To toy, and waste an hour of idle time with?
My soul disdains thee for so mean a thought.

80

Loth. The driving storm of passion will have way, And I must yield before it. Wert thou calm, Love, the poor criminal, whom thou hast doom'd, Has yet a thousand tender things to plead, To charm thy rage, and mitigate his fate.

Enter behind them ALTAMONT.

Alt. "I have lost my peace”-Ha! do I live and wake?

Cal. Hadst thou been true, how happy had I been! Not Altamont, but thou, hadst been my lord. But wherefore nam'd I happiness with thee? It is for thee, for thee, that I am curst; For thee my secret soul each hour arraigns me, Calls me to answer for my virtue stain'd, My honour lost to thee: for thee it haunts me; With stern Sciolto vowing vengeance on me : With Altamont complaining for his wrongsAlt. Behold him here

Cal. Ah!

[Coming forward. [Starting.

99

Alt. The wretch! whom thou hast made. Curses and sorrows hast thou heap'd upon him, And vengeance is the only good that's left. [Drawing. Loth. Thou hast ta'en me somewhat unawares, 'tis

true:

But love and war take turns, like day and night,
And little preparation serves my turn,

Equal to both, and arm'd for either field.

We've long been foes, this moment ends our quarrel; Earth, Heav'n, and fair Calista judge the combat! Cal. Distraction! Fury! Sorrow! Shame! and death!

"Alt. Thou hast talk'd too much, thy breath is poison to me;

"It taints the ambient air; this for my father, "This for Sciolto, and this last for Altamont."

[They fight; Lothario is wounded once or twice, and then falls.

Loth. Oh, Altamont! thy genius is the stronger! Thou hast prevail'd!-My fierce ambitious soul Declining droops, and all her fires grow pale; Yet let not this advantage swell thy pride, I conquer'd in my turn, in love I triumph'd. Those joys are lodg'd beyond the reach of fate; That sweet revenge comes smiling to my thoughts, Adorns my fall, and cheers my heart in dying. [Dies.

Cal. And what remains for me, beset with shame, Encompass'd round with wretchedness? There is 120 But this one way to break the toil, and 'scape.

[She catches up Lothario's sword, and offers to kill herself; Altamont runs to her, and wrests it from her.

Alt. What means thy frantic rage!

Cal. Off! let me go.

Alt. Oh! thou hast more than murder'd me; yet

still,

Still art thou here! and my soul starts with horror,

At thought of any danger that may reach thee.

Cal. Think'st thou I mean to live? to be forgiv'n? Oh, thou hast known but little of Calista !

If thou had'st never heard my shame, if only
The midnight moon and silent stars had seen it,
I would not bear to be reproach'd by them,
But dig down deep to find a grave beneath,
And hide me from their beams.

Sciolto within.] What, ho! my son!

"Alt. It is Sciolto calls; come near and find me; "The wretched'st thing of all my kind on earth." Cal. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father? Madness! Confusion! let the storm come on, Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me; Dash my devoted bark, ye surges, break it! 'Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises. When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low, Peace shall return, and all be calm again.

Enter SCIOLTO.

240

Sci. Ev'n now Rossano leap'd the garden wallHa! Death has been among you-Oh, my fears! Last night thou had'st a diff'rence with thy friend, The cause thou gav'st me was a damn'd one. Did'st thou not wrong the man who told thee truth? Answer me quick—

Alt. Oh! press me not to speak;

Ev'n now my heart is breaking, and the mention
Will lay me dead before you. See that body,
And guess my shame: my ruin! Oh, Calista!

Sci. It is enough! but I am slow to execute,

And justice lingers in my lazy hand;

Thus let me wipe dishonour from my name,

And cut thee from the earth, thou stain to goodness[Offers to kill Calista, Altamont holds him.

Alt. Stay thee, Sciolto, thou rash father, stay, Or turn the point on me, and through my breast Cut out the bloody passage to Calista:

So shall my love be perfect, while for her

I die, for whom alone I wish'd to live.

160

Cal. No, Altamont; my heart that scorn'd thy love, Shall never be indebted to thy pity.

Thus torn, defac'd, and wretched as I seem,
Still I have something of Sciolto's virtue.

Yes, yes, my father, I applaud thy justice;
Strike home, and I will bless thee for the blow:

Be merciful, and free me from my pain;

'Tis sharp, 'tis terrible, and I could curse

The cheerful day, men, earth, and heav'n, and thee, Ev'n thee, thou venerable good old man,

For being author of a wretch like me.

Alt. Listen not to the wildness of her raving; Remember nature! Should thy daughter's murder Defile that hand, so just, so great in arms, Her blood would rest upon thee to posterity, Pollute thy name, and sully all thy wars.

Cal. Have I not wrong'd his gentle nature much? And yet behold him pleading for my life!

Lost as thou art to virtue, Oh, Calista!

1

thou can'st not bear to be outdone;

to to die, and be oblig'd no more.

180

Sci. Thy pious care has giv'n me time to think, And sav'd me from a crime; then rest, my sword; To honour have I kept thee ever sacred,

Nor will I stain thee with a rash revenge.
But mark me well, I will have justice done ;
Hope not to bear away thy crimes unpunished:
I will see justice executed on thee,

Ev'n to a Roman strictness; and thou, nature,
Or whatsoe'er thou art that plead'st within me,
Be still; thy tender strugglings are in vain.

Cal. Then am I doom'd to live, and bear your triumph?

To groan beneath your scorn and fierce upbraiding, Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery

At morn, at noon, at night told over to me, "Lest my remembrance might grow pitiful, "And grant a moment's interval of peace;" Is this, is this the mercy of a father?

I only beg to die, and he denies me.

200

Sci. Hence, from my sight! thy father cannot bear

thee;

Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell,

Where, on the confines of eternal night,
Mourning, misfortune, cares, and anguish dwell;
Where ugly shame hides her opprobrious head,
And death and hell detested rule maintain;
There howl out the remainder of thy life,
And wish thy name may be no more remember'd.
Cal. Yes, I will fly to some such dismal place,
And be more curs'd than you can wish I were;

G