LUCIUS, THE FIRST Christian King of
Britain.
A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in
Drury-Lane.
BY His MAJESTY's Servants.
By Mrs.
MANLEY.
LONDON: Printed for
John Barber
on
Lambeth-hill,
and sold by
Benj. Tooke
at the Middle-Temple Gate,
Henry Clements
in St.
Paul's
Church-yard, and
John Walthoe,
jun. over-against the
Royal Exchange, Cornhill, 1717.
TO Sir
RICHARD STEELE.
WHEN Men cast their Eyes upon Epistles of this Kind, from the Name of the Person who makes the Address, and of Him who receives it, they usually have Reason to expect Applauses improper either to be given or accepted by the Parties concern'd. I fear it will, at first Sight, be much more so in this Address, than any other which has at any Time appear'd; but while common Dedications are stuff'd with painful Panegyricks, the plain and honest Business of this, is, only to do an Act of Justice, and to End a former Misunderstanding between the Author, and Him, whom She, here, makes Her Patron. In Consideration that one knows not how far what We have said of each other, may affect our Character in the World, I take it for an Act of Honour to declare, on my Part, that I have not known a greater Mortification than when I have reflected upon the Severities which have flow'd from a Pen, which is now, You see, dispos'd as much to celebrate and commend You. On Your Part, Your sincere Endeavour to promote the Reputation and Success of this TRAGEDY, are infallible Testimonies of the Candour and Friendship you retain for Me. I rejoice in this publick Retribution, and with Pleasure acknowledge, That I find by Experience, that some useful Notices which I had the good Fortune to give You for Your Conduct in former Life, with some hazard to my Self, were not to be blotted out of Your Memory by any Hardships that follow'd them.
I KNOW You so well, that I am assur'd You already think I have, on this Subject, said too much; and I am confident You believe of Me, that did I not conceal much more, I should not say so much. Be then the very Memory of disagreeable Things forgotten for ever, and give Me leave to Thank You for Your Kindness to this PLAY, and in return, to shew towards Your Merit the same Good-will. But when my Heart is full, and my Pen ready to express the kindest Sentiments to Your Advantage, I reflect upon what I have formerly heard You say, That the Fame of a Gentleman, like the Credit of a Merchant, must flow from his own intrinsick Value; and that all Means to enlarge it, which do not arise naturally from That real Worth, instead of promoting the Character of either, did but lessen and render it suspicious. I leave You therefore, to the great Opportunities, which are daily in Your Power, of bestowing on Your Self, what no Body else can give You; and wishing You Health and Prosperity, I omit to dwell upon some very late Actions of Yours in Publick, which unhappy Prejudices made, as little expected from You, as the Zeal and Sollicitude which You shew'd for my private Interests in the Success of this PLAY. I shall say no more, trusting to the Gallantry of Your Temper for further Proofs of Friendship; and allowing You, like a true Woman, all the good Qualities in the World now I am Pleas'd with You, as well as I gave You all the ill One's when I was Angry with You: I remain with the greatest Truth,
SIR,
Your most humble, most faithful, and most oblig'd Servant, De la Rivier Manley.
THE PREFACE.
I
Cannot suffer this
PLAY
to pass into the World, without expressing my Gratitude to the Ladies, who, in such a distinguishing Manner, graced and supported it. So much Beauty and good Nature, could not fail of rend'ring that Person happy, for whose Benefit they were employ'd: I think my self infinitely bless'd in their Smiles, since I can be sensible of no greater Glory, than to hear, that I have had the Honour to Please Them.
TO tell the World that Mr.
Booth
and Mrs.
Oldfield's
Action was admirable, in the Parts of
LUCIUS
and
ROSALINDA,
is saying nothing New; they are so us'd to Charm the Audience, and Delight the best Judges of the Theatre: However, I beg leave to make them my publick Acknowledgments, and to please my self with what I have heard reported of their Performance in this
PLAY,
which is, That tho' they have often shin'd in several greater Parts, yet, none ever became them better. Mr.
Booth's
masterly and graceful Action supported
LUCIUS;
whilst Mrs.
Oldfield's
Charms, and enchanting Manner, gave Life and Beauty to the
QUEEN.
PROLOGUE,
By Sir RICHARD STEELE.
NAT Lee,
for Buskins fam'd, would often say,
To Stage-Success He had a certain Way;
Something for all the People must be done,
And with some Circumstance each Order won;
This He thought easy, as to make a Treat,
And, for a Tragedy, gave this Receipt.
Take me, said He, a Princess Young and Fair,
Then take a Blooming Victor flush'd with War;
Let Him not owe, to vain Report, Renown,
But in the Ladies Sight cut Squadrons down;
Let Him, whom they themselves saw win the Field,
Him to whose Sword they saw whole Armies yield,
Approach the Heroin with dread Surprise,
And own no Valour Proof against bright Eyes:
The Boxes are Your own—the Thing is hit,
And Ladies, as they near each other sit,
Cry, oh!
How movingly that Scene is writ?
For all the Rest, with Ease, Delights you'll sbape,
Write for the Heroes in the Pit, a
Rape:
Give the First Gallery a
Ghost;
on th' Upper,
Bestow, tho' at that distance, a good
Supper.
Thus all their Fancies, working their own Way,
They're Pleas'd, and think they owe it to the Play.
But the Ambitious Author of these Scenes,
With no low Arts, to court your Favour means;
With Her Success, and Disappointment, move,
On the just Laws of Empire, and of Love!
PROLOGUE.
By a Young GENTLEMAN.
Spoken by Mr. Walker.
IN ancient Days (the Time we do not know,
It is so very, very long ago)
Envy
was forc'd to lead an harmless Life,
To stay at home, a meer
Italian
Wife.
Wou'd ye believe it, Ladies? Tet, 'tis true,
She had not learn'd to Dress like One of Tou:
Nor did she then appear a thoughtless Beau,
Nor wore Cockades, nor into Armies go.
To Play-houses she ne'er presum'd to come,
And rarely visited the Drawing-room:
Ev'n Masquerades, where no One shews the Face,
Would not admit of
Envy
in the Place.
Ah! happy Days, when Dulness fear'd no Lash,
The Author gave no Wit, yet got his Cash:
When an Attempt to Please, was taken well,
And, on weak Woman, never Critick fell.
But our new Taste, brings on a new Demand,
For Wit alone, at present, cannot stand;
You must have Scandal, Politicks, and Traps,
To raise the Ladies Blush, and Footmens Claps.
What can poor We expect, in such a Case?
Dare
English
Tragedy plead Hopes of Grace?
No Party favour'd, no Designs in view,
To make Old Times, club Faction with the New.
No
double
soft
Entenders
to excite,
No Politicks to please the Wise to Night,
Such a dull Play, could any Modern write?
Alas! we own the Allegation just,
But 'tis to You, the shining Fair we trust;
As You are Fair, our Author hopes to find,
You can Forgive, and then You will be Kind.
Dramatis Personae.
MEN.
HOnorius,
King of
Gallia,
Mr.
Thurmond.
Vortimer,
Vsurper of
Britain,
Mr.
Ryan.
Lucius,
Prince of
Britain,
Mr.
Booth.
Arminius,
Prince of
Albany,
Mr.
Mills.
Prince of
Cambria,
Mr.
Bowman.
Sylvius,
Page to the Queen,
Miss
Tounger.
An
Alban
Lord,
 
WOMEN.
Rosalinda,
Queen of
Albany
and
Aquitain,
Mrs.
Oldfield.
Emmelin,
Princess of
Gallia,
Mrs.
Horton.
Irene,
Lady to the Queen,
Mrs.
Baker.
Flamens,
Guards, Soldiers.
Scene the Capital of
AQUITAIN.
LUCIUS.
ACT I. SCENE I.
The
PALACE-GARDEN.
Enter
Lucius
and
Arminius.
WHY does the conqu'ring
Lucius
now despond;
Why does my Lord, with secret Sorrow mourn,
Why thus averse to every Sound of Joy;
When
Fortune
crowns you with her choicest Favours,
Makes you the Soldiers Pride, and Wish of Beauty?
The coldest Maid that ever grac'd a Court,
At your approach, drops all her haughty Airs;
New rolls her Eyes, new coins her Face in Smiles,
And her long-practis'd Scorn is then no more.
O
Albany!
I cannot bear thy search.
I must proceed, and name the beauteous Queen.
Ha! say'st thou? What of her,
Arminius?
The mourning
Rosalind
in Sorrow dress'd,
Can charm beyond the gaudy Smiles of others!
I view, indeed, the captive Queen with Pity.
My Friend, does she not rule thy Soul?
She does! she does! my charming Queen reigns here,
Triumphant in her native Throne, my Heart:
Diffusive is her Sway, War yields to Love,
Nor know I any Wish, but for her Beauty.
Oh sure Despair, as certain Death for me!
[Aside.
Why sighs my Friend? Is she not heav'nly Fair?
Oh Guardian Powers of
Britain!
save him now,
Oh save the lovely Youth from pleasing Ruin!
Hast thou forgot? alas! the Queen's a Christian,
Apostate to our Altars, and our Worship.
In her alone all my Devotion centers;
My Heart (when I such wond'rous Charms survey)
In her adores the All-creating Power.
Nor can Perfections, great as hers, mislead;
She cannot be mistaken; cannot err:
Or if she cou'd, with
Rosalind
to err,
Were better than believing with another!
Beware the Mischiefs which attend her Love.
Thy Father, styl'd, the cruel King of
Britain,
Is to the Christian Sect a most invet'rate Foe.
Love were not Love, cou'd it admit of Fear.
Think how, when Lord of
Verulam,
he slew
The good, the rightful Majesty of
Britain;
Slew, at a peaceful Banquet, that brave Monarch.
The Queen (scarce up from Childbed of a Son,
Who soon expir'd) he forc'd to his loath'd Bed,
In hopes the Prince of
Cambria,
her Brother,
Wou'd prove a Friend, to his bold Usurpation:
And yet Heav'n smil'd upon the horrid Nuptials,
And bless'd the Tyrant with the God-like
Lucius.
Tho' sprung from one, I have no Tyrant's Soul,
Am I to blame? Cou'd I direct my Birth?
Cou'd I concur to Be? Was the Choice mine?
My Mother early paid the Debt of Nature;
Of me she dy'd: may that attone the Crime
Of wedding with her Husband's Murderer.
Still, there's a Secret will thy Hopes destroy,
Thy Father does himself the Queen adore;
His Love began, soon after thou wert sent
To aid the
Gallick
King against his Brother.
O fatal War! wou'd I had never seen it.
Thy Father, at a Royal Interview,
Receiv'd a Dart from
Rosalinda's
Eyes,
The beauteous Heiress of my Uncle's Crown,
Then to the King of
Aquitain
betroth'd:
He strove in vain to cross the promis'd Nuptials,
For his own Bed courting the destin'd Bride.
Long Enmity between the
Picts
and
Britons,
Their native Hate, and Contract with
Otharius,
Caus'd the Refusal of your Father's Suit.
The Fame of this Affront reach'd us abroad.
Love was the secret Motive of the War;
Hence he invaded
Albany
with Fury:
And with my Uncle's Death the Slight reveng'd.
How has he gall'd the
Picts
with heavy Yokes!
How every Day oppress'd our conquer'd People!
How in these foreign Wars, and distant Climes
Forc'd us for him to carry hated Arms!
Eager to prosecute his furious Love,
He cross'd the Seas to make the Queen a Widow.
Too well his Chance in War succeeded here;
Otharius,
he was slain, and we the Victors.
This Morning with the
Gallick
King he comes
Triumphant o'er the Fate of
Aquitain.
Soon as your conqu'ring Arms had forc'd this City,
With Orders I was sent to plead his Love:
But she, with Indignation, has refus'd him.
I dread to say, how ill I have succeeded.
His Tyrant Temper will not yield to Reason,
Nor can the Name of Son, abate his Rage.
Cure or conceal your Love, or you are lost.
Conceal my Love? conceal a raging Fire,
Conceal the Blaze, when it invades the Sky:
As well unbounded Storms may be conceal'd.
Sure this Etherial Fire was struck by
Jove.
Oh no! the God of Love has greater force;
He animates you thus; thus moves your Frame,
And brings inimitable Graces with him.
Feels not the Queen the Force of all those Charms?
A Dawn of Joy breaks from her gath'ring Smiles,
With all the Softness, which fore-runs her Sex's Yielding.
Ten Months I've offer'd ineffectual Vows;
Ten Months pursu'd the Fair with ardent Love.
No more—the Princess
Emmelin
appears:
I'll go this very Hour, and urge my Fate;
Ere my stern Father comes, I must be bless'd,
Be ever bless'd, or else for ever wretched.
Haste all ye Loves, and Graces to my aid;
Dwell on my Voice, and languish in my Eyes;
Bright
Cytherea,
from thy Heav'n look down,
Grant,
Venus,
grant, that I her Heart may move;
For me thy Slave, make her thy Votary.
Propitious now, thou shalt my Goddess be,
And I'll Devote my happy Hours to thee.
[
Exit
Luc.
Enter the Princess
Emmelin.
I met the Prince—how has thy search succeeded?
Alas! too well.
And grows the Hero,
Lucius,
sick for Love?
That stubborn Heart in Camps, and Slaughter bred,
Unus'd to Beauty and its soft Delights?
Oh Sympathy of Sex! oh Force of Nature!
What haughty Victor stops not at thy Call?
What Courage melts not at the sight of Beauty?
Oh
Rosalind!
how glorious are thy Chains!
How much superior to the Crowns of others!
As next of Kindred to the
Alban
Throne,
Whilst none but elder Rivals had declar'd,
I had some distant Hopes of being heard.
If I have Credit with the King, you shall;
We are my Brother's Captives, not the
Britons.
But oh! what Hope hast thou to gain her Heart?
Where is the Hero, that dares rival
Lucius?
At the young Warrior's Sight, each Virgin Breast
Throbs with an Extacy unutterable.
Scarce
Venus
feels more Transport in her Grove,
When kindling Wishes hurry on to Love.
I own the Danger of superior Charms;
I own, his Power and Valour, Youth and Form,
Are Rivals dreadful to my boldest Hopes:
And yet, in Counsel with my kinder Stars,
Cunning and Conduct may out-wit the Hero,
And aid my feeble Hand to reach his Heart.
Thou strik'st not there,
Arminius;
I oppose;
And, like his better Genius, guard the Warrior.
Know, I have seen him with indulgent Eyes;
As thou for
Rosalind,
I sigh for him.
Be he immortal then, as are your Charms,
Within that beauteous Empire ever safe.
Thou hast resolv'd his Fate, I read thy Soul,
This ten long Months I've study'd thy dark Breast
And know the Want of Vertue in thy Frame,
Which must subject thee to the Mind, that knows thee:
Wherefore, I left my Modesty a-while,
Reveal'd my virgin Love to guard its Object.
Honorius
comes; with him the
British
King:
Protect my
Lucius
from his Father's Rage,
Or by our Nation's Gods, thy Queen shall know,
'Twas thy ill-fated Arm, which slew
Otharius.
Why, with Reproaches, does your Highness load me,
For what to you alone I have disclos'd?
Is this the End of all your promis'd Favour?
That promis'd Favour, which upheld my Hopes.
Yet, wherefore should I shrink at your reproach?
In Battle, bravely did I take his Life;
That bar to
Rosalinda's
Throne and Bed.
Spare but young
Lucius,
and your Secret's safe:
Nay, all that I can do to gain the Queen.
Well does the King your Brother love his Sister.
Honorius
rules the Fate of
Rosalinda:
Direct her to my Arms; and
Vortimer
(Whose Ear I've gain'd by flatt'ring of his Love)
Shall give the Prince to yours.
Oh
Albany!
that soars above my Hopes,
My haughty Soul would not reveal its Weakness;
Yet something must be done, I'll think again.
But thou, my careful Genius, guard me well,
And thou, my Modesty, be faithful to me;
Heave not, my Bosom, when the Invader's nigh;
Throb not, fond Heart, to beat to him thy Secret:
My Eyes, take heed how ye my Pain express,
Strike not one Spark that may the Flame confess.
He can't despise, who does not know our Store:
'Tis proffer'd Love makes all our Beauties poor.
[Exit Emm.
Ha, is it so? Princess I was to blame,
To think a Woman's Friendship void of Int'rest:
Th' Advances which she made, are now explain'd.
She watch'd Prince
Lucius
with a jealous Eye,
And taught ev'n me, first to suspect his Passion:
Be cautious of thy Fate! I fear her Cunning;
Guard thee my Heart, be wary of her search,
Else shalt thou never steer amidst these Dangers.
Enter
Sylvius.
Oh Sister! I have News: The Prince of
Britain
Adores the widow'd Queen of
Aquitain.
Did thy soft Sex and Royal Blood descend
To wear the humble Habit of a Page;
To watch each lucky Minute of the Fates,
And let another blast thy Brother's Hopes?
I love my Brother with a Sister's Love,
As much as e'er a Sister lov'd a Brother:
But when compar'd to what I feel for
Lucius,
How weak, how lambent is the kindred Flame!
Then not for thee, but him, I left my Sex,
Left the gay Pleasures of the
British
Court,
Thus in a servile Garb to follow
Lucius,
To hear his Voice, and view his lovely Person:
For with the Dawn I took his Beauties in;
The vital Air, the Sighs which first I breath'd,
Were all inform'd, were all inspir'd by
Lucius.
Shall
Rosalinda
then possess thy Lover?
Not till
Alenia
dies.
Earth, Hell and all aerial Daemons join,
Join they with us, to blast his hated Passion.
Born on the Wings o'th' Wind, the Wizard
Alm'rin,
Mighty in Spells, in Charms and Magick Lore,
From
Norway
came, to aid our hapless Loves.
Ten sleepless Nights in Magick Rites have past,
And thus, this Morn, he has our Doom pronounc'd;
"Divide the Lueen and
Lucius,
ye are blest,
"And in his Arms
Alenia's
Grief shall rest:
"For
Rosalinda
thou shalt sigh no more,
"If thou with her canst touch thy native Shore:
"But oh! be swift, their stronger Stars may join;
"Employ Force, Fraud: This Day and Night are thine.
The Fates are kind, their Oracle is good.
If Scruples weak and vain sway not thy Mind,
Alenia,
we may yet be blest. Oh say,
Wilt thou unerring with thy Brother join,
In mutual Aid to gain our mutual Loves?
Implicitly I will.
Give me thy Vow.
I swear to act in Concert with my Brother.
Hold'st thou thy Favour with the Queen?
I do. She calls me faithful Boy, the only one
Of all her vast Retinue she can trust.
Embolden'd by this Grace, I told the Queen,
There was a Prince, who always mourn'd her Fate,
In Words so tender, with a Voice so sweet,
I lov'd, yet griev'd to hear the moving Story.
She ask'd me all transported, Is it
Lucius?
I sigh'd and paus'd, not daring then to name you.
Back dearest Maid, and watch their every Glance,
Bring, me if possible, their very Thoughts;
That all transparent I may view their Souls.
[Exit Sylvia.
Her Heart for
Lucius
touch'd! the Idol bleeds:
Tho' tis not fit, this Girl shou'd know my Purpose.
Arise Invention, aid my lab'ring Soul;
Fair are all Ways, which carry to the Goal.
So, fir'd by
Venus
Son, the Thund'rer
Jove,
Of right regardless, rushes on his Love;
By Fraud or Force he gains the Beauteous Prize,
Tasting, in various Forms, as various Joys.
Now, as
Alcmena's
Lord, their Bed he stains;
Then
Spartan Laeda,
like a Swan, he gains:
Europa
by a lovely Bull's betray'd,
And in a golden Show'r th' imprison'd Maid:
A Dragon curls in bright
Olympia's
Arms,
Nor can chaste Vows protect
Calisto's
Charms.
Hence Men, by Fraud and Artifice, succeed;
And
Jove's
Example justifies the Deed.
[Exeunt omnes.
End of the First Act.
ACT II. SCENE I.
The
Queen
and
Irene.
WHY does my charming Mistress thus devote
Her Beauty's Bloom to Sorrow, Sighs and Tears?
My Husband slain, my Country made a Prey,
My Guards my Jaylors, ev'ry Room a Prison,
No faithful Servant left, but Thee and
Sylvius:
The rest are Spies devoted to the Victors.
And yet those Victors come to break your Chains.
Alas! they come indeed, but 'tis in Triumph.
Honorius,
call'd the Good, has well reveng'd
Th' unjust Attempt, which King
Otharius
made,
T'enlarge his Empire, at his Brother's Cost.
Compell'd to wed that most ambitious Prince,
I never knew one peaceful Hour in Marriage.
Honorius
by his Death, the
Romans
vanquish'd,
Becomes the first sole Monarch of the
Gauls:
A Widow I, without a Dow'r or Name;
No more the Queen of
Albany
or
Aquitain.
Enter
Sylvius.
The Prince of
Britain,
to attend your Majesty.
Against my self my rebel Passions arm;
They bound within my Breast to meet this Victor.
Were not my Mind enslav'd, were that but free,
How could I brave my Chains? how calm look down
On those lost Glories, which adorn a Crown?
Enter
Lucius.
He kneels.
Why does the conqu'ring Prince of
Britain
kneel
To me, no more a Queen, a wretched Captive?
What wou'd my Lord? for I am all Confusion.
I beg a parting Audience, and alone.
You,
Sylvius
and
Irene,
both withdraw.
I'll bring the Prince of
Albany
to part ye.
(Aside.
[Ex. with
Irene.
Oh my Heart!—Sure, Sir, I heard you not aright.
Where next does the victorious
Lucius
shine?
And which the Kingdom mark'd for Desolation?
I wou'd, but oh! it dies upon my Tongue;
To my lov'd Queen, I wou'd discourse of Parting;
I wou'd discourse of Night, and horrid Gloom,
Of dismal Groans, and the deep Vault of Death;
And when the bitter Cup of Woe is full,
I'll summ it all in One, and call it Parting!
Beat gently, Heart—Who sends you hence my Lord?
That awful Virtue, which destroys my Hopes;
That chilling Coldness, which repels my Flame.
Henceforth the Joys of Life shall charm no more;
No more the dusty Field shall give delight,
Triumphant Laurels, or the Praise of Beauty:
These Robes I'll change to some poor Hermit's Weed;
And Herbs and Roots shall be my only Food,
My daily Thirst quench'd by some common Stream;
No Beam of Light to chear my dismal Cell,
But all be dark, and joyless as my Fortune.
Why chuse you these Extremes, my Lord?
A Convert to that Being, which you worship,
And which I with my pious Queen adore;
I am Christian, Follower of your Virtue.
At your Command, I've heard those holy Men,
By that good Prelate
Eleutherius
sent.
I've heard their Potent and Coelestial Reasons:
Enlighten'd from above, my glowing Breast
Bids me undaunted own the sacred Faith,
Which, when prosess'd, I'll take my leave, for ever,
Of the too cruel
Alban
Queen, for ever!
What, part, my Lord, when this exalted Change
(For which I bow to the informing Pow'rs)
Calls you, the first of Christian Kings, to shine
O'er all the Western World, like a bright Star,
To bless your People with eternal Knowledge?
For you, I quit the Hope of making Converts;
For you, resign the foremost Rank in Fame;
For you, I leave the Glories of a Crown.
I can no more support this wretched Being,
To see such Charms shine forth, but not on me.
Oh! think, how absolute my Rival is.
Can I from a stern Father's Force preserve you,
Unless you will descend to fix my Claim,
And let me call you mine, e're he arrive?
How shall I teach my Tongue against my Heart?
[Aside.
Am I not worth a Word, the least Regard?
How many anxious Days, and sleepless Nights,
Have I devoted, to afflicted Beauty?
But she regardless, pities not my Pain,
Or she ungrateful triumphs in my Ruin:
Tho' I, for her, first felt the Sting of Passion,
First felt the Force of Charms, what strong Desires,
And eager Longings, are inspir'd by Beauty.
My suff'ring Heart, by Sorrow quite possess'd,
Can make no Room for any other Thought.
Oh, blest
Otharius!
happier in thy Death,
More happy than the living, hated
Lucius.
Therefore, my Heart, be this thy last Effort;
Part, part, and die!—From those dear Eyes remove
This wretched Object of despairing Love.
We cannot, must not part. Ye mighty Pow'rs,
Tear not this only Good from my poor Heart.
Take all besides, leave me but him alone,
And I no more will think of Crowns and Empires.
Oh full Reward of all my former Pain!
Oppress'd, I saint beneath this Flush of Joy.
Oh Love, receive the Honour! thou hast bless'd me.
Alas my Queen!—she sinks—she faints—she dies!
My
Rosalind,
my Soul! return, return.
Come back my Love. Again she breaths—she lives!
The Roses gather to her Cheeks and Lips!
The kind'ling Fire is glimm'ring in her Eyes!
New Warmth, new Life, re-animates the Fair!
And with her living Beauties, I am bless'd!
Oh force of Modesty! oh force of Love!
'Tis fought, and thou hast gain'd the Victory.
The Struggles past; tho' vanquish'd, yet grown bold,
I must—I do declare—I cannot speak it:
Leave me to blush alone for this Confession.
Not 'till the holy Priest has join'd our Hands;
Oh, my fair Queen!—this Night must see me blest.
To Morrow, gentle
Lucius!
Let those who set no Value on the Present,
With easy Idleness expect to Morrow.
Suppose the King, grown furious to possess,
Shou'd force you to his Bed, shou'd force his Joys;
As once he did my Royal suff'ring Mother.
A Captive you, oh how may you resist?
Think but of
Lucius
then, and his despair:
O think, my Queen! what I wou'd then exchange
For but a Moment of that precious Time,
You will not now employ?
The conqu'ring Monarch's come, I hear their Trumpets:
Oh sound! sound on! it is for
Lucius
Triumph.
Yield, yield my Fair, and all my Fears remove;
Quick to thy inmost Chamber, fly my Love,
Where binding Vows my lasting Truth shall prove.
But if the cruel King command my Death? Swear,
Lucius,
at the Peril of thy Life, To guard thy
Rosalinda's.
I swear, my Queen, by Glory and by Love,
I will protect thee, tho' against my Father.
But now, my Fair, my circling Blood rebounds;
My lab'ring Heart, as in the Pangs of Death,
Beats an Alarm, and all the Passions answer:
I can no more: Impatient of delay,
The God of Love himself prepares the Way,
He brings us Joys, which never shall decay.
Joys! which the truly Constant only know,
Our All of Bliss, worth living for below.
Going, they are met by
Emmelin
and
Arminius.
They love! they love! I read it in their Eyes,
Softness in hers, and Transport shine in his.
[Aside.
Madam, the Princess
Emmelin
is come,
Mov'd by your Sorrows to entreat her Brother,
(Whose Captives the rough Chance of War has made ye)
That
Vortimer
may not dispose your Fate:
Shou'd the stern
Briton
get you in his Pow'r,
Our Hopes of freeing
Albany
were lost.
Enter
Sylvius.
Oh! that unhappy
Sylvius,
to his Queen,
Shou'd be the Speaker of
Honorius's
Triumph!
The gaudy Chariots have discharg'd their Load,
And now, the Palace-hall receives the Monarchs.
I've seen the Prosp'rous laugh, the Wretched mourn;
These gracing their proud Victors gilded Wheels,
Are sent, for change of Woe, to groan in Dungeons.
How many
Alban, Gaul,
and
Roman
Chiefs,
The Relicts of
Otharius
Royal Pow'r,
Shall never, never see the Light again.
These Tears be witness, how I grieve their Fate.
Pardon this Tenderness—The Kings have sent
To tell your Majesty, they wait for Audience.
Cousin of
Albany,
I pray attend them.
Fate, thou art busy now for
Rosalinda.
I
've but one dear Concern, one Wish in Life,
One secret Pain, or one important Joy,
To make the Royal
Lucius
ever mine!
Or else, ye Pow'rs, contract my narrow Span:
From your Eternal Loom tear short my Thread;
I cannot taste of Happiness without him.
Introduc'd by
Albany
and Train, Enter, in Triumph,
Honorius
King of
Gallia, Vortimer
King of
Britain,
Prince of
Cambria,
Attendants and Guards.
Here let our Triumphs end; you beauteous Queen,
Enough have mourn'd a Royal Husband dead.
My Brother, to encrease the Bless'd, is gone:
Death has atton'd his breach of Royal Faith,
And Time consents to mitigate your Sorrows:
Let your sad Heart, at length, give Way to Joy.
I've all the Joy that my sad State can give,
Since I was doom'd to Chains, that you're the Victor.
[K. Hon.
and
Emmelin
embrace.
When you appear, who can be call'd Victorious?
The Sun, that with diffusive Beams shines o'er
The rolling Globe, to every Age a Wonder,
Reigns not more absolute, than do your Eyes.
Like him, you rule with universal Sway,
Like him, you conquer all—Rise, warlike
Lucius;
We did expect an earlier Meeting from thee.
Great Sir, It was my Post to guard the Queen.
My Nephew! dearer than my Life!
My honour'd Uncle!
Oh
Albany!
thou Partner of my Heart,
The Charmer shines on us with stronger Glory,
As she'd been gathering a fresh Stock of Brightness:
How has our Suit succeeded?
[
K.
Vortimer
talks apart to
Arminius,
K.
Honorius
with
Emmelin,
whilst
Lucius
speaks aside to the Queen.
After the Audience, where shall I be bless'd?
I am going to the Cell of
Fabianus,
But trust not our important Fate to any.
What!
Lucius
love the Queen: Belov'd of her?
My Lord of
Albany,
you have our Thanks.
We have to offer to thee, King
Honorius,
That which may make our League inviolable.
To which, great Prince, we gladly shall accord.
When we had scarcely tasted Royal Pow'r,
The Sweets of Empire, or our Consort's Charms,
We left our Crown and Queen, to aid this State:
Six Years were wasted in the
Gallick
War,
Without re-visiting our native Coast.
By us, and our brave Troops, thy Father vanquish'd,
And drove the
Roman
Tyranny away.
The
Romans!
who had, since great
Caesar's
Conquest,
Left ye but Titular Kings, and
Gaul
a Province.
I have heard the Obligation.
After his Death, the warlike Prince your Brother,
Deem'd
Aquitain
too small a Share of Empire;
With hostile Arms he enter'd your Dominions,
And took you unprepar'd; the Field he won,
Subdu'd your strongest Cities in your Sight:
Till braving foamy Seas, and winter Storms,
In spight of Winds, or adverse Deities,
Lucius
transported to your Shore our Aid.
All this I thankfully remember.
Without a Rival now, you fill the Throne;
Nay more, have join'd your Brother's Crown to yours.
If this, to our victorious Arms be due;
Say, happy Monarch, what may he expect,
By whom you wear these Benefits?
Speak, King of
Britain,
what is't thou wou'd'st ask?
For all our Toils in War, our Soldiers Loss,
Our friendly lavish waste, of Blood and Treasure,
We ask the Captive Queen; that she, this Night,
Set forward, where our Royal Navy rides;
So to be wafted o'er to
Britain's
Shore,
With Honour.
Oh Brother! let me lowly thus entreat,
That I may answer this Tyrannick King:
With his great Merit, how are you upbraided?
He has recited all his warlike Deeds,
To make Impression on your grateful Heart.
But Sir! consider, I'm a Queen, was doubly Crown'd:
By Birth and Marriage, I am twice a Sovereign.
Think whose I was—Oh! pity Kindred Grief,
And Royal Woes! Mine's not a vulgar Fate,
To be weigh'd out by ev'ry common Hand,
Or at a Moment's Call, to be determin'd.
What Phantoms, what Illusions, beauteous Queen,
(By melancholy Vapours fed) affright you?
Were
Caesar
yours, and all that vast Dominion
Of which he once could call himself the Lord,
Less sure, less absolute wou'd be your Sway,
Than now in
Britain.
In Death, I may possess an ample Pow'r:
'Tis there that I must follow, when thou lead'st.
I had a Father, 'till thy cruel Thirst
Of Blood and Empire left him but a Name.
I had a Husband too, of Kingly Sway:
Now made an helpless Orphan, and a Widow:
My Country seiz'd, my noble Friends enslav'd,
Groaning in Dungeons, courting Death in vain:
The next is mine, my Fate may be the last.
In me thy Tyranny will be accomplish'd.
In you the War, in you what's dreadful ends;
The Prison-Doors fly open, as you pass;
And the despairing Captive drops his Chain:
No more your
Albans
shall be counted Foes,
But with our
Britons
equally esteem'd.
Let me entreat, great Sir, you'd not insist
So soon upon the mourning Queen's departure.
Long since, our Adoration has been fix'd
On an inexorable haughty Fair,
Which has deferr'd the Homage due to you;
But
Lucius
shall attone—our Son, draw near.
What means the King?—oh my disorder'd Heart!
What would my Royal Father?
Of what I wish, great Sir, be this the Cement,
And this between us be our Pledge of Peace.
Lucius,
my Son, the Hopes and Heir of
Britain,
I give to the fair Princess
Emmelin,
To be her happy Lord.
With the same View, I give the Royal Bride:
To Morrow, see their Happiness compleat.
Next, let us seek to sooth this lovely Mourner:
Nor should'st thou, King of
Britain,
bar our Justice.
The Queen was not a Warrior, like her Lord,
Nor Partner of his Arms, or his Injustice:
Wherefore, we have resolv'd, she shall be free.
Madam, this Moment gives you Liberty;
And, as our Brother's Royal Dowager,
You've leave to sojourn in our Court at Pleasure.
For this, the mighty Gods reward the King.
And may he meet no Hour of new Distress.
May Fortune here fix her inconstant Wheel,
And never know a Change to your Dishonour.
That she is free, is what my Soul design'd:
But oh! I wish'd it not another's Gift.
Ungrateful King, when thy last Stake was set,
And Fortune threw the Dye of War against thee;
Did we not send thee,
Lucius,
at thy Call?
Lucius!
who made the haughty
Roman
tremble,
And chac'd him from the liquid Fence of
Britain:
We follow'd, to retrieve thy lost Affairs,
When pale Despair fill'd thy distracted Court,
And the bright Goddess,
Victory,
Sought to espouse thy Brother.
Why do'st thou stain the Service with Reproaches?
What thou hast done, was like a Monarch done,
As we had done for thee, if thou had'st needed.
Madam, I take my leave; false King beware;
Revenge but nods, 'till it can safely rouse;
And then, unthankful Monarch, thou sha't find
An injur'd
Briton's
Rage. Attend us
Albany.
[
Ex. K.
Vort.
and
Arm.
Lead to the Temple, there to thank the Gods,
For Peace, the sweet Reward of Victory.
He, who is truly call'd his Country's Lord,
The End obtain'd, with Joy returns the Sword;
Superior to the Glories of the Field,
He makes the Hero to the Patriot yield;
Forms, on his People's Good, the King's Renown,
And quits the Laurel, for the Olive Crown.
[Exeunt all but
Lucius.
Whilst, after all these Storms, I seek for Rest
In the safe Harbour of my Charmer's Breast;
Tho' foamy Billows threaten from afar,
And gath'ring Clouds proclaim the watry War;
Tho' Waves around me dash, and Tempests roar,
I'll perish in the Deep, or gain the wish'd-for Shore.
[Exeunt omnes,
The End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Enter King
Vortimer
and
Arminius.
WHat Pow'r, to awe the Mind, have Womens Charms,
Make the Bold fearful, and the Coward brave!
Unequal to the fawning Task, our Age
Begins too late to learn the Trade of Courtship;
Too late to study Flattery and Praise,
Or how, with Snares and Art, to catch the Sex.
Deal we like Statesmen, for a while, in Cunning;
Your End but gain'd, no Matter what the Means:
If once the Queen be parted from the Prince,
The Lustre of a Crown will soon efface
Th' Impression made upon a Woman's Heart.
Instruct us how, since the ingrateful
Gaul,
In spight of our Desert, has dar'd to free her.
Lend me your Guards, and strait prepare a Ship
Well-mann'd, and fitted to the nearest Port;
I'll tell the Queen of Dangers imminent,
Of Plots and Treason in this Court against her.
Nay more, that
Albany
is up in Arms,
And ready to receive her, as their Queen.
Your faithful Creature, when she's once embark'd,
Dares answer with his Head, to land her safe
(Swift as the Winds and Waters will permit)
On
Britain's
Shore.
How shall I praise thy Care?
Who serves my Heart, does more than serve my Crown:
A nearer, dearer Interest by far.
Give then immediate Orders for our flight,
Lest
Lucius,
young and lucky, shou'd prevail,
And
Rosalind
be made the Prince's Bride.
Perish the Thought.
Lucius,
no more my Son,
For him I have decreed another Nuptial:
He cannot, shall not dare to rival me.
Nature wou'd plead, in vain, against my Rage.
Within this Breast, a Power superior sway,
And Nature's self, the Laws of Love obeys:
Nor Floods nor Flames can stop his head-long Course;
Ev'n Tyrants yield to more Tyrannick Force.
[Ex. K.
Vor.
Our warlike
Picts,
in Arms will aid our Claim,
And, with unbounded Joy, receive their Queen.
Oh
Almerin,
thus far Success attends us.
Tyrant, 'tis just, I shou'd thy Hopes elude:
Whilst thou shalt vainly look for us in
Britain,
With thy own Sails we gain our native Coast.
But how shall this proud Dame be wrought to fly?
She'll not, with Ease, consent to part from
Lucius.
Enter
Sylvius.
My Lord, the Queen's return'd, and the Prince with her.
Where did he meet her,
Sylvius?
I do not know, my Lord. She always goes in private to the Cell,
Whilst I, altho' her Fav'rite, am excluded there.
Oh Jealousy! thou Torment of the Mind,
How, in a Moment, art thou enter'd here?
My Breast, my inward Soul is glowing hot,
It burns, it rages with devouring Fires.
My Lord, what means this most unwonted Rage?
Alas! do'st not thou see the Queen is wedded?
This last sad Hour has ruin'd us for ever.
Lucius
was wanting at the Temple Rites:
Oh Fate! where cou'd he be, but with the Queen?
And she was praying with her trusty Priest.
But if, indeed, thour't wedded to my Love,
Rival! thou bed'st her not, whilst I am living.
Sleep yet our Rage, and hear what I have done:
Irene
says, the Queen preserves the Sword
Found in
Otharius's
Body, when he fell.
In this distracted State of our Affairs,
'Tis all that Heav'n cou'd grant.
Wedded! Married!
O! who can know the double Heart of Woman?
If e'er the Sex be true,
'Tis in an early Bloom, before the Mind
Perceives the Warmth of Love, the Taint of Wishes:
Then they'll, at Will, ensnare, betray, destroy!
What motly Changes, do their Faces wear!
How far from Sight, lie their deceitful Souls!
You'r blind with Rage: I pray behold this Letter,
'Tis most exactly like the Queen's own Writing;
Scarce to be known by him, who taught us both.
'Tis very like.
The Queen her self, can scarce this Hand disown.
On the Success of this, this and the Sword,
Thine and thy Brother's Fortune hangs.
But if the Prince shou'd kill me?
Fear not, I'll guard thy Life with mine.
Or the Queen find the Cheat?
Suppose she shou'd?
She knows thee only as her Page, as
Sylvius:
Not for
Alenia,
whom she thinks in
Britain.
Remember
Almerin!
Can'st thou fear ought, but losing of thy Lover?
She comes! my Rival too! oh hated Name!
I'll rally my disorder'd, scatter'd Thoughts,
And then return with Arms for his Destruction.
[Ex. omnes.
Lucius
enters, leading the Queen.
Sure, my fair Queen, when Hearts, like mine, have touch'd
The Summit of their Hopes, the Height of Bliss
Collected all within, they find the Joy
Too big to be express'd! but thus to speak,
But thus to tell thee of thy Husband's Transport!
Oh that these Raptures cou'd for ever last!
Oh changing Deity! oh fickle Love!
Why are thy Joys not permanent, as great?
In thee for ever blooming, ever young,
Thou great Renewer of the Spring of Love!
Thou everlasting Charmer! in thy Arms,
Tho' Ages hence, those distant happy Hours
Will seem, but as the first transporting Moment.
Great Love, how arbitary is thy Sway!
How do'st thou give such Harmony to Words!
My Coldness all dissolves upon the Sound:
With conscious rising Warmth, my Bosom glows
To meet thy Voice, thy Breath, thy melting Touches!
What hinders me to bear my yielding Fair,
This blissful Moment to the Royal Bed?
There where the Sun, in all his gaudy Round,
Shall not behold a Man so bless'd as
Lucius.
Loose me, my Lord, or we are all undone:
Our Secret told, and both the Kings inform'd.
At the first Fall of Night,
Irene
shall admit thee,
Without the Knowledge of another Creature.
Mean time, my Queen, I'll wander in the Grove,
And count the Minutes of expecting Love:
On fragrant Banks I'll lay me wishing down,
And rave on Joys, which thou, anon, sha't crown:
For oh! 'tis Pain to see, and own such Charms,
And be delay'd the Blessing of thy Arms.
To pause on Beauty, when Desires are high;
And only gaze, when we shou'd all enjoy.
Lucius
leads the Queen to the Scene; returning, is met by
Arminius.
'Tis you, my dearest Lord, I have been seeking:
I come to rail against the faithless Sex:
I wou'd inveigh against inconstant Charms,
Against the flatt'ring Gales, and changing Winds;
Against the
April
-Season of the Year;
Against false Hopes, false Vows, and falser Beauty.
Arminius
thus concern'd! thus strangely mov'd!
Tears in his Eyes, Distraction in his Looks.
What mean'st thou,
Albany,
strait let me know?
Depend upon thy Friend, upon his Love.
Thou'rt next of Kindred to our charming Queen;
And hast a double Title to our Service.
Behold, my Lord, and view me, as a Lover:
As One who, long, has worn the Victor's Chain:
As One who, once, did think himself belov'd:
But oh! no sooner did Temptation come.
But the Fair false One, broke her promis'd Faith,
And publickly exchang'd me for another.
The common Frailty of the Sex.
To pity me, oh! make the Case your own.
Give me some Time for Tears. Suppose your Hopes
By mutual Love, by mutual Transports fir'd!
Just in the wish'd-for Moment of Possession,
When ev'ry eager Pulse beat high with Joy,
And her dear Heart ready to joyn in Rapture;
Then! then to find a rival Youth preferr'd,
Wou'd'st thou not groan? Wou'd'st thou not weep like me?
Why do'st thou pause?
The Queen! alas!
Immortal Powers! what Queen?
The faithless Queen of
Albany.
'Tis impossible! Do'st thou adore her?
Too fatally, I did.
'Twas wronging me, when I had own'd my Flame.
Long, long before she left the
Alban
Court,
The Virgin Charmer's Vows were mix'd with mine.
False from her Youth, she broke her early Faith:
Soon as her Father had his Choice declar'd,
With easy Resignation, she became
The Royal Bride of
Aquitain.
Go on, I'll hear thee out with Patience.
What Wretch like me, so doating, or despairing!
I fought in War, as one who long'd to die:
Your self can witness how I valu'd Danger.
Otharius
slain, and free to choose again:
What said she not for her late Breach of Faith?
How did she swear she ne'er had ceas'd to Love!
That I was dearer to her than the Light;
But in the tend'rest Moment of her Vows,
The Wand'rer stray'd again, and I was lost.
Oh Heav'n and Earth! sure I can bear no more!
Of your great Merit, jealous, I prevail'd,
And from your self drew the abhor'd Confession.
I warn'd you of the Danger, but in vain:
I durst no more, as tender of her Fame,
As willing yet to doubt of my Misfortune.
For when I but reproach'd the wav'ring Fair,
She us'd such various soothings to my Mind,
Such Vows, that
Lucius
ne'er had spoke of Love,
That scarce was it a Merit to believe her:
Thus was my easy Faith abus'd.
What Proof hast thou of this?
Oh! I had ev'ry Proof: Her Virgin Heart,
Her speaking Eyes, her Lips, her charming Tongue;
And the pale Queen of Night (on flow'ry Banks,
Whilst we invok'd her Beams) beheld our Loves.
Each happy Moment witness'd to our Joys,
True Emblems of the Sex, and her frail Vows.
For as the Moon so wean'd her fickle Passion,
The fleeting Moments bore her Truth away,
And only I am left to speak her Falsehood;
An hated Evidence of broken Faith.
And yet some Proof remains;
[Pulls a Bracelet from his Arm.
This Bracelet's of her Hair, wove with her Hand,
Which, to the Present, gave a double Value:
View well the Clasp, see her fair Self enshrin'd,
The Altar where my constant Vows I paid:
These were the Gifts she gave me with her Heart.
Why do I still such worthless Toys retain,
When the chief Jewel is recall'd?
Why yet (as sacred Relicks of our Love)
Worship the Shrine of an apostate Fair?
Hence, vain Remembrancers of past Delight,
[Stamps upon the Bracelet and Picture.
I'll tread you into Dust; live, live no more!
Her faithless Charms shall be rever'd no more!
Why do'st thou tell, and shew these Things to me?
That you may lead me thro' the wand'ring Maze;
That you may give me present Death, or Ease.
By those true Tears, that truest Lovers shed;
By all the Sweets of
Rosalinda
's Arms:
Have pity on my Royal Birth and Suff'rings:
Confess what I alas! too much suspect;
Confess, you do succeed me in her Favour:
That I may wander to the utmost Verge;
That ceasing to esteem, I may despise,
And ne'er regret, nor see the Bliss I lost.
But that thy Breath has tainted her clear Fame,
I shou'd, with Pride, allow my self the Man,
On whom the beauteous
Rosalind
has smil'd.
Then all is over: I've no more to manage.
Take, take that Letter, which has rack'd my Soul;
It could be only writ by her to
Lucius,
And yet (prepost'rous Weakness of the Mind)
So much, so blindly 'twas, I lov'd the Queen,
That tho' I saw the false One's Name and Hand,
My doubting Soul wou'd scarce my Eyes believe:
In Triumph bear it to her, and reproach
For me, the Heart of faithless
Rosalinda:
She ne'er shall see the lost
Arminius
more.
Yet stay, and tell me where thou had'st this Letter.
I found it in the Lodgings: Tho' not inscrib'd to you,
I thought it yours, Because writ by the Queen.
And yet, as sure as 'tis her Character,
'Twas not address'd to me.
Lucius
reads the Letter.
I Will retire, this Evening, into the Grove: Do you, my Love, attend me there, and destroy this Note at the Command of
ROSALINDA.
Sylvius
enters, he kneels.
Most mighty Lords, I beg you on my Knees,
If Tears, Youth, Innocence can move your Pity,
Restore that sacred Letter you were reading:
From me, heedless, it drop'd; wild with the Loss,
Around the Court I've wept, and sought in vain,
With utmost Care and Diligence to find it.
Shou'd the Queen know it, I were lost for ever.
To whom is it address'd?
My Lord!
To whom wert thou to carry it?
Alas! I understand you not my Lord.
Young Traytor speak, or die.
Oh Heav'ns! what shall I say? It is my own:
A Favour of the Queen's bestow'd on me.
Is this the Ground of her Excess of Grace?
This the true Motive of her wond'rous Kindness?
The faithful
Sylvius
prov'd a Minion.
Now, where are those Delights, my Passion form'd?
Those Scenes of Bliss, which Beauty set before me,
So hard to gain, and yet so quickly lost?
O that bright Mind (for so it seem'd to me)
Where Purity, and all the Vertues dwelt,
As at their native Home: How tarnish'd, now
Despoil'd of Lustre; hateful to the Sight?
Farewel, enchanting Sex; false are your Joys:
Delusion all; no Happiness is in you.
Not one was ever True, since She cou'd fall:
Ne'er shall my Peace of Mind return to bless me:
My Royal Father's Favour I have lost,
Renown'd, till now, for Piety and Duty.
I broke those filial Bars for faithless Love;
I've chang'd a Parent's Blessing into Curses;
My Fame has taken Wing, and flies before me;
My Glory's blasted; all my Lawrels wither;
And nothing now remains for me, but Vengeance
On her—on him—on them—on all, who wrong'd me.
Dye Slave! and boast it in another World—
Arminius,
why do you oppose me?
Were such a Wretch an Object fit for Rage,
My self, as most abus'd, wou'd end him.
He shall not 'scape with Life.
Enter the Queen.
Sure, 'tis the Prince of
Britain
's Voice.
Alas! against my faithful Boy his Sword.
Is this well done, my Lord? Or know ye not, that he is mine?
Too well, too well! I know thy Shame and mine.
Now
Fortune
work: It must be all Confusion.
[Aside.
Unworthy of my Truth, or Tenderness!
Think not of
Lucius
more, nor I of
Rosalind.
Mountains fall down, yawn wide thou Earth between us;
With molten Waves roll up ye sulph'rous Lakes.
Divide us Earth and Seas.
Let all Antipathies be reconcil'd,
But ne'er the Queen of
Albany
to
Lucius!
[
Ex.
Luc.
Oh Heav'ns and Earth! what can he mean, ye Pow'rs?
Or said he not, that we must meet no more.
Now, who shall dare to tell the Queen?
Alas! whence can proceed this sudden Change?
My Lord of
Albany,
you are our Kinsman,
And
Sylvius,
thou art of our Houshold sworn:
By that Allegiance that is due to us,
We charge ye speak, or see our Face no more.
Perish the Tongue, that gives my Mistress Pain,
Speak Wretch, or by the Power that governs all,
Thou'rt from our Royal Presence, banish'd ever.
When I by cruel
Vortimer
was sent;
First sent to court you to his curs'd Embrace,
What said you not against the Tyrant's Love?
Which I but urg'd, to prove your Strength of Mind:
For know, young Queen, your Father's Ghost wou'd rise,
Leaving immortal Peace, and the bless'd Shades
With horrid Screams, to fright your impious Bed,
If e'er his Murderer should clasp you there.
Shield me, ye Pow'rs, from
Vortimer
's curs'd Love.
But not his Son's? Confession most abhorr'd!
The Queen, with Guilt, turns pale. Oh beauteous Frailty!
How hard below it is to find Perfection.
Antipathy to all the hated Race
Shou'd work your Blood in Agonies against 'em.
You are too bold, uncall'd, thus to advise;
Lucius
most free, from his bad Father's Crimes,
Shou'd not, in Justice, suffer for another.
With my dear Uncle's Death I do not charge him;
On
Vortimer
the weighty Vengeance fall!
Lucius
has Guilt of an inherent Dye:
Crimes all his own, which Nature most abhorrs;
Such as must bar him from your Arms for ever.
Now all that's bless'd forbid it!
[Aside.
Madam, draw near: With stedfast Eyes behold
The Handle of this Sword; survey it well;
The high Ennamel, where the curious Workman
Has cast, in Miniature, your Father's Form;
Which, with the Jewels that enrich the Gift,
He gave me on that memorable Day,
When I attended you to
Aquitain.
I well remember it; most precious Relick,
The Representative of my dear Father.
Alas, alas! how ye recal my Woes:
How ye awake that killing Pain, that Grief
Which Time, in part, had hush'd.
If for my Uncle thus, what for
Otharius,
By whom you were so ardently belov'd?
But now prepare your Courage for the Shock.
Prince
Lucius
beg'd this fatal Sword of me:
What can a vanquish'd Man refuse the Victor?
Tho' high as Life, I priz'd the dear Remains,
Yet I was forc'd to give it, on that Morn,
When last our Army fought with your
Otharius.
Ha! whither is he going?
I, thro' the bloody Field, with this brave Youth,
Mov'd, fighting, by the warlike
Lucius
side,
But his immortal Deeds can scarce be told:
Let it suffice, he met the fated King,
The Royal Majesty of
Aquitain.
Some moments Fortune held an equal Scale,
Which soon inclin'd to the young
Briton
's Side;
Thro' the King's Heart he thrust this
Alban
Sword:
Sylvius
and I, the dreadful Deed beheld;
The Sword was broke in two; this Piece with him,
The other in the Wound remain'd.
Oh heav'nly Powers!
The Victor charg'd us to conceal the Fact,
Lest
Vortimer
(grown jealous of his Glory)
Shou'd think he had perform'd too well.
Alas! no more. I am a Wretch,
Arminius,
Why told'st thou not thy happ'less Queen before?
Where was thy Duty, thy Allegiance then?
Thou shou'd'st have shewn my Husband's Murd'rer,
That I, with detestation, might have shun'd him.
Fatal Neglect! Oh Knowledge found too late!
Unhappy Ignorance! accursed Bride,
Never till now undone!
Beholding you, Prince
Lucius
grew inflam'd,
Which, of the Secret, made him doubly careful.
Long, with a painful Silence, I oblig'd him:
Long labour'd 'twixt my Friendship and my Duty:
At last, grown big with our approaching Hopes
(The
Picts
being up in Arms, and wanting Aid)
Duty prevail'd; for I was bound to speak,
Your Page attended with the Sword, the Prince
(Coming from you) perceiv'd it in his Hand,
And conscious where it was design'd, drew his
(With many foul Reproaches) on the Boy.
I interpos'd: Your Majesty appear'd,
When
Lucius,
fill'd with jealous Rage, departed.
The World's united Woes are in this Breast:
And yet, perhaps,
Arminius
is mistaken.
Nay, King
Otharius
too, fought in disguise:
Six were alike him arm'd; twas
One of them. I have a Proof:
Irene,
bring the Sword,
Found in the murther'd Body of my Lord:
If they shou'd join,
Lucius
and I must part.
Dear prosp'rous Mischief, lag not now behind;
And then, oh
Almerin!
the Race is mine.
[Aside.
And yet it cannot be, my search rest here.
Impossible! Fate cannot be so angry. I will not put it to the dreadful Test.
Arminius
does, oh Heav'n! I can no more.
Perish all Demonstration! unkind,
[The Sword brought and join'd.
And cruel Prince! oh! why do'st thou destroy me?
And arm
Otharius
to my
Lucius
Ruin.
My living Husband's vanish'd by the Dead.
My Lord, my
Lucius,
see thy wretched Bride,
The most forlorn, disconsolate of Women:
I am his Wife,
Arminius.
Forbid it
Hecate,
with all her Train:
Incessant Furies yell around such Nuptials:
Catch his deceitful Soul, ye bluest Plagues:
Snatch him by Piecemeals, ye avenging Fiends.
Treason and Death! oh impious Parricide!
What! wed
Otharius
Murderer?
Possess'd by one, steep'd in your Husband's Blood.
I sink—the most unhappy of my Race.
Come near, my
Sylvius;
I wou'd rest upon thee:
Nay,
Albany,
thou art too good:
Wilt thou weep too?
These bitter Tears, by Strength of Anguish wrung,
Prove, how
Arminius
loves his happ'less Queen.
'Tis I must guard you from impending Ruin:
Lucius
has Charms to sway the strongest Mind:
Fly the Seducer, and assert your Glory.
Take Scorpions to your Bed, but take not
Lucius.
Lucius!
triumphant in his Sin, all gay in Blood;
Dreadfully gay with your dear Husband's Blood:
Unprecedented Horror! fly to Death,
But mingle not with him who slew your Lord:
Light up your Torch at any other Love,
None are debarr'd your Arms, but that curs'd Race
Who murder'd poor
Otharius,
and your Father.
Thus greatly Wretched, what can save thy Queen?
Your
Albans
are already up in Arms;
Sieze on this moment, and be yet a Queen;
A vertuous, innocent, tho' wretched Queen.
A Guard and Ship stand ready for your Flight,
Whilst, on this Royal Hand, once more I swear,
Only to live, only to die for you.
[Kneels, kissing her Hand.
Enter
Lucius
behind.
How wildly are we hurry'd by our Passions!
I was to blame not to explain my Wrongs,
And tell the false One all her Perjuries.
Confront her with her Minion, and the Letter,
Till she confess our Parting is but just.
Ha! what do I see? the faithless
Rosalind,
On one reclin'd, the other at her Feet.
What, have they bargain'd to divide her Favours?
Yes, I will go, left Fate should join with Love,
Lest I shou'd wound
Otharius
o'er again,
Lest I shou'd view his Murd'rer with Indulgence;
Lead, lead,
Arminius,
I'll follow thee, surrounded with Misfortunes.
Ha!
Lucius
here! that bloody Conqu'ror,
Lucius.
Save me,
Arminius;
take me from his Sight:
My Eyes! my Soul is fastned! tear me hence;
Bear thy lost Queen, where Tempests loudest roar,
And never let me see the cruel
Lucius
more.
[Ex. all but
Lucius.
Curs'd Weakness of the Mind, which brought me back,
Hence tender Thoughts, hence all Remains of Love;
Hence Jealousy, thou certain Proof of Passion.
Of Hope and Tenderness henceforth disarm'd,
My Breast shall pant no more for faithless Beauty;
No more for perjur'd Woman let us mourn,
To War, to Glory! now my Heart return.
So great
Vlysses,
sooth'd by
Circe's
Charms,
Sigh'd on her Breast, and melted in her Arms.
What wond'rous Transports did her Eyes inspire?
Soft was her Voice, and raging was his Fire:
But when he found her false and cruel Soul,
And in a Form so fair, a Mind so foul;
With Glory and Disdain the Hero burn'd,
Broke her Enchantments, and the Sex he scorn'd.
[Exeunt omnes.
The End of the Third Act.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A FOREST.
Enter
Lucius
alone.
HAIL to the savage Horrors of this Forest!
Receive into thy hospitable Arms,
The wretched, and forsaken
Lucius;
Driv'n from the Commerce of all human Kind,
And never to return.
Oh impious Woman! on thy nuptial Day,
Ev'n on that Day, in which thy Faith was plighted,
To fly, and leave me in the last Despair.
All Joys farewell: The Blossom of my Youth,
Blighted by an unkindly, cruel Frost,
Shall never spring again.
Press'd by this Weight of Woe, I bend to Earth,
From thence to rise no more.
In Wilds and Desarts waste my future Hours,
Falling, inglorious, by a Woman's Falshood.
Farewel my People, whom I wish'd to bless,
With all those Vertues that best Kings possess;
My Fame, my Passion, and my Hopes resign'd,
With that exalted Ardor of the Mind,
Which swell'd my Soul, and made it greatly dare,
And, dauntless, bore me thro' the fiercest War;
In their cold Bed, unanimated lie,
And like extinguish'd Fires in darkness die.
[Walks down the Scene, and
Exit.
Enter, at another Door,
Arminius
and
Sylvius.
Sylvius,
thus far our Fortune has been fair,
But I grow jealous of a Counter-turn.
Methinks the Captain who commands the Guard,
Has much of
Vortimer,
the cunning
Briton;
I more than fear, it is the King himself:
The Care he takes to shun my Speech and Eyes:
I'm caught in the same Net I cast for others.
Enter an
Alban
Lord.
My Lord, 'tis certainly the King of
Britain,
He bears the Royal Signet on his Finger:
The Queen, and you, and we are now his Captives.
Shall
Rosalinda
know this fatal Turn?
It will too much her tender Heart affright;
My Resolution must be very sudden.
The
Gallick
King hunts near, I'll hasten thither;
His Guards are thrice more numerous than ours:
Sylvius,
mean time, do thou the Queen amuse.
'Till I return, my Lord, oppose their Flight;
She is our Sovereign, thou art born her Subject:
All's now at stake; kill him, or fall thy self.
[Ex. omnes.
Enter King
Vortimer.
What does
Arminius
mean, by halting here?
With Eyes that darted strong, he view'd me o'er,
As he wou'd look me through.
If thou hast found, and yet avoid'st me, Prince,
'Tis Proof thy Soul had form'd an Enterprize,
To what thou did'st pretend most opposite.
I durst not yield a Foe so large a Trust;
'Twere weak, indeed, to put it in his Pow'r,
The Queen to bear away with our own Ships,
To raise a War in
Albany
against us.
Therefore, like
Jove,
disguis'd to gain our Love,
We veil our Majesty, and drop our Thunder.
The Queen appears! that glorious Prize is mine.
Enter the Queen.
Madam, forgive this seeming bold Intrusion,
'Till once embark'd, your Majesty's not safe.
Why do you squander Time irrevocable?
Arminius
wou'd a-while take shelter here.
The Ports will instantly be stop'd,
By Noon your Flight must be the publick Theme;
Yet a few Hours, and you've the Waves in view.
Go find
Arminius,
tell to him thy Reasons,
And we will instantly depart.
[Ex. K.
Vor.
Depart, for what? or where? my Torment's fix'd,
No Change of Scene can vary my Misfortunes;
The Princess now, may gain the Vows of
Lucius,
That solemn Faith he plighted first to me;
Their Hands may join, and she have all his Transports,
That Height of Wish! that Extacy of Soul!
When his bright Eyes spoke better than his Tongue,
Darting delight; for Love was all their Language.
Ah! wretched
Rosalinda,
whither now?
Think on
Otharius:
there thou'rt lost indeed:
Thy Lord was slain by him, whom thou hast wedded.
Blot out with your, 'till now, unerring Hand;
Blot out, ye Pow'rs, that single murd'ring Thought.
Tear from the destin'd Book, that cursed Deed,
All other Woes for ever stand recorded.
Re-enter King
Vortimer.
Madam, the Prince is no where to be found,
We must proceed without him, or you're lost.
And, what art thou (unus'd to such a Presence)
That, with rude Sounds, presum'st t'affront our Ears?
Come willingly, for fear you should be forc'd.
Who waits? my Guards!
Arminius,
help!
Thou call'st in vain, a greater Force is here:
It is the King of
Britain,
who conducts thee.
Ha! my haughty Foe, the cruel
Vortimer!
You're now within my Pow'r, and can't escape.
No! I will never stir, I'll grow to Earth.
Heav'n! let me change my Being with the Brutes:
Nay, welcome Death! rather than go with thee.
Take heed, how you provoke a King like me:
Mine is a surly, uninvited
Cupid:
No willing Harbour finds he in my Breast.
On War, on Empire, all my Thoughts were fix'd,
'Till thy malignant. Form intruded here.
Give me my self! I ask but to forget thee.
A never-failing Cure for Love, is absence.
Oh! 'tis a tedious One, and racks the Mind;
Nor has it wrought the wish'd-for Cure on me.
Thou'st been my curs'd Tormentor, since the Time
I first beheld thee, with my Foe, thy Father:
Now I'll revenge me on that Tyrant Beauty.
Oh! hear me, King: I am already marry'd.
Then Furies seize thy Husband! what's to be done?
Yield thou to be divorc'd, and reign our Queen.
Thy Queen! not to command the Universe;
And yet I wish, that I had never wedded.
Born of an hated Race, and lost to me.
May I not ravish her, I cou'd not win?
May I not seize, what wou'd not be bestow'd?
I dream of bless'd Enchantment in her Arms:
I, restless, burn, and rave on furious Joy.
And nothing but Possession can asswage
The Love-sick, raging Fever of my Soul.
Ruffian, forbear! whence comes this Prophanation?
Revenge and Love, are both in Arms within.
Thy Eyes, and Scorn, burn me with different Fires.
Urg'd on to War, and eager for the Conquest,
I cannot part inglorious from the Field.
[Struggles with her, she falls at his Feet.
Oh! Woe for me.
Thus far I'm vanquish'd, and thus low subdu'd.
I clasp thy Knees, I grasp thy Feet with Horror.
Do not assault the Honour of thy Daughter;
I am the Wife of
Lucius.
Of
Lucius!
of that Rebel!
Supplanted by my Son! when wert thou wedded?
Not one kind Hour has our sad
Hymen
known.
Nay, scarce the Moment smil'd, that join'd our Hands:
Successive Woes have parted us already.
Thou goest with us, to see the Prince no more.
A banish'd Traytor, shall he always live:
The Hour he lands in
Britain,
he shall die.
What, your victorious, loyal, Godlike Son?
Unhappy Queen! thy Praises wing his Fate.
Curs'd, as I am, thus burning for thy Charms;
My vital Blood, drank up by thirsty Love,
Seizes the cordial Beauty to revive me.
Lucius
has wedded thee, but not enjoy'd.
Possession is a better Claim than his:
Then instant let me make the Prize secure.
What follows, we at leisure may debate;
The present Moment takes up all our Thoughts;
This Struggle past, we are our Self again,
And our Heart free from an ingrateful Passion.
Give me my Death, be there a Conqueror.
Arminius, Albany,
help! oh help!
Thou rav'st, thou call'st in vain; he hears thee not.
Rich Love, repay me now the Peace I lost.
Whom shall I next invoke, ye mighty Pow'rs?
Lucius!
where art thou now, in my Distress?
My Lord! my
Lucius!
where art thou my
Lucius?
He comes! my Husband comes to save my Honour.
[
Lucius
appears at the lower End of the Scene.
Thro' the wide ecchoing Forest, who resounds
The Name of
Lucius?
the Queen of
Albany!
And in a Ruffian's Hand! dye, Ravisher!
Oh! hold. Oh! horror,
Lucius:
'Tis against thy Father.
[The Queen interposes, and
Lucius
falls at King
Vortimer
's Feet.
What, was I arm'd against my Royal Father?
Against that precious Source of my own Life?
My Heart bleeds inward at the racking Thought.
If this be Fear, I never fear'd till now.
Retire, and leave us with the Queen.
Sir.
Traytor be gone; thou hast no Business here.
Oh do not
Lucius,
as you once lov'd Vertue;
As once you lov'd your poor unhappy Bride,
E're adverse Fate cou'd teach thy Heart to change.
Some other Method must be found to part you.
[Exit.
Above, to those bright Mansions of the Bless'd,
The grateful
Rosalind,
her Thanks returns.
[Kneels.
This Day, in each revolving Year, be prais'd:
Let it be mark'd the Happy, and the Fair,
And may I cease to live, when I prophane it.
Can Falsehood seem so graceful?
To thee, my Husband, next, with like regard
(The Instrument of my Deliverance)
I cannot say enough, my Heart is thine.
Oh! 'tis a very false One.
Who's false, my Lord?
The perjur'd Queen.
Turn not on me, the Errors of our Fate:
Joy at thy Sight, and for my late Escape,
Caus'd me some Moments to forget my Griefs;
But they return, full blown, with sharp Reproach.
Yes,
Lucius,
we must part; fly hence for ever:
I too must go, and make my widow'd Bed,
Where Winds and Seas, eternally at War,
Have left no Landing-place for Murderers.
The like Forgetfulness has seiz'd on me.
Almighty Beauty quite becalms my Rage:
In looking on thee, I forget thy Crimes:
Forget, thou gav'st my Honour to the Winds;
Stuck foul Discredit on my spotless Name:
Left me to drink the bitter Dregs of Wrath,
Of burning Jealousy, and cold Despair,
Regardless of the Right, that I claim'd in thee.
Since I am false, have I not need to fly?
Bad Woman as I am, I own my Crime;
But oh! for whom is it, that I am guilty?
In thee, 'tis most inhumane to reproach me;
Thou mad'st me Criminal, and yet upbraid'st me.
False to
Otharius,
Murd'ress as I am,
Ev'n now I kill him o'er again! ev'n now!
Whilst thy too gracious Form is dear to Sight;
Whilst all of thee is precious to my Heart,
And Love o'erwhelms Resentment in my Soul.
O well dissembled Falsehood.
Fly thou, lest we shou'd never part:
Tho' all Regards, divine and humane, plead:
Tho' Blood crys out aloud, be gone, Revenge:
Tho' Men and Angels have decreed against thee:
Tho' Shame, Remorse, and Veng'ance, call me hence,
Strong as thou art in Charms, how can I go?
Yes, thou wou'dst go
Around the World to bear my Infamy:
The odious Load, which thou hast heap'd on me,
On me, and on thy self.
Oh! what art thou become? how art thou call'd?
The Wife of
Lucius,
a known Prostitute.
She who fled from him, on his Marriage-day.
Arise Revenge! arise; and force out Love.
Come Indignation, Honour, Glory come;
Strengthen my Arm, and shew me how to punish.
Ah, Heav'ns! my Lord, you will not kill your Wife.
Is there another Way to clear my Honour?
What have I done? or why am I suspected?
Arminius
has thy Virgin-Shame disclos'd;
And of thy early Hours the secret Practice:
With the same Rage, as once he lov'd, he hates.
Behold this Letter—fair Perdition.
A Boy! a poor domestick Slave! low Sin!
Vile Woman! vicious Sex!
Why was I chosen? I, for this Dishonour?
Has trait'rous
Albany
traduc'd my Vertue?
Thy Self, against thy Self: See here, these Lines;
My Shame and thine! this wicked Scroll is thine.
By Heav'n and Earth it is not! I am wrong'd.
Hear me, my Lord. Alas! where are your Eyes?
What means that Arm, uplifted to my Death?
Why do you stare, as you were turn'd to Stone?
An unseen Power disarms me:
I idly gaze, am lost, but cannot strike.
Away, away! lest I shou'd love to Madness;
Lest I shou'd take Perdition to my Bed;
The Blot of Glory, stain'd with abject Joys.
I ne'er writ this! never lov'd
Albany!
Ne'er heard, or thought I was belov'd by him.
Oh! Torment of the Mind, to be suspected:
I, who love Honour, Innocence, and Truth,
Next Heav'n and thee, that I shou'd be suspected.
Is it not plain? See there thy Hand, false Woman.
In spight of Charms, I shall relapse to Rage:
In spight of Love, destroy thee—Let me go.
A Miracle can only clear thy Fame,
And heal my wounded Heart.
[As
Lucius
is breaking from the Queen,
Sylvius
enters, his Breast open, torn and bloody; he falls at the Queen's Feet,
Lucius
supports him.
Fly, Madam, I am wounded unto Death:
The King of
Britain
's Sword has pierc'd my Heart:
He's fighting with our Party, and must conquer.
My gracious Queen, I beg you wou'd forgive me.
Lucius,
the Letter thou hast seen, I wrote:
Thou wert thy self the Cause—I lov'd thee,
Lucius:
Lov'd thee in
Britain:
Follow'd thee to
Aquitain;
Now, in thy Arms, unpitied, dies
Alenia.
Oh
Almerin!
are thus thy Words explain'd?
[Dies.
Thy Death's a Miracle to clear my Fame.
My jealous Lord requir'd a Miracle:
It is
Alenia,
false
Arminius
's Sister.
Base Man! how deeply were thy Treasons laid?
With conscious Guilt, for being so misled;
With conscious Shame, for having thus offended;
With all the Penitence of Men convinc'd,
When they, like me, are tortur'd by Remorse,
I prostrate fall, to hear your equal Doom.
Pronounce a Sentence heavy as my Crime:
Oh! banish me from Life, but not from Love:
Send me to die, but not to live from you.
Cou'd Fate as easily be reconcil'd,
Then might we meet in Joy. But oh! the Fates,
The Fates are angry with us,
Lucius.
With thee, for murdering the brave
Otharius;
With me, for wedding with his Murderer!
I kill the King! Who dares accuse the Innocent?
Albany
does.
Arminius
and
Alenia
saw thee kill him:
The Sword found, broken, in
Otharius
's Body,
Was giv'n thee by
Arminius.
Oh! well-invented Malice:
'Tis false, 'tis false: So may the Traytor die,
Or
Lucius
perish.
Did'st thou not beg of him, my Father's Sword?
Never! that Villain has traduc'd us both.
Oh! I believe thee,
Lucius:
But the World!
Clear there thy Fame, and I am still thy Bride.
Enter
Irene
haistily.
Madam, the King has slain the
Alban
Lord,
Left, by the Prince, to guard your Majesty:
He has fought a bloody Battle with our Party,
But cruel
Vortimer,
at length has conquer'd.
Alas! then I am once again his Captive.
Remember,
Lucius,
that which thou hast sworn;
Protect me from his Love, or thou art perjur'd.
K.
Vortimer
enters with Soldiers, they go to seize the Queen;
Lucius
draws and defends her.
What! arm against thy King! against thy Father!
Wilt thou? dar'st thou? then kill the horrid Villain,
That I may curse, I ever had a Son.
Your Life, great Sir, to me, be always sacred:
I but defend the Honour of my Wife.
Then, Soldiers, strike, strike thro' the Traytor's Heart.
[They are going to kill the Prince, the Queen comes from behind, and interposes.
Thro' me you strike; I guard my Husband's Life.
Thee I can't hurt: my Eyes disarm my Hand.
Slaves, tear him thence! but do not touch the Queen, Y
our Lives shall answer it, but kill the Rebel.
Kill your Son! oh, impious, curs'd Command!
Soldiers, stand off, or else you pass thro' me.
Slaves, Villains, Cowards, are you hers, or mine?
I cannot long defend him, he must fall:
Yield,
Lucius,
I release thee from thy Vow.
Oh! save his Life, and I'll consent to go:
Spare but thy Son, I am thy willing Captive.
What, hast thou giv'n thy Honour for my Life?
A vast exchange, and better I had dy'd.
My Honour, no! That is the Care of Heav'n;
My Life I'd always give for thine.
Oh! sacred Sir.
By all those Tyes that keep bad Men from Crimes,
From acting what their wicked Hearts conceive,
I charge you not to think of Violation,
I am your Son; she is my wedded Wife;
More were superfluous.
Away. Now for the Sea.
And may it with unbounded Rage receive us.
Blow Winds, exert on us your utmost Force,
All Nature else be free; Plunge us beneath,
Dash us on Rocks: ye cannot be too cruel;
Yet spare my Husband, amidst all your Storms.
But for this impious King and me,
War, Fire, Fury, Blood and Devastation
Pursue us, as ye did my wretched Father;
O'ertake us, as ye have the slain
Otharius:
And when ye come, I shall account it Gain,
That the curs'd
Briton
suffers in my Pain.
[Exeunt.
The End of the Fourth Act.
ACT V. SCENE I.
The Outer-part of the Temple of
Jupiter, Emmelin
and
Arminius
meeting; She with a Dagger.
UNfaithful
Albany,
is this the Trust?
Are these the Promises thou mad'st to me?
I feel the Strength of Nations in this Arm,
And thou shalt taste my Dagger.
A Hand so fair, shou'd never menance Danger,
And Peace and Joy should be the Gifts of Beauty:
Were I not yet of Use to
Emmelin,
[Wrests it from her.
I'd not oppose, but meet the destin'd Blow.
Say, fawning Traytor, hast thou not undone me?
Why are you thus against your Slave enrag'd?
How can your Creature merit Death from you?
Accomplish'd Villain! plead'st thou Ignorance,
And
Lucius
(whom my Soul is fond of) sentenc'd?
By thy curs'd Accusation he's condemn'd.
Thou told'st the Kings and Priests, he was a
Christian;
For That he dies, nor can my Brother save him.
Oh! hear me: I have serv'd you to the utmost:
No other Way cou'd gain him a Reprieve
From
Vortimer,
his jealous Father.
Speak on—
When first the King, your Brother, and my self
(With all his Guards, and Train of noble Huntsmen)
O'ertook the flying Tyrant, with the Captives,
He halted, to consider of their Death.
New Horror! murder his only Son!
I thought what, by his Loss, your Heart wou'd suffer,
And therefore sent for Audience from the Tyrant,
In which, I soon his Confidence regain'd:
For, whilst the Action pass'd, I boldly swore,
Within the shady Forest I was sleeping,
'Till waken'd by
Honorius
numerous Train,
I was by them constrain'd to join his Party.
Did he credit this?
He seem'd to do it, yet was all Confusion:
Nay, vow'd he wou'd, himself, the Captives slay,
Rather than from his Power they shou'd be wrested.
Cruel Tyrant! most unnatural Father!
To gain a Pause of Time, some Hours to serve you,
'Twas my advice, that he should yield them up
As
Christian
Converts, to the
Flamen
's Hands;
From whence, he afterwards, might save the Queen,
Shou'd he design to let his Rival perish.
Our Laws are such, if
Christians
are convicted,
They must abjure, or die!
The Queen, by all our People is belov'd:
For, tho' they long have guess'd she was a Convert,
'Till now, alas! she never was accus'd:
Thy Breath has kill'd her: Thou hast slain thy Queen.
The Gods will hunt thee round the World for this,
Rebel and Traytor as thou art.
To you I am no Traytor.
How did'st thou know that
Lucius
was a
Christian?
I thought the Queen might have converted him;
And he, with Pride, upon the first Demand,
Above his Father's Hopes, acknowledg'd it.
This, then, is the Result: But if he die,
(Mark me, my cunning Lord of
Albany,
For by
Diana
's Chastity I swear)
I will have Veng'ance for the Prince's Death.
They have refus'd the
Druids
offer'd Mercy:
The jealous
Briton
urges for a Sentence:
His Guards have got possession of this Temple;
Nor dares the King, for fear of popular Rage,
Wrest
Christian
-Convicts from the
Flamen
's Hands.
What can we then project to save the Prince?
The Prince of
Cambria,
and the King my Brother,
With pressing, yet unprosperous Tears and Pray'rs,
Have sought the Tyrant to release the Captives;
But, by the superstitious People join'd,
He Lords it here, as if he were in
Britain.
In this Extremity some Hopes remain,
That we may yet surprize the
British
Guard,
Which, if by thee, and by the Prince perform'd,
May, from the publick Hate, preserve my Brother:
A chosen Party of the
Gallick
Troops,
Have Orders to obey you.
Haste then, with these, and save the Royal Pris'ners;
Relieve my Love, tho' he be ne'er for me.
Fly—tear him from his Rival—set him free,
Or my Revenge shall center all in thee.
[The Curtain drawn up, discovers an Altar to
Jupiter; Flamens
attending:
Lucius
and the Queen under the
British
Guard.
Yet, ere my Father shall pronounce our Doom,
Let me, this Once, enfold thee in my Arms;
Take from my Wife, this first and last Embrace.
Oh! sweet to Sense—O yet untasted Beauty:
To die is nothing—but resigning thee,
I merit more than ever Man cou'd merit.
So fast these troubled watry Bubbles rise,
I cannot see thee through 'em. Oh! farewell.
Farewell, my Queen: May the sharp Pangs of Death
Fall gently on thee, as when Children slumber.
May Angels bear thee on their golden Wings,
Without the intermediate Pains between.
My Father comes, and now we part for ever.
Enter K.
Vortimer,
Priests and Train.
Christians!
once more, do ye Abjure or Die?
Die.
Both die.
But first, great Sir, I beg, in Death, forgiveness,
[Kneels.
In what (as erring Man) I have offended;
Tho' never, willingly, did I displease
My awful King and Father:
As to my Love, it was involuntary;
Hearts do not give themselves; for that I die.
As of my dearest Lord, you are the Parent,
Pardon those Words I may in Rage have spoke;
[Kneels.
But sure the Provocation was extream,
I do forgive, and wou'd be so forgiven.
I wish you Length of Days, and to forget me:
Forget you e'er had an unhappy Son;
But may you still, with never-ending Grief,
Remember
Rosalinda.
Long may you live, repenting
Lucius
Death:
To you I recommend my helpless People,
If e'er their Queen you lov'd (as much you flatter'd)
Govern with Clemency.
They shake my Heart:
Yet, ne'er from Love, cou'd Pity gain the Ground.
Yield up thy Bride to us, and thou shalt live;
[Aside to
Luc.
Thy cursed Marriage may be disannul'd,
And thou proclaim'd our Kingdom's Heir.
Forsake my Wife! it is not in my Pow'r:
Mercy is Cruelty, when so disguis'd.
Then thou shalt die, rebellious hard'ned Boy.
You know your Charms, exert 'em now, be mine,
And
Lucius,
my curs'd Rival, too shall live.
[Aside to the Queen.
To save the Prince's Life, I wou'd do all
But break the sacred Vow, I plighted to him.
Since thus I'm brav'd by their fantastick Passion,
Their Death shall be an instant Cure for mine.
Take hence, to diff'rent Prisons, both these
Christians,
The Woman strait shall die by Fire:
But first, The common Deathsman riots in her Charms;
Whilst
Lucius,
on a lofty Scaffold bleeds.
Their Sentence is irrevocable.
A Queen condemn'd to suffer as a Slave,
Oh awful Judge! I cannot call you Father.
Let savage Beasts hunt down my weary'd Life;
Tear off my Flesh, or bury me alive;
Rack only me, and I will bless the King;
But save, unhurt, the Honour of my Wife.
Sacred to Vertue and immortal Glory,
Sacred to chaste and holy Purity,
Who is it dares to sentence our high Honour?
Our spotless Fame aspires to reach the Skies.
Our Life we willingly resign; there glut your Rage.
Hence. Bear 'em to their Prisons.
Oh!
Lucius, Lucius,
they wou'd drag me from thee.
Slaves, Ravishers, forbear to touch my Wife.
He is my Lord; we cannot part, and live.
Oh! Father, Monarch, Royal
Vortimer,
By my dear Mother's Honour, save the Queen's.
Down, down with him to the Temple-dungeon.
[The Stage opens, and
Lucius
is carry'd down by the Priests and Soldiers.
Upwards to Heav'n, where he shall rise a Saint.
Oh! mighty Pow'rs, my Breast (by you inspir'd)
Foretels some Miracle, vouchsaf'd to me,
Shall guard my Chastity from brutal Rage.
All worldly Pomp I willingly forego;
My Husband too, the dearest Gift of Life.
Thro' Fire I'll gladly pass, my Faith to prove,
If Fire can save me from an impious Love.
[Ex. guarded.
Now laugh, proud Queen, and scorn our proffer'd Throne.
Enter
Arminius.
Lord
Albany,
what you advis'd, is done.
It is Revenge befitting a great Soul:
Oh! 'twill be great, be Extacy indeed,
If you can personate the happy Slave
Sentenc'd to ravish this nice Piece of Beauty,
And like brave
Tarquin,
clasp your far-fam'd
Lucrece.
Revenge and Love shall be together sated:
Under the vile Appearance of that Wretch,
We will possess the Fair, yet shroud our Glory.
How bears
Honorius
such a foul Decree?
The Coward
Gaul,
durst not release the
Christians,
Durst not command, ev'n in his Capital,
Lest his good People shou'd, forsooth, grow angry.
We laugh'd to see the Royal Dastard's Fears;
Whilst, by our seeming Zeal, and Gold well-plac'd,
We gain'd a Sentence hateful to their King.
Were she not fair, what were her Gods to me?
Let Nations wonder at the horrid Deed:
Let all the Monarchs of the World unite,
To pour down Vengeance on our guilty Head,
We'll meet the Torrent, when we've quench'd our Flame.
Yes,
Rosalind!
thy Beauties are devoted,
Thro' Laws we wade, to reach thy cruel Arms,
Thro' thy own Blood to taste thy boasted Charms.
If Love alone can wisest Counsels blast,
Unpeople Kingdoms, and lay Nations waste;
With Indignation when the God is fir'd,
At once by Fury and Revenge inspir'd;
Like Lightning from the Hand of
Jove
he flies,
All Danger, and all Rule, his Rage defies,
Nor dreads the threat'ned Veng'ance of the Skies.
[Ex. King Vor.
Fortune, once more, let me invoke thy Aid.
Oh! thou great Goddess, be propitious now,
And stand revers'd for ever!
[Exit.
[The Scene shifts to the Dungeon,
Lucius
discovered,
Arminius
enters to him.
Long live the Prince of
Britain.
Who's there?
A Friend to
Lucius.
Thou! guilty, treacherous Lord of
Albany!
C
an'st thou, who wrong'd the Queen, and wrong'd our Fame
Presume to be a Friend? Oh! for a Sword.
There, have your Wish: But turn it not on me,
'Till Fate has leisure for so vile a Life.
Speak on: What was thy Errand hither?
Hope to preserve the Queen from Violation.
Measure my Zeal by her Distress: Alas!
Both are too great for Words.
Albany
's Zeal! an ignominious Traytor
Who has traduc'd us both; stain'd the Queen's Glory,
And fix'd on me the Murther of
Otharius.
Wild to possess what most my Soul ador'd,
What wou'd not a poor lost, despairing Lover?
But oh! no more she lives for you, nor me:
No more her Honour lives, without our Succour.
By an unheard of, monstrous, vile Decree,
A sordid Slave possesses all her Charms,
Unless, this Instant, we the Wretch can slay.
I'll lead you where you may the Deed perform:
Time calls on me to head
Honorius
Troops,
Dispos'd, by him, and
Emmelin,
to aid you:
Perhaps, some lucky Moment may look forth
To save her sacred Life, as well as Honour.
What Vengeance Then, a noble Foe can ask,
All the Revenge that Arm can take, be thine.
Hope, once again, re-kindles in my Soul:
This Deed perform'd, and the bright Queen preserv'd,
I claim the Justice of thy Sword: 'Till when,
In the ensuing Tumult, spare my Father.
[Exeunt
The Scene shifts, they re-enter.
That Door conducts you to the Queen;
The
British
Guards are drawn around the Temple;
The Priests themselves, as loth to hear her Shrieks,
Retire to Corners, to bewail th' Event.
There's the Way; be sure you kill the Ravisher.
Farewell: Inevitable Death pursues him.
[Luc. goes in.
This is, indeed, a Master-piece of Cunning:
This is a most accomplish'd Strain of Thought.
The Father kill the Son, the Son the Father:
Either fall, or both; but one must perish:
I head the
Gauls,
and murther the Survivor,
And then the Crown and Queen may yet be mine.
[Ex. Arm.
[The Scene changes.
Enter
Vortimer
disguis'd in a sordid Habit: As he is going out at the opposite Door,
Lucius
pursues him, pulls him back, and stabs him.
Stay, Ruffian, take thy Death from
Lucius
Hand.
Where is my
Rosalinda?
where's my Love?
My dearest Queen? the Ravisher's no more:
[the Queen enters.
The sordid, ignominious Slave is dead.
Yet, but a moment's Space, and I am gone;
The God's have prov'd themselves, and I am slain.
That Voice has something sacred in the Sound.
It is thy Father: Thou hast slain me,
Lucius.
Kill'd him, who gave thee Life: Curse on the Deed.
[Dies.
Oh! 'tis he, 'tis he; the Royal
Vortimer:
Ev'n now, his angry Soul has forc'd its Passage:
Swiftly his Breath fleets upwards from my Sight.
Now he arraigns me at the Bar of Justice,
Now he accuses his ill-fated Son;
Now he pulls down the righteous Veng'ance on me,
Invokes the Thunder, and all-piercing Lightning.
How full it glares on my defective Sight:
O'erwhelm'd by dreadful Bolts, the Wrath of Heav'n,
Down, down I sink to meet the Fate of Parricides:
Avenge my Father's Blood, Despair and Death:
A King's, a Parent's Blood! Despair and Die!
[Falls in a Trance.
Oh! great unhappy Hero, born for Woe:
Oh! fatal Moment, that inclin'd thy Heart,
To think the wretched
Rosalinda
fair.
Dear, lovely Eyes, admit no more of Day:
Eternal be this Lethargy of Grief:
Do not return to conscious, racking Thought.
He comes again to Miseries untold:
To Life, to Sense, to Reason, to Distraction!
Say, thou bright fair One, who first taught me Truth,
May not this Hand avenge a Parent's Blood?
The Gates of Mercy are for ever shut
Against Self-murtherers.
What, cut a Father's Thread,
And calmly wait the breaking of my own?
Not Years of strictest Pennance can attone;
Can expiate, for snedding sacred Blood.
Oh King! thy Usurpation and bad Deeds,
The Murder of thy Prince, are here reveng'd:
For ever Scarlet, those deep-tinctur'd Crimes
(By an irrevocable, righteous Doom)
Have made thy Son thy Executioner.
On me thy Sins descend, for thee I am curs'd.
Arise, my Lord, new Mischiefs are at hand.
'Tis false
Arminius
fighting with the Guards.
Arminius
says, I slew the great
Otharius,
Arminius
stain'd the Honour of the Queen,
Arminius
urg'd me on to kill my Father,
Arminius
comes for Payment of his Crimes:
Traytor! have at thy Heart!
An Alarm and fighting within:
Arminius
enters at the Head of a Party, goes to kill
Lucius,
is kill'd by him: Then enter the Prince of
Cambria,
leading
Emmelin, Irene,
&c.
Oh! I am slain.
I've justly met my Death from
Lucius
Hand.
Yet, as thou hop'st for Pardon of thy Crimes,
If thou hast Breath, tell me who kill'd
Otharius?
I slew your Lord, and fix'd it upon
Lucius;
Wild Love and false Ambition were my Guides:
The Gods forgive us all.
[Dies.
Dear noble Youth,
The Pow'rs have brought us to preserve thy Life,
From the hard Sentence of a cruel Father.
Oh Uncle! shroud me from an impious Deed:
Oh! hide me in your Bosom from the Light.
Behold that sacred Body! There's my Father:
Behold, in
Lucius,
the curs'd Parricide.
Vortimer
slain, and by my Nephew's Hand!
Thou great, illustrious, happy, happy Youth,
The Fates have now been busy for thy Glory.
Hear all, and tremble at this righteous Justice.
Thou hast slain thy Father's Murtherer,
Lucius;
Aveng'd his Death, and punish'd the Usurper.
Oh Uncle! was not
Vortimer
my Father?
This Monster cou'd not have a Son, like
Lucius.
Thou ow'st thy Birth to the late Royal King,
Whom this vile Traytor, at a Banquet slew:
The Queen was then in Child-bed; You her Off-spring.
To save you from a cruel Tyrant's Sword,
We spread the Rumour of your sudden Death,
And with feign'd Tears, wept o'er an empty Tomb:
The War in
Gallia
drew him from the Throne,
In foreign Fields to bury loyal Chiefs,
Who ill cou'd bear the Murther of their King.
But how, great Sir, was I suppos'd his Son?
He forc'd a Marriage with the Queen my Sister.
By my Advice, you seem'd to spring from thence:
The Queen's retir'dness bar'd intruding Eyes;
'Till broke with Sorrow, shortly she expir'd.
Six Years the Tyrant pass'd in foreign War:
At his return, I gave you to his Arms,
Who, as a forward Miracle, receiv'd you.
Thus the just Powers have led you by the Hand,
To punish, in curst
Vortimer,
the Man,
Who caus'd the Death of both your Royal Parents.
Oh holy Angels! tune it in your Choir;
Eccho it Heav'n, thro' all yon azure Sky;
The happy
Lucius
has not slain his Father.
To you, bright beauteous Princess's, I sue:
To you, my noble Uncle, and our Friends,
Kneel all, and kiss the Dust in Adoration,
Kneel all, and praise the Eternal Pow'r with me:
The happy
Lucius
has reveng'd his Father.
My Life, my Honour, and my People rescu'd,
Cou'd only be the Work of Heav'n, and
Lucius.
Once more thou art my Wife.
Once more and ever be my Love.
Here,
Emmelin,
thy Hopes of
Lucius
die;
Be then no more misled by fatal Love,
But to
Diana
's Train, devote thy self
For ever.
[Aside.
What Thanks, bright Princess, shall I pay to you,
And your great Brother, who has help'd to save me?
[to Emm.
That I have pass'd the threat'ned Storms of Fate,
Aveng'd my Parents, and preserv'd my Wife,
Are Blessings first deriv'd to me from Beauty.
Benighted, grov'ling on my Mother Earth,
'Till Beauty call'd, I unenlightned lay:
By Beauty lead, I sought eternal Day.
I view those shining Realms of Light above,
And gain immortal Happiness by Love.
[Exeunt omnes.
FINIS.