SCENE 1.
CRACOW—a View of the DIET—Bells ringing—a number of People diſcovered, among them RADZANO diſguiſed.

MAKE way there for the King—here he comes—here comes the great Caſimir.

That ſlave I do remember—ſave thee, fellow!—whoſe vaſſal art thou?

Marry, courteous ſtranger, I tend the mill of the Lord Rodomſko, Caſtellan of Wounitz, here in Cracovia.

Remembereſt thou the Lord Radzano?

Remember him—alack! the day—the laſt time I beheld his gallant form, was on the battle⯑ments [2] of his caſtle—then a very ſtripling—when my preſent Lord beſieged it.

So then, Radzano was by force expelled—pry'thee the ſtory.

If this addle pate of mine play me no trick, marry, thus it was—during the troubles of the late reign—peaceful right was elbow'd out by warlike might—then Rodomſko our preſent Lord, taking 'vantage of the time, when our troops were on the frontier, tugging with the common enemy, made inroad on us: On this, Radzano hied him back to his caſtle; but, alack! might cuffed down right, and, in the encounter, our good and brave lord was ſlain—Ah! ſtranger, that was a grievous day.

So—I ſtill am lord then of my vaſſals hearts.—Fellow, I thank thee for thy ſtory; a day may come when I'll requite thy love for thy loſt lord—but ſoft, the King.

Aye, here he comes—ſo majeſtic, and yet ſo humble; ſo juſt; and yet ſo merciful—the benizon of heaven light on him! he's the poor man's friend.

If thy report be true, the wrongs here written, may meet atonement—ſtand back; he approaches.

By my faith! well, urged—Lord Cardinal your words befit as well the objects of true policy, as they attune with the holy mandate of your calling. Yes! our country ſhall have peace! true; theſe Teutonic Knights have diſgraced their order, turning from chriſ⯑tian ſervice and true chivalry, to deeds of uſurpa⯑tion and dominion! yet nerved, tho' we are to check theſe ravagers; it befits us rather with firm expoſtulation to meet our enemy than riſk our ſubjects blood in keen encounter—let conquerors aſtound the ear with the din of war, the trumpets clangor, and the groans of captives—be mine the clamours of my people's love.

Radzano?

He.

Amazement!—my good Lords proceed you to the Diet.

My gracious King!

Riſe to my heart—ſay, what fair fortune has preſerved thee to me—

A woman good, my liege, and fair as fortune e'er was pictured, yet, in ſooth, without her fickleneſs; and only blind in her fond love of me. My King may well remember when I left the embattled frontier.

Remember it! by my ſword, I had rea⯑ſon; for with thee went this body's buckler—oh my beſt ſoldier—'twas this arm firſt taught thee the rudiments of war, when ſcarcely truncheon high; but my love breaks in upon thy ſtory—on—

I reached my caſtle time enough to ſee its ruin—Rodomſko triumphed. In a remote apartment, conſtructed for concealment, I lay hid, hoping for life and better days; that apart⯑ment was ſelected for Rodomſko's daughter, the beauteous Roſolia, to her pitying ear I told my ſtory; and her ſoft boſom, rich in nature's beſt [5] endowments, ſoon matured compaſſion into love. At a fit time I fled.

Whither, good Radzano?

To England, my loved Lord; there I ſojourned till fame proudly proclaimed, that juſ⯑tice was again enthroned in Poland, for there reigned great Caſimir; for that juſtice thus I bend my knee! and my boon is, that my tongue may denounce Rodomſko, villain! and my good ſword avenge my wrongs.

Then, I refuſe thy boon.

Dread liege! heaven will make the good cauſe proſperous!

Radzano, link not heaven with murder!—if heaven recognized the ſword's arbitrament, Rodomſko ne'er had triumphed—droop not my friend—by my crown thou ſhalt have juſtice!—even now in angry parle I meet Rodomſko! theſe hot lords, who live but in a ſtorm, urge me to renew the war—but of that hereafter—uncloud thee—be thyſelf—attend me at the Diet—once more Radzano, welcome!

SCENE II.
Draws and diſcovers the Country near CRACOW—RACHEL and Slaves at work.

Again, again, dat iſh goot—now vork you damned Poliſh dogs! or baſtinodo's the vord. Rachel; come here you ſlut—you auda⯑cious—delicious little tit—

Come here, I ſay.

Muſt ſpeak croſs befores dem—but my pretty plump cherry, I be's not angry.

Dear Sir! then what makes you look ſo terrible?

It's the mild tender paſſion of love—

You know, Rachel, 'twas for your ſake, I did not turn your fader Witſki, out of his mill to ſtarve, tho' he dare laugh at me—me, Amalekite Grabowſki, chief agent to Lord Rodomſko—Caſtellan of Wounitz in Cracovia; ſo you ſees how I loves you.

Oh! I'm ſure you dont; for lovers ſigh, and kneel, and—

Kneel; oh, dear! I cannot do's dat—what a pity's love is ſuch a foe to dignity! I ſay, Rachel;

I ſay—how do you contrive to have ſo ſoft a hand?

I ſhould ſuppoſe, labours would [7] make it hard;

but I de⯑clare its as ſmooth and as ſoft—bleſs my ſoul—

Oh Lud! vat iſh dat—ſtand off.

You know, Sir, you always told me to ſhew you homage.

Yes▪ but at an awful diſtance.

True; but ſeeing your honour ſo cloſe to my daughter, I thought I might be treated in the family way.

Now he's grinning again! I Rachel had behaved ill, ſo I was puniſhing her—vas not I puniſhing you young vomans?

Yes, indeed you were, Sir.

Go to work, Huſſey! So Witzki, you've been at Cracow.

Yes, your honour; and here is the produce of the flour for our Lord—

and here you know Sir, is the—for the ſteward.

Yes! Yes! dat iſh vary goot—vare you going?

Home to my wife.

!Ah! how does ſhe do? ſhe's a very pretty little vomans!

My wife too! was there ever ſuch an old—

Hollo!

Pray is there ever a Jew faced creature?

pray Mr. Jew, is your chriſtian name Amalekite?

Amalekite iſh my name.

Then how are you? how are you?

Well, I'll indulge you—there—

but you might have the civility to return it.

I'm in office!—

And I ſuppoſe like other great men, you have ſtooped ſo low to get there, that your back has been cramped ever ſince; but come to buſineſs—look there—

and be ſe⯑cret, ſnug—dumb as a potatoe.

"Your Lord Radzano greets you"—holy Abraham! is he alive?

Huſh!

‘Your Lord Radzano greets you, e'en now he is arrived in Cracow, to claim his rights, and cruſh that uſurper Rodomſko’—bleſs my ſoul!—‘do you win the vaſſals to his intereſt—he who brings this will inſtruct you further; be faithful, and you will be rewarded. RADZANO.’

Bleſs my ſoul, what ſhall I do? Radzano has the right; but then Rodomſko has the poſſeſſion— [9] bleſs my conſcience, what ſhall I do? then Rad⯑zano is in great favour with the King—bleſs my conſcience, what ſhall I do? but then Rodomſko is in great favour with the nobility—bleſs my con⯑ſcience, what ſhall I do?

Who comes here?

Stand aſide—it is the Lord Rodomſko, who paſſes here in his way to the Diet—ſtand aſide.

Heaven ſave our gracious Lord!

Haſt thou ought to impart?

Nothing, dread Lord.

Are the ſlaves obedient?

Yes, dread Lord.

On to Cracow.

I ſay, this Lord Ro⯑domſko is a ſtiff crabbed kind of a—

Oh! he keeps the ſlaves in proper ſub⯑jections.

Proper ſubjection! I'll tell you what, he appears to me like the great tall thiſtle in the po⯑tatoe garden, which bothers every one who touches it, and prevents the humble fruit from arriving at the wholeſome maturity nature intended. Oh! I wiſh I had the docking of him—now my Lord [10] Radzano is ſo humane, ſo poliſhed, ſo—gallant—ſo—

Hah! hah! I ſuppoſe he has brought over with him what will pleaſe the ladies.

Faith! you may ſay that, for he has brought me over with him.

And I hope he is hoſpitable and charit⯑able, and all—that damned ſtuff!

Oh! he has been ſucking in the breath of it in little England, Mr. Amalekite. Oh! confound your name; could not they have called you Nebuchadnezzar, or Mac Laughlin, or O'Shaughneſſy, or any eaſy agreeable name of that ſort—Oh! we ſhall have ſuch jolly doings; every heart will wear the face of joy, and all coun⯑tenances, men, women, cows, Jews, and ſheep, muſt all be on the broad grin.

I muſt conſider—which of my Lords ſhall I betray?—bleſs my conſcience—ſlaves treat this ſtranger with all reſpect, and give him the ſong of welcome—you will follow me. It's a very, puzzling caſe; Radzano has the right—Rodomſko has—bleſs my conſcience!

Thank you, thank you! oh! low enough in conſcience—what are you at? what are you at jewels?—keep your fore paws off the ground, and dont make bulls of yourſelves—ſtand [11] up I ſay—Heaven never meant its own image ſhould be ſo degraded!

SCENE III.
The DIET.

In purſuance of our purpoſe, we have ap⯑pointed my Lord Cardinal our ambaſſador, to conclude a peace with the Teutonick Knights.

Peace! Is then a ſoldier, the world's right arm, to wither and decay, that hordes of prieſts, with their beads and croſiers, may preach us into cowards? but I wonder not! for ſince the great Zorinſki was diſgraced—

What of him?

He was honeſt.

He was proud and inflexible! but forbear to name him.

Since, Sire, you have baniſhed from your councils thoſe hardy ſpirits, who alone were fit to aid the public weal, naught now will down but peace—‘the general good—theſe are the entrap⯑ping blandiſhments held out, for emancipating ſlaves, privileging towns, and uſing every cir⯑cumventive art to cruſh the power of the nobi⯑lity!—peace! let my Lord Cardinal preach its bleſſings—I hate it!’ What gentlemen of Po⯑land ſhall your goodly cimeters canker in their ſheaths, while thoſe uſurping Knights deſpoil your borders?

Fiery Lord! hear me. If it be my duty to root out uſurpation and foul conſpiracy, why need I wage the war on Pomo⯑rania's borders, when my eye's ſcope compre⯑hends an object that would give vengeance full employment?

Sire! Rodomſko ſcorns baſe fear! nor will he ſhun enquiry—thou would'ſt demand, how [13] came I by my power; my anſwer is, by valour⯑ous achievement—by conqueſt—the ſoldier's te⯑nure! but why waſte we words? Radzano being dead—who is there?—

Indeed!

Lightnings blaſt him!—

Behold the wronged Radzano! what can'ſt thou urge?

I cannot battle it with words—'twas this good arm that gave me power; 'tis this good arm that will maintain it!—follow me—thou wilt not find it palſied, boy.

On your allegiance, hold!—ſtill the friend to gentle peace; ſtill anxious to preſerve the moſt rebellious drop of ſubjects blood—let me propoſe between you terms, where love may grow, and honour ratify them. Rodomſko, Radzano loves thy daughter.

Indeed!

Let her be mediatrix between you; let holy marriage with their hands unite your hearts; ſo live in equal power and love—what ſays Rad⯑zano?

My King has ſpoken my ſoul's fondeſt hope!

Hold—hold—this marriage has ſome promiſe in't—it gives Radzano to my [14] power—and ſhould the confederate Lords—it ſhall be ſo.

That ſcowling brow looks not conſent.

Then, my liege, it wrongs my heart! Tis true, I have not that April face that clouds and ſhines at every guſt of grief or joy; but 'tis my rugged nature;—I pray you bear with it. Radzano! here's my hand.

Thus let it ſtamp upon my heart a ſon's obedience; and to oblivion give each hoſtile thought!

Rodomſko, hie you to your caſtle; for e'en this night in perſon we will progreſs thither, and conſummate this happy union.

So—then a Lord of Poland, great in birth and arms, preſerves his dignities, by the arch dimples of a puling, girl—Oh Cupid! how I honour thee!

Oh, Radzano! let me pour into thy breaſt my griefs—the wrongs I bear from theſe injurious lords preſs hard upon me! but I am rich in poor men's prayers, and that's a kingly ſolace. Oh, I would riſe unto my people, like the god of day to Lapland's icy ſons, after his wintry abſence! What, not a word Radzano? I ſee the lover dulls the patriot—but I forgive it—away to thy Ro⯑ſolia—yet mark her father—watch well Ro⯑domſko—e'en now conſpiracy's at work againſt my throne and—perſon: yet ſpite of impending [15] death I'll on!—farewel! my friend.

My good Lords attend me! Oh my country! let me but ſave thee—

SCENE IV.
—RODOMSKO'S Caſtle.

‘The Confederates greet thee, brave Ro⯑domſko; if they have appeared inactive, 'twas as nature ſtilly pauſing, before the coming ſtorm; for 'tis reſolved that Caſimir ſhall fall.’ Ven⯑geance, I thank thee! ‘Forty choſen men are ready for the achievement, waiting but a leader—know, Rodomſko, in thy mines dwells a man faſhioned to conduct the daring enterprize—ſeek him inſtantly—the brave fellow who brings this, by whoſe dejected brow thou'lt ſee he's ripe for murder, will conduct thee to the man we ſeek—farewel! and triumph.’—Now tremble, Caſimir—But ſoft, the—meſſenger from the Lords approaches—what ſays my letter?

dejected brow! if the mind's conſtruction be indexed in the face, this man bears ſweet content about him—Health to thee, friend!

Mighty civil however.

Inſtruct me in your fortunes.

What, my hiſtory?—Oh! I'll tell yotur Lordſhip; and a ſweet piece of geography it is—The firſt thing I know is, that I don't know where I was born, for nobody could tell me; and being young myſelf at the time, it has ſlipped my memory.

Shallow babler!—thy name?

O'Curragh, the faithful ſervant of Lord Radzano.

Com'ſt thou from him? well—well—what of him?—diſpatch—

He ſent me his humble ſervant to ex⯑preſs his ſorrow, that he can't, where he is, throw himſelf at the feet of the fair Roſolia. I make his excuſes clumſily; but were he here himſelf, he'd make a much better apology for his abſence.

Begone, fellow!

I have the pleaſure to take my leave. Oh! how my maſter ſighs—and then he cloſes his eyes, and looks ſo tenderly—

Away! I ſay—that gallery leads to my daughter's apartment—prattle theſe gewgaws there—each mawkiſh nothing will, on her love-ſick taſte, drop ſweet as Hybla's honey.—Away!—

for here comes one who embo⯑dies well the picture given.

The confederated Lords greet thee.

Thou art welcome!—approach—nearer—nearer—know'ſt thou the drift of this?

Aye, dread Lord!

Then bring me to him we ſeek—yet hold, tell me the manner of the man, that I may better wind about his heart, and trap him to my purpoſe; is he—

By turns, my Lord, every thing—ſome⯑times, mocking the horror of his fate, he out toils the ſlave, anon he ſtarts from his labour, and with indignation graſps his ſpade, as 'twere the ſceptre that ſwayed the world. The fooliſh knaves in the mine ſay, that love hath crazed him; but, to my thinking, he reſembles more the hungry vulture than the ſorrowing dove.

The picture's big with promiſe; conduct me to him—how ſhall I beſt approach him? nay, prythee lead;—'tis ſtrange!

SCENE V.—The Country.

Upon my honour, this Lady Roſolia is a bewitching creature! and now that ſhe has paſſed the ordeal of conſtancy, which is, by looking me over without ſo much as an ogle at me—why my [18] maſter may call himſelf a happy man. I don't know how it is, but I think this ſnug agreeable perſon of mine is a ſort of a female teſt; juſt like a bit of rough glaſs that they try money on—and have you found any—bad ones O'Curragh? oh! ſweet Mrs. Flannigan for that—never ſhall I forget!—

Thinking of old times has given me ſuch a comical feel, that if any pretty creature was to come acroſs me, I fancy I ſhould be rather [19] agreeable company. In faith, you are in luck O'Curragh, for here comes that delicious morſel, that ſung her Poliſh planxty ſo ſweetly.

Heigh! ho! where can my dear Zarno tarry ſo long! he knows I have but an hour from work, and yet he is not come.

Bend not to me ſweet one; rather let me kneel to you—you ladies are the Lords of the creation.

Rachel!

how dare you inſult my Rachel! ſhe's mine, alone mine—I love her.

Then ſhe's alone mine too, for I love her!—and if I've inſulted her, I flatter myſelf I can give her ſatisfaction—Inſult! I don't like that; pray, Sir, would you juſt ſtep aſide, and condeſcend to explain that word inſult?—here's the prettieſt chopper of logic—

I underſtand you, but I dare not.

Dare not, you paltry—

Hear me—not for myſelf I fear, but for her: ſhould a freeman be killed in a ſlave's quar⯑rel, ſhe would ſuffer, ſhe would be puniſhed.

In love with the girl, and yet for her ſake dares not defend her—that's hard! that's hard! but can't we manage it any how?

Yes! if you're a man; conceal our cauſe of quarrel, and I'll ſhew you what I dare—I can find a ſword.

Poor, fellow! oh! what a pleaſure it will be to fight him—Upon my honour, our cauſe of diſpute ſhall be a ſecret.

Thank you, thank you; come along—

Oh! pray don't quarrel, Sir.

Quarrel! not at all; not the leaſt ani⯑moſity—If I ſhould kill him, I'll give you leave to ax him whether I did it in paſſion.

But why fight at all?

Upon my conſcience, I can't immedi⯑ately tell why we fight—Oh! it's for your ſake—

I ſhall hate you!

Hate me! upon my honour, I'm ſo unuſed to hear a woman ſay that, that it con⯑fuſes—oh, this head! this head! what am I at?—going to kill a man about a woman that don't care for me?—come here, come here: there, my dear boy, there's ſatisfaction!

You're a generous fellow!

But why dont you marry?

Becauſe I am a ſlave; and Zarno can't afford to buy me.

Buy you!—upon my conſcience, I ſhould like to buy a flock of ſuch pet lambs—‘but as you both ſeem tolerably built for run⯑ning, why don't you trot off in a canter?’

‘A fine for killing a man!—a good old law do you call that?’—What a devil of a ſpot have I got into here!—oh! what a picked place is little Ireland to this—we're poor enough to be ſure; but what of that? we can fight when we pleaſe, can work when we pleaſe, aye, and ſtarve when we pleaſe; and we can flouriſh our ſhelalahs, and ſtrut about our potatoe garden like a collection of Emperors.

Adieu, dear Rachel! I muſt go back to the ſalt-mine.

Ah! Zarno, why do you remain in that mine? nay, don't be angry—you who lived in Cracow with the great Zorinſki, were dreſſed in furs and ſilk; and now, you wear the baſeſt garments.

My dear Rachel! I have reaſons, I cannot explain.

What not to me, Zarno?

Should Zorinſki know I have divulged—

Zorinſki!

Ugh!

Eh! —why ſhould not I—bleſs her! does not ſhe de⯑ſerve to be truſted?—Rachel! I'll tell thee a ſe⯑cret, which, if known, would coſt Zarno his life.

Would Zorinſki kill thee?

No; but I would kill myſelf for having betrayed him! Know then, in that dreary mine dwells, the great Zorinſki—mark—when Caſimir was crowned, Zorinſki, who was all in all with the late King, could not bear the thwarts Caſimir put on him; a quarrel enſued, and my maſter, tho' I love him, was much to blame; diſgrace followed. His houſe, which had been the hive of courtiers, became deſerted—away they flew—his great ſoul could not brook it! with deſpairing brow and knotted arms I ſaw him leave the city; and ſadly he walked along till he reached the opening of the mine.

What to throw himſelf down head-long, and end his life?

I dreaded it! ſo fell at his feet: He took me by the hand; a big tear fell on it; he bluſhed, called me his faithful Zarno—bade me farewel! [23] and gave me liberty—from that moment I be⯑came his ſlave—we deſcended. into the mine, and I have attended him, and carried him his food—aye, and ever will. Ah, my dear maſter, never will Zarno leave thee! I ſhared his proſperity, and ſhall I deſert him now? no! no! Now Ra⯑chel thou haſt the ſecret, and thus I ſeal it up—farewel!

But may not we hope for happier days, Zarno?

SCENE I.
A SALT MINE.

Begin your ſearch.

The place is awful—ſighs and groans, mixed with the madden⯑ing laugh of drunkards, pour along theſe aiſles a diſcord, that chills the very heart—how heavily muſt woe have weighed him down, that makes this den his dwelling.

Look there my lord; behold him wiping from his brow, the painful drop of toil.

He comes this way—what gloomy dignity—back—back.

Well toiled to day;—I often hope, that when theſe over-laboured limbs do preſs their ſtraw, ſweet ſleep will give a ſhort oblivion to my cares—but oh! then this big heart, forget⯑ful of its fall beats high, and wakes my brain to recollections, that go nigh to mad me—oh Zorinſki—how, how long will this, thy body's hardihood ſhake off the gripe of death—ſhut from the ſun, without a hope, without a friend,—nay that's not ſo neither; Zarno, let me not wrong thee varlet—Zarno.

Come hither fellow—haſt been on earth to day?

Yes, my lord, and there's great news above.

Indeed!

Going my lord to Cracow, to buy pro⯑viſion, I paſſed the Diet, juſt as the King—

my lord?

Go on.

Juſt as the King came forth; and he looked ſo kindly of us all—aye as if he'd been our father.

Father of all—and I alone rejected.

And with him came the lord Radzano, whom every body ſuppoſed dead—he's to be the [27] favourite now—and the palace your honour poſ⯑ſeſſed, is to be —

Be dumb, have I not often told thee, villain, not to name—begone,

What, proud heart muſt thou ſtill play the tyrant—will not this dungeon humble thee—oh ſhame—Come near me knave—I was to blame, Zarno.

To blame, my lord, that you were not; you had a right to be angry, and if you had trod on me, you would have treated me as I deſerved: but will you, dear lord, forgive poor Zarno.

Forgive thee!

fond fool, 'tis ever thus he makes a woman of me—on with thy tale Zarno.

Oh! that, that, that was all.

What was all?

That was all—about—about the—

that is my lord—it's dinner time—I've had ſuch an adventure.

As how?

Why, trotting paſt a kitchen hard by—I had juſt been to ſee the King go—

trotting paſt a kitchen hard by, as hungry as a hunter, a curious ſtew preſented itſelf—my noſe ſtumbled at it, and I made as dead a ſet as a dog at a partridge, and was juſt going to ſeize; when the cheſnut faced cook, threw it all over me, and made that an outſide covering, that I intended for an in⯑ſide lining.

Ha! ha! come we'll in and laugh.

It ſmelt ſo ſavoury—egad it was fit for a King,

however, I have a moſt delicious platter of peaſe and garlick.

I cannot feed.

Not feed, my lord?

No; in thou and eat.

Yes, my lord—but you have taken away my appetite.

Ha! ſtrangers—go in good fellow.

I will, my lord—but could not you juſt pick a bit?

If my eye err not—the lord Rodomſko—ſhould he know me! that's an idle fear; proſperity hath but a ſhallow memory, clothe its deareſt friend in rags, and on my life it puts him clean beyond his knowledge.

Stand aloof.

Your pardon, but when I behold ſhut out from man, man's paragon—when in this loathſome mine, I find a gem fit to illumine Poland, wonder not that I ſhould wiſh to take it to my boſom's intereſt; nor deem me, ſir, impelled by womaniſh inquiſitiveneſs, when I ſeek to know the fortunes of a man, by fortune hardly dealt with.

My ſtory is but a dull monotony of ſorrow—to repeat it, were but to ſtrike again the chord [29] of dire calamity, and give a lengthened tone to melancholy.

Are you of Poland?

Aye, of the equeſtrian order.

Gentleman of Poland—that envied dig⯑nity's a bleſſing—

It has been my curſe—born to command—my ſtubborn nature will not bow to my condi⯑tion—

—Brother, are our rights dear to thee?

By the ſacred plain of Vola—dearer than ſight, for that ſhews me but a hated world—dear as to the damned the joys of heaven—for I, like them, languiſh for bleſſings which I ne'er muſt taſte—

Come cheerly, cheerly—in the chequered play of fortune, the beſt regarded muſt expect miſchance—ſees't thou the ſleeky knaves of the court—be wiſe—maſk thy heart, and learn to flatter—

Flatter!—I tell thee, lord, as eaſy were it for our ſtern Carpathian mountains, to ſhake from their rugged brows, their everlaſting ſnows, as for this tongue to bring forth what this heart doth not beget—flatter!—'ſdeath—join gripe with what I hate!—ſtrain to my heart its fixed anti⯑pathy!—by Almighty truth, I ſwear, the poiſoned twine of adders round this breaſt were grateful to't—thou know'ſt me not—

Nor can ſcarce believe—

Yet, Rodomſko—

Ha! my name!

Aye, lord!—yet, I ſay, thou wilt believe, when I tell thee that this abject, rugged, heart⯑broken wretch was once Zorinſki—

Zorinſki here!

What could I do?—live with men to blaſt me with their pity?—no; when diſgrace purſued, I earthed me here, leſt, Acteon like, I ſhould be hunted by that yelping pack of courtly knaves, my bounty had given breath to.

Oh, Zorinſki, again to fold thee, and at an hour of ſuch dread moment.—Oft have I, in the ſenate, mourned thy loſs—but inſtant leave this den—

To the world again?—What ſhould I there—but caſt a mournful look around, and, on the wide ſurface of nature, ſee nothing I could claim, except a grave.

Away with this—by manhood, 'tis baby weakneſs.—Oh, Zorinſki, there are purpoſes—

—Caſimir hawks to day.

Aye—Again he treads upon me.

He does—thy fall Zorinſki—nay, droop not, man, at what ſhould fire thee—thy fall ſhall be revenged—

Ha!

Yes; rouze thee, for vengeance is at hand. The confederated lords, allied in wrongs, [32] are ripe for action; and, let but thy aſpiring ſoul reſume its energy—

Oh, thou haſt poured again into this breaſt ambition's godlike impulſe. Tell me, Rodomſko, can the devotion of this life, this ſoul, forward the illuſtrious cauſe?

Moſt mightily, for the fate of Poland hangs upon thy breath.

Shall I to the ſenate—there—

'Twere uſeleſs all. Did reaſon uſe Jove's thunder, 'twould be outroared by the clamorous people, who pay this Caſimir a worſhip, e'en to the wronging of high heaven. Oh, my friend, action is vengeance's language—thy arm Zo⯑rinſki—

Ah!

I have for thy ear words of deep perſua⯑ſion and mightieſt import—but the time's un⯑fitting—inſtant leave this hated place.

Foul den I quit thee, and with thee im⯑potent deſpondency—lead—yet hold—I've here a faithful ſlave that muſt not be forgotten—Zarno—

Prepare to leave this place.

My lord—eh—what—leave this place—Oh dear—ha, hah—I'm ſo glad of it—an't you, Sir?

Peace, familiar fool.

There.

There;

curſe his money—a churl⯑iſh—

Thoul't follow, Zarno.

Oh to be ſure I will. I'll only take leave of my fellow devils, and mount in a twinkling. Oh, I'm ſo happy—hollo, hollo!

Ah! you miſerable, jolly dogs, how are you? In ſooth this digging in a ſalt-mine is very pro⯑ductive, for, while many an honeſt gentleman above can't get ſalt to his porridge, you may ſwal⯑low it by ſhovels full—farewel to you all.

Are you going to leave us, Zarno?

Yes; for though this is certainly a very delectable ſituation, yet I find, by conſulting my glaſs, it rather annoys the complexion; and, my phyſicians ſay, that this air induces ſpleen and melancholy.

He's mad!

Mad, am I? Then there,

there's what will make you all drunk, and then you will be as mad as I am. There goes the old carle's money—drink, devils, drink.

SCENE II.—A View on RADZANO'S Eſtate.

But, my dear wife, my dear Winifred, now do ſtop that tongue of thine—

I won't hold my tongue, and, what's more, I'll tell Mr. Amalekite how you uſe me.

Aye, there it is—Oh, what a hard lot is mine—if I don't ſubmit to her in every thing, then ſhe threatens to encourage that old, amorous Jew—now pray be quiet.

I won't be quiet—I will have my own way—and I won't be ſnubbed—and I will be heard—

What's all this chatter about?

Winny, Winny, Winny, don't provoke me; you ought to know by this time I am a man.

And you ought to know by this time I am a woman.

But, zounds! why ſo loud? Do you want all the world to know you are a woman?

No quarreling to day. Come, you cooing turtle—did ever magpie keep up ſo damned a chatter!

I won't hold my tongue. Oh, here comes Mr. Amalekite—obey me, or you know what—

Yes, I do know what—

and yet I won't ſubmit—if heaven has willed it—why—

Heaven's will be done, I ſay.

An't you ſurpriſed, friend?

Faith, not much at the thing, but a good deal at her choice—for if horns be the [36] word, its allowed, I believe, that no one makes a bull more neatly than an Iriſhman.

Fall back there—fall back—ah, goſſip Winifred.

Oh dear, oh lord—what ſhall I do—I can't bear it—I ſay Winny, Winny—I yield—ſubmit—any thing,

Was there ever ſuch a hen-pecked fool? But, I ſay,

have you told the peaſants that they are now become the ſlaves of my lord Radzano?

I have. But pray, why be they aſſembled now?

Becauſe my maſter is coming hither with his ſweet bride, that is to be, to receive their homage.

Oh, dear father, Zarno has left the ſalt-mine, [38] and, he ſays, he'll ſoon be rich, and then he'll buy me of that old rogue Amalekite.

Vill he ſo, ſlut—de old rogue will pre⯑vent him though.—Old rogue—you and your fader ſhall ſmart for dat.

Stand back; here comes my lord and his ſweet, ſweet bride; now mind your hits all of you. I ſay, have you the roll with the ſlaves names?

Yes; here it is.

Surely ſweet, thoſe whoſe loves run in unruffled ſmoothneſs, and never feel calamity's chill blaſt, cannot taſte my joy. Oh lovely, con⯑ſtant maiden, ne'er was Radzano proud till now.

Conſtant! beſtow not praiſe on that which not to be, were to be nought. If conſtancy be worthy praiſe, be it thine Radzano, for thou haſt ſojourned e'en in beauty's court, and yet—forgot not thy Roſolia. Look, dear lord, your vaſſals are aſſembled; ah! they little know the bleſſings that await them.

Amalekite, give me the roll, and bid the ſlaves approach.

I am much afraid he mean to favour dem; I no like his looks—oh, he has a damned benevolent countenance.

Poor wretches! how they tremble.

Approach, and fear not; in this you and your children are regiſtered my ſlaves, and live but in my will; acknowledge ye your vaſſalage?

Riſe, then, and mark: By this you are recorded ſlaves, but by this

you are no longer ſlaves, but men.

The world's before you—who will remain with me?

All, all.

The brighteſt page of nature's bounteous charter is freedom to her children; that I poſſeſs you of; but, oh, contemn not juſt reſtraint, else 'twill prove a curſe more galling than the moſt abject ſlavery tyranny e'er compaſſed; ſee, there⯑fore, you abuſe it not.

Oh, impoſſible; while e'en the ſpade they toiled with was their lord's, vice and ſloth poſſeſſed them, for what incitement had they to induſtry? but when they find their labour will cheer their children, and throw content around their humble cots—ah, dear lord, theſe bleſſings ſtrike too ſweetly on the heart to fear abuſe.

Fair advocate, ſee their hearts thank thee. Come hither, fellow;

fear not, man; give me thy hand; for the love I know thou bear'ſt me, remember this—the mill thou long haſt toiled in, is thine own.

Oh dear! oh dear! I ſhall run mad with joy—I know I ſhall—my mill!

Oh, de devil—it is all over vid me.

From the King.

The royal mandate calls me to council; the King doth here entreat thy pardon, for thus anticipating widowhood, and bids thee, ſweet, pre⯑pare thy lute, that jocundly this night may paſs in mirth and minſtrelſy; till night, then, farewel dear miſtreſs.

Heaven ſpeed your councils; my lowly duty to the King.

Guards, attend.

O'Curragh, my faithful fellow, obſerve Rodomſko, if you ſhould ſuſpect him.

Oh, I don't ſuſpect him at all—I know he's a rogue.

Should his conduct threaten danger, on the inſtant hie thee to Cracow—remember—freemen farewel.

Yonder he goes—now he's at the top of the hill—ſee, he waves his hand to us—heaven bleſs him!—heaven bleſs him!—freemen, fare⯑wel—Oh my head, my head—I'm ſure I ſhall go mad—I feel I ſhall—I'll run home and tell [41] the cow and the mill—my mill—only think of that—

—damme, I am a man, a freeman, and a gentleman!

Sir, I ſhall be proud to ſee you at my manſion!—my manſion.—That's right, is not it?

To be ſure; you are lord of it, and may knock any man's brains out that comes in without your leave.

May I though—ecod, that's jolly—he! he! he! Then I'll tell you what,

if ever I catch that black muzzle within the por⯑tico of my mill, I'll grind you into ſauſages, I will, you ugly dog. Wiſe! now we'll ſee who's man of the houſe—wife!

Oh my dear Witski.

Silence, ſilence! there.

that's right is not it? he! he! he!

I'm dumb, but don't be angry.

Angry; I could not be angry if I would—he! he! come buſs me.

Goſſip Winifred?

Keep off man, I only encouraged you as a ſcarecrow to frighten my huſband—but now—faugh!

Well ſaid Winny! ah Rachel my girl, kiſs thy honoured parent.

Oh father, won't you let me marry Zarno?

Aye, to-morrow morning, with all my heart and ſoul.

And here he comes.

Joy, joy, joy to you all—I've heard the news—ah dear Rachel,

I'm ſo happy.

And ſo fine!

Ecod, that he is.

Am I think you? yes pretty well—ſword and cap, and altogether! eh, yes it's not ſhewy but neat, it's becoming—now my jolly dad, that is to be.

How do yo do Mr. Amalekite, you don't ſeem to comprehend what's going forward here—will you try your hand at that,

there's your quietus for you.

My diſcharge! bleſs my conſcience!

You move rather ſlow—come, for old ac⯑quaintance ſake, I'll give you a lift,

juſt ſet him agoing.

Oh! it was time to put a ſtop to ſuch a rogue! now I'm to be ſteward—which is an office—an office—oh! firſt I am to take particular care, to receive the rents of ſuch tenants as won't pay—and ſecondly, to ſee that no one behaves im⯑properly, [43] without my over-looking him—yes that's it—now I muſt away to the caſtle.

Oh there are to be great doings there—the King is to be there—and Rachel you ſhall be there—I'll meet thee to night in the wood, the old place—and then to-morrow when the friar comes—oh you bluſhing tempting rogue.

Now, brother freemen, to our homes—drink proſperity to our deliverer, and be merry and happy all the reſt of our lives.

SCENE III.—An Apartment in RODOMSKO'S Caſtle.

I tell thee, fellow, Zorinſki will be won—where are thy comrades?

Shrouded in the neighbouring foreſt.

Bring them hither—but ſee they hold no converſe with my people—be firm good Naclo, for my confidence reſts weightily upon thee.

Within there!

Bid anon my daughter touch her lute—

for now the bloody purpoſe being un⯑folded, all traps muſt be ſet for him—Ha! he approaches, and in heavy rumination.

Tho' Caſimir has ſorely urged me to revenge, by the moſt galling wrongs, yet to murder—

Was Brutus then a murderer—genius of Poland where ſleepeſt thou, when thy patricians ſhrink from achieving, what thoſe of Rome contended for.

Grant he ought to die—yet—ſoft,

what heavenly ſounds? much I thank thee unknown minſtrel; for thy enchantment has priſohed down the hell-born paſſions that poſſeſſed me, and ſoothed my ſoul to tranquil melancholy.

'Twas my daughter's lute: within there—Roſolia! ſee, ſhe approaches.

What magic ſweetneſs—do not wonder at me, for ſo long theſe eyes have been unuſed to look on beauty, that its inroad now riots my pulſe, e'en perhaps to boyiſh folly—let me avoid its witchery,

Hold!

What wills my father?

Where haſt been my girl?

Enjoying the richeſt luxury of greatneſs— ſeeing the poor made happy.

Aye, by whom?

E'en my intended lord—

this day he hath given freedom to his vaſſals, and much I joyed to behold wretched man reſcued from abject ſlavery.

Lovelieſt maiden, thy tender nature ne'er can impoſe chains, ſave thoſe of love's ſoft thraldrom.

By heaven he's caught—Roſolia, I here preſent thy father's deareſt friend.

Deign, Sir, to receive my hearty greeting.

The faſcinating poiſon thrills my every nerve—all powerful love—love—ar't mad Zorinſki—thou who ſcorn'ſt to flatter others—be to thyſelf conſiſtent—‘is this rugged frame ſhaped for love's ſoft dalliance—do amorous [47] whiſpers ſoft as the zephyr, come from a voice chill and ſurly as the northern blaſt’—is this ſcowling eye, now rife with murder, a place for Cu⯑pids to ambuſh in—mockery all—yet, on my ſoul, I dare not truſt my eyes to look upon her.

He ſeems much moved.

Thou haſt done well my girl—bid him farewell, and get thee in.

Tho' ignorant in what; I am right glad I've pleaſed you father—courteous Sir!—ſweet peace be with you.

That will never be again—

talked ſhe not of marriage?

Aye with the young lord Radzano—'tis a match of the King's making.

Caſimir, do'ſt thou again thwart me?

E'en now the King is journeying hither with his young friend, to conſummate the union.

Happy Radzano—wedded, and to-mor⯑row?

Aye, but, ſhould a real friend to Poland think her worthy—never.

Ha!

Oh Zorinſki! act but to night as doth be⯑come thee—vindicate thy owa wrongs, avenge the Lords of Poland, and—receive my daughter to thy arms; for by her bluſhing beauties I ſwear ſhe's thine.

Oh Rodomſko! tempt me not beyond man's bearing.

Dull man, I tempt thee to a throne—Caſimir being diſpoſed of—his place muſt be ſupplied; and whom will thy peers deem ſo fit to guard their rights, as he who cruſhed their fell deſtroyer.

If thou wilt place before me temptations more than mortal, he muſt be more than mortal that reſiſts—by hell I'm thine—Caſimir or Zo⯑rinſki falls—ſo may my ſoul find life or death eternal.

But this night.

The better.

And mark; ſhould chance ſo order it; bring Caſimir alive—the confederate lords de⯑mand him for their vengeance—a band, whoſe ſteely hearts are rivetted with oaths, will aid thee.

I need them not—let daws cling together—the eagle flies alone.

Away with this romantic folly—within there is prepared a ſolemn ſacrament, think on't.

If thou would'ſt have me act this deed; oh let me not think, Rodomſko—but on the inſtant give me the deadly oath—aye, 'tis well con⯑ceived—'twill ſave revolt and cowardly com⯑punction—for oh the dread interval will be a helliſh purgatory, but it leads to a heaven of [49] bliſs—ſo love and proud ambition receive your votary.

My ſoul is ſatisfied.

Now buſtle all—Roſolia—my daughter—ſtir wench.

Prepare to leave the caſtle inſtantly.

My father!

Queſtion not why nor where.

Oh Sir!

Be dumb—within there.

Arm fifty choſen vaſſals—and to the ſouthern inlett of the foreſt ſpeed with my horſes—away.

Oh my father! if humanity dwell in you, eaſe this heart—kill not your daughter's happineſs.

Thy happineſs, weak girl; Zorinſki will take good care of that.

Zorinſki!

I tell thee, the fate of Poland is in ſuſ⯑penſe—along I ſay.

Rather take my life.

It will not ſerve my turn—No ſtrug⯑gling—your chamber, your chamber.

Oh, oh! there bids fair to be foul play here. Oh, the confuſion of all Ireland upon that Ro⯑domſko, I ſay. What the devil ſhall I do? If I go to my lord at Cracow, I can't very con⯑veniently ſtay here to ſee what will become of his lady—Oh, if this head would but prevent a miſtake by blundering on what's right—I have it—I'll follow her, and if loſing my life will enable me to take her away with me, I'll do it with all the pleaſure in nature. Oh, to die for ſuch a lady, and ſuch a maſter, is what no faithful ſervant would ever repent of.

Now, good Naclo, ſpirit up thy com⯑rades. Are they at hand?

Ye ſpirits of noble daring, this night acquit yourſelves, and you are made for ever; there's to cheer you.

Naclo, your [51] leader will anon meet you—be firm, good Naclo.

Now, gentlemen, ſet hands and hearts to the buſineſs—night is coming on apace, and then—

Fear us not, comrade.

SCENE I.
A WOOD.—NIGHT.

OH! I'm ſure miſchief is going forward, every thing is ſo peaceable, and torches keep flaſhing about like a battalion of jack-lanterns—one good thing is, that the old rogue, Rodomſko, has loſt his way and his attendants; there was ſuch a train of them, that I found the beſt mode of purſuing was getting before them. Oh! he hauls my ſweet lady along there, as if ſhe were his wife inſtead of his daughter—now's your time O'Curragh! Oh, Saint Patrick! I'll juſt beg leave to trouble you for five minutes,

Indeed, I can no further.

Nay, good Roſolia! come—wayward [53] and ſtubborn; on, I ſay—thoſe vile erring ſlaves, not to return, my curſes on them! entangled in this labyrinth, each ſtep bewilders more—ha! their torches gleam thro' yonder valley—

who's there?

'Tis your faithful ſlave, Kaliſh.

Right glad am I of that—

—death and hell they take their courſe athwart! good Kaliſh tarry with Roſolia—ſtir not be ſure—but I know thy honeſty.

For once, old gentleman, you have ſpoken truth by miſtake.

Oh! ſave me, good fellow.

This way, ſweeteſt lady!

Oh! Radzano, where art thou? perhaps e'en now the victim of foul conſpiracy; where will my ſorrows end!

Oh, put your truſt in St. Patrick, out and out the genteeleſt ſaint in the calendar.

SCENE II.—Another part of the Foreſt.
Scene draws and diſcovers ZORINSKI with his Sabre in his hand, leaning deſpondingly againſt the Arm of a Tree.

What can make Rachel tarry ſo? it's an infernal night! it rains, blows, thunders, and whew!—this is weather to try a lover in—Where can Rachel be—(ſees Zorinſki) What—eh! my maſter here and his ſabre in his hand—my mind miſgives me! Oh! ſome villainy of that rogue, Rodomſko.

Oh! Zorinſki, how art thou fallen?—confederate with hired aſſaſſins—fettered by deadly oaths—how changed the face of all things?—the heavens ſeem grimed with pitch as back as Acheron, and the ruſtling wind ſtrikes on my ear e'en as the hiſſing of hell's ſerpents.

Oh, all the devils! do I tremble?

My Lord!

Zarno, thou did'ſt not ſay I trembled.

Dear Lord! your are pale, and your voice faulters—I fear you are very ill.

Yes, that's it, that's it, good Zarno—my pulſe is fevered, and that effects the brain—

a little blood ſpilt, and all will be well—Leave me, Zarno.

What, Zarno, leave you when you are ill? oh! no. Ah, maſter! don't you remember in the mine when an ague ſhook you, how Zarno watched you, and when I blubbered over you—you wept too.

Yes, there was a time when I could weep. Zarno, I charge thee leave this place!

Oh! dear Lord—

Huſh! not a breath.

Some horrid purpoſe poſſeſſes him—now he ſtops.

Who's there?

Oh, ſtranger! aid an unhappy maiden, who, torn from her ſoul's only hope, and well nigh dead with wearineſs, humbly implores thy ſuc⯑cour, to unwind the mazes of this wood, and lead her on her way to Cracow.

Radzano will reward thee.

Good heavens! the lady Roſolia, and here—dear lady, I'll go with you to the world's end—only I've a little buſineſs here, that—

Come then, good fellow!

Yes; I'm coming.

Hark you; that may be coming; but it looks ſo like going, that you will pleaſe to move this way.

Unhand me, or—lady, pardon me—but you—I—my maſter—I wont leave him—I have it—hard by there's a mill, mention the name of Zarno, and you'll find protection

Oh! guide us to it.

Well, I'll walk a little way with you: there

there now, that's the road, right along there

good fortune attend you, lady! Oh, my unhappy maſter!

Is it kept by one Witſki?

It is.

How lucky! an old friend of mine, that I made acquaintance with this morning.

Oh Zorinſki! oh my maſter!

Zorinſki! away—away—

Don't droop, dear miſtreſs; for tho' you have but one man to protect you, yet con⯑ſider, that one is an Iriſhman.

What can this mean? ſhe afraid of him—Eh! here he comes again.

Will the hour never come? I'm glad my faithful Zarno left me—his fondneſs tore my heart ſtrings!—not gone—avaunt! I ſay—

Don't look ſo terrible—oh, don't—you frighten me ſo I can't go—oh, maſter, there is murder in your eye! if it were day light, I would not mind it—I ſhould like to ſee you fight in day light: but none but aſſaſſins ſtab in the dark.

Horrid truth!

Oh, maſter, quit this place; let us return to the dear dreary mine again! did not I hear the tread of horſes?

Look out!

Yes, I will—but pray don't leave me.

Look out, I ſay!

Yes; oh Lord!

My ſenſes are benumbed—I'm very faint—but thy oath, thy oath, Zorinſki! there I'm firm again.

Oh! dear maſter, all my fears are over.

Who is it?

Pardon, dear Lord, what a rogue was I to think the great Zorinſki could ſwerve from ho⯑nour—I feared it was ſome rival, or—

Who is't? I ſay.

Thank heaven, none that you can harm—it's the King.

Ha!

Oh God! oh maſter!—what—impoſ⯑ſible—

Diſcord is at large—oh, for a tyger's fury—

Oh! think a mo⯑ment.

Cling not to me thus—away! I ſay.

villain!

Yes, I am—any thing, reproach me, ſpurn me, kill me—Zorinſki an aſſaſſin! my Lord a traitor! I can't bear it. Oh! think of diſ⯑honour—think of your ſoul—think of Zarno!

In vain—in vain—were he guarded by the furies, I would ſeize him! (as he is ruſhing for⯑ward, Zarno jumps back, draws his ſword, and op⯑poſes him) ha! raiſe thy arm againſt thy maſter's life!

Do not you raiſe your arm againſt your maſter's life.

Oh, hell! he's right—Zarno, thou art ſadly changed—I've ſeen thee draw to ſave my life.

And now I draw to ſave what's dearer, your honour, your ſoul—you paſs not—no! I [59] would rather ſee you dead at my feet, and I the man that laid you there; than ſuffer you to paſs.

Baffled by a ſlave

ha! the work of death's begun; ſee how their ſabres—gleam—brave not my fury—give way—

No, by heaven!

Hark! 'tis vengeance calls—then take thy death, vile ſlave.—

Heaven forgive him! let me but live to ſee—

how dim my eyes are—ah! ſee he ruſhes among them; he bears down all before him—ah! now he ſeizes the King, and now he—oh! (falls)

What claſhing of ſwords! oh! I ſhall ſink with fear. Zarno! Zarno!

Here.

Oh Zarno! bleeding!

Oh, cruel maſter! cruel maſter!

Was it he that did it? monſter! is this a return for a fond ſervant's love?

Did I ſay it was my maſter? did I? no Rachel, no.

Come try to reach the mill, for poor Ra⯑chel's ſake try.

Well, I'll try,

only this—you know Rachel, the words of a dying man are awful—then hear mine; it was not my maſter that did this—remember, Rachel, it was not my maſter.

SCENE III—Another part of the Wood—Thun⯑der and Lightning.

On! I charge thee.

This wounded frame can go no farther.

Now ye fiends, ye who firſt inſtilled into my ſoul your damning purpoſe, nerve but my arm to ſtrike the blow—(thunder) oh, God of juſtice! why hurl thy bolts of fate to ſcare the peace⯑ful grove, when I ſtand here a wretch and court the vengeful ſhaft? Hark! a noiſe again—delay were fatal—on, on, or here thou dieſt!

Here be it then—I tell thee baſe aſſaſſin—

Thou wrong'ſt me, King—I am no com⯑mon ſtabber—view me well—have the wrongs thou haſt inflicted on me, ſo furrowed o'er my viſage, has deſpair ſo grimly marked me for her own, that thou rememb'reſt not? know then 'tis Zorinſki ſtrikes.

Zorinſki—but oh, is't poſſible—can thy ſoul be reconciled to treaſon?

How that ſhot thro' me.

Art thou content, that future ages ſhall uſe thy great name to curſe with.

My hair briſtles, and my teeth chatter—peace I charge thee.

Thoſe convulſive throbs, ſpeak virtue in thee—oh, obey it's ſacred impulſe—behold thy⯑ſelf thy King's deliverer—ſee hands and hearts hail thee thy country's ſaviour—think how the good will pray for thee, and ages bleſs thy name.

Oh let me with repentant—ha! is not the deadly oath ſworn—hell I'm faithful to thee—who is't that holds my arm?—

Ha! again—now—

A moment's pauſe—Oh God, ſhield with thy arm omnipotent my dear, ill-fated Po⯑land; receive my parting ſpirit, and, oh! for⯑give this man. Now, traitor, ſtrike.

Oh, impoſſible!

Oh, Caſimir—Oh my King—how ſhall I look upon that injured face.

Zorinſki, the fiery trial paſt gives thee to my heart more pure—

Hark, thy com⯑rades:

Let them come on; this weight of guilt taken from this arm, I will protect thee, King—Virtue's electric fire ſo ſprings each nerve, that did nature looſe her ravenous kind—did hell oppoſe its miniſters of blood, I ſeem as with one blow I could ſweep them to deſtruction.

I'm faint—my wound begins to torture—

Horror! 'Twas not my ſword—'twas not my ſword, my King, that wounded thee; for, e'en in that guilty moment, I ſtruck the villain dead that did inflict it.

Give me thy arm.

See, the moon dares ſhine again—Can'ſt thou forgive me—thou may'ſt, but can heaven?

No more; thou haſt unclogged thy ſoul of treaſon; treaſon, that moſt hideous murder, which, with one blow, ſevers a nation's peace, tramples down law, that barrier of exiſtence, and gives to him moſt triumph, who moſt ſhall murder and de⯑ſtroy.

SCENE IV.—A Mill.

Oh dear, oh dear, I do ſo overflow with joy, that I'm quite miſerable. I can't eat, and I [63] can't ſleep—thank heaven, I can juſt contrive to drink a little, elſe—what a rate my mill went all day—clack, clack, clack—Winny's tongue had no chance with it—and then to think of the ſweet lady Roſolia ſeeking protection in my man⯑ſion—there's an honour—

Hollo!

What! an enemy may be! Then, I'll re⯑tire into my caſtle, and parley from the battle⯑ments.

Within there.

Stand off, or I've a croſs-bow here mil ſend a choice collection of bullets into your pate; break one of my windows, you rob⯑bers!

Give inſtant entrance, or I'll force my way.

Know all men, I am lord of my caſtle—have been ſo—aye, thirteen hours, and will knock any man's brains out, that enters without my leave.

Are you lord of it? prove then you de⯑ſerve the title, by giving ſuccour to the unfortu⯑nate.

Oh, there's no ſtanding that.

You muſt know I am lord of this—

Leave prating, and inſtant lend thy aid.

Your King demands it—

give me your aſſiſtance.

Oh, no—Heaven forbid that I ſhould dare to think of ſuch a thing—Oh, no.

I want not thy obedience, but thy ſervice; I faint for very wearineſs.

Sure that voice—heavenly powers! the King!

With equal wonder I behold thee, fair maiden.

Oh, Sire, forgive me, if thus untimely I preſs my private griefs—where is my lord? Oh, does Radzano live?

E'en now we parted near your father's caſtle.

O'Curragh, fly.

But whether he live or no—

Oh horror! he here!

Fear not, wronged lady, the baſiliſk has loſt its power to harm.

Lead me in.

Faireſt innocent! and has this withering arm blaſted thy joys—Oh, was not my agony enough before. How came ſhe here?

Zarno ſent her; would you chooſe to walk in

Zarno! Zarno!

Soft—good brain collect thyſelf—ſure I ſaw him in the foreſt—and he went—no—ah, now helliſh recollection darts upon me—he wept—he begged me—he clung to me, and I—

Oh, I am deeply damned for that—the only ſoul on earth that loved me—never ſervant ſo loved a maſter—

and I to ſtab, oh!—Eh—perhaps he yet lives perhaps—here ſlave—

I beg your pardon, Sir, but I am not a a ſlave.

I care not what thou art.

I am—

Be dumb—mark—take this ſword—guard well the door—I'll return anon—oh, Zarno, Zarno!

He's mad—the poor devil's mad.

Now, my dear Witſki—I'll tell you what—

What, you are beginning your chatter.

Nay, now, only hear me, that's a dear man. You know, huſband, his Majeſty has fa⯑voured us with his company at our houſe; very [66] well; then, you know, it will be but civil to re⯑turn the viſit.

Certainly; he'll naturally expect it.

Well; and ſo I was a thinking that ſome new fur put upon my Sunday's cap, with roſe-co⯑loured ribbons, and my new ruſſet gown will do to—

What, miller, ho!

You will keep gabble, gabble—confound you, is not his Majeſty within hearing, and an't I his ſword-bearer—huſh—I muſt guard the door—and, do you hear, keep the cats and the dogs quiet—huſh, ſoftly.

SCENE V.—Wood.

Come, dear Zarno, ſee, yonder's the mill; you look better.

Do I, Rachel?

Far better, ſince with my hair I ſtopt the bleeding of your wound.

'Tis not my wound, Rachel; its here, its here; my heart's broken, Rachel—Oh, my [67] maſter—Let me reſt here awhile, it will give me ſtrength.

Zarno—alive—

Ah, Rachel, hide me—don't touch me—don't touch me—

How art thou, Zarno? Shrink not from me—I come to comfort thee.

Comfort—ſay, then,

lives the King?

What is that to thee?

he does! he does!

What lives—lives—ha! ha! ha!

Soft, he recovers—how art thou Zarno?

Better—well—very well—but are you not deceiving me?

No, on my ſoul—Zarno, I am not ſo damned a villain as thou think'ſt me.

I think you a villain! dear honoured maſter, where is your hand?

Let me convey thee to a place of ſafety.

I can walk—can walk very well.

Art thou—art thou—much wounded Zarno?

Oh yes—

A ſcratch—a ſcratch—it's joy makes me ſo weak—I'm very troubleſome—I can walk alone.

Pſhaw! reſt on me good fellow.

I'm afraid I lean very heavily.

Prythee be quiet—ſee'ſt thou that mill—the King is there—we ſhall eaſily reach it.

O yes, dear maſter, unleſs I die with joy by the way—I'm quite aſham'd.

Come reſt firmly on me—there—there.

SCENE VI.—Inſide of the Mill.

What refreſhing ſleep—heaven accept my thanks—Roſolia! droop'ſt thou for thy love—fear not his ſafety—have I not ſeen him in the field—believe me he muſt be cham⯑pion indeed, who ſpoils Radzano—hoſteſs I thirſt.

Here, your Majeſty's, a cup of wine, all our poor houſe affords.

Open good fellow—and fear nothing.

Poor wretch—he faints—lead me to him

here [70] poor knave, drink this—thy wants far exceed mine—drink, 'twill refreſh thee.

Oh no!

Do as I bid thee!

has't done thee good, knave?

Oh yes!

And me abundant—come thou look'ſt more cheerly—thou art better.

Better! I never was ſo well in my life.

It grieves me in ſuch baſe ſort to ſee your highneſs.

Not ſo fair one—am I not with my people, with thoſe who love me—come mine hoſt—thy fire,

wilt thou to court and grow great?

Pleaſe your Majeſty—I can't leave my trade.

Why, knave?

Becauſe I have a wife—and to confeſs the truth to your Majeſty—Winny, has certainly a happy knack at ſprightly converſation.

Hear'ſt thou the ſlanderer?

So when ſhe lets her tongue go—I let my mill go, clack for clack—I could not manage without my mill.

Ha! ha! I'll build thee one upon the Viſtula—thou ſhalt be the greateſt miller in Poland.

My gracious King!

Radzano thrice welcome—ſaid I not Ro⯑ſolia, this arm would prove victorious.

My deareſt lord!

Pardon dear miſtreſs, what ſtern duty compells—Rodomſko was found wandering in the foreſt, deſerted by his people.

Oh merciful Caſimir!

Fear nothing—let him live—but not in Poland.

See, how your loving ſubjects, bearing their ruſtic arms, preſs on to guard you.

What a proud moment—heaven give me ſtrength to bear this ruſhing joy—truſt me, my people, the dangers I have paſſed will but give energy to freſh exertion—yes, like the fertilizing Viſtula, mild yet irreſiſtible, I'll open wide the cur⯑rent of my juſtice, until the humbleſt peaſant of my ſtate ſhall taſte it's bleſſings.