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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.

[EXIT.

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 cnd.

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
blame.

Vict. Now this is kindly said: thanks, sweet
Albini !

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-

less youth.

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

they are.

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:
Another time I will not yield it so.
[EXIT.

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.

Then she look'd so, and smiled to him again.
(Throwing down his eyes affectedly.)
Isab. Thou art a little knave, and must be whipp'd.
[EXEUNT. Mirando leading out Victoria
affectedly.

ACT III.

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,

troubled with thee.

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
her stead.

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

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Vict. (embracing him.) O! I must bend to this, For I admire, as much as thou dost, Frederick,

thou little urchin.

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

grace.

Ros.

Go, go, thou'rt prejudiced:

Vict. Who is it, pray? thou shalt have comfits A passion, which I do not choose to name,

for it.

Mir. (looking slyly at her.) It is—it is—it is

the Count of Maldo.

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.

Vict. How did he look?

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;

¡EXIT.

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.

Enter ROSINBERG.

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?

nerous.

Fred. Perhaps, say'st thou? in very truth there Thou art not one by princely favour dubb'd,

are.

How art thou else rewarded with neglect,
Whilst many a paltry fellow in thy corps
Has been promoted? it is ever thus.
Served not Mardini in your company?

He was, though honour'd with a valiant name,
To those who knew him well, a paltry soldier.
Geof. Your pardon, sir: we did esteem him much,
Although inferior to his gallant friend,
The brave Sebastian.

Fred.

The brave Sebastian!
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.

Fred. You're proud, old soldier.

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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
again,

To fight beneath your standard, noble general;
Methinks what I have done were but a jest,
Ay, but a jest to what I now should do,
Were I again the man that I have been.
O! I could fight!

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No, I am not proud; For one so wise.

Geof. For if I were, methinks I'd be morose, And willing to depreciate other men.

Ros.

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,

court,

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.

I cannot tell thee!

Fred. So may it prove till we have join'd them At first he bore it up with cheerful looks,

too

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' 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

our,

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

cause.

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.

Ros. What, money! O, most generous, noble spirit:

Noble rewarder of superior worth!

A halfpenny for Belisarius !

But hark! they shout again-here comes Valtomer. (Shouting heard without.)

Enter VALTOMER.

What does this shouting mean?

Valt. O! I have seen a sight, a glorious sight!

Thou wouldst have smiled to see it.

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.

SCENE II.

Enter GAURIECIO and a GENTLEMAN, talking as they

enter.

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?

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Which must retard, perhaps undo him quite.
Thanks to his childish love, which has so well
Procured us time to tamper with the fools.

Gent. Ah! but those feelings he has waked within them,

Are generous feelings, and endear himself.

Enter ROSINBERG, fantastically dressed, with a willow upon his head, and scraps of sonnets, and torn letters fluttering round his neck; pursued by a group of Masks from one of the inner apartments, who hoot at him, and push him about as he enters.

1st Mask. Away, thou art a saucy, jeering knave,

Gaur. It matters not; though generous in their And fain wouldst make a jest of all true love.

nature,

They yet may serve a most ungenerous end;
And he who teaches men to think, though nobly,
Doth raise within their minds a busy judge
To scan his actions. Send thine agents forth,
And sound it in their ears how much Count Basil
Affects all difficult and desperate service,
To raise his fortunes by some daring stroke;
Having unto the emperor pledged his word,
To make his troops all dreadful hazards brave:
For which intent he fills their simple minds
With idle tales of glory and renown;
Using their warm attachment to himself

For most unworthy ends.

This is the busy time: go forth, my friend;
Mix with the soldiers, now in jolly groups
Around their evening cups. There, spare no
cost, (gives him a purse.)
Observe their words, see how the poison takes
And then return again.

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Enter several Masks, and pass through the first apartment
to the other rooms. Then enter BASIL in the disguise
of a wounded soldier.

Bas. (alone.) Now am I in the region of delight!
Within the blessed compass of these walls
She is; the gay light of those blazing lamps
Doth shine upon her, and this painted floor
Is with her footsteps press'd. E'en now, perhaps,
Amidst that motley rout she plays her part:
There will I go; she cannot be conceal'd;
For but the flowing of her graceful robe
Will soon betray the lovely form that wears it,
Though in a thousand masks. Ye homely weeds,
(looking at his habit.)
Which half conceal, and half declare my state,
Beneath your kind disguise, O! let me prosper,
And boldly take the privilege ye give:
Follow her mazy steps, crowd by her side;
Thus near her face my listening ear incline,
And feel her soft breath fan my glowing cheek,
Her fair hand seize, yea, press it closely too!
May it not be e'en so? by heaven it shall!
This once, O! serve me well, and ever after,
Ye shall be treasured like a monarch's robes;
Lodged in my chamber, near my pillow kept;
And oft with midnight lamp I'll visit ye,
And, gazing wistfully, this night recall,
With all its past delights.-But yonder moves
A slender form, dress'd in an azure robe;
It moves not like the rest-it must be she!

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2d Mask. Wilt thou do nothing for thy lady's fame?
Ros. Yes, lovely shepherdess, on every tree
I'll carve her name, with true-love garlands bound:
Write madrigals upon her roseate cheeks;
Odes to her eye; 'faith, every wart and mole
That spots her snowy skin shall have its sonnet!
I'll make love posies for her thimble's edge,
Rather than please her not.

3d Mask. But for her sake what dangers wilt
thou brave?

Ros. In truth, fair nun, I stomach dangers less
Than other service, and were something loath
To storm a convent's walls for one dear glance;
But if she'll wisely manage this alone,

As maids have done, come o'er the wall herself,
And meet me fairly on the open plain,

I will engage her tender steps to aid
In all annoyance of rude brier or stone,
Or crossing rill, some half foot wide or so,
Which that fair lady should unaided pass,
Ye gracious powers forbid! I will defend
Against each hideous fly, whose dreadful buzz-
4th Mask. Such paltry service suits thee best,
indeed.

What maid of spirit would not spurn thee from her?
Ros. Yes, to recall me soon, sublime sultana!
For I can stand the burst of female passion,
Each change of humour and affected storm;
Be scolded, frown'd upon, to exile sent,

(Goes hastily into another apartment, and mixes | Recall'd, caress'd, chid, and disgraced again;

with the Masks.)

And say what maid of spirit would forego

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