« ZurückWeiter »
LONG has the fate of kings and empires been
fall or who succeed.
Let no nice taste the poet's art arraign, If some frail vicious characters he feign: Who writes, should still let nature be his care, Mix shades with lights, and not paint all things fair, But shew you men and women as they are. With def'rence to the fair, he bade me say, Few to perfection ever
found the way : Many in many parts are known t excel, But 'twere too hard for one to act all well ; Whom justly life would through each scene commend, The maid, the wife, the mistress, and the friend ; This age,
'tis true, has one great instance seen, And Heav'n, in justice, made that one a queen.
DRURY - LANE.
near it, in Genoa.
A garden belonging to Sciolto’s palace. Enter ALTA,
MONT and HORATIO,
Altamont. Ler this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it : Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings; Let happy lovers ever make it holy, Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their wishes, This happy day, that gives me my Calista.
Hor. Yes, Altamont; to-day thy better stars Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee; Sciolto's noble hand that rais'd thee first, Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, Completes it's bounty, and restores thy name To that high rank and lustre which it boasted, Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot The merit of thy god-like father's arms ; Before that country, which he long had serv'd In watchful councils, and in winter-camps, Had cast off his white age to want and wretchedness,
And made their court to faction by his ruin.
Alt. Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than father!
Hor. So open, so unbounded was his goodness,
Alt. By Heav'n he found my fortunes so abandon'd,
Hor. Yet what thou could'st, thou didst,