University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE, a Hall.
Enter Calista and Lucilla.
Cal.
Be dumb for ever, silent as the Grave,
Nor let thy fond officious Love disturb
My solemn Sadness, with the sound of Joy.
If thou wilt sooth me, tell some dismal Tale
Of pining Discontent, and black Despair;
For oh! I've gone around thro' all my Thoughts,
But all are Indignation, Love, or Shame,
And my dear Peace of Mind is lost for ever.

Luc.
Why do you follow still that wand'ring Fire,
That has miss-led your weary Steps, and leaves you
Benighted in a Wilderness of Woe?
That false Lothario! Turn from the Deceiver;
Turn, and behold where gentle Altamont,
Kind as the softest Virgin of our Sex,
And faithful as the simple Village Swain,
That never knew the Courtly Vice of Changing,
Sighs at your Feet, and wooes you to be happy.

Cal.
Away, I think not of him. My sad Soul
Has form'd a dismal melancholy Scene,
Such a Retreat as I wou'd wish to find;
An unfrequented Vale, o'er-grown with Trees
Mossie and old, within whose lonesom Shade,
Ravens, and Birds ill-omen'd, only dwell;
No Sound to break the Silence, but a Brook
That bubling winds among the Weeds; no Mark
Of any Human Shape that had been there,
Unless a Skeleton of some poor Wretch,
Who had long since, like me, by Love undone,
Sought that sad Place out to despair and die in.

Luc.
Alas for Pity!

Cal.
There I fain wou'd hide me,
From the base World, from Malice, and from Shame;
For 'tis the solemn Counsel of my Soul,
Never to live with publick Loss of Honour:
'Tis fix'd to die, rather than bear the Insolence
Of each affected She that tells my Story,
And blesses her good Stars that she is virtuous.
To be a Tale for Fools! Scorn'd by the Women,
And pity'd by the Men! oh insupportable!

Luc.
Can you perceive the manifest Destruction,
The gaping Gulf that opens just before you,
And yet rush on, tho' conscious of the Danger?
Oh hear me, hear your ever faithful Creature;
By all the Good I wish, by all the Ill
My trembling Heart forebodes, let me intreat you,
Never to see this faithless Man again:
Let me forbid his coming.

Cal.
On thy Life
I charge thee no; my Genius drives me on;
I must, I will behold him once again:
Perhaps it is the Crisis of my Fate,
And this one Enterview shall end my Cares.
My lab'ring Heart, that swells with Indignation,
Heaves to discharge the Burthen; that once done,
The busie thing shall rest within its Cell,
And never beat again.

Luc.
Trust not to that;
Rage is the shortest Passion of our Souls,
Like narrow Brooks that rise with sudden Show'rs,
It swells in haste, and falls again as soon;
Still as it ebbs the softer Thoughts flow in,
And the Deceiver Love supplies its place.

Cal.
I have been wrong'd enough, to arm my Temper
Against the smooth Delusion; but alas!
(Chide not my Weakness, gentle Maid, but pity me)
A Woman's Softness hangs about me still:
Then let me blush, and tell thee all my Folly.
I swear I could not see the dear Betrayer
Kneel at my Feet, and sigh to be forgiven,
But my relenting Heart would pardon all,
And quite forget 'twas he that had undone me.

Luc.
Ye sacred Powers, whose gracious Providence
Is watchful for our Good, guard me from Men,
From their deceitful Tongues, their Vows and Flatteries;
Still let me pass neglected by their Eyes,
Let my Bloom wither, and my Form decay,
That none may think it worth his while to ruin me,
And fatal Love may never be my Bane.

Cal.
Ha! Altamont? Calista now be wary,
And guard thy Soul's Accesses with Dissembling;
Nor let this Hostile Husband's Eyes explore
The warring Passions, and tumultuous Thoughts,
That rage within thee, and deform thy Reason.

Enter Altamont.
Alt.
Be gone my Cares, I give you to the Winds,
Far to be born, far from the happy Altamont;
For from this sacred Æra of my Love,
A better Order of succeeding Days
Come smiling forward, white and lucky all.
Calista is the Mistress of the Year,
She crowns the Seasons with auspicious Beauty,
And bids ev'n all my Hours be good and joyful.

Cal.
If I was ever Mistress of such Happiness,
Oh! wherefore did I play th'unthrifty Fool,
And wasting all on others, leave my self
Without one Thought of Joy to give me Comfort?

Alt.
Oh mighty Love! Shall that fair Face profane
This thy great Festival with Frowns and Sadness!
I swear it sha'not be, for I will wooe thee
With Sighs so moving, with so warm a Transport,
That thou shalt catch the gentle Flame from me,
And kindle into Joy.

Cal.
I tell thee, Altamont,
Such Hearts as ours were never pair'd above,
Ill suited to each other; join'd, not match'd;
Some sullen Inflence, a Foe to both,
Has wrought this fatal Marriage to undo us.
Mark but the Frame and Temper of our Minds,
How very much we differ. Ev'n this Day,
That fills thee with such Extasie and Transport,
To me brings nothing that should make me bless it,
Or think it better than the Day before,
Or any other in the Course of Time,
That dully took its turn, and was forgotten.

Alt.
If to behold thee as my Pledge of Happiness,
To know none fair, none excellent beside thee;
If still to love thee with unweary'd Constancy,
Through ev'ry Season, ev'ry Change of Life,
Through wrinkled Age, through Sickness and Misfortune,
Be worth the least Return of grateful Love,
Oh then let my Calista bless this Day,
And set it down for happy.

Cal.
'Tis the Day
In which my Father gave my Hand to Altamont;
As such I will remember it for ever.

Enter Sciolto, Horatio, and Lavinia.
Sci.
Let Mirth go on, let Pleasure know no pause,
But fill up ev'ry Minute of this Day.
'Tis yours, my Children, sacred to your Loves;
The glorious Sun himself for you looks gay,
He shines for Altamont and for Calista.
Let there be Musick, let the Master touch
The sprightly String, and softly-breathing Flute,
'Till Harmony rouse ev'ry gentle Passion,
Teach the cold Maid to lose her Fears in Love,
And the fierce Youth to languish at her Feet.
Begin, ev'n Age it self is chear'd with Musick,
It wakes a glad Remembrance of our Youth,
Calls back past Joys, and warms us into Transport.

[Here an Entertainment of Musick and Dancing.
SONG. By Mr. CONGREVE.

Sci.
Take care my Gates be open, bid all welcome;
All who rejoice with me to Day are Friends:
Let each indulge his Genius, each be glad,
Jocund and free, and swell the Feast with Mirth.
The sprightly Bowl shall chearfully go round,
None shall be grave, nor too severely wise;
Losses and Disappointments, Cares and Poverty,
The rich Man's Insolence, and great Man's Scorn,
In Wine shall be forgotten all. To Morrow
Will be too soon to think, and to be wretched.
Oh! grant, ye Powers, that I may see these happy,
[Pointing to Alt. and Calista.
Compleatly blest, and I have Life enough;
And leave the rest indifferently to Fate.

[Exeunt.
Manet Horatio.
Hor.
What if, while all are here intent on Revelling,
I privately went forth, and sought Lothario?
This Letter may be forg'd; perhaps the Wantonness
Of his vain Youth, to stain a Lady's Fame;
Perhaps his Malice, to disturb my Friend.
Oh no! my Heart forebodes it must be true.
Methought ev'n now I mark'd the starts of Guilt,
That shook her Soul; tho' damn'd Dissimulation
Skreen'd her dark Thoughts, and set to publick View
A specious Face of Innocence and Beauty.
Oh false Appearance! What is all our Soveraignty,
Our boasted Pow'r? when they oppose their Arts,
Still they prevail, and we are found their Fools.
With such smooth Looks, and many a gentle Word,
The first fair She beguil'd her easie Lord;
Too blind with Love and Beauty to beware,
He fell unthinking in the fatal Snare;
Nor cou'd believe, that such a Heav'nly Face
Had bargain'd with the Devil, to damn her wretched Race.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

SCENE, the Street near Sciolto's Palace.
Enter Lothario and Rossano.
Loth.
To tell thee then the Purport of my Thoughts;
The Loss of this fond Paper would not give me
A moment of Disquiet, were it not
My Instrument of Vengeance on this Altamont:
Therefore I mean to wait some Opportunity
Of speaking with the Maid we saw this Morning.

Ross.
I wish you, Sir, to think upon the Danger
Of being seen; to Day their Friends are round 'em,
And any Eye, that lights by chance on you,
Shall put your Life and Safety to the Hazard.

[They confer aside.
Enter Horatio.
Hor.
Still I must doubt some Mystery of Mischief,
Some Artifice beneath; Lothario's Father
I knew him well, he was sagacious, cunning,
Fluent in Words, and bold in peaceful Councils,
But of a cold, unactive hand in War.
Yet with these Coward's Virtues he undid
My unsuspecting, valiant, honest Friend.
This Son, if Fame mistakes not, is more hot,
More open, and unartful.—Ha! he's here!

[Seeing him.
Loth.
Damnation! He again!—This second time
To Day he has crost me like my evil Genius.

Hor.
I sought you, Sir.

Loth.
'Tis well then I am found.

Hor.
'Tis well you are: The Man who wrongs my Friend
To the Earth's utmost Verge I wou'd pursue;
No Place, tho' e'er so holy, shou'd protect him;
No Shape that artful Fear e'er form'd shou'd hide him,
'Till he fair Answer made, and did me Justice.

Loth.
Ha! dost thou know me? that I am Lothario?
As great a Name as this proud City boasts of.
Who is this mighty Man then, this Horatio,
That I should basely hide me from his Anger,
Lest he should chide me for his Friend's Displeasure?

Hor.
The Brave, 'tis true, do never shun the Light,
Just are their Thoughts, and open are their Tempers,
Freely without Disguise they love and hate,
Still are they found in the fair face of Day,
And Heav'n and Men are Judges of their Actions.

Loth.
Such let 'em be of mine; there's not a Purpose,
Which my Soul ever fram'd, or my Hand acted,
But I could well have bid the World look on,
And what I once durst do, have dar'd to justifie.

Hor.
Where was this open Boldness, this free Spirit?
When but this very Morning I surpriz'd thee,
In base, dishonest Privacy, consulting
And bribing a poor mercenary Wretch,
To sell her Lady's Secrets, stain her Honour,
And with a forg'd Contrivance blast her Virtue:
At Sight of me thou fledst!

Loth.
Ha! Fled from thee?

Hor.
Thou fled'st, and Guilt was on thee; like a Thief,
A Pilferer descry'd in some dark Corner,
Who there had lodg'd, with mischievous Intent
To rob and ravage at the Hour of Rest,
And do a Midnight Murder on the Sleepers.

Loth.
Slave! Villain!—

[Offers to draw, Rossano holds him.
Ross.
Hold, my Lord! think where you are,
Think how unsafe, and hurtful to your Honour,
It were to urge a Quarrel in this Place,
And shock the peaceful City with a Broil.

Loth.
Then since thou dost provoke my Vengeance, know
I wou'd not for this City's Wealth, for all
Which the Sea wafts to our Ligurian Shoar,
But that the Joys I reap'd with that fond Wanton,
The Wife of Altamont, shou'd be as publick
As is the Noon-day Sun, Air, Earth, or Water,
Or any common Benefit of Nature:
Think'st thou I meant the Shame shou'd be conceal'd?
Oh no! by Hell and Vengeance, all I wanted
Was some fit Messenger to bear the News
To the dull doating Husband; now I have found him,
And thou art he.

Hor.
I hold thee base enough,
To break through Law, and spurn at Sacred Order,
And do a brutal Injury like this;
Yet mark me well, young Lord, I think Calista
Too Nice, too Noble, and too Great of Soul,
To be the Prey of such a Thing as thou art.
'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a Man,
To forge a Scrowl so villanous and loose,
And Mark it with a noble Lady's Name;
These are the mean, dishonest Arts of Cowards,
Strangers to Manhood, and to glorious Dangers;
Who bred at Home in Idleness and Riot,
Ransack for Mistresses th'unwholsome Stews,
And never know the worth of virtuous Love.

Loth.
Think'st thou I forg'd the Letter? Think so still,
'Till the broad Shame comes staring in thy Face,
And Boys shall hoot the Cuckold as he passes.

Hor.
Away, no Woman cou'd descend so low:
A skipping, dancing, worthless Tribe you are,
Fit only for your selves, your Herd together;
And when the circling Glass warms your vain Hearts,
You talk of Beauties that you never saw,
And fancy Raptures that you never knew.
Legends of Saints, who never yet had Being,
Or being, ne'er were Saints, are not so false
As the fond Tales which you recount of Love.

Loth.
But that I do not hold it worth my Leisure,
I cou'd produce such damning Proof—

Hor.
'Tis false,
You blast the Fair with Lies because they scorn you,
Hate you like Age, like Ugliness and Impotence:
Rather than make you blest they wou'd die Virgins,
And stop the Propagation of Mankind.

Loth.
It is the Curse of Fools to be secure,
And that be thine and Altamont's: Dream on,
Nor think upon my Vengeance 'till thou feel'st it.

Hor.
Hold, Sir, another Word, and then farewel;
Tho' I think greatly of Calista's Virtue,
And hold it far beyond thy Pow'r to hurt;
Yet as she shares the Honour of my Altamont,
That Treasure of a Soldier, bought with Blood,
And kept at Life's Expence, I must not have
(Mark me, young Sir) her very Name prophan'd.
Learn to restrain the Licence of your Speech;
'Tis held you are too lavish; when you are met
Among your Set of Fools, talk of your Dress,
Of Dice, of Whores, of Horses, and your Selves;
'Tis safer, and becomes your Understandings.

Loth.
What if we pass beyond this solemn Order?
And, in Defiance of the stern Horatio,
Indulge our gayer Thoughts, let Laughter loose,
And use his sacred Friendship for our Mirth.

Hor.
'Tis well! Sir, you are pleasant—

Loth.
By the Joys,
Which yet my Soul has uncontroll'd pursu'd,
I wou'd not turn aside from my least Pleasure,
Tho' all thy Force were arm'd to bar my Way;
But like the Birds, great Nature's happy Commoners,
That haunt in Woods, in Meads, and flow'ry Gardens,
Rifle the Sweets, and taste the choicest Fruits,
Yet scorn to ask the Lordly Owners leave.

Hor.
What Liberty has vain presumptuous Youth,
That thou shou'dst dare provoke me unchastis'd?
But henceforth, Boy, I warn thee shun my Walks;
If in the Bounds of yon forbidden Place
Again thou'rt found, expect a Punishment,
Such as great Souls, impatient of an Injury,
Exact from those who wrong 'em much, ev'n Death;
Or something worse; an injur'd Husband's Vengeance
Shall print a thousand Wounds, tear thy fine Form,
And scatter thee to all the Winds of Heav'n.

Loth.
Is then my Way in Genoa prescrib'd,
By a Dependant on the wretched Altamont,
A talking Sir, that brawls for him in Taverns,
And vouches for his Valour's Reputation?—

Hor.
Away, thy Speech is fouler than thy Manners.

Loth.
Or if there be a Name more vile, his Parasite,
A Beggar's Parasite!—

Hor.
Now learn Humanity,
[Offers to strike him, Rossano interposes.
Since Brutes and Boys are only taught with Blows,

Loth.
Damnation!

[They Draw.
Ross.
Hold, this goes no further here,
Horatio, 'tis too much; already see,
The Crowd are gath'ring to us.

Loth.
Oh Rossano!
Or give me way, or thou'rt no more my Friend.

Ross.
Sciolto's Servants too have ta'ne the Alarm;
You'll be opprest by Numbers, be advis'd,
Or I must force you hence; take't on my Word,
You shall have Justice done you on Horatio.
Put up, my Lord.

Loth.
This wo'not brook Delay;
West of the Town a Mile, among the Rocks,
Two Hours e'er Noon to morrow I expect thee,
Thy single Hand to mine.

Hor.
I'll meet thee there.

Loth.
To morrow, oh my better Stars! to morrow,
Exert your Influence, shine strongly for me;
'Tis not a common Conquest I wou'd gain,
Since Love, as well as Arms, must grace my Triumph.

[Exeunt Lothario and Rossano
Hor.
Two Hours e'er Noon to morrow! ha! e'er that
He sees Calista! oh unthinking Fool—
What if I urg'd her with the Crime and Danger?
If any Spark from Heav'n remain unquench'd
Within her Breast, my Breath perhaps may wake it;
Cou'd I but prosper there, I wou'd not doubt
My Combat with that loud vain-glorious Boaster.
Were you, ye Fair, but cautious whom ye trust,
Did you but think how seldom Fools are just,
So many of your Sex wou'd not in vain,
Of broken Vows and faithless Men complain.
Of all the various Wretches Love has made,
How few have been by Men of Sense betray'd?
Convinc'd by Reason, they your Pow'r confess,
Pleas'd to be happy, as you're pleas'd to bless,
And conscious of your Worth, can never love you less.

[Exit.