O Basil!

selves round him.

SONG.-A GLEE.

Child, with many a childish wile,

Timid look, and blushing smile,
Downy wings to steal thy way,
Gilded bow, and quiver gay,

Who in thy simple mien would trace
The tyrant of the human race?

Who is he whose flinty heart

Hath not felt the flying dart?

Who is he that from the wound
Hath not pain and pleasure found?
Who is he that hath not shed
Curse and blessings on thy head?

Ah love! our weal, our wo, our bliss, our bane, A restless life have they who wear thy chain! Ah love! our weal, our wo, our bliss, our bane, More hapless still are they who never felt thy pain! (All the Masks dance round Cupid. Then enter a band of Satyrs, who frighten away Love and his votaries; and conclude the scene, dancing in a grotesque manner.)

Ros. (knocking very loud.) Holla! who's there within? confound this door!

It will not yield. O for a giant's strength!
Holla, holla, within! will no one hear?

Enter a Porter from the house.

Bas. What is the matter which disturbs you

thus ?

Ros. Matter that would a wiser man disturb. Treason's abroad: thy men have mutinied.

Bas. It is not so; thy wits have mutinied,

And left their sober station in thy brain.

1st Off. Indeed, my lord, he speaks in sober earnest.

Some secret enemies have been employed
To fill your troops with strange imaginations.
As though their general would, for selfish gain,
Their generous valour urge to desperate deeds.
All to a man assembled on the ramparts,
Now threaten vengeance, and refuse to march.

Bas. What! think they vilely of me? threaten too!

O! most ungenerous, most unmanly thought! Didst thou attempt (to Ros.) to reason with their folly?

Folly it is; baseness it cannot be.

Ros. Yes, truly, I did reason with a storm, And bid it cease to rage.

Their eyes look fire on him who questions them
The hollow murmurs of their mutter'd wrath
Sound dreadful through the dark extended ranks,
Like subterraneous grumblings of an earthquake.
-The vengeful hurricane

Does not with such fantastic writhings toss
The wood's green boughs, as does convulsive rage
Their forms with frantic gestures agitate.
Around the chief of hell such legions throng'd
To bring back curse and discord on creation.
Bas. Nay, they are men, although impassion'd

ones.

I'll go to them

Ros.

Port.

Not yet, my lord. Ros. Then let him ne'er return!

Tumult, disgrace, and ruin have their way!

I'll search for him no more.

Bas. No, never, never! There is no mean: I with my soldiers must Or their commander or their victim prove. But are my officers all stanch and faithful? Ros. All but that devil, FrederickHe, disappointed, left his former corps,

Ros. I know he hath.

I've fought for him till my strain'd nerves have crack'd!

2d Sol. We will command ourselves: for Milan, comrades.

5th Sol. Ay, ay, for Milan, valiant hearts, huzza. (All the Soldiers cast up their caps in the air and huzza.)

2d Sol. Yes, comrades, tempting booty waits us here,

And easy service: keep good hearts, my soldiers! The general comes, good hearts! no flinching, boys!

Look bold and fiercely: we're the masters now. (They all clash their arms and put on a fierce threatening aspect to receive their general, who now enters, followed by Rosinberg and Officers. Basil walks close along the front ranks of the Soldiers, looking at them very steadfastly; then retires a few paces back, and raising his arm, speaks with a very full loud voice.) Bas. How is it, soldiers, that I see you thus, Assembled here unsummon'd by command?

(A confused murmur is heard amongst the Soldiers; some of them call out)

But we ourselves command: we wait no orders. (A confused noise of voices is heard, and one louder than the rest calls out)

Must we be butcher'd for that we are brave?
(A loud clamour and clashing of arms, then
several voices call out)

Damn hidden treachery! we defy thy orders.
Frederick shall lead us now-

(Others call out) We'll march where'er we list; for Milan march. Bas. (waving his hand, and beckoning them to be silent, speaks with a very loud voice.) Yes, march where'er ye list: for Milan march. Sol. Hear him, hear him!

(The murmur ceases-a short pause.) Bas. Yes, march where'er ye list; for Milan march:

But as banditti, not as soldiers go; For on this spot of earth I will disband, And take from you the rank and name of soldiers. (A great clamour amongst the ranks—some call out)

Ros. What, shall we calmly stand and see thee

butcher'd?

Bas. (very earnestly.) Put up, my friends. (Officers still persist.) What! are you rebels too?

Will no one here his general's voice obey?
I do command you to put up your swords.
Retire, and at a distance wait th' event.
Obey, or henceforth be no friends of mine.
Officers retire very unwillingly. Basil waves
them off with his hand till they are all gone,
then walks up to the front of his Soldiers,
who still hold themselves in a threatening
posture.)

Soldiers! we've fought together in the field,
And bravely fought: i' the face of horrid death,
At honour's call, I've led you dauntless on;
Nor do I know the man of all your bands,
That ever poorly from the trial shrunk,
Or yielded to the foe contended space.
Am I the meanest then of all my troops,
That thus ye think, with base unmanly threats,
To move me now? Put up those paltry weapons;
They edgeless are to him who fears them not;
Rocks have been shaken from the solid base;
But what shall move a firm and dauntless mind?
Put up your swords, or dare the threaten'd deed-
Obey, or murder me.-

(A confused murmur-some of the Soldiers call out)

March us to Milan, and we will obey thee.

(Others call out)

Ay, march us there, and be our leader still.
Bas. Nay, if I am your leader, I'll command ye;
And where I do command, there shall you go,
But not to Milan. No, nor shall you deviate
E'en half a furlong from your destined way,
To seize the golden booty of the east.
Think not to gain, or temporize with me;
For should I this day's mutiny survive,
Much as I've loved you, soldiers, ye shall find me
Still more relentless in pursuit of vengeance;
Tremendous, cruel, military vengeance.
There is no mean-a desperate game ye play;
Therefore, I say, obey, or murder me.
Do as ye will, but do it manfully.

He is a coward who doth threaten me:
The man who slays me, but an angry soldier;
Acting in passion, like the frantic son,
Who struck his sire and wept.

(Soldiers call out) It was thyself who sought to murder us.

1st Sol. You have unto the emperor pledged your faith,

To lead us foremost in all desperate service:

Have you done aught the valiant should not do?
I fear you have.
(Fred. looks confused.)
With secret art, and false insinuation,
The simple untaught soldiers to seduce
From their sworn duty, might become the base,
Become the coward well; but O! what villain
Had the dark power to engage thy valiant worth
In such a work as this!

Fred. Is Basil, then, so lavish of his praise
On a neglected pitiful subaltern?

It were a libel on his royal master;

A foul reproach upon fair fortune cast,
To call me valiant:

And surely he has been too much their debtor
To mean them this rebuke.

Bas. Is nature then so sparing of her gifts,
That it is wonderful when they are found
Where fortune smiles not?

Thou art by nature brave and so am I;
But in those distant ranks moves there not one
(pointing off the stage.)
Of high ennobled soul, by nature form'd
A hero and commander, who will yet
In his untrophied grave forgotten lie

With meaner men? I dare be sworn there does. Fred. What need of words? I crave of thee no favour,

I have offended 'gainst arm'd law, offended,

And shrink not from my doom.

And cursed thine ill-timed absence.-
There's treason in this most deceitful court,
Against thee plotting, and this morning's tumult,
Hath been its damn'd effect.
Bas.
Nay, nay, my friend!
The nature of man's mind too well thou knowest,
To judge as vulgar hoodwink'd statesmen do;
Who, ever with their own poor wiles misled,
Believe each popular tumult or commotion
Must be the work of deep-laid policy.
Poor, mean, mechanic souls, who little know
A few short words of energetic force,
Some powerful passion on the sudden roused,
The animating sight of something noble,
Some fond trait of the memory finely waked,
A sound, a simple song without design,
In revolutions, tumults, wars, rebellions,
All grand events, have oft effected more
Than deepest cunning of their paltry art.
Some drunken soldier, eloquent with wine,
Who loves not fighting, hath harangued his mates,
For they in truth some hardships have endured:
Wherefore in this should we suspect the court?
Ros. Ah! there is something, friend, in Mantua's

court,

death;

On scaffold or in field with dauntless breast
Thou wilt engage him: and if thy proud soul,
In sullen obstinacy, scorns all grace,
E'en be it so. But if with manly gratitude
Thou truly canst receive a brave man's pardon,
Thou hast it freely.

Bas.

I know thou hast;

But thou art brave, and I forgive thee all.

speak!

I cannot live and be the wretch I am.

Bas. But thou canst live and be an honest man From error turn'd,-canst live and be my friend. (Raising Fred. from the ground.) Forbear, forbear! see where our friends advance : They must not think thee suing for a pardon; That would disgrace us both. Yet, ere they come, Tell me, if that thou mayst with honour tell, What did seduce thee from thy loyal faith?

Fred. No cunning traitor did my faith attempt, For then I had withstood him but of late, I know not how-a bad and restless spirit

And warn him earnestly this court to leave.
She said she loved thee much; and hadst thou seen
How anxiously she urged-

Bas. (interrupting him.) By heaven and earth
There is a ray of light breaks through thy tale,
And I could leap like madmen in their freaks,
So blessed is the gleam! Ah! no, no, no!
It cannot be ! alas, it cannot be !
Yet didst thou say, she urged it earnestly?
She is a woman, who avoids all share
In secret politics; one only charge

Her interest claims, Victoria's guardian friendAnd she would have me hence-it must be so.

Bas.

I will not tell thee what I think.

Ros. But I can guess it well, and it deceives thee. Leave this detested place, this fatal court, Where dark deceitful cunning plots thy ruin. A soldier's duty calls thee loudly hence. The time is critical. How wilt thou feel When they shall tell these tidings in thine ear, That brave Piscaro, and his royal troops, Our valiant fellows, have the enemy fought, Whilst we, so near at hand, lay loitering here? Bas. Thou dost disturb thy brain with fancied fears.

Our fortunes rest not on a point so nice,

That one short day should be of all this moment;
And yet this one short day will be to me
Worth years of other time.

And I might yet from some high towering cliff
Perceive her distant mansion from afar,
Or mark its blue smoke rising eve and morn ;
Nay, though within the circle of the moon
Some spell did fix her, never to return,
And I might wander in the hours of night,
And upward turn my ever-gazing eye,
Fondly to mark upon its varied disk

Some little spot that might her dwelling be;
My fond, my fixed heart would still adore,
And own no other love. Away, away!
How canst thou say to one who loves like me,
Thou hast no hope?

Ros. But with such hope, my friend, how stand thy fears?

Are they so well refined? how wilt thou bear
Ere long to hear, that some high-favour'd prince
Has won her heart, her hand, has married her?
Though now unshackled, will it always be?
Bas. By heaven thou dost contrive but to tor-
ment,

And hast a pleasure in the pain thou givest!
There is malignity in what thou sayest.

Ros. No, not malignity, but kindness, Basil,

thee pain;

But it disturbs me, Basil, vexes me
To see thee so inthralled by a woman.

If she is fair, others are fair as she.
Some other face will like emotions raise,
When thou canst better play a lover's part:
But for the present,-fy upon it, Basil!

Bas. What, is it possible thou hast beheld,
Hast tarried by her too, her converse shared,
Yet talk'st as though she were a common fair one,
Such as a man may fancy and forget?
Thou art not, sure, so dull and brutish grown:
It is not so; thou dost belie thy thoughts,
And vainly try'st to gain me with the cheat.

Ros. So thinks each lover of the maid he loves,
Yet, in their lives, some many maidens love.
Fy on it! leave this town, and be a soldier!
Bas. Have done, have done! why dost thou bate
me thus ?

Thy words become disgusting to me, Rosinberg.
What claim hast thou my actions to control?
I'll Mantua leave when it is fit I should.

it now;

Ay, on the instant. Is't not desperation

To stay, and hazard ruin on thy fame,
Though yet uncheer'd e'en by that tempting lure,
No lover breathes without? thou hast no hope.
Bas. What, dost thou mean-curse on the paltry
thought!

That I should count and bargain with my heart,
Upon the chances of unstinted favour,

As little souls their base-bred fancies feed?
O were I conscious that within her breast

I held some portion of her dear regard,
Though pent for life within a prison's walls,

And give thy soldiers orders for the march.

Bas. Nay, since thou must assume it o'er me

thus,

Be general, and command my soldiers too.

Ros. What, hath this passion in so short a space, O! curses on it! so far changed thee, Basil, That thou dost take with such ungentle warmth, The kindly freedom of thine ancient friend? Methinks the beauty of a thousand maids Would not have moved me thus to treat my friend, My best, mine earliest friend!

Bas. Say kinsman rather; chance has link'd us

SO:

No act of choice did e'er unite our souls.
Men most unlike we are; our thoughts unlike;
My breast disowns thee-thou'rt no friend of

mine.