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up my honour. Every moment till I see you stabs me with severer pangs than real guilt itself can feel. Let me then conjure you to meet me in the garden, towards the close of the day, when I will explain this mystery. We have been most inhumanly abused; and that by means of the very paper which I gave you, from the warmest sincerity of love, to assure to you the heart and hand of TANCRED.'

Sig. There, Laura, there, the dreadful secret sprung!

That paper! ah, that paper! it suggests
A thousand horrid thoughts-I to my father
Gave it! and he perhaps I dare not cast
A look that way-If yet indeed you love me,
Oh, blast me not, kind Tancred, with the truth!
Oh, pitying, keep me ignorant for ever!
What strange peculiar misery is mine?
Reduced to wish the man I love were false !
Why was I hurried to a step so rash?
Repairless woe!-I might have waited, sure,
A few short hours-No duty that forbade―
I owed thy love that justice; till this day,
Thy love an image of all perfect goodness!

A beam from heaven that glowed with every virtue!

And have I thrown this prize of life away?
The piteous wreck of one distracted moment?
Ah, the cold prudence of remorseless age!
Ah, parents, traitors to your children's bliss!
Ah, cursed! ah, blind revenge !-On every hand
I was betrayed-You, Laura, too, betrayed me!
Laura. Who, who but he, whate'er he writes,
betrayed you?

Or false or pusillanimous. For once,

I will with you suppose, that his agreement
To the king's will was forged-Though forged by
whom?

Your father scorns the crime--Yet what avails it?
This, if it clears his truth, condemns his spirit.
A youthful king, by love and honour fired,
Patient to sit on his insulted throne,
And let an outrage, of so high a nature,
Unpunished pass, unchecked, uncontradicted—
Oh, 'tis a meanness equal even to falsehood.
Sig. Laura, no more We have already judged
Too largely without knowledge. Oft, what seems
A trifle, a mere nothing, by itself,

In some nice situation turns the scale

Of fate, and rules the most important actions.
Yes, I begin to feel a sad présage!
I am undone, from that eternal source
Of human woes-the judgment of the passions.
But what have I to do with these excuses?
Oh, cease, my treacherous heart, to give them
room!

It suits not thee to plead a lover's cause:
Even to lament my fate is now dishonour.
Nought now remains, but with relentless purpose,
To shun all interviews, all clearing up
Of this dark scene; to wrap myself in gloom,
In solitude and shades; there to devour
The silent sorrows ever swelling here;

And since I must be wretched-for I must

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To the late king's so just and prudent will?
Heard it before you read in solemn senate?
When I beheld you give your royal hand
To her, whose birth and dignity of right
Demand that high alliance? Yes, my lord,
You have done well. The man, whom Heaven
appoints

To govern others, should himself first learn
To bend his passions to the sway of reason.
In all, you have done well; but when you bid
My humbled hopes look up to you again,
And soothed with wanton cruelty my weakness-
That too was well--My vanity deserved
The sharp rebuke, whose fond extravagance
Could ever dream to balance your repose,
Your glory, and the welfare of a people.

Tan. Chide on, chide on. Thy soft reproaches,

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Ösm. Ha! my life!

It moves my scorn to hear thy empty threats.
When was it that a Norman baron's life
Became so vile, as on the frown of kings
To hang-Of that, my lord, the law must judge:
Or, if the law be weak, my guardian sword-

Tan. Dare not to touch it, traitor, lest my rage Break loose, and do a deed that misbecomes me. Enter SIFFREDI.

Sif. My gracious lord, what is it I behold!
My sovereign in contention with his subjects?
Surely this house deserves from royal Tancred
A little more regard, than to be made
A scene of trouble, and unseemly jars.
It grieves my soul, it baffles every hope,
It makes me sick of life, to see thy glory
Thus blasted in the bud.-Heavens! can your
highness

From your exalted character descend,
The dignity of virtue; and, instead
Of being the protector of our rights,
The holy guardian of domestic bliss,
Unkindly thus disturb the sweet repose,
The secret peace of families, for which
Alone the free-born race of man to laws
And government submitted?

Tan. My lord Siffredi,

Spare thy rebuke. The duties of my station
Are not to me unknown. But thou, old man,
Dost thou not blush to talk of rights invaded,
And of our best, our dearest bliss disturbed;
Thou, who, with more than barbarous perfidy,
Hast trampled all allegiance, justice, truth,
Humanity itself, beneath thy feet?
Thou know'st thou hast-I could, to thy confu
sion,

Return thy hard reproaches; but I spare thee
Before this lord, for whose ill-sorted friendship
Thou hast most basely sacrificed thy daughter!
Farewell, my lord.-For thee, lord constable,
Who dost presume to lift thy surly eye
To my soft love, my gentle Sigismunda,

I once again command thee, on thy life-
Yes-chew thy rage-but mark me-on thy life,
No further urge thy arrogant pretensions!
[Exit TAN.
Osm. Ha! arrogant pretensions! Heaven and
earth!

What! arrogant pretensions to my wife?
My wedded wife! Where are we? in a land
Of civil rule, of liberty, and laws?
Not, on my life, pursue them?-Giddy prince!
My life disdains thy nod. It is the gift
Of parent Heaven, who gave me, too, an arm,
A spirit to defend it against tyrants.
The Norman race, the sons of mighty Rollo,
Who, rushing in a tempest from the north,
Great nurse of generous freemen! bravely won,
With their own swords, their seats, and still
pos-
sess them

By the same noble tenure, are not used
To hear such language.-
-If I now desist,
Then brand me for a coward! deem me villain!
A traitor to the public! By this conduct
Deceived, betrayed, insulted, tyrannized!
Mine is a common cause. My arm shall guard,
Mixed with my own, the rights of each Sicilian,
Of social life, and of mankind in general.
Ere to thy tyrant rage they fall a prey,

I shall find means to shake thy tottering throne,
Which this illegal, this perfidious usage
Forfeits at once, and crush thee in the ruins!-
Constantia is my queen!

Sif. Lord constable,

Let us be stedfast in the right; but let us
Act with cool prudence, and with manly temper,
As well as manly firmness. True, I own,
The indignities you suffer are so high,
As might even justify what now you threaten.
But if, my lord, we can prevent the woes,
The cruel horrors of intestine war,
Yet hold, untouched, our liberties and laws;
Oh, let us, raised above the turbid sphere
Of little selfish passions, nobly do it!
Nor to our hot, intemperate pride, pour out
A dire libation of Sicilian blood.
'Tis godlike magnanimity to keep,
When most provoked, our reason calm and clear,
And execute her will, from a strong sense
Of what is right, without the vulgar aid

Of heat and passion, which, though honest, bears

us

Often too far. Remember that my house Protects my daughter still; and ere I saw her Thus ravished from us, by the arm of power, This arm should act the Roman father's part.

Fear not; be temperate; all will yet be well.
I know the king. At first his passions burst,
Quick as the lightning's flash; but in his breast
Honour and justice dwell-Trust me, to reason'
He will return.

Osm. He will!-By Heavens, he shall!
You know the king?—I wish, my lord Siffredi,
That you had deigned to tell me all you knew.-
And would you have me wait, with duteous pa-
tience,

Till he return to reason? Ye just powers!
When he has planted on our necks his foot,
And trod us into slaves; when his vain pride
Is cloyed with our submission; if, at last,
He finds his arm too weak to shake the frame
Of wide-established order out of joint,
And overturn all justice; then, perchance,
He, in a fit of sickly kind repentance,
May make a merit to return to reason.
No, no, my lord! there is a nobler way,
To teach the blind oppressive fury reason:
Oft has the lustre of avenging steel
Unsealed her stupid eyes-The sword is reason!
Enter RODOLPHO with Guards.

Rod. My lord high constable of Sicily,
In the king's name, and by his special order,
I here arrest you prisoner of state.

Osm. What king? I know no king of Sicily,
Unless he be the husband of Constantia.
Rod. Then know him now-behold his royal
orders,

To bear you to the castle of Palermo.

Sif. Let the big torrent foam its madness off!
Submit, my lord.-No castle long can hold
Our wrongs-This, more than friendship or al-
liance,

Confirms me thine; this binds me to thy fortunes
By the strong tie of common injury,
Which nothing can dissolve.-I grieve, Rodolpho,
To see the reign in such unhappy sort
Begin.

Osm. The reign! the usurpation call it !
This meteor king may blaze awhile, but soon
Must spend his idle terrors-Sir, lead on-
Farewell, my lord-more than my life and for-

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VOL. II.

P

SCENE I-A Chamber.

Enter SIFFREDI.

ACT V.

Sif. The prospect lowers around. I found the king,

Though calmed a little, with subsiding tempest, As suits his generous nature, yet in love Abated nought, most ardent in his purpose; Inexorably fixed, whate'er the risk,

To claim my daughter, and dissolve this marriage

I have embarked, upon a perilous sea,
A mighty treasure. Here the rapid youth,
The impetuous passions of a lover king,
Check my bold purpose; and there, the jealous
pride,

The impatient honour, of a haughty lord,
Of the first rank, in interest and dependence
Near equal to the king, forbid retreat.
My honour, too, the same unchanged conviction,
That these my measures were, and still remain,
Of absolute necessity, to save
The land from civil fury, urge me on.
But how proceed?—I only faster rush
Upon the desperate evils I would shun.
Whate'er the motive be, deceit, I fear,
And harsh unnatural force, are not the means
Of public welfare, or of private bliss.-
Bear witness, Heaven! thou mind inspecting eye!
My breast is pure. I have preferred my duty,
The good and safety of my fellow-subjects,
To all those views that fire the selfish race
Of mortal men, and mix them in eternal broils.

Enter an Officer belonging to SIFFREDI.
Offi. My lord, a man of noble port, his face
Wrapped in disguise, is earnest for admission.
Sif. Go, bid him enter-- [Officer goes out.
Ha! wrapped in disguise!

And at this late unseasonable hour,
When o'er the world tremendous midnight reigns,
By the dire gloom of raging tempest doubled!

Enter OSMOND, discovering himself.

Sif. What! ha! earl Osmond, you?--Wel

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My person, has permitted me this freedom.
Know then, the faithless outrage of to-day,
By him committed whom you call the king,
Has roused Constantia's court. Our friends, the
friends

Of virtue, justice, and of public faith,
Ripe for revolt, are in high ferment all.
This, this, they say, exceeds whate'er deformed
The miserable days we saw beneath
William the Bad. This saps the solid base,
At once, of government and private life:
This shameless imposition on the faith,
The majesty of senates, this lewd insult,
This violation of the rights of men;
Added to these, his ignominious treatment
Of her, the illustrious offspring of our kings,
Sicilia's hope, and now our royal mistress.
You know, my lord, how grossly these infringe
The late king's will; which orders, if count Tan-

cred

Make not Constantia partner of his throne,
That he be quite excluded the succession,
And she to Henry given, king of the Romans,
The potent emperor Barbarossa's son,
Who seeks, with earnest instance, her alliance.
I thence of you, as guardian of the laws,
As guardian of this will, to you intrusted,
Desire, nay, more, demand your instant aid,
To see it put in vigorous execution.

Sif. You cannot doubt, my lord, of my con

currence.

Who, more than I, have laboured this great point?

'Tis my own plan; and if I drop it now,
I should be justly branded with the shame
Of rash advice, or despicable weakness.
But let us not precipitate the matter.
Constantia's friends are numerous and strong;
Yet Tancred's, trust me, are of equal force:
E'er since the secret of his birth was known,
The people all are in a tumult hurled,
Of boundless joy, to hear there lives a prince
Of mighty Guiscard's line. Numbers, besides,
Of powerful barons, who at heart had pined,
To see the reign of their renowned forefathers,
Won by immortal deeds of matchless valour,
Pass from the gallant Normans to the Suevi,
Will, with a kind of rage, espouse his cause.
'Tis so, my lord-be not by passion blinded-
'Tis surely so.- -Oh, if our prating virtue
Dwells not in words alone-Oh, let us join,
My generous Osmond, to avert these woes,
And yet sustain our tottering Norman kingdom!
Osm. But how, Siffredi, how?-If, by soft

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Who, with unpitying fury, first shall draw it!
Sif. I have a thought-The glorious work be
thine!

But it requires an awful flight of virtue,
Above the passions of the vulgar breast,
And thence from thee I hope it, noble Osmond.
-Suppose my daughter, to her God devoted,
Were placed within some convent's sacred verge,
Beneath the dread protection of the altar.

Osm. Ere then, by Heavens! I would devoutly shave

My holy scalp, turn whining monk myself,
And pray incessant for the tyrant's safety.
What! how! because an insolent invader,
A sacrilegious tyrant, in contempt

Of all those noblest rights, which to maintain
Is man's peculiar pride, demands my wife;
That I shall thus betray the common cause
Of human kind!-

Tamely yield her up,

Even in the manner you propose!-Oh, then
I were supremely vile! degraded! shamed!
The scorn of manhood, and abhorred of honour!
Sif. There is, my lord, an honour, the calm
child

Of reason, of humanity, and mercy,
Superior far to this punctilious dæmon,
That singly minds itself, and oft embroils,
With proud barbarian niceties, the world.

Osm. My lord, my lord, I cannot brook your
prudence;

It holds a pulse unequal to my blood-
Unblemished honour is the flower of virtue !
The vivifying soul! and he, who slights it,
Will leave the other dull and lifeless dross.
Sif. No more-you are too warm.
Osm. You are too cool.

Sif. Too cool, my lord? I were indeed too cool,
Not to resent this language, and to tell thee-
I wish earl Osmond were as cool as I
To his own selfish bliss-ay, and as warm
To that of others-But of this no more.
My daughter is thy wife-I gave her to thee,
And will, against all force, maintain her thine.
But think not I will catch thy headlong passions,
Whirled in a blaze of madness o'er the land;
Or, till the last extremity compel me,

Risk the dire means of war. The king, to-morrow,

Will set you free; and if, by gentle means,
He does not yield my daughter to your arms,
And wed Constantia, as the will requires,
Why then expect me on the side of justice-
Let that suffice.

Osm. It does-Forgive my heat.
My rankled mind, by injuries inflamed,
May be too prompt to take, and give offence.
Sif. 'Tis past Your wrongs, I own, may well
transport

The wisest mind-But henceforth, noble Osmond,
Do me more justice, honour more my truth,
Nor mark me with an eye of squint suspicion.
These jars apart, you may repose your soul
On my firm faith, and unremitting friendship.
Of that I sure have given exalted proof,

And the next sun we see shall prove it further. Return, my son, and from your friend Goffredo Release your word. There try, by soft repose, To calm your breast.

Osm. Bid the vext ocean sleep, Swept by the pinions of the raging northBut your frail age, by care and toil exhausted, Demands the balm of all-repairing rest. Sif. Soon as to-morrow's dawn shall streak the 'skies,

I, with my friends, in solemn state assembled,
Will to the palace, and demand your freedom;
Then by calm reason, or by higher means,
The king shall quit his claim, and in the face
Of Sicily, my daughter shall be yours.
Farewell.

Osm. My lord, good night. [Exit SIFFREDI. [After a long pause.] I like him notYes-I have mighty matter of suspicion. 'Tis plain. I see it lurking in his breast; He has a foolish fondness for this kingMy honour is not safe, while here my wife Remains-Who knows but he this very night May bear her to some convent, as he mentioned

The king too-though I smothered up my rage,
I marked it well-will set me free to-morrow.
Why not to-night? He has some dark design—
By Heavens, he has!-I am abused most grossly;
Made the vile tool of this old statesman's schemes;
Married to one-ay, and he knew it-one
Who loves young Tancred! Hence her swooning,
tears,

And all her soft distress, when she disgraced me,
By basely giving her perfidious hand
Without her heart-Hell and perdition! this,
This is the perfidy!-this is the fell,
The keen, envenomed, exquisite disgrace,
Which, to a man of honour, even exceeds
The falsehood of the person-But I now
Will rouse me from the poor tame lethargy,
By my believing fondness cast upon me.
I will not wait his crawling timid motions,
Perhaps to blind me meant, which he to-morrow
Has promised to pursue. No! ere his eyes
Shall open on to-morrow's orient beam,

I will convince him that earl Osmond never
Was formed to be his dupe-I know full well
The important weight and danger of the deed:
But to a man, whom greater dangers press,
Driven to the brink of infamy and horror,
Rashness itself, and utter desperation,
Are the best prudence.-I will bear her off
This night, and lodge her in a place of safety:
I have a trusty hand that waits not far.
Hence! let me lose no time-One rapid moment
Should ardent form, at once, and execute'
A bold design-Tis fixed-'Tis done!-yes, then,
When I have seized the prize of love and honour,
And with a friend secured her; to the castle
I will repair, and claim Goffredo's promise
To rise with all his garrison-My friends
With brave impatience wait. The mine is laid,
And only wants my kindling touch to spring.
[Erit OSM.

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