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Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUE-
MOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY, MISS MA-
ZARINE, and others, with SCAMP, the Lecturer, &c.
Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning; I 've
brought you some friends.

Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside.) If friends,
they're the first.

Lady Blueb.

next me.

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Lady Bleum.
What you say?
Ink.

Pray, sir! did you mean

Never mind if he did; 't will be scen

That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.
Both. Sir!

But the luncheon attends. I pray ye be seated, sans ceremonie." Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there, [They all sit. Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise: Sir Rich. (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to come. 'T was in your defence. Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy- Both. Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to place ye;

And you, Mr. Botherby

Both.

I obey.

Oh, my dear Lady,

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As a footman?

Lady Bluem.
For shame!
Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name,
Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master;
For the poet of pedlars 't were, sure, no disaster
To wear a new livery; the more, as 't is not
The first time he has turn'd both his creed and his coat.
Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George
could but hear-

Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all
know, my dear,

T is his way.

Sir Rich.

Ink.

A lecturer's.

But this place

Is perhaps like friend Scamp's,

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If you please, with submission,

I
It would be your perdition.
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last?

Both. At last?

Ink. Why I thought-that 's to say-there had past A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you know That the taste of the actors at best is so so.

Both. Sir, the green-room 's in rapture, and so 's the
committee.

Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our "pity
And fear," as the Greek says: for "purging the mind,"
I doubt if you leave us an equal behind.

Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have
pray'd

For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.
Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play 's to be
play'd.
Is it cast yet?

Both. The actors are fighting for parts,
As is usual in that most litigious of arts.
Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go
night.

the first

Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.
Ink.
Not quite.
However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,
I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double.
Tra. Why so?

Ink.

To do justice to what goes before. Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that

score.

Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are————

Ink.
Never mind mine;
Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line.
Lady Bluem. You 're a fugitive writer, I think, sir,

of rhymes?

Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes
On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight,
Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight.
Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but
time and posterity

Will right these great men, and this age's severity
Become its reproach.
Ink.

I've no sort of objection,
So I'm not of the party to take the infection.
Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever

will take?

Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take-what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;-but the subject's a bore!
Lady Bluem, Well, sir, the time's coming.
Ink.
Scamp! do n't you feel sore ?
What say you to this?
Scamp.
They have merit, I own;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.
Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?
Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my
strictures.

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness :—the
joy of my heart

Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. Wild Nature!-Grand Shakspeare!

Both

And down Aristotle ! Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle;

And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus.
Tra. And you, Scamp,-
Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd.
Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harass'd
With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and
all schools.

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be fools.

I should like to know who.
Ink.

And I should not be sorry To know who are not :-it would save us some worry. Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control

This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
Oh, my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise !—I
Now feel such a rapture, I 'm ready to fly,
I feel so elastic-" so buoyant-so buoyant !"*
Ink. Tracy! open the window.
Tra.

I wish her much joy on 't.
Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot
Upon earth. Give it way; 't is an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts;
For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his moun-
tain.

"T is the source of al! sentiment-feeling's true fountain: "T is the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 't is the gas Of the soul: 't is the seizing of shades as they pass, And making them substance: 't is something divine :Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine? Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey today?

Tra. I should think with Duke Humphrey was more

in your way.

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Out of "Elegant Extracts."
Lady Blueb.

Well, now we break up;
But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup.
Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet
again,

For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne !
Tra. And the sweet lobster salad!
Both.
I honour that meal:
For 't is then that our feelings most genuinely-feel.
Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond question:
I wish to the gods 't was the same with digestion!
Lady Blueb. Pshaw !-never mind that; for one mo.
ment of feeling

Is worth-God knows what.
Ink.

'T is at least worth concealing For itself, or what follows-But here comes your carriage.

Sir Rich. (aside.) I wish all these people were d-d with my marriage!

•Fact from life, with the words.

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Thou mayst retire.
[Exit HERMAR
Man. (alone.) There is a calm upon me—
Inexplicable stillness! which till now
Did not belong to what I knew of life.
If that I did not know philosophy
To be of all our vanities the motliest,
The merest word that ever fool'd the ear
From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem
The golden secret, the sought "Kalon" found,
And seated in my soul. It will not last,
But it is well to have known it, though but once
It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense,
And I within my tablets would note down
That there is such a feeling. Who is there?
Re-enter HERMAN.

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves
To greet your presence.

Enter the ABBOTT OF ST. MAURICE. Abbot. Peace be with Count Manfred! Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls: Thy presence honours them, and bless those Who dwell within them. Abbot. Would it were so, Count! But I would fain confer with thee alone.

Man. Herman retire. What would

my reverend guest? [Exit HERMAN, Abbot. Thus, without prelude;-Age and zeal, my office,

And good intent, must plead my privilege:
Our near, though not acquainted, neighbourhood
May also be my herald. Rumours strange,
And of unholy nature, are abroad,

And busy with thy name-a noble name
For centuries; may he who bears it now
Transmit it unimpaired!
Man.
Proceed, I listen.
Abbot. 'Tis said thou holdest converse with the things
Which are forbidden to the search of man;
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes,
The many evil and unheavenly spirits
Which walk the valley of the shade of death,
Thou communest. I know that with mankind,
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude
Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy.

Man. And what are they who do avouch these tips?
Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared peasantry-
Even thy own vassals-who do look on thee
With most unquiet eyes. Thy life 's in peril.
Man. Take it.
Abbot.

I

I come to save, and not destroy would not pry into thy secret soul;

But if these things be sooth, there still is time
For penitence and pity: reconcile thee

[Exeunt. With the true church, and through the church to heaven

See Letter to Mr. Murray, April 14, 1817, page 113.

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply ; whate’er
I may have been, or am, doth rest between
Heaven and myself.—I shall not choose a mortal
To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd
Against your ordinances? prove and punish!*

Abbot. Then, hear and tremble! For the headstrong wretch

Who in the mail of innate hardihood

Would shield himself, and battle for his sins,

There is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eternal-
Man. Charity, most reverend father,

Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace,
That I would call thee back to it; but say,
What wouldst thou with me?

It may be there are

Abbot.
Things that would shake thee-but I keep them back,

And give the till to-morow to repent.
Then if thou dost not all devote thyself

To penance, and with gift of all thy lands
To the monastery-

Man.

I understand thee,-well.

Abbot. Expect no mercy; I have warned thee.
Man. (opening the casket.)

There is a gift for thee within this casket.

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[MANFRED advances to the window of the hall
Glorious orb!* the ido

Of early nature, and the vigorous race
Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex
More beautiful than they, which did draw down
The erring spirits who can ne'er return.-

Stop-Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere
The mystery of thy making was reveal'd!

[MANFRED opens the casket, strikes a light, Thou earliest minister of the Almighty,

and burns some incense.

Ho! Ashtaroth!

Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd

The DEMON ASHTAROTH appears, singing as follows: Themselves in orisons! thou material God!

The raven sits

On the raven stone,

And his black wing flits

O'er the milk white bone;

To and fro, as the night winds blow,
The carcass of the assassin swings;
And there alone, on the raven-stone,t

The raven flaps his dusky wings.
The fetters creak-and his ebon beak

Croaks to the close of the hollow sound;
And this is the tune by the light of the moon
To which the witches dance their round,

Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily,
Merrily, merrily, speeds the ball:

And representative of the Unknown

Who chose thee for his shadow! thou chief star!
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth
Endurable, and temperest the hues

And hearts of all who walk within thy rays!
Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,
And those who dwell in them! for, near or far,
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee,
Even as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise,
And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well!
I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance

Of love and wonder for thee, then take
My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone:

The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in clouds, I follow.

Flock to the witches' carnival.

Abbot. I fear thee not-hence-hence

Avaunt thee, evil one!-help, ho! without there!

[Exit MANFRED.

SCENE II.-The Mountains-The Castle of Manfred at some distance-A Terrace before a Tower.-Time, Twilight.

Man. Convey this man to the Shreckhorn-to its HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of MANFRED.

peak

To its extremest peak-watch with him there
From now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know
He ne'er again will be so near to heaven.

But harm him not; and when the morrow breaks,
Set him down safe in his cell-away with him!

Ash. Had I not better bring his brethren too,
Convent and all, to bear him company?

Her. 'Tis strange enough; night after night, for
years,

He hath pursued long vigils in this tower,
Without a witness, I have been within it,
So have we all been ofttimes; but from it,
Or its contents, it were impossible
To draw conclusions absolute of aught
His studies tend to. To be sure, there is

Man. No, this will serve for the present. Take him up. One chamber where none enter; I would give
Ash. Come, friar! now an exorcism or two,

And we shall fly the lighter.

ASHTAROTH disappears with the ABBOT, singing
as follows:

A prodigal son and a maid undone,
And a widow re-wedded within the year;
And a worldly monk and a pregnant nun,
Are things which every day appear.
MANFRED alone.

Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and force
My art to pranks fantastical?—no matter,

• It will be perceived that, as far as this, the original matter of the Third Act has been retained.

"Raven-stone, (Rabenstein,) a translation of the German word for the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and made f stone.

The fee of what I have to come these three years,
To pore upon its mysteries.
Manuel.

'T were dangerous; Content thyself with what thou know'st already.

Her. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise,
And couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the
castle-
How many years is 't?

Manuel.

Ere Count Manfred's birth,
I served his father, whom he naught resembles.
Her. There be more sons in like predicament.
But wherein do they differ?
Manuel.

I speak not

• This soliloquy, and a great part of the subaquent scene, have brea retained in the present form of the drama.

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Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen
Some strange things in these few years.*
Her.
Come, be friendly;
Relate me some, to while away our watch:
I've heard thee darkly speak of an event
Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower.
Manuel. That was a night indeed! I do remember
"T was twilight, as it may be now, and such
Another evening ;-yon red cloud, which rests
On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then,—
So like it that it might be the same; the wind
Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows
Began to glitter with the climbing moon;
Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower,-
How occupied, we knew not, but with him
The sole companion of his wanderings
And watchings-her, whom of all earthly things
That lived, the only thing seem'd to love,
As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do,
The lady Astarte, his-

Her.

[They sprinkle MANFRED with water; after a pause he gives some signs of life.

Manuel. He seems to strive to speak-come, cheerly
Count!

He moves his lips-canst hear him? I am old,
And cannot catch faint sounds.

[HERMAN inclining his head and listening.
Her.
I hear a word
Or two-but indistinctly-what is next?
What's to be done? let's bear him to the castle.
[MANFRED motions with his hand not to remove hin
Manuel. He disapproves-and 't were of no avail-
He changes rapidly.
Her.

'T will soon be over.

Manuel. Oh! what a death is this! that I should live To shake my gray hairs over the last chief Of the house of Sigismund.-And such a death! Alone-we know not how-unshrived-untendedWith strange accompaniments and fearful signsI shudder at the sight-but must not leave him. Manfred. (speaking faintly and slowly.) Old man It is not so difficult to die.

[MANFRED, having said this, expires. Her. His eyes are fix'd and lifeless.—He is gone. Manuel. Close them. My old hand quivers.—He de parts

Whither? I dread to think-But he is gone!

TO MY DEAR MARY ANNE.

Look-look-the tower-[THE FOLLOWING LINES ARE THE EARLIEST WRITTEN BY

The tower's on fire. Oh, heavens and earth! what sound. What dreadful sound is that? [A crash like thunder. Manuel. Help, help, there!-to the rescue of the Count,

The Count's in danger,-what ho! there! approach! [The Servants, Vassals, and Peasantry approach, stupified with terror.

If there be any of you who have heart

And love of human kind, and will to aid
Those in distress-pause not-but follow me-
The portal's open, follow.

Her.

[MANUEL goes in.

Come-who follows?

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The flame that within my heart burns
If unlike what in lovers' hearts glows;
The love which for Mary I feel
Is far purer then Cupid bestows.

I wish not your peace to disturb,
I wish not your joys to molest;
Mistake not my passion for love,
"T is your friendship alone I request.

Not ten thousand lovers could feel

The friendship my bosom contains;

It will ever within my heart dwell,

While the warm blood flows through my veins.

May the Ruler of Heaven look down,
And my Mary from evil defend!
May she ne'er know adversity's frown,
May her happiness ne'er have an end!

Once more, my sweet Mary, adieu!
Farewell! I with anguish repeat,

For ever I'll think upon you

While this heart in my bosom shall beat.

TO MISS CHAWORTH.

Oh Memory, torture me no more,
The present 's all o'ercast ;
My hopes of future bliss are o'er,
In mercy veil the past.

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To Thee, my God, to Thee I call!
Whatever weal or wo betide,
By thy command I rise or fall,
In thy protection I confide.
If, when this dust to dust restored,
My soul shall float on airy wing,
How shall thy glorious name adored
Inspire her feeble voice to sing!
But, if this fleeting spirit share

With clay the grave's eternal bed,
While life yet throbs I raise my prayer,
Though doom'd no more to quit the dead.
To Thee I breathe my humble strain,
Grateful for all thy mercies past,
And hope, my God, to thee again
This erring life may fly at last.

29th Dec. 1806

Now no more my Mary smiling Makes ye seem a heaven to me.

THE PRAYER OF NATURE.
FATHER of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?
Father of Light, on thee I call!

Thou see'st my soul is dark within;
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert from me the death of sin.
No shrine I seek to sects unknown;
Oh point to me the path of truth!
Thy dread omnipotence I own;

Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth.
Let bigots rear a gloomy fane,

Let superstition hail the pile,
Let priests, to spread their sable reign,
With tales of mystic rites beguile.
Shall man confine his Maker's sway

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone? Thy temple is the face of day;

805.

Earth, ocean, heaven thy boundless throne. Shall man condemn his race to hell

Unless they bend in pompous form;
Tell us that all, for one who fell,

Must perish in the mingling storm?
Shall each pretend to reach the skies,
Yet doom his brother to expire,
Whose soul a different hope supplies,
Or doctrines less severe inspire?
Shall these, by creeds they can't expound,
Prepare a fancied bliss or wo?
Shall reptiles, groveling on the ground,

Their great Creator's purpose know?
Shall those, who live for self alone,
Whose years float on in daily crime-
Shall they by Faith for guilt atone,

And live beyond the bounds of Time? Father! no prophet's laws I seek,—

Thy laws in Nature's works appear ;I own myself corrupt and weak,

Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear! Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Through trackless realms of ether's space; Who calm'st the elemental war,

Whose hand from pole to pole I trace:Thou, who in wisdom placed me here,

Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere, Extend to me thy wide defence.

FRAGMENT.

[When Lord Byron first went to Newstead on his arrival from Aberdeen, he planted a young oak in some part of the grounds, and bað an idea that as it flourished, so should he. Some six or seven years after, on revisiting the spot, he found his oak choked up by wer is, and airiost destroyed. The following opening lines are a specimen of the poem he wrote on the occasion.]

YOUNG Oak, when I planted thee deep in the ground, I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.

Such, such was my hope, when, in infancy's years,
On the land of my fathers I rear'd thee with pride;
They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears.-
Thy decay not the weeds, that surround thee, can hide

I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour,
A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my sire, &c. &c.

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