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BY A FRIEND.
Oft has the buskin'd muse, with action mean, Pity and rage, their mingled force employ. Debas'd the glory of the tragic scene:
Here the soft virgin sees, with secret shame, While puny villains, dress’d in purple pride, Her charms excelled by friendship’s purer flame, With crimes obscene, the heaven-born rage be- Porc'd with reluctant virtue to approve lied.
The generous hero who rejects her love. To her belongs to mourn the hero's fate, Behold him there, with gloomy passions stain'd, To trace the errors of the wise and great ; A wife suspected, and an injur'd friend; To mark the excess of passions too refin'd, Yet such the toil, where innocence is caught, And paint the tumults of a godlike mind; That rash suspicion seems without a fault. Where, mov'd with rage, exalted thoughts com- We dread a while lest beauty should succeed, bine,
And almost wish even virtue's self may bleed. And darkest deeds with beauteous colours shine. Mark well the black revenge, the cruel guile, So lights and shades, in a well-mingled draught, The traitor-fiend trampling the lovely spoil By curious touch of artful pencils wrought, Of beauty, truth, and innocence opprest ; With soft deceit amuse the doubtful eye, Then let the rage of furies fire your breast. Pleas'd with the conflict of the various dye. Yet may his mighty wrongs, his
just disdain, Thus through the following scenes, with sweet His bleeding country, his lov'd father slain, surprise,
His martial pride, your admiration raise, Virtue and guilt in dread confusion rise, And crown him with involuntary praise. And love and hate, at once, and grief and joy,
ZANGA, a captive Moor.
LEONORA, ALVAREZ's daughter,
ISABELLA, the Moor's mistress. DON MANUEL, attendant of Don CARLOS.
SCENE-Spain, VOL. II.
SCENE I.-Battlements, with a Sea Prospect. I then was young; he placed me near his persons Enter ZANGA.
And thought me not dishonoured by his service.
One day, (may that returning day be night, Zan. Whether first nature, or long want of The stain, the curse, of each succeeding year!) peace,
For something, or for nothing, in his pride Has wrought my mind to this, I cannot tell: He struck mer
-While I tell it, do I live? But horrors now are not displeasing to me:
He smote me on the cheek, I did not stab him,
[Thunder. For that were poor revenge E'er since, his I like this rocking of the battlements.
folly Rage on, ye winds ! burst, clouds, and waters Has strove to bury it beneath a heap roar!
Of kindnesses, and thinks it is forgot. You bear a just resemblance of my fortune,
Insolent thought! and like a second blow! And suit the gloomy habit of my soul.
Affronts are innocent, where men are worthless; Enter ISABELLA.
And such alone can wisely drop revenge.
Isa. But with more temper, Zanga, tell your Who's there? My love?
story; Isa. Why have you left my bed?
To see your strong emotions startles me. Your absence more affrights me than the storm.
Zan. Yes, woman, with the temper that befits it. Zan. The dead alone, in such a night, can rest, Has the dark adder venom ? So have I, And I indulge my meditation here.
When trod upon. Proud Spaniard, thou shalt Woman, away. I chuse to be alone.
feel me! Isa. I know you do, and therefore will not
For from that day, that day of my
I from that have cursed the rising sun, Excuse me, Zanga, therefore dare not leave you. Which never failed to tell me of my shame. Is this a night for walks of contemplation? I from that day have blessed the coming night, Something unusual hangs upon your heart, Which promised to conceal it; but in vain; And I will know it: by our loves I will.
The blow returned for ever in my dream. To you I sacrificed my virgin fame;
Yet on I toiled, and groaned for an occasion Ask I too much to share in your distress?
Of ample vengeance ; none is yet arrived. Zan. In tears ? Tbou fool! Then hear me, and
Howe'er, at present I conceive warm hopes be plunged
Of what may wound him sore in his ambition, In hell's abyss, if ever it escape thee.
Life of his life, and dearer than his soul. To strike thee with astonishment at once, By nightly march he purposed to surprise I hate Alonzo. First recover that,
The Moorish camp; but I have taken care And then thou shalt hear farther.
They shall be ready to receive his favour. Isa. Hate Alonzo!
Failing in this, a cast of utmost moment, I own, I thought Alonzo most your friend, Would darken all the conquests he has won. And that he lost the master in that name.
Isa. Just as I entered, an express arrived. Zan. Hear then. 'Tis twice three years since
Zan. To whom? that great man
Isa. His friend, Don Carlos. (Great let me call him, for he conquered me) Zan. Be propitious, Made me the captive of his arm in fight.
Oh, Mahomet, on this important hour, He slew my father, and threw chains o'er me,
And give, at length, my famished soul revenge! While I, with pious rage, pursued revenge. What is revenge, but courage to call in
leave you ;