Britannia and Batavia: a masque. Written on the marriage of the Princess Royal with his Highness the Prince of Orange. By the late Mr. Lillo. Lillo, George, 1693-1739. 14 600dpi bitonal TIFF page images and SGML/XML encoded text University of Michigan Library Ann Arbor, Michigan 2007 October 004799829 T29686 CW109714079 K033911.000 CW3309714079 ECLL 0047503000

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 Britannia and Batavia: a masque. Written on the marriage of the Princess Royal with his Highness the Prince of Orange. By the late Mr. Lillo. Lillo, George, 1693-1739. 15,[1]p. ; 8⁰. printed for John Gray, London : 1740. With a half-title. Also issued as part of: 'The works of the late Mr. George Lillo' London, 1740. Reproduction of original from the British Library. English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT29686. Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).

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 eng

Britannia and Batavia: A MASQUE.

[Price Six-Pence.]

Britannia and Batavia: A MASQUE. Written on the MARRIAGE of the PRINCESS ROYAL With his HIGHNESS the PRINCE of ORANGE. By the late Mr. LILLO.

LONDON: Printed for JOHN GRAY, at the Croſs-Keys in the Poultry near Cheapſide. MDCCXL.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

Ithuriel. Eliphas. Britannia. Batavia. Liberto. Tyranny. Superſtition. Chorus of Country Lads and Laſſes. Chorus of Sailors and their Laſſes. Landlady. Chorus of Spectators. The Proceſſion. Mutes Slavery and Poverty, Attendants on Tyranny. Mutes Pride and Cruelty, Attendants on Superſtition. Mutes

Britannia and Batavia: A MASQUE.
SCENE the FIRST. A Pleaſant Country. Britannia aſleep under a ſmall, but rich Pavilion. Her Sword and Shield lying by her. Ithuriel her Guardian Angel with a drawn Sword, leaning on a Cloud, and ſuſpended in the Air near her. Ith. SLEEP, fair Britannia, ſleep ſecure; Thy own Ithuriel, happy in his Charge, Thy Guardian Angel wakes.
AIR I. Reſt is the Recompence of Toil, The nobleſt Fruit of Conqueſt, Peace; Learn but Content, high-favour'd Iſle, And nothing can your Bliſs increaſe. What Splendor riſes in the Eaſt, Now when the Sun has meaſured half the Day? Some alien Spirit ſure—
Deſcends, and ſtands before Britannia in a Poſture of Defence. Eliphas, the Guardian Angel of Batavia, deſcends with an Olive Branch in his Hand. Eliphas, as I think, The vigilant Protector of Batavia. El. Exalted Seraph, powerful and benign, Thou judgeſt right, I am indeed Eliphas. Ith. Diſtinguiſh'd as thou art, Prudent, and brave, and of approv'd Integrity, Thou can'ſt not doubt thy Welcome: Yet let me wonder, high and friendly Gueſt, Why thou haſt left thy Charge. El. Not ſo, bright Chief; Unable to defend her From proud Hiſpania's fierce and cruel Power, I've brought her here, To ſeek Protection from Britannia's Arms. Ith. For others Dangers I may not interrupt her calm Repoſe; Her Peace and Safety are my Care, Her Virtue is her own.
AIR II. El. 'Tis great to ſuccour the diſtreſt! Ith. Britannia's Bounty ſtands confeſt, Unequal'd and alone. El. Can loſt Batavia ſue in vain? Ith. Muſt Britain endleſs Wars maintain For Cauſes not her own. El. Behold the mourning Fair.
Enter Batavia in Mourning, ſupported; her Hair diſhevel'd, and her Coronet falling. Bat. Ah! me, ah! wretched, wretched loſt Batavia. Britannia wakes. Brit. Whoe'er thou art, thy Groans have wak'd Britannia. Bat. Kneeling. Thou great and juſt Defender of th'oppreſt, See at your Feet poor and diſtreſt Batavia: Her Cities ras'd, her ſacred Rights deſtroy'd, Her Nobles ſlaughter'd, and her Sons enſlav'd.
AIR III. O whither ſhall I turn me, whither fly, If you refuſe your Aid? By Friends forſaken, By my Foes betray'd, There's not on Earth ſo loſt a Wretch as I. O! whither, &c.
Brit. Ariſe, afflicted Fair, my Siſter, riſe; Believe, I feel and will redreſs thy Wrongs; Deceitful bloody Rome, and haughty Spain, Shall be compell'd to render back their Prey.
AIR IV. Brit. Let Tyranny devour, And build in Blood her Throne; Britannia holds her Power For righteous Ends alone. Bat. While Heaven refers to you the Fate Of Europe; while you hold the Scale, And may diſpenſe the caſting Weight, Juſtice and Virtue muſt prevail. Both repeat the first Stanza.
End of the firſt ſerious Interlude.
Enter a Chorus of Country Lads and Laſſes.
AIR V. Under the Greeenwood Tree. 1ſt Lad. Let envious Faction call me Slave, I know and feel I'm free. 1ſt Laſs. 'Tis well, briſk Sir, that you're ſo brave; I thought you bound to me. 1ſt Lad. Such lovely Eyes, 1ſt Laſs. Muſt tyrannize, And you their Captive be. 1ſt Lad. Love's Chains alone, True Britons own, Nor wou'd from them be free. Chorus. Love's Chains alone, &c.
Dancing ſuitable to the Occaſion. Exeunt.
SCENE A Palace. Britannia on a Couch in a Poſture expreſſive of Diſtreſs. On her Right Hand, Tyranny attended with Slavery and Want; on her Left, Superſtition attended with Cruelty and Pride. Ithuriel at a Diſtance weeping. Brit. Surpriz'd! betray'd! no Help, no Succour near! O moſt undone! O ruin'd, loſt Britannia! Tyr. Stubborn, ungrateful Fair, Blinded by Error will you ever ſcorn The friendly Hand that offers at your Cure? Behold thy Soul's Phyſician. Sup. Taſte of this Cup, and be enlighten'd: Thou haſt loſt no Freedom, Except the fatal Liberty to err; And Riches are but Snares; Thoſe we'll remove: But in return the Church Shall pour forth all her Benedictions on thee: Thou ſhalt abound in Grace. Brit. Deteſted Superſtition! Bloated Monſter!— Drunk with the Blood of Nations,—from my Sight. I'll have no more to do with thy Inchantments, Hence, Sorcerer, hence, and let me die in Peace. Sup. Conſult not Reaſon, cloſe the Eye of Senſe; So ſhall you judge aright, and ſee the better. We are your Friends. Brit. I know and I abhor you. Sup. Poor wand'ring Soul! She muſt be driven back into the Fold: Wholeſom Severities may ſet her right, And ſave her from Deſtruction. Tyr.

I truſt your pious Skill.

 Sup.

Whips, Chains and Racks,

Thoſe gentler Methods, May firſt be tried; If theſe ſhou'd ſeem too mild, You muſt impute it to our tender Mercy. Ith.

Now, Batavia, if thou haſt Gratitude,

Aſſert it now, and ſave diſtreſt Britannia. Aſide and Exit. Sup.

Hereſy is indeed a rank Diſeaſe,

But then the Fire's a never failing Cure. Tyr.

Take your own Way.

 Sup.

Nay, nay, I but adviſe;

The Church expects that you ſhou'd do her Juſtice: She but condemns—She never deals in Blood— She damns, 'tis true, the Wretch who ſpares her Foes; But begs, by me, your Mercy For this poor Heretick relapſed. Touch not her Life, ſinge not a ſingle Hair, Nor ſhed one Drop of Blood. Tyr.

I underſtand the Church, and know my Duty.

To his Attendants. Seize her, and bind her ſtrait.
AIR VI. Brit. Kneeling. Juſt Heaven! if e'er The Wretched's Prayer I hear'd, and eas'd his Pain; Now in return, Let me not mourn, Nor aſk Relief in vain.
Loud Shouts without, mixt with martial Muſick, Cries of Liberty, &c. Scene changes to the Proſpect of a calm Sea with a Fleet of Ships at Anchor. Enter Ithuriel, Eliphas, and Batavia, uſhering in Liberto, richly habited and attended. At whoſe Appearance, Tyranny, Superſtition, and their Followers run off in Confuſion. Liberto unbinds Britannia. Brit. Grateful Batavia! generous Liberto! Bounteous Heaven! O how ſhall I expreſs My Wonder, or my Thanks? Lib.

Fair Queen of Iſles,

Guardian of Liberty and ſacred Truth, In ſaving you we have preſerv'd ourſelves; Our Intereſt is the ſame. Brit.

Moſt Godlike Prince! O how ſhall Lreward thee!

 Lib.

To ſerve Britannia is its own Reward.

 Brit.

—It ſhall be ſo—

Prudence and Gratitude demand it of me— He beſt can guard the Freedom he reſtor'd, And well deſerves to wear the Crown he ſav'd. Aſide. What think'ſt thou of me Prince? Lib.

All muſt confeſs your Charms:

Fair and majeſtick, happy in your Offspring. Europe ſees few ſo great, and none ſo bleſt: Freedom, and Wealth and Power are in your Hand. Brit. Then here I place them all. Giving her Hand. Lib. And I with Joy accept 'em. Kiſſing it. 'Twere Folly to refuſe ſo great a Bleſſing. Whether Ambition, or the Love of Virtue, Sway moſt with me, my Actions muſt declare. Brit. By me you are not doubted, brave Liberto: And let inveterate Malice do her worſt, Grateful Poſterity ſhall clear your Fame. Bat. O happy Change! O glorious Revolution!
AIR VII. Lib. To conquer without Blood; Brit. To reign for others Good; Bat. Loſt Freedom to reſtore; Brit. This is the Hero's Praiſe: Bat. For this we Temples raiſe, Lib. And juſtly Heav'n adore. All three. To conquer, &c.
End of the ſecond ſerious Interlude.
A Chorus of Sailors.
AIR VIII. When the Stormy, &c. 1ſt Sail. You Terror of Britannia's Foes, Whoſe Valour does maintain Her Power, where'er the Ocean flows, Or ſtormy Tempeſts reign; For Liberty reſtor'd, Now let your Joys o'erflow: As on the Shore The Billows roar, When the ſtormy Winds do blow.
Enter Landlady, follow'd by a Train of young Women.
AIR IX. Land. Well fare your Hearts, my jovial Boys, You ranting, roaring Sons of Noiſe, See who are come to aid your Joys, And hail you ſafe to Shore: See here the Treaſure of our Iſle, Here reap the Fruits of all your Toil, And all your future Cares beguile, With fal, lal, &c. Chorus See here, &c.
Dancing.
Scene a magnificent Monument in the Front of the Stage. At the Foot of which Batavia is diſcovered, leaning on an Urn.
AIR X. Bat. Tho' hopeleſs, I muſt ever languiſh: Nor Time, nor Fate, can eaſe my Anguiſh, Still adoring, Still deploring Loſt Liberto: endleſs Grief! Will the cruel Grave return him, Can I ever ceaſe to mourn him? Will my Sorrows bring Relief?
Enter Eliphas. El. Ariſe, Batavia, and with Wonder hear How generous Britannia has deviſed To pay her Tribute to Liberto's Fame, And make her Gratitude, like that, immortal. She on the Princely Youth, In whom Liberto's Name Muſt live or be extinguiſhed, Does Wiſdom, Beauty, Majeſty beſtow, Domeſtick Happineſs, Wealth, Fame, and Power; To ſum up all that may be ſaid or thought She gives,— The Firſt-born Princeſs of her Royal Houſe, Replete with ev'ry Virtue, for his Bride. Her joyful Sons With Acclamations rend the Skies; Aſſiſt, Batavia, and increaſe their Joys: Now prove how you regard your Princely Char •• ▪ And what you owe Liberto, Pay to his dear Remains.
AIR XI. Hark, from Britannia's Shore The Cannons loudly roar; The Horizon how bright? Ten thouſand Piles of Fire, Waving to Heaven aſpire, And turn to Day the Night.
Chorus of Spectators.
Scene the Proceſſion of the Marriage of the Princeſs Royal with his Highneſs the Prince of Orange in the ſame Order, and as near as poſſible with the ſame Magnificence, as it was really perform'd.
AIR XII. Spec. Ten thouſand Joys Attend the Princely Pair, Whilſt ev'ry grateful Briton Applauds his Sovereign's Care; Who on Naſſau beſtows, (A Name to Britons dear, Whence ev'ry Bleſſing flows, And we with Tranſport hear) Anna, that Royal Dame, Our Bleſſings to inſure; That Freedom like his Fame, May evermore endure. Chorus. Ten thouſand, &c.
THE END.