of

Cal. 'Tis well! these solemn sounds, this pomp

horror,

Are fit to feed the frenzy in my soul.

Here's room for meditation ev'n to madness;
Till the mind burst with thinking. This dull flame
Sleeps in the socket. Sure the book was left
To tell me something;-for instruction then-
He teaches holy sorrow and contrition,
And penitence.-Is it become an art, then?
A trick that lazy, dull, luxurious gownmen
Can teach us to do over? I'll no more o'nt;

20

[Throwing away the book.
I have more real anguish in my heart,
Than all their pedant discipline e'er knew.
What charnel has been rifled for these bones?.
Fie! this is pageantry;—they look uncouthly,
But what of that, if he or she that own'd 'em
Safe from disquiet sit, and smile to see
The farce their miserable relicts play?
But here's a sight is terrible indeed!

Is this that haughty, gallant, gay, Lothario,
That dear perfidious-Ah!-how pale he looks!
How grim with clotted blood, and those dead eyes!
Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night,
In all your diff'rent dreadful shapes ascend,
And match the present horror, if you can.

Enter SCIOLTO.

40

Sci This dead of night, this silent hour of dark

ness,

Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose; And yet distraction, and tumultuous jars, Keep all our frighted citizens awake: "The senate, weak, divided, and irresolute, "Want pow'r to succour the afflicted state. "Vainly in words and long debates they're wise, "While the fierce factions scorn their peaceful

orders,

<< And drown the voice of law in noise and anarchy.” Amidst the general wreck, see where she stands, [Pointing to Calista. Like Helen, in the night when Troy was sack'd, Spectatress of the mischief which she made.

Cal. It is Sciolto! Be thyself, my soul;
Be strong to bear his fatal indignation,
That he may see thou art not lost so far,

But somewhat still of his great spirit lives
In the forlorn Calista.

Sci. Thou wert once

My daughter.

Cal. Happy were it I had dy'd,

And never lost that name.

Sci. That's something yet;

Thou wert the very darling of my age:

I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee,
That all the blessings I could gather for thee,
By cares on earth, and by my pray'rs to Heav'n,
Were little for my fondness to bestow;

60

Why didst thou turn to folly, then, and curse me? Cat. Because my soul was rudely drawn from yours;

H

A poor imperfect copy of my father,

"Where goodness, and the strength of manly virtue, "Was thinly planted, and the idle void

"Fill'd up with light belief, and easy fondness;"

It was, because I lov'd, and was a woman.

Sci. Hadst thou been honest, thou hadst been a cherubim ;

But of that joy, as of a gem long lost,

Beyond redemption gone, think we no more.
Hast thou e'er dar'd to meditate on death?

80

Cal. I have, as on the end of shame and sorrow. Sci. Ha! answer me! Say, hast thou coolly thought? 'Tis not the stoick's lessons got by rote,

The pomp of words, and pedant dissertations,
That can sustain thee in that hour of terror;
Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it,
But when the trial comes, they stand aghast;
Hast thou consider'd what may happen after it?
How thy account may stand, and what to answer?

Cal. I've turn'd my eyes inward upon myself, Where foul offence and shame have laid all waste; Therefore my soul abhors the wretched dwelling, And longs to find some better place of rest.

Sci. 'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that spirit That dwelt in ancient Latian breasts, when Rome Was mistress of the world. I wou'd go on, And tell thee all my purpose; but it sticks Here at my heart, and cannot find a way. Cal. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain,

And write the meaning with your poignard here. 100

Sci. Oh! truly guess'd-seeʼst thou, this trembling [Holding up a dagger.

hand

Thrice justice urg’d—and thrice the slack'ning sinews
Forgot their office, and confess'd the father.
At length the stubborn virtue has prevail'd,
It must, it must be so-Oh! take it then,

And know the rest untaught.

[Giving the dagger.

Cal. I understand you.

It is but thus, and both are satisfy'd.

[She offers to kill herself: Sciolto catches hold of her arm.

Sci. A moment, give me yet a moment's space. The stern, the rigid judge has been obey'd; Now nature, and the father, claim their turns. I've held the balance with an iron hand, And put off ev'ry tender human thought, To doom my child to death; but spare my eyes The most unnatural sight, lest their strings crack, My old brain split, and I grow mad with horror.

Cal. Ha! is it possible; and is there yet Some little dear remain of love and tenderness For poor, undone Calista, in your heart?

Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took in

thee,

120

What joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling infancy,
Thy sprightly wit, and early blooming beauty;
How have I stood, and fed my eyes upon thee,
Then, lifting up my hands, and wond'ring, blest thee;
By my strong grief, my heart ev'n melts within me;

I could curse Nature, and that tyrant, honour,

For making me thy father, and thy judge;
Thou art my daughter still.

Cal. For that kind word,

Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth,
Weep on your feet, and bless you for this goodness.
Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch,
This parricide, that murders with her crimes,
Shortens her father's age, and cuts him off,
Ere little more than half his years be number'd.
Sci. Would it were otherwise-but thou must die.-
Cal. That I must die, it is my only comfort;
Death is the privilege of human nature,

And life without it were not worth our taking:
"Thither the poor, the pris'ner, and the mourner, 140
"Fly for relief, and lay their burthens down."
Come then, and take me into thy cold arms,
Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last,
Charm'd with my father's pity and forgiveness,
More than if angels tun'd their golden viols,
And sung a requiem to my parting soul.

Sci. I'm summon'd hence; ere this my friends ex-
pect me.

There is I know not what of sad presage,

That tells me, I shall never see thee more;
If it be so, this is our last farewel,

And these the parting pangs, which nature feels,
When anguish rends the heart-strings-Oh, my
daughter!
[Exit Sciolto.

Cal. Now think, thou curst Calista, now behold