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Ros. (making a sign for the Officers to retire.)

'Tis but a sentry, to prevent intrusion. Basil discovered lying on the ground, with his head raised a little upon a few stones and earth, the pistols

Bas. Thou know'st this desperate deed from lying beside him, and blood upon his breasi. Enter

sacred rites ROSINBERG, Valtomen, and OFFICERS. Rosinberg, Hath shut me out: I am unbless'd of men, upon seeing Basil, slops short with horror, and remains And what I am in sight of th' awful God, motionless for some time.

I dare not think; when I am gone, my friend, Valt. Great God of heaven! what a sight is this ! | 0! let a good man's prayers to heaven ascend (Rosinberg runs to Basil, and stoops down by his for an offending spirit!—Pray for me. side.)

What thinkest thou ? although an outcast here, Ros. O Basil! O my friend! what hast thou May not some heavenly mercy still be found? done?

Ros. Thou wilt find mercy-my beloved Basil Bas. (covering his face with his hand.) Why It cannot be that thou shouldst be rejected.

art thou come? I thought to die in peace. I will with bended knee-I will implore Ros. Thou know’st me not-I am thy Rosinberg, It choaks mine utterance-I will pray for thee Thy dearest, truest friend, thy loving kinsman ! Bas. This comforts me—thou art a loving friend. Thou dost not say to me, Why art thou come ?

(A noise without.) Bas. Shame knows no kindred: I am fall'n, dis Ros. (to Off. without.) What noise is that? graced ;

Enter VALTOMER. My fame is gone, I cannot look upon thee.

Ros. My Basil, noble spirit ! talk not thus ! Valt. (to Ros.) My lord, the soldiers all insist to The greatest mind untoward fate may prove :

enter. Thou art our generous, valiant leader still, What shall I do? they will not be denied: Fall'n as thou art and yet thou art not fall’n ; They say that they will see their noble general. Who says thou art, must put his harness on,

Bas. Ah, my brave fellows! do they call me so ? And prove his words in blood.

Ros. Then let them come! Bas. Ah Rosinberg ! this is no time to boast !

Enter SOLDIERS, who gather round Basil, and look I once had hopes a glorious name to gain ;

mournfully upon him; he holds out his hand to them Too proud of heart, I did too much aspire :

with a faint smile. The hour of trial came, and found me wanting! Bas. My generous soldiers, this is kindly meant. Talk not of me, but let me be forgotten. I'm low in the dust; God bless you all, brave And 0! my friend! something upbraids me here,

hearts ! (laying his hand on his breast.) 1st Sol. And God bless you, my noble, noble For that I now remember how oft-times

general! I have ursurp'd it o'er thy better worth,

We'll never follow such a leader more. Most vainly teaching where I should have learnt ; 20 Sol. Ah! had you stayed with us, my noble But thou wilt pardon me.

general, Ros. (taking Basil's hand, and pressing it to his We would have died for you.

breast.) Rend not my heart in twain ! O talk (3d Soldier endeavours nert to speak, but cannot ; not thus!

and kneeling down by Basil, covers his face I knew thou wert superior to myself,

with his cloak. Rosinberg turns his face to the And to all men beside: thou wert my pride ;

wall and weeps.) I paid thee deference with a willing heart.

Bas. (in a very faint broken voice.) Where art Bas. It was delusion, all delusion, Rosinberg'

thou ? do not leave me, RosinbergI feel my weakness now, I own my pride.

Come near to me—these fellows make me weep: Give me thy hand, my time is near the close : I have no power to weep-give me thy handDo this for me : thou know'st my love, Victoria I love to feel thy grasp-my heart beats strangely

Ros. O curse that woman ! she it is alone It beats as though its breathings would be fewShe has undone us all!

Remember Bas. It doubles unto me the stroke of death Ros. Is there aught thou wouldst desire? To hear thee name her thus. O curse her not! Bas. Naught but a little earth to cover me, The fault is mine ; she's gentle, good and blame- And lay the smooth sod even with the groundless.

Let no stone mark the spot-give no offence. Thou wilt not then my dying wish fulfil ?

I fain would say–what can I say to thee? Ros. I will! I will! what wouldst thou have me (A deep pause; after a feeble struggle, Basil do ?

expires.) Bas. See her when I am gone; be gentle with her; Ist Sol. That motion was his last. And tell her that I bless'd her in my death ;

2d Sol.

His spirit's fled. E'en in my agonies I loved and bless'd her.

1st Sol. God grant it peace! it was a noble spirit! Wilt thou do this?

4th Sol. The trumpet's sound did never rouse a Ros. I'll do what thou desirest.

braver. Bas. I thank thee, Rosinberg; my time draws 1st Sol. Alas! no trumpet e'er shall rouse him

more, (Raising his head a little, and perceiving Of. Until the dreadful blast that wakes the dead. ficers.)

20 Sol. And when that sounds it will not wake Is there not some one here? are we alone ?

a braver.


3d Sol. How pleasantlv he shared our hardest Vict. (recovering.) Unloose thy hold, and let me toil!

look upon him. Our coarsest food the daintiest fare he made. 0! horrid, horrid sight! my ruin'd Basil! 4th Sol. Ay, many a time, i' the cold damp plain Is this the sad reward of all thy love! has he

0! I have murder'd thee! With cheerful countenance cried, “ Good rest, my (Kneels down by the body and bends over it.) hearts !"

These wasted streams of life! this bloody wound ! Then wrapp'd him in his cloak, and laid him down

(Laying her hand upon his heart.) Een like the meanest soldier in the fie

Is there no breathing here? all still ! all cold. (Rosinberg all this time continues hanging over Open thine eyes, speak, be thyself again,

the body, and gazing upon it. Valtomer now And I will love thee, serve thee, follow thee, endeavours to draw him away.)

In spite of all reproach. Alas! alas ! Valt. This is too sad, my lord.

A lifeless corse art thou for ever laid, Ros. There, seest thou how he lies ? so fix'd, so l And dost not hear my call.pale ?

Ros. No, madam; now your pity comes too late. Ah! what an end is this! thus lost! thus fall’n! Vict. Dost thou upbraid me? 0! I have deserved To be thus taken in his middle course,

it! Where he so nobly strove; till cursed passion Ros. No, madam, no, I will not now upbraid: Came like a sun-stroke on his midday toil,

But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
And cut the strong man down. O Basil! Basil! Short as it violent is; in gayer scenes,
Valt. Forbear, my friend, we must not sorrow Where soon thou shalt in giddy circles blaze,
here. .

And play the airy goddess of the day,
Ros, He was the younger brother of my soul. Thine eye, perchance, amidst th' observing crowd,

Valt. Indeed, my lord, it is too sad a sight. Shall mark the indignant face of Basil's friend, Time calls us, let the body be removed.

And then it will upbraid. Ros. He was-O! he was like no other man! Vict. No, never, never! thus it shall not be.

Valt. (still endeavouring to draw him away.) To the dark, shaded cloister wilt thou go, Nay now forbear.

Where sad and lonely, through the dismal grate Ros.

I loved him from his birth! Thou'lt spy my wasted form, and then upbraid me. Valt. Time presses, let the body be removed. Ros. Forgive me, heed me not; I'm grieved at Ros. What say'st thou ?

heart; Valt.

Shall we not remove him hence? I'm fretted, gall’d, all things are hateful to me. Ros. He has forbid it, and has charged me well If thou didst love my friend, I will forgive thee; To leave his grave unknown; for that the church I must forgive thee: with his dying breath All sacred rites to the self-slain denies.

He bade me tell thee, that his latest thoughts He would not give offence.

Were love to thee; in death he loved and bless'd Ist Sol. What shall our general, like a very

thee. wretch,

(Victoria goes to throw herself upon the body but Be laid unhonour'd in the common ground ?

is prevented by Valtomer and Isabella, who No last salute to bid his soul farewell ?

support her in their arms and endeavour to draw No warlike lionours paid ? it shall not be.

her away from it.) 20 Sol. Laid thus ? no, by the blessed light of Vict. 0! force me not away! by his cold corse, heaven!

Let me lie down and weep. 0! Basil, Basil! In the most holy spot in Mantua's walls

The gallant and the brave! how hast thou loved He shall be laid: in face of day be laid;

me! And though black priests should curse us in the If there is any holy kindness in you, teeth,

(to Isab. and Valt.) We will fire o'er him whilst our hands have power Tear me not hence. To grasp a musket.

For he loved me in thoughtless folly lost, Several Soldiers. Let those who dare forbid it! With all my faults, most worthless of his love ; Ros. My brave companions, be it as you will. And him I'll love in the low bed of death, (Spreading out his arms as if he would embrace the In horror and decay.-

Soldiers. They prepare to remove the body.) Near his lone tomb I'll spend my wretched days Valt. Nay, stop a while, we will not move it In humble prayer for his departed spirit: dow,

Cold as his grave shall be my earthy bed, For see a mournful visiter appears,

As dark my cheerless cell. Force me not hence. And must not be denied.

I will not go, for grief hath made me strong.

(Struggling to get loose.) Enter VICTORIA and ISABELLA.

Ros. Do not withhold her, leave her sorrow free. Vict, I thought to find him here, where has he (They let her go, and she throws herself upon the fled ?

body in an agony of grief.)
(Rosinberg points to the body without speaking. It doth subdue the sternness of my grief

Victoria shrieks out and falls into the arms of To see her mourn him thus.-Yet I must curse.

Heaven's curses light upon her damned father, Isab. Alas! my gentle mistress, this will kill Whose crooked policy has wrought this wreck! thee,

Isab. If he has done it, you are well revenged,

For all his hidden plots detected are.

And they who travel o'cold winter nights Gauriceio, for some interest of his own,

Think homeliest quarters good. His master's secret dealings with the foe

Jer. He is not far behind ? Has to Lanoy betray’d; who straight hath sent Man.

A little way. On the behalf of his imperial lord,

(To the Servants.) Go you and wait below till he A message full of dreadful threats to Mantua.

arrives. His discontented subjects aid him not:

Jer (shaking Manuel by the hand.) Indeed, my He must submit to the degrading terms

friend, I'm glad to see you here, A haughty conquering power will now impose. Yet marvel wherefore. Ros. Art thou sure of this?

Man. I marvel wherefore too, my honest Jerome: Isab.

I am, my lord. But here we are; prithee be kind to us. Ros. Give me thy hand, I'm glad on't, 0! I'm Jer. Most heartily I will. I love your master: glad on't!

He is a quiet and a liberal man: It should be so ! How like a hateful ape

A better inmate never cross'd my door. Detected grinning, 'midst his pilfer'd hoard,

Man. Ah! but he is not now the man he was. A cunning man appears, whose secret frauds Liberal he'll be. God grant he may be quiet. Are opend to the day! scorn'd, hooted, mock'd! Jer. What has befall’n him? Scorn'd by the very fools who most admired


I cannot tell thee; His worthless art. But when a great mind falls, But faith, there is no living with him now. The noble nature of man's generous heart

Jer. And yet methinks, if I remember well, Doth bear him up against the shame of ruin ; You were about to quit his service, Manuel, With gentle censure using but its faults

When last he left this house. You grumbled then. As modest means to introduce his praise ;

Man. I've been upon the eve of leaving him For pity like a dewy twilight comes

These ten long years; for many times is he
To close the oppressive splendour of his day, So difficult, capricious, and distrustful,
And they who but admired him in his height, He galls my nature-yet, I know not how,
His alter'd state lament, and love him fall’n. A secret kindness binds me to him still.

[EXEUNT. Jer. Some, who offend from a suspicious nature,

Will afterward such fair confession make
As turns e'en th' offence into a favour.

Man. Yes, some indeed do so: so will not he:

He'd rather die than such confession make.

Jer. Ay, thou art right; for now I call to mind

That once he wrong'd me with unjust suspicion, PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

When first he came to lodge beneath my roof

And when it so fell out that I was proved DE MONFORT.

Most guiltless of the fault, I truly thought REZENVELT.

He would have made profession of regret. Count Freberg, Friend to De Monfort and Rezenvelt.

But silent, haughty, and ungraciously
MANUEL, Servant to De Monfort.

He bore himself as one offended still.
Jerome, De Monfort's old Landlord.
CONRAD, an artful Knare.

Yet shortly after, when unwittingly
BERNARD, a Monk.

I did him some slight service, o’the sudden
Monks, Gentlemen, Officers, Page, &c. &c.

He overpower'd me with his grateful thanks,
And would not be restrain’d from pressing on me

A noble recompense. I understood
JANE DE MONFORT, Sister to De Monfort.

His o’erstrain'd gratitude and bounty well, Countess FREBERG, Wife to Freberg.

And took it as he meant. THERESA, Servant to the Countess.


'Tis often thus. Abbess, Nuns, and a Lay Sister, Ladies, fc.

I would have left him many years ago,
Scene, a Town in Germany.

But that with all his faults there sometimes come
Such bursts of natural goodness from his heart,

As might engage a harder churl than me

To serve him still.–And then his sister too;

A noble dame, who should have been a queen: A LARGE OLD

The meanest of her hinds, at her command,

Had fought like lions for her, and the poor, Jer. (speaking without.) This way,good masters.

E’en o'er their bread of poverty, had bless'd her Enter JEROME, bearing a light, and followed by MANUEL, She would have grieved if I had left my lord. and Servants carrying luggage.

Jer. Comes she along with him ?
Rest your burdens here. Man. No, he departed all unknown to her,
This spacious room will please the marquis best. Meaning to keep conceald his secret route;
He takes me unawares; but ill prepared :

But well I knew it would aMict her much,
If he had sent, e'en though a hasty notice, And therefore left a little nameless billet,
I had been glad.

Which after our departure, as I guess, Man.

Be not disturb'd, good Jerome ; Would fall into her hands, and tell her all. Thy house is in most admirable order ;

What could I do? O 'tis a noble lady!




Jer. All this is strange-something disturbs his

mindBelike he is in love. Man.

No, Jerome, no.
Once on a time I served a noble master,
Vhose youth was blasted with untoward love,
And he with hope, and fear, and jealousy
For ever toss'd, led an unquiet life;
Yet, when unruffled by the passing fit,
His pale wan face such gentle sadness wore
As moved a kindly heart to pity him.
But Monfort, even in his calmest hour,
Still bears that gloomy sternness in his eye
Which powerfully repels all sympathy.
O no! good Jerome, no; it is not love.

Jer. Here is a little of the favourite wine
That you were wont to praise. Pray honour me.

(Fills a glass.) De Mon. (after drinking.) I thank you, Jerome,

'tis delicious.
Jer. Ay, my dear wife did ever make it so.
De Mon. And how does she?

Alas, my lord! she's dead.
De Mon. Well, then she is at rest.

How well, my lord ?
De Mon. Is she not with the dead, the quiet dead,
Where all is peace ? Not e'en the impious wretch,
Who tears the coffin from its earthly vault,
And strews the mouldering ashes to the wind,
Can break their rest.

Jer. Hear I not horses trampling at the gate ? | Jer. Wo's me! I thought you would have


grieved for her. He is arrived-stay thou-I had forgot

She was a kindly soul! Before she died, A plague upon't! my head is so confused When pining sickness bent her cheerless head, I will return i'th' instant to receive him.

She set my house in order

[Exit hastily. And but the morning ere she breathed her last, (A great bustle without. Exit Manuel with Bade me preserve some flaskets of this wine,

lights, and returns again, lighting in DE | That should the Lord De Monfort come again MONFORT, as if just alighted from his jour- His cup might sparkle still. (De Monfort walks ney.)

across the stage, and wipes his eyes.) Man. Your ancient host, my lord, receives you | Indeed I fear I have distress'd you, sir ; gladly,

I surely thought you would be grieved for her. And your apartment will be soon prepared.

De Mon. (taking Jerome's hand.) I am, my De Mon. 'Tis well.

friend. How long has she been dead? Man. Where shall I place the chest you gave in Jer. Two sad long years. charge?

De Mon

Would she were living still : So please you, say my lord.

I was too troublesome, too heedless of her. De Mon. (throwing himself into a chair.) Wher- Jer. O no! she loved to serve you. e'er thou wilt.

(Loud knocking without.) Man. I would not move that luggage till you De Mon. What fool comes here, at such untimely came. (Pointing to certain things.)

hours, De Mon. Move what thou wilt, and trouble me To make this cursed noise ? (To Manuel.) Go to no more.

[Exit Manuel. (Manuel, with the assistance of other Servants, | All sober citizens are gone to bed ;

sets about putting the things in order, and De It is some drunkards on their nightly rounds, Monfort remains sitting in a thoughtful pos- Who mean it but in sport. ture.)

Jer. I hear unusual voices-here they come.

the gate.

Enter JEROME, bearing wine, &c. on a salver. As he Re-enter Manuel, showing in Count Freberg and his approaches DE MONFORT, MANUEL pulls him by the

LADY, with a mask in her hand. sleeve.

Freb. (running to embrace De Mon.) My dearMan. (aside to Jerome.) No, do not now; he

est Monfort! most unlook'd for pleasure ! will not be disturb'd.

Do I indeed embrace thee here again? Jer. What, not to bid him welcome to my house, I saw thy servant standing by the gate, And offer some refreshment?

His face recall’d, and learnt the joyful tidings. Man.

No, good Jerome. Welcome, thrice welcome here ! Softly a little while: I prithee do.

De Mon. I thank thee, Freberg, for this friendly (Jerome walks softly on tiptoes, till he gets behind

visit, De Monfort, then peeping on one side to see his And this fair lady too. (Bowing to the lady.) face,)


I fear, my lord, Jer. (aside to Manuel.) Ah, Manuel, what an We do intrude at an untimely hour : alter'd man is here!

But now, returning from a midnight mask, His eyes are hollow, and his cheeks are pale My husband did insist that we should enter. He left this house a comely gentleman.

Freb. No, say not so; no hour untimely call, De Mon. Who whispers there?

Which doth together bring long absent friends. Man.

'Tis your old landlord, sir. Dear Monfort, why hast thou so slyly play'd, Jer. I joy to see you here, I crave your pardon-To come upon us thus so suddenly? I fear I do intrude.

De Mon. O! many varied thoughts do cross our De Mon. No, my kind host, I am obliged to thee.

brain, Jer. How fares it with your honour ?

Which touch the will, but leave the memory De Mon.

Well enough.

trackless ;

And yet a strange compounded motive make, Music, and dance, and revelry shall reign; Wherefore a man should bend his evening walk I pray you come and grace it with your presence. To th’ east or west, the forest or the field.

De Mon. You honour me too much to be denied. Is it not often so?

Lady. I thank you, sir; and in return for this, Freb. I ask no more, happy to see you here We shall withdraw, and leave you to repose. From any motive. There is one behind,

Freb. Must it be so? Good night—sweet sleep Whose presence would have been a double bliss :

to thee!

(To De Monfort.) Ah! how is she? Th noble Jane De Monfort. De Mon. (To Freb.) Good night. (To Lady.) De Mon. (confused.) She is-I have—I left my

Good night, fair lady. sister well.


Farewell! Lady. (to Freberg.) My Freberg, you are heed

(EXEUNT Freberg and Lady. less of respect:

De Mon. (to Jer.) I thought Count Freberg had You surely mean to say the Lady Jane.

been now in France. Freb. Respect! no, madam ; princess, empress, Jer. He meant to go, as I have been inform’d. queen,

De Mon. Well, well, prepare my bed; I will to Could not denote a creature so exalted


[Exit Jerome As this plain appellation doth,

De Mon. (aside.) I know not how it is, my heart The noble Jane De Monfort.

stands back, Lady. (turning from him displeased to Mon.) You And meets not this man's love.-Friends ! rarest are fatigued, my lord; you want repose ;

friends! Say, should we not retire?

Rather than share his undiscerning praise Freb.

Ha! is it so?

With every table wit, and bookform'd sage,
My friend, your face is pale, have you been ill ? And paltry poet puling to the moon,
De Mon. No, Freberg, no; I think I have been I'd court from him proscription, yea, abuse,
And think it proud distinction.

(EXIT. Freb. (shaking his head.) I fear thou hast not, Monfort-Let it pass.


HOUSE ; A TABLE AND BREAKFAST SET OUT. We'll re-establish thee: we'll banish pain. I will collect some rare, some cheerful friends, Enter De MONFORT, followed by MANUEL, and seus And we shall spend together glorious hours,

himself down by the table, with a cheerful face. That gods might envy. Little time so spent De Mon. Manuel, this morning's sun shines Doth far outvalue all our life beside.

pleasantly: This is indeed our life, our waking life,

These old apartments too are light and cheerful. The rest dull breathing sleep.

Our landlord's kindness has revived me much; De Mon. Thus, it is true, from the sad years of He serves as though he loved me. This pure air life

Braces the listless nerves, and warms the blood; We sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes strike, I feel in freedom here. Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten;

(Filling a cup of coffee, and drinking.) Which, through the dreary gloom of time o'erpast, Man.

Ah! sure, my lord, Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste. No air is purer than the air at home. But few they are, as few the heaven-fired souls De Mon. Here can I wander with assured steps, Whose magic power creates them. Bless'd art Nor dread, at every winding of the path, thou,

Lest an abhorred serpent cross my way, If, in the ample circle of thy friends,

To move

(Stopping short.) Thou canst but boast a few.

Man. What says your honour ? Freb. Judge for thyself: in truth I do not There are no serpents in our pleasant fields. boast.

De Mon. Think'st thou there are no serpents in There is amongst my friends, my later friends,

the world A most accomplish'd stranger: new to Amberg ; But those who slide along the grassy sod, But just arrived, and will ere long depart. And sting the luckless foot that presses them? I met him in Franconia two years since.

There are who in the path of social life He is so full of pleasant anecdote,

Do bask their spotted skins in fortune's sun, So rich, so gay, so poignant is his wit,

And sting the soul-Ay, till its healthful frame Time vanishes before him as he speaks,

Is changed to secret, festering, sore disease,
And ruddy morning through the lattice peeps So deadly is the wound.
Ere night seems well begun.

Man, Heaven guard your honour from such horrid
De Mon.
How is he call'd ?

scath! Freb. I will surprise thee with a welcome face: They are but rare, I hope? I will not tell the now.

De Mon. (shaking his head.) We mark the hollow Lady. (to Mon.) I have, my lord, a small request

eye, the wasted frame, to make,

The gait disturb'd of wealthy honour'd men, And must not be denied. I too may boast

But do not know the cause. Of some good friends, and beauteous country Man. 'Tis very true. God keep you well, my

lord ! To-morrow night I open wide my doors

De Mon. I thank thee, Manuel, I am very well. 'e fair and gay: beneath my roof

I shall be gay too, by the setting sun.


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