ALTAMONT.
ET this aufpicious Day be ever facred, No Mourning, no Misfortunes happen on it;
Let it be markt for Triumphs and Re joycings;
Let happy Lovers ever make it holy,
Chufe it to bless their Hopes, and crown their Wishes,
This happy Day that gives me my Califta.
Hor. Yes, Altamont; to Day thy better Stars
Are join'd, to fhed their kindeft Influence on thee
Seielto's noble Hand, that rais'd thee first,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy Father's Grave,
Compleats its Bounty, and restores thy Name
To that high Rank and Luftre which it boasted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The Merit of thy Godlike Father's Arms;
Before that Country which he long had ferv'd,
In watchful Councils, and in Winter Camps,
Had caft off his white Age to Want and Wretchedness,
And made their Court to faction by his Ruin.
Alt. Oh great Sciolto! oh my more than Father!
Let me not live, but at thy very Name
My eager Heart springs up, and leaps with Joy.
When I forget the vast vast Debt I owe thee,
Forget! (but 'tis impoffible) then let me
Forget the Use and Privilege of Reason,
Be driven from the Commerce of Mankind,
To wander in the Defart among Brutes,
ན To bear the various Fury of the Seafans,
The Night's unwholsom Dew and Noon-day's Heat,
To be the Scorn of Earth, and Curfe of Heav'n.
Hor. So open, fo unbounded was his Goodness,
It reach'd ev'n me, because I was thy Friend.
When that Great Man I lov'd, thy Noble Father,
Bequeath'd thy gentle Sifter to my Arms,
His laft dear Pledge and Legacy of Friendship,
That happy Tye made me Sciolto's Son ;
He call'd us his, and with a Parent's Fondness
Indulg'd us in his Wealth, bleft us with Plenty,
Heal'd all our Cares, and fweeten'd Love it self.
Alt. By Heav'n, he found my Fortunes so abandon'd, That nothing but a Miracle could raise 'em;
My Father's Bounty, and the State's Ingratitude,
Had ftrip'd him bare, nor left him evʼn a Grave ;
Undone my felf, and finking with his Ruin,
I had no Wealth to bring, nothing to fuccour him,
But fruitless Tears.
Hor. Yet what thou cou'dft thou didst,
And didft it like a Son; when his hard Creditors,
Urg'd and affifted by Lothario's Father,
(Foe to thy Houfe, and Rival of their Greatness)
By Sentence of the cruel Law, forbid
His venerable Corps to reft in Earth,
Thou gav❜ft thy felf a Ranfom for his Bones;
With Piety uncommon, didft give up
Thy hopeful Youth to Slaves who ne'er knew Mercy,
Sour, unrelenting, Mony-loving Villains,
Who laugh at human Nature and Forgiveness,
And are like Fiends the Factors for Deftru&tion.
Heav'o, who beheld the pious Act, approv'd it,
And bad Sciolto's Bounty be its Proxy,
To blefs thy filial Virtue with Abundance.
Alt. But fee he comes, the Author of my Happiness, The Man who fav'd my Life from deadly Sorrow, Who bids my Days be bleft with Peace and Plenty, And fatisfies my Soul with Love and Beauty.
Enter Sciolto, he runs to Altamont and embraces him.
Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont ! Joy to my self!
Joy to this happy Morn, that makes thee mine,
That kindly grants what Nature had deny'd me,
And makes me Father of a Son like thee.
Alt. My Father! oh let me unlade my Breast,
Pour out the fullness of my Soul before you,
Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful Thought,
This wond'rous Goodness ftirs. But 'tis impoffible,
And Utterance all is vile; fince I can only
B 2
Swear you reign here, but never tell how much.
Sei. It is enough; I know thee thou art honeft;
Goodness innate, and Worth hereditary
Are in thy Mind; thy noble Father's Virtues
Spring freshly forth, and bloffom in thy Youth.
Alt. Thus Heav'n from nothing rais'd his fair Creation,
And then with wond'rous Joy beheld its Beauty,
Well pleas'd to see the Excellence he gave.
Sci. Oh noble Youth! I fwear fince first I knew thee, Ev'n from that day of Sorrows when I saw thee, Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial Tears,
The Mourner and Redeemer of thy Father,
I fet thee down and feal'd thee for my own:
Thou art my Son, ev'n near me as Califta.
Horatio and Lavinia too are mine; [Embraces Horatio.
All are my Children, and shall share my Heart.
But wherefore waste we thus this happy Day?
The laughing Minutes fummon thee to Joy,
And with new Pleasures court thee as they pass ;
Thy waiting Bride ev'n chides thee for delaying,
And swears thou com'ft not with a Bridegroom's Hafte.
Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one Thought of Altamont,
One kind Remembrance in Califta's Breaft,
The Winds, with all their Wings, would be too flow
To bear me to her Feet. For oh! my Father,
Amidft this Stream of Joy that bears me on,
Bleft as I am, and honour'd in your Friendsh p,
There is one Pain, that hangs upon my Heart.
Sci. What means my Son?
Alt. When, at your Interceffion,
Laft Night Califta yielded to my Happiness,
Juft ere we parted, as I feal'd my Vows
With Rapture on her Lips, I found her Cold,
As a dead Lover's Statue on his Tomb;
A rifing ftorm of Paffion fhook her Breaft,
Her Eyes a piteous fhow'r of Tears let fall,
And then the figh'd as if her Heart were breaking.
With all the tendereft Eloquence of Love
I beg'd to be a Sharer in her Grief,
But fhe, with Looks averfe, and Eyes that froze me,
Sadly reply'd, her Sorrows were her own,
Nor in a Father's Pow'r to dispose of.
Sci. Away! it is the Cofenage of their Sex,
One of the common Arts they practise on us,
To figh and weep, then when their Hearts beat high,
With expectation of their coming Joy:
Thou haft in Camps, and fighting Fields been bred,
Unknowing in the Subtleties of Women;
The Virgin Bride, who fwoons with deadly Fear,
To fee the end of all her Wishes near,
When blushing from the Light and publick Eyes,
To the kind Covert of the Night the flies,
With equal Fires to meet the Bridegroom moves,
Melts in his Arms, and with a loofe fhe loves. [Exeunt
Enter Lothario and Roffano.
Loth. The Father and the Husband!
Roff. Let them pass,
They faw us not.
Loth. I care not if they did,
Ere long I mean to meet 'em Face to Face,
And gaul 'em with my Triumph o'er Calista.
Roff. You lov'd her once.
Loth. I lik'd her, wou'd have marry'd her,
But that it pleas'd her Father to refuse me,
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