_Otti._ Nay, fail at your own peril---- Your life is in my power! my breath can blast you! Choose, then, Cæsario, 'twixt thy bane and bliss-- Love or a grave! a kingdom or a scaffold! My arms or death's--By yonder sun I swear, Ere morning dawns, thou shalt be mine or nothing! [_Exit._

_Cæsa._ Is't so?--Thy blood then on thy head--This paper-- ----This female fiend--the scarf too!--I must straight Appease the princess--some well-varnished tale ----Some glib excuse--Oh! hateful task! Oh, Truth! How my soul longs once more to join thy train, Tear off the mask, and show me as I am! The wretch for life immur'd; the Christian slave Of Pagan lords; or he whose bloody sweat Speeds the fleet galley o'er the sparkling waves, Bears easy toil, light chains, and pleasant bondage, Weighed with thy service, Falsehood! Still to smile On those we loath; to teach the lips a lesson Smooth, sweet, and false; to watch the tell-tale eye, Fashion each feature, sift each honest word That swells upon the tongue, and fear to find A traitor in one's self--By heaven, I know No toil, no curse, no slavery, like dissembling!

The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor, Vol. I, No. 5, May 1810 — Part 67

SCENE II. _A wild forest, with rocks, waterfalls, &c. On one side a hermitage and a rustic tomb, with various pieces of armour scattered near it, "Victoria" is engraved on it; a river is in the background._

The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor, Vol. I, No. 5, May 1810 — Part 67

Orsino _stands on a rock which overhangs the river_.

The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor, Vol. I, No. 5, May 1810 — Part 67

_Orsi._ Yes thou art lovely World! That blue-robed sky; These giant rocks, their forms grotesque and awful Reflected on the calm stream's lucid mirror; These reverend oaks, through which (their rustling leaves Dancing and twinkling in the sunbeams) light Now gleams, now disappears, while yon fierce torrent, Tumbling from crag to crag with measured dash, Makes to the ear strange music: World, oh! World! Who sees thee such must needs confess thee fair! Who knows thee not must needs suppose thee good.

But I have tried thee, World! know all these beauties Mere shows and snares; know thee a gilded serpent, A flowery bank whose sweets smile o'er a pitfall; A splendid prison, precious tomb, fair palace, Whose golden domes allure poor wanderers in, And when they've entered, crush them! Such I know thee And, knowing, loath thy charms! Rise, rise, ye storms! Mingle ye elements! Flash lightnings, flash! Unmask this witch! blast her pernicious beauty! And show me Nature as she is, a monster! --I'll look no more! Oh! my torn heart! Victoria! My son! Oh God! My son! Lost! lost! both lost! [_Leaning against the tomb._