To her distress, who never can be thine?

der.

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,

[Thunder.

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!

My lord the king!

Enter TANCRED.

Tan. Be not alarmed, my love!

Tan. I know too much,

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

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

me more.

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,

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.

Tan. Thus then!

[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-

ment

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

murder!

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!