51261 Gass fJTh/zA Book_^ 7?*-/- REVENGE, .&?$ OR THE NOVICE OF SAN MARTINO, A TRAGEDY. By MAJOR BROOK BRIDGES PARLBY, Of the Hon. East-India Company's Service. LONDON: PRINTED FOR BLACK, KINGSBJJRY, PARBURY, AND ALLEN, Leadenhall Street. 1818. CHARACTERS. % **7 *T ' LUDOVICO C ARANTANI— ^4 Nobleman, Father of Victoria and Olivia. DUKE OF MILAN —Designed by Ludovico as Victoria's Husband. FLORIANDE ROSALBA— A young Nobleman, hues Olivia. BONARIO — An ancient Kinsman of Florian's. MARCHESE DE CELESTINI— ,4rc empty Coxcomb to tvhom Victoria is attached. FATHER ANGELO-T/b Abbot of San Martino. JEROME—^ Monk. PRIORESS OF SAN MARTINO. VICTORIA. OLIVIA, EMILIA, "J ANTONIA, ( AGATHA, ( Nuns ' BERTHA, ) SCENE.— Chivazzo. Time supposed to elapse during the course of the action about thirty hours. REVENGE, OR THE NOVICE OF SAN MARTINO. A C T I. SCENE I. The Chapel of the Convent of San Martino. (As the curtain rises lights are seen through the windows of painted glass. The organ sounds. \ and the vesper hymn is chaunted at intervals. Florian, who was concealed behind one of the pillars, comes gradually forward during the performance of the hymn. The front of the stage darkened.) Th e busy race of day is done, The sun his golden course hath run And sunk beneath the wave ; [Dun night her banner hath unfurl'd, J And sleep hath spread o'er half the world, The silence of the grave. a 2 4 REVENGE. [Act J. Oh, may we so our days employ, As in the sleep of death to joy, The symbol of our rest ; Rememb'ring that the righteous dies, In sure and certain hope to rise, With glory 'mongst the blest. Florian comes forward with a letter in his hand. This is the place Olivia named, the hour appointed. Sure the deep gloom that shrouds these ancient aisles, Has shed its influence o'er my drooping spirit. Does listless torpor suit with the occasion, When even-handed fate her feathered balance holds, Apt for bold enterprize, or sloth inert ? When by the very deed and purpose of my mind, My all's restored, or lost to me for ever ? Ye pitying pow'rs, that watch o'er faithful love, Oppose a father, whose ambitious daring Would tear asunder two devoted hearts, ^ And force his child, a sad unwilling victim, To utter vows abhorrent to her soul. [Goes to a marble pillar , and places the letter in the hollow of it. Thou silent messenger, if thou couldst but impart A thousandth portion of th' impatient ardor That burns with thy inditer, each character should be A spear of fire to strike down all opponents, And thy bright eloquence should sound a larum On the slackened ear of moody deafness. [The chorus is again heard from the chapel. 'Gainst guilty thoughts the barrier close, While our frail bodies take repose Beneath thy sheltering wing : Scene L] REVENGE, . 5 And wak'd each morn in holy frame, May hearts accord, while lips proclaim, Hosannah to our King. [Lights appear in the back of the scene. Flo. Love moves with lingering pace When from the heart's dear idol parting. [The convent hell tolls. But hark, I must retire. Olivia, soon may this slowly-swinging bell Or hail thee mine, or sound my passing knell. [He withdraws. The Prioress, Nuns, S?c. pass over the stage, Olivia last. She loiters behind the rest and comes forztoard. Oliv. Oh that this swelling heart would burst its fleshy bonds, And loose a wretch who lives but to despair. These cloister'd walls bear witness to my groans, These holy steps are water'd with my tears ; And as I nightly press my couch of straw, No whisp'ring seraph breathes the notes of peace, But the deep sigh, forc'd from my laboring breast, Mournfully echoed thro' the vaulted cell. Repeats anew to my unwilling ear, Tidings of sad interminable woe. — Florian, dear Florian, would I had seen thee never. Or, having seen thee, that 'twere possible, With some oblivious draught, poppy or hemlock, Drowsy mandragora, or Lethe's clouded stream, To sweep from this fond, foolish, lovesick bosom, All traces, records, and false lingering hopes, That memory loves to feed on. a 3 6 REVENGE. [Act I. To this stem sacrifice cold prudence bids ; Yet, like the moth that flutters round the flame, I fly to that which shines but to undo me, And from its marble prison draw the hoarded prize, "Welcome as cheering blaze midst Zembla's snows. [_She stoops and takes up the letter, which she opens and runs over to herself. Rest there, brief pledge of truth and constancy, [Putting the letter in her bosom. Where he that trac'd thee will for ever dwell. Come back my scattered thoughts, aid me ye counsellors, Whose bright intelligence can pierce the mists of error, And in the very strife of angry passions, Opposing reason's shield, bid all be still. How best to steer in this dark sea I know not, Here love, in whispers soothing to the soul, With honied accents woes my softened heart. Obedience there, in icy mantle clad, His frozen wand displays ; and at his nod, The rising thought, with dreams of rapture warm'd, Recoils upon itself, and starting, shews The deadly halo of a father's curse. I ken no succour till that grizly king, Whose outstretch'd jaws for ever wait their prey, Shall seize this form for worms to revel on, And from its prison loose my troubled spirit. Enter Father Angelo. Ang. (aside.) Revenge, thou" art a harpy, whose foul ravenous claw Delights to pounce upon the daintiest morsels : else why this quickening pulse At sight of yonder maid ? Hold ! think upon her house — Scene I.] REVENGE. (Aloud.) Save thee, daughter. These lengthened vigils Do well bespeak the pious inclination, That leads thee to prefer our church's service To the vain pleasures of a giddy world. Our sisterhood the passing hours beguile In social converse, whilst thou alone art found The pensive tenant of these sober walls, Fit haunt for holy meditation. I hail these fair and prosperous beginnings; And if I augur well, seed sown thus early Shall yield a glorious harvest. Oliv. Reverend father. The awful tie, that to our holy church Must soon unite me, well may claim Large portion of my thoughts. And yet Methinks I read thy meek and lowly words, Gently rebuke me for thus ling' ring here (A place unseemly for a tender maid), Whenyiight and solemn silence reign around. Ang. Not so, my daughter. Better far I deem The humblest footstool in these hallowed courts, Than on the throne of ermin'd majesty to sit, Mingling in wanton wake and revelry. If that my counsels can avail thee ought, Freely demand, what gladly I'll bestow. (Aside.) Her Isil very tones seem music to my ear ; In eloquence more apt than tongue can tell^ These plaintive lengthened melancholy notes convey The stifled anguish of a stricken heart. Oliv. (aside.) Time moves apace ; 'twere best I leave him. (Aloud.) Father, I'll chuse a more convenient season To ask thy ghostly counsels, now farewell ; a 4 8 REVENGE. [Act I. Duty instructs me promptly to withdraw. When his rapt soul's on heav'nly converse bent, 'Twere most unseemly thus to interrupt Our people's idol, and our church's pride. [As she is retiring she drops the letter. Ang. (solus.) How ? said she, i6 our people's idol, and our church's pride," Twice twenty thousand tongues proclaim the same, Such is the lofty eminence I stand on. — Ha, what's this — [As he is looking after her, he sees and picks up the letter. Ho— daughter ! This purports to be — [She runs in, and seeing the letter open, shrieks, and flies to regain it. Oliv. 'Tis mine. Ang. (still holding the letter, aside.) Whence this emotion ? (Aloud.) Hold ; not so fast — Oliv. For pity's sake restore it.— Indeed, its mine ! Ang. Nay, daughter, 'tis fit I read this paper. Oliv. Then, — I am lost, — for ever. [She holds by one of the pillars, to save herself from sinking on the floor. Ang. (reads the letter with violent emotion.)