University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene Anselmo's Palace.
Enter Anselmo and Palermo.
Anselmo.
Well, my Palermo—this unlook'd-for rival
Ploughs back his way to France.
I saw his canvass whitening on the breeze,
As well to know him certainly departed,
As to restrain the fury of the people,
Who, fir'd with honest, tho' misguided zeal,
Forgot his sanctity of public character,
And rav'd for vengeance on a foe to freedom.

Paler.
The people's voice, howe'er it sometimes errs,
Means always nobly, and is rais'd by virtue;
Their very faults, illustrious from their motives,
Demand respect, nay, ask for admiration,
And soar, at least, half sanctify'd to justice—
There—hear their voice—'tis now swell'd up with rapture.
Alva, the welcome minister of peace,
Excites their joy, and ev'ry order hails
The white-wing'd moment, that preserves the state,
And crowns the gen'rous labours of Anselmo.

Ansel.
He comes, e'en earlier than my utmost hope,
And proves how much his sovereign was alarm'd
At the now lucky embassy for Lewis—
Come, my Palermo, let us hasten hence!
And shew due honour to the noble Alva!

Paler.
Fain would I greet him; but alas, my gloom
Would chill the pleasure which it meant to grace.

Ansel.
Remain then here—I wou'd not have it said
That aught cou'd wound a citizen of Venice
Who liv'd to see his liberty restor'd.
I am the father of that wretched girl,
Who clouds your brow with grief and disappointment;
I am, and feel her conduct like a father:
But when I think upon the countless millions,
Which this unlook'd-for providence of heav'n
Designs to bless, I cast away my griefs,
And in my country, strive to lose my daughter.

Paler.
Your spirit fires me—I adopt its justice,
And will attempt, if possible, myself
To loose all memory of this sweet deceiver.

Ansel.
Do—and be dearer to my heart than ever—
Your worth first made you mine; the same, that worth,
Shall keep you—Clementina now is sunk
Below your thought; to wed her would be baseness.
Despise her, therefore, as you prize my friendship,
And know I'd scorn to give a shameless woman,
Tho' ten times mine, to any man of honour.
[Exit.

Paler.
He's right—he's right—I were a slave indeed,
A soul-less slave, to prostitute a thought,
A single thought on such a woman longer—
Were she as fair as luxury has painted
The nymphs of Paradise to Eastern minds,
I ought to spurn her now—Her heart is lost—
'Tis all debas'd by this licentious passion,
And he who weds the object of his scorn,
May boast of love, but never talk of honour—
[Exit.

Scene changes to St. Mark's.
Enter Adorno, Senators, Citizens, Guards, &c.
Ador.
Now is the time, my friends, to press him close,
And make him wholly sovereign of the state;
Which his great talents and unequal virtue
Have thus so happily, so nobly sav'd—
The nations round us, owe their chiefest strength
To regal government—How were we torn
With jarring int'rests till the rule supreme,
To one great arm was trusted—to Anselmo!
France—Ferdinand—and ev'ry pow'rful neighbour,
May still divide us with their sep'rate factions:
But if we choose a monarch of our own,
His and the public welfare must be one.—

First Citiz.
Is he acquainted with our views, Adorno?
Have you inform'd him of our grateful purpose?

Ador.
No—For I fear'd his stern disapprobation,
And only hope the people's gen'ral voice
Will now induce him to accept a throne.

Second Citiz.
See where he comes.—

Enter Anselmo attended.
Ansel.
Well, my brave countrymen—
I once more see you free; the solemn league
Is happily concluded; and to heaven
Our deepest thanks we gratefully must pour
For life, for peace, for liberty immortal!
Here now my labour and commission end.
This sacred sword, the badge of sov'reign pow'r,
Which in the storms and perils of the state,
Your gen'ral voice entrusted to my care,
And bade me carry as your common leader,
Till death or freedom finish'd my command,
This sacred pledge becomes your own again—
Here to your use I solemly resign it,
And sink with transport, to a private station;
More proud the subject of a free-born state,
Than if I rul'd a universe of slaves—

Ador.
My lord Anselmo, your applauding country
Gives back the sword to that experienc'd hand,
Which crowns her sons with liberty and peace:
Thro' me she offers you a crown, a throne,
And hails her monarch, in her great preserver.
Start not!—with me the gen'ral voice cries out,
Long live our king—long live the good Anselmo.

[A flourish.
Ansel.
Shall I with thanks, or deep-struck indignation,
With grateful heart, or justly-kindled ire,
Receive this flatt'ring instance of your favour?
Warm to the voice of virtuous approbation,
I feel a joy beyond the pow'r of words,
To find my actions honour'd with your praise:
But in the rising raptures of the man,
The honest citizen must do his duty;
He must refuse, resentingly refuse,
Th'unthinking bounty, which to pay his service,
Wou'd plunge his country in immediate bondage.

Ador.
This self-denying dignity of soul,
Serves but to shew the wisdom of our choice,
And proves how safe a confidence repos'd,
Will lodge in hands so worthy as Anselmo's.

Ansel.
Long, my brave friends, against the Spanish tyrant
Have the exalted citizens of Venice
Fought the great cause of justice and mankind:
And will you now, triumphant over force,
From downright gratitude embrace a chain?
What has your glorious fortitude effected,
If in the full fraught transport of your souls,
You lift the man you fondly call deliverer,
To sov'reign rule, and crown him for your master?
In such a case your blessing is your bane,
And Spain, a foe less deadly than Anselmo.

Ador.
Does not the use which you have made of po'wr,
Proclaim how much, how amply we shou'd trust you?
Have you employ'd it, but for public good,
Or wish'd to keep it, when that good was answer'd?
Hear then your grateful countrymen, and know
Adorno speaks the wishes of the people,
The people's wishes joyfully conven'd,
Who with one voice now offer you a kingdom.

Ansel.
I scorn the kingdom that can court a tyrant,
And while I live my country shall be free.
If then my voice deserves the least attention,
Let me exhort, nay, shame you from your purpose.
I fought to save you from despotic pow'r,
Not, giddy men, to be myself your lord:
You may forget your duty to the state,
But I'll remember mine, and keep all equal,
Tho' I myself am singled out for master.

First Citiz.
We'll urge the point no more.

Ador.
I ne'er had urg'd it,
But for the public welfare, from belief,
That all rewards were properly his due,
Whose arm and wisdom had preserv'd our freedom.

Ansel.
Rewards, Adorno! talk not of rewards—
The man is half a traitor to the state,
Who only serves it from a sordid motive—
Yet, if too warm, too rude in my refusal,
I give offence to any son of Venice,
Here I abjure th'intention of offending,
And beg my kind, my too indulgent friends,
May now disperse, and seek their several homes—
Who most loves freedom, will keep order most;
And know, the best way each can serve his country,
Is to hold tumult in a deep abhorrence,
And labour closely in his private station.

Ador.
Long live Anselmo—long live great Anselmo.
[Exit. Adorno, Citizens, &c.

Ansel.
[alone.]
Lo there—the phrenzy of a nation's virtue!
Who cou'd abuse their elevated weakness?
Curse on the despicable slave that cou'd!—
Curse on the slave, however he possesses
A nation's confidence, whose grov'ling interest,
Or abject pride, can tempt him to betray it!
The more his weight, his merit with a country,
The more he's bound, by ev'ry tye of honour,
To guard the laws; and he's a double villain,
When once he vilely turns that very power,
Which he derives from popular esteem,
To sap the bulwarks of the public freedom.
Enter an Officer.
What means this haste?

Offi.
To tell my lord Anselmo,
That Granville's vessel, which so late you forc'd
To sea, has unexpectedly borne back,
And seems to steer directly for the point
Which bounds the palace-garden from the surge—

Ansel.
Where is my daughter?—Where is Clementina?
I've scarcely left a soldier at the palace,
Sole tho' it stands, and sep'rate from the city—
Hence quick, and seize on Granville, if he lands
Take ample force—My soul forebodes his purpose—
[Exit Officer.
Yet shou'd he dare—by heaven's high host he dies—
No character can sanctify such outrage—
The laws—the laws shall vindicate themselves,
And teach the ministers of neighb'ring kings,
To look for safety, only in their justice.
[Exit.

Scene changes to an Apartment in Anselmo's Palace.
Enter Palermo, followed by Clementina.
Clem.
Nay, for your own sake, give me up, Palermo;
Give me again my former peace of mind,
Give me again, my father's dear regards
Of which your fatal passion has depriv'd me:
O prideless lord, tho' dead to my repose,
At least reflect and tremble for your own.
What peace, what comfort ever can you hope
From one, not only sickening at your sight,
But hear, and fly me—doating on another—
To madness doating—

Paler.
O, I know it well—
Your once-seen Granville, light capricious beauty!
And seen too, while your plighted vow to me
Was yet all warm, and flying up to heaven!
For him you trampled on your sacred promise;
For this light Frenchman, in a single moment,
Broke ev'ry rosy nicety of sex,
And at a word a glance—nay, without either—
Lost a whole life of innocence and honour.—

Clem.
Licentious railer—therefore give me up!
Nought but contention, wretchedness, and shame,
Can wait a union circumstanc'd like ours:
Thro' life our fiend-like fury to each other,
Must make our home the dwelling of despair;
And after death, our still opposing spirits,
If after death our enmity can live,
With those in story of the Thæban brothers,
Will shun all commerce, and as hating here,
Diffuse their hate throughout the whole hereafter.—

Paler.
Swell not the picture with a needless horror,
Nor once imagine that my soul requires
Such striking pleas to shun an obvious baseness—
Think you I mean, persisting in my claim—
To seize a hand that justice bids me scorn;
No: I despise the meanness, and intend
Not to assert my title, but resign it;
I am a lover,—yet I'm still a man;
Acquainted therefore with the blotted mind,
I turn affrighted from the faultless person,
And wed distraction sooner than dishonour.

Clem.
Blest may you be for this exalted scorn,
This noble warmth of manly indignation,
Dearer to me than all the melting strains
Which song e'er fancied for protesting love—
My soul is now securely at her ease,
And glows with grateful rev'rence for Palermo.

Paler.
Deem not unjustly, Madam, of my feelings;
You may betray, but never shall despise me—
I come no whimp'rer of a tragic story,
To shield beneath an angry father's sanction,
And act the legal ruffian on aversion.
False, therefore, Clementina, you are free—
Take back your vows—take your engagements back—
And tho' I own this heart must bleed profusely,
For still, O still your image triumphs here:
Yet know, I'd sooner tear it from my bosom;
Than once be rivall'd in the woman's thought,
Who made my wife, should think alone for me.

Enter Granville.
Gran.
Where, where is Clementina?

Clem.
Granville again!
Yet here again in danger.

Gran.
My love! away—
Fly hence—Escape is certain now.

Pal.
[pushing him away.]
Vile France,
Stand off, 'tis death, 'tis death again to touch her—

Gran.
Forbear, rash man, to tempt my greedy vengeance.
Wild with my wrongs, its appetites are raging—
There is not now a coward guard to call;
My friends make pris'ners of your paltry force,
And e'er a band superior can arrive,
That lady will be safe on board—Dare not,
Therefore, to withstand us—her heart is mine—
So shall her hand be, tho' yours grasp'd the thunder.

Pal.
Heaven's own red bolt will not be then more deadly—
For know, injurious lord, tho' I despise
The hand and heart that can descend so low;
Yet while I wield this sword, my noble friend
Shall not be basely plunder'd of his daughter:
Draw, Granville, boldly then, and prove which arm
Can best protect its master.

Clem.
Hold, O hold
Your dread destructive swords—For my sake, Granville,
Plunge not thus in blood—And O Palermo!
If the bright flame of honour fires your soul,
As sure it does, from sentiments so noble,
Restrain your rage—The man whose life you seek—

Gran.
No more, my Clementina—Why entreat
Where we command with absolute dominion?
Without there, friends—
Enter a Party of Guards.
My spirited companions,
Secure that headstrong lord—I join you on the instant.
Treat him, however, with a just respect!
I know him noble, though he is my foe,
And ev'n admire him for his very hatred—

Paler.
Coward, is this your boasted resolution,
Is this the way you dare me to the fight,
And raise your merit with your peerless mistress?

Gran.
And thinks Palermo that I fear his sword,
Or use this method to elude his fury?
No—once escap'd from this oppressive state,
Demand your reparation, and receive it—
The fate of many hangs upon me now,
And honour bids me rather bear you hence,
Than take your life in vengeance for your virtue.
Lead him away.

Paler.
O infamous assassin.
Now more than ever worthy of her heart—
But let your murd'rers bind me down securely:
For if I once can rush upon your throat,
These hands, unarm'd, shall do a noble vengeance,
And tear you piece-meal, instantly before her.

Gran.
Lead him away—

[Palermo is carried off.
Clem.
O say, my dear Rinaldo,
Say while surprize and joy have left me words,
By what blest accident again I see you?
Heaven sure exhausts its mercy on our heads,
And all its wonders are reserv'd for love!

Gran.
The time will scarce admit sufficient answer—
In brief know, therefore, that when torn from hence,
I heard Anselmo's order to the troops,
To line the spacious quarters of St. Mark's;
Some angel then inspir'd me with the thought
Of steering back, and forcing to my love,
Left now unguarded in a palace, distant
From instant aid, and dreaming not of danger;
Th'event, how happy! justified the action.
My brave attendants caught my honest flame,
And, heaven-assisted, easily acquir'd
A bloodless conquest o'er your people.

[A shout without, and a clashing of swords.
Clem.
Ha!
What means that shout, this sudden clash of arms?

Gran.
Stand firm, my friends; I fly to your support.

[Exit.
Ansel.
[without]
Seize him, seize Granville.

Clem.
O almighty heav'n!
We're lost again—again undone—

Ansel.
[without]
Palermo,
Send off his bravoes to the common dungeon.

Clem.
Some mountain fall on my devoted head,
And shield me from the fury of Anselmo:—
My dear Rinaldo! How shall I preserve him!
O that the daughters of indulgent sires
Cou'd know my sorrows, know my anguish now!
They'd fly from disobedience, and wou'd shudder
In downright prudence, to admit a thought
That madly tended to deceive a father.

Enter Anselmo, Granville, Guards, &c.
Ansel.
And now conduct the hero to his prison.
His monarch master, tho' in prison here,
Shou'd not unpunish'd violate our laws,
Nor offer such an outrage to Anselmo.

Gran.
Why all this pomp of needless preparation.
I know my crime, and dare your instant sentence.
Bring forth your knives, your engines, or your fires—
Next to succeeding in a noble cause,
The gen'rous mind esteems to suffer noblest.
Bring forth your racks then, witness to my triumph,
And be yourself, obdurate Lord, the judge,
Which is most brave, the torturer or tortur'd.

Clem.
Stop not with him—Prepare your racks for me—
I am most guilty, and to heav'n I swear,
Whate'er his fate is, that is Clementina's.
Yet, my dear Granville, if we are to fall,
We'll vindicate our fame; and tho' offending,
Assert at least the honour of our loves.
Let us inform this venerable chief,
It is a son he hurries to the block.
And that my fancied spoiler is my husband.

Ansel.
Your husband, traitress!—infamous evasion,
To varnish o'er your unexampled baseness,
And snatch, if possible, this foreign caitiff,
This foul offender from the stroke of justice.

Gran.
Take heed, reveal not all, my Clementina.
Fate's worst is done, and dying undiscover'd,
Guards those I prize much dearer than my life.
Remember this; and O remember too,
Known, or unknown, that equal death awaits me.

Clem.
My father, hear me—Yes, he is my husband.
However strange, mysterious, or unlikely—
I must no more—But time, a little time,
Will prove it all—Then, gracious Sir, distress
No longer an unhappy pair, whose hands
High heaven has join'd—Allow the wretched wife
To gain her wedded lord; and judge, O judge,
If aught but this, the first of human duties,
Cou'd tear her thus from Venice and her father.

Ansel.
Your husband—married—when—by whom, and where?
Away, degen'rate, infamous deceiver,
Away, and from the world hide quick
That guilty head—Your minion dies this hour—
The next, a cloyster shuts you in for ever.
Take him from hence—

Clem.
And take me with him.

Gran.
Unman me not with this excessive softness,
My life's sole joy; but let me meet my fate
As may become a soldier—Where's my dungeon?
Perhaps Anselmo, when a little calmer,
May think my blood sufficient expiation,
And let my guiltless followers escape,
Whose only crime is duty to their leader.
Gracious heav'n compose her—
[Borne off.

Clem.
[to the Guard preventing her.]
Off—let me go—
Is this a time to drag me from my husband?
Will not his blood suffice your utmost rage,
But must he, in the bitter hour of death,
Lose the poor comforts of a wife's attendance?
Where is the mighty freedom of your state,
Where your strict love of liberty and justice?
Why, say, O why, ye too benignant pow'rs!
Did you from ruin snatch this barbarous realm,
Where ev'n our virtues are consider'd crimes,
And soft compassion's constituted treason—
Revoke, revoke your merciful decrees;
From your dread stores of everlasting wrath
Hurl instant fury down, and blast those laws
Which talk of freedom, yet enslave the mind,
And boast of wisdom, while they chain our reason!

Ansel.
Blaspheming monster—stop that impious tongue,
Nor thus provoke me longer, to commit
Some dreadful deed of honourable phrenzy:
Already driv'n beyond a father's patience,
I scarce can spare the very life I gave.
Hence from my sight then, execrable wretch—
To urge me farther, is to rush on death,
And add new horrors to the fate of Granville.

Clem.
Do strike at once—behold my ready bosom—
Yet spare, Anselmo, my unhappy husband:
He is not what he seems—O—Sir—he is—
My brain—my brain—When, when shall I have rest?
My father, be consistently severe,
Wreak not this cruel murder on my peace,
And think that nature sanctifies my person.

Ansel.
He is not what he seems—Declare who is he?
How loss of truth attends the loss of honour!
Abandon'd girl, your arts are all in vain,
Are all unable to prevent his fate.
At my request, th'assembling senate now
Prepare to hear his crime, and will pronounce
His doom directly—Nay, this wretched tale
Shall ev'n give vengeance wings—accelerate
His fall; and, like the dreadful whirlwind, sweep
Him to destruction.
[Exit.

Clem.
Stay, Anselmo, stay—
He is—but that is also certain death,
And I myself prepare the horrid axe
If I reveal him—Which way shall I act?
The lab'ring globe convulsing to its base,
Is downy softness to my mad'ning bosom:
I'm all distraction—Reason drops her rein,
And the next step is dreadful desperation.
[Exit.