Transcribed from the 1812 John Murray edition by David Price, ccx074@pglaf.org COUNT JULIAN: * * * * * A * * * * * TRAGEDY. * * * * * LONDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY, FLEET STREET, By James Moyes, Greville Street, Hatton Garden. * * * * * 1812. * * * * * THE daughter of Count Julian is usually called Florinda—a fictitious appellation, unsuitable to the person and to the period. Never was one devised more incompatible with the appearance of truth, or more fatal to the illusions of sympathy. The city of Covilla, it is reported, was named after her. Here is no improbability: there would be a gross one in deriving the word, as is also pretended, from La Cava. Cities, in adopting a name, bear it usually as a testimony of victories or as an augury of virtues. Small and obscure places, occasionally, receive what their neighbours throw against them; as Puerto de la mala muger in Murcia. A generous and enthusiastic people, beyond all others in existence or on record, would affix no stigma to innocence and misfortune. It is remarkable that the most important era in Spanish history should be the most obscure. This is propitious to the poet, and above all to the tragedian. Few characters of such an era can be glaringly misrepresented, few facts offensively perverted. * * * * * CHARACTERS. Count JULIAN. RODERIGO, King of Spain. OPAS, Metropolitan of Seville. SISABERT, betrothed to COVILLA. MUZA, Prince of Mauritania. ABDALAZIS, son of MUZA. TARIK, Moorish Chieftain. COVILLA, daughter of JULIAN. EGILONA, wife of RODERIGO. _Officers_. HERNANDO, OSMA, RAMIRO, &c. ACT I. SCENE 1. _Camp of Julian_. OPAS. JULIAN. _Opas_. See her, Count Julian: if thou lovest God, See thy lost child. _Jul._ I have avenged me, Opas, More than enough: I sought but to have hurled The brands of war on one detested head, And died upon his ruin. O my country! O lost to honour, to thyself, to me, Why on barbarian hands devolves thy cause, Spoilers, blasphemers! _Opas_. Is it thus, Don Julian, When thy own ofspring, that beloved child, For whom alone these very acts were done By them and thee, when thy Covilla stands An outcast, and a suppliant at thy gate, Why that still stubborn agony of soul, Those struggles with the bars thyself imposed? Is she not thine? not dear to thee as ever?