University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE, a Garden belonging to Sciolto's Palace.
Enter Altamont and Horatio.
Alta.
Let this auspicious Day be ever sacred,
No Mourning, no Misfortunes happen on it;
Let it be markt for Triumphs and Rejoycings;
Let happy Lovers ever make it holy,
Chuse it to bless their Hopes, and crown their Wishes,
This happy Day that gives me my Calista.

Hor.
Yes, Altamont; to Day thy better Stars
Are join'd, to shed their kindest Influence on thee:
Sciolto's noble Hand, that rais'd thee first,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy Father's Grave,
Compleats its Bounty, and restores thy Name
To that high Rank and Lustre which it boasted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The Merit of thy Godlike Father's Arms;
Before that Country which he long had serv'd,
In watchful Councils, and in Winter Camps,
Had cast off his white Age to Want and Wretchedness,
And made their Court to faction by his Ruin.

Alt.
Oh great Sciolto! oh my more than Father!
Let me not live, but at thy very Name
My eager Heart springs up, and leaps with Joy.
When I forget the vast vast Debt I owe thee,
Forget! (but 'tis impossible) then let me
Forget the Use and Privilege of Reason,
Be driven from the Commerce of Mankind,
To wander in the Desart among Brutes,
To bear the various Fury of the Seasons,
The Night's unwholsom Dew and Noon-day's Heat,
To be the Scorn of Earth and Curse of Heav'n.

Hor.
So open, so unbounded was his Goodness,
It reach'd ev'n me, because I was thy Friend.
When that Great Man I lov'd, thy Noble Father,
Bequeath'd thy gentle Sister to my Arms,
His last dear Pledge and Legacy of Friendship,
That happy Tye made me Sciolto's Son;
He call'd us his, and with a Parent's Fondness
Indulg'd us in his Wealth, blest us with Plenty,
Heal'd all our Cares, and sweeten'd Love it self.

Alt.
By Heav'n, he found my Fortunes so abandon'd,
That nothing but a Miracle could raise 'em;
My Father's Bounty, and the State's Ingratitude,
Had strip'd him bare, nor left him ev'n a Grave;
Undone my self, and sinking with his Ruin,
I had no Wealth to bring, nothing to succour him,
But fruitless Tears.

Hor.
Yet what thou cou'dst thou didst,
And didst it like a Son; when his hard Creditors,
Urg'd and assisted by Lothario's Father,
(Foe to thy House, and Rival of their Greatness)
By Sentence of the cruel Law, forbid
His venerable Corps to rest in Earth,
Thou gav'st thy self a Ransom for his Bones;
With Piety uncommon, didst give up
Thy hopeful Youth to Slaves who ne'er knew Mercy,
Sour, unrelenting, Mony-loving Villains,
Who laugh at Human Nature and Forgiveness,
And are like Fiends the Factors for Destruction.
Heav'n, who beheld the pious Act, approv'd it,
And bad Sciolto's Bounty be its Proxy,
To bless thy filial Virtue with Abundance.

Alt.
But see he comes, the Author of my Happiness,
The Man who sav'd my Life from deadly Sorrow,
Who bids my Days be blest with Peace and Plenty,
And satisfies my Soul with Love and Beauty.

Enter Sciolto, he runs to Altamont and embraces him.
Sci.
Joy to thee, Altamont! Joy to my self!
Joy to this happy Morn, that makes thee mine,
That kindly grants what Nature had deny'd me,
And makes me Father of a Son like thee.

Alt.
My Father! oh let me unlade my Breast,
Pour out the fullness of my Soul before you,
Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful Thought,
This wond'rous Goodness stirs. But 'tis impossible,
And Utterance all is vile; since I can only
Swear you reign here, but never tell how much.

Sci.
It is enough; I know thee thou art honest;
Goodness innate, and Worth hereditary
Are in thy Mind; thy noble Father's Virtues
Spring freshly forth, and blossom in thy Youth.

Alt.
Thus Heav'n from nothing rais'd his fair Creation,
And then with wond'rous Joy beheld its Beauty,
Well pleas'd to see the Excellence he gave.

Sci.
Oh noble Youth! I swear since first I knew thee,
Ev'n from that day of Sorrows when I saw thee,
Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial Tears,
The Mourner and Redeemer of thy Father,
I set thee down and seal'd thee for my own:
Thou art my Son, ev'n near me as Calista.
Horatio and Lavinia too are mine;
[Embraces Horatio
All are my Children, and shall share my Heart.
But wherefore waste we thus this happy Day?
The laughing Minutes summon thee to Joy,
And with new Pleasures court thee as they pass;
Thy waiting Bride ev'n chides thee for delaying,
And swears thou com'st not with a Bridegroom's Haste.

Alt.
Oh! could I hope there was one Thought of Altamont,
One kind Remembrance in Calista's Breast,
The Winds, with all their Wings, would be too slow
To bear me to her Feet. For oh! my Father,
Amidst this Stream of Joy that bears me on,
Blest as I am, and honour'd in your Friendship,
There is one Pain that hangs upon my Heart.

Sci.
What means my Son?

Alt.
When, at your Intercession,
Last Night Calista yielded to my Happiness,
Just e'er we parted, as I seal'd my Vows
With Rapture on her Lips, I found her Cold,
As a dead Lover's Statue on his Tomb;
A rising storm of Passion shook her Breast,
Her Eyes a piteous show'r of Tears let fall,
And then she sigh'd as if her Heart were breaking.
With all the tend'rest Eloquence of Love
I beg'd to be a Sharer in her Grief;
But she, with Looks averse, and Eyes that froze me,
Sadly reply'd, her Sorrows were her own,
Nor in a Father's Pow'r to dispose of.

Sci.
Away! it is the Cosenage of their Sex,
One of the common Arts they practise on us,
To sigh and weep, then when their Hearts beat high,
With expectation of the coming Joy:
Thou hast in Camps, and fighting Fields been bred,
Unknowing in the Subtleties of Women;
The Virgin Bride, who swoons with deadly Fear,
To see the end of all her Wishes near,
When blushing from the Light and publick Eyes,
To the kind Covert of the Night she flies,
With equal Fires to meet the Bridegroom moves,
Melts in his Arms, and with a loose she loves.

[Exeunt.
Enter Lothario and Rossano.
Loth.
The Father and the Husband!

Ross.
Let them pass,
They saw us not.

Loth.
I care not if they did,
E're long I mean to meet 'em Face to Face,
And gaul 'em with my Triumph o'er Calista.

Ross.
You lov'd her once.

Loth.
I lik'd her, wou'd have marry'd her,
But that it pleas'd her Father to refuse me,
To make this Honourable Fool her Husband.
For which, if I forget him, may the Shame
I mean to brand his Name with, stick on mine.

Ross.
She, gentle Soul, was kinder than her Father.

Loth.
She was, and oft in private gave me hearing,
'Till by long list'ning to the soothing Tale,
At length her easie Heart was wholly mine.

Ross.
I have heard you oft describe her, Haughty, Insolent,
And fierce with high Disdain; it moves my wonder,
That Virtue thus defended, should be yielded
A Prey to loose Desires.

Loth.
Hear, then I'll tell thee.
Once in a lone, and secret Hour of Night,
When ev'ry Eye was clos'd, and the pale Moon
And Stars alone, shone conscious of the Theft,
Hot with the Tuscan Grape, and high in Blood,
Hap'ly I stole unheeded to her Chamber.

Ross.
That Minute sure was lucky.

Loth.
Oh 'twas great.
I found the Fond, Believing, Love-sick Maid,
Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of Wishes;
Fierceness and Pride, the Guardians of her Honour,
Were charm'd to Rest, and Love alone was waking.
Within her rising Bosom all was calm,
As peaceful Seas that know no Storms, and only
Are gently lifted up and down by Tides.
I snatch'd the glorious, golden Opportunity,
And with prevailing, youthful Ardour prest her,
'Till with short Sighs, and murmuring Reluctance,
The yielding Fair one gave me perfect Happiness.
Ev'n all the live-long Night we past in Bliss,
In Extacies too fierce to last for ever;
At length the Morn and cold Indifference came;
When fully sated with the luscious Banquet,
I hastily took leave, and left the Nymph
To think on what was past, and sigh alone.

Ross.
You saw her soon again.

Loth.
Too soon I saw her;
For oh! that Meeting was not like the former;
I found my Heart no more beat high with Transport,
No more I sigh'd, and languish'd for Enjoyment,
'Twas past, and Reason took her turn to reign,
While ev'ry Weakness fell before her Throne.

Ross.
What of the Lady?

Loth.
With uneasie Fondness
She hung upon me, wept, and sigh'd, and swore
She was undone; talk'd of a Priest and Marriage,
Of flying with me from her Father's Pow'r;
Call'd ev'ry Saint and blessed Angel down,
To witness for her that she was my Wife.
I started at that Name.

Ross.
What Answer made you?

Loth.
None; but pretending sudden Pain and Illness
Escap'd the Persecution; two Nights since,
By Message urg'd, and frequent Importunity,
Again I saw her. Strait with Tears and Sighs,
With swelling Breasts, with Swooning, with Distraction,
With all the Subtleties, and pow'rful Arts
Of wilful Woman lab'ring for her purpose,
Again she told the same dull nauseous Tale.
Unmov'd, I beg'd her spare th'ungrateful Subject,
Since I resolv'd, that Love and Peace of Mind
Might flourish long inviolate betwixt us,
Never to load it with the Marriage Chain;
That I would still retain her in my Heart,
My ever gentle Mistress, and my Friend;
But for those other Names of Wife and Husband,
They only meant Ill-nature, Cares, and Quarrels.

Ross.
How bore she this Reply?

Loth.
Ev'n as the Earth,
When, (Winds pent up, or eating Fires beneath
Shaking the Mass) she labours with Destruction.
At first her Rage was dumb, and wanted Words,
But when the Storm found way, 'twas wild and loud.
Mad as the Priestess of the Delphick God,
Enthusiastick Passion swell'd her Breast,
Enlarg'd her Voice, and ruffled all her Form;
Proud, and disdainful of the Love I profferr'd,
She call'd me Villain! Monster! Base! Betrayer!
At last, in very bitterness of Soul,
With deadly Imprecations on her self,
She vow'd severely ne'er to see me more;
Then bid me fly that minute; I obey'd,
And bowing left her to grow cool at leisure.

Ross.
She has relented since, else why this Message,
To meet the Keeper of her Secrets here
This Morning?

Loth.
See the Person whom you nam'd.
Enter Lucilla.
Well, my Embassadress, what must we treat of?
Come you to menace War and proud Defiance,
Or does the peaceful Olive grace your Message?
Is your Fair Mistress calmer? does she soften?
And must we love again? Perhaps she means
To treat in Juncture with her new Ally,
And make her Husband Party to th'Agreement.

Lucill.
Is this well done, my Lord? Have you put off
All Sense of Human Nature? keep a little,
A little Pity to distinguish Manhood,
Lest other Men, tho' cruel, should disclaim you,
And judge you to be number'd with the Brutes.

Loth.
I see thou'st learnt to rail.

Lucill.
I've learnt to weep;
That Lesson my sad Mistress often gives me;
By Day she seeks some melancholy Shade,
To hide her Sorrows from the prying World;
At Night she watches all the long long Hours,
And listens to the Winds and beating Rain,
With Sighs as loud, and Tears that fall as fast.
Then ever and anon she wrings her Hands,
And crys, false! false Lothario.

Loth.
Oh no more!
I swear thou'lt spoil thy pretty Face with Crying,
And thou hast Beauty that may make thy Fortune;
Some keeping Cardinal shall doat upon thee,
And barter his Church Treasure for thy Freshness.

Lucill.
What! shall I sell my Innocence and Youth,
For Wealth or Titles, to perfidious Man!
To Man! who makes his Mirth of our Undoing!
The base, profest Betrayer of our Sex;
Let me grow old in all Misfortunes else,
Rather than know the Sorrows of Calista.

Loth.
Does she send thee to chide in her behalf?
I swear thou dost it with so good a Grace,
That I cou'd almost love thee for thy frowning:

Lucill.
Read there, my Lord, there, in her own sad Lines,
[Giving a Letter.
Which best can tell the Story of her Woes,
That Grief of Heart which your Unkindness gives her.

Lothario
reads.]
Your Cruelty—Obedience to my Father—give my Hand. to Altamont.
By Heav'n! 'tis well; such ever be the Gifts,
With which I greet the Man whom my Soul hates.
[Aside.
But to go on!
—Wish—Heart—Honour—too faithless—Weakness—to morrow—last Trouble—lost Calista.
Women I see can change as well as Men;
She writes me here, forsaken as I am,
That I should bind my Brows with mournful Willow,
For she has given her Hand to Altamont:
Yet tell the Fair Inconstant—

Lucill.
How, my Lord?

Loth.
Nay, no more angry Words, say to Calista,
The humblest of her Slaves shall wait her Pleasure;
If she can leave her happy Husband's Arms,
To think upon so lost a thing as I am.

Lucill.
Alas! for pity come with gentler Looks;
Wound not her Heart with this unmanly Triumph;
And tho' you love her not, yet swear you do,
So shall Dissembling once be virtuous in you.

Loth.
Ha! who comes here?

Lucill.
The Bridegroom's Friend, Horatio.
He must not see us here; to morrow early
Be at the Garden Gate.

Loth.
Bear to my Love
My kindest Thoughts, and swear I will not fail her.

Lothario putting up the Letter hastily, drops it as he goes out.
Exeunt Lothario and Rossano one way, Lucilla another.
Enter Horatio.
Hor.
Sure 'tis the very Error of my Eyes:
Waking I dream, or I beheld Lothario;
He seem'd conferring with Calista's Woman:
At my approach they started, and retir'd.
What Business cou'd he have here, and with her?
I know he bears the noble Altamont
Profest and deadly Hate—What Paper's this?
[Taking up the Letter.
Ha! to Lothario—'s Death! Calista's Name!
[opening it.
Confusion and Misfortune!
[Reads.

Your Cruelty has at length determin'd me, and I
have resolv'd this Morning to yield a perfect Obedience
to my Father, and to give my Hand to Altamont, in
spight of my Weakness for the false Lothario. I could almost
wish I had that Heart, and that Honour to bestow
with it, which you have robb'd me of:

Damnation! to the rest—
[Reads again.

But oh! I fear, could I retreive 'em I should again be
undone by the too faithless, yet too lovely Lothario; this
is the last weakness of my Pen, and to morrow shall be the
last in which I will indulge my Eyes. Lucilla shall conduct
you if you are kind enough to let me see you; it shall be the
last Trouble you shall meet with from

The lost Calista.

The lost indeed! for thou art gone as far
As there can be Perdition. Fire and Sulphur,
Hell is the sole Avenger of such Crimes.
Oh that the Ruin were but all thy own!
Thou wilt ev'n make thy Father curse his Age,
At sight of this black Scrowl, the gentle Altamont,
(For oh! I know his Heart is set upon thee)
Shall droop and hang his discontented Head,
Like Merit scorn'd by insolent Authority,
And never grace the Publick with his Virtues.—
Perhaps ev'n now he gazes fondly on her,
And thinking Soul and Body both alike,
Blesses the perfect Workmanship of Heav'n;
Then sighing to his ev'ry Care, speaks Peace,
And bids his Heart be satisfy'd with Happiness.
Oh wretched Husband! while she hangs about thee
With idle Blandishments, and plays the fond one,
Ev'n then her hot Imagination wanders,
Contriving Riot, and loose scapes of Love;
And while she clasps thee close makes thee a Monster.
What if I give this Paper to her Father?
I follows that his Justice dooms her dead,
And breaks his Heart with Sorrow; hard Return,
For all the Good his Hand has heap'd on us:
Hold, let me take a Moment's Thought.

Enter Lavinia.
Lav.
My Lord!
Trust me it joys my Heart that I have found you.
Enquiring wherefore you had left the Company,
Before my Brother's Nuptial Rites were ended,
They told me you had felt some sudden Illness;
Where are you sick? Is it your Head? your Heart?
Tell me my Love, and ease my anxious Thoughts,
That I may take you gently in my Arms,
Sooth you to Rest, and soften all your Pains.

Hor.
It were unjust, no let me spare my Friend,
Lock up the fatal Secret in my Breast,
Nor tell him that which will undo his Quiet.

Lav.
What means my Lord?

Hor.
Ha! saidst thou my Lavinia?

Lav.
Alas you know not what you make me suffer;
Why are you pale? Why did you start and tremble?
Whence is that Sigh? And wherefore are your Eyes
Severely rais'd to Heav'n? The sick Man thus,
Acknowledging the Summons of his Fate,
Lifts up his feeble Hands and Eyes for Mercy,
And with Confusion thinks upon his Audit.

Hor.
Oh no! thou hast mistook my Sickness quite.
These Pangs are of the Soul. Wou'd I had met
Sharpest Convulsions, spotted Pestilences,
Or any other deadly Foe to Life,
Rather than heave beneath this load of Thought.

Lav.
Alas, what is it? Wherefore turn you from me?
Why did you fasly call me your Lavinia,
And swear I was Horatio's better half,
Since now you mourn unkindly by your self,
And rob me of my Partnership of Sadness?
Witness you Holy Pow'rs, who know my Truth,
There cannot be a Chance in Life so miserable,
Nothing so very hard but I cou'd bear it,
Much rather than my Love shou'd treat me coldly,
And use me like a Stranger to his Heart.

Hor.
Seek not to know what I wou'd hide from all,
But most from thee. I never knew a Pleasure,
Ought that was joyful, fortunate, or good,
But strait I ran to bless thee with the Tidings,
And laid up all my Happiness with thee:
But wherefore, wherefore should I give thee Pain?
Then spare me, I conjure thee, ask no further;
Allow my melancholy Thoughts this privilege,
And let 'em brood in secret o'er their Sorrows.

Lav.
It is enough, chide not, and all is well;
Forgive me if I saw you sad, Horatio,
And ask'd to weep out part of your Misfortunes;
I wo' not press to know what you forbid me.
Yet, my lov'd Lord, yet you must grant me this,
Forget your Cares for this one happy Day,
Devote this Day to Mirth, and to your Altamont;
For his dear sake let Peace be in your Looks.
Ev'n now the jocund Bridegroom wants your Wishes,
He thinks the Priest has but half blest his Marriage,
'Till his Friend Hails him with the sound of Joy.

Hor.
Oh never! never! never! Thou art innocent,
Simplicity from Ill, pure native Truth,
And Candour of the Mind adorn thee ever;
But there are such, such false ones in the World,
'Twou'd fill thy gentle Soul with wild Amazement
To hear their Story told.

Lav.
False ones, my Lord?

Hor.
Fatally Fair they are, and in their Smiles,
The Graces, little Loves, and young Desires inhabit;
But all that gaze upon 'em are undone,
For they are false; luxurious in their Appetites,
And all the Heav'n they hope for is Variety:
One Lover to another still succeeds,
Another, and another after that,
And the last Fool is welcome as the former;
'Till having lov'd his Hour out, he gives place,
And mingles with the Herd that went before him.

Lav.
Can there be such? And have they peace of Mind?
Have they in all the Series of their changing
One happy Hour? If Women are such things,
How was I form'd so different from my Sex?
My little Heart is satisfy'd with you,
You take up all her room; as in a Cottage
Which harbours some Benighted Princely Stranger,
Where the good Man, proud of his Hospitality,
Yields all his homely Dwelling to his Guest,
And hardly keeps a Corner for himself.

Hor.
Oh were they all like thee Men would adore 'em,
And all the Bus'ness of their Lives be loving;
The Nuptial Band shou'd be the Pledge of Peace,
And all Domestick Cares and Quarrels cease;
The World shou'd learn to love by Virtuous Rules,
And Marriage be no more the Jest of Fools.

[Exeunt.