Escaped from this peril, Lorenzo undertakes to forward the designs of the Duke on Amidea, that her brother Sciarrha, a man fierce and jealous of his family's honour, may be thus instigated to murder the seducer.

The second act, accordingly, opens with a conversation between Lorenzo and Sciarrha, in which the latter, when informed of the dishonour meditated against his sister, is worked up by the artifices of the "Traitor" into furious passion.

Sci. My sister! Though he be the duke, he dares not.

Patience, patience! if there be such a virtue,
I want it, Heaven; yet keep it a little longer,
It were a sin to have it; such an injury
Deserves a wrath next to your own. My
sister!

It has thrown wild-fire in my brain, Lorenzo,
A thousand Furies revel in my skull.
Has he not sins enough in's court to damn
him,

But my roof must be guilty of new lusts,
And none but Amidea? these the honours
His presence brings our house!

Lor. Temper your rage.

Sci. Are all the brothels rifled? no quaint
piece

Left him in Florence, that will meet his hot
And valiant luxury, that we are came to
Supply his blood out of our families?
Diseases gnaw his title off!
Lor. My lord-

Sci. He is no prince of mine; he forfeited His greatness that black minute he first gave Consent to my dishonour.

Lor. Then I'm sorry

Sci. Why should you be sorry, sir? You say it is my sister he would strumpet, Mine! Amidea! 'tis a wound you feel not; But it strikes through and through the poor

Sciarrha.

I do not think but all the ashes of
My ancestors do swell in their dark urns,
At this report of Amidea's shame :

It is their cause, as well as mine; and should Heaven suffer the duke's sin to pass unpunish'd,

Their dust must of necessity conspire To make an earthquake in the temple. Lorenzo finding Sciarrha in this key, admits him to his confidence informs him of his design to destroy Alexander-and before they part, Sciarrha vows to put that prince to death, in revenge for his insult to Amidea.

Lor. From horrid rape-'las, Amidea! Sci. I am resolv'd; by all that's blest, he dies.

Return my willingness to be his pander, My sister's readiness to meet his dalliance; His promises have bought our shame :-he

dies;

The roof he would dishonour with his lust Shall be his tomb ;-bid him be confident;

tues.

'Tis truth, the duke does love thee, viciously, Let him, let him! he comes to be our guest; This night he means to revel at our house,The Tarquin shall be entertain'd; he shall.

We cannot forbear quoting part of this fine scene. As Amidea approaches, Sciarrha says to her brother Florio, Is she not fair,

Exceeding beautiful, and tempting, Florio ? Look on her well, methinks I could turn poet,

And make her a more excellent piece than heaven.

Let not fond men hereafter commend what
They most admire, by fetching from the stars,
Or flowers, their glory of similitude,
But from thyself the rule to know all beauty;
And he that shall arrive at so much baldness,
To say his mistress' eyes, or voice, or breath,
Are half so bright, so clear, so sweet as thine,
Hath told the world enough of miracle.
These are the duke's own raptures, Amidea;
He loves my sister.
His own poetic flames; an argument

He then begins his temptation in a strain of warmth and vigour, characteristic of the safe fearlessness of the energetic minds of old.

Sci. What do great ladies do at court, I pray?

Enjoy the pleasures of the world, dance, kiss The amorous lords, and change court breath; sing; lose

Belief of other heaven; tell wanton dreams, Rehearse their sprightly bed-scenes, and boast, which

Hath most idolaters; accuse all facos
That trust to the simplicity of nature,
Talk witty blasphemy,

Discourse their gaudy wardrobes, plot new pride,

Jest upon courtiers' legs, laugh at the wagging

Of their own feathers, and a thousand more Delights, which private ladies never think of. But above all, and wherein thou shalt make All other beauties envy thee, the duke,

We

In the meanwhile, it appears that Amidea had been tenderly beloved by Pisano, who had transferred his affections to Oriana. His friend Cosmo loves Oriana, but shews the depth and sincerity of his friendship, by giving up all claim on her to his rival. discover, from the first scene of the play, that the Traitor Lorenzo, afraid lest Cosmo might become dangerous in the state, if possessed of Oriana's wealth, had worked upon Pisano to forget his first love, and lay siege to the mistress of his friend. He also hopes that tragical effects to both parties may result from this inconstancy; Both ladies therefore, Amidea and Oriana, are deserted by those they love. This, we think, is rather a clumsy, and not very probable, contrivance, but without doubt, it produces, through out the play, several interesting situations, and much pathos. Amidea's be haviour, when informed by Pisano that she no longer possesses his affections, is touching and dignified; and there is still greater beauty in the scene between Cosmo and Oriana, when he intreats her, with indifference ill assumed and not long preserved, to transfer her love to Pisano. This scene would act well, being full of affection and earnestness, and the language being singularly musical and beautiful. Oriana submits to her fate. "I've heard too much; do with me what you please,

I am all passive-nothing of myself,
But an obedience to unhappiness."

In the third act, preparations for a masque are made in Sciarrha's house,

For this great honour.

Duke. Amidea must Sit near us.

Sci. Lords, your places; 'twill not be Worth half this ceremony.-Let them begin.

Sciarrha is right in saying that the entertainment which follows can scarcely be called a masque, for it is rather an imitation of the old moralities. The characters are Lust, Youth, Pleasure, Death, and Furies. The whole representation is intended to shadow forth the wickedness of the Duke, and the fate that awaits him. Sciarrha sits by him, explains the spectacle, and watches his unsuspecting victim. After the song of Lust, which contains some strong lines, the Duke asks,

Duke. What's he?

Sci. A wild young man that follows Lust; He has too much blood, it seems. Duke. Why looks he back?

Sci. There is a thing call'd Death, that

follows him;

With a large train of Furies; but the Syrens Of Lust make him secure, and now the hag Embraces him, and circles him with plea

sures;

The harpies mean to dance too.

If this scene is to be retained in the representation, and we presume it will, fine music may render it very impres sive. The character of the Duke, and the situation of peril in which his own wickedness has placed him, make the mind willing to receive wild impressions, and to gaze on wild emblems of retribution. We are not well acquainted with the liberties allowed in fitting old plays for the stage, but assuredly a man of genius may render this scene a very striking-even terrible one.

At the close of the masque, Sciarrha brings the Duke to Amidea. This lofty-minded pure-souled lady has resolved to save the Duke's life, by converting him from his wicked purpose against her virtue. Sciarrha and Florio remain concealed to watch the issue of her conversation with the amorous Duke. The whole scene is excellent. The Duke exclaims to Amidea

Proud of such golden chains; this were enough,

Had not my fate provided more, to make me
Believe myself immortal in thy touches.
Come to thy bed, transform me there to hap
piness;

I'll laugh at all the fables of the gods,
And teach our poets, after I know thee,
To write the true Elysium.

Amidea, shortly after this, says to a question of the Duke,

Ami. To tell you that you are not virtuous.
Duke. I'm of your mind.
Ami. But I am not so wicked
To be of yours: oh, think but who you are,
Your title speaks you nearest heaven, and
points

You out a glorious reign among the angels;
Do not depose yourself of one, and be
Of the other disinherited.

Finding that Amidea, who has already wounded herself in the arm, is resolved to stab herself to the heart with a poinard, rather than surrender her honour, the Duke relents and desists from his iniquity.

Duke. Contain; I am sorry, sorry from
my soul,

Trust me, I do bleed inward, Amidea,
Can answer all thy drops: oh, pardon me,
Thou faint'st already, dost not? I am fearful.
The phoenix, with her wings, when she is
dying,

Can fan her ashes into another life;
But when thy breath, more sweet than all
the spice

That helps the other's funeral, returns
To heaven, the world must be eternal loser.
Look to thy wound.

Sciarrha comes from his concealment, and, struck with the remorse and penitence of the Duke, confesses to him the plan of murder concerted between himself and Lorenzo. The Duke being still incredulous of his favourite's guilt, Sciarrha says,

Sci. We will not shift the scene till you believe it.

Florio, entreat my lord Lorenzo hither.[Exit Florio.

Step but behind the arras, and your ear Shall tell you who's the greatest traitor living. Observe but when I tell him you are slain, How he'll rejoice, and call me Florence' great Preserver, bless my arm, that in your blood Hath given our groaning state a liberty; Then trust Sciarrha.

Lorenzo is accordingly called in, but having overheard the last words of Sciarrha, his wary nature is on its guard, and, instead of rejoicing with Sciarrha over the Duke's death, and acknowledg ing himself an accessory to the murder, he assumes the looks and words of the deepest horror and reprobation. Sciarrha, incensed with his hypocrisy, draws upon him, but the Duke interferes.

Duke. Put up, I say.

Sci. My lord, we are both cozened: That very smile's a traitor.

Duke. Come, be calm :

You are too passionate Sciarrha, and
Mistook Lorenzo.

Lor. But I hold him noble ;

I see he made this trial of my faith,
And I forgive him.

The scene closes tumultuously-the city having been agitated with the report of the Duke's death, and the different factions ripe for action. The fourth act opens with a soliloquy of Lorenzo, who finds himself baffled in all his ambitious schemes.

Lor. My plots thrive not; my engines

all deceive me,
And in the very point of their discharge
Recoil with danger to myself: are there
No faithful villains left in nature? all

Turn'd honest? man nor spirit aid Lorenzo,
Who hath not patience to expect his fate,
But must compel it. How Sciarrha play'd
The dog-bolt with me! and had not I pro-
vided

In wisdom for him, that distress had ruin'd me. His frozen sister, Amidea, too,

Hath half converted him; but I must set New wheels in motion, to make him yet More hateful, and then cut him from his stalk, Ripe for my vengeance. I'll not trust the rabble;

Confusion on ['em !]-the giddy multitude, That, but two minutes ere the Duke came

never

Give cause I should suspect him to forsake me;
A constant lover, one whose lips, tho' cold,
Distil chaste kisses: though our bridal bed
Be not adorn'd with roses, 'twill be green;
We shall have virgin laurel, cypress, yew,
To make us garlands; tho' no pine do burn,
Our nuptials shall have torches, and our
chamber

Shall be cut out of marble, where we'll sleep, Free from all care for ever: Death, my lord, I hope, shall be my husband. Now, farewell; Although no kiss, accept my parting tear, And give me leave to wear my willow here. Sciarrha now comes up, and after a short parley, stabs Pisano. Lorenzo having dogged his steps with an armed retinue, takes him prisoner, and makes a shew of offering him protection. Sciarrha says,

Sci. You shall not lose the smallest beam of favour,

To buy a man so desperate. I never Thought death the monster that weak men have fancied,

As foil to make us more in love with life, The devil's picture may affright poor souls Into their bodies' paleness, but the substance To resolute man's a shadow; and cold sweat Dare not approach his forehead. I am armed To die, and give example of that fortitude Shall shame the law's severity: my sister May now give back Pisano his false vows, To line his coffin; one tear shed on me is Enough, the justice I have done shall make My memory belov'd.

Lorenzo now suggests to Sciarrha, that he may yet save his life by putting Amidea once more in the power of the Duke. This proposal he fiercely spurns at.

Lor. I have done, And praise your heathen resolution Of death; go practise immortality, And tell us, when you can get leave to visit This world again, what fine things you enjoy In hell, for thither these rash passions drive

thee:

Lor. Do this

And be for ever happy. When these have
Only for form but waited on you home,
This disengages them.

Sci. My humblest service

To the duke I pray, and tell him, Amidea This night shall be at his dispose, by this. Lor. I'm confident; farewell!-Attend Sciarrha.

The last act opens with a very fine scene between Sciarrha and Amidea, that would not have disgraced Shakspeare himself; and which, indeed, at once reminds us of that between Claudio and Isabella in Measure for Measure. Amidea, plunged in profound sorrow for the death of the faithless Pisano, and shuddering at the prospect of her brother's execution, wishes she might be accepted as a sacrifice to avert his punishment.

Ami. Nothing can be too precious
To save a brother, such a loving brother
As you have been.

Sci. Death's a devouring gamester, And sweeps up all: what thinkst thou of an eye?

Couldst thou spare one, and think the blemish recompens'd,

To see me safe with t'other? Or a hand? This white hand, [Amidea,] that hath so often,

With admiration, trembled on the lute,
Till we have pray'd thee leave the strings
awhile,

And laid our ears close to thy ivory fingers,
Suspecting all the harmony proceeded
From their own motion, without the need
Of any dull or passive instrument.
No, Amidea, thou shalt not bear one scar
To buy my life; the sickle shall not touch
A flower that grows so fair upon his stalk;
Thy t'other hand will miss a white com-

panion,

And wither on thy arm: what then can I Expect from thee to save me? I would live,