The British drama

Laura. Now, on my soul, 'tis what an outraged | Crushed it to misery! for having thus

heart

Like yours should wish! I should, by Heavens,

esteem it

Most exquisite revenge!

Sig. Revenge! on whom?

On my own heart, already but too wretched!

So lightly listened to a worthless lover!
Laura. At last it mounts, the kindling pride of
virtue ;

Trust me, thy marriage will embitter his——————
Sig. Oh, may the furies light his nuptial
torch!

Laura. On him! this Tancred! who has base-Be it accursed as mine! for the fair peace,
ly sold,

For the dull form of despicable grandeur,
His faith, his love! At once a slave and tyrant!
Sig. Oh, rail at me! at my believing folly!
My vain ill-founded hopes! but spare him,

Laura!

Laura. Who raised these hopes? Who tri-
umphs o'er that weakness?

Pardon the word-you greatly merit him;
Better than him, with all his giddy pomp;
You raised him by your smiles, when he was no-
thing.

Where is your woman's pride, that guardian spi-
rit,

Given us to dash the perfidy of man?

The tender joys of hymeneal love,
May jealousy awaked, and fell remorse,
Pour all their fiercest venom through his breast!
Where the fates lead, and blind revenge, I fol-
low.-

Let me not think- -By injured love! I vow,
Thou shalt, base prince! perfidious and inhu-
man!

Thou shalt behold me in another's arms;
In his thou hatest! Osmond's!

Laura. That will grind

His heart with secret rage: Ay, that will sting
His soul to madness; set him up a terror,
A spectacle of woe to faithless lovers!
Your cooler thought, besides, will of the change

Ye powers! I cannot bear the thought with pa- Approve, and think it happy. Noble Osmond

tience

Yet recent from the most unsparing vows

From the same stock with him derives his birth.
First of Sicilian barons, prudent, brave,

The tongue of love e'er lavished; from your Of strictest honour, and by all revered

hopes

So vainly, idly, cruelly deluded;

Before the public thus, before your father,
By an irrevocable solemn deed,

With such inhuman scorn, to throw you from

him:

Sig. Talk not of Osmond, but perfidious Tan-
cred!

Rail at him, rail ! invent new names of scorn!
Assist me, Laura; lend my rage fresh fuel;
Support my staggering purpose, which already
Begins to fail me-Ah, my vaunts how vain!
How have I lied to my own heart! Alas!
My tears return, the mighty flood o'erwhelms
me!

To give his faithless hand, yet warm from thine,
With complicated meanness, to Constantia !
And, to complete his crime, when thy weak limbs
Could scarce support thee, then, of thee regard-Ten thousand crowding images distract

less,

That hangs upon me! Hence, unworthy tears,
Disgrace my check no more! No more, my
heart,

For one so coolly false, or meanly fickle————
Oh, it imports not which-dare to suggest
The least excuse !Yes, traitor, I will wring
Thy pride, will turn thy triumph to confusion!
I will not pine away my days for thee,
Sighing to brooks and groves; while, with vain
pity,

You in a rival's arms lament my fate
No, let me perish, ere I tamely be
That soft, that patient, gentle Sigismunda,
Who can console her with the wretched boast,
She was for thee unhappy!-If I am,
I will be nobly so!--Sicilia's daughters
Shall, wondering, see in me a great example
Of one who punished an ill-judging heart,
Who made it bow to what it most abhorred !

My tortured thought-And is it come to this?
Our hopes, our vows, our oft repeated wishes,
Breathed from the fervent soul, and full of hea-

ven,

To make each other happy-come to this!

Laura. If thy own peace and honour cannot
keep

Thy resolution fixed, yet, Sigismunda,
Oh, think, how deeply, how beyond retreat,
Thy father is engaged!

Sig. Ah, wretched weakness!

That thus enthrals my soul, that chases thence
Each nobler thought, the sense of every duty!
And have I then no tears for thee, my father?
Can I forget thy cares, from helpless years,
Thy tenderness for me? an eye still beamed
With love; a brow that never knew a frown;
Nor a harsh word thy tongue; Shall I for these
Repay thy stooping venerable age

With shame, disquiet, anguish, and dishonour?
It must not be! Thou first of angels! come,
Sweet filial piety, and firm my breast!
Yes, let one daughter to her fate submit,
Be nobly wretched--but her father happy!-
Laura!-they come! Oh, heavens, I cannot stand

The horrid trial!-Open, open earth!

And hide me from their view.
Laura. Madain!

Enter SIFFREDI and OSMOND.

Sif. My daughter,

Behold my noble friend, who courts thy hand,
And whom to call my son I shall be proud;
Nor shall I less be pleased in this alliance,
To see thee happy.

Osm. Think not, I presume,

Madam, on this your father's kind consent,
To make me blest. I love you from a heart,
That seeks your good superior to my own;
And will, by every art of tender friendship,
Consult your dearest welfare. May I hope,
Yours does not disavow your father's choice?
Sig. I am a daughter, sir—and have no power
O'er my own heart-I die-Support me, Laura.
[Faints.
Sif. Help Bear her off-She breathes-my
daughter!

Sig. Oh,
Forgive my weakness-soft-my Laura, lead me-
To my apartment.

[Exeunt Sigismunda and Laura.

Or is it, as I feared, she loves another?
Ha!-yes-perhaps the king, the young count
Tancred;

They were bred up together-Surely that,
That cannot be-Has he not given his hand,
In the most solemn manner, to Constantia?
Does not his crown depend upon the deed?
No-if they loved, and this old statesman knew
it,

He could not to a king prefer a subject.
His virtues I esteem-nay more, I trust them—
So far as virtue goes-but could he place
His daughter on the throne of Sicily-
Oh, 'tis a glorious bribe, too much for man!
What is it then? I care not what it be.
My honour now, my dignity demands,
That my proposed alliance, by her father,
And even herself accepted, be not scorned.
I love her too—I never knew till now
To what a pitch I loved her. Oh, she shot
Ten thousand charms into my inmost soul !
She looked so mild, so amiably gentle,
She bowed her head, she glowed with such con-
fusion,

Such loveliness of modesty! She is,

In gracious mind, in manners, and in person,
The perfect model of all female beauty!
She must be mine-She is !If yet her heart
Consents not to my happiness, her duty,
[Exit Siffredi. Joined to my tender cares, will gain so much
Upon her generous nature-That will follow.

Sif. Pardon me, my lord,
If, by this sudden accident alarmed,
I leave you for a moment.

Osm. Let me think

What can this mean?- Is it to me aversion?

[Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The garden belonging to SIF

FREDI's house.

Enter SIGISMUNDA and LAURA.

Sig.
Has passed my lips !-Methought, in those sad
moments,

[With a letter in her hand.] 'Tis done!—
am a slave!-The fatal vow

The tombs around, the saints, the darkened altar,
And all the trembling shrines, with horror shook.
But here is still new matter of distress.
Oh, Tancred, cease to persecute me more!
Oh, grudge me not some calmer state of woe;
Some quiet gloom to shade my hopeless days,
Where I may never hear of love and thee!
Has Laura, too, conspired against my peace?
Why did you take this letter?-Bear it back-
I will not court new pain. [Giving her the letter.
Laura. Madam, Rodolpho

Urged me so much, nay, even with tears conjured

me,

But this once more to serve the unhappy king—
For such he said he was-that though enraged,
Equal with thee, at his inhuman falsehood,
I could not to my brother's fervent prayers
Refuse this office-Read it-His excuses

Began to talk of some dark imposition,
That had deceived us all; when, interrupted,
We heard your father and earl Osmond near,
As summoned to Constantia's court they went.

Sig. Ha! imposition?Well, if I am doomed
To be, o'er all my sex, the wretch of love,
In vain I would resist-Give me the letter-
To know the worst is some relief———Alas,
It was not thus, with such dire palpitations,
That, Tancred, once I used to read thy letters.
[Attempting to read the letter, but gives
it to Laura.

Laura.

Ah, fond remembrance blinds me! Read it, | 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!

Laura. [Reads.] Deliver me, Sigismunda, 'from that most exquisite misery which a faithful heart can suffer-To be thought base by her, 'from whose estcem even virtue borrows new 'charms. When I submitted to my cruel situation, it was not falsehood you beheld, but an excess of love. Rather than endanger that, I, 'for a while, gave 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 presage!

I am undone, from that eternal source

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-
To claim the mighty misery myself,
Engross it all, and spare a hapless father.
Hence, let me fly!--The hour approaches-
Laura. Madam,

Behold he comes-the king

Sig. Heavens! how escape? NO-I will stay-This one last meeting-Leave [Erit Laura.

me.

Enter TANCRED.

Tan. And are these long, long hours of torture past?

My life! my Sigismunda!

[Throwing himself at her feet. Sig, Rise, my lord.

To see my sovereign thus no more becomes me. Tun. Oh, let me kiss the ground on which you tread!

Let me exhale my soul in softest transport,
Since I again behold my Sigismunda! [Rising.
Unkind! how couldst thou ever deem me false?
How thus dishonour love?-Oh, I could much
Embitter my complaint!-how low were then
Thy thoughts of me! How didst thou then af-
front

The human heart itself? After the vows,
The fervent truth, the tender protestations,
Which mine has often poured, to let thy breast,
Whate'er the appearance was, admit suspicion?
Sig. How! when I heard myself your full con-

sent

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,

now,

Instead of wounding, only soothe my fondness.

Enter OSMOND.

Osm. [Snatching her hand from the king.] Madam, this hand, by the most solemn rites, A little hour ago, was given to me ;

And did not sovereign honour now command me,

Never but with my life to quit my claim,
I would renounce it-thus!
Tan. Ha! who art thou,
Presumptuous man!

Sig. [Aside.] Where is my father? Heaven!
[Goes out.
Osm. One thou shouldst better know-Yes-
view me, one

Who can and will maintain his rights and ho

Osm. Ha! my life!

It moves my scorn to bear 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 nust judge:
Or, if the law be weak, my guardian sword-

Tun. 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,
4 A

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 knowest thou hast-I could, to thy confusion,

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 furthur 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 possess 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

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.-1 grieve, Rodolphe,
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 fer-
tune,

Remember well, is in your hands-my honour! Sif. Our honour is the same. My son, farewell

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