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Cal. And dost thou bear me yet, thou patient

Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight?
And you, ye glitt'ring, heav'nly host of stars,
Hide your fair heads in clouds, or I shall blast you; 240
For I am all contagion, death, and ruin,
And nature sickens at me. Rest, thou world,
This parricide shall be thy plague no more ;
Thus, thus I set thee free.

[Stabs herself. Hor. Oh, fatal rashness!

Alt. Thou dost instruct me well. To lengthen life, Is but to trife now.

[Altamont offers to kill himself; Horatio pre

vents him, and wrests his sword from him.
Hor. Ha! what means
The frantic Altamont? Some foe to man
Has breath'd on ev'ry breast contagious fury,
And epidemic madness.

Enter Sciolto, pale and bloody, supported by servants,

Cal. Oh, my heart !
Well may’st thou fail; for see, the spring that fed
Thy vital stream is wasted, and runs low.
My father ! will you now, at last, forgive me,
If, after all my crimes, and all your suff'rings,
I call you once again by that dear name?
Will you forget my shame, and those wide wounds?
Lift up your hand, and bless me, ere I go
Down to my dark abode ?

260 Şci. Alas, my daughter!

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Thou hast rashly ventur'd in a stormy sea,
Where life, fame, virtue, all were wreck'd and lost.
But sure thou hast borne thy part in all the anguish,
And smarted with the pain. Then, rest in peace :
Let silence and oblivion hide thy name,
And save thee from the malice of posterity ;
And may'st thou find with Heav'n the same forgive-

As with thy father here.-Die, and be happy.

Cal. Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon my soul, And ev'ry pain grows less—Oh, gentle Altamont! Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone; But pity me- -Had I but early known Thy wond'rous worth, thou excellent young man, We had been happier both-Now, 'tis too late; And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee; Thou art their last dear object--Mercy, Heav'n!

[She dies. Alt. Cold ! dead, and cold! and yet thou art not

But lovely still. Hadst thou a thousand faults,
What heart so hard, what virtue so severe, 280
But at that beauty must of force relented,
Melted to pity, love, and to forgiveness ?
Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Alta.

Come near, and let me bless thee, ere I die.
To thee, and brave Horatio, I bequeath
My fortunes-Lay me by thy noble father,
And love my memory, as thou hast his;

For thou hast been my son-Oh, gracious Heav'n!
Thou that hast endless blessings still in store
For virtue, and for filial piety,
Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away;
But multiply thy mercies on his head.
Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with him,
And peace in all his ways

[He dies.
Alt. Take, take it all :
To thee, Horatio, I resign the gift,
While I pursue my father, and

my love, And find my only portion in the grave.

Hor. The storm of grief bears hard upon his youth, And bends him, like a drooping flower to earth. 300 By such examples are we taught to prove The sorrows that attend unlawful love. Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide, The injur'd bridegroom from his guilty bride.

would have the nuptial union last, Let virtue be the bond that ties it fast.

[Exeunt omnes.

If you


You see the tripping dame could find no favour;
Dearly she paid for breach of good behaviour;
Nor could her loving husband's fondness save her.
Italian ladies lead but


lives, There's dreadful dealings with eloping wives : Thus tis, because these husbands are obey'd By force of laws, which for themselves they made. With tales of old prescriptions, they confine The right of marriage-rules to their male line, And huff, and domineer by right divine. Had we the pow'r, we'd make the tyrants know, What 'tis to fail in duties which they owe; We'd teach the saunt'ring squire, who loves to roam, Forgetful of his own dear spouse at home; Who snores, at night, supinely by her side ; 'Twas not for this the nuptial knot was ty’d. The plodding petty-fogger, and the cit, Have learn'd, at least, this modern way of wit. Each ill-bred, senseless rogue, tho' ne’er so dull, Has th' impudence to think his wife a fool; He spends the night, where merry wags resort, With joking clubs, and eighteen-penny port; While she, poor soul, 's contented to regale, By a sad sea-coal fire, with wigs and ale.

Well may the cuckold-making tribe find grace,
And fill an absent husband's empty place.
If you wou'd e'er bring constancy in fashion,
You men must first begin the reformation.
Then shall the golden age of love return,
No turtle for her wand'ring mate shall mourn;
No foreign charms shall cause domestic strife,
But every married man shall toast his wife;
Phillis shall not be to the country sent,
For carnivals in town to keep a tedious Lent;
Lampoons shall cease, and envious scandal die,
And all shall live in peace, like my good man and I.

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