To her distress, who never can be thine?
SCENE II.—SIGISMUNDA's Apartment.-Thun- Oh, fly me! fly! you know—
Enter SIGISMUNDA and LAURA. Laura. Heavens! 'tis a fearful night! Sig. Ah! the black rage
Of midnight tempest, or the assuring smiles Of radiant morn, are equal all to me. Nought now has charms or terrors to my breast, The seat of stupid woe !-Leave me, my Laura; Kind rest, perhaps, may hush my woes a little. Oh, for that quiet sleep that knows no morning! Laura. Madam, indeed I know not how to go. Indulge my fondness-Let me watch a while By your sad bed, 'till these dread hours shall pass.
Sig. Alas! what is the toil of elements,
This idle perturbation of the sky, To what I feel within?-Oh, that the fires Of pitying heaven would point their fury here! Good night, my dearest Laura.
Laura. Oh, I know not
What this oppression means-But 'tis with pain, With tears, I can persuade myself to leave youWell then-Good night, my dearest Sigismunda. [Exit. Sig. And am I then alone!-The most undone,
Most wretched being now beneath the cope Of this affrighting gloom that wraps the world- I said I did not fear-Ah, me! I feel
A shivering horror run through all my powers! Oh, I am nought but tumult, fears, and weakness! And yet how idle fear, when hope is gone, Gone, gone for ever!-Oh, thou gentle scene [Looking towards her bed. Of sweet repose, where, by the oblivious draught Of each sad toilsome day, to peace restored, Unhappy mortals lose their woes awhile, Thou hast no peace for me !-What shall I do? How pass this dreadful night, so big with ter- ror?-
Here with the midnight shades, here will I sit, [Sitting down. A prey to dire despair, and ceaseless weep The hours away-Bless me-I heard a noise- [Starting up. No-I mistook-nothing but silence reigns, And awful midnight round-Again !-Oh, hea- vens!
Enter TANCRED.
Tan. Be not alarmed, my love!
Oh, how I could reproach thee, Sigismunda! Pour out my injured soul in just complaints! But now the time permits not; these swift mo- ments-
I told thee how thy father's artifice Forced me to seem perfidious in thy eyes. Ah, fatal blindness! not to have observed The mingled pangs of rage and love that shook me!
When by the cruel public situation Compelled, I only feigned consent, to gain A little time, and more secure thee mine. E'er since-a dreadful interval of care! My thoughts have been employed, not without hope,
How to defeat Siffredi's barbarous purpose. But thy credulity has ruined all;
Thy rash, thy wild-I know not what to name it
Oh, it has proved the giddy hopes of man To be delusion all, and sickening folly!
Sig. Ah, generous Tancred! ah, thy truth de- stroys me!
Yes, yes, 'tis I, 'tis I alone am false! My hasty rage, joined to my tame submission, More than the most exalted filial duty Could e'er demand, has dashed our cup of fate With bitterness unequalled-But, alas! What are thy woes to mine?-to mine! just Heaven!
Now is thy turn of vengeance---Hate, renounce me!
Oh, leave me to the fate I well deserve, To sink in hopeless misery!—at least, Try to forget the worthless Sigismunda!
Tan. Forget thee! No! Thou art my soul itself!
I have no thought, no hope, no wish but thee! Even this repented injury, the fears, That rouse me all to madness, at the thought Of losing thee, the whole collected pains Of my full heart, serve but to make thee dearer. Ah, how forget thee !-Much must be forgot, Ere Tancred can forget his Sigismunda!
Sig. But you, my lord, must make that great effort.
Tan. Can Sigismunda make it?
Sig. Ah! I know not
With what success--But all that feeble woman, And love-entangled reason, can perform,
I, to the utmost, will exert to do it.
Tan. Fear not-'Tis done !-If thou canst form the thought,
Sig. My royal lord, why at this midnight hour, Success is sure--I am forgot already. How came you hither'?
Tan. By that secret way
My love contrived, when we, in happier days, Used to devote these hours, so much in vain, To vows of love, and everlasting friendship.
Sig. Why will you thus persist to add new stings
Sig. Ah, Tancred --But, my lord, respect
Think who I am--What can you now propose? Tan. To claim the plighted vows which Heaven has heard,
To vindicate the rights of holy love,
By faith and honour bound, to which compared,
These empty forms, which have ensnared thy hand,
Are impious guile, abuse, and profanation- Nay, as a king, whose high prerogative By this unlicensed marriage is affronted, To bid the laws themselves pronounce it void. Sig. Honour, my lord, is much too proud to
At every slender twig of nice distinctions. These, for the unfeeling vulgar, may do well: But those, whose souls are by the nicer rule Of virtuous delicacy nobly swayed, Stand at another bar than that of laws. Then cease to urge me-Since I am not born To that exalted fate to be your queen- Or, yet a dearer name to be your wife!-- I am the wife of an illustrious lord,
Of your own princely blood; and what I am, I will with proper dignity remain.
Retire, my royal lord. There is no means To cure the wounds this fatal day has given. We meet no more!
Tan. Oh, barbarous Sigismunda!
And canst thou talk thus steadily? thus treat me
With such unpitying, unrelenting rigour?
Poor is the love, that, rather than give up
A little pride, a little formal pride,
The breath of vanity, can bear to see
I will forget the dignity my station Commands me to sustain-for the last time Will tell thee, that I fear, no ties, no duty, Can ever root thee from my hapless bosom. Oh, leave me! fly me! were it but in pity!. To see what once we tenderly have loved, Cut off from every hope-cut off for ever, Is pain thy generosity should spare me. Then rise, my lord; and if you truly love me, If you respect my honour, nay, my peace, Retire! for though the emotions of my heart Can ne'er alarm my virtue; yet, alas! They tear it so, they pierce it with such anguish— Oh, 'tis too much!I cannot bear the conflict! Enter OSMOND.
Osm. Turn, tyrant, turn! and answer to my bonour,
For this thy base insufferable outrage!
Tan. Insolent traitor! think not to escape Thyself my vengeance!
[They fight, OSMOND falls. Sig. Help, here! Help!-Oh, heavens !
[Throwing herself down by him. Alas, my lord, what meant your headlong rage? That faith, which I this day, upon the altar, To you devoted, is unblemished, pure As vestal truth: was resolutely yours,
The man, whose heart was once so dear to Beyond the power of aught on earth to shake it.
By many a tender vow so mixed together,
At prey to anguish, fury, and distraction! Thou canst not surely make me such a wretch; Thou canst not, Sigismunda !-Yet relent! Oh, save us yet!-Rodolpho, with my guards, Waits in the garden-Let us seize the moments, We ne'er may have again-With more than
The conscious mind is its own awful world. And yet, perhaps, if thou wert not a king, I know not, Tancred, what I might have done. Then, then, my conduct, sanctified by love, Could not be deemed, by the severest judge, The mean effect of interest or ambition. But now, not all my partial heart can plead, Shall ever shake the unalterable dictates That tyrannize my breast.
Tan. "Tis well-No more- I yield me to my fate-Yes, yes, inhuman! Since thy barbarian heart is steeled by pride, Shut up to love and pity, here behold me Cast on the ground, a vile and abject wretch! Lost to all cares, all dignities, all duties! Here will I grow, breathe out my faithful soul, Here at thy feet-Death, death alone shall part us! Sig. Have you then vowed to drive me to per- dition!
What can I more?-Yes, Tancred! once again
Osm. Perfidious woman! die!-[Shortening his sword, he plunges it into her breast.] And to the grave attend a husband, yet but half avenged!
Tan. Oh, horror! horror! execrable villain! Osm. And, tyrant! thou!-thou shalt not o'er my tomb
Exult-Tis well-'Tis great!—I die content!- [Dies.
Enter RODOLPHO and LAURA. Tan. [Throwing himself down by SIG.] Quick! here! bring aid !—All in Palermo bring, Whose skill can save her!-Ah, that gentle bo-
So sadly sweet, as mixes even with mine The tears of hovering angels !-Mine again! And is it thus the cruel fates have joined us? Are these the horrid nuptials they prepare For love like ours?-Is virtue thus rewarded? Let not my impious rage accuse just Heaven! Thou, Tancred, thou, hast murdered Sigis- munda!
That furious man was but the tool of fate, I, I the cause!-But I will do thee justice On this deaf heart! that to thy tender wisdom Refused an ear-Yes, death shall soon unite us.
Sig. Live, live, my Tancred!-Let my death suffice
To expiate all that may have been amiss. May it appease the fates, avert their fury From thy propitious reign! Meantime, of me And of thy glory mindful, live, I charge thee, To guard our friends, and make thy people hap- py-
Enter SIFFREDI, fixed in astonishment and grief. My father!-Oh, how shall I lift my eyes To thee, my sinking father!
Sif. Awful Heaven!
I am chastised-My dearest child!- Sig. Where am I?
A fearful darkness closes all around- My friends! We needs must part-I must obey The impetuous call-Farewell, my Laura! che rish
My poor afflicted father's age-Rodolpho, Now is the time to watch the unhappy king, With all the care and tenderness of friendship. Oh, my dear father, bowed beneath the weight Of age and grief-the victim even of virtue, Receive my last adieu!...Where art thou, Tan- cred?
Give me thy hand-But, ah,-it cannot save me From the dire king of terrors, whose cold power Creeps o'er my heart-Oh!
Tan. How these pangs distract me! Oh, lift thy gracious eyes!Thou leav'st me, then!
Thou leav'st me, Sigismunda!
Sig. Yet a moment
I had, my Tancred, something more to say- Yes-but thy love and tenderness for me, Sure make it needless-Harbour no resentment Against my father; venerate his zeal, That acted from a principle of goodness, From faithful love to thee-Live, and maintain My innocence! embalmed with holiest care, Preserve my spotless memory! Oh-I die- Eternal mercy take my trembling soul! Oh, 'tis the only sting of death to part From those we love-from thee-farewell, my Tancred! [Dies.
[Flying to his sword, is held by RODOLPHO. Rod. Hold, hold, my lord !-Have you forgot Your Sigismunda's last request already?
Tan. Off! set me free! Think not to bind me down,
With barbarous friendship, to the rack of life! What hand can shut the thousand thousand gates, Which death still opens to the woes of mortals?— I shall find means-No power in earth or heaven Can force me to endure the hateful light, Thus robbed of all that lent it joy and sweet- ness!
| Off, traitors, off! or my distracted soul Will burst indignant from this jail of nature, To where she beckons yonder-No, mild seraph, Point not to life-I cannot linger here, Cut off from thee, the miserable pity, The scorn of humankind!—A trampled king! Who let his mean poor-hearted love one mo-
The first undoubting action of his reign, To coward prudence stoop! who made it not
To snatch thee to his throne, and there to shield thee,
Thy helpless bosom, from a ruffian's fury! Oh, shame! Oh, agony! Oh, the fell stings Of late, of vain repentance !-Ha, my brain Is all on fire! a wild abyss of thought! The infernal world discloses! See! Behold him! Lo! with fierce smiles he shakes the bloody steel, And mocks my feeble tears.-Hence, quickly, hence!
Spurn his vile carcase! give it to the dogs! Expose it to the winds and screaming ravens! Or hurl it down that fiery steep to hell, There, with his soul, to toss in flames for ever!- Ah, impotence of rage! What am I? Where?
Sad, silent all? The forms of dumb despair, Around some mournful tomb.-What do I see? This soft abode of innocence and love Turned to the house of death! a place of hor- ror!-
Ah, that poor corse! pale! pale! deformed with
CRAMM'D to the throat with wholesome moral stuff,
Alas, poor audience, you have had enough. Was ever hapless heroine of a play In such a piteous plight as ours to-day? Was ever woman so by love betray'd? Match'd with two husbands, and yet-die a maid. But, bless me!-hold! what sounds are these I hear-
I see the Tragic Muse herself appear. [The back scene opens, and discovers a romantic sylvan landscape, from which the Tragic Muse advances slowly, and speaks the fol- lowing lines:
Hence with your flippant epilogue, that tries To wipe the virtuous tear from British eyes; That dares my moral, tragic scene profane, With strains-at best, unsuiting, light, and vain. Hence from the pure unsullied beams that play In yon fair eyes where virtue shines-away!
Britons, to you, from the Castalian groves, Where dwell the tender, oft unhappy loves;
Where shades of heroes roam, each mighty name, And court my aid to rise again to fame; To you I come, to freedom's noblest seat, And in Britannia fix my last retreat.
In Greece and Rome, I watch'd the public weal, The purple tyrant trembled at my steel: Nor did I less o'er private sorrows reign, And mend the melting heart with softer pain. On France and you then rose my brightning star, With social ray-The arts are ne'er at war. Oh, as your fire and genius strongly blaze, As your's are generous Freedom's bolder lays, Let not the Gallic taste leave yours behind, In decent manners and in life refin'd. Banish the motley mode to tag low verse, The laughing ballad to the mournful hearse. When through five acts your hearts have learn'd to glow,
Touch'd with the secret force of honest woe; Oh, keep the dear impression on your breast, Nor idly lose it for a wretched jest.
YE glittering train! whom lace and velvet bless, Suspend the soft solicitudes of dress; From grovelling business and superfluous care, Ye sons of avarice! a moment spare: Vot'ries of fame and worshippers of power! Dismiss the pleasing phantoms for an hour. Our daring bard, with spirit unconfin'd, Spreads wide the mighty moral for mankind. Learn here how Heaven supports the virtuous mind,
Daring, though calm; and vigorous, though resign'd.
Learn here what anguish racks the guilty breast, In power dependent, in success deprest; Learn here that peace from innocence must flow;
All else is empty sound, and idle show. If truths like these with pleasing language join;
Ennobled, yet unchanged, if nature shine; If no wild draught depart from reason's rules, Nor gods his heroes, nor his lovers fools; Intriguing wits! his artless plot forgive, And spare him, beauties, though his lovers live.
Be this at least his praise; be this his pride; To force applause no modern arts are tried. Should partial catcalls all his hopes confound, He bids no trumpet quell the fatal sound. Should welcome sleep relieve the weary wit, He rolls no thunders o'er the drowsy pit. No snares, to captivate the judgment, spreads; Nor bribes your eyes to prejudice your heads. Unmoved the witlings sneer and rivals rail; Studious to please, yet not ashamed to fail. He scorns the meek address, the suppliant strain, With merit needless, and without it vain. In reason, nature, truth, he dares to trust; Ye fops, be silent! and, ye wits, be just!
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