service.” Upon which,
She gave this robe. “Go, travel as a boy.
“That robe will hide the weakness of thy sex.
“Go; earn thy living, as thou canst;—by singing:
“And never seek these guilty doors again.”
Now let me cast this robe aside for ever.

Rom.
Is this a vision? as I hope for grace,
Francesca's image stands—all life—before me!

Flo.
Then I'm thy daughter.

Rom.
Come from heaven? Nay—touch me.
Let me feel certain, I am still awake;
Lest I may lose all certainty of joy,
And think this ecstasy a dream.—Floranthe?
Speak;—speak.

Fra.
She cannot.—Love surpasses speech.

Rom.
Joy, joy, unmeasured!—'Tis no dream;—'tis real.
I hold her safe; I fold her in mine arms.
Speak, my sweet child; my angel; my Floranthe;
And let the music of thy voice proclaim
A paradise on earth.

Flo.
My father;—father!
If I speak more, I perish in thine arms.

Rom.
Oh heaven—what rapture pierces all my veins,
To hear those words! The sacred name of father
Touches my soul, like sounds from heaven. My child!
Thus could I hold thee, till the time were come,
That I could place thee on thy mother's bosom.

Fra.
(to Lepardo.)
Never, no never, did I see a form,
So fair, so exquisite;—a face so lovely.
I could fall down and worship.

King.
(to Fontano.)
See—the hand
And will of heaven are always working.

Rom.
Sire,
I soon can thank thee as I ought. Fracastro,
At this sweet hour, as magnet to its pole,
I turn to thee in gratitude. These tears,
—Far more delicious than delirious smiles,
Shower'd at a banquet,—tell a grateful tale.
Most royal sir;—and you, my friends, mark well.
Here stands my benefactor: and to him—!
You saved my life, Fracastro:—ay, far more:
You saved my soul, my guilty soul, from falling.
This is my child. Should she, hereafter, smile—
Nay, do not hide thy blushes in my robe.
I know his value; and thy looks speak thine.

Fra.
(kneeling.)
If I could thank thee, signor; I were worthless.
A form more beauteous, and a mind more lovely,
Such never graced a paradise of angels.

Rom.
(raising him.)
Thou art my son; my saviour; my Fracastro!
Sire! my delirium of delight is far
Beyond all language: and this earth, so late
A withering desert to my heart, a scene
Where hope now buds, and blossoms into bliss.

Flor.
(to Fontano.)
Signor, where art thou? Let me take thy hand.
Thine, too, Lavinia. Royal sir, my tongue
Is not accustom'd to address high persons.
Pardon me, therefore. I, who late had none,
Have now two fathers.

King.
Two? nay, three; and none
So blest, so happy, as we all are now.

Flor.
Except myself; and I feel lapp'd in heaven.

Rom.
There's a sweet creature; and my daughter too!

King.
Come, my sweet rose-bud; I am proud of thee.
Thy mother was an angel to us all;
Let me salute thee.

Flor.
What—a king?

King.
Sweet maid—
No king, that lives, but would adorn a throne,
By placing thee upon it. Now (salutes her);
—Heaven bless thee!

Fra.
Fairest of creatures—may I touch thy hand?

Rom.
Nay, do not frown. Look up, my child, look up.
He shows like Hercules in his flowing locks,
And bears Apollo in his shining front.
Here, take her hand, Fracastro; and let me
Declare, in volumes of a father's wish,
Fracastro's happiness in Floranthe's love.

King.
Now, then, to Naples: we'll return in triumph;
Visit the monuments of those we loved;
Gaze on their epitaphs; and strew fresh flowers,
Around the tombs in which their ashes lie.
(To Vercelli.)
Now give the signal.

[Scene changes; and a large army is beheld ranged, file above file, round the monastery of Salvator. The monks issue from the monastery, bearing

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crosses in their hands; the clouds roll off the summit of Vesuvius; the sun rises brilliantly; and military music is heard echoing, and reechoing, among the distant mountains.
Romano kneels before the King to receive the order of St. Catherine; Fontano, Fracastro, Floranthe, Lorenzo and Lavinia, surround the King and Romano; and the scene closes with a burst of enthusiastic rapture from all present.