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Count D'Alba! Save him! Save him! D'Alba's gone,
And I have sentenced him.
(After a pause.
He would have chosen so,
Would rather have died a thousand deaths than so
Have lived! Oh who will succour me, shut up
In this lone tower! none but those horrid guards,
And yonder hoary traitor, know where the poor,
Poor Annabel is hidden; no man cares
How she may perish-only one-and he-
Preserve my wits! I'll count my beads; 'twill calm

me:

What if I hang my rosary from the casement?
There is a brightness in the gorgeous jewel
To catch men's eyes, and haply some may pass
That are not pitiless. This window 's closed;
But in yon chamber-Ah, 't is open! There
I'll hang the holy gem, a guiding star,
A visible prayer to man and God. Oh save me
From sin and shame! Save him! I'll hang it there.

[Exit.

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ACT V. SCENE

The same as the last; the arched Door nearly closed.

Annabel.

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Jul. Ann.

Jul.

Ask not.

Whither?

To my father.

Ann. Then he's alive-Oh happiness! They told

me

That he was dead. Why do we loiter here? Let's join him now.

Jul.

Ann.

Not yet.

Now! now! Thou know'st not How horribly these walls do picture to me The several agonies whereof my soul Hath drunk to-day. I have been tempted, Julian, By one-a fiend! tempted till I almost thought God had forsaken me. But thou art here To save me, and my pulse beats high again With love and hope. I am light-hearted now, And could laugh like a child-only these walls Do crowd around me with a visible weight, A palpable pressure; giving back the forms Of wildest thoughts that wandered through my brain, Bright chattering Madness, and sedate Despair, And Fear the Great Unreal!-Take me hence! Take me away with thee!

Jul. Not yet, not yet. Thon sweetest wretch! I cannot-Dotard! Fool! I must. Not yet! not yet!-Talk to me, Annabel; This is the hour when thou wast wont to make Earth Heaven with lovely words; the sun-set hour, That woke thy spirit into joy. Once more Talk to me, Annabel.

Ay, all day long,

Ann. When we are free. Thy voice is choked; thy looks Are not on me; thy hand doth catch and twitch And grasp mine painfully,—that gentle hand! Jul. O God! O God! that right hand!-kiss it not! Take thy lips from it!

Ann.

Can'st thou save me, Julian? Thou always dost speak truth. Can'st save thyself? Shall we go hence together?

Jul.

One home.

Ay, one fate

Ann. Why that is bliss. We shall be poor

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Whose level beams do cast a golden shine
On sea, and shore, and city, on the pride
Of bowery groves; on Etna's smouldering top;-
Oh bright and glorious world! and thou of all
Created things most glorious, tricked in light,
As the stars that live in Heaven!
Ann.

So sadly on me? Jul.

Why dost thou gaze

The bright stars, how oft
They fall, or seem to fall! The Sun-look! look!
He sinks, he sets in glory. Blessed orb,
Like thee-like thee-Dost thou remember once
We sate by the sea-shore when all the Heaven
And all the ocean seemed one glow of fire,
Red, purple, saffron, melted into one

Intense and ardent flame, the doubtful line
Where sea and sky should meet was lost in that
Continuous brightness; there we sate and talked
Of the mysterious union that blessed orb

Wrought between earth and heaven, of life and death,
High mysteries!-and thou didst wish thyself
A spirit sailing in that flood of light

Straight to the Eternal Gates, didst pray to pass
Away in such a glory. Annabel!

Look out upon the burning sky, the sea
One lucid ruby-'t is the very hour!
Thou 'lt be a Seraph at the Fount of Light
Before-

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Now!
[One of the murderers strikes at Julian with
his sword; Annabel rushes before him, re-
ceives the wound aimed at him, and fulls
at his feet.

Ann. (before she is wounded.) For thee!
Then after.

"Tis sweet!

For thee (dies.

Jul. Fiend, hast thou slain her? Die! die! die! Come on. (fights and kills him. Bert. Call instant help! Hasten the Count!

[Exit the other murderer.

(Julian and Bertone fight, and Julian kills him. Jul. My wife! My murdered wife! Doth she not breathe? I thought

My sight is dim-Oh no! she's pale! she's cold!
She's still! If she were living she would speak

To comfort me. She's mute! she's stiff! she 's-dead!
Why do I shiver at the word, that am

Death's factor, peopler of unhallowed graves,
Slayer of all my race! not thee! not thee!
God, in his mercy, guided the keen sword
To thy white bosom,-I could not. Lie there.
I'll shroud thee in my mantle.

(covering her with it. The rude earth

Will veil thy beauty next. One kiss!-She died
To save me.-One kiss, Annabel! I slew
The slave that killed thee,-but the fiend, the cause-
Is he not coming?—I will chain in life

Till I've avenged thee; I could slay an army
Now in my strong despair. But that were mercy.
He must wear daggers in his heart. He loved her ;-
I'll feed his hopes-and then-Ay-ha! ha! ha!
That will be a revenge to make the fiends
Laugh-ha! ha! ha! I'll wrap me in this cloak
(taking one belonging to the dead bravo.
And in the twilight-So!-He will not know
My voice-it frightens me!-I have not hidden
Thee quite, my Annabel! There is one tress
Floating in springy grace—as if she's dead!
She's dead! I must not gaze, for then my heart
Will break before its time. He comes. The stairs
Groan at his pressure.

Enter D'Alba.

D'Alba (entering, to an Attendant).
Back, and watch the gate!-

All's tranquil. Where's the traitor?

Ann.

Jul.

I cannot draw it.

Ann.

Yes.

Jul. D'Alba.

My sword!

Jul. I.

Now!-I'm ready.

Enter Bertone, and two Murderers.

Bert.
Seize him!
Yield thee, Prince Julian! Yield thee! Seize the lady.
Jul. Oh fatal, fond delay! Dare not come near us!
Stand off! I'll guard thee, sweet. But when I fall,
Let him not triumph.

Bert.
Yield thee! Strike him down.
Jul. Thou canst die then, my fairest.
The two murderers have now advanced
close to Julian.

Dead.

Who slew him?

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Of rude uncostly linen serves to wrap
I'm glad thou'rt come to close my eyes. Draw nearer
Your common corse; but this man was born swathed That I may see thy face. Where art thou?

In regal purple; lived so; and so died.

So be he buried. Let not mine enemy
Call me ungenerous. Roll him in his ermine
And dig a hole without the city gate

For him and the proud Regent. Quick! I'd have
The funeral speedy. Ah! the slaughtering sword
Lies by him, brown with clotted gore. Hence! hence!
And drag the carrion with thee.
Jul.

Look on the corse?

D'Alba.

Alf.

Here!

Jul. Poor child, he weeps! Send for the honoured dead

Beside the city gate,-he pardoned me!

Bury us in one grave,—all in one grave!

I did not kill her. Strew her with white flowers,
For she was innocent.
Leanti.

Cheer thee! Take hope!

Val. Raise up his head.

Wilt thou not

Alf.

Jul.

I cannot wait her waking: I must go feast my eyes on her fair looksDivinest Annabel! My widowed bride!— Where is she?

Jul. (uncovering the body.) There. Now gaze thyself to Hell!

Gloat with hot love upon that beauteous dust!

My Julian!

He forgave me,

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D'Alba. Oh perfectest and loveliest thing! Eternal curses rest upon his head

Who murdered thee!

Jul.

Off! off! Pollute her not!

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EPILOGUE.

WRITTEN BY T. A. TALFOURD, ESQ.

Is not her lot intolerably hard
Who does this pious office for the Bard?
Who comes applauses not her own to win,
Or pay the penance for another's sin?
To tack, lest gentle moralisers rail,
To break with hollow mirth the sacred spell
A drawling comment to a doubtful tale;
Which the poor poet rarely weaves too well;
Or if his sorrrows haplessly are laugh'd at,
Look grave for wit to throw his closing shaft at,
Methinks our Author's sex you shrewdly guess-
"It is a Lady's Drama"-frankly "yes."
Yet let no censure on her daring fall,
When all "Life's idle business" is-to scrawl;
Our tender bosoms learn in songs to melt,
And send their griefs to press-as soon as felt;
No thought in lone obscurity decays,
But dies away in neatly published lays;
No tender hope can bloom and fade unseen,
It leaves its fragrance-in a magazine;
The bashful heart, whom deep emotions bless,
Hides its soft secrets in the daily press;
With hints of well-assumed despair beguiles,
And execrates mankind to win their smiles;
A woman sure may claim no small compassion,
Who has this plea-she's only in the fashion.
O, if the fair's prerogative it be

To watch supreme o'er calumny and tea;
[Exit D'Alha guarded. To slay an Author's hopes with daintiest sneers,
And change the fates of poets as of peers;
Regard not her unwomanly who seeks

Julian!

I have been thanking heaven

His wits are gone.
My Julian,
Dost thou know me? I'm thy Cousin,

She was my Comforter!

And now-But I do know thee; thou'rt the King;
The pretty boy I loved-She loved thee too;

To draw down sacred tears o'er beauty's cheeks,
Who for her sex, by artless scenes, would keep
Its dearest right-to weep with those that weep;
Who if to-night her humble muse hath brought
To some sad heart a train of gentle thought;
On some warm spirit shed that blest relief,
A generous sympathy with kindred grief,
With joy returns to life's secluded ways,
And asks no recompense of noisier praise.

RIENZI, A TRAGEDY.

DRAMATIS PERSONEÆ.

COLA DI RIENZI, afterwards Tribune of the People.
STEPHEN COLONNA, a great Nobleman of Rome.
ANGELO COLONNA, his Son.

URSINI, a great Nobleman, rival to Colonna.
SAVELLI,

CAFARELLO, Lords of the Colonna faction.

FRANGIPANI, a partisan of Ursini, also a Nobleman.
ALBERTI, Captain of the Guard.
PAOLO, a Roman Citizen.
CAMILLO, Rienzi's Servant.

Nuncio, Ambassador, Nobles, Citizens, Guards, &c.

LADY COLONNA, Stephen Colonna's Wife.
CLAUDIA, Rienzi's daughter.

BERTA,

TERESA, Claudia's attendants.

ROSA,

Ladies, Attendants, &c.

Scene-ROME, in the Fourteenth Century.

RIENZI.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Rome in the fourteenth century.—A Street in Rome.— A Temple in Ruins, in the back-ground a Portico, with columns in front of it, so managed that a person may appear and disappear amongst the pillars and recesses.

Enter Paolo, and three Citizens, meeting.

First Cit. Ah, Messer Paolo, a good morrow to thee!

The streets are full to-day. have not seen
Such an outpouring of our Roman hive

Since the last jubilee. Whence comes the swarm?
Pao. The stirring Ursini, on a hot canvass
For their proud chief, the factious Martin.

First Cit. He,

Our senator! a proper ruler! sick, too,

And like to die.

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Second Cit. Nay, he were harmless, then. But 't is his brother, John, of Ursini,

The subtle John, that drives this business onward.
First Cit. A proper ruler! Martin Ursini,

That seized the Widow Landi's house to make
A kennel for his hounds-that carried off
The pretty child Emilia Fano-none
Hath e'er beheld her since.

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Pao.

What should we do?

Rie.

Why, Cola,
Talk, talk, my masters! Speech
Is your fit weapon. Talk! Women and slaves
So drown the rattle of their chains. Talk! talk!
And tell in gentle whispers, gazing round,
Lest other list'ners than the storied walls
Of these old temples hear ye, how on Monday
A noble gallant, one of the Corsi, stole-
Seized, is the courtlier phrase-and wrung the neck
Of Adriani's falcon, a famed bird,
Unmatch'd in Italy-the poor old man

Weeps as it were his child-or how, on Tuesday,
Black John, of Ursini, spurred his hot courser
Right through a band of pious pilgrims, journeying
To our lady of Loretto-marry, two
Are lamed for life-or how, on Wednesday-
Pao. Stop-

Rie.

I can go through the week. Pao. But, for the pilgrims

Art sure of that foul sacrilege?

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Urs. (To the mob.) Thanks, gentle friends. (To
the Lords) Yes, I expect to-morrow

A packet from Avignon; even Colonna
Will bow to Clement's mandate.

If he do not

Fra.
Urs. Oh, never doubt; if he refuse, why, then-
Doubt him not, Frangipani. Quicker, friends-

I hurry ye, my lords, but we are waited
At the Alberteschi Palace. Follow fast.
Crowd following) Live John of Ursini!

[Exeunt Ursini, &c.-Paolo and the three Citi-
zens come forward, and are stopped by an
armed Attendnnt.

Att. Why, what a sort of sullen citizens
Be here, that shout not! Doff thy bonnet, man!
Look at thy fellows! doff thy cap.

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Parade the city. (Distant shouts.) Hark! do ye not The type of that to come. Yon creeping slave, hear

The shouting mob approach?-Sure as that ye
Who frown, and lift your eyes, and shake your heads,
And look aghast at such foul sacrilege,
Will join your voice to that base cry,
and shout,
Long live the Ursini! I know ye, masters.
Pao. Cola, thou wrong'st us.
Rie.
If I wrong ye-no!
Ye are Italians; men of womanish soul,
Faint, weak, emasculate: the generous wrath
Of the manly Roman, with his lofty tongue,
Lies buried-not for ever. (Nearer shouts.) Hark!
Here comes

The tyrant of to-day. Go, swell his train.
I'll to my porch again, and feed my spirit
On these mute marbles.

Second Cit.

Third Cit.

A dangerous.

Struck with the strong brute force of power, fell
Before my weaker arm, nerved by the spirit
Of righteous indignation. So shall fall
Tyrants and tyranny. Meet me to-night
On the Capitoline Hill. Now I can trust ye,
Now that the man is roused within your souls,
The Roman ardour.

Second Cit.
Rie.

One is gone.

Well, well,

A milder breeze had severed such light chaff
From the sound corn. Yon slave-he lives-he stirs.
Pao. I'll take him to my house.
Rie.

And I, to-morrow,

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[Paolo and Citizens retire to the back-ground | An Apartment in Rienzi's House; a Roman chair,

in front of the Temple.

Enter Officers, six Halberdiers, and Ursini, Frangi. pani, and two Lords, in conversation, followed by armed Attendants, and accompanied by a Crowd, who shout, "Live the Ursini," &c.

with a skein of red worsted; a Lattice down to the floor, opening into the Garden.

Enter Angelo and Claudia, through the Lattice. Cla. Beseech thee, now, away, Lord AngeloThou hast been here o'erlong.

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