JUDGE.
Art thou not guilty of thy father's death?

er Arnice.
Or wilt thou rather tax high-judging God
That he permitted such an act as that
Which I have suffer'd, and which he beheld;
Made it unutterable, and took from it
All refuge, all revenge, all consequence,
But that which thou hast call'd my father's death
s or is not what men call a crime,
Which either I have done, or have not done;
Say what ye will. I shall deny no more.
If we desire it thus, thus let it be,
And so an end of all. Now do your will;
No other pains shall force another word.

J U do E.
She is convicted, but has not confess'd.
Be it enough. Until their final sentence
Let none have converse with them. You, young Lord,
Linger not here!

heatrict. O, tear him not away! 1U tour. Guards! do your duty. her Naado (embracing Beatrics). Oh! would ye divide

Body from soul?
orric era.
That is the headsman's business.
[Exeunt all but Lucarria, BEArnice and Giacomo.
Giaco-Mo.
Have I confessed Is it all over now?
No hope! No refuge! 0, weak, wicked tongue
Which hast destroy'd me, would that thou hadst been
Cut out and thrown to dogs first ' To have killed
My father first, and then betrayed my sister;
Aye, thee! the one thing innocent and pure
In this black guilty world, to that which I
So well deserve! My wife! my little ones!
Destitute, helpless; and 1–Father: God!
Canst thou forgive even the unforgiving,
When their full hearts break thus, thus –
[Covers his face and weeps.
Lucaeti A.

0, my child! To what a dreadful end are we all come! why did I yield” why did I not sustain Those torments Oh! that I were all dissolved Into these fast and unavailing tears, Which flow and feel not : ne. At nick. What "t was weak to do, T is weaker to lament, once being done; Take cheer! The God who knew my wrong, and made Our speedy act the angel of his wrath, Seeins, and but seems to have abandon'd us. Let us not think that we shall die for this. Brother, sit near me; give me your firm hand, You had a manly heart. Bear up bear up Oh' dearest Lady, put your gentle head Upon my lap, and try to sleep awhile : Your eyes look pale, hollow and overworn, | With heaviness of watching and slow grief. Come, I will sing you some low, sleepy tune, Not cheerful, nor yet sad, some dull old thing, Some outworn and unused monotony,

| Such as our country gossips sing and spin,
Till they almost forget they live: lie down
So, that will do. Have I forgot the words?
Faith ! they are sadder than I thought they were.

SoNo.

False friend, wilt thou smile or weep
When my life is laid asleep?
Little cares for a smile or a tear,
The clay-cold corpse upon the bier'

Farewell Heigh ho!

What is this whispers low : There is a snake in thy smile, my dear; And bitter poison within thy tear.

Sweet Sleep! were Death like to thee,
Or if thou couldst mortal be,
I would close these eyes of pain;
When to wake Never again.
0 World ! farewell
Listen to the passing bell
It says, thou and I must part,
With a light and a heavy heart.

[The scene closes.

SC E N E i W. A Hall of the Prison. Enter CAM illo and Bernando. | cAMILLo. The Pope is stern ; not to be moved or bent. He look'd as calm and keen as is the engine Which tortures and which kills, exempt itself From aught that it intlicts; a marble form, A rite, a law, a custom : not a man. Ile frown'd, as if to frown had been the trick Of his machinery, on the advocates Presenting the defences, which he tore And threw behind, muttering with hoarse, harsh voice: • Which among ye defended their old father Kill'd in his sleep?" Then to another: . Thou Dost this in virtue of thy place; "t is well." He turn'd to me then, looking deprecation, And said these three words, coldly: “They must die." ban N-ado. | And yet you left him not CA-IL-Lo. I urged him still ; Pleading, as I could guess, the devilish wrong which prompted your unnatural parent's death: And he replied, a Paolo Santa Croce Murdered his mother yester evening, And he is fled. Parricide grows so rife That soon, for some just cause no doubt, the young Will strangle us all, douing in our chairs. Authority, and power, and hoary hair Are grown crimes capital. You are my nephew, You come to ask their pardon; stay a moment; Here is their sentence; never see me more Till, to the letter, it be all fulfill’d.------too. I did believe indeed That all you said was but sad preparation For happy news.

0, there are words and looks To bend the sternest purpose Once I knew them,

They come! Let me Kiss those warm lips before their crimson leaves Are blighted—white—cold. Say farewell, before Death chokes that gentle voice! O let me hear You speak! be Arnice. Farewell, my tender brother. Think Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now : And let mild, pitying thoughts lighten for thee Thy sorrow's load. Err not in harsh despair, But tears and patience. One thing more, my child, For thine own sake be constant to the love Thou bearest us; and to the faith that I, Though wrapt in a strange cloud of crime and shame, Lived ever holy and unstain'd. And though ill tongues shall wound me, and our common name Be as a mark stamp'd on thine innocent brow

For men to point at as they pass, do thou
Forbear, and never think a thought unkind
Of those who perhaps love thee in their graves.
So mayest thou die as I do fear and pain
Being subdued. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell
be RNAf do.
I cannot say farewell!
cAM illo.
O, Lady Beatrice!
Brat Rice.
Give yourself no unnecessary pain,
My dear Lord Cardinal. Ilere, Mother, tie
My girdle for me, and bind up this hair
In any simple knot; aye, that does well.
And yours I see is coming down. How often
Have we done this for one another now
We shall not do it any more.
We are quite ready.

My Lord, Well, "t is very well.

PREFA CE.

The Greek tragic writers, in selecting as their subject any portion of their national history or mythology, employed in their treatment of it a certain arbitrary discretion. They by no means conceived themselves bound to adhere to the common interpretation, or to imitate in story as in title their rivals and predecessors. Such a system would have amounted to a resignation of those claims to preference over their competitors which incited the composition. The Agamemnonian story was exhibited on the Athenian theatre with as many variations as dramas. I have presumed to employ a similar licence. The • Prometheus Unbound - of Æschylus supposed the reconciliation of Jupiter with his victim as the price of the disclosure of the danger threatened to his empire by the consummation of his marriage with Thetis. Thetis, according to this view of the subject, was given in marriage to Peleus, and Prometheus, by the permission of Jupiter, delivered from his captivity by Hercules. Had 1 framed my story on this model, I should have done no more than have attempted to restore the lost drama of Aschylus; an ambition, which, if my preference to this mode of treating the subject had incited me to cherish, the recollection of the high comparison such an attempt would challenge might well abate. But, in truth, I was averse from a catastrophe so feeble as that of reconciling the Champion with the Oppressor of mankind. The moral interest of the fable, which is so powerfully sustained by the sufferings and endurance of Prometheus, would be annihilated if we could conceive of him as

unsaving his high language and quailing before his successful and perfidious adversary. The only imaginary being resembling in any degree Prometheus, is Satan; and Prometheus is, in my judgment, a more poetical character than Satan, because, in addition to courage, and majesty, and firm and patient opposition to omnipotent force, he is susceptible of being described as exempt from the taints of ambition, envy, revenge, and a desire for personal aggrandisement, which, in the Hero of Paradise Lost, interfere with the interest. The character of Satan engenders in the mind a pernicious casuistry which leads us to weigh his faults with his wrongs, and to excuse the former because the latter exceed all measure. In the minds of those who consider that magnificent fiction with a religious feeling, it engenders something worse. But Prometheus is, as it were, the type of the highest perfection of moral and intellectual nature, impelled by the purest and the truest motives to the best and noblest ends. This Poem was chiefly written upon the mountainous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, among the flowery glades, and thickets of odoriferous blossoming trees, which are extended in ever-winding labyrinths upon its immense platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air. The bright blue sky of Rome, and the effect of the vigorous awakening spring in that divinest climate, and the new life with which it drenches the spirits even to intoxication, were the inspiration of this drama. The imagery which I have employed will be found, in inany instances, to have been drawn from the operations of the human mind, or from those external actions by which they are expressed. This is unusual in modern poetry, although Dante and Shakspeare are full of inEnter Luca Eti A, BEAT Rice, and BERNAAdo.

Knowest thou this writing, Lady ?
BEAT stice.
No.
8Aw ELLA.
Nor thou?
luckeri.A (her conduct throughout the scene is marked
by extreme agitation).
Where was it found 2 What is it? It should be
Orsino's hand . It speaks of that strange horror
Which never yet found utterance, but which made
Between that hapless child and her dead father
A gulf of obscure hatred.
SA wet. L.A.
Is it so?
Is it true, Lady, that thy father did
Such outrages as to awaken in thee
Unfilial hate?
Beath Ice.
Not hate, 't was more than hate;
This is most true, yet wherefore question me?
SAVELLA.
There is a deed demanding question done;
Thou hast a secret which will answer not.
BEATR ice.
My Lord, your words are bold and rash.
SAVE LL.A.
I do arrest all present in the name
Of the Pope's Holiness. You must to Rome.

What sayest?

Luca et LA.
O, not to Rome! Indeed we are not guilty.

BEA to ice.
Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? My Lord,
I am more innocent of parricide
Than is a child born fatherless—Dear Mother,
Your gentleness and patience are no shield
For this keen-judging world, this two-edged lie,
Which seems, but is not. What! will human laws,
Rather will ye who are their ministers,
Bar all access to retribution first,
And then, when Heaven doth interpose to do
What ye neglect, arming familiar things
To the redress of an unwonted crime,
Make ye the victims who demanded it
Culprits? 'T is ye are culprits! That poor wretch
Who stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed,
If it be true he murder'd Cenci, was
A sword in the right hand of justest God.
Wherefore should I have wielded it? unless
The crimes which mortal tongue dare never name,
God therefore scruples to avenge.

SAW. E. L.L.A.
You own

That you desired his death :

BrAt Rice.

It would have been

A crime no less than his, if for one moment
That fierce desire had faded in my heart.
'T is true I did believe, and hope, and pray,
Aye, I even knew—for God is wise and just,
That some strange sudden death hung over him.
'T is true that this did happen, and most true
There was no other rest for me on earth,
No other hope in Heaven—now what of this?

saw El...A. Strange thoughts beget strange deeds; and here are both I judge thee not. pe ATRice. And yet, if you arrest me, You are the judge and executioner Of that which is the life of life : the breath Of accusation kills an innocent name, And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, Which is a mask without it. T is most false That I am guilty of foul parricide; Although 1 must rejoice, for justest cause, That other hands have sent my father's soul To ask the mercy he denied to me. Now leave us free : stain not a noble house With vague surmises of rejected crime; Add to our sufferings and your own neglect No heavier sum; let them have been enough : Leave us the wreck we have. save L.L.A. I dare not, Lady. I pray that you prepare yourselves for Rome: There the Pope's further pleasure will be known. LUCRET1A. O, not to Rome! O, take us not to Rome! heath ice. Why not to Rome, dear mother? There, as here, Our innocence is as an armed heel To trample accusation. God is there As here, and with his shadow ever clothes The innocent, the injured, and the weak; And such are we. Cheer up, dear Lady, lean On me; collect your wandering thoughts. My Lord, As soon as you have taken some refreshment, And had all such examinations made Upon the spot, as may be necessary To the full understanding of this matter, We shall be ready. Mother; will you come? - LU CRET1A. Ha! they will bind us to the rack, and wrest Self-accusation from our agony! Will Giacomo be there? Orsino 2 Marzio” All present; all confronted ; all demanding Each from the other's countenance the thing Which is in every heart! 0, misery! [She faints, and is borne out. s A V E L L.A. She faints: an ill appearance this. be Attalice. My Lord, She knows not yet the uses of the world. She fears that power is as a beast which grasps And loosens not : a snake whose look transmutes All things to guilt which is its nutriment. She cannot know how well the supine slaves Of blind authority read the truth of things When written on a brow of guilelessness: She sees not yet triumphant Innocence Stand at the judgment-seat of mortal man, A judge and an accuser of the wrong Which drags it there. Prepare yourself, My Lord; Our suite will join yours in the court, below. [Exeunt.

Gi A cowro. Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end? O, that the vain remorse which must chastise Crirnes done, had but as loud a voice to warn As its keen sting is mortal to avenge! O, that the hour when present had cast off The mantle of its mystery, and shown The ghastly form with which it now returns When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds Of conscience to their prey! Alas! alas! It was a wicked thought, a pitcous deed, To kill an old and hoary-headed father. onsino. It has turn'd out unluckily, in truth. GIA cowto. To violate the sacred doors of sleep; To cheat kind nature of the placid death Which she prepares for overwearied age; To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul Which might have quench'd in reconciling prayers A life of burning crimes— ofasi No. You cannot say I urged you to the deed. Giaco Mio. O, had I never Found in thy smooth and ready countenance The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou Never with hints and questions made me look Upon the monster of my thought, until It grew familiar to desire– orst No. 'T is thus Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts Upon the abettors of their own resolve; Or any thing but their weak, guilty selves. And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness Of penitence; confess, "t is fear disguised From its own shame that takes the mantle now Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe? GIA com 0. Ilow can that be? Already Beatrice, Lucretia and the murderer, are in prison. I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak, Sent to arrest us. onsi No. I have all prepared For instant flight. We can escape even now, So we take fleet occasion by the hair. G1.A cowto. Rather expire in tortures, as I may. What! will you cast by self-accusing flight Assured conviction upon Beatrice? She, who alone in this unnatural work, Stands like God's angel minister'd upon By fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong As turns black particide to piety;

Whilst we for basest ends—I fear, Orsino, While I consider all your words and looks, Comparing them with your proposal now, That you must be a villain. For what end Could you engage in such a perilous crime, Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles, Even to this gulf? Thou art no liar; No, Thou art a lie! traitor and murderer! Coward and slave! But, no-defend thyself; [Drawing. Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue Disdains to brand thee with. of:st No. Put up your weapon. Is it the desperation of your fear Makes you thus rash and sudden with your friend, Now ruin'd for your sake? If honest anger Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed Was but to try you. As for me, I think, Thankless affection led me to this point, From which, if my firm temper could repent, I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak The ministers of justice wait below: They grant me these brief moments. Now, if you Have any word of melancholy comfort To speak to your pale wife, 't were best to pass Out at the postern, and avoid them so. Gi Aco Mo. Oh, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me? Would that my life could purchase thine! orsi No. That wish Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well! Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor? [Exit GIA coxso. I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting At his own gate, and such was my contrivance That I might rid me both of him and them. I thought to act a solemn comedy Upon the painted scene of this new world, And to attain my own peculiar ends By some such plot of mingled good and ill As others weave ; but there arose a Power Which grasp'd and snapp'd the threads of my device, And turn'd it to a net of ruin—Ila' [4 shout is heard. Is that my name I hear proclaim'd abroad But I will pass, wrapt in a vile disguise; Rags on my back, and a false innocence Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd Which judges by what seems. T is easy then For a new name and for a country new, And a new life, fashion'd on old desires, To change the honours of abandon'd Rome. And these must be the masks of that within, Which must remain unalter d.—Oh, I fear That what is pass'd will never let me rest: why, when none else is conscious, but myself, Of my misdeeds, should my own heart's contempt Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly My own reproachest Shall I be the slave Of—what? A word? which those of this false world Employ against each other, not themselves; As men wear daggers not for sclf-offence. But if I am mistaken, where shall I Find the disguise to hide me from myself,