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This realm I hoped was safe! Yet here I talk,
When I can save it, not by force alone,

But bidding plagues, which follow sons like you,
Fasten upon my disobedient...

[Recollecting himself.] Surely

I could say this, if minded so, my son?

Cha. You could not! Bitterer curses than your

curse

Have I long since denounced upon myself

If I misused my power. In fear of these
I entered on those measures, will abide

By them so, I should say, Count Tende . . .
Vic.

No!

But no! But if, my Charles, your-more than old-
Half-foolish father urged these arguments,

And then confessed them futile, but said plainly
That he forgot his promise, found his strength
Fail him, had thought at savage Chambery
Too much of brilliant Turin, Rivoli here,
And Susa, and Veneria, and Superga―
Pined for the pleasant places he had built
When he was fortunate and young-

Cha.

My father!

Vic. Stay yet-and if he said he could not die Deprived of baubles he had put aside,

He deemed, for ever-of the crown that binds

Your brain up, whole, sound and impregnable,

Creating kingliness-the sceptre, too,

Whose mere wind, should you wave it, back would

beat

Invaders and the golden ball which throbs

As if you grasped the palpitating heart

Indeed o' the realm, to mould as you may choose!

-If I must totter up and down the streets
My sires built, where myself have introduced
And fostered laws and letters, sciences,
The civil and the military arts-

Stay, Charles-I see you letting me pretend
To live my former self once more— -King Victor,
The venturous yet politic—they style me
Again, the Father of the Prince-friends wink
Good-humouredly at the delusion you

So sedulously guard from all rough truths
That else would break upon the dotage !-You-
Whom now I see preventing my old shame—
I tell not, point by cruel point, my tale-
For is't not in your breast my brow is hid?
Is not your hand extended? Say you not . .

Enter D'ORMEA, leading in POLYXENA.

Pol. [advancing and withdrawing CHARLES-to
VICTOR.]

In this conjuncture, even, he would say—
(Though with a moistened eye and quivering lip)
The suppliant is my father; I must save

A great man from himself, nor see him fling
His well-earned fame away: there must not follow
Ruin so utter, a break-down of worth

So absolute: no enemy shall learn

He thrust his child 'twixt danger and himself,
And, when that child somehow stood danger out,
Stole back with serpent wiles to ruin Charles

-Body, that's much,-and soul, that's more-and

realm,

That's most of all! No enemy shall say...

D'O. Do you repent, sir?

Vic. [resuming himself.] D'Ormea! This is well! Worthily done, King Charles, craftily done! Judiciously you post these, to o'erhear

The little your importunate father thrusts
Himself on you to say! Ay, they'll correct
The amiable blind facility

You showed in answering his peevish suit :
What can he need to sue for?

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Bravely, D'Ormea, but for you,

The old Count might have drawn some few more

livres

To swell his income! Had you, Lady, missed

The moment, a permission had been granted

To build afresh my ruinous old pile !
But you remembered properly the list
Of wise precautions I took when I gave
Nearly as much away-to reap the fruits
I might have looked for!

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Next time to slight such mediators! Nay-
Had I first moved them both to intercede,

I might have had a chamber in Moncaglier
-Who knows?

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Cha. You were mistaken, Marquis, as you hear! 'Twas for another purpose the Count came. The Count desires Moncaglier. Give the order! D'O. [leisurely.] Your minister has lost your confidence,

Asserting late, for his own purposes,

Count Tende would...

Cha. [flinging his badge back.] Be still, the minis

ter !

And give a loose to your insulting joy

It irks me more thus stifled than expressed.
Loose it!

D'O.

There's none to loose, alas !-I see

I never am to die a martyr.

Pol.

Charles!

Cha. No praise, at least, Polyxena-no praise!

FROM THE RETURN OF THE DRUSES.

IN AN ISLAND COLONIZED BY THE DRUSES, AND GARRISONED BY THE KNIGHTS-HOSPITALLERS, DJABAL HAS ANNOUNCED HIMSELF AS THE EXPECTED HAKEEM AND DELIVERER OF HIS PEOPLE. ANAEL, HIS LOVE, HAVING, IN ATTESTATION OF HER FAITH IN THIS, SLAIN THE PREFECT, THEIR OPPRESSOR, RECEIVES THE AVOWAL OF HER LOVER'S IMPOSTURE, AND DECLARES IT TO THE NUNCIO SUCCEEDING TO THE TYRANNY OF HIS PREDECESSOR, JUST AS THE VENETIAN SUCCOURS, INVITED BY DJABAL, ARE ABOUT TO ARRIVE. LOYS DE DREUX, A YOUNG KNIGHT, FRIENDLY TO DJABAL, LOVES ANAEL ALSO.

ACT V.

The Uninitiated Druses, covering the stage tumultuously, and speaking together.

Lo, Hakeem

Here flock we, obeying the summons. hath appeared, and the Prefect is dead, and we return to Lebanon! My manufacture of goats' fleece must, I doubt, soon fall away there. Come, old Nasif—link thine arm in mine—we fight, if needs be. Come, what is a great fight-word? "Lebanon?" (My daughtermy daughter!)-But is Khalil to have the office of Hamza?-Nay, rather, if he be wise, the monopoly of henna and cloves. Where is Hakeem ?-The only prophet I ever saw, prophesied at Cairo once, in my youth-a little black Copht, dressed all in black too, with a great stripe of yellow cloth flapping down behind him like the back-fin of a water-serpent. Is this he? Biamrallah! Biamreh! HAKEEM !

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