If thou beliest not heav'n-quick, do thy work!
If there is pow'r in pray'r, teach me some sounds
To charm my senses, lest my coward flesh
Recoil, and win the mastery o'er my will.
'Tis not the wound; it is the consequence!
See! see! my Narbonne stands upon the brink,
And snatches from the readiest fury there
A blazing torch! he whirls it round my head,
And asks where are my children!

Por. Split, my heart,

At this sad sight!

Flor. Stand off! thou'rt an accomplice Madam, it was your morning's gracious pleasure I should attend you. May I hope your pardon, If I anticipate

Coun. Ha! Who art thou?

Flor. Have you forgot me, lady?
Coun. Memory

Is full. A head, distract as mine, can hold
Two only objects, guilt and eternity!

Flor. No more of this. Time has abundant
hours

For holy meditation. Nor have years

Traç'd such deep admonition on your cheek,
As call for sudden preparation-

Coun. Prayer

Can do no more: its efficacy lost

[Wildly.

What must be, must be soon-He will return. Flor. He is return'd, your son-have you not seen him?

Coun. Would I had never!

Flor. Come, this is too much.

This villainous monk has stepp'd 'twixt you and nature;

And misreported of the noblest gentleman That treads on Christian ground-Are you a mother?

Are legends dearer to you than your son?
Think you 'tis piety to gorge these miscreants,
And drive your child from your embrace—
Coun. Ye saints!

This was the dæmon prompted it-avaunt!
He beckons me-I will not--lies my lord
Not bleeding in the porch? I'll tear my hair
And bathe his wounds-Where's Beatrice!
monster! monster!

She leads the dæmon-see! they spread the couch!

No, I will perish with my Narbonne-Oh! My strength, my reason fail-darkness surrounds me!

To-morrow! never will to-morrow come! Let me die here! [Sinks on a bench.

Flor. This is too much for art, Chill damps sit on her brow: her pulse replies

not.

Ben. No; 'tis fictitious all-'twas I inspir'd The horrors she has been so kind to utter At my suggestion.

Flor. That insulting sneer Speaks more the devil than if thy words were

serious.

Be her distraction counterfeit or real,
Her sex demands compassion or assistance.
But she revives !

Coun. Is death then past! my brain Beats not its wonted tempest-in the gravé There is peace then!

Flor. Her agony abates.

Look up, and view your friends.

Coun. Alas! I fear me,

This is life still!-am I not in my castle?
Sure I should know this garden good old Peter!
My honest servant, thou I see wilt never
Quit thy poor mistress!-kind old man, he weeps!
Por. Indeed it is for joy-how fares my lady?
Coun. Exhausted, Peter, that I have not strength
To be distracted-ha! your looks betray
Tremendous inuendoes!gracious heaven!
Have I said aught---has wildness-trust me, sirs,
In these sad fits my unhing'd fancy wanders
Beyond the compass of things possible.
Sometimes, an angel of excelling brightness,
I seem to whirl the orbs and launch the comet;
Then hideous wings with forked points array me,
And I suggest strange crimes to shuddering ma-

The dying groan, and sin's despairing accent.
Struck it not on thy soul? Recall it, sir!
What then was thy sensation, feel for me!

Flor. I shudder, listen, pity, and respect thee! Coun. Resolve my anxious heart. Though vagrant pleasure,

Th' ebriety of youth, and, worse than passion,
Example, lead thee to the strumpet vice;
Say, if beneath the waves of dissipation,
The germ of virtue blossoms in thy soul?

Flor. A soldier's honour is his virtue. Gown

men

Wear it for show, and barter it for gold,
And have it still. A soldier and his honour
Exist together, and together perish.

Coun. I do believe thee. Thus my Narbonne thought.

Then hear me, child of honour! Canst thou cherish

Unblemish'd innocence? wilt thou protect it? Wilt thou observe its wand'rings? call it back,

Of Gallia's proudest baron shall endow her.
Within this casket is a monarch's ransom;
Ten thousand ducats more are lodg'd within;
All this is thine with Adeliza's hand.
Flor. With Adeliza!

Coun. Ha! dost thou recoil?

Dost thou not love her?

Flor. I love Adeliza!

Lady, recal thy wand'ring memory.

Coun. Dost thou reject her? and has hope beguil'd me

In this sad only moment? Hast thou dar'd
With ruffian insolence gaze on her sweetness,
And mark it for an hour of wanton dalliance?
Oh! I will guard my child, though gaping dæmons
Howl with impatience!

Flor. Most rever'd of matrons!
Though youth and rosy joy flush on my cheek,
Though the licentious camp and rapine's holiday
Have been my school; deem not so reprobate
My morals, that my eye would note no distance
Between the harlot's glance and my friend's bride.
Coun. Thy friend! what friend?
Flor. Lord Edmund---

Conn. What o him?

Flor. Is Adeliza's lord; her wedded bridegroom.

Coun. Confusion! phrenzy! blast me, all ye furies!

Edmund and Adeliza! when! where! how!
Edmund wed Adeliza! quick, unsay
The monstrous tale--ob! prodigy of ruin!
Does my own son then boil with fiercer fires
Than scorch'd his impious mother's madding
veins ?

Did reason reassume its shatter'd throne,
But as spectatress of this last of horrors?
Oh! let my dagger drink my heart's black blood,
And then present my hell-born progeny
With drops of kindred sin!--that were a torch
Fit to light up such loves! and fit to quench them!
Flor. What means this agony? didst thou not
grant

The maiden to his wishes?

Coun. Did I not couple Distinctions horrible! plan unnatural rites To grace my funeral pile, and meet the furies More innocent than those I leave behind me! Flor. Amazement !-I will hasten--grant, ye pow'rs!

My speed be not too late!

Coun. Globe of the world,

[Exit.

Ye are my children !---Edmund, loose that hand; 'Tis poison to thy soul!-hell has no venom Like a child's touch!--oh! agonizing thought! ---Who made this marriage? whose unhallow'd breath

Pronounc'd th' incestuous sounds!

Edm. Incest! good heavens!

Coun. Yes, thou devoted victim! let thy blood Curdle to stone! perdition circumvents thee! Lo! where this monster stands! thy mother! mistress!

The mother of thy daughter, sister, wife!
The pillar of accumulated horrors!
Hear! tremble !--and then marry, if thou darʼst!
Edm. Yes, I do tremble, though thy words are

phrenzy.

So black must be the passions that inspir'd it, I shudder for thee! pitying duty shudders!

Coun. For me!--Ö Edmund, I have burst the

bond

sprung,

Unknowing half the miseries that await thee!
-Oh! they are innocent-Almighty pow'r!—
[Kneels, but rises again hastily.

Ha! dare I pray! for others intercede!
I pray for them, the cause of all their woe!

But for a moment give me leave, despair!
For a short interval lend me that reason
Thou gavest, heav'n, in vain !—it must be known
The fulness of my crime; or, innocent, these
May plunge them in new horrors. Not a word
Can 'scape me, but will do the work of thunder,
And blast these moments I regain from madness.
Ye know how fondly my luxurious fancy
Doated upon my lord. For eighteen months
An embassy detain'd him from my bed.
A harbinger announced his near return.
Love dress'd his image to my longing thoughts.

In all its warmest colours-but the morn,
In which impatience grew almost to sickness,
Presented him a bloody corse before me.
I rav'd-the storm of disappointed passions
Assail'd my reason, fever'd all my blood-
Whether too warmly press'd, or too officious
To turn the torrent of my grief aside,
A damsel, that attended me, disclos'd
Thy suit, unhappy boy!

Edm. What is to come!

Shield me, ye gracious pow'rs, from my own thoughts!

My dreadful apprehensions!

Coun. Give it scope !

Thou canst not harbour a foreboding thought More dire, than I conceiv'd, I executed.

Guilt rush'd into my soul--my fancy saw thee Thy father's image--

Edm. Swallow th' accursed sound!

Nor dare to say

Coun. Yes, thou polluted son! Grief, disappointment, opportunity, Rais'd such a tumult in my madding blood, I took the damsel's place; and while thy arms Twined, to thy thinking, round another's waist, Hear, hell, and tremble!-thou didst clasp thy mother!

Edm. Oh! execrable! [ADELIZA faints.

Coun. Be that swoon eternal !

Nor let her know the rest--she is thy daughter, Fruit of that monstrous night!

Edm. Infernal woman! [Draws his dagger. My dagger must repay a tale like this. Blood so distemper'd-no--I must not strike--I dare not punish what you dar'd commit.

Coun. [Seeing the dagger.] Give me the steel -my arm will not recoil.

Thus, Edmund, I revenge thee! [Stabs herself. Edm. Help! hoa! help!

For both I tremble, dare not succour either! Coun. Peace! and conceal our shame-quick, frame some legend

They come!

SCENE VII.

Countess, EDMUND, ADELIZA, FLORIAN, BENEDICT, Attendants.

Coun. Assist the maid-an accident[They bear off Adeliza. By my own hand-ha! Benedict !-but no!

Flor. I dare not ask;

But stiffen'd with amazement I deplore

Edm. O tender friend! I must not violate Thy guiltless ear!-ha! 'tis my father calls! I dare not see him!

Flor. Be compos'd, my lord, We are all your friends

[Wildly.

Edm. Have I no kindred here? They will confound all friendship! interweave Such monstrous union

Flor. Good my lord, resume

Your wonted reason. Let us in and comfort Your gentle bride

Edm. Forbid it, all ye pow'rs!

O Florian, bear her to the holy sisters.
Say 'twas my mother's will she take the veil,
I never must behold her!-never more
Review this theatre of monstrous guilt.
No; to th' embattled foe I will present
This hated form-and welcome be the sabre
That leaves no atom of it undefaced.

[Exeunt.

OUR stedfast Bard, to his own genius true,
Still bade his Muse" fit audience find though
few;"

Scorning the judgment of a trifling age,
To choicer spirits he bequeath'd his page.
He too was scorn'd, and, to Britannia's shame,
She scarce for half an
age knew Milton's name:
But now, his fame by ev'ry trumpet blown,
We on his deathless trophies raise our own.
Nor art nor nature did his genius bound;
Heav'n, hell, earth, chaos, he survey'd around:
All things his eye, through wit's bright empire
thrown,

Beheld, and made what it beheld his own.

Such Milton was: 'tis ours to bring him forth, And yours to vindicate neglected worth. Such heav'n-taught numbers should be more than read,

More wide the manna through the nation spread. Like some bless'd spirit he to-night descends,

Mankind he visits, and their steps befriends; Through mazy error's dark perplexing wood Points out the path of true and real good, Warns erring youth, and guards the spotless

maid

From spell of magic vice, by reason's aid. Attend the strains; and should some meaner phrase

Hang on the style and clog the nobler lays,
Excuse what we with trembling hand supply,
To give his beauties to the public eye:
His the pure essence, ours the grosser mean
Through which his spirit is in action seen.
Observe the force, observe the flame divine
That glows, breathes, acts, in each harmonious
line.

Great objects only strike the gen'rous heart;
Praise the sublime, o'erlook the mortal part :
Be there your judgment, here your candour shewn;
Small is our portion-and we wish 'twere none.

SCENE I-Dicovers a wild Wood,

The first Attendant Spirit enters. BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live inspher'd In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth, and with low-thoughted

care

Confin'd and pester'd in this pinfold here
Strive to keep up a frail and fev'rish being,
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,
After this mortal change, to her true servants
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there are that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key
That opes the palace of Eternity;

To such my errand is; and but for such
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.
But whence yon slanting stream of purer light
Which streaks the midnight gloom, and hither
darts

Its beamy point? Some messenger from Jove
Commission'd to direct or share my charge,
And, if I ken him right, a spirit pure
As treads the spangled pavement of the sky,
The gentle Philadel; but swift as thought
He comes-

The second Attendant Spirit descends.
Declare on what strange errand bent
Thou visitest this clime to me assign'd,
So far remote from thy appointed sphere.

2 Spi. On no appointed task thou seest me

And gives them leave to wear their sapphire

crowns,

And wield their little tridents; but this isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue hair'd deities;
And all this track that fronts the falling sun
A noble peer of mickle trust and pow'r
Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
An old and haughty nation proud in arms.

2 Spi. Does any danger threat his legal sway From bold sedition or close-ambush'd treason? 1 Spi. No danger thence; but to his lofty seat,

Which borders on the verge of this wild vale,
His blooming offspring, nurs'd in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father's state
And new-entrusted sceptre, and their way
Lies through the perplex'd path of this drear
wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wand'ring passenger;
And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that by quick command from sovʼreign Jove
I was dispatch'd for their defence and guard.

2 Spi. What peril can their innocence assail Within these lonely and unpeopled shades? 1 Spi. Attend my words. No place but harbours danger;

In ev'ry region virtue finds a foe.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transform'd,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listed
On Circe's island fell: (who knows not Circe,
The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grov'ling swine?)
This nymph, that gaz'd upon his clust'ring locks
With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth,
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus
nam'd.

2 Spi. Ill-omen'd birth to Virtue and her sons! 1 Spi. He, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age, Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,

At last betakes him to this ominous wood,
And in thick shelter of black shades imbower'd
Excels his mother at her mighty art,

| Off'ring to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass

To quench the drought of Phoebus; which as they taste,

(For most do taste through fond intemp'rate thirst)
Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance
Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd
Into some brutish form of wolf or hear,
Or ounce or tiger, hog or bearded goat,
All other parts remaining as they were: