University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE is a Room hung with Black; on one side, Lothario's Body on a Bier; on the other, a Table with a Skull and other Bones, a Book, and a Lamp on it.
Calista
is discover'd on a Couch in Black, her Hair hanging loose and disordered: After Musick and a Song, she rises and comes forward.
SONG.

Cal.
'Tis well! these Solemn Sounds, this Pomp of Horror,
Are fit to feed the Frenzy in my Soul,
Here's room for Meditation, ev'n to Madness,
'Till the Mind burst with Thinking; this dull Flame
Sleeps in the Socket; sure the Book was left
To tell me something;—for Instruction then—
He teaches holy Sorrow, and Contrition,
And Penitence;—Is it become an Art then?
A Trick that lazy, dull, luxurious Gown-men
Can teach us to do over; I'll no more on't;
[Throwing away the Book.
I have more real Anguish in my Heart,
Than all their Pedant Discipline e'er knew.
What Charnel has been rifl'd for these Bones?
Fye! this is Pageantry;—they look uncouthly,
But what of that? If he or she that own'd 'em,
Safe from Disquiet, sit, and smile to see
The Farce, their miserable Relicks play.
But here's a Sight is terrible indeed;
Is this that Haughty, Gallant, Gay Lothario,
That dear perfidous—Ah!—how Pale he looks!
How Grim with clotted Blood, and those dead Eyes!
Ascend ye Ghosts, fantastick Forms of Night,
In all your diff'rent, dreadful Shapes ascend,
And match the present Horror if you can.

Enter Sciolto.
Sci.
This Dead of Night, this silent Hour of Darkness,
Nature for Rest ordain'd, and soft Repose,
And yet Distraction, and tumultuous Jars,
Keep all our frighted Citizens awake;
The Senate, weak, divided, and irresolute,
Want Pow'r to succour the afflicted State.
Vainly in Words and long Debates they're Wise,
While the fierce Factions scorn their peaceful Orders,
And drown the Voice of Law in Noise and Anarchy.
Amidst the general Wreck, see where she stands,
[Pointing to Calista.
Like Hellen, in the Night when Troy was sack'd,
Spectatress of the Mischief which she made.

Cal.
It is Sciolto! be thy self, my Soul;
Be strong to bear his fatal Indignation,
That he may see thou art not lost so far,
But somewhat still of his great Spirit lives
In the forlorn Calista.

Sci.
Thou wert once
My Daughter.

Cal.
Happy were it I had dy'd,
And never lost that Name.

Sci.
That's something yet;
Thou wer't the very Darling of my Age;
I thought the Day too short to gaze upon thee,
That all the Blessings I cou'd gather for thee,
By Cares on Earth, and by my Pray'rs to Heav'n,
Were little for my Fondness to bestow;
Why didst thou turn to Folly then, and curse me?

Cal.
Because my Soul was rudely drawn from yours;
A poor imperfect Copy of my Father,
Where Goodness, and the strength of manly Virtue,
Was thinly planted, and the idle Void
Fill'd up with light Belief, and easie Fondness;
It was, because I lov'd, and was a Woman.

Sci.
Hadst thou been honest, thou hadst been a Cherubin;
But of that Joy, as of a Gem long lost,
Beyond Redemption gone, think we no more.
Hast thou e'er dar'd to meditate on Death?

Cal.
I have, as on the end of Shame and Sorrow.

Sci.
Ha! answer me! say, hast thou cooly thought?
'Tis not the Stoick's Lessons got by Rote,
The Pomp of Words, and Pedant Dissertations,
That can sustain thee in that Hour of Terror:
Books have taught Cowards to talk nobly of it,
But when the Trial comes, they start, and stand aghast;
Hast thou consider'd what may happen after it?
How thy Account my stand, and what to answer?

Cal.
I have turn'd my Eyes inward upon my self,
Where foul Offence, and Shame have laid all waste;
Therefore my Soul abhors the wretched Dwelling,
And longs to find some better place of Rest.

Sci.
'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that Spirit
That dwelt in ancient Latian Breasts, when Rome
Was Mistress of the World. I wou'd go on,
And tell thee all my Purpose, but it sticks,
Hear at my Heart, and cannot find a way.

Cal.
Then spare the Telling, if it be a Pain,
And write the Meaning with your Ponyard here.

Sci.
Oh! truly guess'd—seest thou this trembling Hand—
[Holding up a Dagger.
Thrice Justice urg'd—and thrice the slack'ning Sinews
Forgot their Office, and confest the Father;
At length the stubborn Virtue has prevail'd,
It must, it must be so—Oh! take it then,
[Giving the Dagger.
And know the rest untaught.

Cal.
I understand you,
It is but thus, and both are satisfy'd.

[She offers to kill her self, Sciolto catches hold of her Arm.
Sci.
A Moment, give me yet a Moment's space;
The stern, the rigid Judge has been obey'd;
Now Nature, and the Father claim their turns;
I have held the Ballance with an Iron Hand,
And put off ev'ry tender, human Thought,
To doom my Child to Death; but spare my Eyes
The most unnatural Sight, lest their Strings crack,
And my old Brain split, and grow Mad with Horror.

Cal.
Ha! Is it possible? And is there yet
Some little, dear Remain of Love and Tenderness,
For poor, undone Calista, in your Heart?

Sci.
Oh! when I think what Pleasure I took in thee,
What Joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling Infancy,
Thy sprightly Wit, and early blooming Beauty,
How I have stood, and fed my Eyes upon thee,
Then lifted up my Hands, and wond'ring, blest thee;
By my strong Grief, my Heart ev'n melts within me,
I cou'd curse Nature, and that Tyrant, Honour,
For making me thy Father, and thy Judge;
Thou art my Daughter still.

Cal.
For that kind Word,
Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the Earth;
Weep on your Feet, and bless you for this Goodness;
Oh! 'tis too much for this offending Wretch,
This Paricide, that murders with her Crimes,
Shortens her Father's Age, and cuts him off,
E'er little more than half his Years be number'd.

Sci.
Wou'd it were otherwise!—but thou must die.—

Cal.
That I must die! it is my only Comfort;
Death is the Privilege of human Nature,
And Life without it were not worth our taking;
Thither the Poor, the Pris'ner, and the Mourner,
Fly for Relief, and lay their Burthens down.
Come then, and take me now to thy cold Arms,
Thou meagre Shade; here let me breathe my last,
Charm'd with my Father's Pity and Forgiveness,
More than if Angels tun'd their Golden Viols,
And sung a Requiem to my parting Soul.

Sci.
I am summon'd hence, e'er this my Friends expect me,
There is I know not what of sad Presage,
That tells me, I shall never see thee more;
If it be so, this is our last Farewel,
And these the parting Pangs which Nature feels,
When Anguish rends the Heart-strings—Oh! my Daughter.
[Exit Sciolto.

Cal.
Now think thou, curst Calista, now behold
The Desolation, Horror, Blood, and Ruin,
Thy Crimes, and fatal Folly spread around,
That loudly cry for Vengeance on thy Head;
Yet Heav'n, who knows our weak, imperfect Natures,
How blind with Passions, and how prone to Evil,
Makes not too strict Enquiry for Offences,
But is aton'd by Penitence and Pray'r:
Cheap Recompence! here 'twou'd not be receiv'd,
Nothing but Blood can make the Expiation,
And cleanse the Soul from inbred, deep Pollution.
And see, another injur'd Wretch is come,
To call for Justice from my tardy Hand.

Enter Altamont.
Alt.
Hail to you Horrors! hail thou House of Death!
And thou the lovely Mistress of these Shades,
Whose Beauty gilds the more than midnight Darkness,
And makes it grateful as the Dawn of Day.
Oh! take me in a Fellow-Mourner with thee,
I'll number Groan for Groan, and Tear for Tear;
And when the Fountain of thy Eyes are dry,
Mine shall supply the Stream, and weep for both.

Cal.
I know thee well, thou art the injur'd Altamont,
Thou com'st to urge me with the Wrongs I ha' done thee;
But know I stand upon the Brink of Life,
And in a Moment mean to set me free
From Shame, and thy Upbraiding.

Alt.
Falsly, falsly
Dost thou accuse me; when did I complain,
Or murmur at my Fate? For thee I have
Forgot the Temper of Italian Husbands,
And Fondness has prevail'd upon Revenge;
I bore my load of Infamy with Patience,
As Holy Men do Punishments from Heav'n,
Nor thought it hard, because it came from thee;
Oh! then forbid me not to mourn thy Loss,
To wish some better Fate had rul'd our Loves,
And that Calista had been mine, and true.

Cal.
Oh! Altamont, 'tis hard for Souls like mine,
Haughty and fierce, to yield they have done amiss;
But oh! behold my proud, disdainful Heart,
Bends to thy gentler Virtue; yes, I own,
Such is thy Truth, thy Tenderness and Love,
Such are the Graces that adorn thy Youth,
That were I not abandon'd to Destruction,
With thee I might have liv'd, for Ages blest,
And dy'd in Peace within thy faithful Arms.

Alt.
Then Happiness is still within our reach;
Here let Remembrance lose our past Misfortunes,
Tear all Records that hold the fatal Story;
Here let our Joys begin, from hence go on
In long successive Order.

Cal.
What! in Death?

Alt.
Then art thou fix'd to die?—But be it so,
We'll go together, my advent'rous Love
Shall follow thee to those uncertain Beings;
Whether our lifeless Shades are doom'd to wander,
In gloomy Groves, with discontented Ghosts,
Or whether thro' the upper Air we fleet,
And tread the Fields of Light, still I'll pursue thee,
'Till Fate ordains that we shall part no more.

Cal.
Oh no! Heav'n has some better Lot in store
To Crown thee with; live, and be happy long;
Live for some Maid that shall deserve thy Goodness,
Some kind, unpractis'd Heart, that never yet
Has listen'd to the false ones of thy Sex,
Nor known the Arts of ours; she shall reward thee,
Meet thee with Virtues equal to thy own,
Charm thee with Sweetness, Beauty, and with Truth,
Be blest in thee alone, and thou in her.

Enter Horatio.
Hor.
Now mourn indeed, ye miserable Pair,
For now the Measure of your Woes is full.

Alt.
What dost thou mean, Horatio?

Hor.
Oh! 'tis dreadful;
The great, the good Sciolto dies this Moment.

Cal.
My Father!

Alt.
That's a deadly Stroak indeed.

Hor.
Not long ago he privately went forth,
Attended but by few, and those unbidden;
I heard which way he took, and strait pursu'd him,
But found him compass'd by Lothario's Faction,
Almost alone, amidst a Crowd of Foes;
Too late we brought him Aid, and drove them back;
E'er that his frantick Valour had provok'd,
The Death he seem'd to wish for from their Swords.

Cal.
And dost thou bear me yet, thou patient Earth?
Dost thou not labour with my murd'rous Weight?
And you ye glitt'ring, heav'nly Host of Stars,
Hide your Fair Heads in Clouds, or I shall blast you,
For I am all Contagion, Death, and Ruin,
And Nature sickens at me; rest thou World,
This Paricide shall be thy Plague no more;
Thus, thus I set thee free.

[Stabs her self.
Hor.
Oh! fatal Rashness.

Alt.
Thou dost instruct me well; to lengthen Life,
Is but to trifle now.

[Altamont offers to kill himself; Horatio prevents him, and wrests his Sword from him.
Hor.
Ha! what means
The frantick Altamont? Some Foe to Man
Has breath'd on ev'ry Breast Contagious Fury,
And Epidemick Madness.

Enter Sciolto, pale and bloody, supported by Servants.
Cal.
Oh my Heart!
Well may'st thou fail, for see the Spring that fed
Thy Vital Stream is wasted, and runs low.
My Father! will you now at last forgive me,
If after all my Crimes, and all your Suff'rings,
I call you once again by that dear Name?
Will you forget my Shame, and those wide Wounds,
Lift up your Hand, and bless me e'er I go
Down to my dark Abode.

Sci.
Alas! my Daughter?
Thou hast rashly ventur'd in a stormy Sea,
Where Life, Fame, Virtue, all were wreck'd and lost;
But sure thou hast born thy part in all the Anguish,
And smarted with the Pain, then rest in Peace,
Let Silence and Oblivion hide thy Name,
And save thee from the Malice of Posterity;
And may'st thou find with Heav'n the same Forgiveness,
As with thy Father here.—Die, and be happy.

Cal.
Celestial Sounds! Peace dawns upon my Soul,
And ev'ry Pain grows less.—Oh! gentle Altamont,
Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone,
But pity me.—Had I but early known
Thy wond'rous Worth, thou excellent young Man,
We had been happier both:—Now 'tis too late,
And yet my Eyes take Pleasure to behold thee,
Thou art their last dear Object.—Mercy, Heav'n!

[She dies.
Alt.
Cold! dead and cold! and yet thou art not chang'd,
But lovely still! Hadst thou a thousand Faults,
What Heart so hard, what Virtue so severe,
But at that Beauty must of force relented,
Melted to Pity, Love, and to Forgiveness?

Sci.
Oh! turn thee from the fatal Object; Altamont,
Come near, and let me bless thee e'er I die.
To thee, and brave Horatio, I bequeath
My Fortunes.—Lay me by thy Noble Father,
And love my Memory as thou hast done his,
For thou hast been my Son.—Oh! gracious Heav'n!
Thou that hast endless Blessings still in store,
For Virtue, and for filial Piety,
Let Grief, Disgrace, and Want be far away,
But multiply thy Mercies on his Head;
Let Honour, Greatness, Goodness, still be with him,
And Peace in all his Ways.—

[He dies.
Alt.
Take, take it all;
To thee, Horatio, I resign the Gift,
While I pursue my Father and my Love,
And find my only Portion in the Grave.

Hor.
The Storm of Grief bears hard upon his Youth,
And bends him like a drooping Flower to Earth.
Raise him, and bear him in.
[Altamont is carried off.
By such Examples are we taught to prove,
The Sorrows that attend unlawful Love;
Death, or some worse Misfortunes, soon divide
The injur'd Bridegroom from his guilty Bride:
If you wou'd have the Nuptial Union last,
Let Virtue be the Bond that ties it fast.

[Exeunt omnes.