Bonduca, or, The British heroine a tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants, with a new entertainment of musick, vocal and instrumental : never printed or acted before. Fletcher, John, 1579-1625. 1696 Approx. 137 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 30 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2007-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A27180 Wing B1584 ESTC R17919 12257902 ocm 12257902 57582

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A27180) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 57582) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 166:13) Bonduca, or, The British heroine a tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants, with a new entertainment of musick, vocal and instrumental : never printed or acted before. Fletcher, John, 1579-1625. Purcell, Henry, 1659-1695. Bonduca. Powell, George, 1658?-1714. [8], 53 [i.e. 45], [3] p. Printed for Richard Bentley ..., London : 1696. An alteration of Fletcher's play, "the two first acts new writ", given to George Powell for publication. Cf. Dedication and "To the reader". Without the music (by Henry Purcell). Advertisement: p. [3] at end. Reproduction of original in Princeton University Library.

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BONDUCA: OR, The Britiſh Heroine, A TRAGEDY.

Acted at the Theatre Royal. BY His MAJESTY's SERVANTS. With a New Entertainment of MUSICK, Vocal and Inſtrumental

Never Printed or Acted before.

LONDON, Printed for Richard Bentley, in Ruſſel-Street near Covent-Garden, 1696.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, The LORD JEFFEREYS, BARON of WEM, &c. My Lord,

THE faireſt Excuſe I can find for this Preſumption, is, That the Modern Publications of Plays, are like the Roman Buildings, under the Umbrage of ſome Houſhold Deity, Erected over ſome Portico, to Fence and keep all ſafe within. And indeed, as Plays are but Piles of Wit, the Structure of Ingenuity, a Noble Name in the Frontiſpiece, is much the ſame Domeſtick Guardian; at leaſt, for my own part, I have made the moſt proper Choice of ſuch a Tutelar Power in your Lordſhip. For where ſhou'd the Muſes ſeek Covert and Protection, but there, where both Apollo and Minerva are Your Lordſhips Hereditaries; whilſt you ſpring from thoſe Veins that ſo entirely Entitle and Quality You for a Mecoenas?

And whilſt Bonduca ſtands ſo ſhelterd under Your Lordſhips Protection, I muſt ſay, 'tis a Fabrick of Antiquity; a Foundation of that Celebrated Poetical Architect, the Famous Fletcher: But with ſeveral Alterations, beſides the two Firſt Acts New Writ.

But whilſt I make this bold Addreſs to Your Lordſhip, there are two Conſiderations requiſite to an Epiſtle Dedicatory: The Preſent, and the Hand that makes it. For the Firſt of theſe, 'tis the Off-ſpring of Beaumont and Fletcher, I lay at Your Lordſhips Feet; and under that Name, the very Parentage ſtamps that Merit upon it, as ſhould carry its own Safety; for methinks when Great Authors revive, they ſhould have no Ordeal to paſs either to the Stage or the Preſs. Both Cenſure and Malice ſhould ſtand Awed and Silenced there; inſomuch that inſtead of Supplications, either to the Audience, or Readers good Humour and Smiles; on the contrary, they ſhould enjoy all the Benefits of the Great Dead, be paſt any Danger of the Criticks Purgatory, in an immediate ſtate of Felicity: And conſequently by the Canons of the Muſes, as well as the Churches Rubrick, to be above the want of Prayers.

Beſides, as the Preſent I make Your Lordſhip, is all our own Native Growth; the Hiſtory of a Britiſh Heroine; it carries ſome more favourable Recommendation to your Lordſhips Acceptance: For where can our Nobleſt Engliſh Memoirs be more gracefully or more ſuitably lodged, than in the Hands of the Nobleſt Engliſh Honour? And it has this further Advantage, as being an Engliſh Story; That the Glory of Worthies and Heroes ſounds ſweeteſt, where the Muſick is Tuned at Home.

But for the Unworthy Hand that makes the Preſent (my other Dedicatory Conſideration) There even Poetry it ſelf is at aloſs for an Apology; nay the very Player almoſt Bluſhes too. 'Tis true, my Lord, Your Lordſhip has vouchſafed to Grace and Encourage our willing Endeavours with Extraordinary Smiles, being that Condeſcenſion and Goodneſs in You, that ſhew Your Lordſhip is reſolved not to ſuffer the Gemms of your Nobleman's Coronet, to outdazle the Sparks of the Gentleman, that Shines thro' your whole Converſation.

And to tell the Truth, my Lord, You have ſo Exalted and wrapt us up with Your Lordſhips Generous Favours; that as Pride is naturally its own Trumpet; my, very Vanity alone is Argument and Encouragement ſufficient to make this Publication to the whole World, of the Infinite Obligations due to Your Lordſhip, from,

My LORD, Your Lordſhips moſt Humble, and Moſt Obedient Servant GEO. POWELL.
TO THE READER.

I Muſt make room for one Page more, to tell you how our Bonduca ſet Foot upon the Stage. The Value of the Original is not unknown to thoſe who have read it in Fletcher: A Value that has often times been prized ſo high, that the whole Brotherhood of the Quill have for many Years been blamed for letting ſo Ingenious a Relick of the Laſt Age, as Bonduca, lie dormant, when ſo inconſiderable an Additional Touch of the Pen was wanting, to make it fit for an Honourable Reception in This.

This Conſideration prompted a Friend of mine, a much abler Hand than my own, to attempt it; not that his Leiſure, Attendance or Inclinations, would permit him to make any long Toil of it. For to tell the Truth, the whole Play was reviſed quite through, and likewiſe ſtudied up in one Fortnight.

This Undertaker, who beſlow'd but Four Days Labour upon it, being above the Intereſt Part of an Author; and likewiſe a Perſon of that Modeſty, as to affect no Plumes from Poetry, he was generouſly pleaſed to put it into my Hands to uſher it into the World.

PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. POWEL. WEll, Gallants of the Pit, firſt to be juſt To the great Dead, the ſleeping Fletcher's Duſt, His proud Bonduca, in this fighting Age, That Engliſh Heroine wakes to tread our Stage, That Bard—But let him ſleep i' th' Laurel Bed, We've bus'neſs with the Living, not the Dead. Between us and the other Theatre There is proclaim'd, and ſtill maintain'd a War, And all, but knocking out of Brains, is fair. We're blam'd for raiſing in one Night, what they In thirty tedious days can ſcarce diſplay; But that to our Advantage ſure, is ſpoke; So Heuſler by ſwift Marches, gain'd his Work: And Cut off the Proviſion of the Turk. And therefore, if the Truth you would declare; Say Gallants, to your Smiles, who bids moſt fair; Our Growing Spring, or Fading Autumn there? Beſides, though our weak Merit ſhincs leſs Bright, Yet we'ave the Advantage, a Fairer Light, Our Nobler Theatre's. Nay we are bringing Machines, Scenes, Opera's, Muſick, Dancing, Singing; Tranſlated from the Chiller, Bleaker Strand, To your Sweet Covent-Garden's Warmer Land. To us, Young Players, then let ſome Smiles fall: Let not their dear Antiquities ſweep all. Antiquity on a Stage? Oh Fye! 'tis Idle: Age in Good Wine is well, or in a Fiddle. Ay then it has a little Muſick there; But in an Old, Decrepid, Wither'd Player; It looks like a ſtale Maid at her laſt Prayer. Yet if you think it better, we can play Like whining Zanger, or ſtiff Muſtapha: Or elſe, Gad mend me Ruſtan, you ſhall ſee; But who can make a Figure ſuch as he? Therefore divide your Favours the right way, To th' Young your Love, to th' old your Reverence pay.
Perſonae Dramatis.

  MEN. Suetonius, General of the Romans. Mr. Verbruggen. Petilius, a Roman Officer. Mr. Harland. Junius, another Roman Officer. Mr. Hill. Decius, a Roman Officer. Mr. Eldred. Macer, a Hungry Roman Soldier. Mr. Mic. Lee. Caratach, General of the Britains. Mr. Powel, Jun. Venutius, in Love with Claudia. Mr. Horden. Hengo, Nephew to Bonduca. Miſs. Alliſon. Nennius, a Britiſh Officer. Mr. Mills. Macquaire, a Pict, in Love with Claudia. Mr. Simpſon.   WOMEN. Bonduca, Queen of Britain. Mrs. Knight. Claudia, Daughters to Bonduca. Bonvica, Mrs. Rogers. Miſs Croſs.

Roman and Britiſh Guards and Attendants, Druids, &c.

The Tragedy OF BONDUCA
ACT I. SCENE I. Enter Nennius and another Captain. Nenn. SƲETONIƲS will Repent his Landing here: Conqueſt hath already Enrich'd our Soyl; Our Brittiſh Fields fatten with Roman ſlaughter So much ſtale Carrion lies in every Ditch, That the Rank Steams riſe from the rotting Heaps, And Choak up all the Air. Capt. They have ſcarce Men enough To try the Fortune of another Battle. Nenn. And thoſe not worth our Conqueſt: A Famin Rages in their pining Troops; The Mighty Roman Spirit ſickens in 'em, And the poor ſtarv'd Remains of all their Forces, Can ſcarce Advance to make a Feeble War. Capt. What may not our Victorious Queen expect, That thus has ſhook the Daring Power of Rome? Our mighty Queen! the War-like Bonduca, That greatly Towers above the humble Sex, Aſpires to more than Man, and Soars to Hero. Nenn. Our Hardy Britains ne re will ſtoop to Rome: What Courage can oppoſe our numerous Forces, Whilſt that Great Female Spirit bears againſt it, And the Rough Caratach appears himſelf, 〈1 line〉 on 〈1 line〉 Capt. He is indeed, Our Guard in Peace, and Father of the War. The True, Blunt, Honeſt Britain's ſtampt upon him: His hard, Old Weather'd Trunk; his Scarrs and Wounds, And all the Noble Ruins of his Body She 〈◊〉 him a Soldier, Nu •• t, and Bred in Danger; His ſtrength, his Vigour, and Majeſtick look Seem to deny his Age, and bear him up To perfect Youth. Nenn. The Hero's finiſht in him. Oh Caratach! The Everlaſting Scourge to wondring Rome, Whilſt thou art here, to lead us on to Conqueſt, Britain will never droop; never ſubmit, Tho' Caeſar Raging for his preſent loſs, Should ſtart with Fury from the lazy Throne; Draw all his Diſtant Troops to one vaſt Body, And come himſelf to head the Crouded War. But ſee! the Mighty Caratach appears, And Bonduca with her Royal Off-ſpring; The Partners of her Blood and Spirit. Capt. I muſt retire. Nenn. I'le ſtay. Enter Caratach, Bonduca, Claudia, Bonvica, Hengo, the Women in an Amazon Dreſs. Bond. Are theſe the Hero's that Inherit Conqueſt? Theſe hardy Romans? O ye Gods of Britain! Are theſe the Fortune Makers? theſe the Julians, That with the Sun, meaſure the end of Nature! Shame, how they Fly! Caeſar's ſoft Soul Inſpires Their Fainting Limbs; their Fathers got 'em ſleeping, In lazy Lukewarm Fills, and Pleaſure Nurſt 'em: Dare they ſend theſe, theſe ſmooth Fac'd Roman Boys, To Conquer our well temper'd Manly Britains? Twice have they felt the Fury of our Arms; A Woman Beat 'em, Caratach, a weak Woman, A Woman beat theſe Romans! Car. So it ſeems! A Man wou'd bluſh to talk ſo. Bond. What Caratach, d'ye grieve at my Succeſs? Car. No, Bonduca. 'Tis at your bearing it, I grieve: Diſcretion And hardy Valour are the Twins of Honour, And muſt together make a Conqueror, Divided, but a Talker: 'Tis a Truth, That Rome has fled before us twice, and Routed; A Noble Truth, we ought to Crown the Gods for. But when we meanly would Inſult, our Tongues Forfeit the Honours which our Swords have won. Nenn. Is this Inſulting, is it mean to ſay What Fortune and the Gods allow us? Car. No; So what we ſay, exceeds not what we do. What, call the Romans fearful, ſmooth-fac'd Boys? Does this commend our Conqueſt? Are they Boys? Bond. Forgive me Soldier, 'tis a Woman's Frailty; I muſt, and will Reproach 'em: Caeſar ſent 'em To Conquer us, and make us Slaves to Rome: Now he may ſend his Vultures too, to feed And Riot on 'em, here they lye on heaps; And once more Britain, I pronounce 'em Boys. Car. Are Boys the Hero's that muſt Grace your Triumphs? Where's then the glory of your Victory? Why are your Altars Crown'd with Wreaths of Flowers? Why are your Oxen Lowing by the Prieſt, Adorn'd and Gilded for the Pomp of Death? Is this for frighting a poor Herd of Children? Is it no more? Shut up your Temples Britains; Put out your Holy Fires; forbear to tune Your Hymns of Joy; let all go home and ſleep: For ſuch a Conqueſt, ſuch a ſhameful Conqueſt, A Candle burns too bright a Sacrifice. Bond. Sure, Caratach, thou doat'ſt upon theſe Romans. Sar. Witneſs theſe Wounds, I do: A Roman gave 'em. I love an Enemy. I was Born a Soldier; And he that at the head of's Men, deſies me, Bending my Manly Body with his Sword; I make a Miſtreſs. Bon. Were I of that Mind too, My Heart would be wonderfully Engag'd The next Battle. [Aſide.] Car. Ten Years of bitter Nights and heavy Marches, Have I wrought thro' to try theſe Noble Romans; On the hard Ground I've weather'd out ten Winters, All Chopt with Cold, and ſtiffning in my Arms, When Frozen Storms ſung through my batter'd Helmet; And all to try the Romans. Ten times a Night I've ſwom the Rivers, when purſuing Rome Shot at me as I floated; when theſe Arms Stemm'd the rough Tide, and broke the Rowling Billows; And ſtill to try theſe Romans: 'Tis diſhonour, And follow'd will be worſe, to taint 'em thus, Have not I ſeen the Britains— Bond. What? Car. Run, Bonduca, baſely ſcreaming out Mercy and Quarter from their trembling Lips: I've ſeen theſe Britains that you magnifie, Fly like a Shadow ſcowring o're the Plains: I've ſeen thee run, couragious Nennius, And you too, Bonduca, run like Winds, When that great Chief, the Roman Boy, purſued ye, Cut thro' your armed Carts, and drove 'em headlong. Why, I ran too; But not ſo faſt. Your Jewel had been loſt then, Young Hengo there; for when your Fears out-ran him, I in the Head of all the Roman Fury Took him, and girding him in my tough Belt, Buckl'd this Bud of Britain to my Back, And plac'd my Shield as a Defence behind him: Five times in vain I fought to bear him off; We had periſh'd, had not their gallant General Cry'd like a Roman, like a noble Roman, Go Britain, bear thy Lion's Whelp off ſafely; Thy manly Sword has ranſom'd thee; grow ſtrong, And let me meet thee once again in Arms. Then if thou ſtandſt thou'rt mine; I took his Offer, And here I am to honour him. Bond. Well then, Let 'em be Boys or Hero's, ſtill we have conquer'd; And I am proud to think the richeſt Blood Of all the Martial World, now only ſerves To dung my Fields. Car. And I am proud on't too: But where we have found Virtue, tho' in thoſe That came to make us Slaves, let's cheriſh it: There's not a Blow we gave, ſince Julius landed, That was of Strength or Worth; but like Records, They File to After-Ages. The Romans are Our Regiſters for noble Deeds of Honour; And ſhall we burn their Mentions with Upbraidings? Bond. My Fortune wound my Female Soul too high, And lifted me above my ſelf; but thou Haſt kindly work'd down all my Towring Thoughts: Shall we have Peace? For now I love theſe Romans. Car. Peace! Rather rail on, than think of Peace. Nenn. Why did we fight? Is'nt Peace the end of War? Car. Not where the Cauſe implies a General Conqueſt. Had we a Difference with ſome petty Iſle, Or with ſome peeviſh Neighbour for our Land-Marks, We'd think of Peace: But where we grapple for the Ground we live on, The Liberty we hold as dear as Life; And with theſe Swords, that know no end of Battle, That where they march, but meaſure out more Ground To add to Rome, and here i'th' Bowels of us: It muſt not be, whilſt there's an Eagle wav'd In Britiſh Air, we'll never think of Peace. Bond. O Caratach! As thou haſt nobly ſpoken ſhall be done. The Romans ſhall have worthy Wars to thee: I give in Charge this little Royal Graft, The tender Care and future Price of Britain: With thee he's ſafe, as in his Mother's Arms. Car. And little Sir, when your young Bones grow ſtiffer, And when I ſee you able in a Morning To beat a dozen Boys, and then to Breakfaſt, I'll tie ye to a Sword. Heng. And what then, Unckle? Car. Then you muſt kill, Sir, the next valiant Roman That calls you Knave. Heng. And muſt I kill but one? Car. A Hundred, Boy, I hope. Heng. I hope Five Hundred. Car. That's a Noble Boy. Come, Madam, Let's to our ſeveral Charges. Is Venutius Return'd from viewing the Roman Camp? Bond. Where's your Venutius, Girl? You beſt can tell. Is he come back, my Claudia? Car. Nay, bluſh not Lady; for with Pride I ſpeak it. A braver Britain never ſhone in Armour: Nature has poliſh'd every part ſo ſmoothly, As if ſhe only meant him for a Lover, But when (as I have oft with Pleaſure ſeen him) He calls up all the Man to ruſh to War, Then Fury ſparkles from Majeſtick Beauty; The Soldier kindles, and I loſe the Lover, Only to wonder at the Godlike Hero. Clau. You've nobly recompenc'd his Service, Greatly return'd that Praiſe, that loud as Fame Has often ſounded of the Mighty Caratach. Bond. Venutius has deſerv'd your Love, my Daughter, And here he comes to claim it. Enter Venutius. Venutius, welcome: Have ye view'd the Romans? Ven. Yes; they are few, and meanly sculk'd behind Their labour'd Trenches. Ben. Where thy Courage drove'em. Go my Venutius to thy Miſtreſs Arms: Thus I reward thy Toil, and crown thy Wiſhes. Ven. Thus then I'll thank ye: By the mighty Joys that fill my Soul, Thou'rt dearer, dearer to me, Than all the Triumphs that the War cou'd promiſe Bond. To morrow let us puſh the Conqueſt home, And drive th' unwilling Romans from our Iſle, And then we'll ſolemnize your Loves in Peace; The Holy Prieſt ſhall join your Souls for ever. Ven. Speak that agen! I'm loſt in Extaſie! The Trumpet that allarm'd my Soul to War Ne'er rais'd me half ſo high. Car. Spoke like a Soldier. I've always been thy Leader, but to morrow I'll follow thee; Love leads us on to Conqueſt. Methinks I ſee the Toils of Battle ceaſe, And weary Britain huſht once more in Peace, And thee preſented to thy Claudia's Arms, Free from the Midnight Terror of Allarms: For who, what Roman can our Rage oppoſe, When Love and Courage ſhoot us on our Foes? [Exeunt Car. Bond. Bonvica, Hengo: manet Ven. & Claudia. Ven. Now I am truly happy. Oh my Claudia! With this Reward, the great Reward of Beauty, The batter'd Soldier crowns his glorious Labours, And ſoftens all the rugged Toils of Danger. To morrow! Oh! Wou't thou not joy, my Claudia, When from a bloody Field of ſlaughter'd Romans, Thy weary Soldier comes with full Deſire, And brings thee Love and Conqueſt? Clau. Yes, and with theſe ſoft Arms I'll hold you faſt, Till Honour calls you from me: And when freſh Dangers court you to new Wars, When your Soul ſprings to follow dreadful Glory, Like a true Britain, like Bonduca's Daughter, I'll dreſs my Hero, bring his Shining Armour; Admire my Soldier, while with Pride I view The graceful Horrors graven on his Shield, And Terror ſitting on his haughty Creſt; Then praiſe, embrace, and urge him to the War, And then— Ven. And then, When the rough bus'neſs of the day is o're, When all my glittering Arms are red with Slaughter, And ſhouting Britains bring me home in Triumph, Let theſe dear Arms be open to receive me, To lull my Cares, and ſoften 'em to Reſt; To make me loſe the Hero in the Lover, And all the Soldier melt to Love and Peace. Clau. Yes, and I'll torture you a thouſand ways, With thouſand thouſand Queſtions of the War; With trembling pleaſure I will hear it all, Heal every Wound you name with balmy Love, Claſp my Victorious Hero in my Arms, Praiſe him in every little tender way, And bleſs kind Heaven for all the danger paſt. Ven. Ye Gods! Is there ſuch Excellence in Woman? By all the Promiſes of glorious Love, I'm ſo impatient till thou art all my own, I dare not loſe a moment, though with thee; New dawning Glory breaks upon my Soul, And all my Spirits up to ruſh to Battle, To launch with Fury on the wondring Romans, Drive 'em to Fate, then big with Love and Conqueſt Fly to the Altar with a Bridegroom's Joy, Perform the haſty Rites of Holy Marriage, And ſeize the noble Prize of all my Labours. Claud. Then ſure I ſhall be free from odious Love. Ven. What means my Bleſſing? Claud Oh my Venutius, that grim Royal Pict, That joins his Troops with us againſt the Romans, That we've ſo often doubted for a Traitor; That Fiend ſtill troubles all my ſofter hours, And haunts me with his ſawcy Brutal Paſſion. Ven. Gods! what, that finiſh'd piece of perfect Monſter? Durſt he blaſpheme the Sacred Name of Love? [Comes peeps. I pity him; uſe him, my Claudia, uſe him For thy Diverſion; he's beneath thy Scorn: 'Tis but a Day, and then with envious Eyes He'll ſee me triumph in my Claudia's Beauty, And never dare to own his Paſſion more. Farewel my Love, and tho' 'tis Death to part, Yet for a while my Glory calls me from thee. Claud. And will you go ſo ſoon? One moment longer. Ven. Oh, I cou'd ſtay an Age, and ſtill complain Of leaving thee too ſoon. But my Charge waits me, And I muſt ſee my Troops prepar'd for Battel. Farewel: We part to meet in Peace to join For ever; join, and give an Age to Love. [Exit Venutius. Enter Comes and meets Claudia as ſhe's going out. Com. What! my brighteſt Amazon in Arms agen? The Toil and Danger of the War is o're. Claud. Have I not cauſe to wear a ſtronger Guard, When a worſe Foe comes on? Com. The Romans ſure will tempt your Rage no more. Claud. But I fear thou wilt. Com. Ha! then am I The Foe you meant? I come, my Beauteous Claudia, To talk of Friendly things, of Peace and Love. Claud. O think agen, Sir; for they both diſown thee; There is no Peace and Love, where thou art preſent, To mix thy ſelf and ſpoil, the God-like Compound. Com. Why doſt thou dart at me thoſe ſcornful Beams Of Angry Beauty? Oh! Look milder on me. 'Twas Love that made me firſt a Foe to Rome; To Fight and Conquer with my Beauteous Claudia. 'Tis o're, and that great Love that firſt began 'em, Shou'd Crown our Labours, ſweeten all our Toils; Spring like our Souls in the firſt heat of Battle; And ſhoot with fury to each others Arms; To Claſp and Grapple midſt Triumphant Joys. Claud. Ha, this to me, the Virgin Pride of all Britain? Shall I be treated like a Common Proſtitute? Am I thought mean enough for Beaſtly Paſſion, The Recreation of his Ranker Hours? Com. Forgive my haſty Zeal; I love with Honour. The Sacred Innocence that atton'd the Gods, Before we drew our Swords againſt the Romans, Burnt not a purer Flame. Claud. Urge me no more: Thou talk of ſacred Love! Haſt thou a Nook in all that hudled Frame, Fit for ſo ſoft a Gueſt? It cannot be. Fly from my ſight, thou bungl'd Botch of Nature; Thou Snuff of Life, and Ruins of a Man. Com. Once I was worthy your Imperious Beauty: Curſe o'that Britiſh Boy, that charm'd you from me. Am I deſpis'd for him? Claud. Rather Curſe Nature, thou blaſpheming Fiend, That ne're reform'd thy Droſs: Curſe thy own Fate, That warm'd that uncocted Lump to Life, Half finiſht into Man. Art thou ſtill here? Be gone: I would not tell thee— Com. More you cannot; The Proudeſt of your Sex, tho' ſcorn'd and loath'd, Cou'd not have vented more true Womans ſpite Than you, for being Lov'd; Lov'd by a Prince; And ſince you urge me thus, a Prince above you. Claud. Above me! This Inſolence has given me leave to tell thee, And I will ſpeak: Have ye forgot the time, when like a Slave, Thou wentſt prepar'd to gorge thy rank Deſire, Where a lewd Strumpet kept her Midnight Court? Doſt thou remember, how ſhe loath'd thy Perſon? E'en ſhe, a Proſtitute to all beſide, Started at this Appearance: I muſt laugh, And tell thee what the publick Voice confirms, That thou didſt force, force ev'n that common Jilt, And in the very Stews commit a Rape; And dar'ſt thou own thy monſtrous Love to me, Scorn'd by a Whore that every Swain has ſullied? Com. Gods! Can I bear all this, and ſtill deſire? All the rank Malice of your haughty Sex Is ſurely lodg'd in thee, to make me hate thee More than I ever lov'd; to make thy Soul Ugly and loathſom as that ghaſtly Terror Your Impious Fancy drew for me. Go then, Go to your Lovers Arms, and wanton there: I'll court Diſdain no more, no longer feaſt My hungry Eyes on that proud Beauty. Claud. Then I'm your Friend agen; and now let's part, Part in this very pleaſing careleſs Mood, And ne're from this kind Reſolution move: I will forget my Scorn, and you your Love. [Exit Claudia, Manet Comus ſolas. Com. And I my Love? Gods! Can ſhe think I lov'd her? I'm unacquainted with that Boyiſh Paſſion; My Soul's inſpir'd with a nobler Flame, A mighty Governing Luſt ſhoots through my Veins; I'll fawn no more, but force her to the Bliſs, And glut at once my Vengeance and Deſire: I'll raviſh her; my old experienc'd way: And generally too, 'tis the Conſequence Of all my awkard Wooing; the Thought warms me. Ye Gods! ye Gods! How it wou'd 〈◊〉 my Soul, To claſp this lovely F ry in my Arms! Whil t ſcorning to be pleas'd, ſhe'd curſe the Pleaſure; Till with a ſudden Rapture ſeiz'd ſhe'd m lt away, And ſpringing give a Looſe to luſty Joy. [Exit. The End of the Firſt Act.
ACT. II. SCENE I. Enter Petillius and Decius, two Roman Captains. Pet. WEll, Captain; what Commands from our General Suetonius? Are we all drawn yet? All prepar'd and order'd, Fit to be ſlaughter'd? Dec. Brave News, Captain; our General has ſent To have a Treaty to day with Caratach. Pet. And fight with him to morrow: For, my Life on't, They'll never conclude a Peace. They may make Treaties, But all they agree on will be, to knock one another o'th' Head. Where do they meet? Dec. Here on this Eminence, between the two Camps: And for my part I think it no Scandal For the braveſt Roman amongſt us to wiſh They may come to Articles: For what can our Shatter'd Troops do againſt a Hundred thouſand Britains? Pet. Between no Bread and pitcht Battels we have not Men left enough to ſtorm a Village. Suetonius is a Noble General; but I ſee no reaſon Why we ſhould be all ſlic'd and ſlaughter'd, And Dung Land here, becauſe he loves fighting. Enter Junius. Stay, Stay, here comes the languiſhing Captain Junius: Poor Gentleman, he's drawing on— Dec. Not to his End I hope, Pet. The end of all Fleſh, Woman: His Thoughts ramble After the Grecian Captive he left behind at Rome. Jun. Why, what a Wretch am I? This Grecian Beauty Has ſoftned all that's Great and Roman in me: I ſhall be hooted at by all the Camp. There's not a Slave that calls himſelf a Soldier, But's brave enough to ſtorm a Whining Lover. Leave me, Petillius, my Thoughts are buſie. Pet. Thou want'ſt Drink: For what Affliction Can light ſo heavy on a Soldier, and dry him up As thou art; but no Drink? Thou ſha't have Drink. Jun. Prithee Petillius— Pet. By my Honour, much Drink, valiant Drink: I ſee like a true Friend into thy Wants, 'tis Drink. And when I leave thee to a Diſſolution, Eſpecially of that dry Nature; hang me. Jun. Your Fooling's Nauſeous: Why this Drink? Drink to me— Pet. Did I not find thee gaping like an Oyſter, For a New Tide? Why, thy very Thoughts lie bare Like a Low Ebb. Thy Soul, that rid in Sack, Lies Moor'd for want of Liquor: I ſay ſtill, Thou want'ſt Drink. Jun. You have too much on't; therefore leave me, Sir: Belch not your Drunken Jeſts on me; I'm not diſpos'd for Mirth. Pet. May be thou want'ſt a Whore too? Thou ſha't have both? A pretty Valiant Fellow; dye for a little Lap and Leachery! Hear, thou Son of Her That loves a Soldier; hear what I promis'd for thee: Thus I ſaid, Madam, I take your Son for my Companion: Madam, I Love your Son; your Son loves War: War loves Danger; Danger, Drink; Drink, Diſcipline, Which is Society and Leachery; theſe two beget Commanders. Fear not, Madam, your Son ſhall lead with Honour. Jun. Do's ſo Ridiculous and looſe a Mirth, Become a Man of Arms? Pet. Any Mirth, or any Subject is better Than Unmanly Muſtineſs: What harm's in Drink? In a good wholſome Wench? It cannot out Of my Head yet, handſomly: But thou woud'ſt Feign be Drunk; come, no more Fooling: The General has new Wine come over. Jun. He muſt have New Acquaintance for it too, For I will a' none, I thank ye. Pet. None, I thank ye; a ſhort and pithy Anſwer. No Company, no Drink, no Wench, I thank ye: A decent and modeſt Reſolution. Enter Corporal, Macer, and Soldiers. What do theſe Hungry Raſcals here? Mac. A Bean, a Bean; a Princely Diet; A full Banquet, to what we compaſs. 1 Sold. Fight like Hogs for Acorns. 2 Sold. If this hold, Corporal Macer, we are ſtarv'd. Mac. For my part l'm ſtarv'd already; Not worth another Bean: A hard ſaying for an Officer, and a Man of Action: Look ye Gentlemen, my Belly's run away From my Coat; and my Doublet hangs ſo looſe, That I can pull him over my Head, like A Shirt: Who'd gueſs by the ſharpneſs of my Fiz, That I had any Jaws! and truly they are ſo Very weak for want of Chewing, that they Can ſcarce keep open my Face, ſo that the Two Flapps of my Countenance are in danger Of meeting; and ſo for my part, I'le Fight no more. How ſtand the reſt of your Stomachs affected? All. No Bits, no Blows. Pet. D'ye Mutiny, you Eating Raſcals? You Fight no more? No Bits, no Blows? Do's Rome depend on your Reſolution, For Eating Bief and Brewis? Mac. Wou'd we had it. Pet. Avaunt, ye Slaves, or I'le have ye all hang'd: A Sovereign help for Hunger. Mac. I may do Service, Captain. Pet. Yes, in a Butcher-row. Come hither, Corporal: Thou art the Ring-leader of'em, and I'll take Care to get a particular Reward for thee. Mac. How much Bief? Pet. Bief! The Forks, Sirrah: Where thou ſhalt be taught the true Virtue Of Temperance, by a Lictor, and Cat of Nine Tails This you've deſerv'd: But Bief, Sirrah! How dar'ſt thou expect Bief? Haſt thou done any thing to deſerve Eating? Mac. Done Miracles Captain, Miracles! Enough to deſerve Feaſting a Twelvemonth. Pet. What Miracles, Sirrah? Mac. What Miracles have I done? Let me ſee; Done? Why I have faſted a Fortnight, which Is a greater Miracle than any Hero of ye all Can boaſt of; and enough to Merit a Banquet for Life. Pet. A Fortnight! What doſt thou call Faſting? How long is't ſince thou Eat'ſt laſt? Tell the Truth. Mac. I have not Eat to the Purpoſe— Pet. To the Purpoſe? Ye Rogues, my Company Eat Turf, And ne're Grumble: They can Digeſt Timber, And Fight upon't: Dare ye Cry out for Hunger, And wear Shoes? Suck your Sword Hilts, ye Slaves, If ye be Valiant to the purpoſe. A grievous penance! Do'ſt thou ſee that Melancholy Gentleman? [Pointing to Junius. Jun. For ſhame, what mean ye Petillius? Pet. He has not Eat theſe three Weeks. Mac. He has Drank the more then, and that's all one. Pet. Nor Drank, nor Eat, nor ſlept theſe two Months. Jun. No more of this on your Life, Petillius, Pet. Go to him, Corporal; 'tis common Profit: Urge him to the Point; he'll find you out A ſtrange Food, that needs neither Teeth, nor Stomach; That will feed ye as Fat as a Cramm'd Capon, And make ye Fight like Devils: To him Corporal; I'll warrant thee, he'll teach thee a new way Of Getting Dinners. Mac. Captain, we do beſeech you as poor Soldiers, [Bowing to Jun. Men that have ſeen good days; Whoſe Mortal Stomachs may ſome times Feel Afflictions— Jun. D'ye long to have your Throats Cut? Pet. See what Mettle it makes in him: Two more Meals of this, and there lies Caratach. Mac. We do beſeech you but to render in way Of general Good, in Preſervation— [to Junius. Jun. Out of my Thoughts, ye Scoundrels. Mac. Out of your Pity, to give us your War-like Remedy Againſt the Maw-Morms; or Notable Receipt, To Live by Nothing. Pet. Out with your Table Books. Jun. Am I become your ſport, Petillius? Stand from my Swords Point, Slaves; Your Poor ſtarv'd Spirits can make me no Oblation For my Love; Elſe I would Sacrifice ye all. [Exit Junius. Mac. Alas! he lives by Love, Sir! Pet. So he does, Sir, and can't you do ſo too? All my Company are now in Love; ne'er think of Meat, Ah-mee's, and good hearty Heigh-hoes, are Sallets Fit for Soldiers: Live by Meat, by Larding up Your Bodies? 'Tis Lewd and Lazy, and ſhews ye Meerly Mortal, Dull; and drives ye to Fight Like Cammels, with Baskets at your Noſes. Get ye in Love; ye can Whore well enough, Tho' ye Faſt till ye are Famiſht, yet ſtill Ye can Crawl like Crabbs to Wenches. Away, the General's coming; get ye in love all, Up to the Ears in Love, That I may hear no more Of theſe Rude Murmerings, and diſcreetly carry Your Stomachs. Mac. Food muſt be had: Jog Boyes, keep your Files. [Exuent Macr. and Companions Enter Suetonius Attended. Suet. This is the fatal Field, the very place Where Caratach has led his Troops to face us; And with Rude Fury, and unskilful Conduct, Broke through the Force of all our Noble Order: Where e're we ſet a Foot in all this place, We trample on a Romans Tomb; but now old Caratach, Now we ſhall meet thee here On milder Terms, to Treat of Peace. Pet. Well then; I ſhall meet him once at leaſt, Without the Hazard of my Perſon: Now I may poſſibly retreat without that Honourable comfort to a Soldier, of good ſubſtantial Hacks, and Wounds; the gracefulneſs of half a Face; An Arm dangling by my ſide, and three parts of me Groaning for a Surgeon. Suet. Their Valour and Succeſs are pefect Miracles. How ſtrange 'twas to behold their Firſt Encounter! Ten thouſand Carts, and all with Scythes and Hooks, In full Career, they drove amidſt our Army, And mow'd whole Troops: Here half a Roman Lay ghaſtly ſprawling on the bearded Hooks, His other half left ſtarving on the Bloody Plain. There Ranks of Veteranes, the Pride of Rome, We ſnatcht up whole, and mixt their hideous Cries. Pet. Two or three of their Carts were very Decently Hung Round with my Company. Enter Caratach and 4 Gentlemen. Suet. But ſee, Petillius, Caratach appears; The only Man that dares be Foe to Rome. Car. The only Man that dares be Friend to Rome: Never a Foe, but when my Sword is drawn, For honourable Slaughter: Now 'tis ſheath'd, And here I'm come to make a League with Caeſar. What are the Terms that Great Suetonius offers? Suet. I offer Peace, the Greateſt, Nobleſt Gift, And ſuch a one, as Romans rarely offer, Or ſtoop to grant. Car. And ſuch an one as Britains too, Will always ſcorn to take, without ſuch Terms We can accept with Honour. Suet. What the Succeſs Of the laſt Battle gave ye, keep ſecure. We give you back too, all the Towns, the Wealth, And Captives taken in the laſt Campaign. Car. I will not Bargain like a ſly ſhrowd Trader: But hear a Souldier ſpeak. There's not one Inch Of Ground you've got ſince the Firſt Caeſar Landed, But muſt be ours; or let the War decide it: For by Your Heaven, and Great Andates's Power, Whilſt there's one Eagle wav'd in Britiſh Air, I'll never hear of Peace, but War, eternal War. Suet. Then War, eternal War, I eccho back. Shall I now Sacrifice my whole Life's Honour? I that ne'r marcht, but to encreaſe our Empire: And ſhall I now for a Weeks ill Succeſs Reſign at once the Conqueſt of an Age? I that ſo oft have entred Rome, when plac'd On high amidſt a Croud of Captive Princes, I ſate like one enthron'd, and careleſs viewd A Nation ſhouting by my loaded Chariot, That ſlowly wheel'd along the Royal Pomp, And crackt beneath the Burden of the Triumph: And ſhall I now at laſt return the Scorn, And everlaſting Scandal of a Roman? Cou'd I do this, not only pointing Rome, But thou too, Caratach, thou'dſt call me Coward. Car. By Heaven I ſhou'd. Now by the Blood that warms thee, By that true rigid Temper that has forg'd Our Tempers ſo alike: I ſwear, O Roman, Thou'ſt fir'd my Soul to Arms; I long to meet thee Dreſt in my dinted Armour, hew my Paſſage, To reach Suetonius in the midſt of Havock, And grapple with thee for this ſpot of Earth, Till one of us fall dead. Suet. O more than Britain! Car. O truly Equal To the great Spirits that inform'd Old Rome! Wer't thou a God, I could not call thee more. Why are we Foes? Sure Nature means us Friends, And hand in hand, when the loud Signal ſounds, To ſtart out jointly in the Race of Fame, To pant along the rough unbeaten way At our full Stretch, and touch the Goal together. Suet. Whatever Nature meant, in ſpight of War, And all the Roman Blood thou'ſt bravely ſpilt, We will be Friends to day. Car. Thus I advance To meet thee then, and once without a Wound. Suet. Come on, my Friend, I will not be outdone [Both come to one another. In Kindneſs. What, ſo near, and not embrace? Car. Yes firmly, cloſe, as if we never meant To hew each other down, and end the Scene In Blood. Shou'd Caeſar ſee us linkt together, Rivetted thus like the firſt furious Claſps Of Lovers in the heat of ſtoln Delight, Thinkſt thou his boding Soul cou'd yet look forward, 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 And ſee us in the Field, where claſhing Swords, Chopt Arms, left Helmets, and the dying Groans Of ſlaughter'd roops ſhall drown our Warlike Trum pets, And ſhew a thouſand ways our Rage in Battle? Suet. No; he, e'en he, might ſtudy here the Hero, And learn with us to change Revenge for Honour. Car. Honour does nothing; all the World's at Peace Till ſome ſtale Malice hurries them to War; And then the fretful Hero's rail abroad Worſe than their Wives at home inſult when Victors; As if their only buſineſs was Revenge. But let them that are truly valiant, know From us, what 'tis to be a Friendly Foe. We'll part in all the Laws of Love and Peace, The Cruſh of Death muſt be our next Embrace. [Exit Caratach. Suet. Now by the Gods of Rome, one ſingle Valour, The Courage of the mighty Caratach, More doubts me than all the Britains. He's a Soldier, So forg'd out and ſo temper'd for great Fortunes, So much Man thruſt into him, that his meer Name Fights in a thouſand Men. Beſure you hearten Your ſhatter'd Troops, to give the Onſet briskly. Since we muſt fight, Fury muſt be our Fortune. Look to thoſe eating Rogues that baul for Victuals; Tell'em, if now they puſh the Conqueſt home, The Fat of all the Kingdom lies before 'em. Pet. That's the beſt Argument. The generous Soldiers Spare begging conquer'd Foes, but when they Dine They give no Quarter to a luſty Chine. Thus the well-booted Greeks before Troy Town Still pray'd for Beef enough to ſwallow down; And at as well as fought to get Renown. [Exeunt. Enter Corporal, Macer, and other Soldiers as a Foraging. CATCH, Sung by the Soldiers. JAck, thou'rt a Toper, let's have t'other Quart: Ring, we're ſo ſober, 'twere a ſhame to part. None but a Cuckold, Bully'd by his Wife For coming late, fears a Domeſtick Strife. I'm free, and ſo are you, to call and knock boldly, Tho' Watchmen cry, Paſt Two a Clock. Ma er. Keep your Files, keep your Files, I begin to have a ſt ange Averſion for This ſide of the Camp. 1 Sold. If we venture any further, our Throats are in Danger. Mac.

Not of ſwallowing any thing, I fear. We're juſt p n the Out Guards of the Britains, but one Comfort is, they'il have but a poor Booty of us, if we are taken: For my part, I have'nt Fleſh enough left to dine a Lowſe. If we cou'd but meet ſome good at ſtragling Britains now.

2 Sold. What then, Corporal? Mac.

What then, you Rog •• ? A good fat corpulent well-cramm'd Britain is Proviſion for a Prince. I am a Soldier of Prey, and will kill all I meet, and devour all I kill.

1 Sold.

You'd let's have ſome ſhare in the eating, as well as the killing; Corporal; woud'nt ye?

Mac.

We'd make a Dividend on 'em; I woud'nt cheat ye of one ſingle Chitterling; all the Garbage ſhou'd be your own; good ſubſtantial Tripe; where, for ought I know, you might find Beef ready chewed, and Capers, happily not digeſted.

3 Sold.

Shall we venture on? There's no great difference between Hanging and Starving.

Mac.

On, on; there's a comfortable thing call'd a Head of Cattle hard by: March, keep your Files. If I cou'd but meet ſome good fat Britains, as I ſaid before, I'd ſo maul 'em.

[Exeunt, and after a little while re-enter, running over the Stage, the Britains after them. Mac. Fly, fly, fly; the Enemy, the Enemy; A whole Troop of 'em. Britains. Are you ſo bold, Sirs? have at ye. [Exeunt Britains purſuing Macer and the reſt, after a little time re-enter Britains dragging in Macer and his Companions. Britains. Learn to keep your Quarters, Scoundrel. What make ye here? D'ye long to be truſt up? Mac. You are ſuch lean Rogues, I've no Stomach t' ye; You are'nt worth a fighting for. Brit.

You're ſcarce worth a hanging. But becauſe y'are R mans, you ſhall have the Honour conferred on you in due time. Come on, Cowards.

Mac. O all ye Mortals that are wiſe, Abſtain from faſting, I adviſe. 'Twas faſting brought theſe honeſt Fellows, And Corporal Macer, to the Gallows. [Speaking in a lamentable Bellman's tone. [Exeunt Britains, dragging Macer out, and his Confederates. The End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I. Enter Nennius, Soldiers with Macer, and other Soldiers with Halters about their Necks. Nenn. COme, hang 'em preſently. What made your Rogueſhips Harrying for Victuals here? Are we your Friends? Or do you come for Spies? Tell me directly, Wou'd you not willingly be hang'd now? D'ye not long for't? Mac. No, not much: I'll ask my Fellow Skeletons How they approve of it. What ſay you? Shall we hang in this vein? Hang we muſt; And 'tis as good to diſpatch it merrily, As hang an Arſe to't. 1 Sold. Any way, ſo it be handſome. Mac. I'd as leave 'twere toothſom too. Sold. Nay faith, ſince we muſt hang, Let's hang pleaſantly. Mac. Then pleaſantly be it, Captain. The Truth on't is, We had as live hang with Meat in our Mouths, As ask your Pardon empty. Nenn. What ſay you to a Chine of Beef now, Sirrah? Mac. Bring me acquainted with it, and i'll tell you. Nenn. Or what think you of a Wench, Sirrah? Mac. 'Twou'd be excellent if ſhe were well boil'd, Or Roaſted; but I am ſomewhat too low kept To make uſe of her any way but with my Teeth. Enter Caratach. Car. Now what's the matter? What are theſe Fellows? What's the Crime committed, That they wear Necklaces? Nenn. They are Roman Rogues, taken a Foraging. Car. Is that all, Nennius? Mac. Wou'd I were fairly hang'd! This is that Devil, That Kill-crow Caratach. Car. And wou'd you hang 'em? Nenn. Are they not our Enemies? Car. 〈…〉 ies! Flea-traps. Pl •• k off your Halters, Fellows. Nenn. Take heed, Caratach: Taint not your Wiſdom. Car. Wiſdom, Nennius? Why, who ſhall fight againſt us? make our Honours, And give a glorious Day into our Hands, If we diſpatch our Foes thus? What's their Offence? Stealing a Loaf or two to keep out Hunger? Does this deſerve the Gallows? Poor Hungry Knaves, That have no Meat at home: Are you not hungry? Mac. Monſtrous Hungry. Car. That Fellow wears the very Face of Hunger: Get 'em ſome Meat and Wine, to chear their Hearts. Make haſt I ſay. 1. Sould. What does he mean by this, Captain? Mac. To let us alone, becauſe we are not worth Hanging. Car. Sit down poor Knaves: Why where's this Wine, And Meat? Who waits there? Enter Servants with Wine and Meat, and Hengo with 'em. Serv. 'Tis here Sir. Heng. Who are theſe Uncle? Car. They are Romans, Boy. Heng. Are theſe they That vex my Aunt ſo? Can theſe Fight? They look like Men of Clouts, ſet to keep Crows From Orchards: Why I dare Fight with theſe. Car. That's my good Chicken. Well Gentlemen, how d'ye feel your Stomacks? Mac. Mightily coming, Sir. Car. I find a little Grace will ſerve your turns. Give 'em ſome Wine. Mac. Not yet, we're very Buſie. Heng. Hark'e Fellow, Can ye do any thing but Eat? Mac. Yes, I can Drink too; prithee hold thy Peace, Little Boy, I'm buſie. Car. Here Famine, here's to thy General. Mac. Thank you; now I believe I have time To Pledge you. Car. Fill 'em more VVine, give 'em full Bowls. Now which of you all, in Recompence Of this Favour, dare give me a home Thruſt, In the next Battle? Mac. VVhy Faith Sir, to do you a ſufficient Recompence, I don' m •• h care, If I knock Your Brains out. C •• . 〈◊〉 , Faith I'll forgive thee. Hen. hou dar'ſt as well be hang'd: 〈…〉 his Brains out? Thou Skin of Man! 〈…〉 not 〈◊〉 his. 〈◊〉 〈…〉 don't ſ 〈…〉 my 〈…〉 〈1 line〉 VVhen I can get it. Hengo. You kill my Unkle? Car. He ſhan't Child. Hengo. He cannot, he's a Rogue; An Eating Rog e: Oh that I wear a Man! Mac. By this VVine, the Youth's brim-ful of Provocation; But 'tis no matter: Here Noble Caratach, Thy Health. 1. Sold. Hark ye, Macer, if he ſhould hang us now After all? Mac. Let him, I'll hang like a Gentleman and a Roman. Capt. your humble Servant: VVe thank you heartily For your good Chear; and ſhall be glad to meet you As well provided as we meet you now. Car. Go, ſee 'em to their Tents, their VVine Has over-Maſter'd them. [Exeunt Caratach, Hengo, and Nennius. Mac. Well; Bleſs the Founder, I ſay: A Pox of Theſe Britains, I ſay, how many pound of Beef Do they Devour to our one pound of Horſe-fleſh? [Exeunt.
SCENE the Temple. Enter Druids Singing; Bonduca, Claudia 2d. Daughter, Venutius, Nennius, Comes, Hengo, &c. 1 Dr. HEAR us, Great Ruguith, hear our Prayers: 2 Defend, defend thy Britiſh Iſle. Revive our Hopes. D 〈…〉 our Fears. 3 Nor L t 〈◊〉 Altars be the Roman Spoil. Chor. Deſ ••• d, 〈◊〉 Powers Divine, Deſcend 4 In Chariots of 〈…〉 ial Flame, And touch 〈…〉 s you Defend. Chor. O Save our Nation, 〈◊〉 our Name. 5 H 〈…〉 , ye Gods of 〈◊〉 ; •• ar us this Day: Let us •• t fali the 〈◊〉 〈…〉 's Prey. Clip, Clip their Wings, 〈…〉 n home; And Check the Towring 〈…〉 Rome. Oracle. ——Firſt l arn 〈…〉 . [Thunder here. Bond. You Powerful Gods of Britain, 〈…〉 our Prayers. Hear us, you Gre •• Revengers: 〈…〉 ay Take Pity from our 〈…〉 s; Dou 〈…〉 Valours: Double the ſad Remembrance of our Wrongs In every Breaſt: The Vengeance due to thoſe Make Infinite and Endleſs. Riſe from the Duſt, the Reliques of the Dead; Whoſe Noble Deeds our Holy Druids Sing. O Riſe, ye Valiant Bones; let not Baſe Earth Oppreſs your Honour, whilſt the Pride of Rome Treads on your Stocks, and wipes out all your Stories. Ven. Thou great Tyranes, whom your Sacred Prieſts, Arm'd with their Dreadful Thunder, play'd on high; Above the reſt of the Immortal Gods. Send thy Conſuming Fires, and deadly Bolts, And ſhoot 'em home: Stick in each Roman Heart, A Fear fit for Confuſion. Blaſt their Spirits: Dwell in 'em to Deſtruction: Through their Phalanx, Strike as thou ſtrik'ſt a proud Tree; Shake their Bodies; make their Strengths totter, And their hopleſs Fortunes Unroot: And Reel to Rome. Claud. O thou God! If ever to thy Juſtice, Inſulting Wrongs and Raviſhments of Women, With Virgin Innocence have Acceſs: Now hear me; Now ſnatch that Thunder up: Now on theſe Romans, Deſpiſers of thy Power, and of thy Altars, Revenge thy ſelf: Take to thy Killing Anger, To make thy great Work full; thy Juſtice ſpoken: And Utter Rooting from this Bleſſed Iſle, Of what Rome is or has been. Bond. Give more Incenſe; The Gods re D af or Drowſie. No happy Flame Riſes to raiſe our Thoughts: Pour on. 2d Daugh. See Heaven, and all you Powers that guide us: See, and ſhame we kneel ſo long for Pity At your lters; ſince 'tis no light Oblation, That you look for No Incenſe Offering; We will 〈◊〉 our Eyes And as we wear Theſe Sto 〈…〉 Hourly Weeping; So will we m 〈…〉 ur Pow'rs into Compaſſion. Hengo. This Te r for Proſutagus. My brave Father, Ye God's! Now think on Rome: This for my Mother, And all her Miſeries: O ſee and Save us. [A Smo •• from th Al •• r. Bond. The firſt takes! Car. It does ſo: But no Flame Riſes. Ceaſe your Fe •• ful Prayers; Your W 〈…〉 ings, and your Lame Petitions: The Gods Love Courage Arm'd with Innocence And Prayers fit to pull 'em down; weak Tears And Troubled Hearts, the Dull Twins of Cold Spirits, They ſit and Smile at. Hear how I ſalute them; Divine Andate: Thou who hold'ſt the Reins Of Furious Battles, and Diſorder'd War, And Proudly Rowl'ſt thy ſwarthy Charriot Wheels, Over the Heaps and Wounds of Carcaſſes: Sayling through Seas of Blood: Thou ſure Steel'd, Give us this Day good Hearts; good Enemies, Good Blows o' both ſides: Wounds that Fear or Flight Can claim no ſhare in: Steel us both with Angers, And Warlike Executions, fit thy Viewing. Let Rome put on her beſt ſtrength: And thy Britain, Thy little Britain; but as great in Fortune, Meet her as ſtrong as ſhe; as proud as daring: And then look on, thou Red Ey'd God, who does Reward with Honour: Who Deſpair makes fly; Unarm for ever, and Brand with Infancy. Grant this Divine Andate; 'tis but Juſtice, And my firſt Blow, Thus on this Holy Altar, I ſacrifice unto thee. [A Flame ariſes. Bon. It flames out. Car. Now ſing ye Druids: Sing, Sing ye Druids! All your Voices Raiſe, To Celebrate Divine Andate's Praiſe. Sing, Sing Divine Andate's Praiſe. Divine Andate! Preſident of War, The Fortune of the Day Declare. Shall we to the Romans yield: Or ſhall each arm that wields a Spear, Strike it through a Maſſy Shield; And Dye with Roman Blood the Field? [Thunder here. Oracle. ——Much will be ſpill'd. & 4 Dr. TO Arms, to Arms: Your Enſigns ſtrait diſplay: Now, now, now, ſet the Battle in Array. The Oracle of War Declares, Succeſs Depends upon our Hearts and Spears. Verſ. & Cho. Britains, Strike Home: Revenge your Country's Wrongs: Fight and Record your ſelves in Druids Songs. Bond. 'Tis out agen. Car. They've given us leave to Fight yet: We ask no more; the reſt hangs on our Reſolutions. Tempt Her no more. Bond. I wou'd know further, Couſin. Car. Her hidden meaning dwells in our Endeavours; Our Valours are our beſt Gods. Come, let's march. This Day the Romans gain no more Ground here Than what his Body lies in. Bond. On then my Soldiers; Thy Words have made me certain of Succeſs. For when brave Caratach does lead the way, The Britains cannot fail to win the Day. [Exeunt omnes praeter Comus and Venutius. Com. They muſt not then have Boys to fight their Battles. Ven. What ſays Comus? Com. I ſaid, Whilſt Women Rule, and Boys Command in War, We've askt the Gods what they will never grant us. Nor need Rome triumph for a Victory (O my Prophetick Fears) ſo cheaply purchaſed. Ven. A Victory, and by the Romans gotten? Where's then the Courage of our generous Britains, So lately try'd in the ſucceſsful Battles? O all ye Gods! Can there be more in Men? More daring Spirits? Still they make good their Fortunes, And let the Romans know, this little Iſle It ſelf a World is, more than that they've conquer'd. Com. And let the bold Venutius know, and tell it His proud vain-glorious Heart, e're the Sun ſets Poor Britain veils her Glories in everlaſting Darkneſs. Ven. O no, ſhe'll yet raiſe her victorious Head, Look o're the Rugged Alps, and make Rome tremble, Methinks I ſee the big War moving forwards: Heark how they ſhout to th' Battle! how the Air Totters and reels, and rends apieces With the huge vollied Clamours! Hear the Romans Tearing the Earth ith' the bitter Pangs of Death. The Britains there (Comus, methinks I ſee it) I'th' face of Danger preſſing on to Conqueſt. Com. Here the unhappy Queen (Hard Chance of War) by common Hands Stript of her Majeſty, and to the Roman General Led a Captive; there her two beauteous Daughters made the Slaves of Luſt and Scorn, Methinks I do behold that Heavenly Form, An Abſtract of all Goodneſs, The poor much pitied Claudia. Ven. Ha! what ſay'ſt thou? By Heaven, I fear thou art about to utter Something the baſeſt Roman Slave wou'd ſtart at Shall ſhe, my Claudia, ſay'ſt thou? But we trifle; And ſure thou didſt it only to whet my Courage, Of its ſelf apt and prone to execute. Com. Be it ſo then. See who dares moſt to day For Love and for thy Claudia, Thou or I. Ven. Now thou'rt brave, and I ſhall truly love thee: Sound all your dreadful Inſtruments of War, Till Romans beſt Sons ſtart at the Warlike Noiſe. Come on, and whilſt we thus together move, I'll ſhew Rome how to fight, Thee how to love. [Exeunt. Enter Suetonius, Petillius, and Roman-Officers. Suet. Now my brave Country-men, the time is come To gain a Conqueſt, or a Grave, in Britain. The Enemy, my Fellow-Soldiers, wait us. Are ye all ready? Pet. All our Troops attend, Sir. Suet. To bid you fight is needleſs, you are Romans, The Name will fight it ſelf. To tell you Who you go to fight againſt, his Power and Nature, But loſs of Time: Go on in full Aſſurance; Draw your Swords as daring And as confident as Juſtice. Go on, I ſay, valiant and wiſe; rule Heaven; And all ye great Aſpects attend 'em. Do but blow upon this Enemy, who but that We want Foes, cannot deſerve that Name; And like a Miſt, a lazy Fog before your burning Valours, you'll find him fly to nothing. This is all; We have Swords, and are the Sons of Ancient Romans, Heirs to their endleſs Valours; fight and conquer. Pet. That Man who loves not this day, And hugs not in his Arms the Noble Danger, May he die fameleſs and forgot! Suet. Sufficient. Up to your Troops, and let your Drums beat Thunder; March cloſe, and ſudden as a Tempeſt; keep your Phalanx Sure lin'd and piec'd together; your Spears forward, And ſo march like a moving Fort; e' •• Night ſhall come Britain ſhall give us Graves, or yield to Rome. [Exeunt omnes. Enter Caratach, Nennius, and Soldiers. Nen. The Romans are advanc'd; from yonder Hills We may behold them, Caratach. Car. Let's thither. [Moves forward. I ſee the Duſt fly; now I ſee the Body: Obſerve 'em, Nennius; by Heav'n a handſome Body! And of a few, ſtrongly and wiſely jointed. Suetonius is a Soldier. Nen. As I take it, That's he that Gallops by their Regiments, Viewing their Preparation. Car. Very likely. He ſhews no leſs than General; ſee how bravely The Body moves; and in the Head, how proudly The Captains ſtick like Plumes! He comes on apace: Good Nennius, go haſten my Brave Lieutenant; Bring on the firſt ſquare Body to oppoſe 'em; The Queen move next with hers, and wheel about, So gain their Backs, in which I'll Lead The Van Guard. We ſhall have bloody Crowns This day, I ſee by it; haſte thee, good Nennius, I'll follow inſtantly. How cloſe they March, As if they grew together: no place but lin'd alike, Sure from Oppreſſion. They will not change this Figure. We muſt Charge 'em, and Charge 'em home, They'll never totter elſe. Heark! I hear our Muſick, and muſt attend it. Hold, good Sword, but this day, and hereafter I'll make a Relick of thee for young Soldiers To come like Pilgrims to, and kiſs for Conqueſts. Oh, Great Andate, on thy Soldier ſmile, And drive theſe Romans from thy Britiſh Iſle. Enter Suetonius, Petilius, &c. Suet. O bravely fought! Honour till now, ne'er ſhew'd Her Glorious Face in the Field. Like Lyon Soldi'rs, You've held your Heads up this day. Where's young Junius? Pet. Gone to Heav'n, I think, Sir; I ſaw him fall. Suet. His worth go with him, for he was a Soldier. See he has all the Noble Rites of Funeral. Bravely he fought, my Friends, bravely he fell. And ſince i'th' bloody Field, he ſought a Grave, Let Warlike Inſtruments attend him thither. Heark, They come on again! Charge, Charge my Soldiers. Enter Caratach, Bonduca, Claudia, Venutius, Bonvica, and Hengo. Car. 〈◊〉 'em i'th' Flank: Oh, you have play'd the Fool, The 〈…〉 ly! Bond. 〈◊〉 Couſin? Car. The 〈◊〉 Fool: Why did you give the word Unto the Carts to 〈◊〉 down, and our People In gro 〈…〉 before the Enemy? We pay for it: our own Swords cut our Throats. Why do you offer to Command? Why do ye meddle in Men's Affairs? Bond. 〈◊〉 help all yet, my Soldier. [Exeunt. Car. Go home and Spin. Now comes the Tempeſt on: [A ſhout within. Oh Woman! Woman! At the firſt deſign'd A Plague, and ſure Deſtruction to Man-kind. [Exeunt. An Alarm. Enter Suetonius, Petilius, &c. Suet. Cloſe my brave Fellows; Honourable Romans: The World cannot Redeem 'em, they are ours. Charge cloſe, Petilius haſte, one ſudden blow Muſt be the Britains certain overthrow. [Exeunt. Enter Bonduca, Venutius, Claudia, Bonvica, &c. Bond. Whither fly you? Stay you ſhames of Britain: Back, back ye Cowards; Oh ye fearful Hares! Doves in your Anger? Will you leave your Queen? Leave her thus deſolate with her hapleſs Children, To Roman Rape and Fury? Enter Caratach, and Hengo. Car. Fly ye Buzzards, ye have Wings enough I find. 〈◊〉 Woman, Woman, thou haſt loſt all! Bond. Forgive me, Noble Caratach. Car. May Heaven forgive you; haſten to your Caſtle, 〈…〉 Refuge; farewel, wretched Queen. 〈◊〉 , how the Romans ring [ 〈◊〉 〈…〉 Away. [Exeunt Bonduca, &c. Hengo. Good Uncle, let me go too; I'm frighted at this noiſe; it ſounds, methinks, Like Thunder. Car. No, my Boy: Thy Fortune's mine, and I will never leave thee: Thou might'ſt have been an Heir to Britain's Crown; but that the ill Conduct of thy Mother loſt that. But heark, the Enemy approaches near; We muſt be gone, my Boy; but Heaven knows where: For Britain now ſubmits to Roman Powers, And nothing but our lengths of Earth are ours. [Exeunt.
ACT IV. Enter Venutius and Claudia. Ven. ALL's loſt! All's loſt! And our Britiſh Soil So often fed with dying Roman's Blood, Is now all cover'd o'er with ſlaughter'd Britains; Whoſe yet warm Gore lies reeking on the Plains, As if our Mother Earth refus'd a draught So horrid and unnatural. Claud. Where'er Our Fears Conduct us, ſtill we may behold The Dead, or Dying, whoſe louder Cries o'ercome The Exclamations of the Conquering Romans. Ven. Let 'em cry on, till their wild Voices reach You Auzure-Manſion of the Partial Gods; But they are Deaf, or ſure we might have hop'd for A happier Harveſt of our well-tun'd Prayers. Claud. Injurious Heav'n, where's now our Promis'd Bliſs? The good old Prieſt that ſhou'd have joyn'd our Loves! The Virgin Hands to lead us to the Temple, And Hymen's Lamp to ſmile upon our Joys! No Prieſts! No Virgins Hands, or Lamp of Hymen! Or if there is, 'tis blown into a Flame: The Flame of War, that with devoaring haſte, Bounds o'er the Land. Ven. O Claudia! Thou Beauties Excellence! Thou Glorious Prize of my yet fruitleſs Labours! The Cauſe, and the Reward of all my Toyls! Did I for thee, and Honour draw my Sword, And muſt I, muſt I ſheath it in Diſhonour? Claud. No more my Hero! For in ſpight of Fortune, (Fortune, a Coward-Slave, t'a Soul like thine) Thou ſtill art Great, far greater in thy ſelf, Than all the Conqueſts of Inſulting Rome. Let me gaze on thee, fly into thy Arms; Drown all my Cares in Ecſtacies of Joy! For tho' the World is loſt, I'll Triumph here. Ven. Hear this, ye Gods! Hear this! And from the Crowd Of all the Darling Romans, bring a Faith That dares to match with Hers. Claud. No. Tho' Conquer'd, I'm ſtill a Princeſs; Daughter To a Queen, the Great Bonduca: Her Whoſe powerful Arms have laſht the Fury Of thoſe ſtubborn Tyrants: theſe Sons of the Empire; Thunder-Bolts of War; whoſe wild Ambition Seems t'out brave the Stars. Ven. O thou Great Soul! Thou Generous Heir to all Thy Mother's Beauty, and thy Father's Virtue! How oft in times to come, when Fame ſhall ripen The Stories of thy Fortune, will the Virgins Bow to thy Name, and in the height of Wonder, Change all their Womans Fears for Manly Courage; And the young Hero ſledg'd with dear-bought Conqueſt Melt into Love; with to have liv'd like me, Thus to admire, thus cloſe to preſs thee ever. Enter Comes. Claud No more, my Love; ſee where the Pict appears! Good Heav'n! Does he ſtill live? And cou'd not Fate, Arm'd with ſo many Weapons, find his Head, And 〈◊〉 the Earth that Groans beneath the Monſter? I cou'd not ſight, my itching leſh oppos'd The Dictates of my Soul: Truth is, I never knew A wh 〈…〉 Lover, but he was a Coward; And yet they ſay, that Woman's oy, Venutius, That Youth, who has the Heroe and the Lover Blended together, did work Miracles; And in the foremoſt Ranks ſuſtain, the Battel. Why be it ſo, had ſhe encourag'd me, Like him, perhaps I might have dar'd beyond him. Ven. How gloomy, and diſtracted he appears! Claud. His Looks wear Horror, and his Thoughts Deſtruction. Com. She's but a Woman, proud and obſtinate: And when I know a thouſand may be had, Why ſhou'd I vilely loſe one thought on her, And to her Folly, Sacrifice my Quiet? Ha! She's here, and her proud Mignion with her: 'Tis fixt within, and Fate waits ready for him. Hail wond'rous Youth! Thou Glory of this Iſle; Bleſt Britain's Hopes, and Terror of the Romans, Whoſe Eagles that once led 'em on to Conqueſt, Now hide their Heads, and flag their trembling Wings. Claud. What means this Sycophant? Com. Whoſe very Name Can do the work of twenty thouſand Soldiers; The Nobl'ſt Tempers e'er drew Sword for Slaughter, Are proud to be compar'd to thee, thou Heroe, Whoſe yet Green Youth has done the work of Ages. Ven. Come, no more; I know thy Pride, and ſcorn it: But if thou art wiſe don't urge me beyond bearing. This Sword, ſtill warm with the bold Romans Blood, Ne'er yet unſheath'd, but in bright Honour's Field, Shall do a Murder on thee, if thou doſt. Com. Yes, now thou talk'ſt, ſtay, let me view him nearer: Is this Venutius? This the Youth that baſely Whiſtled his Honour off to the Wind, and coldly Shrunk his inglorious Head, whilſt the tough Soldier Sweat Blood and Spirit for a Glorious Harveſt? Thou Popingjay? Thou ten de •• ees beyond A Coward! What, fly to a Woman's Arms! Forſake the Field ſo baſely! Out upon't! Thou fit to fight with Romans! Thou a Soldier! Go home and hang thy Arms up; le 〈…〉 ot 'em: Go take a Diſtaff, Fool; for what brave Soldier, What Man that loves to fight for Britain, Will ever follow thee? Ven. Did I do this? Did I forſake the Field? Did I, when Courted by loud Fame and Fortune, Shrink back my Head, or in a Womans Arms Melt down my Manly Courage? O all ye Gods! Muſt I bear this? Muſt I with Patience hear it? Nay, then I am that Fool, that Thing he call'd me. Follow thou, Friend, follow me if thou dar'ſt. Come to the Field, there thou ſhalt ſee this Coward, This Womans Toy, this Popingjay, do Wonders; And what before the Admiring Army ſaw, Thou ſhal't behold again. Ha! Laugh'ſt thou, Hell hound? Com. Yes, to ſee thee Rave. Where's now thy Wiſdom, and that Manly temper Thou haſt ſo often bragg'd of? Behold now That Object Pict, as thou haſt proudly call'd me, Can move thy Soul, and work it beyond Madneſs. Claud. Out, thou infernal Monſter, Half Man, half Devil; but ten times worſe than both. Com. Good Lady Variety, are all my Actions So poor and loſt, my Services ſo barren, That I'm remembred in no Nobler Language? Claud. Remember! I'd blot thee from my Thoughts; Thy Perſon is ſo foul, thy Name ſo loathſome, It bliſters every Tongue dares mention it. Come, my Venutius, let us to the Fort Whither the loſt Bonduca is retired With my unhappy Siſter, and leave him To the worſt of Torments, his own Conſcience. [Exeunt. Com. Farewel, proud Fool, next time we meet, Your Tongue ſhall move in ſofter Terms, And your ſtiff heart bow down in Pray'rs To this loathſome Monſter, This hated Pict; for ere to-morrow's Light Your Sun ſhall ſet in Everlaſting Night. [Exit. Enter Caratach and Hengo. Car. How does my Boy? Hen. I wou'd do well; my Heart's well; I been't afraid, Uncle. Car. My good Boy. Hen. I know, Uncle, we muſt all die: My little Brother dy'd, I ſaw him die; And he dy'd ſmilingly; ſure there is no Great Pain in't, Uncle: But pray tell me Whither muſt we goe when we are dead, Uncle? Car. Strange Queſtions! Why, to the bleſſed'ſt Place, Boy: Eternal Sweetneſs And Happineſs dwells there. Hen. Will you come to me? Car. Yes, my ſweet Boy. Hen. My Aunt too, and my Couſins? Car. All, my good Child. Hen. No Romans, Uncle. Car. No, Boy. Hen. I ſhou'd be loath to meet them there. Car. No ill Men, That live by Violence and ſtrong Oppreſſion Come thither; 'tis for thoſe the Gods love, good Men. Hen. Why then, I care not when I go; for ſurely I am perſuaded they love me: I never did any thing To vex my Mother in my Life; and indeed, Ʋncle, Every Night, before I went to Bed, I ſaid my Pray'rs. Car. Thou ſhalt go there then, Indeed thou ſhalt. Heng. When they pleaſe, Uncle. Car. That's my good Boy: Art thou not weary, Hengo? Heng. Weary, Uncle! I've heard you ſay, you've march'd all day in Armour. Car. I have, Boy. Hen. Am I not of your Blood? Car. Yes, my Child. Heng. Then, 'pray', why can't I do ſo too? Car. Thou art too tender. Heng. What, to go upon my Legs, why they were Made to bear me; I can play Twenty Mile a day. I ſee no reaſon but to preſerve my Country And my ſelf, I ſhou'd walk forty. Car. What woud'ſt thou be? Living to wear a Man's ſtrength? Heng. Why, a Caratach: A Roman-Hater; a Scourge ſent from Heaven, To whip theſe proud Thieves from our Kingdom. Heark! Heark, Uncle! I hear a Drum! Enter Macer, and Soldiers. Mac. Beat ſoftly; ſoftly, I ſay. They are here. Who dares Charge,? 1. Sold. He that dares be knockt o'th' Head. I'll not come near him. Mac. Retire again, and watch then: how he ſtares! He has Eyes wou'd kill a Dragon. Mark the Boy well; if we cou'd take, or kill him: A pox upon you, how fierce you look! Back, on's Back I ſay; he has found us. [Retire. Car. Do you hunt us? Heng. Uncle, good Uncle; ſee the thin ſtarv'd Raſcal! The eating Roman! Kill him, dear Uncle, kill him. Car. Do you make us Foxes? Here, hold my Spear, and keep the place, Boy: I am at Bay, and like a Bull I'll bear him. Stand, ſtand ye Rogues; ye Squerrils. [Exeunt. Heng. Look, how he pays 'em! O, that I had a Man's ſtrength! Enter Macer. Mac. A plague of your heavy Hands; I'm glad I've cleap'd you: 〈◊〉 Here's the Boy! My own, I thank my Fortune. Heng. O Lord! Uncle! Uncle! Famine is fall'n upon me, Uncle. Mac. Come, Sir; yield willingly: your Uncle's out of hearing. Heark ye, Sirrah, give me the Spear; I ſhall Tickle your young Tail elſe. Heng. I defie thee, than Mock-made-Man of Mat. Heark'y, Sirrah; Charge home, or I ſhall tickle Your lean Carcaſe for you. Mac. As I live, the Boy will beat me. How it looks! Lookee, lookee; how the little Toad ſwells! Ye little Rogue, you; yield, or I'll cut your Head off. Heng. You cut my Head off, Sirrah? If I thought you Had any Brains, I'de daſh 'em out with the wrong end Of my Uncle's Staff: Come on, I have twenty ways To Charge thee; twenty Deaths attend my bloody Hand. Mac. Sure, 'tis the Devil, a Dwarf-Devil in a Doublet. Enter Soldiers running. Sold. Fly! Fly Corporal! He comes, he comes. Mac. The Devil take the hindmoſt. [Exeunt running. Heng. Ah you Rogues; you run-away Rogues. He comes, he comes, he comes: That's he, Boys. What a brave Cry they make. Enter Caratach with a Head. Car. How does my Chicken? Heng. Faith Uncle, grown a Soldier, a great Soldier: For by the Virtue of your Spear, and a ſtrange Fighting Face I put upon't, I have out-brav'd Hunger. Car. That's my Boy, my ſweet Boy: Here, here's A Roman's Head for thee. Heng. And very good Proviſion, Uncle. Before I ſtarve, My pretty Gentleman, I ſhall make bold to taſte The ſweetneſs of your Calves Head. Car. A right compleat Soldier; come Chicken, Let's go ſeek ſome place of ſtrength, (The Countrey's full of Scouts) to reſt a while in; Thou won't not elſe be able to endure The Journey to my Countrey: Fruits and Water Muſt be your Food awhile Boy. Heng. Any thing. 〈…〉 Moſs! I can live on Anger, To vex theſe Romans: Let's be wary, Uncle. Car. 〈…〉 you. Since you 〈◊〉 all of Britain have decreed; And that your Votaries muſt by Romans bleed. O Ruggiſh! O Andate! Oh ye Powers! Since you the Fall of Britain have decreed, Let then your Votaries by theſe Romans bleed. Rather than make us to the Conqueror Slaves, Give them our Kingdom, and give us our Graves.
ACT V. SCENE, 1. Enter Suetonius, Comes Dragging in Claudia. Claud. O Whither, whither wou'dſt thou drag me, Villain? Com. To do a Deed thou'lt thank me for, when done, Why all this vain reſiſtance? Can you move The Rocks or Trees to pity your Complaints? I am as firm, and reſolute in my purpoſe: Nor wou'd I quit my Purchaſe for a Kingdom. Where now is all the Pride? That Womans pride, With which you melt the Endearments of my Love? Claud. 'Tis here; 'tis fixt for ever in my Soul: I always ſcorn'd, but now I hate thee too. And ſure— If there are Gods, and Virtue be their Care, I'm ſtill ſecure from thy abhorr'd Attempts. Some unſeen Power will ſtrike thee in the Act; And Impotence blaſt all thy Expectations. Comes. Why, be it ſo? I'll put it to the Tryal, But Madam, you ſhall find, and find with Pleaſure, Not all the Powers of Heav'n can diſarm me. Come on; your Tears are now as vain and fruitleſs, As were my Pray'rs, when I ask'd your Love. Claud. Love! And to thee! Thou art a thing ſo Loathſome, Nature has ſhut thee quite from that thou art: Made like the Bird of Night, to be Purſu'd, Abhorr'd, and Loath'd, by all thy fellow Creatures. Com. Woman! Woman! Oh how I love this Pride! Thou now art fit to be belov'd by me; Not made to fill our Arms the Vulgar way. Claud. Oh, I have been to blame; my fooliſh Tongue Betray'd the weakneſs of my unwary Heart! Th'art Fair as Light, and Innocent as Truth: Royal by Birth, by Nature Excellent. Com. This is far more than my Revenge e'er hop'd for: Not only to enjoy thy Body, but Bent down thy Soul in Fear and Flattery; Which feeds both my Anger, and my Love. Nay, come, your Mignion's ſafely laid: His Sword, proud Beauty, will never more Be drawn in your Defence. Enter Venutius. Ven. Oh where! Where is this proud Imperious Villain? Claud. He's here; he's here. Ye Gods, poor Claudia thanks you. Ven. Have at thee Prince; thus I ſalute. [Draws. Com. Are you ſo hot, Sir? I have that Shall cool you [Fight here, and Comes falls. Curſe of your Sword! You are too ſure a Marks-Man. Ven Farewel; and tell thy fellow Devils below, 'Tis to Venutius's Sword, thou ow'ſt thy Death. A Fate too Noble, for a Wretch like thee. Com. I'm going, but leave my Curſe behind me. May'ſt thou ſtill Love, and be like me Rewarded. Death, Horror, and Deſpair! Where am I now? [Dies Claud. Come to my Arms, my Hero, born for Conqueſt: Dearer and Greater in the ſingle Combat, Than all the Labours of the buſie day! Ha! But he bleeds! O all ye Gods! He bleeds! Thoſe precious drops that might redeem a Kingdom; In ſilent pace, bear his dear life away. O fatal Conqueſt! dear bought Victory! O wond'rous proof of unexampl'd Love! Ven. Love! Yes, I call the unknowing Gods to witneſs, How much I love thee; through what Seas of Danger I have ventur'd for thee: Thou art that precious Diamond, that glorious Prize, which ſeated on a Rock; From far haſt drawn the Eyes of the Beholders! I the bold Lover, who in ſpight of Fortune, By Heav'n incourag'd, and Guided by my •• ve, Rode o'er the raging Waves, and bore thee off. Ha! Have I not? What Pict ſhall now oppoſe us? What Roman Sword ſhall interrupt our Peace? The Winds are ſtill; Heaven gently ſmiles upon us: 'Tis all Serene, and I am thine for ever. Claud. Alas! Thou Rav'ſt! 'Tis Madneſs all thou ut terſt Help, help! Where now are all thoſe Gods, The Poets in their wild fancies Dreamt Were in the Woods? No kinder Pow'r to hear A Virgins Pray'r? No Aeſculapius near, or Great Apollo? Ven No, 'tis too late: I find Death's Hand upon me; And feel my Soul, juſt ready for the ſally. Weep not, my Claudia: there are Joys in ſtore, For thee and me, tho' I am now no more. [Dies. Claud. He's dead, he's dead; and in my Cauſe! Oh thou dear Youth! Winged like a Perſeus for his reſcu'd Andromeda, Thou flew'ſt all Soul, all Love, to my Deliverance: And this is thy Reward! Oh, where's your Juſtice, Heav'n; when Virtue, that ſhou'd be the Charge of God's, muſt thus neglected; thus untimely bleed; And all that moſt deſerv'd to live, muſt die. But why do I live, ye Pow'rs! Why gave ye us poor Lovers, one Soul, And not one twiſted Thread of life, to break and Die toget her? No Venutius! The Gods are Partial. I'll mend the work of Heav'n: But can Tears mend it? Tears, the April-ſhower of Girls! No, I'll weep Blood! Enter Nennius, with Soldiers. Nen. Ceaſe Madam, ceaſe; by your untimely fall, You'll add to Royal Sorrow. The unhappy Queen, with your much Mourning Siſter, Are i'th' Fort, by Roman Powr's immur'd; nothing Remains but Death, or an Ignoble Flight, or Bondage. Claud. Death, Nennius; Death! Look here, then talk of Life; Lead on, I'll ſhow the way; and in my fall, Be great as any Roman of 'em all. Enter Bonvica and Julia. Bonv. Where ſhall the wretched Off ſpring of Bonduca fly. To eſcape thoſe diſmal Screams of Horror, That fill the Britains Ears? Oh whetched Mother! Unhappy Siſter! More unhappy I! Their Courage makes th' appoach of Death Seem pleaſing: But I have the true fearful Soul of Woman; and wou'd not quit the World. Julia, call Lucius, and bid him bring his Lute; Fain wou'd I leave this dire conſuming Melancholy. Enter Lucius with a Lute. Luc. I'd have the Song you taught me laſt. I fear, I do reſemble now the Swan, That Sings before its Death. Second SONG, by Miſs Croſs. OH! Lead me to ſome Peaceful Gloom, Where none but ſighing Lovers come. Where the ſhrill Trumpets never ſound, But one Eternal Huſh goes round. There let me ſooth my pleaſing Pain, And never think of War again. What Glory can a Lover have, To Conquer, yet be ſtill a Slave? After the Song, enter Meſſenger. Meſſ. Madam, the Queen expects you on the Walls; Your Siſter with you: the Roman Pow'rs Are all come down with Fury 'gainſt the Caſtle. Bonv. Then, then farewel to this World. I ſee, I ſee my Fate direct before me; My Mothers Fury greater than the Romans, Preſents me Death in a thouſand various forms. Oh all ye Britain Powers! Oh great Andate, Pity my Youth! Oh Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! [Exit. Appear Bonduca, Claudia, Nennius and Bonvica above. Bond. Now Claudia, now Bonvica, O my Children! Is the time come to ſhew your conſtant Valours? Think not, my Girls, we will be Slaves to Rome; No, we will ſhew theſe Lords o'th' World, theſe Romans, How they ſhou'd die with Honour: Hark! They come, ſince we muſt fall, fall bravely. Enter Suetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius and Soldiers. Suet. Bring up the Catapults, and ſhake the Walls; We will not be out-brav'd thus. Bond. Shake the Earth; You cannot ſhake our Souls: Bring up your Rams, And with their Armed Heads make the Fort totter. You do but rock us into Death. Dec. Yield Noble Queen. Bond. I'm unacquainted with that Language, Romans. Suet. Yield Honour'd Lady, and expect our Mercy; We love thy Nobleneſs. [Exit Decius. Bond. I thank ye, you ſay well, But Mercy and Love, are ſins in Rome and Hell. Suet. You cannot ſcape our Strength, you muſt Yield, Lady, you muſt adore, and fear the Power of Rome. Bond If Rome be Earthly, why ſhou'd any Knee With Bending Adoration Worſhip her? She's Vicious, and your partial ſelves confeſs, Aſpires the height of all Impiety; Therefore 'tis fitter I ſhou'd Reverence The Thatcht Houſes where the Britains dwell In careleſs Mirth; where the beſt Houſhold Gods See nought but chaſte and ſimple Purity, 'Tis not high Pow'r that makes a place Divine; But ſacred Thoughts in holy Boſoms ſtor'd, Make People Noble and the place Ador'd. [Exit Decius. Suet. Beat the Wall deeper. Bond. Beat it to the Center, We will not ſink one Thought. Bonv. O Mother! Theſe are fearful Hours: Speak gently To theſe fierce Men, they will afford us pity. Bond. Pity thou fearful Girl? 'Tis for thoſe Wretches That Miſery makes tame: Would'ſt thou live leſs? Waſt thou not Born a Princeſs? Can my Blood And thy brave Father's Spirit, ſuffer in thee So baſe a Separation from thy ſelf, As Mercy from theſe Tyrants? Say they had Mercy. The Devil! A Releuting Conſcience! The Lives of Kings reſt in their Diadems, Which to their Bodies, lively Souls do give, And ceaſing to be Kings, they ceaſe to Live. Enter Decius. Decius. There's a Breach made, is it your Will We Charge, Sir? Suet. Once more Mercy, Mercy to all that yield. Bond. Hear me, mark me well, and look upon me Directly in my Face, my Womans Face, Whoſe only Beauty, is the hate it bears you. See with thy narroweſt Eyes, thy ſharpeſt Wiſhes Into my Soul, and ſee what there inhabits; See if one fear, one ſhadow of a terrour, One paleneſs dare appear, but from my Anger, To lay hold on your Mercies. No, ye Fools, Poor Fortune's Fools, we were not born for Triumphs To follow your gay ſports, and fill your Slaves With oo s and cc amations. Pet. Brave Behaviour! Claud. The Children of as great as Rome; as Noble Our Names before her, and her Deeds our Envy; Muſt we gild o're your Conqueſt, make your State That is not fairly ſtrong but fortunate. No, no, ye Romans, we have ways to ſcape you To make you poor again, indeed our Priſoners, And ſtick our Triumphs full. Bond. D'ye wonder we'll make our Monuments In ſpight of Fortune, in ſpight of all Your Eagles Wings? We'll work a pitch above ye. Suet. Decius, go Charge the Breach. Bond. Stick in thy Body, and make it good but half an hour. Nenn. I'll do't. Claud. And then be ſure to Die. Nenn. It ſhall go hard elſe. Bond. Farewel, brave Nennius, we ſhall meet yonder, Where few of thoſe muſt come. [Exit. Bring up the Poiſon. Bonv. O my Fortune! Bond. Hah! What ſaid you? Bonv. Good Mother, nothing to offend you. Bond. Here, Girl: behold us, Romans. Suet. Mercy yet. Bond. No Talking, come, ſhort Prayers, and let's diſpatch The Buſineſs. You begin, ſhrink not. I'll ſee you do't. Bonv. O Gentle Mother! O Romans! O my Heart! I dare not. Suet. Woman! Woman! Unnatural Woman! Bonv. O! perſwade her Romans: Alas I am Young, And wou'd Live, Noble Mother. Can you kill That you gave Life to? Are my Years Fit for Deſtruction? Suet. Yield, and be a Queen ſtill, a Mother and a Friend. Bond. Ye talk in vain, come Drink it. Claud. Fie, Siſter, fie! What wou'd you live to be? Bonv. Mercy. O Mercy! Suet. Hear her, thou wretched Woman. Bonv. Mercy, Mother! O whither will ye ſend me? I was once your Darling. Your Delight. Bond. O Gods! Fear in my Family? Do it, and Nobly. Bonv. O! Do not frown then. Claud. Do it, Worthy Siſter. 'Tis nothing; 'tis but a Pleaſure; we'll go with you. Bonv. O! If I knew but whither! Claud. To the Bleſs'd above, where we ſhall meet our Father, Where nothing but true Joy is. Bonv. O! Comfort me ſtill for Heavens ſake. Claud. No Wars, no Luſtful Slaves to Raviſh us. Bonv. That ſteals me along; farewel to this World. [Drinks. Bond. That's my Good Girl. Claud. The next is mine. Show me a Roman Lady in all your Stories Dare do this for her Honour? Bond. Make haſte. Claud. I will. Wou'd you learn how to Die bravely, Romans; To fling off this Caſe of Fleſh, loſe all your Cares For ever, hunt Honour and not Nations with your Sword: Keep your Minds humble, your Devotions high, So ſhall you learn the Nobleſt part, to Die. [Dies. Bond. I come, my Noble Children, here, Here's the Draught wou'd ask no leſs than Caeſar's ſelf To pledge it for the Glories ſake. Suet. Madam, make up your own Conditions. Bond. So we will. Suet. Stay, be any thing. Bond. A Saint, Suetonius, when thou ſhalt fear and Die Like a Slave; ye Fools, you ſhou'd have ty'd Up Death firſt when ye Conquered. You ſweat for us in vain elſe, ſee him here, He's ours ſtill, and our Friend Laughs at your Pities; And we command him with as eaſie Reins As do our Enemies. I feel the Poiſon. Poor Vanquiſht Romans, with what matchleſs Tortures cou'd I now Rack you, but I pity ye, Deſiring to Die quiet; nay, ſo much I hate to proſecute my Victory, That I will give you Counſel e're I Die, If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole, Place in your Romans Fleſh, a Britiſh Soul. [Dies. Suet. Deſperate and Strange! Give her fair Funeral, ſhe was Noble, and a Queen. Petilius haſte, draw out three Companies, And make up inſtantly to Caratach. What means this Ceremony? Pet. The Body of Young Junius, that was Slain in the laſt Battle. Suet. Go then Petilius, do as I commanded. After due Ceremony done to th' Dead, The Noble Dead, we'll follow you. [Exeunt. Enter Caratach upon a Rock, and Hengo by him Sleeping. Cara. Thus we Afflicted Britains climb for Safeties, And to avoid our Dangers ſeek Deſtructions. Thus we awake to Sorrows, O thou Woman! Thou Agent for Adverſities! What Curſes This Day belong to thy Improvidence? To Britans, by thy means? What ſad Millions Of Widows weeping Eyes? The Strong Man's Valour Thou haſt betray'd to Fury; the Childs Fortune To fear and want of Friends, whoſe Pieties Might wipe his Mournings off, and build his Sorrows A Houſe of Reſt by his Bleſt Anceſtors. The Virgins thou haſt robb'd of all their Wiſhes, Blaſted their blowing hopes, turn'd their Songs, Their Mirthful Marriage Songs, to Funerals, The Land thou haſt left a Wilderneſs of Wretches. The Boy begins to ſtir, thy ſafety made, Wou'd my Soul were in Heaven. Heng. O Noble Uncle! Look out, I dreamt we were betray'd. Cara. No harm Boy, 'tis but thy Emptineſs, that breeds Theſe Fancies, thou ſha't have Meat anon. Hen. A little, Uncle, and I ſhall hold out bravely. Enter Macer and Soldiers with Meat and a Bottle. Macer. Hang it o'th' ſide o'th' Rock, as tho' the Britains Stole hither to Relieve him: who firſt ventures To fetch it off is ours; I cannot ſee him, He lies cloſe in a hole above, I know it, Gnawing upon his Anger: Ha! No, 'tis not he. 1 Sol. 'Tis but the ſhaking of the Boughs. Macer. Plague ſhake 'em, I'm ſure they ſhake me ſoundly. There. 1 Sol. 'Tis nothing. Macer. Make no noiſe, if he ſtir, a deadly Tempeſt Of huge Stones fall upon us: 'Tis done, cloſe, cloſe. Cara Sleep ſtill, ſleep ſweetly Child, 'tis all thou feed'ſt on; No Gentle Britain near, no Valiant Charity To bring thee Food; poor K 〈…〉 thou art Sick, Extream Sick, almoſt grown wild for Meat, And yet thy Goodneſs will not confeſs, nor ſhow it; All the Woods are double loin'd with Soldiers, No way left us to make a Noble Eſcape; I'll ſi down by thee, and when thou wak'ſt, Either get Meat to ſave thee, or loſe my Life I'th' Purchaſe: Good Gods comfort thee, Ha! Courage my Boy, I have found Meat; look Hengo, Where ſome Bleſſed Britain to preſerve thee, Has hung a little Food and Drink: Chear up Boy, Do not for ſake me now. Heng. O Uncle! Uncle! I feel I cannot ſtay long, Yet I'll fetch it to keep your Noble Life. Uncle I am heart-whole, and wou'd live. Cara. Thou ſha't long, I hope. Heng. But my Head, Uncle! Methinks the Rock goes round. Don't you hear the noiſe of Bells? Cara. Of Bells Boy! 'Tis thy fancy, Alas, thy Body's full of Wind. Heng. Methinks, Sir, they ring a ſtrange ſad Knell, A Preparation to ſome near Funeral of State. Nay, weep not, my own ſweet Uncle, You will kill me ſooner. Car. O my poor Chicken! Heng. Fie, faint-hearted Uncle! Come tie me in your Belt, and let me down. Car. I'll go my ſelf, Boy. Heng. No, as you love me, Uncle. I will not eat if I do not fetch it, The danger only I deſire, pray tie me. Cara. I will, and all my Care hang over thee; Come Child, my Valiant Child. Heng. Let me down apace, Uncle, And you ſhall ſee how like a Daw I'll whip it From all their Policies; for 'tis moſt certain A Roman Train, and you muſt hold me ſure too, You'll ſpoil all elſe; when I have got it Uncle, We'll be as merry— Cara. Go i'th' Name of Heaven, Boy. Heng. Quick, quick Uncle, I have it. Oh! Cara. What ail'ſt thou? Heng. O my beſt Uncle, I am ſlain! Cara. I ſee ye, and Heaven direct my Hand. Deſtruction go with thy Coward Soul. How do'ſt thou Boy? O Villain! Villain! Villain! Heng. O Uncle, Uncle! How it pricks me! Am I preſerv'd for this? Extreamly pricks me. Cara. Coward, Raſcal, Coward, Dogs eat thy Fleſh. Heng. O! I bleed hard, I faint too upon't. How ſick I am; the Lean Rogue, Uncle— Cara. Look Boy, I have laid him ſure enough. Heng. Have ye knockt his Brains out? Cara. I warrant thee, from ſtirring more; Chear up Child. Heng. Hold my Sides hard, ſtop, ſtop, O wretched Fortune! Muſt we part thus? Still I grow ſicker, Uncle. Cara. Heaven look upon this Noble Child! Heng. I once hoped I ſhou'd have liv'd to have met theſe bloody Romans At my Swords point, to have Reveng'd my Father's, To have beaten 'em. O hold me hard Uncle— Cara. Thou ſha't live ſtill I hope, Boy. Heng. I wou'd live a little longer; Spare me Heavens, but only to thank you For your tender Love. Good Uncle, Good Noble Uncle weep not. Cara. O my Chicken! My Dear Boy! What ſhall I looſe— Hen. Why a Child that muſt have Dy'd however, Had this eſcaped me, Feaver, or Famine: I was Born to Die, Sir. Cara. But thus unblown, my Boy. Hen. I ſhall go the ſtreighter my Journey to the Gods: Sure I ſhall know when you come, Uncle? Cara. Yes, Boy. Heng. And I hope we ſhall enjoy together That Great Bleſſedneſs you told me of? Cara. Moſt certain, Child. Heng. I grow Cold, my Eyes are going. Cara. Lift 'em up. Heng. Pray for me, and, Noble Uncle, when my Bones are Aſhes, think of your little Nephew. Mercy. Cara. Mercy, you Bleſſed Angels take him. Heng. Kiſs me, ſo farewel, farewel. [Dies Cara. Farewel the Hopes of Britain, Thou Royal Graft, farewel, farewel: Time, and Death, you have done your worſt. Fortune, now ſee, now proudly pluck off this Veil And view thy Triumph: Look, look What thou haſt brought this Land to; O Fair Flower! How lovely yet thy Ruins ſhow! How ſweetly, even Death embraces thee. The Peace of Heav'n; the Followſhip of all. Great Souls be with thee. Enter Suetonius, Petilius, with Roman Soldiers, Suet. Yield thee, bold Caratach; by all the Gods, I ſwear, As I'm a Soldier, as I envy thee, I'll uſe thee like thy ſelf, th' Valliant Britain. Petil. Brave Soldier, yield: Thou Stock of Arms and Honour! Thou filler of the World with Fame and Glory! Suet. Excellent Britain, do me but that honour; That more to me than Conqueſt, that true happineſs To be my Friend. Car. O Romans! See what here is! 〈…〉 Boy liv'd!— Suet. For Fame's ſake, forthy Sw 〈…〉 As thou deſir'ſt to build thy Virtues 〈…〉 Car. No Roman! No! I wear 〈…〉 Soul: A Soul too great for Slav'ry.— 〈…〉 Boy! My dear lov'd Hengo! From thy 〈…〉 down! Behold the laſt of thy great Race 〈…〉 ing! Suetonius, view this little Cas 〈…〉 , By Roman Rapine Robb'd of all his Wealth. A fair rich Soyl; that Precious Royal Gem, By Fate's too Barbarous Hand, untimely ſnatcht! Theſe Tears. I ſacrifice to thee, my Boy! But to my Queen, and my unhappy Country, This richer Purple Stream, my Blood I give. Suet. O thou too envy'd Miracles of Worth! What baſt thou done? Nas Rome, too poor a Miſtreſs, To Wed thee to her Arms? Not one Charm In all her Courting Smiles, and Proffer'd Lawrels? Car. Rome, Sir. ah, no! She bids a Price too ſmall, To Bribe me into Life: my bleeding Country Calls me to Nobler. Wreaths; and in her Fall, To mount a Star in Albion's long, long Night: And when her Caratach dies in ſuch a Cauſe, A Britiſh Tomb, outſhines a Roman Triumph. Suet. Prodigious Virtue! Car. Out-live my Country's Liberty! Shall Caratach dare but to think that Thought! Now Britain is all yours; but as my Blood, From this ſmall Fountain flows, grant me one Favour: Lay this Young Britiſh Roſe, Cropt in the Bud, Cloſe by my ſide; and ſince the World your own, Spare us but Earth enough to cover o'er Theſe ſmall Remains, and I ſhall ask no more. [Dies. Suet. That Hollow'd Relick! Thou Rich Diamond! Cut with the own Duſt! Thou, for whoſe wide Fame, The would appears too narrow all Man's thought, Had they all Tongues too ſilent! Thus I bow To thy moſt Honoured Aſhes, tho' an Enemy, Yet Friend to all thy Worths: Sleep peaceably. Happineſs Crown thy Soul, and in thy Earth Some Lawrel fix his Seat; there grow and Flouriſh: And make thy Grave an Everlaſting Triumph Farewel all Glorious Wars, now thou art gone. All Noble Battels! Maintain'd in Thirſ 〈…〉 and not of Blood. Farewel for ever. No 〈…〉 pleaſe, Bear off the Noble 〈…〉 a File High as Olimpus, that may 〈…〉 wonder, To ſee a Star on Earth, o 〈…〉 O ever Lov'd, and ever L 〈…〉 Thy Honour'd, and moſt 〈…〉 Memory!
EPILOGUE Spoken by Miſs. DENNY CHOCK, But Six Years Old. WELL, now to ſpeak a Good Word for the Play, Dear Gallants, but alaſs, What can I ſay? I am too Young for your kind Smiles to pray. When we ask Favours, Naughty Men, from you, We muſt be Old enough to grant 'em too. Old! Pray how Old! O Yes, our Cupid's Darts Must first be Feather'd, e're we ſhoot at Hearts; But theſe weak Eyes, too feeble Charms; 'tis true, You may look Babies there, but that won't do; We muſt be able to make Babies too. Who knows what Charms I have? I hear A Gentle Story whiſper'd in your Ear, Has that ſtrange power, nay, Sirs, if that will get ye, You'll find that I can prattle very pretty, You heard me t'other Day in Young Queen Betty. Such Honey-words, ſuch dear ſoft words I'll call, Say ſuch fine things, if ſaying will do all: Ah no, the ſoft white Birds that ſing to you, Muſt be grown up to Bill as well as Cooe, And I'm too ſmall to win your Hearts that way, But tho' I'm yet too Young for Turtles play, By your warm Suns a Blooming Flower I'll grow, And keep my Roſe-bud, for your Smiles to Blow. FINIS.
A Catalogue of ſome Plays Printed for 〈◊〉 . 〈…〉 tley in Ruſſel-ſtreet in Covent Garden. BEaumont and Fletcher s Plays: In all 51. in large Fol. Mr. Shakeſpear's Plays: In one large Fol. Volume, containing 43 Plays Mr. Nathaniel Lee's Plays: In one Volume. Mr. Otway's Plays: In one Volume. Mr. Shadwel's Plays: In one Volume. Mr. Dryden's Plays: In two Volumes. His other Poems: One Volume more. A. 1 All miſtaken, or the mad Couple. 2 Alexander the Great. 3 Andromache. 4 Ambitious Stateſman, or the Loyal Favourite. 5 Virtue Betray'd, or Anna-Bullen. 6 Abdellazor, or the Moor's Revenge. 7 Amorous Prince. 8 Amends for Ladies. 9 Albumazor. 10 Amboyna, a Tragedy. 11 All for Love, or the World well loſt. 12 Aurinzeb, or the Great Mogul. 13 Aſſignation, or Love in a Nunnery. B. 14 Brutus of Alba. 15 Byron's Conſpiracy, 1ſt. Part. 16 Byron's Conſpiracy, 2d. Part. 17 Banditti, or the Lady in diſtreſs. 18 Buſey d'Ambois. C. 19 Cambyſes King of Perſia, a Tragedy. 20 Chances, a Comedy, altered by the Duke of Buckingham. 21 Cleomenes, or the Spartan Heroe. 22 Caeſar Borgia. 23 Country Wit. 24 Caliſto, or the Chaſt Nymph. 25 Country Wife. 26 City Politicks. 27 Conſtantive. 28 Common-wealth of Women. 29 Counterf 〈…〉 . 30 Caius Marius. D. 31 Darius King of Perſia, a Tragedy 32 Dramatick 〈◊〉 , by Mr. Dryden 33 Deſtruction of Jeruſalem, in two Parts. 34 Duke of G iſe. 35 Dutch Lovers. 36 Duke of 〈◊〉 . 37 Diſappointment. E. 38 Epſome-Wells: 39 Engliſh Monſieur. 40 Eſquire Old Sap, or the Night Adventures. 41 Eſſex and Elizabeth, or the Unhappy Favourite. 42 Empreſs of Morocco. 43 Evening Love, or, Mock Aſtrologer. F. 44 Forc'd Marriage, or the Jealous Bridegroom. 45 The Fond Husband, or, Plotting Siſters. 46 Fool turn'd Critick. 47 The Fatal Wager. 48 Fatal Jealouſie. 49 Falſe Count. G. 50 Gentleman Dancing Maſter. 51 Generous Enemies, or the Rediculous Lovers. 52 Gloriana, or the Court of Auguſtus Caeſar. 53 Grateful Servant.