of the old soldier is finely tempered by his wise, just, and candid respect for his enemies the Romans, and by his tender affection for his princely ward. He never gives way to sorrow till he looks on the dead body of his nephew Hengo. The character must be well supported which yields a sensation of triumph in the act of surrendering to victorious enemies. Caractacus does not tell us that when a brave man has done his duty he cannot be humbled by fortune, but he makes us feel it in his behaviour. The few and simple sentences which he utters in submitting to the Romans, together with their respectful behaviour to him, give a sublime composure to his appearance in the closing scene.”CAMPBELL.]

THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.

SENSUAL PASSION NO LOVE.

Mountferrat, one of the Knights of Malta, being rejected in his unworthy suit to Oriana, sister of the Grand Master, determines to revenge his disappointment.

A Room in MOUNTFERRAT's House.

Enter MOUNTFERRAT.

Mountf. Dares she despise me thus ? me, that with spoil
And hazardous exploits, full sixteen years
Have led (as hand-maids) Fortune, Victory,
Whom the Maltezzi call my servitors?
Tempests I have subdued, and fought them calm,
Out-lighten'd lightning in my chivalry,

Rid (tame as patience) billows that kick'd Heaven,
Whistled enragèd Boreas till his gusts
Were grown so gentle that he seem'd to sigh
Because he could not show the air my keel;
And yet I cannot conquer her bright eyes,

Which, though they blaze, both comfort and invite;
Neither by force, nor fraud, pass through her ear,
Whose guard is only blushing innocence,
To take the least possession of her heart.
Did I attempt her with a thread-bare name,
Un-napt with meritorious actions,
She might with colour disallow my suit:
But, by the honour of this Christian cross
(In blood of infidels so often dyed,

Which mine own soul and sword hath fixèd here,
And neither favour nor birth's privilege),
Oriana shall confess (although she be
Valetta's sister, our grand-master here)
The wages
of scorn'd love is baneful hate,
And, if I rule not her, I'll rule her fate-

Enter ROCCA.

Rocca, my trusty servant, welcome!

Rocca. Sir,

I wish my news deserv'd it!

Hapless I,

That being lov'd and trusted, fail to bring

The loving answer that you do expect.

[forth

Mountf. Why speak'st thou from me? thy pleas'd eyes send

Beams brighter than the star that ushers day;
Thy smiles restore sick expectation.

Rocca. I bring you, sir, her smiles, not mine.
Mountf. Her smiles?

Why, they are presents for kings' eldest sons:
Great Solyman is not so rich as I

In this one smile, from Oriana sent.

Rocca. Sir, fare you well!

Mountf. Oh, Rocca! thou art wise,

And wouldst not have the torrent of my joy
Ruin me headlong! Aptly thou conceiv'st,

If one reviving smile can raise me thus,

What trances will the sweet words which thou bring'st
Cast me into. I felt, my dearest friend

(No more my servant), when I employ'd thee,
That knew'st to love and speak as lovers should,
And carry faithfully thy master's sighs,

That it must work some heat in her cold heart;
And all my labours now come fraughted home
With ten-fold prize.

Rocca. Will you yet hear me?
Mountf. Yes:

But take heed, gentle Rocca, that thou dost
Tenderly by degrees assault mine ears

With her consent, now to embrace my love;

For thou well know'st I've been so plung'd, so torn,
With her resolv'd rejection and neglect,
That to report her soft acceptance now
Will stupify sense in me, if not kill.—
Why show'st thou this distemper?

Rocca. Draw your sword,

And when I with my breath have blasted you,
Kill me with it:

I bring you smiles of pity, not affection,
For such she sent.

Mountf. Oh! can she pity me?

Of all the paths lead to a woman's love,
Pity's the straightest.

Rocca. Waken, sir, and know

That her contempt (if you can name it so)
Continues still; she bids you throw your pearl
Into strong streams, and hope to turn them so,
Ere her to foul dishonour; write your plaints
In rocks of coral grown above the sea;
Them hope to soften to compassion,

Or change their modest blush to love-sick pale,
Ere work her to your impious requests.

All your loose thoughts she chides you home again,
But with such calm behaviour and mild looks,

She gentlier denies than others grant;
For just as others love, so doth she hate.
She says, that by your order you are bound
From marrying ever, and much marvels then
You would thus violate her and your own faith;
That being the virgin you should now protect,
Hitherto, she professes, she has conceal'd
Your lustful batteries; but the next, she vows
(In open hall, before the honour'd cross,
And her great brother) she will quite disclose,
Calling for justice, to your utter shame.

Mountf. Hence! find the Blackamoor that waits upon her,
Bring her unto me; she doth love me yet,
And I must her now; at least seem to do.-
Cupid, thy brands that glow thus in my veins,
I will with blood extinguish !—Art not gone?

LOVING SELF-SACRIFICE.

Mountferrat, by the help of Oriana's servant, Zanthia, having succeeded in fixing on her a charge of endeavouring to betray the island into the hands of the Basha of Tripoli (who had solicited her to that end with a promise of marriage), Miranda, an Italian gentleman, who is in love with her, contrives, on pretence of believing her guilty, to save her life; though, in doing so, he knowingly risks her marriage with another; which accordingly takes place.

MIRANDA and MOUNTFERRAT.

Mir. (aside.) Alone,

And troubled too, I take it.

How he starts!

All is not handsome in thy heart, Mountferrat.

(aloud.) God speed you, sir. I have been seeking of They say you are to fight to-day.

Mountf. What then?

[you;

Mir. Nay, nothing, but good fortune to your sword, sir!
You have a cause requires it; the island's safety,
The order's, and your honour's.

Mountf. And do you make a question

I will not fight it nobly?

Mir. You dare fight;

You have; and with as great a confidence as justice, I have seen you strike as home, and hit as deadly. Mountf. Why are these questions then?

Mir. I'll tell you quickly.

You have a lady in your cause, a fair one;

A gentler never trod on ground, a nobler

Mountf (aside.) Do you come on so fast? I have it for Mir. The sun ne'er saw a sweeter.

Mountf. These I grant you;

Nor dare I against beauty heave my hand up;
It were unmanly, sir, too much unmanly.
But when these excellencies turn to ruin,

To ruin of themselves, and those protect 'em

Mir. Do you think 'tis so?

Mountf. Too sure.

Mir. And can it be?

[you.

Can it be thought, Mountferrat, so much sweetness,
So great a magazine of all things precious,
A mind so heavenly made-Pr'ythee observe me.

Mountf. I thought so too. Now, by my holy order,
He that had told me (till experience found it,
Too bold a proof) this lady had been vicious-
I wear no dull sword, sir, nor hate I virtue.
Mir. Against her brother? to the man has bred her?
Her blood and honour?

Mountf. Chastity, cold Duty,

Like fashions old forgot, she flings behind her,
And puts on blood and mischief, death and ruin,
To raise her new-built hopes, new faith to fasten her:
Ma foy, she is as foul as Heaven is beauteous!

Mir. Thou liest, thou liest, Mountferrat, thou liest basely;
Stare not, nor swell not with thy pride! thou liest;
And this (laying his hand on his sword) shall make it
Mountf. Out with your heat first!

You shall be fought withal.

Mir. By Heaven, that lady,

[good.

The virtue of that woman, were all the good deeds
Of all thy families bound in one faggot,

From Adam to this hour, but with one sparkle
Would fire that whisp, and turn it to light ashes.
Mountf. Oh, pitiful young man, struck blind with beauty!
Shot with a woman's smile! Poor, poor Miranda!

Thou hopeful young man once, but now thou lost man,
Thou naked man of all that we call noble,

How art thou cozen'd! Didst thou know what I do,
And how far thy dear honour (mark me, fool!),
Which like a father I have kept from blasting,
Thy tender honour, is abused-But fight first,
And then, too late, thou shalt know all.

Mir. Thou liest still!

[thee: Mountf. Stay! now I'll show thee all, and then I'll kill I love thee so dear, time shall not disgrace thee.

Read that!

Mir. It is her hand, it is most certain.

[Gives him a letter.

Good angels keep me! that I should be her agent
To betray Malta, and bring her to the basha!
That on my tender love lay all her project!
Eyes never see again, melt out for sorrow!
Did the devil do this?