To all deluded Sicily? But know, This

poor contrivance is as weak as base. In such a wretched toil none can be held But fools and cowards.Soon thy flimsy arts, Touched by my just, my burning indignation, Shall burst, like threads, in flame.-Thy doating prudence

But more secures the purpose it would shake.
Had my resolves been wavering and doubtful,
This would confirm them, make them fixed as
fate;

This adds the only motive that was wanting,
To urge them on through war and desolation.
What! marry her! Constantia! her! the daugh-

Sif. Oh, let it burst

On this grey head, devoted to thy service!
But when the storm has vented all its fury,
Thou then must hear-nay, more, I know thou
wilt-

Wilt hear the calm, yet stronger voice of reason.
Thou must reflect, that a whole people's safety,
The weal of trusted millions, should bear down,
Thyself the judge, the fondest partial pleasure.
Thou must reflect, that there are other duties,
A nobler pride, a more exalted honour,
Superior pleasures far, that will oblige,
Compel thee, to abide by this my deed,
Unwarranted, perhaps, in common justice,
But which necessity, even virtue's tyrant,
With awful voice commanded.-Yes, thou must,
In calmer hours, divest thee of thy love,
These common passions of the vulgar breast,
This boiling heat of youth, and be a king,
The lover of thy people!

VOL. I.

Tan. Truths, ill employed, Abused to colour guilt!A king! a king! Yes, I will be a king, but not a slave; In this will be a king; in this my people Shall learn to judge how I will guard their rights, When they behold me vindicate my own. But have I, say, been treated like a king?Heavens! could I stoop to such outrageous usage, I were a mean, a shameless wretch, unworthy To wield a sceptre in a land of slaves, A soil abhorred of virtue; should belie My father's blood, belie those very maxims, At other times you taught my youth-Siffredi ! [In a softened tone of voice.

Sif. Behold, my prince, thy poor old servant,
Whose darling care, these twenty years, has been
To nurse thee up to virtue; who, for thee,
Thy glory and thy weal, renounces all,
All interest or ambition can pour forth;
What many a selfish father would pursue
Through treachery and crimes. Behold him here,
Bent on his feeble knees, to beg, conjure thee,
With tears to beg thee to controul thy passion,
And save thyself, thy honour, and thy people!
Kneeling with me, behold the many thousands
To thy protection trusted; fathers, mothers,
The sacred front of venerable age,

The tender virgin, and the helpless infant;
The ministers of Heaven, those who maintain,
Around thy throne, the majesty of rule;
And those whose labour, scorched by wind and

Is but the wafted dust upon the balance?
Turn not away-
-Oh! is there not some part

In thy great heart, so sensible to kindness,
And generous warmth, some nobler part, to feel
The prayers and tears of these, the mingled voice
Of Heaven and earth?

Tan. There is, and thou hast touched it.
Rise, rise, Siffredi- -Oh, thou hast undone me
Unkind old man!- -Oh, ill-entreated Tancred!
Which way soe'er I turn, dishonour rears
Her hideous front-and misery and ruin!
Was it for this you took such care to form me!
For this imbued me with the quickest sense
Of shame; these finer feelings, that ne'er vex
The common mass of mortals, dully happy
In blessed insensibility? Oh, rather
You should have seared my heart, taught me,
that power,

And splendid interest, lord it still o'er virtue;
That, gilded by prosperity and pride,
There is no shame, no meanness; tempered thus,
I had been fit to rule a venal world.
3 Z

Rod. My lord,

Blame not the conduct which your situation Tore from your tortured heart-What could you do?

Had you, so circumstanced, in open senate,
Before the astonished public, with no friends
Prepared, no party formed, affronted thus
The haughty princess and her powerful faction,
Supported by this will, the sudden stroke,
Abrupt and premature, might have recoiled
Upon yourself, even your own friends revolted,
And turned at once the public scale against you.
Besides, consider, had you then detected
In its fresh guilt this action of Siffredi,
You must, with signal vengeance, have chastised
The treasonable deed-Nothing so mean
As weak, insulted power that dares not punish.
And how would that have suited with your love?
His daughter present too? Trust me, your con-
duct,

Howe'er abhorrent to a heart like yours,
Was fortunate and wise-Not that I mean
E'er to advise submission-

Tan. Heavens! submission

Could I descend to bear it, even in thought,
Despise me, you, the world, and Sigismunda!
Submission!--No!-To-morrow's glorious light
Shall flash discovery on the scene of baseness.
Whatever be the risk, by heavens! to-morrow,
I will o'erturn the dirty lie-built schemes
Of these old men, and shew my faithful senate,
That Manfred's son knows to assert and wear,
With undiminished dignity, that crown

This unexpected day has placed upon him.
But this, my friend, these stormy gusts of pride
Are foreign to my love-Till Sigismunda
Be disabused, my breast is tumult all,
And can obey no settled course of reason.
I see her still, I feel her powerful image,
That look, where with reproach complaint was
mixed,

Big with soft woe, and gentle indignation,
Which seemed at once to pity and to scorn

me

Oh, let me find her! I too long have left
My Sigismunda to converse with tears,

A prey to thoughts that picture me a villain.
But ah! how, clogged with this accursed state,
A tedious world, shall I now find access?
Her father too-Ten thousand horrors crowd
Into the wild, fantastic eye of love-
Who knows what he may do? Come, then, my
friend,

And by thy sister's hand, oh, let me steal

A letter to her bosom-I no longer

Can bear her absence, by the just contempt

She now must brand me with, inflamed to mad

ness.

Fly, my Rodolpho, fly! engage thy sister
To aid my letter.

And this very evening

Secure an interview-I would not bear

This rack another day, not for my kingdom.

Till then, deep plunged in solitude and shades,

I will not see the hated face of man.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A Chamber.

SIGISMUNDA alone, sitting in a disconsolate posture.

Aн, tyrant prince! ah more than faithless Tancred!

Ungenerous and inhuman in thy falsehood! Hadst thou this morning, when my hopeless heart,

Submissive to my fortune and my duty,
Had so much spirit left, as to be willing
To give thee back thy vows, ah! hadst thou then
Confessed the sad necessity thy state
Imposed upon thee, and with gentle friendship,
Since we must part at last, our parting softened;
I should indeed-I should have been unhappy,
But not to this extreme-Amidst my grief,
I had, with pensive pleasure, cherished still
The sweet remembrance of thy former love.
Thy image still had dwelt upon my soul,
And made our guiltless woes not undelightful.
But coolly thus-How couldst thou be so cruel?
Thus to revive my hopes, to soothe my love,
And call forth all its tenderness, then sink me
In black despair-What unrelenting pride

Possessed thy breast, that thou couldst bear, unmoved,

To see me bent beneath a weight of shame? Pangs thou canst never feel! How couldst thou drag me,

In barbarous triumph at a rival's car?
How make me witness to a sight of horror?
That hand, which, but a few short hours ago,
So wantonly abused my simple faith,
Before the attesting world given to another,
Irrevocably given !-There was a time,
When the least cloud that hung upon my brow,
Perhaps imagined only, touched thy pity.
Then, brightened often by the ready tear,
Thy looks were softness all; then the quick
heart,

In every nerve alive, forgot itself,

And for each other then we felt alone.
But now, alas! those tender days are fled;
Now thou canst see me wretched, pierced with
anguish,

With studied anguish of thy own creating,
Nor wet thy hardened eye-Hold, let me think-
I wrong thee sure; thou canst not be so base,
As meanly in my misery to triumph-

What is it, then!-'Tis fickleness of nature,
'Tis sickly love extinguished by ambition-

Is there, kind Heaven, no constancy in man?
No stedfast truth, no generous fixed affection,
That can bear up against a selfish world?
No, there is none-even Tancred is inconstant!
[Rising.
Hence! let me fly this scene!-Whate'er I see,
These roofs, these walls, cach object that sur-
rounds me,

Are tainted with his vows-But whither fly? The groves are worse; the soft retreat of Belmont,

Its deepening glooms, gay lawns, and airy summits,

Will wound my busy memory to torture,
And all its shades will whisper-faithless Tan-

cred!

My father comes-How, sunk in this disorder, Shall I sustain his presence?

Enter SIFFREDI.

Sif. Sigismunda,

My dearest child! I grieve to find thee thus
A prey to tears. I know the powerful cause
From which they flow, and therefore can ex-
cuse them,

But not their wilful obstinate continuance.
Come, rouse thee, then, call up thy drooping
spirit,

Awake to reason from this dream of love,
And shew the world thou art Siffredi's daughter.
Sig. Alas! I am unworthy of that name.
Sif. Thou art indeed to blame; thou hast too
rashly

Engaged thy heart, without a father's sanction,
But this I can forgive. The king has virtues,
That plead thy full excuse; nor was I void

Of blame, to trust thee to those dangerous vir

tues.

Then dread not my reproaches. Though he blames,

Thy tender father pitics, more than blames thee.
Thou art my daughter still; and, if thy heart
Will now resume its pride, assert itself,
And greatly rise superior to this trial,
I to my warmest confidence again

Will take thee, and esteem thee more, my daughter.

Sig. Oh, you are gentler far than I deserve! It is, it ever was, my darling pride,

To bend my soul to your supreme commands,
Your wisest will; and though, by love betrayed-
Alas! and punished too-I have transgressed
The nicest bounds of duty, yet I feel
A sentiment of tenderness, a source
Of filial nature springing in my breast,
That, should it kill me, shall controul this passion,
And make me all submission and obedience
To you, my honoured lord, the best of fathers.
Sif. Come to my arms, thou comfort of my
age!

Thou only joy and hope of these grey hairs!
Come, let me take thee to a parent's heart;
There, with the kindly aid of my advice,
Even with the dew of these paternal tears,
Revive and nourish this becoming spirit-
Then thou dost promise me, my Sigismunda―
Thy father stoops to make it his request—
Thou wilt resign thy fond presumptuous hopes,
And henceforth never more indulge one thought,
That in the light of love regards the king?

Sig. Hopes I have none !-Those by this fa
tal day

Are blasted all-But from my soul to banish, While weeping memory there retains her seat, Thoughts which the purest bosom might have cherished,

Once my delight, now even in anguish charming,

Is more, my lord, than I can promise.

Sif. Absence, and time, the softener of our passions,

Will conquer this.

thee

Meantime, I hope from

A generous great effort; that thou wilt now
Exert thy utmost force, nor languish thus
Beneath the vain extravagance of love.
Let not thy father blush to hear it said,
His daughter was so weak, c'er to admit
A thought so void of reason, that a king
Should, to his rank, his honour, and his glory,
The high important duties of a throne,
Even to his throne itself, madly prefer
A wild romantic passion, the fond child
Of youthful dreaming thought and vacant hours;
That he should quit his heaven-appointed sta-
tion,

Desert his awful charge, the care of all
The toiling millions which this isle contains ;
Nay, more, should plunge them into war and
ruin,

And all to soothe a sick imagination,

A miserable weakness. What! must for thee,
To make thee blest, Sicilia be unhappy?
The king himself, lost to the nobler sense
Of manly praise, become the piteous hero
Of some soft tale, and rush on sure destruction?
Canst thou, my daughter, let the monstrous
thought

Possess one moment thy perverted fancy?
Rouse thee, for shame! and if a spark of virtue
Lies slumbering in thy soul, bid it blaze forth;
Nor sink unequal to the glorious lesson,
This day thy lover gave thee from his throne.

Sig. Ah, that was not from virtue !-Had, my father,

That been his aim, I yield to what you say ;
'Tis powerful truth, unanswerable reason.
Then, then, with sad but duteous resignation,
I had submitted as became your daughter;
But in that moment, when my humbled hopes
Were to my duty reconciled, to raise them
To yet a fonder height than e'er they knew,

sting!

The blasting view is ever present to me-
Why did you drag me to a sight so cruel!

Sif. It was a scene to fire thy emulation.
Sig. It was a scene of perfidy!-But know,
I will do more than imitate the king-
For he is false !-I, though sincerely pierced
With the best, truest passion, ever touched
A virgin's breast, here vow to Heaven and you,
Though from my heart I cannot, from my hopes
To cast this prince-What would you more, my
father?

Sif. Yes, one thing more- -thy father then is

happy

Though by the voice of innocence and virtue
Absolved, we live not to ourselves alone:
A rigorous world, with peremptory sway,
Subjects us all, and even the noblest most.
This world from thee, my honour and thy own,
Demands one step; a step, by which, convinced,
The king may see thy heart disdains to wear
A chain which his has greatly thrown aside.
'Tis fitting too, thy sex's pride commands thee,
To shew the approving world thou canst resign,
As well as he, nor with inferior spirit,
A passion fatal to the public weal.
But above all, thou must root out for ever
From the king's breast the least remain of hope,
And henceforth make his mentioned love dishon-

our.

These things, my daughter, that must needs be done,

Can but this way be done-by the safe refuge,
The sacred shelter, of a husband's arms.
And there is one-

Sig. Good heavens! what means my lord?
Sif. One of illustrious family, high rank,
Yet still of higher dignity and merit,
Who can and will protect thee; one to awe
The king himself—Nay, hear me, Sigismunda-
The noble Osmond courts thee for his bride,
And has my plighted word-This day—
Sig. [Kneeling.] My father!

Let me with trembling arms embrace thy knees!
Oh, if you ever wish to see me happy;
If e'er in infant years I gave you joy,
When, as I prattling twined around your neck,
You snatched me to your bosom, kissed my eyes,
And melting said you saw my mother there;
Oh, save me from that worst severity

Of fate! Oh, outrage not my breaking heart
To that degree!-I cannot !-'tis impossible!
So soon withdraw it, give it to another-
Hear me, my dearest father; hear the voice
Of nature and humanity, that plead
As well as justice for me!- -Not to choose
Without your wise direction may be duty;
But still my choice is free-that is a right,
Which even the lowest slave can never lose;
And would you thus degrade me !-make me
base?

Without my heart, an injury to Osmond,
The highest can be done-Let me, my lord-
Or I shall die, shall, by the sudden change,
Be to distraction shocked-Let me wear out
My hapless days in solitude and silence,
Far from the malice of a prying world;
At least you cannot sure refuse me this-
Give me a little time-I will do all,
All I can do, to please you!--Oh, your eye
Sheds a kind beam-

Sif. My daughter! you abuse
The softness of my nature-
Sig. Here, my father,

'Till you relent, here will I grow for ever!
Sif. Rise, Sigismunda.-Though you touch my
heart,

Nothing can shake the inexorable dictates
Of honour, duty, and determined reason.
Then by the holy ties of filial love,

| Resolve, I charge thee, to receive earl Osmond,
As suits the man who is thy father's choice,
And worthy of thy hand-I go to bring him-
Sig. Spare me, my dearest father!
Sif. [Aside.] I must rush

From her soft grasp, or nature will betray me!
Oh, grant us, Heaven! that fortitude of mind,
Which listens to our duty, not our passions!
Quit me, my child!

Sig. You cannot, ob, my father! You cannot leave me thus!

Sif. Come hither, Laura,

Come to thy friend. Now shew thyself a friend. Combat her weakness; dissipate her tears: Cherish, and reconcile her to her duty.

Enter LAURA.

[Exit Siffredi.

Sig. Oh, woe on woe! distressed by love and duty!

Oh, every way unhappy Sigismunda!

Laura. Forgive me, madam, if I blame your grief.

How can you waste your tears on one so false? Unworthy of your tenderness; to whom Nought but contempt is due, and indignation?

Sig. You know not half the horrors of my fate! I might perhaps have learned to scorn his falsehood;

Nay, when the first sad burst of tears was past,
I might have roused my pride and scorned him-

self

But 'tis too much, this greatest last misfortune-
Oh, whither shall I fly? Where hide me, Laura,
From the dire scene my father now prepares?

Laura. What thus alarms you, madam?
Sig. Can it be?

Can! ah, no!—at once give to another
My violated heart? in one wild moment?
He brings earl Osmond to receive my vows.
Oh, dreadful change! for Tancred, haughty Os-
mond!