TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

The Palace. Enter SIGISMUNDA and LAURA.

Sigismunda.

AH, fatal day to Sicily! the king

Couches his last moments!

Laura. So 'tis fear'd.

Sig. "The death of those distinguish'd by their station,

But by their virtue more, awakes the mind To solemn dread, and strikes a saddening awe: Not that we grieve for them, but for ourselves, Left to the toil of life-And yet the best Are, by the playful children of this world, At once forgot, as they had never been." aura, 'tis said, the heart is sometimes charged With a prophetic sadness: such, methinks, ow hangs on mine. The king's approaching death ggests a thousand fears. What troubles thence ay throw the state once more into confusion,

What sudden changes in my father's house

But then

May rise, and part me from my dearest Tancred,
Alarms my thoughts.

Laura. The fears of love. sick fancy!

Perversely busy to torment itself.

But be assured, your father's steady friendship,
Join'd to a certain genius, that commands,

Not kneels to fortune, will support and cherish,
Here in the public eye of Sicily,

This, I may call him, his adopted son,

The noble Tancred, form'd to all his virtues.

"The

Sig. Ah, form'd to charm his daughter!-This fair What sa

morn

Has tempted far the chase. Is he not yet
Return'd?

Laura. No.-When your father to the king,
Who now expiring lies, was call'd in haste,
He sent each way his messengers to find him ;*
With such a look of ardour and impatience,
As if this near event was to Count Tancred
Of more importance than I comprehend.

This sto

Laura

Like you

Believes

He neve

Sig. There lies, my Laura, o'er my Tancred's birth
A cloud I cannot pierce. With princely accost,
Nay, with respect, which oft I have observ'd,
Stealing at times submissive o'er his features,
In Belmont's woods my father rear'd this youth-

Ah, woods! where first my artless bosom learn'd
The sighs of love. He gives him out the son
Of an old friend, a baron of Apulia,

Who in the late crusado bravely fell.

He talk

ut then 'tis strange; is all his family

s well as father dead? and all their friends, Except my sire, the generous good Siffredi ? ad he a mother, sister, brother left,

he last remain of kindred; with what pride, hat rapture, might they fly o'er earth and sea, o claim this rising honour of their blood! his bright unknown! this all-accomplish'd youth! ho charms too much, the heart of Sigismunda! Laura, perhaps your brother knows him better, The friend and partner of his freest hours." hat says Rodolpho? Does he truly credit is story of his birth?

Laura. He has sometimes,

ke you, his doubts; yet, when maturely weigh'd, lieves it true. As for Lord Tancred's self, = never entertain'd the slightest thought mat verg'd to doubt; but oft laments his state, cruel fortune so ill pair'd to yours.

Sig. Merit like his, the fortune of the mind, ggars all wealth-Then, to your brother, Laura, - talks of me?

Laura. Of nothing else.

Howe'er

e talk begin, it ends with Sigismunda.

eir morning, noontide, and their evening walks, e full of you, and all the woods of Belmont

amour'd with your name

Sig. Away, my friend;

-u flatter- -yet the dear delusion charms.

Laura. No, Sigismunda, 'tis the strictest truth,

Nor half the truth, I tell you. Even with fondness
My brother talks for ever of the passion

That fires young Tancred's breast. So much it
strikes him,

He praises love as if he were a lover.

says,

While

The hea

As never

"He blames the false pursuits of vagrant youth,
"Calls them gay folly, a mistaken struggle
"Against best judging nature." Heaven, he
In lavish bounty form'd the heart for love;
In love included all the finer seeds

Of honour, virtue, friendship, purest bliss-
Sig. Virtuous Rodolpho!

Laura. Then his pleasing theme

He varies to the praises of your lover—

Sig. And what, my Laura, says he on the subject? Laura. He says that, though he was not nobly born, Nature has form'd him noble, generous, brave, "Truly magnanimous, and warmly scorning "Whatever bears the smallest taint of baseness; "That every easy virtue is his own;

"Not learnt by painful labour, but inspir'd, "Implanted in his soul."-Chiefly one charm He in his graceful character observes;

That though his passions burn with high impatience, S. 1 And sometimes, from a noble heat of nature,

Are ready to fly off; yet the least check

Of ruling reason brings them back to temper,
And gentle softhess.

Sig. True! Oh, true, Rodolpho !

Blest be thy kindred worth for loving his!
He is all warmth, all amiable fire,

Where

He was

Lord 1

ll quick heroic ardour! temper'd soft
With gentleness of heart, and manly reason!
virtue were to wear a human form,

o light it with her dignity and flame,

hen soft'ning mix her smiles and tender graces; 1, she would choose the person of my Tancred! o on my friend, go on, and ever praise him; he subject knows no bounds, nor can I tire, hile my breast trembles to that sweetest music! e heart of woman tastes no truer joy, never flattered with such dear enchantment'Tis more than selfish vanity"-as when e hears the praises of the man she loves————— Laura. Madam, your father comes.

Enter SIFFREDI.

if. [To an attendant as he enters.] Lord Tancred ound?

It. My lord, he quickly will be here.

scarce could keep before him, though he bid me peed on, to say he would attend your orders." f. 'Tis well-retire—You too, my daughter,

leave me.

g. I go, my father-But how fares the king? f. He is no more. Gone to that awful state, ere kings the crown wear only of their virtues. g. How bright must then be his !-This stroke is sudden;

was this morning well, when to the chase

Tancred went.

B