ALDABELLA. Ho there! to th' hospital for the lunatics Fetch succour for this poor distrest BIANCA. What said I? Oh pardon me, I came not to upbraid thee.- (I'll not say in thy arms; for that displeases thee, ALDABELLA (turning away). To such coarse fancies — I must hence: to-night [Exit. More sinners for the Devil to prey upon? There's one a boy some strumpet will enlace him, The other a girl: if she be ill, she'll sink After a pause, she returns. It will not be, it will not be—they woke That they were 'scaped this miserable world, I could but kiss them; and, when I had kiss'd them, I could as soon have leap'd up to the moon In the dread separation of the dead, Oh, happy they!-they will but know to-morrow BIANCA. They 're all lies: Things done within some far and distant planet, And housed in palaces. Oh, earth's so crowded SCENE IV. Fazio's House. BIANCA. Ah, what a fierce and frantic coil is here, Because the sun must shine on one man less! I'm sick and weary-my feet drag along. Why must I trail, like a scotch'd serpent, hither? Here, to this house, where all things breathe of Fazio? The air tastes of him—the walls whisper of him. Oh, I'll to bed! to bed!- - What find I there? Fazio, my fond, my gentle, fervent Fazio? — No! Cold stones are his couch, harsh iron bars Curtain his slumbers. -Oh, no, no-I have itHe is in Aldabella's arms. ———— - Out on 't! Fie, fie!--that's rank, that's noisome !-I rememberOur children-ay, my children - Fazio's children. T was my thoughts' burthen as I came along, Were it not wise to bear them off with us ACT V.-SCENE I. A Street-Morning Twilight. BIANCA. Where have I been? I have not been at rest- Away from this cold world?-Why should we breed up Away to him!-away! Erit. The gale, whose flower-sweet breath no more shall To spare hereafter. BIANCA. They live! thank God, they live I should not rack thee with such fantasies: In earth's black womb-oh, plunge it, plunge it deep, "T will sound more like Thou wouldst not think these smooth and smiling lips I could sleep on thy bosom, Fazio. Thine hour is come. ANTONIO. Prisoner, BIANCA. It is not morning yet Where is the twilight that should usher it? DUKE. Any thing not to think on her-Not yet- I'll clasp mine arms so closely round thy neck, [The bell sounds, her grasp relaxes, and she FAZIO (kissing her, which she does not seem to be Farewell, farewell, farewell!- BIANCA (slowly recovering.) [Erit. Gone, gone!—he is not air yet, not thin spirit!— BIANCA (moving him aside.) To ALDABELLA. By and by I tell thee, that warm cheek thy lips did stray on DUKE. "Tis Fazio's wife. BIANCA. It is not Fazio's wife.-Have the dead wives? [Exit, followed by Philario. Ay, ay, my liege, and I know thee, and well— SCENE III. A magnificent Apartment in the Palace of ALDABELLA BELLA. DUKE Tis late, 'tis late; the yellow morning light Streams in upon our sick and waning lamps. It was a jocund night: but good my friends, The sun reproves our lingering revelry; And, angry at our scorning of his state, Will shine the slumber from our heavy eyes. GONSALVO. Thou art the rich-robed minister of the laws. DUKE. Poor wretch, Who is it thus hath wrong'd thee? Come thou here. The others crowd around her-she says to FALSETTO, There's one, my liege, will sleep more calm than we: Get back, get back: the god that thou adoredst, But now I heard the bell with iron tongue The death-stroke of the murderer Fazio. Thy god is dead, thou pitiful idolater. To DANDOLO (showing her Dress., I know they're coarse and tatter'd-Get thee back. Thank thee, 't is moist - I thank thee; That Fazio told me ere he died. (As she raises the goblet to her lips, she sees ALDABELLA, and dashes it away.) But now, there's mode and measure in my speech. bell, The bell that I set knolling-hark!-Here, here, Massy and cold it strikes-Here, here. (Clasping her forehead.) GONSALVO. Sad woman! Tear not so piteously thy disorder'd hair! BIANCA. I do not tear my hair: there should be pain BIANCA. Ay, sir, The dying lie not- he, a dying man, There is confession in thy guilty cheeks. And made us out of love with loveliness! I do condemn thee, woman, by the warrant BIANCA. Samor, Lord of the Bright City. AN HEROIC POEM. et o modo spiritus adsit, Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges. MILTON, Mansus. Of patience and heroic martyrdom. MILTON'S Par. Lost, Book IX. PREFACE. THE Historians of the Empire, near the period of time at which this Poem commences, make mention of a Constantine, who assumed the purple of the western empire, gained possession of Gaul and Spain, but was defeated and slain at the battle of Arles. He had a son named Constans, who became a monk, and was put to death at Vienne. association to recommend them, I have frequently, on the authority of Camden and others, translated them. Thus the Saxon Gloucester, called by the Britons Caer Gloew, is the Bright City. The Dobuni, the inhabitants of the Vales, are called by that name. Some few sanctioned by old usages of Poetry and Romance I retain, as Kent, Thanet, Cornwall. London is Troynovant, as the City of the Trinobantes. Some passages in the Poem will be easily traced to their acknowledged sources, the Poets of Greece and Italy; one, however, in the third book, relating to the Northern mythology, has been remarkably anticipated in a modern Poem. The honourable Author may be assured that the coincidence is unintentional, as that part of this Poem was the earliest written, and previous to the appearance of his production. SAMOR. About the same time a Constantine appears in the relations of the old British Chronicles and Romances. He was brother of the king of Armorica, and became himself King, or rather an elected sovereign of the petty Kings of Britain,† who continued their succession under the Roman dominion. He was called Vendigard and Waredur, the Defender and Deliverer. He had three sons, Constans, who became a hermit, and was murdered, either (for the traditions vary) by the Picts, by Vortigern, or by the Saxons; Emrys, called by the Latin writers Aurelius Ambrosius; and Uther Pendragon, the father of Arthur. These two Constantines are here identified, and Vortigern supposed LAND of my birth, O Britain! and my love; to have been named King of Britain, as the person of greatest authority and conduct in the wreck of the British army, defeated at Arles. Many, however, of the chiefs in the Island advancing the hereditary right, before formally settled on the sons of Constantine, Vortigern, mistrusting the Britons, and prest by invasions of the Caledonians, introduced the Saxons to check the barbarians and strengthen his own sovereignty. The Hero of the Poem is an historical character, as far as such legends can be called History. He appears in most of the Chronicles, as Edol, or Eldol, but the fullest account of his exploits is in Dugdale's Baronage under his title of Earl of Gloucester. William Harrison, however, in the description of Britain prefixed to Holinshed, calls him Eldulph de Samor. But all concur in ascribing to him the acts which make the chief subject of the fifth and last Books of this Poem. BOOK I. Whose air I breathe, whose earth I tread, whose tongue My song Most proud, if I abase not. would speak, its strong and solemn tones Most of our present names of places being purely Or Nymph, or Muse, that oft 't was dream'd of old Saxon, and the old British having little of harmony or Gibbon, Chap. 31. 1 Lewis, Hist. of Britain. By falls of waters under haunted shades, Whitaker, Hist. of Manchester. O'er Poet's soul, and flooded all his powers |