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'Tis but the mournful breeze that passes by? (Pauses again, and gazes at the window, till the SCENE II.-A WOOD, WILD AND SAVAGE; AN ENTRY light disappears.)

'Tis gone, 'tis gone! these eyes have seen their last!

The last impression of her heavenly form:
The last sight of those walls wherein she lives:
The last blest ray of light from human dwelling.
I am no more a being of this world.
Farewell! farewell! all now is dark for me!
Come fated deed! come horror and despair!
Here lies my dreadful way.

Enter GEOFFRY from behind a tomb.

Geof. O stay, my general!
Bas.

Art thou from the grave? Geof. O my brave general! do you know me not?

I am old Geoffry, the old maim'd soldier,
You did so nobly honour.

Bas. Then go thy way, for thou art honourable: Thou hast no shame, thou need'st not seek the dark

Like fall'n, fameless men. I pray thee go!

Geof. Nay, speak not thus, my noble general! Ah! speak not thus! thou'rt brave, thou'rt honour'd

still.

Thy soldier's fame is far too surely raised

To be o'erthrown with one unhappy chance.
I've heard of thy brave deeds with swelling heart,
And yet shall live to cast my cap in air
At glorious tales of thee.-

Bas. Forbear, forbear! thy words but wring my soul.

Geof. O pardon me! I am old maim'd Geoffry. O! do not go ! I've but one hand to hold thee. (Laying hold of Basil as he attempts to go away. Basil stops, and looks around upon him with softness.)

Bas. Two would not hold so well, old honour'd

veteran !

What wouldst thou have me do?

Geof. Return, my lord; for love of blessed heaven,

Seek not such desperate ways! where would you go?

Bas. Does Geoffry ask where should a soldier go To hide disgrace? there is no place but one. (Struggling to get free.) Let go thy foolish hold, and force me not To do some violence to thy hoary headWhat, wilt thou not? nay, then it must be so. (Breaks violently from him, and EXIT.) Geof. Cursed feeble hand! he's gone to seek perdition!

I cannot run. Where is that stupid hind?
He should have met me here. Holla, Fernando !

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TO A CAVE, VERY MUCH TANGLED WITH BRUSH WOOD, IS SEEN IN THE BACKGROUND. THE TIME REPRESENTS THE DAWN OF MORNING. BASIL IS DISCOVERED STANDING NEAR THE FRONT OF THE STAGE, IN A THOUGHTFUL POSTURE, WITH A COUPLE OF PISTOLS LAID BY HIM ON A PIECE OF PROJECTING ROCK; HE PAUSES FOR SOME TIME.

Bas. (alone.) What shall I be some few short moments hence?

Why ask I now? who from the dead will rise
To tell me of that awful state unknown?
But be it what it may, or bliss, or torment,
Annihilation, dark and endless rest,

Or some dread thing, man's wildest range of thought
Hath never yet conceived, that change I'll dare
Which makes me any thing but what I am.
I can bear scorpions' stings, tread fields of fire,
In frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie,

Be toss'd aloft through tracks of endless void,
But cannot live in shame-(Pauses.) O impious
thought!

Will the great God of mercy, mercy have
On all but those who are most miserable?

Will he not punish with a pitying hand
The poor, fall'n, froward child?
And shall I then against his will offend,
Because he is most good and merciful?

(Pauses.)

O horrid baseness! what, what shall I do? I'll think no more-it turns my dizzy brainIt is too late to think-what must be, must beI cannot live, therefore I needs must die. (Takes up the pistols, and walks up and down, looking wildly around him, then discovering the cave's mouth,)

Here is an entry to some darksome cave,

Where an uncoffin'd corse may rest in peace,
And hide its foul corruption from the earth.
The threshold is unmark'd by mortal foot.

I'll do it here.

(Enters the cave and ExIT; a deep silence; then the report of a pistol is heard from the cave, and soon after, Enter Rosinberg, Valtomer, two Officers and Soldiers, almost at the same moment by different sides of the stage.)

Ros. This way the sound did come. Valt. How came ye, soldiers? heard ye that report?

1st Sol. We heard it, and it seem'd to come from hence,

Which made us this way hie.

Ros. A horrid fancy darts across my mind. (A groan heard from the cave.) (To Valt.) Ha! heard'st thou that? Valt. Methinks it is the groan of one in pain. (A second groan.)

Ros. Ha! there again!

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SCENE III.-THE INSIDE OF THE CAVE. BASIL discovered lying on the ground, with his head raised a little upon a few stones and earth, the pistols lying beside him, and blood upon his breast. Enter ROSINBERG, VALTOMER, and OFFICERS. Rosinberg, upon seeing Basil, stops short with horror, and remains motionless for some time.

Valt. Great God of heaven! what a sight is this! (Rosinberg runs to Basil, and stoops down by his side.)

Ros. (making a sign for the Officers to retire.) 'Tis but a sentry, to prevent intrusion.

Bas. Thou know'st this desperate deed from
sacred rites

Hath shut me out: I am unbless'd of men,
And what I am in sight of th' awful God,
I dare not think; when I am gone, my friend,
O! let a good man's prayers to heaven ascend
For an offending spirit!—Pray for me.
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?

Bas. (covering his face with his hand.) Why art thou come? I thought to die in peace. Ros. Thou know'st me not-I am thy Rosinberg, Thy dearest, truest friend, thy loving kinsman ! Thou dost not say to me, Why art thou come?

Bas. Shame knows no kindred: I am fall'n, disgraced;

My fame is gone, I cannot look upon thee.

Ros. My Basil, noble spirit! talk not thus !
The greatest mind untoward fate may prove :
Thou art our generous, valiant leader still,
Fall'n as thou art-and yet thou art not fall'n;
Who says thou art, must put his harness on,
And prove his words in blood.

Bas. Ah Rosinberg! this is no time to boast!
I once had hopes a glorious name to gain;
Too proud of heart, I did too much aspire :
The hour of trial came, and found me wanting!
Talk not of me, but let me be forgotten.-
And O my friend! something upbraids me here,
(laying his hand on his breast.)

For that I now remember how oft-times
I have ursurp'd it o'er thy better worth,
Most vainly teaching where I should have learnt ;
But thou wilt pardon me.-

Ros. (taking Basil's hand, and pressing it to his
breast.) Rend not my heart in twain ! O talk
not thus !

I knew thou wert superior to myself,
And to all men beside: thou wert my pride;
I paid thee deference with a willing heart.

Bas. It was delusion, all delusion, Rosinberg'
I feel my weakness now, I own my pride.
Give me thy hand, my time is near the close:
Do this for me thou know'st my love, Victoria-
Ros. O curse that woman! she it is alone-
She has undone us all!

Bas. It doubles unto me the stroke of death
To hear thee name her thus. O curse her not!
The fault is mine; she's gentle, good and blame-
less.-

Thou wilt not then my dying wish fulfil ?

Ros. I will! I will! what wouldst thou have me
do?

Bas. See her when I am gone; be gentle with her;
And tell her that I bless'd her in my death;
E'en in my agonies I loved and bless'd her.
Wilt thou do this?

Ros.

I'll do what thou desirest.

Bas. I thank thee, Rosinberg; my time draws

near.

Ros. Thou wilt find mercy-my beloved Basil-
It cannot be that thou shouldst be rejected.
I will with bended knee-I will implore-
It choaks mine utterance-I will pray for thee-
Bas. This comforts me-thou art a loving friend.
(A noise without.)
Ros. (to Off. without.) What noise is that '

Enter VALTOMER.

Valt. (to Ros) My lord, the soldiers all insist to

enter.

What shall I do? they will not be denied:
They say that they will see their noble general.

Bas. Ah, my brave fellows! do they call me so ?
Ros. Then let them come!

Enter SOLDIERS, who gather round BASIL, and look mournfully upon him; he holds out his hand to them with a faint smile.

Bas. My generous soldiers, this is kindly meant. I'm low in the dust; God bless you all, brave hearts!

1st Sol. And God bless you, my noble, noble general!

We'll never follow such a leader more.

2d Sol. Ah! had you stayed with us, my noble general,

We would have died for you.

(3d Soldier endeavours next to speak, but cannot ;
and kneeling down by Basil, covers his face
with his cloak. Rosinberg turns his face to the
wall and weeps.)

Bas. (in a very faint broken voice.) Where art
thou? do not leave me, Rosinberg-
Come near to me-these fellows make me weep:
I have no power to weep-give me thy hand-
I love to feel thy grasp-my heart beats strangely—
It beats as though its breathings would be few-
Remember-

Ros. Is there aught thou wouldst desire?
Bas. Naught but a little earth to cover me,
And lay the smooth sod even with the ground-
Let no stone mark the spot-give no offence.
I fain would say what can I say to thee?
(A deep pause; after a feeble struggle, Basii
expires.)

1st Sol. That motion was his last.
2d Sol.
His spirit's fled.
1st Sol. God grant it peace! it was a noble spirit!
4th Sol. The trumpet's sound did never rouse a
braver.

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.)

Is there not some one here? are we alone?

2d Sol. And when that sounds it will not wake a braver.

3d Sol. How pleasantly he shared our hardest toil!

Our coarsest food the daintiest fare he made.

4th Sol. Ay, many a time, i' the cold damp plain

has he

With cheerful countenance cried, "Good rest, my
hearts!"

Then wrapp'd him in his cloak, and laid him down
E'en like the meanest soldier in the field.

Vict. (recovering.) Unloose thy hold, and let me
look upon him.

O! horrid, horrid sight! my ruin'd Basil!
Is this the sad reward of all thy love!
O! I nave murder'd thee!

(Kneels down by the body and bends over it.) These wasted streams of life! this bloody wound! (Laying her hand upon his heart.) 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. endeavours to draw him away.)

Valt. This is too sad, my lord.

Valtomer now

And I will love thee, serve thee, follow thee,
In spite of all reproach. Alas! alas!
A lifeless corse art thou for ever laid,

Ros. There, seest thou how he lies? so fix'd, so And dost not hear my call.

pale ?

Ah! what an end is this! thus lost! thus fall'n!
To be thus taken in his middle course,
Where he so nobly strove; till cursed passion
Came like a sun-stroke on his midday toil,
And cut the strong man down. O Basil! Basil!
Valt. Forbear, my friend, we must not sorrow

here.

Ros. He was the younger brother of my soul. Valt. Indeed, my lord, it is too sad a sight Time calls us, let the body be removed.

Ros. He was-O! he was like no other man!
Valt. (still endeavouring to draw him away.)
Nay now forbear.

Ros.
I loved him from his birth!
Valt. Time presses, let the body be removed.
Ros. What say'st thou ?
Valt.

Shall we not remove him hence?
Ros. He has forbid it, and has charged me well
To leave his grave unknown; for that the church
All sacred rites to the self-slain denies.

He would not give offence.

1st Sol. What shall our general, like a very wretch,

Be laid unhonour'd in the common ground?

No last salute to bid his soul farewell?

No warlike honours paid? it shall not be.

2d Sol. Laid thus? no, by the blessed light of heaven!

In the most holy spot in Mantua's walls

He shall be laid: in face of day be laid;

Ros. No, madam; now your pity comes too late.
Vict. Dost thou upbraid me? O! I have deserved

it!

Ros. No, madam, no, I will not now upbraid:
But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is; in gayer scenes,
Where soon thou shalt in giddy circles blaze,
And play the airy goddess of the day,
Thine eye, perchance, amidst th' observing crowd,
Shall mark the indignant face of Basil's friend,
And then it will upbraid.

Vict. No, never, never! thus it shall not be.
To the dark, shaded cloister wilt thou go,
Where sad and lonely, through the dismal grate
Thou'lt spy my wasted form, and then upbraid me.
Ros. Forgive me, heed me not; I'm grieved at
heart;

I'm fretted, gall'd, all things are hateful to me.
If thou didst love my friend, I will forgive thee;
I must forgive thee: with his dying breath
He bade me tell thee, that his latest thoughts
Were love to thee; in death he loved and bless'd
thee.

(Victoria goes to throw herself upon the body but
is prevented by Valtomer and Isabella, who
support her in their arms and endeavour to draw
her away from it.)

Vict. O force me not away! by his cold corse,
Let me lie down and weep. O! Basil, Basil!
The gallant and the brave! how hast thou loved
me!

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

We will fire o'er him whilst our hands have power Tear me not hence. grasp a musket.

Το

Several Soldiers. Let those who dare forbid it!
Ros. My brave companions, be it as you will.
(Spreading out his arms as if he would embrace the
Soldiers.-They prepare to remove the body.)
Valt. Nay, stop a while, we will not move it

now,

For see a mournful visiter appears,
And must not be denied.

Enter VICTORIA and ISABELLA.

Vict. I thought to find him here, where has he fled?

(to Isab. and Valt.)

For he loved me in thoughtless folly lost,
With all my faults, most worthless of his love;
And him I'll love in the low bed of death,
In horror and decay.—
Near his lone tomb I'll spend my wretched days
In humble prayer for his departed spirit:
Cold as his grave shall be my earthy bed,
As dark my cheerless cell. Force me not hence.
I will not go, for grief hath made me strong.
(Struggling to get luose.)
Ros. Do not withhold her, leave her sorrow free.
(They let her go, and she throws herself upon the
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.-
Isabella.)
Heaven's curses light upon her damned father,
Isab. Alas! my gentle mistress, this will kill Whose crooked policy has wrought this wreck !
Isab. If he has done it, you are well revenged,

thee.

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.t should be so! How like a hateful ape
Detected grinning, 'midst his pilfer'd hoard,
A cunning man appears, whose secret frauds
Are open'd to the day! scorn'd, hooted, mock'd!
Scorn'd by the very fools who most admired
His worthless art. But when a great mind falls,
The noble nature of man's generous heart
Doth bear him up against the shame of ruin;
With gentle censure using but its faults
As modest means to introduce his praise;
For pity like a dewy twilight comes

To close the oppressive splendour of his day,
And they who but admired him in his height,
His alter'd state lament, and love him fall'n.

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I cannot tell thee;

Man. Ah! but he is not now the man he was. Liberal he'll be. God grant he may be quiet. Jer. What has befall'n him? Man. But faith, there is no living with him now. Jer. And yet methinks, if I remember well, You were about to quit his service, Manuel, When last he left this house. You grumbled then. Man. I've been upon the eve of leaving him These ten long years; for many times is he So difficult, capricious, and distrustful, He galls my nature-yet, I know not how, A secret kindness binds me to him still.

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, When first he came to lodge beneath my roof And when it so fell out that I was proved Most guiltless of the fault, I truly thought He would have made profession of regret. But silent, haughty, and ungraciously He bore himself as one offended still. Yet shortly after, when unwittingly

I did him some slight service, o' the sudden

He overpower'd me with his grateful thanks,

And would not be restrain'd from pressing on me
A noble recompense. I understood

His o'erstrain'd gratitude and bounty well,
And took it as he meant.

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I would have left him many years ago,
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:
The meanest of her hinds, at her command,
Had fought like lions for her, and the poor,
E'en o'er their bread of poverty, had bless'd her
She would have grieved if I had left my lord.
Jer. Comes she along with him?

Man. No, he departed all unknown to her,
Meaning to keep conceal'd his secret route;
But well I knew it would afflict her much,
And therefore left a little nameless billet,
Which after our departure, as I guess,
Would fall into her hands, and tell her all.
What could I do? O 'tis a noble lady!

Jer. All this is strange-something disturbs his mind

Belike he is in love.

No, Jerome, no.

Man.
Once on a time I served a noble master,
Whose 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. Hear I not horses trampling at the gate?

(Listening.)

He is arrived-stay thou-I had forgot-
A plague upon't! my head is so confused-
I will return i' th' instant to receive him.

[EXIT hastily. (A great bustle without. ExIT Manuel with lights, and returns again, lighting in DE MONFORT, as if just alighted from his journey.)

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?
Jer.

Alas, my lord! she's dead.
De Mon. Well, then she is at rest.
Jer.
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. Wo's me! I thought you would have
grieved for her.

She was a kindly soul! Before she died,
When pining sickness bent her cheerless head,
She set my house in order-

And but the morning ere she breathed her last,
Bade me preserve some flaskets of this wine,
That should the Lord De Monfort come again
His cup might sparkle still. (De Monfort walks
across the stage, and wipes his eyes.)

Man. Your ancient host, my lord, receives you Indeed I fear I have distress'd you, sir;

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De Mon. Move what thou wilt, and trouble me To make this cursed noise? (To Manuel.) Go to

no more.

(Manuel, with the assistance of other Servants. sets about putting the things in order, and De Monfort remains sitting in a thoughtful posture.)

the gate.

[EXIT Manuel.

All sober citizens are gone to bed;
It is some drunkards on their nightly rounds,
Who mean it but in sport.

Jer. I hear unusual voices-here they come.

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 sleeve.

Man. (aside to Jerome.) No, do not now; he will not be disturb'd.

LADY, with a mask in her hand.

Freb. (running to embrace De Mon.) My dearest Monfort! most unlook'd for pleasure! 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?

Man.

No, good Jerome.

Softly a little while: I prithee do.
(Jerome walks softly on tiptoes, till he gets behind
De Monfort, then peeping on one side to see his
face,)

Je (aside to Manuel.) Ah, Manuel, what an
alter'd man is here!

His face recall'd, and learnt the joyful tidings.
Welcome, thrice welcome here!

De Mon. I thank thee, Freberg, for this friendly
visit,
And this fair lady too. (Bowing to the lady.)
Lady.
I fear, my lord,
We do intrude at an untimely hour:
But now, returning from a midnight mask,
My husband did insist that we should enter.

His eyes are hollow, and his cheeks are pale-
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?

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