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Coun.

More horrible than that!

Mid the wild uproar of the elements,

Thou comest like the demon of the storm.

Thy look is desolation, and thy touch

A with'ring blast to nature.

Dur.

Why I come,

Proud beauty, thou shalt know: but gather this-
I came not to fool time away with words,
I came not to intreat, but to command:-
I did not come to woo thee like the dove,
But like the pard, to grapple and enjoy.
Therefore these looks of scorn are out of season.
'Tis not the fierce displeasure of thine eye;

Thy tone imperious, or thy swelling lip,

Can shake me from my purpose. Mark me, lady!
Revenge may diet on a woman's scorn,

Keenly as love can on her bounty feed.-
Swear, then, to-morrow's sun shall see thee mine,

This moment swear it, or the very next

Shall give to vengeance what is due to love.

Coun. Durazzo, hear me?

Dur.

Coun.

You refuse?

Nay, hear me ! (Kneels.)

I do conjure you, as you are a man

From woman's breasts have drawn humanity—

Have known the blessed sleep that waits on goodness

Damn not yourself and me.

Dur.

Why, thou art woman?

True woman! very woman to the last!
When the loud fury of your words is vain,
You try with tears to soften me to folly:
So, when the fury of the wind subsides,
Relenting nature melts into a shower

:

But I am proof to both, and thus I seize,

Cold stubborn fair one-(As she is struggling with him,

the alarm bell of the castle rings, and immedi

ately after one of his crew enters.)

Sail. Captain, they storm the castle.

Dur. Confusion! who?

Sail. Rosano, and some fifty of his friends.

Coun. Assist them, god of justice !

(Clasping her hands.)

Dur. Why, lady, you look pleas'd? rekindling hope Mounts to your cheek and dances in your eye. There is some dalliance there for young Rosano, But I will spoil your dream. Who waits without?

(Some of his crew enter.)

Quick thro' the windings of the secret vault,

To the dark tower convey her!

That done, assemble in the court.

(Exeunt SAILORS with the COUNTESS.)

Dur. (Solus.) True, they have traced the lion to

his den;

But shall they wrest the victim from my gripe.

Rosano and his friends? What, shall these walls,
That bid defiance to the roaring winds,

And lift their heads to meet the thunderbolt,
Bow to man's mimic battery? Vain fools!
There is a magic in the howling storm,

Which fills my soul with terror, and aught else

Is but the idle prattle of a babe.

[Exit.

Scene, the Exterior of the Castle.-View of the Tower to which the COUNTESS has been carried.

ROSANO and his Followers enter.

Ros. This

way, my friends

s; on this side we must

enter, or all is lost.

(The storm continues, ROSANO and his Party attack the Castle-A breach is made-DURAZZO and his Followers appear and engage the Assailants-ROSANO disarms DURAZZO and carries off the COUNTESS.*

Dur. (Solus.) Thus is my shame complete, and fix'd his triumph.

By a judicious transposition, this was made the last scene in The Fisherman's Hut.

AIR 19th.

Welcome, once more, thou heaving ocean!
Land of my blighted hopes, adieu !
Soon shall my sails with ling'ring motion
Sink slowly from the landman's view.
Let winds blow hard and billows rave,
The roaring blast, the whelming tide,
My shatter'd vessel may outride,
Led by the star,

That gleams from far,

To light her o'er the pathless wave:
But woman, he

Who trusts to thee,

Shall perish on an unknown sea,

No voice to cheer, no lamp to guide.

[Exit. Scene, the COUNTESS's.-The clothes press is seen at

the back part of the stage-The JUSTICE steals out from one side towards the one door, and the JEW in like manner towards the other, but finding both doors fast, they turn round, and after looking very shy at one another for some time, gradually approach.*

Steph. Ah! what, my friend Balthazar, is it you?

In the representation, this scene, much compressed, was included in that preceding it, at the Fisherman's Cottage.

Bal. And my dear friend, Signor Stephano, is it you? 'Twas well there was a partition in the clothes press.

Steph. I want nothing but embalming to be a perfect mummy. If they had used me for a threshing floor, and beat out a cart-load of wheat upon me, my bones could not ache more completely.

Bal. I feel as if I had been broke upon the wheel, and was only waiting for the coup de grace.

Steph. Between you and me, I think I cut a very ridiculous figure.

Bal. Between you and me, I think dat ish very much the case with myself.

Steph. But how the devil did you get into that clothes press?

Bal. My dear friend, how did you get there? Steph. No matter; I believe the less that's said about it the better: but where are we?

Bal. That ish what I should like to know myself. Steph. We are not brought here for nothing, I'm afraid.

Bal. No, my bones have paid handsomely for the carriage.

Steph. As our disguises can be of no use to us, suppose we cast them off?

Bal. Dat ish a good thought. (He listens at one

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