With th' arrow's speed he will return again; But should fair fortune crown Piscaro's arms, Then shall your soothing message greet his ears; For till our friends some sound advantage gain, Our actions still must wear an Austrian face.
Duke. Well hast thou school'd him. Didst thou add withal,
That 'tis my will he garnish well his speech, With honey'd words of the most dear regard, And friendly love I bear him? This is needful; And lest my slowness in the promised aid Awake suspicion, bid him e'en rehearse The many favours on my house bestow'd By his imperial master as a theme On which my gratitude delights to dwell. Gaur. I have, an' please your highness. Duke.
Then 'tis well. Gaur. But for the yielding up that little fort There could be no suspicion.
Duke. My governor I have severely punish'd, As a most daring traitor to my orders. He cannot from his darksome dungeon tell; Why then should they suspect?
And to encourage well their infant trade, Quarter'd your troops upon them.-Please your grace,
All this they do most readily allow.
Duke. They do allow it then, ungrateful varlets! What would they have? what would they have, Gauriecio!
Gaur. Some mitigation of their grievous burdens, Which, like an iron weight around their necks, Do bend their care-worn faces to the earth, Like creatures form'd upon its soil to creep, Not stand erect, and view the sun of heaven. Duke. But they beyond their proper sphere would rise;
Let them their lot fulfil as we do ours.
Society of various parts is form'd;
They are its grounds, its mud, its sediment, And we the mantling top which crowns the whole. Calm, steady labour is their greatest bliss ; To aim at higher things beseems them not. To let them work in peace my care shall be; To slacken labour is to nourish pride. Methinks thou art a pleader for these fools:
Gaur. He must not live should Charles prove What may this mean, Gauriecio?
Duke. He's done me service: say not so, Gau
Gaur. They were resolved to lay their cause before you,
And would have found some other advocate
Gaur. A traitor's name he will not calmly bear; Less pleasing to your grace had I refused. He'll tell his tale aloud-he must not live.
Duke. Well, if it must-we'll talk of this again. Gaur. But while with anxious care and crafty wiles,
You would enlarge the limits of your state, Your highness must beware lest inward broils Bring danger near at hand: your northern subjects E'en now are discontented and unquiet.
Duke. Well, let them know, some more conve
I'll think of this, and do for them as much As suits the honour of my princely state. Their prince's honour should be ever dear To worthy subjects as their precious lives. Gaur. I fear, unless you give some special promise,
Duke. What, dare the ungrateful miscreants thus They will be violent still
The many favours of my princely grace? "Tis ever thus indulgence spoils the base; Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapours from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.—
Did I not lately with parental care, When dire invaders their destruction threaten'd, Provide them all with means of their defence? Did I not, as a mark of gracious trust, A body of their vagrant youth select To guard my sacred person? till that day An honour never yet allowed their race. Did I not suffer them, upon their suit, T' establish manufactures in their towns? And after all some chosen soldiers spare To guard the blessings of interior peace ?
From every care, with which increasing wealth, With all its hopes and fears, doth ever move The human breast, most graciously would free And kindly leave you naught to do but toil! This creature now, with all his reptile cunning, Writhing and turning through a maze of wiles, Believes his genius form'd to rule mankind; And calls his sordid wish for territory That noblest passion of the soul, ambition. Born had he been to follow some low trade, A petty tradesman still he had remain❜d,
Gaur. Nay, please your highness, they do well And used the art with which he rules a state
That when your enemies in fell revenge Your former inroads threaten'd to repay, Their ancient arms you did to them restore, With kind permission to defend themselves : That so far have they felt your princely grace, In drafting from their fields their goodliest youth To be your servants: That you did vouchsafe, On paying of a large and heavy fine, Leave to apply the labour of their hands As best might profit to the country's weal;
To circumvent his brothers of the craft, Or cheat the buyers of his paltry ware. And yet he thinks,-ha, ha, ha, ha !-he thinks
I am the tool and servant of his will. Well, let it be; through all the maze of trouble His plots and base oppression must create, I'll shape myself a way to higher things: And who will say 'tis wrong?
A sordid being, who expects no faith
But as self-interest binds; who would not trust The strongest ties of nature on the soul,
Deserves no faithful service. Perverse fate! Were I like him, I would despise this dealing; But being as I am, born low in fortune, Yet with a mind aspiring to be great, I must not scorn the steps which lead to it: And if they are not right, no saint am I; I follow nature's passion in my breast, Which urges me to rise in spite of fortune.
SCENE IV. AN APARTMENT IN THE PALACE. VICTORIA and ISABELLA are discovered playing at chess; the Countess ALBINI Sitting by them reading to herself.
Vict. Away with it, I will not play again. May men no more be foolish in my presence If thou art not a cheat, an arrant cheat!
Isab. To swear that I am false by such an oath, Should prove me honest, since its forfeiture Would bring your highness gain.
Vict. Am I ungenerous then? Alb.
Yes, most ungenerous:
Who, for the pleasure of a little power, Would give most unavailing pain to those, Whose love you ne'er can recompense again. E'en now, to-day, O! was it not ungenerous To fetter Basil with a foolish tie, Against his will, perhaps against his duty?
Vict. What, dost thou think against his will, my friend?
Alb. Full sure I am against his reason's will. Vict. Ah! but indeed thou must excuse me here; For duller than a shelled crab was she, Who could suspect her power in such a mind, And calmly leave it doubtful and unproved. But wherefore dost thou look so gravely on me? Ah! well I read those looks! methinks they say, "Your mother did not so."
Alb. Your highness reads them true, she did not so.
Vict. Thou'rt wrong, my Isabella, simple maid; If foolish vanity e'er soil'd her thoughts, For in the very forfeit of this oath,
There's death to all the dearest pride of women. May man no more be foolish in my presence! Isab. And does your grace, hail'd by applauding crowds,
In all the graceful eloquence address'd Of most accomplish'd, noble, courtly youths, Praised in the songs of heaven-inspired bards, Those awkward proofs of admiration prize, Which rustic swains their village fair ones pay! Vict. O, love will master all the power of art! Ay, all! and she who never has beheld The polish'd courtier, or the tuneful sage, Before the glances of her conquering eye A very native simple swain become, Has only vulgar charms.
To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, Subdue the haughty, shake th' undaunted soul; Yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth, And lead him forth as a domestic cur, These are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty! Did naught but flattering words and tuneful praise, Sighs, tender glances, and obsequious service, Attend her presence, it were nothing worth: I'd put a white coif o'er my braided locks, And be a plain, good, simple, fireside dame.
Alb. (raisig her head from her book.) And is, indeed, a plain domestic dame,
Who fills the duties of a useful state, A being of less dignity than she,
Who vainly on her transient beauty builds
A little poor ideal tyranny?
Isab. Ideal too! Alb. Yes, most unreal power; For she who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms; Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves; Though oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish power exert, Which not ennobles, but degrades her state. Vict. You are severe, Albini, most severe ! Were human passions placed within the breast But to be curb'd, subdued, pluck'd by the roots! All heaven's gifts to some good end were given. Alb. Yes, for a noble, for a generous end.
She kept it low, withheld its aliment; Not pamper'd it with every motley food, From the fond tribute of a noble heart To the lisp'd flattery of a cunning child. Vict. Nay, speak not thus,-Albini, speak not thus
Of little blue-eyed, sweet, fair-hair'd Mirando. He is the orphan of a hapless pair ; A loving, beautiful, but hapless pair, Whose story is so pleasing, and so sad, The swains have turn'd it to a plaintive lay, And sing it as they tend their mountain sheep. Besides, (to Isab.) I am the guardian of his choice. When first I saw him-dost thou not remember? Isab. 'Twas in the public garden. Vict. Even so; Perch'd in his nurse's arms, a roughsome quean, Ill suited to the lovely charge she bore. How steadfastly he fixed his looks upon me, His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears, Then stretch'd his little arms and call'd me mother! What could I do? I took the bantling home- I could not tell the imp he had no mother.
Alb. Ah! there, my child, thou hast indeed no
Vict. Now this is kindly said: thanks, sweet
Still call me child, and chide me as thou wilt. O! would that I were such as thou couldst love! Couldst dearly love, as thou didst love my mother! Alb. (pressing her to her breast.) And do I not? all perfect as she was,
I know not that she went so near my heart As thou with all thy faults.
Vict. And say'st thou so? would I had sooner known!
I had done any thing to give thee pleasure. Alb. Then do so now, and put thy faults away. Vict. No, say not faults; the freaks of thought-
Alb. Nay, very faults they must indeed be call'd. Vict. O say but foibles! youthful foibles only! Alb. Faults, faults, real faults you must confess
Vict. In truth I cannot do your sense the wrong To think so poorly of the one you love.
Alb. I must be gone: thou hast o'ercome me now: Then she look'd so, and smiled to him again. Another time I will not yield it so.
Isab. The countess is severe; she's too severe : She once was young, though now advanced in years. Vict. No, I deserve it all; she is most worthy. Unlike those faded beauties of the court, But now the wither'd stems of former flowers, With all their blossoms shed, her nobler mind Procures to her the privilege of man, Ne'er to be old till nature's strength decays. Some few years hence, if I should live so long, I'd be Albini rather than myself.
Isab. Here comes your little favourite. Vict. I am not in the humour for him now. Enter MIRANDO, running up to VICTORIA, and taking hold of her gown, while she takes no notice of him, as he holds up his mouth to be kissed.
(Throwing down his eyes affectedly.) Isab. Thou art a little knave, and must be whipp'd. [EXEUNT. Mirando leading out Victoria affectedly.
SCENE I.-AN OPEN STREET, OR SQUARE.
Enter ROSINBERG and FREDERICK, by opposite sides of the stage.
Fred. So Basil, from the pressing calls of war, Another day to rest and pastime gives. How is it now? methinks thou art not pleased. Ros. It matters little if I am or not.
Fred. Now pray thee do confess thou art ashamed: Thou, who art wisely wont to set at naught
Isab. (to Mir.) Thou seest the princess can't be The noble fire of individual courage,
Mir. O but she will! I'll scramble up her robe, As naughty boys do when they climb for apples. Isab. Come here, sweet child; I'll kiss thee in
Mir. Nay, but I will not have a kiss of thee. Would I were tall! O were I but so tall!
Isab. And how tall wouldst thou be? Mir.
And call calm prudence the superior virtue, What say'st thou now, my candid Rosinberg, When thy great captain, in a time like this, Denies his weary troops one day of rest Before th' exertions of approaching battle, Yet grants it to a pretty lady's suit?
Ros. Who told thee this? it was no friendly tale; And no one else, besides a trusty friend,
Thou dost not know? Could know his motives. Then thou wrong'st me
Just tall enough to reach Victoria's lips.
Vict. (embracing him.) O! I must bend to this, For I admire, as much as thou dost, Frederick,
Who taught thee all this wit, this childish wit? Whom does Mirando love? (embraces him again.) Mir. He loves Victoria.
Vict. And wherefore loves he her? Mir.
Because she's pretty. Isab. Hast thou no little prate to-day, Mirando? No tale to earn a sugar-plum withal?
The fire of valour, e'en rash, heedless valour; But not like thee do I depreciate
That far superior, yea, that godlike talent, Which doth direct that fire, because indeed It is a talent nature has denied me.
Fred. Well, well, and greatly he may boast his virtue,
Who risks perhaps th' imperial army's fate,
Mir. Ay, that I have: I know who loves her To please a lady's freaks
Go, go, thou'rt prejudiced:
Vict. Who is it, pray? thou shalt have comfits A passion, which I do not choose to name,
Mir. (looking slyly at her.) It is—it is—it is
Vict. Away, thou little chit! that tale is old, And was not worth a sugar-plum when new. Mir. Well then, I know who loves her highness well.
Vict. Who is it, then? Isab. Who is it, naughty boy? Mir. It is the handsome Marquis of Carlatzi. Vict. No, no, Mirando, thou art naughty still: Twice have I paid thee for that tale already. Mir. Well then, indeed-I know who loves Victoria.
Vict. And who is he? Mir. It is Mirando's self. Vict. Thou little imp! this story is not new, But thou shalt have thy hire. Come, let us go. Go, run before us, boy.
Has warp'd thy judgment.
Fred. No, by heaven thou wrong'st me! I do, with most enthusiastic warmth, True valour love: wherever he is found, I love the hero too; but hate to see The praises due to him so cheaply earn'd.
Ros. Then mayst thou now these generous feel- ings prove.
Behold that man, whose short and grizzly hair In clustering locks his dark brown face o'ershades; Where now the scars of former sabre wounds, In honourable companionship are seen With the deep lines of age; whose piercing eye Beneath its shading eyebrow keenly darts Its yet unquenched beams, as though in age Its youthful fire had been again renew'd, To be the guardian of its darken'd mate: See with what vigorous steps his upright form He onward bears; nay, e'en that vacant sleeve Which droops so sadly by his better side, Suits not ungracefully the veteran's mien. This is the man, whose glorious acts in battle We heard to-day related o'er our wine. I go to tell the general he is come: Enjoy the generous feelings of thy breast, (ogling with his eyes affectedly.) | And make an old man happy.
[look'd, Mir. Nay, but I'll show you how Count Wolvar When he conducted Isabel from court.
Mir. Give me your hand: he held his body thus; (putting himself in a ridiculous bowing posture.) And then he whisper'd softly; then look'd so;
Enter GEOFfry. Fred. Brave soldier, let me profit by the chance That led me here; I've heard of thy exploits.
Geof. Ah! then you have but heard an ancient tale, Which has been long forgotten.
Fred. But true it is, and should not be forgotten; Though generals jealous of their soldiers' fame, May dash it with neglect.
Ros. (clapping Geof. on the shoulder.) How goes it with thee now, my good field-marshal? Geof. The better that I see your honour well, And in the humour to be merry with me.
Ros. 'Faith, by my sword, I've rightly named thee too;
What is a good field-marshal but a man,
Geof. There are, perhaps, who may be so unge- Whose generous courage and undaunted mind Doth marshal others on in glory's way?
Fred. Perhaps, say'st thou? in very truth there Thou art not one by princely favour dubb'd,
He was, as I am told, a learned coxcomb, And loved a goose-quill better than a sword. What, dost thou call him brave?
Thou, who dost bear about that war-worn trunk, Like an old target, hack'd and rough with wounds, Whilst, after all his mighty battles, he Was with a smooth skin in his coffin laid, Unblemish'd with a scar?
Geof. His duty call'd not to such desperate service; For I have sought where few alive remain'd, And none unscath'd; where but a few remain'd, Thus marr'd and mangled; (showing his wounds.) as belike you've seen, O' summer nights, around the evening lamp, Some wretched moths, wingless, and half consumed, Just feebly crawling o'er their heaps of dead.- In Savoy, on a small, though desperate post, of full three hundred goodly chosen men, But twelve were left, and right dear friends were we For ever after. They are all dead now: I'm old and lonely.-We were valiant hearts- Frederick Dewalter would have stopp'd a breach Against the devil himself. I'm lonely now! Fred. I'm sorry for thee. Hang ungrateful chiefs! Why wert thou not promoted?
Geof. After that battle, where my happy fate Had led me to fulfil a glorious part, Chafed with the gibing insults of a slave, The worthless favourite of a great man's favourite, I rashly did affront; our cautious prince, With narrow policy dependent made, Dared not, as I am told, promote me then, And now he is ashamed, or has forgot it. Fred. Fy, fy upon it! let him be ashamed: Here is a trifle for thee (offering him money.) Geof. No, good sir;
I have enough to live as poor men do. When I'm in want I'll thankfully receive, Because I'm poor, but not because I'm brave.
Bas. (taking him by the hand.) Brave, honourable man, your worth I know,
And greet it with a brother soldier's love. Geof. (taking away his hand in confusion.) My general, this is too much, too much honour. Bas. (taking his hand again.) No, valiant soldier, I must have it so.
Geof. My humble state agrees not with such honour.
Bas. Think not of it, thy state is not thyself. Let mean souls, highly rank'd, look down on thee, As the poor dwarf, perch'd on a pedestal, O'erlooks the giant: 'tis not worth a thought. Art thou not Geoffry of the tenth brigade, Whose warlike feats, child, maid, and matron know? And oft, cross-elbow'd, o'er his nightly bowl, The jolly toper to his comrade tells ? Whose glorious feats of war, by cottage door, The ancient soldier, tracing in the sand The many movements of the varied field, In warlike terms to listening swains relates; Whose bosoms glowing at the wondrous tale First learn to scorn the hind's inglorious life; Shame seize me, if I would not rather be The man thou art, than court-created chief, Known only by the dates of his promotion ! Geof. Ah! would I were, would I were young
No, I am not proud; For one so wise.
Fred. You're proud, old soldier. Geof. For if I were, methinks I'd be morose, And willing to depreciate other men.
A careless face? on what? Fred. Now feign not ignorance, we know it all.
News which have spread in whispers from the Which to his eyes such flashing lustre gave,
Since last night's messenger arrived from Milan. Ros. As I'm an honest man, I know it not! Fred. "Tis said the rival armies are so near A battle must immediately ensue.
Ros. It cannot be. Our general knows it not. The Duke is of our side a sworn ally, And had such messenger to Mantua come,
He would have been apprized upon the instant. It cannot be, it is some idle tale.
As though his soul, like an unsheathed sword, Had through them gleam'd, our noble general stood,
And to his soldiers, with heart-moving words The veteran showing, his brave deeds rehearsed, Who by his side stood like a storm-scath'd oak, Beneath the shelter of some noble tree, In the green honours of its youthful prime. Ros. How look'd the veteran ? Valt.
Fred. So may it prove till we have join'd them At first he bore it up with cheerful looks,
Then Heaven grant they may be nearer still! For O! my soul for war and danger pants, As doth the noble lion for his prey. My soul delights in battle.
Ros. Upon my simple word, I'd rather see A score of friendly fellows shaking hands, Than all the world in arms. Hast thou no fear? Fred. What dost thou mean? Ros.
Hast thou no fear of death? Fred. Fear is a name for something in the mind, But what, from inward sense, I cannot tell.
I could as little anxious march to battle,
As when a boy to childish games I ran.
As one who fain would wear his honours bravely And greet the soldiers with a comrade's face: But when Count Basil, in such moving speech, Told o'er his actions past, and bade his troops Great deeds to emulate, his countenance changed; High heaved his manly breast, as it had been By inward strong emotion half convulsed; Trembled his nether lip; he shed some tears: The general paused, the soldiers shouted loud; Then hastily he brush'd the drops away, And waved his hand, and clear'd his tear choked voice,
As though he would some grateful answer make; When back with double force the whelming tide
Ros. Then as much virtue hast thou in thy val- Of passion came; high o'er his hoary head
As when a child thou hadst in childish play. The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. As for your youth, whom blood and blows delight, Away with them! there is not in the crew One valiant spirit.-Ha! what sound is this? (Shouting is heard without.) Fred. The soldiers shout; I'll run and learn the
His arm he toss'd, and heedless of respect, In Basil's bosom hid his aged face, Sobbing aloud. From the admiring ranks A cry arose; still louder shouts resound. I felt a sudden tightness grasp my throat As it would strangle me; such as I felt, I knew it well, some twenty years ago, When my good father shed his blessing on me : I hate to weep, and so I came away.
Ros. (giving Valt. his hand.) And there, take thou my blessing for the tale.
Hark, how they shout again! 'tis nearer now.
Ros. But tell me first, how didst thou like the This way they march. veteran ?
Fred. He is too proud; he was displeased with me,
Because I offer'd him a little sum.
Martial music heard. Enter Soldiers marching in order, bearing GEOFFRY in triumph on their shoulders After them enter BASIL; the whole preceded by a band of music. They cross over the stage, are joined by Ros. &c. and EXEUNT.
A halfpenny for Belisarius!
But hark! they shout again-here comes Valtomer. (Shouting heard without.)
What does this shouting mean?
Valt. O! I have seen a sight, a glorious sight!
Thou wouldst have smiled to see it.
Enter GAURIECIO and a GENTLEMAN, talking as they
Gaur. So slight a tie as this we cannot trust: One day her influence may detain him here, But love a feeble agent may be found With the ambitious.
Gent. And so you think this boyish odd conceit Of bearing home in triumph with his troops
Ros. How smile? methinks thine eyes are wet That aged soldier, will your purpose serve?
Valt. (passing the back of his hands across his eyes.)
'Faith, so they are; well, well, but I smiled too. You heard the shouting.
Ros. and Fred. Valt. O had you seen it! Drawn out in goodly ranks, there stood our troops; Here, in the graceful state of manly youth, His dark face brighten'd with a generous smile,
Gaur. Yes, I will make it serve; for though my prince
Is little scrupulous of right and wrong,
I have possess'd his mind, as though it were A flagrant insult on his princely state, To honour thus the man he has neglected, Which makes him relish, with a keener taste, My purposed scheme. Come, let us fall to work. With all their warm heroic feelings roused, We'll spirit up his troops to mutiny,
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