University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

SCENE, a Garden.
Enter Altamont.
Alt.
With what unequal Tempers are we form'd?
One Day the Soul, supine with Ease and Fulness,
Revels secure, and fondly tells her self,
The Hour of Evil can return no more;
The next, the Spirit's pall'd, and sick of Riot,
Turn all to Discord, and we hate our Beings,
Curse the past Joy, and think it Folly all,
And Bitterness, and Anguish. Oh! last Night!
What has ungrateful Beauty paid me back,
For all that Mass of Friendship which I squander'd?
Coldness, Aversion, Tears, and sullen Sorrow,
Dash'd all my Bliss, and damp'd my Bridal Bed.
Soon as the Morning dawn'd, she vanish'd from me,
Relentless to the gentle Call of Love.
I have lost a Friend, and I have gain'd—a Wife!
Turn not to Thought my Brain; but let me find
Some unfrequented Shade; there lay me down,
And let forgetful Dulness steal upon me,
To soften and asswage this Pain of Thinking.

[Exit.
Enter Lothario and Calista.
Loth.
Weep not my Fair, but let the God of Love
Laugh in thy Eyes, and Revel in thy Heart,
Kindle again his Torch, and hold it high,
To light us to new Joys; nor let a Thought
Of Discord, or Disquiet past, molest thee;
But to a long Oblivion give thy Cares,
And let us melt the present Hour in Bliss.

Cal.
Seek not to sooth me with thy false Endearments,
To Charm me with thy Softness; 'tis in vain;
Thou can'st no more betray, nor I be ruin'd.
The Hours of Folly, and of fond Delight,
Are wasted all and fled; those that remain
Are doom'd to Weeping, Anguish, and Repentance.
I come to charge thee with a long Account,
Of all the Sorrows I have known already,
And all I have to come; thou hast undone me.

Loth.
Unjust Calista! Dost thou call it Ruin,
To Love as we have done; to melt, to languish,
To wish for somewhat exquisitely Happy,
And then be blest ev'n to that Wish's height?
To die with Joy, and streight to live again,
Speechless to gaze, and with tumultuous Transport—

Cal.
Oh! let me hear no more, I cannot bear it,
'Tis deadly to Remembrance; let that Night,
That guilty Night, be blotted from the Year,
Let not the Voice of Mirth, or Musick know it,
Let it be dark and desolate, no Stars
To glitter o'er it; let it wish for Light,
Yet want it still, and vainly wait the Dawn;
For 'twas the Night that gave me up to Shame,
To Sorrow, to perfidious, false Lothario.

Loth.
Hear this, ye Pow'rs, mark how the Fair Deceiver
Sadly complains of violated Truth;
She calls me false, ev'n She, the faithless She,
Whom Day and Night, whom Heav'n and Earth have heard
Sighing to vow, and tenderly protest,
Ten Thousand times, she wou'd be only mine;
And yet; behold, she has giv'n her self away,
Fled from my Arms, and wedded to another,
Ev'n to the Man whom most I hate on Earth.—

Cal.
Art thou so base, to upbraid me with a Crime,
Which nothing but thy Cruelty cou'd cause?
If Indignation, raging in my Soul,
For thy unmanly Insolence and Scorn,
Urg'd me to do a Deed of Desparation,
And wound my self to be reveng'd on thee,
Think whom I shou'd devote to Death and Hell,
Whom Curse, as my Undoer, but Lothario;
Hadst thou been Just, not all Sciolto's Pow'r,
Not all the Vows and Pray'rs of sighing Altamont,
Cou'd have prevail'd, or won me to forsake thee.

Loth.
How have I fail'd in Justice or in Love?
Burns not my Flame as brightly as at first?
Ev'n now my Heart beats high, I languish for thee,
My Transports are as fierce, as strong my Wishes,
As if thou hadst never blest me with thy Beauty.

Cal.
How didst thou dare to think that I wou'd live
A Slave to base Desires, and brutal Pleasures,
To be a wretched Wanton for thy Leisure,
To toy, and waste an Hour of idle Time with?
My Soul disdains thee for so mean a Thought.

Loth.
The driving Storm of Passion will have way,
And I must yield before it; wer't thou calm,
Love, the poor Criminal, whom thou hast doom'd,
Has yet a thousand tender things to plead,
To charm thy Rage, and mitigate his Fate.

Enter behind them, Altamont.
Alt.
I have lost my Peace—Ha! do I live, and wake!—

Cal.
Hadst thou been true, how happy had I been?
Nor Altamont, but thou hadst been my Lord.
But wherefore nam'd I Happiness with thee?
It is for thee, for thee, that I am curst;
For thee, my secret Soul each Hour arraigns me,
Calls me to answer for my Virtue stain'd,
My Honour lost to thee; for thee it haunts me,
With stern Sciolto vowing Vengeance on me;
With Altamont complaining for his Wrongs—

Alt.
Behold him here—

[Coming forward.
Cal.
Ah!—

[Starting.
Alt.
The Wretch! whom thou hast made,
Curses and Sorrrows hast thou heap'd upon him,
And Vengeance is the only Good is left.

[Drawing.
Loth.
Thou hast ta'ne me somewhat unawares, 'tis true,
But Love and War take turns like Day and Night,
And little Preparation serves my turn,
Equal to both, and arm'd for either Field.
We've long been Foes, this Moment ends our Quarrel;
Earth, Heav'n and Fair Calista judge the Combat.

Cal.
Distraction! Fury! Sorrow! Shame! and Death!

Alt.
Thou hast talk'd too much, thy Breath is Poison to me,
It taints the ambient Air; this for my Father,
This for Sciolto, and this last for Altamont.

[They Fight; Lothario is wounded once or twice, and then falls.
Loth.
Oh Altamont! thy Genius is the stronger,
Thou hast prevail'd!—My fierce, ambitious Soul
Declining droops, and all her Fires grow pale;
Yet let not this Advantage swell thy Pride,
I Conquer'd in my turn, in Love I Triumph'd:
Those Joys are lodg'd beyond the reach of Fate;
That sweet Revenge comes smiling to my Thoughts,
Adorns my Fall, and chears my Heart in Dying.

[Dies.
Cal.
And what remains for me? Beset with Shame,
Encompas'd round with Wretchedness, there is
But this one way, to break the Toil and 'scape.

[She catches up Lothario's Sword, and offers to kill her self; Altamont runs to her, and wrests it from her.
Alt.
What means thy frantick Rage?

Cal.
Off! let me go.

Alt.
Oh! thou hast more than murder'd me, yet still,
Still art thou here! and my Soul starts with Horror,
At thought of any Danger that may reach thee.

Cal.
Think'st thou I mean to live? to be forgiven?
Oh! thou hast known but little of Calista;
If thou hadst never heard my Shame, if only
The midnight Moon, and silent Stars had seen it,
I wou'd not bear to be reproach'd by them,
But dig down deep to find a Grave beneath,
And hide me from their Beams.

Sciolto
within.]
What ho! my Son!

Alt.
It is Sciolto calls; come near, and find me,
The wretched'st Thing of all my Kind on Earth.

Cal.
Is it the Voice of Thunder, or my Father?
Madness! Confusion! let the Storm come on,
Let the tumultuous Roar drive all upon me,
Dash my devoted Bark; ye Surges, break it;
'Tis for my Ruin that the Tempest rises.
When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low,
Peace shall return, and all be calm again.

Enter Sciolto.
Sci.
Ev'n now Rossano leap'd the Garden Walls—
Ha! Death has been among you—Oh my Fears!
Last Night thou hadst a diff'rence with thy Friend,
The Cause thou gav'st me for it was a damn'd one;
Didst thou not wrong the Man who told thee Truth?
Answer me quick—

Alt.
Oh! press me not to speak,
Ev'n now my Heart is breaking, and the mention
Will lay me dead before you; see that Body,
And guess my Shame! my Ruin! oh Calista!

Sci.
It is enough! but I am slow to Execute,
And Justice lingers in my lazy Hand;
Thus let me wipe Dishonour from my Name,
And cut thee from the Earth, thou Stain to Goodness.—

[Offers to kill Calista, Altamont holds him.
Alt.
Stay thee, Sciolto, thou rash Father stay,
Or turn the Point on me, and thro' my Breast,
Cut out the bloody Passage to Calista;
So shall my Love be perfect, while for her
I die, for whom alone I wish'd to live.

Cal.
No, Altamont! my Heart, that scorn'd thy Love,
Shall never be indebted to thy Pity;
Thus torn, defac'd, and wretched as I seem,
Still I have something of Sciolto's Virtue.
Yes! yes, my Father, I applaud thy Justice,
Strike home, and I will bless thee for the Blow;
Be merciful, and free me from my Pain,
'Tis sharp, 'tis terrible, and I cou'd curse
The chearful Day, Men, Earth, and Heav'n, and Thee,
Ev'n thee, thou venerable good Old Man,
For being Author of a Wretch like me.

Alt.
Listen not to the Wildness of her Raving,
Remember Nature! Shou'd thy Daughter's Murder
Defile that Hand, so just, so great in Arms,
Her Blood wou'd rest upon thee to Posterity,
Pollute thy Name, and sully all thy Wars.

Cal.
Have I not wrong'd his gentle Nature much?
And yet behold him pleading for my Life.
Lost as thou art, to Virtue, oh Calista!
I think thou canst not bear to be outdone;
Then haste to die, and be oblig'd no more.

Sci.
Thy pious Care has giv'n me time to think,
And sav'd me from a Crime; then rest my Sword;
To Honour have I kept thee ever sacred,
Nor will I stain thee with a rash Revenge;
But, mark me well, I will have Justice done;
Hope not to bear away thy Crimes unpunish'd,
I will see Justice executed on thee,
Ev'n to a Roman strictness; and thou, Nature,
Or whatsoe'er thou art that plead'st within me,
Be still, thy tender Struglings are in vain.

Cal.
Then am I doom'd to live, and bear your Triumph?
To groan beneath your Scorn and fierce Upbraidings,
Daily to be reproach'd, and have my Misery
At Morn, at Noon and Night told over to me,
Lest my Remembrance might grow pitiful,
And grant a Moment's Interval of Peace;
Is this, is this the Mercy of a Father?
I only beg to die, and he denies me.

Sci.
Hence from my sight, thy Father cannot bear thee;
Fly with thy Infamy to some dark Cell,
Where on the Confines of Eternal Night,
Mourning, Misfortune, Cares, and Anguish dwell;
Where ugly Shame hides her opprobrious Head,
And Death and Hell detested Rule maintain;
There howl out the remainder of thy Life,
And wish thy Name may be no more remember'd.

Cal.
Yes, I will fly to some such dismal Place,
And be more curst than you can wish I were;
This fatal Form that drew on my Undoing,
Fasting, and Tears, and Hardship shall destroy,
Nor Light, nor Food, nor Comfort will I know,
Nor ought that may continue hated Life.
Then when you see me meagre, wan, and chang'd,
Stretch'd at my Length, and dying in my Cave,
On that cold Earth I mean shall be my Grave,
Perhaps you may relent, and sighing say,
At length her Tears have wash'd her Stains away,
At length 'tis time her Punishment shou'd cease;
Die thou, poor suff'ring Wretch, and be at peace.
[Exit Calista.

Sci.
Who of my Servants wait there?
Enter two or three Servants.
On your Lives
Take care my Doors be guarded well, that none
Pass out, or enter, but by my Appointment.

[Exeunt Servants.
Alt.
There is a fatal Fury in your Visage,
It blazes fierce, and menaces Destruction:
My Father, I am sick of many Sorrows,
Ev'n now my easie Heart is breaking with 'em,
Yet, above all, one Fear distracts me most,
I tremble at the Vengeance which you meditate,
On the poor, faithless, lovely, dear Calista.

Sci.
Hast thou not read what brave Virginius did?
With his own Hand he slew his only Daughter,
To save her from the fierce Decemvir's Lust.
He slew her yet unspotted, to prevent
The Shame which she might know. Then what shou'd I do?—
But thou hast ty'd my Hand.—I wo'not kill her;
Yet by the Ruin she has brought upon us,
The common Infamy that brands us both,
She sha' not 'scape.

Alt.
You mean that she shall dye then.

Sci.
Ask me not what, nor how I have resolv'd,
For all within is Anarchy and Uproar.
Oh Altamont! what a vast Scheme of Joy
Has this one Day destroy'd! Well did I hope
This Daughter wou'd have blest my latter Days,
That I shou'd live to see you the World's Wonder;
So happy, great, and good, that none were like you.
While I, from busie Life and Care set free,
Had spent the Ev'ning of my Age at home,
Among a little prattling Race of yours:
There, like an old Man talk'd awhile, and then
Lain down and slept in Peace. Instead of this,
Sorrow and Shame must bring me to my Grave;
Oh damn her! damn her!

Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Arm your self, my Lord,
Rossano, who but now escap'd the Garden,
Has gather'd in the Street a Band of Rioters,
Who threaten you, and all your Friends, with Ruin,
Unless Lothario be return'd in safety.

Sci.
By Heav'n, their Fury rises to my Wish,
Nor shall Misfortune know my House alone,
But thou, Lothario, and thy Race, shall pay me,
For all the Sorrows which my Age is curst with.
I think my Name as great, my Friends as potent,
As any in the State; all shall be summon'd,
I know that all will joyn their Hands to ours,
And vindicate thy Vengeance. Raise the Body,
And bear it in; his Friends shall buy him dearly,
I will have Blood for Ransom: When our Force
Is full, and arm'd, we shall expect thy Sword,
To join with us, and sacrifice to Justice.—
[Exit Sciolto.

[The Body of Lothario is carried off by Servants.
Manet Altamont.
Alt.
There is a stupid Weight upon my Senses,
A dismal sullen Stillness, that succeeds
The Storm of Rage and Grief, like silent Death,
After the Tumult and the Noise of Life.
Wou'd it were Death, as sure 'tis wond'rous like it,
For I am sick of Living, my Soul's pall'd,
She kindles not with Anger or Revenge;
Love was th'informing, active Fire within,
Now that is quench'd, the Mass forgets to move,
And longs to mingle with its kindred Earth.

A tumultuous Noise, with clashing of Swords, as at a little distance.
Enter Lavinia, with two Servants, their Swords drawn.
Lav.
Fly, swiftly fly, to my Horatio's Aid,
Nor lose you vain, officious Cares on me;
Bring me my Lord, my Husband to my Arms,
He is Lavinia's Life, bring him me safe,
And I shall be at ease, be well and happy.

[Exeunt Servants.
Alt.
Art thou Lavinia? Oh! what barb'rous Hand
Could wrong thy poor, defenceless Innocence,
And leave such Marks of more than savage Fury?

Lav.
My Brother! Oh my Heart is full of Fears;
Perhaps ev'n now my dear Horatio bleeds.—
Not far from hence, as passing to the Port,
By a mad Multitude we were surrounded,
Who ran upon us with uplifted Swords,
And cry'd aloud for Vengeance, and Lothario.
My Lord, with ready Boldness stood the Shock,
To shelter me from Danger, but in vain,
Had not a Party, from Sciolto's Palace,
Rush'd out, and snatch'd me from amidst the Fray.

Alt.
What of my Friend?

Lav.
Ha! by my Joys 'tis he,
[Looking out.
He lives, he comes to bless me, he is safe!—

Enter Horatio, with two or three Servants, their Swords drawn.
1 Serv.
'Twere at the utmost hazard of your Life
To venture forth again, 'till we are stronger;
Their Number trebles ours.

Hor.
No matter, let it;
Death is not half so shocking as that Traitor.
My honest Soul is mad with Indignation,
To think her Plainness could be so abus'd,
As to mistake that Wretch, and call him Friend;
I cannot bear the Sight.

Alt.
Open thou Earth,
Gape wide, and take me down to thy dark Bosom,
To hide me from Horatio.

Hor.
Oh Lavinia,
Believe not but I joy to see thee safe:
Wou'd our ill Fortune had not drove us hither;
I cou'd ev'n wish, we rather had been wreckt
On any other Shoar, than sav'd on this.

Lav.
Oh let us bless the Mercy that preserv'd us,
That gracious Pow'r that sav'd us for each other:
And to adorn the Sacrifice of Praise,
Offer Forgiveness too; be thou like Heav'n,
And put away th'Offences of thy Friend,
Far, far from thy Remembrance.

Alt.
I have mark'd him,
To see if one forgiving Glance stole hither,
If any Spark of Friendship were alive,
That wou'd, by Sympathy, at meeting glow,
And strive to kindle up the Flame anew;
'Tis lost, 'tis gone, his Soul is quite estrang'd,
And knows me for its Counter-part no more.

Hor.
Thou know'st thy Rule, thy Empire in Horatio,
Nor canst thou ask in vain, command in vain,
Where Nature, Reason, nay where Love is Judge;
But when you urge my Temper, to comply
With what it most abhors, I cannot do it.

Lav.
Where didst thou get this sullen, gloomy Hate?
It was not in thy Nature to be thus;
Come put it off, and let thy Heart be chearful,
Be gay again, and know the Joys of Friendship,
The Trust, Security, and mutual Tenderness,
The double Joys, where each is glad for both;
Friendship, the Wealth, the last Retreat and Strength,
Secure against ill Fortune, and the World.

Hor.
I am not apt to take a light Offence,
But patient of the Failings of my Friends,
And willing to forgive; but when an Injury
Stabs to the Heart, and rouses my Resentment,
(Perhaps it is the Fault of my rude Nature)
I own I cannot easily forget it.

Alt.
Thou hast forgot me.

Hor.
No.

Alt.
Why are thy Eyes
Impatient of me then, scornful and fierce?

Hor.
Because they speak the meaning of my Heart,
Because they are honest, and disdain a Villain.

Alt.
I have wrong'd thee much, Horatio.

Hor.
True thou hast:
When I forget it, may I be a Wretch,
Vile as thy self, a false perfidious Fellow,
An infamous, believing, British Husband.

Alt.
I've wrong'd thee much, and Heav'n has well aveng'd it.
I have not, since we parted, been at Peace,
Nor known one Joy sincere; our broken Friendship
Pursu'd me to the last Retreat of Love,
Stood glaring like a Ghost, and made me cold with Horror.
Misfortunes on Misfortunes press upon me,
Swell o'er my Head, like Waves, and dash me down.
Sorrow, Remorse, and Shame, have torn my Soul,
They hang like Winter on my Youthful Hopes,
And blast the Spring and Promise of my Year.

Lav.
So Flow'rs are gather'd to adorn a Grave,
To lose their Freshness amongst Bones and Rottenness,
And have their Odours stifled in the Dust.
Canst thou hear this, thou cruel, hard Horatio?
Canst thou behold thy Altamont undone?
That gentle, that dear Youth! canst thou behold him,
His poor Heart broken, Death in his pale Visage,
And groaning out his Woes, yet stand unmov'd?

Hor.
The Brave and Wise I pity in Misfortune,
But when Ingratitude and Folly suffers,
'Tis Weakness to be touch'd.

Alt.
I wo'not ask thee
To pity or forgive me, but confess,
This Scorn, this Insolence of Hate is just;
'Tis Constancy of Mind, and manly in thee.
But oh! had I been wrong'd by thee, Horatio,
There is a yielding Softness in my Heart
Cou'd ne'er have stood it out, but I had ran,
With streaming Eyes, and open Arms, upon thee,
And prest thee close, close!

Hor.
I must hear no more,
The Weakness is contagious, I shall catch it,
And be a tame fond Wretch.

Lav.
Where wou'dst thou go?
Wou'dst thou part thus? You sha'not, 'tis impossible;
For I will bar thy Passage, kneeling thus;
Perhaps thy cruel Hand may spurn me off,
But I will throw my Body in thy way,
And thou shalt trample o'er my faithful Bosom,
Tread on me, wound me, kill me e'er thou pass.

Alt.
Urge not in vain thy pious Suit, Lavinia,
I have enough to rid me of my Pain.
Calista, thou hadst reach'd my Heart before;
To make all sure, my Friend repeats the Blow:
But in the Grave our Cares shall be forgotten,
There Love and Friendship cease.

[Falls.
[Lavinia runs to him, and endeavours to raise him.
Lav.
Speak to me, Altamont.
He faints! he dies! Now turn and see thy Triumph;
My Brother! But our Cares shall end together;
Here will I lay me down by thy dear Side,
Bemoan thy too hard Fate, then share it with thee,
And never see my cruel Lord again.

[Horatio runs to Altamont, and raises him in his Arms.
Hor.
It is too much to bear! Look up, my Altamont!
My stubborn, unrelenting Heart has kill'd him.
Look up and bless me, tell me that thou liv'st.
Oh! I have urg'd thy Gentleness too far;
[He revives.
Do thou and my Lavinia both forgive me;
A Flood of Tenderness comes o'er my Soul;
I cannot speak!—I love! forgive! and pity thee.—

Alt.
I thought that nothing cou'd have stay'd my Soul,
That long e'er this her Flight had reach'd the Stars;
But thy known Voice has lur'd her back again.
Methinks I fain wou'd set all right with thee,
Make up this most unlucky Breach, and then,
With thine, and Heav'n's Forgiveness on my Soul,
Shrink to my Grave, and be at ease for ever.

Hor.
By Heav'n my Heart bleeds for thee; ev'n this moment
I feel thy Pangs of disappointed Love.
Is it not pity that this Youth shou'd fail,
That all this wond'rous Goodness shou'd be lost,
And the World never know it? oh my Altamont!
Give me thy Sorrows, let me bear 'em for thee,
And shelter thee from Ruin.

Lav.
Oh my Brother!
Think not but we will share in all thy Woes,
We'll sit all day, and tell sad Tales of Love,
And when we light upon some faithless Woman,
Some Beauty, like Calista, false and fair,
We'll fix our Grief, and our Complaining, there;
We'll curse the Nymph that drew the Ruin on,
And mourn the Youth that was like thee undone.

[Exeunt.