FT has the bufkin'd Mufe, with action mean,
Debas'd the glory of the Tragic Scene ;
While puny villains, dress'd in purple pride,
With crimes obfcene the heaven-born rage bely'd.
To her belongs to mourn the Hero's fate,
To trace the errors of the Wife and Great ;
To mark th' excess of paffions too refin'd,
And paint the tumults of a God-like mind;
Where, mix'd with rage, exalted thoughts combine,
And darkeft deeds with beauteous colours shine.
Such lights and fhades in a well-mingled draught,
By curious touch of artful pencil wrought,
With foft deceit amuse the doubtful eye,
Pleas'd with the conflict of the various dye.
Thus, thro' the following scenes, with fweet furprize,
Virtue and guilt in dread confufion rife;
And Love and Hate, at once, and Grief and Joy,
Pity and Rage, their mingled force employ.
Here the foft Virgin fees, with fecret shame,
Her charms excell'd by friendship's purer flame ;
Forc'd, with reluctant virtue, to approve
The generous Hero, who rejects her love.
Behold him there with gloomy passions ftain'd,
A wife fufpected, and an injur'd friend;
Yet fuch the toil where innocence is caught,
That rafh fufpicion feems without a fault.
We dread a while, left beauty fhould fucceed,
And almoft wish e'en virtue's self may bleed.
Mark well the black Revenge, the cruel Guile,
The traitor-fiend trampling the lovely spoil,
Of Beauty, Truth, and Innocence oppress'd;
Then let the rage of furies fire your breast.
Yet may his mighty wrongs, bis juft difdain,
His bleeding country, his lov'd father flain,
His martial pride, your admiration raise,
And crown him with involuntary praife.
HETHER firft nature, or long want of peace,
Has wrought my mind to this, I cannot tell;
But horrors now are not difpleafing to me;
I like this rocking of the battlements.
Rage on, ye winds; burft, clouds, and waters roar !
You bear a juft resemblance of my fortune,
And fuit the gloomy habit of my foul.
Why have you left my bed?
Your abfence more affrights me than the storm.
The dead alone, in fuch a night can reft;
And I indulge my meditation here.
Woman, away: I choose to be alone.
ISABELLA.
I know you do, and therefore will not leave you;
Excufe me, Zanga, therefore dare not leave you.
Is this a night for walks of contemplation?
Something unusual hangs upon your heart,
And I will know it; by our loves, I will.
Το you I facrific'd my virgin fame;
Afk I too much to fhare in your distress?
In tears? Thou fool! Then hear me, and be plung'd
In hell's abyss, if ever it escape thee.
To ftrike thee with astonishment at once,
I hate Alonzo. Firft recover that,
And then thou fhalt hear farther.
I own, I thought Alonzo moft your friend;
And that he loft the master in that name.
ZANGA.
Hear then: "Tis twice three years fince that
(Great let me call him, for he conquer'd me)
Made me the captive of his arm in fight:
He flew my father, and threw chains o'er me,
While I, with pious rage, purfu'd revenge :
I then was young; he plac'd me near his person,
And thought me not dishonour'd by his service.
One day (may that returning day be night,
The ftain, the curfe of each fucceeding year!)
For fomething, or for nothing, in his pride
He ftruck me; (While I tell it, do I live?)
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