Let no nice taste the poet's art arraign, If some frail vicious characters he feign: Who writes, should still let nature be his care, Mix shades with lights, and not paint all things fair, And Heav'n, in justice, made that one a queen. Dramatis Personae. DRURY-LANE. SCIOLTO, a nobleman of Genoa Calista HORATIO, his friend LOTHARIO, a young lord and enemy to Al Men. Mr. Aickin. Mr. Barrymore. Mr. Palmer. Mr. Williames. Women. Mrs. Siddons. Mrs. Ward. HORATIO, bis friend LOTHARIO, a young lord, and enemy to Al Mr. Harley. Mr. Holman. Women. Miss Brunton. Miss Chapman. Miss Stuart. Servants to Sciolto. SCENE, Sciolto's palace and garden, with some part of the street near it, in Genoa. THE FAIR PENITENT. ACTI. SCENE 1. A garden belonging to SCIOLTO's palace. Enter ALTAMONT and HORATIO. Altamont. LET this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it : Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their wishes, Hor. Yes, Altamont; to-day thy better stars Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee; Sciolto's noble hand that rais'd thee first, Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, Completes it's bounty, and restores thy name To that high rank and lustre which it boasted, Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot The merit of thy god-like father's arms; Before that country, which he long had serv'd In watchful councils, and in winter-camps, Had cast off his white age to want and wretchedness, And made their court to faction by his ruin. Alt. Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than father! Let me not live, but at thy very name; 20 My eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy. Hor. So open, so unbounded was his goodness, He call'd us his, and, with a parent's fondness, 40 Alt. By Heav'n he found my fortunes so abandon'd, That nothing but a miracle could raise 'em : My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude, Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him ev❜n a grave. Undone myself and sinking with his ruin, I had no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him, But fruitless tears. Hor. Yet what thou could'st, thou didst, And didst it like a son; when his hard creditors, Urg'd and assisted by Lothario's father, (Foe to thy house, and rival of their greatness) By sentence of the cruel law forbid His venerable corpse to rest in earth, Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones; With piety uncommon didst give up Thy hopeful youth to slaves who ne'er knew mercy, 60 Alt. But see he comes, the author of my happiness, The man who sav'd my life from deadly sorrow, Who bids my days be blest with peace and plenty, And satisfies my soul with love and beauty. Enter SCIOLTO; he runs to ALTAMONT, and embraces him. Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont! Joy to myself! Joy to this happy morn that makes thee mine; That kindly grants what nature had denied me, And makes me father of a son like thee. Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast, Pour out the fulness of my soul before you; Shew every tender, every grateful thought, This wond'rous goodness stirs. But 'tis impossible, And utterance all is vile; since I can only Swear you reign here, but never tell how much. "Sci. It is enough; I know thee, thou art honest; |