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Bas.

I will not tell thee what I think. Ros But I can guess it well, and it deceives thee. Leave this detested place, this fatal court, Where dark deceitful cunning plots thy ruin. A soldier's duty calls thee loudly hence. The time is critical. How wilt thou feel When they shall tell these tidings in thine ear, That brave Piscaro, and his royal troops, Our valiant fellows, have the enemy fought, Whilst we, so near at hand, lay loitering here? Bas. Thou dost disturb thy brain with fancied fears.

Our fortunes rest not on a point so nice,

That one short day should be of all this moment;
And yet this one short day will be to me
Worth years of other time.

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And I might yet from some high towering cliff
Perceive her distant mansion from afar,
Or mark its blue smoke rising eve and morn;
Nay, though within the circle of the moon
Some spell did fix her, never to return,
And I might wander in the hours of night,
And upward turn my ever-gazing eye,
Fondly to mark upon its varied disk

Some little spot that might her dwelling be;
My fond, my fixed heart would still adore,
And own no other love. Away, away!
How canst thou say to one who loves like me,
Thou hast no hope?

Ros. But with such hope, my friend, how stand

thy fears?

Are they so well refined? how wilt thou bear
Ere long to hear, that some high-favour'd prince
Has won her heart, her hand, has married her?
Though now unshackled, will it always be?
Bas. By heaven thou dost contrive but to tor-
ment,

And hast a pleasure in the pain thou givest!
There is malignity in what thou sayest.

Ros. No, not malignity, but kindness, Basil,

Ros. God knows my heart! I would not give That fain would save thee from the yawning gulf,

thee pain;

But it disturbs me, Basil, vexes me
To see thee so inthralled by a woman.
If she is fair, others are fair as she.
Some other face will like emotions raise,
When thou canst better play a lover's part:
But for the present,-fy upon it, Basil!

Bas. What, is it possible thou hast beheld,
Hast tarried by her too, her converse shared,
Yet talk'st as though she were a common fair one,
Such as a man may fancy and forget?
Thou art not, sure, so dull and brutish grown:
It is not so; thou dost belie thy thoughts,
And vainly try'st to gain me with the cheat.

Ros. So thinks each lover of the maid he loves,
Yet, in their lives, some many maidens love.
Fy on it! leave this town, and be a soldier!
Bas. Have done, have done! why dost thou bate
me thus ?

Thy words become disgusting to me, Rosinberg.
What claim hast thou my actions to control?
I'll Mantua leave when it is fit I should.

Ros. Then, 'faith! 'tis fitting thou shouldst leave

it now;

Ay, on the instant. Is't not desperation
To stay, and hazard ruin on thy fame,
Though yet uncheer'd e'en by that tempting lure,
No lover breathes without? thou hast no hope.
Bas. What, dost thou mean-curse on the paltry
thought!

That I should count and bargain with my heart,
Upon the chances of unstinted favour,

As little souls their base-bred fancies feed?
O were I conscious that within her breast
I held some portion of her dear regard,
Though pent for life within a prison's walls,
Where through my grate I yet might sometimes see
E'en but her shadow sporting in the sun;
Though placed by fate where some obstructing
bound,

Some deep impassable between us roll'd,

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Ros. Ah! have I then so long, so dearly loved thee;

So often, with an elder brother's care,

Thy childish rambles tended, shared thy sports;
Fill'd up by stealth thy weary school-boy's task;
Taught thy young arms thine earliest feats of
strength;

With boastful pride thine early rise beheld
In glory's paths, contented then to fill

A second place, so I might serve with thee;
And say'st thou now, I am no friend of thine ?
Well, be it so; I am thy kinsman then,
And by that title will I save thy name,
From danger of disgrace. Indulge thy will.
I'll lay me down and feign that I am sick :
And yet I shall not feign-I shall not feign;
For thy unkindness makes me so indeed.
It will be said that Basil tarried here

To save his friend, for so they'll call me still;
Nor will dishonour fall upon thy name
For such a kindly deed.-

(Basil walks up and down in great agitation, then stops, covers his face with his hands, and seems to be overcome. Rosinberg looks at him earnestly.)

O blessed heaven, he weeps! (Runs up to him, and catches him in his arms.) O Basil! I have been too hard upon thee. And is it possible I've moved thee thus ? Bas. (in a convulsed, broken voice.) I will renounce-I'll leave

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Let us depart, nor lose another hour. (Basil shrinks from his arms, and looks at him

with somewhat of an upbraiding, at the same time a sorrowful look.)

Ros. (hanging over him with pity and affection.) Alas! my friend!

Bas. In all her lovely grace she disappear'd, Ah! little thought I never to return!

Ros. Why so desponding? think of warlike glory. The fields of fair renown are still before thee; Who would not burn such noble fame to earn?

Bas. What now are arms, or fair renown to me? Strive for it those who will-and yet, a while, Welcome rough war; with all thy scenes of blood; (starting from his seat.) Thy roaring thunders, and thy clashing steel! Welcome once more! what have I now to do But play the brave man o'er again, and die? Enter ISABELLA.

Isab. (to Bas.) My princess bids me greet you

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you.

Bas. Thank heaven for this! I will be there anon. Ros. (taking hold of him.) Stay, stay, and do not be a madman still.

Bas. Let go thy hold: what, must I be a brute, A very brute to please thee? no, by heaven! (Breaks from him, and EXIT.) Res. (striking his forehead.) All lost again! ill fortune light upon her!

(Turning eagerly to Isab.) And so thy virtuous mistress sends thee here To make appointments, honourable dame? Isab. Not so, my lord, you must not call it so: The court will hunt to-morrow, and Victoria Would have your noble general of her train. Ros. Confound these women, and their artful snares, Since men will be such fools!

Isab. Yes, grumble at our empire as you willRos. What, boast ye of it? empire do ye call it? It is your shame! a short-lived tyranny, That ends at last in hatred and contempt.

Isab. Nay, but some women do so wisely rule, Their subjects never from the yoke escape.

Ros. Some women do, but they are rarely found. Bas. Nay, put me not to death upon the instant; There is not one in all your paltry court I'll see her once again, and then depart.

Hath wit enough for the ungenerous task.

Ros. See her but once again, and thou art ruin'd! | 'Faith! of you all, not one, but brave Albini,

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And she disdains it-Good be with you, lady!

(Going.)

Isab. O would I could but touch that stubborn heart! How dearly should he pay for this hour's scorn! [EXEUNT severally.

SCENE IV.-A SUMMER APARTMENT IN THE COUN TRY, THE WINDOWS OF WHICH LOOK TO A FOREST. Enter VICTORIA in a hunting dress, followed by ALBINI and ISABELLA, speaking as they enter. Vict. (to Alb.) And so you will not share our sport to-day?

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Alb. My days of frolic should ere this be o'er, But thou, my charge, hast kept me youthful still. I should most gladly go; but since the dawn, A heavy sickness hangs upon my heart;

I cannot hunt to-day.

Vain, fanciful, and fond of worthless praise;
Courteous and gentle, proud and magnificent:
And yet these adverse qualities in thee,
No dissonance, nor striking contrast make;
For still thy good and amiable gifts

Vict. I'll stay at home and nurse thee, dear Al- The sober dignity of virtue wear not,

bini.

Alb. No, no, thou shalt not stay.
Vict.

I cannot follow to the cheerful horn
Whilst thou art sick at home.

And such a 'witching mien thy follies show,
They make a very idiot of reproof,

Nay, but I will. And smile it to disgrace.

Not very sick.

Alb. Rather than thou shouldst stay, my gentle child, I'll mount my horse, and go e'en as I am.

Vict. Nay, then I'll go, and soon return again. Meanwhile, do thou be careful of thyself.

What shall I do with thee?-It grieves me much,
To hear Count Basil is not yet departed.
When from the chase he comes, I'll watch his steps
And speak to him myself.-

O! I could hate her for that poor ambition
Which silly adoration only claims,
But that I well remember, in my youth

Isab. Hark, hark! the shrill horns call us to the I felt the like-1 did not feel it long:

field:

Your highness hears it?

Vict.

(Music without.) Yes, my Isabella;

I hear it, and methinks e'en at the sound
I vault already on my leathern seat,
And feel the fiery steed beneath me shake
His mantled sides, and paw the fretted earth
Whilst I aloft, with gay equestrian grace,
The low salute of gallant lords return,
Who waiting round with eager watchful eye,
And reined steeds, the happy moments seize.
O didst thou never hear, my Isabel,
How nobly Basil in the field becomes
His fiery courser's back?

Isab.
They say most gracefully.
Alb. What, is the valiant count not yet departed?
Vict. You would not have our gallant Basil go
When I have bid him stay? not so, Albini.

I tore it soon, indignant from my breast, As that which did degrade a noble mind.

SCENE V.-A VERY BEAUTIFUL GROVE FOREST.

[EXIT

IN THE

Music and horns heard afar off, whilst huntsmen and dogs appear passing over the stage, at a great distance Enter VICTORIA and BASIL, as if just alighted from their horses.

Vict. (speaking to attendants without.) Lead on our horses to the further grove,

And wait us there.(To Bas.) This spot so pleasing, and so fragrant is, 'Twere sacrilege with horses' hoofs to wear Its velvet turf, where little elfins dance, And fairies sport beneath the summer's moon; I love to tread upon it. Bas. O!

would quit the chariot of a god

Alb. Fy reigns that spirit still so strongly in For such delightful footing!

thee,

Which vainly covets all men's admiration,

And is to others cause of cruel pain?

O! would thou couldst subdue it!

Vict.
I love this spot.
Bas. It is a spot where one would live and die
Vict. See, through the twisted boughs of those
high elms,

Vict. My gentle friend, thou shouldst not be The sunbeams on the bright'ning foliage play,

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(Turning round, and perceiving that he is gazing at her.)

Vict. O no! that will not be! 'twill peace re- But thou regard'st them not.

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Ah! frown not thus! I cannot see thee frown.
I'll do whate'er thou wilt, I will be silent:
But O! a reined tongue, and bursting heart,
Are hard at once to bear.-Wilt thou forgive me?
Vict. We'll think no more of it; we'll quit this
spot;

I do repent me that I led thee here.

But 'twas the favourite path of a dear friend:
Here many a time we wander'd, arm in arm :
We loved this grove, and now that he is absent,
I love to haunt it still.

(Basil starts.) Bas. His favourite path-a friend-here arm in

arm

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Bas. (looking after her for some time.) See with what graceful steps she moves along,

(Clasping his hands, and raising them to his Her lovely form, in every action lovely! head.)

Then there is such a one!

If but the wind her ruffled garment raise,
It twists it into some light pretty fold,

(Drooping his head, and looking distractedly Which adds new grace. Or should some small upon the ground.)

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Vict. I have, my lord, been wont to think it cheerful.

mishap,

Some tangled branch, her fair attire derange,
What would in others strange, or awkward seem,
But lends to her some wild bewitching charm.
See, yonder does she raise her lovely arm
To pluck the dangling hedge-flower as she goes;
And now she turns her head as though she
view'd

The distant landscape; now methinks she walks Bas. I thought your highness meant to leave this With doubtful lingering steps-will she look spot?

Vict. I do, and by this lane we'll take our way;
For here he often walk'd with sauntering pace,
And listen'd to the woodlark's evening song.
Bas. What, must I on his very footsteps go:
Accursed be the ground on which he trod!

Vict. And is Count Basil so uncourtly grown,
That he would curse my brother to my face?
Bas. Your brother! gracious God, is it your
brother?

That dear, that loving friend of whom you spoke,
Is he indeed your brother?
Vict.
He is indeed, my lord.
Bas. Then heaven bless him! all good angels
bless him!

I could weep o'er him now, shed blood for him!
I could-O what a foolish heart have I !

(Walks up and down with a hurried step, tossing
about his arms in transport; then stops short
and runs up to Victoria.)

Is it indeed your brother?

back?

Ah no! yon thicket hides her from my sight.
Bless'd are the eyes that may behold her still,
Nor dread that every look shall be the last!
And yet she said she would remember me.
I will believe it: Ah! I must believe it,
Or be the saddest soul that sees the light!
But lo, a messenger, and from the army!
He brings me tidings; grant they may be good!
Till now I never fear'd what man might utter;
I dread his tale, God grant it may be good!
Enter MESSENGER.

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Bas.
What tidings bring'st thou r
Mess. Th' imperial army, under brave Piscaro,
Have beat the enemy near Pavia's walls.
Bas. Ha! have they fought? and is the battle
o'er ?

Mess. Yes, conquer'd; taken the French king
prisoner,

Vict. It is indeed: what thoughts disturb'd thee Who, like a noble, gallant gentleman, so?

Fought to the last, nor yielded up his sword

Bas. I will not tell thee; foolish thoughts they Till, being one amidst surrounding foes,

were.

Heaven bless your brother!

Vict.

Ay, heaven bless him too!

I have but him; would I had two brave brothers,
And thou wert one of them!

Bas. I would fly from thee to earth's utmost
bounds,

Were I thy brother

And yet methinks, I would I had a sister.

His arm could do no more.

Bas. What dost thou say? who is made pri-
soner?
What king did fight so well?

Mess.
The King of France.
Bas. Thou saidst-thy words do ring so in mine
ears,

I cannot catch their sense-the battle's o'er?
Mess. It is, my lord. Piscaro stayed your coming,
But could no longer stay. His troops were bold,
To place her near thee, Occasion press'd him, and they bravely fought-
They bravely fought, my lord!

Vict. And wherefore would ye so?

Bas.

The soft companion of thy hours to prove,
And, when far distant, sometimes talk of me.
Thou couldst not chide a gentle sister's cares.
Perhaps, when rumour from the distant war,

Bas.
I hear, I hear thee.
Accursed am I, that it should wring my heart
To hear they bravely fought!—

They bravely fought, whilst we lay lingering
here.

O! what a fated blow to strike me thus !
Perdition! shame! disgrace! a damned blow!
Mess. Ten thousand of the enemy are slain;
We too have lost full many a gallant soul.
I view'd the closing armies from afar;
Their close-piked ranks in goodly order spread,
Which seem'd, alas! when that the fight was o'er,
Like the wild marshes' crop of stately reeds,
Laid with the passing storm. But wo is me !
When to the field I came, what dismal sights!
What waste of life! What heaps of bleeding
slain !

Bas. Would I were laid a red, disfigured corse, Amid those heaps! they fought, and we were absent !

ACT V.

SCENE I-A DARK NIGHT; NO MOON, BUT A FEW
STARS GLIMMERING; THE STAGE REPRESENTS (AS
MUCH AS CAN BE DISCOVERED FOR THE DARKNESS)
A CHURCHYARD WITH PART OF A CHAPEL, AND
A WING OF THE DUCAL PALACE ADJOINING TO IT.
Enter BASIL with his hat off, his hair and his dress in
disorder, stepping slowly, and stopping several times to
listen, as if he was afraid of meeting any one.

Bas. No sound is here: man is at rest, and I
May near his habitations venture forth,
Like some unblessed creature of the night,
Who dares not meet his face.-Her window's
dark;

No streaming light doth from her chamber beam,
That I once more may on her dwelling gaze,

(Walks about distractedly, then stops short.) And bless her still. All now is dark for me! Who sent thee here?

Mess. Piscaro sent me to inform Count Basil,
He needs not now his aid, and gives him leave
To march his tardy troops to distant quarters.
Bas. He says so, does he? well, it shall be so.
(Tossing his arms distractedly.)

I will to quarters, narrow quarters go,
Where voice of war shall rouse me forth no more.
[EXIT.

Mess. I'll follow after him; he is distracted:
And yet he looks so wild I dare not do it.

Enter VICTORIA as if frightened, followed by ISABELLA. Vict. (to Isab.) Didst thou not mark him as he pass'd thee too?

(Pauses for some time and looks upon the graves.)
How happy are the dead, who quietly rest
Beneath these stones! each by his kindred laid,
Still in a hallow'd neighbourship with those,
Who when alive his social converse shared :
And now perhaps some dear surviving friend
Doth here at times the grateful visit pay,
Read with sad eyes his short memorial o'er,
And bless his memory still!-
But I, like a vile outcast of my kind,

In some lone spot must lay my unburied corse,
To rot above the earth; where, if perchance
The steps of human wanderer e'er approach,
He'll stand aghast, and flee the horrid place,
With dark imaginations frightful made

Isab. I saw him pass, but with such hasty steps I The haunt of damned sprites. O cursed wretch!

had no time.

Vict. I met him with a wild disorder'd air,

In furious haste; he stopp'd distractedly,

And gazed upon me with a mournful look,

In the fair and honour'd field shouldst thou ha

died,

Where brave friends, proudly smiling through their tears,

But pass'd away, and spoke not. Who art thou? Had pointed out the spot where Basil lay!

(To the Messenger.)

I fear thou art a bearer of bad tidings.

(A light seen in Victoria's window.) But ha! the wonted, welcome light appears.

Mess. No, rather good as I should deem it, How bright within I see her chamber wall!

madam,

Although unwelcome tidings to Count Basil.

Our army hath a glorious battle won;

Athwart it too, a darkening shadow moves,
A slender woman's form: it is herself!
What means that motion of its clasped hands?

Ten thousand French are slain, their monarch cap- That drooping head? alas! is she in sorrow?
Alas! thou sweet enchantress of the mind,

tive.

Vict. (to Mess.) Ah, there it is! he was not in Whose voice was gladness, and whose presence

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Mess. Nay, lady, by your leave, you seem not In some dark den from human sight conceal'd,

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