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This Tragedy has the usual characteristics of ROWE -Suavity-Pomp-a sententious Morality-little action, less passion. He wins upon the ear-he never irresistibly seizes on the heart.

Dramatically, Rowe must be considered as the founder of a subordinate idea of the nature of Tragic structure-He is content to be graceful, and occasionally aims to be grand-his characters sooth and satiate—they are wearisomely uniform-Sympathy he has seldom the secret to command Shore does draw tears, and only Shore.

This play bespeaks Italian reading, and yet of Italian, Rowe knew so little that he sounds SCIOLTO a tris. syllable. What is his merit it


be asked ?-moral purpose ? not always. Versification is nearly the whole of it. But though majestic and harmonious, it is not the versification best adapted to the Stage.--It is too perpetually polished-his lines are not sufficiently

broken by pauses.

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LONG has the fate of kings and empires been
The common bus’ness of the tragic scene,
As if misfortune made the throne her seat,
And none could be unhappy, but the great.
Dearly, 'tis true, each buys the crown he wears,
And many are the mighty monarch's cares:
By foreign foes and home-bred factions prest,
Few are the joys he knows, and short his hours of rest,
Stories like these with wonder we may hear;
But far remote, and in a higher sphere,

Ve ne'er can pity what we ne'er can share:
Like distant battles of the Pole and Swede, .
Which frugal citizens o’er coffee read,
Careless for who should fall or who succeed.
Therefore an humbler theme our author chosea
A melancholy tale of private woes :
No princes here lost royalty bemoan,
But you shall meet with sorrows like your own :
Here see imperious love his vassals trcat
As hardly as ambition does the great ;
See how succeeding passions rage by turns,
How fierce the youth with joy and rapture burns,
And how to death, for beauty lost, he mourns.

Let no nice taste the poet's art arraign, If some frail vicious characters he feign : Who writes, should still let nature be his care, Mix shades with lights, and not paint all things fair, But shew you men and women as they are. With def'rence to the

fair, he bade me say, Few to perfection ever found the way: Many in many parts are known ť excel, But 'twere too hard for one to act all well ; Whom justly life would through each scene commend, The maid, the wife, the mistress, and the friend ; This

age, 'tis true, has one great instance seen, And Heav'n, in justice, made that one a queen.

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Dramatis Personal.


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Sciolto, a nobleman of Genoa

Mr. Aickin.
ALTAMONT, a young lord, in love with

Mr. Barrymore.
Horatio, bis friend

Mr. Bensley. LOTHARIO, a young lord and enemy to Altamont

Mr. Palmer Rossano, bis friend

Mr. Williames.

Women. CALISTA, daughter to Sciolto

Mrs. Siddons. LAVINIA, sister to Altamont, and wife to Horatio

Mrs. Ward. LUCILLA, confident to Calista

Miss Palmer.


SCIOLTO, a nobleman of Genoa

Mr. Aickin.
ALTAMONT, a young lord, in love with

Mr. Farren.
Horatio, bis friend

Mr. Harley. LOTHARIO, a young lord, und enery to Altamont

Mr. Holman, Rossano, his friend

Mr. Evatt.

CALISTA, daughter to Sciolto

Miss Brunton.
LAVINIA, sister to Altamont, and wife to

Miss Chapman.
LUCILLA, confident to Calista

Miss Stuart.

Servants to Sciolto. SCENE, Sciolto’s palace and garden, with some part of the street

near it, in Genoa.




A garden belonging to Sciolto's palace. Enter ALTA


Altamont. Let this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it: Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings; Let happy lovers ever make it holy, Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their wishes, This happy day, that gives me my Calista.

Hor. Yes, Altamont; to-day thy better stars Are join’d to shed their kindest influence on thee; Sciolto's noble hand that rais'd thee first, Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, Completes it's bounty, and resto,es thy name To that high rank and lustre which it boasted, Before nngrateful Genoa had forgot The merit of thy god-like father's arms; Before that country, which he long had serv’d In watchful councils, and in winter-camps, Had cast off his white age to want and wretchedness,

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