Lucius, the first Christian King of Britain: A tragedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By His Majesty's servants. By Mrs. Manley. Manley, Mrs. (Mary de la Rivière), 1663-1724. 67 600dpi bitonal TIFF page images and SGML/XML encoded text University of Michigan Library Ann Arbor, Michigan 2007 January 004805524 T38771 CW109502964 K039296.000 CW3309502964 ECLL 0048400400

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 Lucius, the first Christian King of Britain: A tragedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By His Majesty's servants. By Mrs. Manley. Manley, Mrs. (Mary de la Rivière), 1663-1724. [12], 54, [2] p. ; 4⁰. printed for John Barber on Lambeth-hill, and sold by Benj. Tooke at the Middle-Temple Gate, Henry Clements in St. Paul's Church-yard, and John Walthoe, jun. over-against the Royal Exchange Cornhill, London : 1717. With an epilogue. Reproduction of original from the British Library. English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT38771. 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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LUCIUS, THE FIRST Chriſtian King of Britain. A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in Drury-Lane. BY His MAJESTY's Servants.

By Mrs. MANLEY.

LONDON: Printed for John Barber on Lambeth-hill, and ſold by Benj. Tooke at the Middle-Temple Gate, Henry Clements in St. Paul's Church-yard, and John Walthoe, jun. over-against the Royal Exchange, Cornhill, 1717.

TO Sir RICHARD STEELE.

WHEN Men caſt their Eyes upon Epiſtles of this Kind, from the Name of the Perſon who makes the Addreſs, and of Him who receives it, they uſually have Reaſon to expect Applauſes improper either to be given or accepted by the Parties concern'd. I fear it will, at firſt Sight, be much more ſo in this Addreſs, than any other which has at any Time appear'd; but while common Dedications are ſtuff'd with painful Panegyricks, the plain and honeſt Buſineſs of this, is, only to do an Act of Juſtice, and to End a former Miſunderſtanding between the Author, and Him, whom She, here, makes Her Patron. In Conſideration that one knows not how far what We have ſaid of each other, may affect our Character in the World, I take it for an Act of Honour to declare, on my Part, that I have not known a greater Mortification than when I have reflected upon the Severities which have flow'd from a Pen, which is now, You ſee, diſpos'd as much to celebrate and commend You. On Your Part, Your ſincere Endeavour to promote the Reputation and Succeſs of this TRAGEDY, are infallible Teſtimonies of the Candour and Friendſhip you retain for Me. I rejoice in this publick Retribution, and with Pleaſure acknowledge, That I find by Experience, that ſome uſeful Notices which I had the good Fortune to give You for Your Conduct in former Life, with ſome hazard to my Self, were not to be blotted out of Your Memory by any Hardſhips that follow'd them.

I KNOW You ſo well, that I am aſſur'd You already think I have, on this Subject, ſaid too much; and I am confident You believe of Me, that did I not conceal much more, I ſhould not ſay ſo much. Be then the very Memory of diſagreeable Things forgotten for ever, and give Me leave to Thank You for Your Kindneſs to this PLAY, and in return, to ſhew towards Your Merit the ſame Good-will. But when my Heart is full, and my Pen ready to expreſs the kindeſt Sentiments to Your Advantage, I reflect upon what I have formerly heard You ſay, That the Fame of a Gentleman, like the Credit of a Merchant, muſt flow from his own intrinſick Value; and that all Means to enlarge it, which do not ariſe naturally from That real Worth, inſtead of promoting the Character of either, did but leſſen and render it ſuſpicious. I leave You therefore, to the great Opportunities, which are daily in Your Power, of beſtowing on Your Self, what no Body elſe can give You; and wiſhing You Health and Proſperity, I omit to dwell upon ſome very late Actions of Yours in Publick, which unhappy Prejudices made, as little expected from You, as the Zeal and Sollicitude which You ſhew'd for my private Intereſts in the Succeſs of this PLAY. I ſhall ſay no more, truſting to the Gallantry of Your Temper for further Proofs of Friendſhip; and allowing You, like a true Woman, all the good Qualities in the World now I am Pleas'd with You, as well as I gave You all the ill One's when I was Angry with You: I remain with the greateſt Truth,

SIR, Your most humble, moſt faithful, and moſt oblig'd Servant, De la Rivier Manley.
THE PREFACE.

I Cannot ſuffer this PLAY to paſs into the World, without expreſſing my Gratitude to the Ladies, who, in ſuch a diſtinguiſhing Manner, graced and ſupported it. So much Beauty and good Nature, could not fail of rend'ring that Perſon happy, for whoſe Benefit they were employ'd: I think my ſelf infinitely bleſs'd in their Smiles, ſince I can be ſenſible of no greater Glory, than to hear, that I have had the Honour to Pleaſe Them.

TO tell the World that Mr. Booth and Mrs. Oldfield's Action was admirable, in the Parts of LUCIUS and ROSALINDA, is ſaying nothing New; they are ſo us'd to Charm the Audience, and Delight the beſt Judges of the Theatre: However, I beg leave to make them my publick Acknowledgments, and to pleaſe my ſelf with what I have heard reported of their Performance in this PLAY, which is, That tho' they have often ſhin'd in ſeveral greater Parts, yet, none ever became them better. Mr. Booth's maſterly and graceful Action ſupported LUCIUS; whilſt Mrs. Oldfield's Charms, and enchanting Manner, gave Life and Beauty to the QUEEN.

PROLOGUE, By Sir RICHARD STEELE. NAT Lee, for Buskins fam'd, would often ſay, To Stage-Succeſs He had a certain Way; Something for all the People muſt be done, And with ſome Circumſtance each Order won; This He thought eaſy, as to make a Treat, And, for a Tragedy, gave this Receipt. Take me, ſaid He, a Princeſs Young and Fair, Then take a Blooming Victor fluſh'd with War; Let Him not owe, to vain Report, Renown, But in the Ladies Sight cut Squadrons down; Let Him, whom they themſelves ſaw win the Field, Him to whoſe Sword they ſaw whole Armies yield, Approach the Heroin with dread Surpriſe, And own no Valour Proof againſt bright Eyes: The Boxes are Your own—the Thing is hit, And Ladies, as they near each other ſit, Cry, oh! How movingly that Scene is writ? For all the Reſt, with Eaſe, Delights you'll ſbape, Write for the Heroes in the Pit, a Rape: Give the Firſt Gallery a Ghoſt; on th' Upper, Beſtow, tho' at that diſtance, a good Supper. Thus all their Fancies, working their own Way, They're Pleas'd, and think they owe it to the Play. But the Ambitious Author of theſe Scenes, With no low Arts, to court your Favour means; With Her Succeſs, and Diſappointment, move, On the juſt Laws of Empire, and of Love!
PROLOGUE. By a Young GENTLEMAN. Spoken by Mr. Walker. IN ancient Days (the Time we do not know, It is ſo very, very long ago) Envy was forc'd to lead an harmleſs Life, To ſtay at home, a meer Italian Wife. Wou'd ye believe it, Ladies? Tet, 'tis true, She had not learn'd to Dreſs like One of Tou: Nor did ſhe then appear a thoughtleſs Beau, Nor wore Cockades, nor into Armies go. To Play-houſes ſhe ne'er preſum'd to come, And rarely viſited the Drawing-room: Ev'n Maſquerades, where no One ſhews the Face, Would not admit of Envy in the Place. Ah! happy Days, when Dulneſs fear'd no Laſh, The Author gave no Wit, yet got his Caſh: When an Attempt to Pleaſe, was taken well, And, on weak Woman, never Critick fell. But our new Taſte, brings on a new Demand, For Wit alone, at preſent, cannot ſtand; You muſt have Scandal, Politicks, and Traps, To raiſe the Ladies Bluſh, and Footmens Claps. What can poor We expect, in ſuch a Caſe? Dare Engliſh Tragedy plead Hopes of Grace? No Party favour'd, no Deſigns in view, To make Old Times, club Faction with the New. No double ſoft Entenders to excite, No Politicks to pleaſe the Wiſe to Night, Such a dull Play, could any Modern write? Alas! we own the Allegation juſt, But 'tis to You, the ſhining Fair we truſt; As You are Fair, our Author hopes to find, You can Forgive, and then You will be Kind.
Dramatis Perſonae. MEN. Mr. Thurmond. Mr. Ryan. Mr. Booth. Mr. Mills. Mr. Bowman. Miſs Tounger.   WOMEN. Mrs. Oldfield. Mrs. Horton. Mrs. Baker. Flamens, Guards, Soldiers.

Scene the Capital of AQUITAIN.

LUCIUS.
ACT I. SCENE I. The PALACE-GARDEN. Enter Lucius and Arminius. Arm. WHY does the conqu'ring Lucius now deſpond; Why does my Lord, with ſecret Sorrow mourn, Why thus averſe to every Sound of Joy; When Fortune crowns you with her choiceſt Favours, Makes you the Soldiers Pride, and Wiſh of Beauty? The coldeſt Maid that ever grac'd a Court, At your approach, drops all her haughty Airs; New rolls her Eyes, new coins her Face in Smiles, And her long-practis'd Scorn is then no more. Luc. O Albany! I cannot bear thy ſearch. Arm. I muſt proceed, and name the beauteous Queen. Luc. Ha! ſay'ſt thou? What of her, Arminius? Arm. The mourning Roſalind in Sorrow dreſs'd, Can charm beyond the gaudy Smiles of others! Luc. I view, indeed, the captive Queen with Pity. Arm. My Friend, does ſhe not rule thy Soul? Luc. She does! ſhe does! my charming Queen reigns here, Triumphant in her native Throne, my Heart: Diffuſive is her Sway, War yields to Love, Nor know I any Wiſh, but for her Beauty. Arm. Oh ſure Deſpair, as certain Death for me! [Aſide. Luc. Why ſighs my Friend? Is ſhe not heav'nly Fair? Arm. Oh Guardian Powers of Britain! ſave him now, Oh ſave the lovely Youth from pleaſing Ruin! Haſt thou forgot? alas! the Queen's a Chriſtian, Apoſtate to our Altars, and our Worſhip. Luc. In her alone all my Devotion centers; My Heart (when I ſuch wond'rous Charms ſurvey) In her adores the All-creating Power. Nor can Perfections, great as hers, miſlead; She cannot be miſtaken; cannot err: Or if ſhe cou'd, with Roſalind to err, Were better than believing with another! Arm. Beware the Miſchiefs which attend her Love. Thy Father, ſtyl'd, the cruel King of Britain, Is to the Chriſtian Sect a moſt invet'rate Foe. Luc. Love were not Love, cou'd it admit of Fear. Arm. Think how, when Lord of Verulam, he ſlew The good, the rightful Majeſty of Britain; Slew, at a peaceful Banquet, that brave Monarch. The Queen (ſcarce up from Childbed of a Son, Who ſoon expir'd) he forc'd to his loath'd Bed, In hopes the Prince of Cambria, her Brother, Wou'd prove a Friend, to his bold Uſurpation: And yet Heav'n ſmil'd upon the horrid Nuptials, And bleſs'd the Tyrant with the God-like Lucius. Luc. Tho' ſprung from one, I have no Tyrant's Soul, Am I to blame? Cou'd I direct my Birth? Cou'd I concur to Be? Was the Choice mine? My Mother early paid the Debt of Nature; Of me ſhe dy'd: may that attone the Crime Of wedding with her Husband's Murderer. Arm. Still, there's a Secret will thy Hopes deſtroy, Thy Father does himſelf the Queen adore; His Love began, ſoon after thou wert ſent To aid the Gallick King againſt his Brother. Luc. O fatal War! wou'd I had never ſeen it. Arm. Thy Father, at a Royal Interview, Receiv'd a Dart from Roſalinda's Eyes, The beauteous Heireſs of my Uncle's Crown, Then to the King of Aquitain betroth'd: He ſtrove in vain to croſs the promis'd Nuptials, For his own Bed courting the deſtin'd Bride. Long Enmity between the Picts and Britons, Their native Hate, and Contract with Otharius, Caus'd the Refuſal of your Father's Suit. Luc. The Fame of this Affront reach'd us abroad. Arm. Love was the ſecret Motive of the War; Hence he invaded Albany with Fury: And with my Uncle's Death the Slight reveng'd. How has he gall'd the Picts with heavy Yokes! How every Day oppreſs'd our conquer'd People! How in theſe foreign Wars, and diſtant Climes Forc'd us for him to carry hated Arms! Eager to proſecute his furious Love, He croſs'd the Seas to make the Queen a Widow. Too well his Chance in War ſucceeded here; Otharius, he was ſlain, and we the Victors. Luc. This Morning with the Gallick King he comes Triumphant o'er the Fate of Aquitain. Arm. Soon as your conqu'ring Arms had forc'd this City, With Orders I was ſent to plead his Love: But ſhe, with Indignation, has refus'd him. I dread to ſay, how ill I have ſucceeded. His Tyrant Temper will not yield to Reaſon, Nor can the Name of Son, abate his Rage. Cure or conceal your Love, or you are loſt. Luc. Conceal my Love? conceal a raging Fire, Conceal the Blaze, when it invades the Sky: As well unbounded Storms may be conceal'd. Arm. Sure this Etherial Fire was ſtruck by Jove. Oh no! the God of Love has greater force; He animates you thus; thus moves your Frame, And brings inimitable Graces with him. Feels not the Queen the Force of all thoſe Charms? A Dawn of Joy breaks from her gath'ring Smiles, With all the Softneſs, which fore-runs her Sex's Yielding. Luc. Ten Months I've offer'd ineffectual Vows; Ten Months purſu'd the Fair with ardent Love. No more—the Princeſs Emmelin appears: I'll go this very Hour, and urge my Fate; Ere my ſtern Father comes, I muſt be bleſs'd, Be ever bleſs'd, or elſe for ever wretched. Haſte all ye Loves, and Graces to my aid; Dwell on my Voice, and languiſh in my Eyes; Bright Cytherea, from thy Heav'n look down, Grant, Venus, grant, that I her Heart may move; For me thy Slave, make her thy Votary. Propitious now, thou ſhalt my Goddeſs be, And I'll Devote my happy Hours to thee. [Exit Luc. Enter the Princeſs Emmelin. Emm. I met the Prince—how has thy ſearch ſucceeded? Arm. Alas! too well. Emm. And grows the Hero, Lucius, ſick for Love? That ſtubborn Heart in Camps, and Slaughter bred, Unus'd to Beauty and its ſoft Delights? Oh Sympathy of Sex! oh Force of Nature! What haughty Victor ſtops not at thy Call? What Courage melts not at the ſight of Beauty? Oh Roſalind! how glorious are thy Chains! How much ſuperior to the Crowns of others! Arm. As next of Kindred to the Alban Throne, Whilſt none but elder Rivals had declar'd, I had ſome diſtant Hopes of being heard. Emm. If I have Credit with the King, you ſhall; We are my Brother's Captives, not the Britons. But oh! what Hope haſt thou to gain her Heart? Where is the Hero, that dares rival Lucius? At the young Warrior's Sight, each Virgin Breaſt Throbs with an Extacy unutterable. Scarce Venus feels more Tranſport in her Grove, When kindling Wiſhes hurry on to Love. Arm. I own the Danger of ſuperior Charms; I own, his Power and Valour, Youth and Form, Are Rivals dreadful to my boldeſt Hopes: And yet, in Counſel with my kinder Stars, Cunning and Conduct may out-wit the Hero, And aid my feeble Hand to reach his Heart. Emm. Thou ſtrik'ſt not there, Arminius; I oppoſe; And, like his better Genius, guard the Warrior. Know, I have ſeen him with indulgent Eyes; As thou for Roſalind, I ſigh for him. Arm. Be he immortal then, as are your Charms, Within that beauteous Empire ever ſafe. Emm. Thou haſt reſolv'd his Fate, I read thy Soul, This ten long Months I've ſtudy'd thy dark Breaſt And know the Want of Vertue in thy Frame, Which muſt ſubject thee to the Mind, that knows thee: Wherefore, I left my Modeſty a-while, Reveal'd my virgin Love to guard its Object. Honorius comes; with him the Britiſh King: Protect my Lucius from his Father's Rage, Or by our Nation's Gods, thy Queen ſhall know, 'Twas thy ill-fated Arm, which ſlew Otharius. Arm. Why, with Reproaches, does your Highneſs load me, For what to you alone I have diſclos'd? Is this the End of all your promis'd Favour? That promis'd Favour, which upheld my Hopes. Yet, wherefore ſhould I ſhrink at your reproach? In Battle, bravely did I take his Life; That bar to Roſalinda's Throne and Bed. Emm. Spare but young Lucius, and your Secret's ſafe: Nay, all that I can do to gain the Queen. Arm. Well does the King your Brother love his Siſter. Honorius rules the Fate of Roſalinda: Direct her to my Arms; and Vortimer (Whoſe Ear I've gain'd by flatt'ring of his Love) Shall give the Prince to yours. Emm. Oh Albany! that ſoars above my Hopes, My haughty Soul would not reveal its Weakneſs; Yet ſomething muſt be done, I'll think again. But thou, my careful Genius, guard me well, And thou, my Modeſty, be faithful to me; Heave not, my Boſom, when the Invader's nigh; Throb not, fond Heart, to beat to him thy Secret: My Eyes, take heed how ye my Pain expreſs, Strike not one Spark that may the Flame confeſs. He can't deſpiſe, who does not know our Store: 'Tis proffer'd Love makes all our Beauties poor. [Exit Emm. Arm. Ha, is it ſo? Princeſs I was to blame, To think a Woman's Friendſhip void of Int'reſt: Th' Advances which ſhe made, are now explain'd. She watch'd Prince Lucius with a jealous Eye, And taught ev'n me, firſt to ſuſpect his Paſſion: Be cautious of thy Fate! I fear her Cunning; Guard thee my Heart, be wary of her ſearch, Elſe ſhalt thou never ſteer amidſt theſe Dangers. Enter Sylvius. Oh Siſter! I have News: The Prince of Britain Adores the widow'd Queen of Aquitain. Did thy ſoft Sex and Royal Blood deſcend To wear the humble Habit of a Page; To watch each lucky Minute of the Fates, And let another blaſt thy Brother's Hopes? Syl. I love my Brother with a Siſter's Love, As much as e'er a Siſter lov'd a Brother: But when compar'd to what I feel for Lucius, How weak, how lambent is the kindred Flame! Then not for thee, but him, I left my Sex, Left the gay Pleaſures of the Britiſh Court, Thus in a ſervile Garb to follow Lucius, To hear his Voice, and view his lovely Perſon: For with the Dawn I took his Beauties in; The vital Air, the Sighs which firſt I breath'd, Were all inform'd, were all inſpir'd by Lucius. Arm. Shall Roſalinda then poſſeſs thy Lover? Syl. Not till Alenia dies. Arm. Earth, Hell and all aerial Daemons join, Join they with us, to blaſt his hated Paſſion. Born on the Wings o'th' Wind, the Wizard Alm'rin, Mighty in Spells, in Charms and Magick Lore, From Norway came, to aid our hapleſs Loves. Ten ſleepleſs Nights in Magick Rites have paſt, And thus, this Morn, he has our Doom pronounc'd; "Divide the Lueen and Lucius, ye are bleſt, "And in his Arms Alenia's Grief ſhall reſt: "For Roſalinda thou ſhalt ſigh no more, "If thou with her canſt touch thy native Shore: "But oh! be ſwift, their ſtronger Stars may join; "Employ Force, Fraud: This Day and Night are thine. Syl. The Fates are kind, their Oracle is good. Arm. If Scruples weak and vain ſway not thy Mind, Alenia, we may yet be bleſt. Oh ſay, Wilt thou unerring with thy Brother join, In mutual Aid to gain our mutual Loves? Syl. Implicitly I will. Arm. Give me thy Vow. Syl. I ſwear to act in Concert with my Brother. Arm. Hold'ſt thou thy Favour with the Queen? Syl. I do. She calls me faithful Boy, the only one Of all her vaſt Retinue ſhe can truſt. Embolden'd by this Grace, I told the Queen, There was a Prince, who always mourn'd her Fate, In Words ſo tender, with a Voice ſo ſweet, I lov'd, yet griev'd to hear the moving Story. She ask'd me all tranſported, Is it Lucius? I ſigh'd and paus'd, not daring then to name you. Arm. Back deareſt Maid, and watch their every Glance, Bring, me if poſſible, their very Thoughts; That all tranſparent I may view their Souls. [Exit Sylvia. Her Heart for Lucius touch'd! the Idol bleeds: Tho' tis not fit, this Girl ſhou'd know my Purpoſe. Ariſe Invention, aid my lab'ring Soul; Fair are all Ways, which carry to the Goal. So, fir'd by Venus Son, the Thund'rer Jove, Of right regardleſs, ruſhes on his Love; By Fraud or Force he gains the Beauteous Prize, Taſting, in various Forms, as various Joys. Now, as Alcmena's Lord, their Bed he ſtains; Then Spartan Laeda, like a Swan, he gains: Europa by a lovely Bull's betray'd, And in a golden Show'r th' impriſon'd Maid: A Dragon curls in bright Olympia's Arms, Nor can chaſte Vows protect Caliſto's Charms. Hence Men, by Fraud and Artifice, ſucceed; And Jove's Example juſtifies the Deed. [Exeunt omnes. End of the First Act.
ACT II. SCENE I. The Queen and Irene. Irene. WHY does my charming Miſtreſs thus devote Her Beauty's Bloom to Sorrow, Sighs and Tears? Que. My Husband ſlain, my Country made a Prey, My Guards my Jaylors, ev'ry Room a Priſon, No faithful Servant left, but Thee and Sylvius: The reſt are Spies devoted to the Victors. Ire. And yet thoſe Victors come to break your Chains. Que. Alas! they come indeed, but 'tis in Triumph. Honorius, call'd the Good, has well reveng'd Th' unjuſt Attempt, which King Otharius made, T'enlarge his Empire, at his Brother's Coſt. Compell'd to wed that moſt ambitious Prince, I never knew one peaceful Hour in Marriage. Honorius by his Death, the Romans vanquiſh'd, Becomes the firſt ſole Monarch of the Gauls: A Widow I, without a Dow'r or Name; No more the Queen of Albany or Aquitain. Enter Sylvius. Syl. The Prince of Britain, to attend your Majeſty. Que. Againſt my ſelf my rebel Paſſions arm; They bound within my Breaſt to meet this Victor. Were not my Mind enſlav'd, were that but free, How could I brave my Chains? how calm look down On thoſe loſt Glories, which adorn a Crown? Enter Lucius. He kneels. Why does the conqu'ring Prince of Britain kneel To me, no more a Queen, a wretched Captive? What wou'd my Lord? for I am all Confuſion. Luc. I beg a parting Audience, and alone. Que. You, Sylvius and Irene, both withdraw. Syl. I'll bring the Prince of Albany to part ye. (Aſide. [Ex. with Irene. Que. Oh my Heart!—Sure, Sir, I heard you not aright. Where next does the victorious Lucius ſhine? And which the Kingdom mark'd for Deſolation? Luc. I wou'd, but oh! it dies upon my Tongue; To my lov'd Queen, I wou'd diſcourſe of Parting; I wou'd diſcourſe of Night, and horrid Gloom, Of diſmal Groans, and the deep Vault of Death; And when the bitter Cup of Woe is full, I'll ſumm it all in One, and call it Parting! Qu. Beat gently, Heart—Who ſends you hence my Lord? Luc. That awful Virtue, which deſtroys my Hopes; That chilling Coldneſs, which repels my Flame. Henceforth the Joys of Life ſhall charm no more; No more the duſty Field ſhall give delight, Triumphant Laurels, or the Praiſe of Beauty: Theſe Robes I'll change to ſome poor Hermit's Weed; And Herbs and Roots ſhall be my only Food, My daily Thirſt quench'd by ſome common Stream; No Beam of Light to chear my diſmal Cell, But all be dark, and joyleſs as my Fortune. Qu. Why chuſe you theſe Extremes, my Lord? Luc. A Convert to that Being, which you worſhip, And which I with my pious Queen adore; I am Chriſtian, Follower of your Virtue. At your Command, I've heard thoſe holy Men, By that good Prelate Eleutherius ſent. I've heard their Potent and Coeleſtial Reaſons: Enlighten'd from above, my glowing Breaſt Bids me undaunted own the ſacred Faith, Which, when proſeſs'd, I'll take my leave, for ever, Of the too cruel Alban Queen, for ever! Que. What, part, my Lord, when this exalted Change (For which I bow to the informing Pow'rs) Calls you, the firſt of Chriſtian Kings, to ſhine O'er all the Weſtern World, like a bright Star, To bleſs your People with eternal Knowledge? Luc. For you, I quit the Hope of making Converts; For you, reſign the foremoſt Rank in Fame; For you, I leave the Glories of a Crown. I can no more ſupport this wretched Being, To ſee ſuch Charms ſhine forth, but not on me. Oh! think, how abſolute my Rival is. Can I from a ſtern Father's Force preſerve you, Unleſs you will deſcend to fix my Claim, And let me call you mine, e're he arrive? Que. How ſhall I teach my Tongue againſt my Heart? [Aſide. Luc. Am I not worth a Word, the leaſt Regard? How many anxious Days, and ſleepleſs Nights, Have I devoted, to afflicted Beauty? But ſhe regardleſs, pities not my Pain, Or ſhe ungrateful triumphs in my Ruin: Tho' I, for her, firſt felt the Sting of Paſſion, Firſt felt the Force of Charms, what ſtrong Deſires, And eager Longings, are inſpir'd by Beauty. Qu. My ſuff'ring Heart, by Sorrow quite poſſeſs'd, Can make no Room for any other Thought. Luc. Oh, bleſt Otharius! happier in thy Death, More happy than the living, hated Lucius. Therefore, my Heart, be this thy laſt Effort; Part, part, and die!—From thoſe dear Eyes remove This wretched Object of deſpairing Love. Qu. We cannot, muſt not part. Ye mighty Pow'rs, Tear not this only Good from my poor Heart. Take all beſides, leave me but him alone, And I no more will think of Crowns and Empires. Luc. Oh full Reward of all my former Pain! Oppreſs'd, I ſaint beneath this Fluſh of Joy. Oh Love, receive the Honour! thou haſt bleſs'd me. Alas my Queen!—ſhe ſinks—ſhe faints—ſhe dies! My Roſalind, my Soul! return, return. Come back my Love. Again ſhe breaths—ſhe lives! The Roſes gather to her Cheeks and Lips! The kind'ling Fire is glimm'ring in her Eyes! New Warmth, new Life, re-animates the Fair! And with her living Beauties, I am bleſs'd! Queen. Oh force of Modeſty! oh force of Love! 'Tis fought, and thou haſt gain'd the Victory. The Struggles paſt; tho' vanquiſh'd, yet grown bold, I muſt—I do declare—I cannot ſpeak it: Leave me to bluſh alone for this Confeſſion. Luc. Not 'till the holy Prieſt has join'd our Hands; Oh, my fair Queen!—this Night muſt ſee me bleſt. Queen. To Morrow, gentle Lucius! Luc. Let thoſe who ſet no Value on the Preſent, With eaſy Idleneſs expect to Morrow. Suppoſe the King, grown furious to poſſeſs, Shou'd force you to his Bed, ſhou'd force his Joys; As once he did my Royal ſuff'ring Mother. A Captive you, oh how may you reſiſt? Think but of Lucius then, and his deſpair: O think, my Queen! what I wou'd then exchange For but a Moment of that precious Time, You will not now employ? The conqu'ring Monarch's come, I hear their Trumpets: Oh ſound! ſound on! it is for Lucius Triumph. Yield, yield my Fair, and all my Fears remove; Quick to thy inmoſt Chamber, fly my Love, Where binding Vows my laſting Truth ſhall prove. Queen. But if the cruel King command my Death? Swear, Lucius, at the Peril of thy Life, To guard thy Roſalinda's. Luc. I ſwear, my Queen, by Glory and by Love, I will protect thee, tho' againſt my Father. But now, my Fair, my circling Blood rebounds; My lab'ring Heart, as in the Pangs of Death, Beats an Alarm, and all the Paſſions anſwer: I can no more: Impatient of delay, The God of Love himſelf prepares the Way, He brings us Joys, which never ſhall decay. Joys! which the truly Conſtant only know, Our All of Bliſs, worth living for below. Going, they are met by Emmelin and Arminius. Arm. They love! they love! I read it in their Eyes, Softneſs in hers, and Tranſport ſhine in his. [Aſide. Madam, the Princeſs Emmelin is come, Mov'd by your Sorrows to entreat her Brother, (Whoſe Captives the rough Chance of War has made ye) That Vortimer may not diſpoſe your Fate: Shou'd the ſtern Briton get you in his Pow'r, Our Hopes of freeing Albany were loſt. Enter Sylvius. Syl. Oh! that unhappy Sylvius, to his Queen, Shou'd be the Speaker of Honorius's Triumph! The gaudy Chariots have diſcharg'd their Load, And now, the Palace-hall receives the Monarchs. I've ſeen the Proſp'rous laugh, the Wretched mourn; Theſe gracing their proud Victors gilded Wheels, Are ſent, for change of Woe, to groan in Dungeons. How many Alban, Gaul, and Roman Chiefs, The Relicts of Otharius Royal Pow'r, Shall never, never ſee the Light again. Theſe Tears be witneſs, how I grieve their Fate. Pardon this Tenderneſs—The Kings have ſent To tell your Majeſty, they wait for Audience. Queen. Couſin of Albany, I pray attend them. Fate, thou art buſy now for Roſalinda. I 've but one dear Concern, one Wiſh in Life, One ſecret Pain, or one important Joy, To make the Royal Lucius ever mine! Or elſe, ye Pow'rs, contract my narrow Span: From your Eternal Loom tear ſhort my Thread; I cannot taſte of Happineſs without him. Introduc'd by Albany and Train, Enter, in Triumph, Honorius King of Gallia, Vortimer King of Britain, Prince of Cambria, Attendants and Guards. K. Hon. Here let our Triumphs end; you beauteous Queen, Enough have mourn'd a Royal Husband dead. My Brother, to encreaſe the Bleſs'd, is gone: Death has atton'd his breach of Royal Faith, And Time conſents to mitigate your Sorrows: Let your ſad Heart, at length, give Way to Joy. Queen. I've all the Joy that my ſad State can give, Since I was doom'd to Chains, that you're the Victor. [K. Hon. and Emmelin embrace. K. Vor. When you appear, who can be call'd Victorious? The Sun, that with diffuſive Beams ſhines o'er The rolling Globe, to every Age a Wonder, Reigns not more abſolute, than do your Eyes. Like him, you rule with univerſal Sway, Like him, you conquer all—Riſe, warlike Lucius; We did expect an earlier Meeting from thee. Luc. Great Sir, It was my Poſt to guard the Queen. Pr. of Cam. My Nephew! dearer than my Life! Luc. My honour'd Uncle! K. Vor. Oh Albany! thou Partner of my Heart, The Charmer ſhines on us with ſtronger Glory, As ſhe'd been gathering a freſh Stock of Brightneſs: How has our Suit ſucceeded? [K. Vortimer talks apart to Arminius, K. Honorius with Emmelin, whilſt Lucius ſpeaks aſide to the Queen. Luc. After the Audience, where ſhall I be bleſs'd? Queen. I am going to the Cell of Fabianus, But truſt not our important Fate to any. K. Vor. What! Lucius love the Queen: Belov'd of her? My Lord of Albany, you have our Thanks. We have to offer to thee, King Honorius, That which may make our League inviolable. K. Hon. To which, great Prince, we gladly ſhall accord. K. Vor. When we had ſcarcely taſted Royal Pow'r, The Sweets of Empire, or our Conſort's Charms, We left our Crown and Queen, to aid this State: Six Years were waſted in the Gallick War, Without re-viſiting our native Coaſt. By us, and our brave Troops, thy Father vanquiſh'd, And drove the Roman Tyranny away. The Romans! who had, ſince great Caeſar's Conqueſt, Left ye but Titular Kings, and Gaul a Province. K. Hon. I have heard the Obligation. K. Vor. After his Death, the warlike Prince your Brother, Deem'd Aquitain too ſmall a Share of Empire; With hoſtile Arms he enter'd your Dominions, And took you unprepar'd; the Field he won, Subdu'd your ſtrongeſt Cities in your Sight: Till braving foamy Seas, and winter Storms, In ſpight of Winds, or adverſe Deities, Lucius tranſported to your Shore our Aid. K. Hon. All this I thankfully remember. K. Vor. Without a Rival now, you fill the Throne; Nay more, have join'd your Brother's Crown to yours. If this, to our victorious Arms be due; Say, happy Monarch, what may he expect, By whom you wear theſe Benefits? K. Hon. Speak, King of Britain, what is't thou wou'd'ſt ask? K. Vor. For all our Toils in War, our Soldiers Loſs, Our friendly laviſh waſte, of Blood and Treaſure, We ask the Captive Queen; that ſhe, this Night, Set forward, where our Royal Navy rides; So to be wafted o'er to Britain's Shore, With Honour. Queen. Oh Brother! let me lowly thus entreat, That I may anſwer this Tyrannick King: With his great Merit, how are you upbraided? He has recited all his warlike Deeds, To make Impreſſion on your grateful Heart. But Sir! conſider, I'm a Queen, was doubly Crown'd: By Birth and Marriage, I am twice a Sovereign. Think whoſe I was—Oh! pity Kindred Grief, And Royal Woes! Mine's not a vulgar Fate, To be weigh'd out by ev'ry common Hand, Or at a Moment's Call, to be determin'd. K. Vor. What Phantoms, what Illuſions, beauteous Queen, (By melancholy Vapours fed) affright you? Were Caeſar yours, and all that vaſt Dominion Of which he once could call himſelf the Lord, Leſs ſure, leſs abſolute wou'd be your Sway, Than now in Britain. Queen. In Death, I may poſſeſs an ample Pow'r: 'Tis there that I muſt follow, when thou lead'ſt. I had a Father, 'till thy cruel Thirſt Of Blood and Empire left him but a Name. I had a Husband too, of Kingly Sway: Now made an helpleſs Orphan, and a Widow: My Country ſeiz'd, my noble Friends enſlav'd, Groaning in Dungeons, courting Death in vain: The next is mine, my Fate may be the laſt. In me thy Tyranny will be accompliſh'd. K. Vor. In you the War, in you what's dreadful ends; The Priſon-Doors fly open, as you paſs; And the deſpairing Captive drops his Chain: No more your Albans ſhall be counted Foes, But with our Britons equally eſteem'd. Emm. Let me entreat, great Sir, you'd not inſiſt So ſoon upon the mourning Queen's departure. Vor. Long ſince, our Adoration has been fix'd On an inexorable haughty Fair, Which has deferr'd the Homage due to you; But Lucius ſhall attone—our Son, draw near. Emm. What means the King?—oh my diſorder'd Heart! Luc. What would my Royal Father? K. Vor. Of what I wiſh, great Sir, be this the Cement, And this between us be our Pledge of Peace. Lucius, my Son, the Hopes and Heir of Britain, I give to the fair Princeſs Emmelin, To be her happy Lord. K. Hon. With the ſame View, I give the Royal Bride: To Morrow, ſee their Happineſs compleat. Next, let us ſeek to ſooth this lovely Mourner: Nor ſhould'ſt thou, King of Britain, bar our Juſtice. The Queen was not a Warrior, like her Lord, Nor Partner of his Arms, or his Injuſtice: Wherefore, we have reſolv'd, ſhe ſhall be free. Madam, this Moment gives you Liberty; And, as our Brother's Royal Dowager, You've leave to ſojourn in our Court at Pleaſure. Emm. For this, the mighty Gods reward the King. Arm. And may he meet no Hour of new Diſtreſs. Queen. May Fortune here fix her inconſtant Wheel, And never know a Change to your Diſhonour. K. Vor. That ſhe is free, is what my Soul deſign'd: But oh! I wiſh'd it not another's Gift. Ungrateful King, when thy laſt Stake was ſet, And Fortune threw the Dye of War againſt thee; Did we not ſend thee, Lucius, at thy Call? Lucius! who made the haughty Roman tremble, And chac'd him from the liquid Fence of Britain: We follow'd, to retrieve thy loſt Affairs, When pale Deſpair fill'd thy diſtracted Court, And the bright Goddeſs, Victory, Sought to eſpouſe thy Brother. K. Hon. Why do'ſt thou ſtain the Service with Reproaches? What thou haſt done, was like a Monarch done, As we had done for thee, if thou had'ſt needed. K. Vor. Madam, I take my leave; falſe King beware; Revenge but nods, 'till it can ſafely rouſe; And then, unthankful Monarch, thou ſha't find An injur'd Briton's Rage. Attend us Albany. [Ex. K. Vort. and Arm. K. Hon. Lead to the Temple, there to thank the Gods, For Peace, the ſweet Reward of Victory. He, who is truly call'd his Country's Lord, The End obtain'd, with Joy returns the Sword; Superior to the Glories of the Field, He makes the Hero to the Patriot yield; Forms, on his People's Good, the King's Renown, And quits the Laurel, for the Olive Crown. [Exeunt all but Lucius. Luc. Whilſt, after all theſe Storms, I ſeek for Reſt In the ſafe Harbour of my Charmer's Breaſt; Tho' foamy Billows threaten from afar, And gath'ring Clouds proclaim the watry War; Tho' Waves around me daſh, and Tempeſts roar, I'll periſh in the Deep, or gain the wiſh'd-for Shore. [Exeunt omnes, The End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I. Enter King Vortimer and Arminius. K. Vor. WHat Pow'r, to awe the Mind, have Womens Charms, Make the Bold fearful, and the Coward brave! Unequal to the fawning Task, our Age Begins too late to learn the Trade of Courtſhip; Too late to ſtudy Flattery and Praiſe, Or how, with Snares and Art, to catch the Sex. Arm. Deal we like Stateſmen, for a while, in Cunning; Your End but gain'd, no Matter what the Means: If once the Queen be parted from the Prince, The Luſtre of a Crown will ſoon efface Th' Impreſſion made upon a Woman's Heart. K. Vor. Inſtruct us how, ſince the ingrateful Gaul, In ſpight of our Deſert, has dar'd to free her. Arm. Lend me your Guards, and ſtrait prepare a Ship Well-mann'd, and fitted to the neareſt Port; I'll tell the Queen of Dangers imminent, Of Plots and Treaſon in this Court againſt her. Nay more, that Albany is up in Arms, And ready to receive her, as their Queen. Your faithful Creature, when ſhe's once embark'd, Dares anſwer with his Head, to land her ſafe (Swift as the Winds and Waters will permit) On Britain's Shore. K. Vor. How ſhall I praiſe thy Care? Who ſerves my Heart, does more than ſerve my Crown: A nearer, dearer Intereſt by far. Arm. Give then immediate Orders for our flight, Leſt Lucius, young and lucky, ſhou'd prevail, And Roſalind be made the Prince's Bride. K. Vor. Periſh the Thought. Lucius, no more my Son, For him I have decreed another Nuptial: He cannot, ſhall not dare to rival me. Nature wou'd plead, in vain, againſt my Rage. Within this Breaſt, a Power ſuperior ſway, And Nature's ſelf, the Laws of Love obeys: Nor Floods nor Flames can ſtop his head-long Courſe; Ev'n Tyrants yield to more Tyrannick Force. [Ex. K. Vor. Arm. Our warlike Picts, in Arms will aid our Claim, And, with unbounded Joy, receive their Queen. Oh Almerin, thus far Succeſs attends us. Tyrant, 'tis juſt, I ſhou'd thy Hopes elude: Whilſt thou ſhalt vainly look for us in Britain, With thy own Sails we gain our native Coaſt. But how ſhall this proud Dame be wrought to fly? She'll not, with Eaſe, conſent to part from Lucius. Enter Sylvius. Syl. My Lord, the Queen's return'd, and the Prince with her. Arm. Where did he meet her, Sylvius? Syl. I do not know, my Lord. She always goes in private to the Cell, Whilſt I, altho' her Fav'rite, am excluded there. Arm. Oh Jealouſy! thou Torment of the Mind, How, in a Moment, art thou enter'd here? My Breaſt, my inward Soul is glowing hot, It burns, it rages with devouring Fires. Syl. My Lord, what means this moſt unwonted Rage? Arm. Alas! do'ſt not thou ſee the Queen is wedded? This laſt ſad Hour has ruin'd us for ever. Lucius was wanting at the Temple Rites: Oh Fate! where cou'd he be, but with the Queen? And ſhe was praying with her truſty Prieſt. But if, indeed, thour't wedded to my Love, Rival! thou bed'ſt her not, whilſt I am living. Syl. Sleep yet our Rage, and hear what I have done: Irene ſays, the Queen preſerves the Sword Found in Otharius's Body, when he fell. Arm. In this diſtracted State of our Affairs, 'Tis all that Heav'n cou'd grant. Wedded! Married! O! who can know the double Heart of Woman? If e'er the Sex be true, 'Tis in an early Bloom, before the Mind Perceives the Warmth of Love, the Taint of Wiſhes: Then they'll, at Will, enſnare, betray, deſtroy! What motly Changes, do their Faces wear! How far from Sight, lie their deceitful Souls! Syl. You'r blind with Rage: I pray behold this Letter, 'Tis moſt exactly like the Queen's own Writing; Scarce to be known by him, who taught us both. Arm. 'Tis very like. The Queen her ſelf, can ſcarce this Hand diſown. On the Succeſs of this, this and the Sword, Thine and thy Brother's Fortune hangs. Syl. But if the Prince ſhou'd kill me? Arm. Fear not, I'll guard thy Life with mine. Syl. Or the Queen find the Cheat? Arm. Suppoſe ſhe ſhou'd? She knows thee only as her Page, as Sylvius: Not for Alenia, whom ſhe thinks in Britain. Remember Almerin! Can'ſt thou fear ought, but loſing of thy Lover? She comes! my Rival too! oh hated Name! I'll rally my diſorder'd, ſcatter'd Thoughts, And then return with Arms for his Deſtruction. [Ex. omnes. Lucius enters, leading the Queen. Luc. Sure, my fair Queen, when Hearts, like mine, have touch'd The Summit of their Hopes, the Height of Bliſs Collected all within, they find the Joy Too big to be expreſs'd! but thus to ſpeak, But thus to tell thee of thy Husband's Tranſport! Queen. Oh that theſe Raptures cou'd for ever laſt! Oh changing Deity! oh fickle Love! Why are thy Joys not permanent, as great? Luc. In thee for ever blooming, ever young, Thou great Renewer of the Spring of Love! Thou everlaſting Charmer! in thy Arms, Tho' Ages hence, thoſe diſtant happy Hours Will ſeem, but as the firſt tranſporting Moment. Queen. Great Love, how arbitary is thy Sway! How do'ſt thou give ſuch Harmony to Words! My Coldneſs all diſſolves upon the Sound: With conſcious riſing Warmth, my Boſom glows To meet thy Voice, thy Breath, thy melting Touches! Luc. What hinders me to bear my yielding Fair, This bliſsful Moment to the Royal Bed? There where the Sun, in all his gaudy Round, Shall not behold a Man ſo bleſs'd as Lucius. Queen. Looſe me, my Lord, or we are all undone: Our Secret told, and both the Kings inform'd. At the firſt Fall of Night, Irene ſhall admit thee, Without the Knowledge of another Creature. Luc. Mean time, my Queen, I'll wander in the Grove, And count the Minutes of expecting Love: On fragrant Banks I'll lay me wiſhing down, And rave on Joys, which thou, anon, ſha't crown: For oh! 'tis Pain to ſee, and own ſuch Charms, And be delay'd the Bleſſing of thy Arms. To pauſe on Beauty, when Deſires are high; And only gaze, when we ſhou'd all enjoy. Lucius leads the Queen to the Scene; returning, is met by Arminius. Arm. 'Tis you, my deareſt Lord, I have been ſeeking: I come to rail againſt the faithleſs Sex: I wou'd inveigh againſt inconſtant Charms, Againſt the flatt'ring Gales, and changing Winds; Againſt the April-Seaſon of the Year; Againſt falſe Hopes, falſe Vows, and falſer Beauty. Luc. Arminius thus concern'd! thus ſtrangely mov'd! Tears in his Eyes, Diſtraction in his Looks. What mean'ſt thou, Albany, ſtrait let me know? Depend upon thy Friend, upon his Love. Thou'rt next of Kindred to our charming Queen; And haſt a double Title to our Service. Arm. Behold, my Lord, and view me, as a Lover: As One who, long, has worn the Victor's Chain: As One who, once, did think himſelf belov'd: But oh! no ſooner did Temptation come. But the Fair falſe One, broke her promis'd Faith, And publickly exchang'd me for another. Luc. The common Frailty of the Sex. Arm. To pity me, oh! make the Caſe your own. Give me ſome Time for Tears. Suppoſe your Hopes By mutual Love, by mutual Tranſports fir'd! Juſt in the wiſh'd-for Moment of Poſſeſſion, When ev'ry eager Pulſe beat high with Joy, And her dear Heart ready to joyn in Rapture; Then! then to find a rival Youth preferr'd, Wou'd'ſt thou not groan? Wou'd'ſt thou not weep like me? Luc. Why do'ſt thou pauſe? Arm. The Queen! alas! Luc. Immortal Powers! what Queen? Arm. The faithleſs Queen of Albany. Luc. 'Tis impoſſible! Do'ſt thou adore her? Arm. Too fatally, I did. Luc. 'Twas wronging me, when I had own'd my Flame. Arm. Long, long before ſhe left the Alban Court, The Virgin Charmer's Vows were mix'd with mine. Falſe from her Youth, ſhe broke her early Faith: Soon as her Father had his Choice declar'd, With eaſy Reſignation, ſhe became The Royal Bride of Aquitain. Luc. Go on, I'll hear thee out with Patience. Arm. What Wretch like me, ſo doating, or deſpairing! I fought in War, as one who long'd to die: Your ſelf can witneſs how I valu'd Danger. Otharius ſlain, and free to chooſe again: What ſaid ſhe not for her late Breach of Faith? How did ſhe ſwear ſhe ne'er had ceas'd to Love! That I was dearer to her than the Light; But in the tend'reſt Moment of her Vows, The Wand'rer ſtray'd again, and I was loſt. Luc. Oh Heav'n and Earth! ſure I can bear no more! Arm. Of your great Merit, jealous, I prevail'd, And from your ſelf drew the abhor'd Confeſſion. I warn'd you of the Danger, but in vain: I durſt no more, as tender of her Fame, As willing yet to doubt of my Misfortune. For when I but reproach'd the wav'ring Fair, She us'd ſuch various ſoothings to my Mind, Such Vows, that Lucius ne'er had ſpoke of Love, That ſcarce was it a Merit to believe her: Thus was my eaſy Faith abus'd. Luc. What Proof haſt thou of this? Arm. Oh! I had ev'ry Proof: Her Virgin Heart, Her ſpeaking Eyes, her Lips, her charming Tongue; And the pale Queen of Night (on flow'ry Banks, Whilſt we invok'd her Beams) beheld our Loves. Each happy Moment witneſs'd to our Joys, True Emblems of the Sex, and her frail Vows. For as the Moon ſo wean'd her fickle Paſſion, The fleeting Moments bore her Truth away, And only I am left to ſpeak her Falſehood; An hated Evidence of broken Faith. And yet ſome Proof remains; [Pulls a Bracelet from his Arm. This Bracelet's of her Hair, wove with her Hand, Which, to the Preſent, gave a double Value: View well the Claſp, ſee her fair Self enſhrin'd, The Altar where my conſtant Vows I paid: Theſe were the Gifts ſhe gave me with her Heart. Why do I ſtill ſuch worthleſs Toys retain, When the chief Jewel is recall'd? Why yet (as ſacred Relicks of our Love) Worſhip the Shrine of an apoſtate Fair? Hence, vain Remembrancers of paſt Delight, [Stamps upon the Bracelet and Picture. I'll tread you into Duſt; live, live no more! Her faithleſs Charms ſhall be rever'd no more! Luc. Why do'ſt thou tell, and ſhew theſe Things to me? Arm. That you may lead me thro' the wand'ring Maze; That you may give me preſent Death, or Eaſe. By thoſe true Tears, that trueſt Lovers ſhed; By all the Sweets of Roſalinda's Arms: Have pity on my Royal Birth and Suff'rings: Confeſs what I alas! too much ſuſpect; Confeſs, you do ſucceed me in her Favour: That I may wander to the utmoſt Verge; That ceaſing to eſteem, I may deſpiſe, And ne'er regret, nor ſee the Bliſs I loſt. Luc. But that thy Breath has tainted her clear Fame, I ſhou'd, with Pride, allow my ſelf the Man, On whom the beauteous Roſalind has ſmil'd. Arm. Then all is over: I've no more to manage. Take, take that Letter, which has rack'd my Soul; It could be only writ by her to Lucius, And yet (prepoſt'rous Weakneſs of the Mind) So much, ſo blindly 'twas, I lov'd the Queen, That tho' I ſaw the falſe One's Name and Hand, My doubting Soul wou'd ſcarce my Eyes believe: In Triumph bear it to her, and reproach For me, the Heart of faithleſs Roſalinda: She ne'er ſhall ſee the loſt Arminius more. Luc. Yet ſtay, and tell me where thou had'ſt this Letter. Arm. I found it in the Lodgings: Tho' not inſcrib'd to you, I thought it yours, Becauſe writ by the Queen. Luc. And yet, as ſure as 'tis her Character, 'Twas not addreſs'd to me. Lucius reads the Letter.

I Will retire, this Evening, into the Grove: Do you, my Love, attend me there, and deſtroy this Note at the Command of

ROSALINDA. Sylvius enters, he kneels. Syl. Moſt mighty Lords, I beg you on my Knees, If Tears, Youth, Innocence can move your Pity, Reſtore that ſacred Letter you were reading: From me, heedleſs, it drop'd; wild with the Loſs, Around the Court I've wept, and ſought in vain, With utmoſt Care and Diligence to find it. Shou'd the Queen know it, I were loſt for ever. Luc. To whom is it addreſs'd? Syl. My Lord! Luc. To whom wert thou to carry it? Syl. Alas! I underſtand you not my Lord. Luc. Young Traytor ſpeak, or die. Syl. Oh Heav'ns! what ſhall I ſay? It is my own: A Favour of the Queen's beſtow'd on me. Arm. Is this the Ground of her Exceſs of Grace? This the true Motive of her wond'rous Kindneſs? The faithful Sylvius prov'd a Minion. Luc. Now, where are thoſe Delights, my Paſſion form'd? Thoſe Scenes of Bliſs, which Beauty ſet before me, So hard to gain, and yet ſo quickly loſt? O that bright Mind (for ſo it ſeem'd to me) Where Purity, and all the Vertues dwelt, As at their native Home: How tarniſh'd, now Deſpoil'd of Luſtre; hateful to the Sight? Farewel, enchanting Sex; falſe are your Joys: Deluſion all; no Happineſs is in you. Not one was ever True, ſince She cou'd fall: Ne'er ſhall my Peace of Mind return to bleſs me: My Royal Father's Favour I have loſt, Renown'd, till now, for Piety and Duty. I broke thoſe filial Bars for faithleſs Love; I've chang'd a Parent's Bleſſing into Curſes; My Fame has taken Wing, and flies before me; My Glory's blaſted; all my Lawrels wither; And nothing now remains for me, but Vengeance On her—on him—on them—on all, who wrong'd me. Dye Slave! and boaſt it in another World— Arminius, why do you oppoſe me? Arm. Were ſuch a Wretch an Object fit for Rage, My ſelf, as moſt abus'd, wou'd end him. Luc. He ſhall not 'ſcape with Life. Enter the Queen. Queen. Sure, 'tis the Prince of Britain's Voice. Alas! againſt my faithful Boy his Sword. Is this well done, my Lord? Or know ye not, that he is mine? Luc. Too well, too well! I know thy Shame and mine. Arm. Now Fortune work: It muſt be all Confuſion. [Aſide. Luc. Unworthy of my Truth, or Tenderneſs! Think not of Lucius more, nor I of Roſalind. Mountains fall down, yawn wide thou Earth between us; With molten Waves roll up ye ſulph'rous Lakes. Divide us Earth and Seas. Let all Antipathies be reconcil'd, But ne'er the Queen of Albany to Lucius! [Ex. Luc. Queen. Oh Heav'ns and Earth! what can he mean, ye Pow'rs? Or ſaid he not, that we muſt meet no more. Arm. Now, who ſhall dare to tell the Queen? Queen. Alas! whence can proceed this ſudden Change? My Lord of Albany, you are our Kinſman, And Sylvius, thou art of our Houſhold ſworn: By that Allegiance that is due to us, We charge ye ſpeak, or ſee our Face no more. Syl. Periſh the Tongue, that gives my Miſtreſs Pain, Queen. Speak Wretch, or by the Power that governs all, Thou'rt from our Royal Preſence, baniſh'd ever. Arm. When I by cruel Vortimer was ſent; Firſt ſent to court you to his curs'd Embrace, What ſaid you not againſt the Tyrant's Love? Which I but urg'd, to prove your Strength of Mind: For know, young Queen, your Father's Ghoſt wou'd riſe, Leaving immortal Peace, and the bleſs'd Shades With horrid Screams, to fright your impious Bed, If e'er his Murderer ſhould claſp you there. Queen. Shield me, ye Pow'rs, from Vortimer's curs'd Love. Arm. But not his Son's? Confeſſion moſt abhorr'd! The Queen, with Guilt, turns pale. Oh beauteous Frailty! How hard below it is to find Perfection. Antipathy to all the hated Race Shou'd work your Blood in Agonies againſt 'em. Queen. You are too bold, uncall'd, thus to adviſe; Lucius moſt free, from his bad Father's Crimes, Shou'd not, in Juſtice, ſuffer for another. Arm. With my dear Uncle's Death I do not charge him; On Vortimer the weighty Vengeance fall! Lucius has Guilt of an inherent Dye: Crimes all his own, which Nature moſt abhorrs; Such as muſt bar him from your Arms for ever. Queen. Now all that's bleſs'd forbid it! [Aſide. Arm. Madam, draw near: With ſtedfaſt Eyes behold The Handle of this Sword; ſurvey it well; The high Ennamel, where the curious Workman Has caſt, in Miniature, your Father's Form; Which, with the Jewels that enrich the Gift, He gave me on that memorable Day, When I attended you to Aquitain. Queen. I well remember it; moſt precious Relick, The Repreſentative of my dear Father. Alas, alas! how ye recal my Woes: How ye awake that killing Pain, that Grief Which Time, in part, had huſh'd. Arm. If for my Uncle thus, what for Otharius, By whom you were ſo ardently belov'd? But now prepare your Courage for the Shock. Prince Lucius beg'd this fatal Sword of me: What can a vanquiſh'd Man refuſe the Victor? Tho' high as Life, I priz'd the dear Remains, Yet I was forc'd to give it, on that Morn, When laſt our Army fought with your Otharius. Queen. Ha! whither is he going? Arm. I, thro' the bloody Field, with this brave Youth, Mov'd, fighting, by the warlike Lucius ſide, But his immortal Deeds can ſcarce be told: Let it ſuffice, he met the fated King, The Royal Majeſty of Aquitain. Some moments Fortune held an equal Scale, Which ſoon inclin'd to the young Briton's Side; Thro' the King's Heart he thruſt this Alban Sword: Sylvius and I, the dreadful Deed beheld; The Sword was broke in two; this Piece with him, The other in the Wound remain'd. Queen. Oh heav'nly Powers! Arm. The Victor charg'd us to conceal the Fact, Leſt Vortimer (grown jealous of his Glory) Shou'd think he had perform'd too well. Queen. Alas! no more. I am a Wretch, Arminius, Why told'ſt thou not thy happ'leſs Queen before? Where was thy Duty, thy Allegiance then? Thou ſhou'd'ſt have ſhewn my Husband's Murd'rer, That I, with deteſtation, might have ſhun'd him. Fatal Neglect! Oh Knowledge found too late! Unhappy Ignorance! accurſed Bride, Never till now undone! Arm. Beholding you, Prince Lucius grew inflam'd, Which, of the Secret, made him doubly careful. Long, with a painful Silence, I oblig'd him: Long labour'd 'twixt my Friendſhip and my Duty: At laſt, grown big with our approaching Hopes (The Picts being up in Arms, and wanting Aid) Duty prevail'd; for I was bound to ſpeak, Your Page attended with the Sword, the Prince (Coming from you) perceiv'd it in his Hand, And conſcious where it was deſign'd, drew his (With many foul Reproaches) on the Boy. I interpos'd: Your Majeſty appear'd, When Lucius, fill'd with jealous Rage, departed. Queen. The World's united Woes are in this Breaſt: And yet, perhaps, Arminius is miſtaken. Nay, King Otharius too, fought in diſguiſe: Six were alike him arm'd; twas One of them. I have a Proof: Irene, bring the Sword, Found in the murther'd Body of my Lord: If they ſhou'd join, Lucius and I muſt part. Arm. Dear proſp'rous Miſchief, lag not now behind; And then, oh Almerin! the Race is mine. [Aſide. Queen. And yet it cannot be, my ſearch reſt here. Impoſſible! Fate cannot be ſo angry. I will not put it to the dreadful Teſt. Arminius does, oh Heav'n! I can no more. Periſh all Demonſtration! unkind, [The Sword brought and join'd. And cruel Prince! oh! why do'ſt thou deſtroy me? And arm Otharius to my Lucius Ruin. My living Husband's vaniſh'd by the Dead. My Lord, my Lucius, ſee thy wretched Bride, The moſt forlorn, diſconſolate of Women: I am his Wife, Arminius. Arm. Forbid it Hecate, with all her Train: Inceſſant Furies yell around ſuch Nuptials: Catch his deceitful Soul, ye blueſt Plagues: Snatch him by Piecemeals, ye avenging Fiends. Treaſon and Death! oh impious Parricide! What! wed Otharius Murderer? Poſſeſs'd by one, ſteep'd in your Husband's Blood. Queen. I ſink—the moſt unhappy of my Race. Come near, my Sylvius; I wou'd reſt upon thee: Nay, Albany, thou art too good: Wilt thou weep too? Arm. Theſe bitter Tears, by Strength of Anguiſh wrung, Prove, how Arminius loves his happ'leſs Queen. 'Tis I muſt guard you from impending Ruin: Lucius has Charms to ſway the ſtrongeſt Mind: Fly the Seducer, and aſſert your Glory. Take Scorpions to your Bed, but take not Lucius. Lucius! triumphant in his Sin, all gay in Blood; Dreadfully gay with your dear Husband's Blood: Unprecedented Horror! fly to Death, But mingle not with him who ſlew your Lord: Light up your Torch at any other Love, None are debarr'd your Arms, but that curs'd Race Who murder'd poor Otharius, and your Father. Queen. Thus greatly Wretched, what can ſave thy Queen? Arm. Your Albans are already up in Arms; Sieze on this moment, and be yet a Queen; A vertuous, innocent, tho' wretched Queen. A Guard and Ship ſtand ready for your Flight, Whilſt, on this Royal Hand, once more I ſwear, Only to live, only to die for you. [Kneels, kiſſing her Hand. Enter Lucius behind. Luc. How wildly are we hurry'd by our Paſſions! I was to blame not to explain my Wrongs, And tell the falſe One all her Perjuries. Confront her with her Minion, and the Letter, Till ſhe confeſs our Parting is but juſt. Ha! what do I ſee? the faithleſs Roſalind, On one reclin'd, the other at her Feet. What, have they bargain'd to divide her Favours? Queen. Yes, I will go, left Fate ſhould join with Love, Leſt I ſhou'd wound Otharius o'er again, Leſt I ſhou'd view his Murd'rer with Indulgence; Lead, lead, Arminius, I'll follow thee, ſurrounded with Misfortunes. Ha! Lucius here! that bloody Conqu'ror, Lucius. Save me, Arminius; take me from his Sight: My Eyes! my Soul is faſtned! tear me hence; Bear thy loſt Queen, where Tempeſts loudeſt roar, And never let me ſee the cruel Lucius more. [Ex. all but Lucius. Luc. Curs'd Weakneſs of the Mind, which brought me back, Hence tender Thoughts, hence all Remains of Love; Hence Jealouſy, thou certain Proof of Paſſion. Of Hope and Tenderneſs henceforth diſarm'd, My Breaſt ſhall pant no more for faithleſs Beauty; No more for perjur'd Woman let us mourn, To War, to Glory! now my Heart return. So great Vlyſſes, ſooth'd by Circe's Charms, Sigh'd on her Breaſt, and melted in her Arms. What wond'rous Tranſports did her Eyes inſpire? Soft was her Voice, and raging was his Fire: But when he found her falſe and cruel Soul, And in a Form ſo fair, a Mind ſo foul; With Glory and Diſdain the Hero burn'd, Broke her Enchantments, and the Sex he ſcorn'd. [Exeunt omnes. The End of the Third Act.
ACT IV. SCENE I. A FOREST. Enter Lucius alone. Luc. HAIL to the ſavage Horrors of this Foreſt! Receive into thy hoſpitable Arms, The wretched, and forſaken Lucius; Driv'n from the Commerce of all human Kind, And never to return. Oh impious Woman! on thy nuptial Day, Ev'n on that Day, in which thy Faith was plighted, To fly, and leave me in the laſt Deſpair. All Joys farewell: The Bloſſom of my Youth, Blighted by an unkindly, cruel Froſt, Shall never ſpring again. Preſs'd by this Weight of Woe, I bend to Earth, From thence to riſe no more. In Wilds and Deſarts waſte my future Hours, Falling, inglorious, by a Woman's Falſhood. Farewel my People, whom I wiſh'd to bleſs, With all thoſe Vertues that beſt Kings poſſeſs; My Fame, my Paſſion, and my Hopes reſign'd, With that exalted Ardor of the Mind, Which ſwell'd my Soul, and made it greatly dare, And, dauntleſs, bore me thro' the fierceſt War; In their cold Bed, unanimated lie, And like extinguiſh'd Fires in darkneſs die. [Walks down the Scene, and Exit. Enter, at another Door, Arminius and Sylvius. Arm. Sylvius, thus far our Fortune has been fair, But I grow jealous of a Counter-turn. Methinks the Captain who commands the Guard, Has much of Vortimer, the cunning Briton; I more than fear, it is the King himſelf: The Care he takes to ſhun my Speech and Eyes: I'm caught in the ſame Net I caſt for others. Enter an Alban Lord. Alb. Lord. My Lord, 'tis certainly the King of Britain, He bears the Royal Signet on his Finger: The Queen, and you, and we are now his Captives. Arm. Shall Roſalinda know this fatal Turn? It will too much her tender Heart affright; My Reſolution muſt be very ſudden. The Gallick King hunts near, I'll haſten thither; His Guards are thrice more numerous than ours: Sylvius, mean time, do thou the Queen amuſe. 'Till I return, my Lord, oppoſe their Flight; She is our Sovereign, thou art born her Subject: All's now at ſtake; kill him, or fall thy ſelf. [Ex. omnes. Enter King Vortimer. K. Vor. What does Arminius mean, by halting here? With Eyes that darted ſtrong, he view'd me o'er, As he wou'd look me through. If thou haſt found, and yet avoid'ſt me, Prince, 'Tis Proof thy Soul had form'd an Enterprize, To what thou did'ſt pretend moſt oppoſite. I durſt not yield a Foe ſo large a Truſt; 'Twere weak, indeed, to put it in his Pow'r, The Queen to bear away with our own Ships, To raiſe a War in Albany againſt us. Therefore, like Jove, diſguis'd to gain our Love, We veil our Majeſty, and drop our Thunder. The Queen appears! that glorious Prize is mine. Enter the Queen. Madam, forgive this ſeeming bold Intruſion, 'Till once embark'd, your Majeſty's not ſafe. Why do you ſquander Time irrevocable? Queen. Arminius wou'd a-while take ſhelter here. K. Vor. The Ports will inſtantly be ſtop'd, By Noon your Flight muſt be the publick Theme; Yet a few Hours, and you've the Waves in view. Queen. Go find Arminius, tell to him thy Reaſons, And we will inſtantly depart. [Ex. K. Vor. Depart, for what? or where? my Torment's fix'd, No Change of Scene can vary my Misfortunes; The Princeſs now, may gain the Vows of Lucius, That ſolemn Faith he plighted firſt to me; Their Hands may join, and ſhe have all his Tranſports, That Height of Wiſh! that Extacy of Soul! When his bright Eyes ſpoke better than his Tongue, Darting delight; for Love was all their Language. Ah! wretched Roſalinda, whither now? Think on Otharius: there thou'rt loſt indeed: Thy Lord was ſlain by him, whom thou haſt wedded. Blot out with your, 'till now, unerring Hand; Blot out, ye Pow'rs, that ſingle murd'ring Thought. Tear from the deſtin'd Book, that curſed Deed, All other Woes for ever ſtand recorded. Re-enter King Vortimer. K. Vor. Madam, the Prince is no where to be found, We muſt proceed without him, or you're loſt. Queen. And, what art thou (unus'd to ſuch a Preſence) That, with rude Sounds, preſum'ſt t'affront our Ears? K Vor. Come willingly, for fear you ſhould be forc'd. Queen. Who waits? my Guards! Arminius, help! K. Vor. Thou call'ſt in vain, a greater Force is here: It is the King of Britain, who conducts thee. Queen. Ha! my haughty Foe, the cruel Vortimer! K. Vor. You're now within my Pow'r, and can't eſcape. Queen. No! I will never ſtir, I'll grow to Earth. Heav'n! let me change my Being with the Brutes: Nay, welcome Death! rather than go with thee. K. Vor. Take heed, how you provoke a King like me: Mine is a ſurly, uninvited Cupid: No willing Harbour finds he in my Breaſt. On War, on Empire, all my Thoughts were fix'd, 'Till thy malignant. Form intruded here. Give me my ſelf! I ask but to forget thee. Queen. A never-failing Cure for Love, is abſence. K. Vor. Oh! 'tis a tedious One, and racks the Mind; Nor has it wrought the wiſh'd-for Cure on me. Thou'ſt been my curs'd Tormentor, ſince the Time I firſt beheld thee, with my Foe, thy Father: Now I'll revenge me on that Tyrant Beauty. Queen. Oh! hear me, King: I am already marry'd. K. Vor. Then Furies ſeize thy Husband! what's to be done? Yield thou to be divorc'd, and reign our Queen. Queen. Thy Queen! not to command the Univerſe; And yet I wiſh, that I had never wedded. K. Vor. Born of an hated Race, and loſt to me. May I not raviſh her, I cou'd not win? May I not ſeize, what wou'd not be beſtow'd? I dream of bleſs'd Enchantment in her Arms: I, reſtleſs, burn, and rave on furious Joy. And nothing but Poſſeſſion can aſſwage The Love-ſick, raging Fever of my Soul. Queen. Ruffian, forbear! whence comes this Prophanation? K. Vor. Revenge and Love, are both in Arms within. Thy Eyes, and Scorn, burn me with different Fires. Urg'd on to War, and eager for the Conqueſt, I cannot part inglorious from the Field. [Struggles with her, ſhe falls at his Feet. Queen. Oh! Woe for me. Thus far I'm vanquiſh'd, and thus low ſubdu'd. I claſp thy Knees, I graſp thy Feet with Horror. Do not aſſault the Honour of thy Daughter; I am the Wife of Lucius. K. Vor. Of Lucius! of that Rebel! Supplanted by my Son! when wert thou wedded? Queen. Not one kind Hour has our ſad Hymen known. Nay, ſcarce the Moment ſmil'd, that join'd our Hands: Succeſſive Woes have parted us already. K. Vor. Thou goeſt with us, to ſee the Prince no more. A baniſh'd Traytor, ſhall he always live: The Hour he lands in Britain, he ſhall die. Queen. What, your victorious, loyal, Godlike Son? K. Vor. Unhappy Queen! thy Praiſes wing his Fate. Curs'd, as I am, thus burning for thy Charms; My vital Blood, drank up by thirſty Love, Seizes the cordial Beauty to revive me. Lucius has wedded thee, but not enjoy'd. Poſſeſſion is a better Claim than his: Then inſtant let me make the Prize ſecure. What follows, we at leiſure may debate; The preſent Moment takes up all our Thoughts; This Struggle paſt, we are our Self again, And our Heart free from an ingrateful Paſſion. Queen. Give me my Death, be there a Conqueror. Arminius, Albany, help! oh help! K Vor. Thou rav'ſt, thou call'ſt in vain; he hears thee not. Rich Love, repay me now the Peace I loſt. Queen. Whom ſhall I next invoke, ye mighty Pow'rs? Lucius! where art thou now, in my Diſtreſs? My Lord! my Lucius! where art thou my Lucius? He comes! my Husband comes to ſave my Honour. [Lucius appears at the lower End of the Scene. Luc. Thro' the wide ecchoing Foreſt, who reſounds The Name of Lucius? the Queen of Albany! And in a Ruffian's Hand! dye, Raviſher! Queen. Oh! hold. Oh! horror, Lucius: 'Tis againſt thy Father. [The Queen interpoſes, and Lucius falls at King Vortimer's Feet. Luc. What, was I arm'd againſt my Royal Father? Againſt that precious Source of my own Life? My Heart bleeds inward at the racking Thought. If this be Fear, I never fear'd till now. K. Vor. Retire, and leave us with the Queen. Luc. Sir. K. Vor. Traytor be gone; thou haſt no Buſineſs here. Queen. Oh do not Lucius, as you once lov'd Vertue; As once you lov'd your poor unhappy Bride, E're adverſe Fate cou'd teach thy Heart to change. K. Vor. Some other Method muſt be found to part you. [Exit. Queen. Above, to thoſe bright Manſions of the Bleſs'd, The grateful Roſalind, her Thanks returns. [Kneels. This Day, in each revolving Year, be prais'd: Let it be mark'd the Happy, and the Fair, And may I ceaſe to live, when I prophane it. Luc. Can Falſehood ſeem ſo graceful? Queen. To thee, my Husband, next, with like regard (The Inſtrument of my Deliverance) I cannot ſay enough, my Heart is thine. Luc. Oh! 'tis a very falſe One. Queen. Who's falſe, my Lord? Luc. The perjur'd Queen. Queen. Turn not on me, the Errors of our Fate: Joy at thy Sight, and for my late Eſcape, Caus'd me ſome Moments to forget my Griefs; But they return, full blown, with ſharp Reproach. Yes, Lucius, we muſt part; fly hence for ever: I too muſt go, and make my widow'd Bed, Where Winds and Seas, eternally at War, Have left no Landing-place for Murderers. Luc. The like Forgetfulneſs has ſeiz'd on me. Almighty Beauty quite becalms my Rage: In looking on thee, I forget thy Crimes: Forget, thou gav'ſt my Honour to the Winds; Stuck foul Diſcredit on my ſpotleſs Name: Left me to drink the bitter Dregs of Wrath, Of burning Jealouſy, and cold Deſpair, Regardleſs of the Right, that I claim'd in thee. Queen. Since I am falſe, have I not need to fly? Bad Woman as I am, I own my Crime; But oh! for whom is it, that I am guilty? In thee, 'tis moſt inhumane to reproach me; Thou mad'ſt me Criminal, and yet upbraid'ſt me. Falſe to Otharius, Murd'reſs as I am, Ev'n now I kill him o'er again! ev'n now! Whilſt thy too gracious Form is dear to Sight; Whilſt all of thee is precious to my Heart, And Love o'erwhelms Reſentment in my Soul. Luc. O well diſſembled Falſehood. Queen. Fly thou, leſt we ſhou'd never part: Tho' all Regards, divine and humane, plead: Tho' Blood crys out aloud, be gone, Revenge: Tho' Men and Angels have decreed againſt thee: Tho' Shame, Remorſe, and Veng'ance, call me hence, Strong as thou art in Charms, how can I go? Luc, Yes, thou wou'dſt go Around the World to bear my Infamy: The odious Load, which thou haſt heap'd on me, On me, and on thy ſelf. Oh! what art thou become? how art thou call'd? The Wife of Lucius, a known Proſtitute. She who fled from him, on his Marriage-day. Ariſe Revenge! ariſe; and force out Love. Come Indignation, Honour, Glory come; Strengthen my Arm, and ſhew me how to puniſh. Queen. Ah, Heav'ns! my Lord, you will not kill your Wife. Luc. Is there another Way to clear my Honour? Queen. What have I done? or why am I ſuſpected? Luc. Arminius has thy Virgin-Shame diſclos'd; And of thy early Hours the ſecret Practice: With the ſame Rage, as once he lov'd, he hates. Behold this Letter—fair Perdition. A Boy! a poor domeſtick Slave! low Sin! Vile Woman! vicious Sex! Why was I choſen? I, for this Diſhonour? Queen. Has trait'rous Albany traduc'd my Vertue? Luc. Thy Self, againſt thy Self: See here, theſe Lines; My Shame and thine! this wicked Scroll is thine. Queen. By Heav'n and Earth it is not! I am wrong'd. Hear me, my Lord. Alas! where are your Eyes? What means that Arm, uplifted to my Death? Why do you ſtare, as you were turn'd to Stone? Luc. An unſeen Power diſarms me: I idly gaze, am loſt, but cannot ſtrike. Away, away! leſt I ſhou'd love to Madneſs; Leſt I ſhou'd take Perdition to my Bed; The Blot of Glory, ſtain'd with abject Joys. Queen. I ne'er writ this! never lov'd Albany! Ne'er heard, or thought I was belov'd by him. Oh! Torment of the Mind, to be ſuſpected: I, who love Honour, Innocence, and Truth, Next Heav'n and thee, that I ſhou'd be ſuſpected. Luc. Is it not plain? See there thy Hand, falſe Woman. In ſpight of Charms, I ſhall relapſe to Rage: In ſpight of Love, deſtroy thee—Let me go. A Miracle can only clear thy Fame, And heal my wounded Heart. [As Lucius is breaking from the Queen, Sylvius enters, his Breaſt open, torn and bloody; he falls at the Queen's Feet, Lucius ſupports him. Syl. Fly, Madam, I am wounded unto Death: The King of Britain's Sword has pierc'd my Heart: He's fighting with our Party, and muſt conquer. My gracious Queen, I beg you wou'd forgive me. Lucius, the Letter thou haſt ſeen, I wrote: Thou wert thy ſelf the Cauſe—I lov'd thee, Lucius: Lov'd thee in Britain: Follow'd thee to Aquitain; Now, in thy Arms, unpitied, dies Alenia. Oh Almerin! are thus thy Words explain'd? [Dies. Queen. Thy Death's a Miracle to clear my Fame. My jealous Lord requir'd a Miracle: It is Alenia, falſe Arminius's Siſter. Baſe Man! how deeply were thy Treaſons laid? Luc. With conſcious Guilt, for being ſo miſled; With conſcious Shame, for having thus offended; With all the Penitence of Men convinc'd, When they, like me, are tortur'd by Remorſe, I proſtrate fall, to hear your equal Doom. Pronounce a Sentence heavy as my Crime: Oh! baniſh me from Life, but not from Love: Send me to die, but not to live from you. Queen. Cou'd Fate as eaſily be reconcil'd, Then might we meet in Joy. But oh! the Fates, The Fates are angry with us, Lucius. With thee, for murdering the brave Otharius; With me, for wedding with his Murderer! Luc. I kill the King! Who dares accuſe the Innocent? Queen. Albany does. Arminius and Alenia ſaw thee kill him: The Sword found, broken, in Otharius's Body, Was giv'n thee by Arminius. Luc. Oh! well-invented Malice: 'Tis falſe, 'tis falſe: So may the Traytor die, Or Lucius periſh. Queen. Did'ſt thou not beg of him, my Father's Sword? Luc. Never! that Villain has traduc'd us both. Queen. Oh! I believe thee, Lucius: But the World! Clear there thy Fame, and I am ſtill thy Bride. Enter Irene haiſtily. Irene. Madam, the King has ſlain the Alban Lord, Left, by the Prince, to guard your Majeſty: He has fought a bloody Battle with our Party, But cruel Vortimer, at length has conquer'd. Queen. Alas! then I am once again his Captive. Remember, Lucius, that which thou haſt ſworn; Protect me from his Love, or thou art perjur'd. K. Vortimer enters with Soldiers, they go to ſeize the Queen; Lucius draws and defends her. K. Vor. What! arm againſt thy King! againſt thy Father! Wilt thou? dar'ſt thou? then kill the horrid Villain, That I may curſe, I ever had a Son. Luc. Your Life, great Sir, to me, be always ſacred: I but defend the Honour of my Wife. K. Vor. Then, Soldiers, ſtrike, ſtrike thro' the Traytor's Heart. [They are going to kill the Prince, the Queen comes from behind, and interpoſes. Queen. Thro' me you ſtrike; I guard my Husband's Life. K. Vor. Thee I can't hurt: my Eyes diſarm my Hand. Slaves, tear him thence! but do not touch the Queen, Y our Lives ſhall anſwer it, but kill the Rebel. Queen. Kill your Son! oh, impious, curs'd Command! Soldiers, ſtand off, or elſe you paſs thro' me. K. Vor. Slaves, Villains, Cowards, are you hers, or mine? Queen. I cannot long defend him, he muſt fall: Yield, Lucius, I releaſe thee from thy Vow. Oh! ſave his Life, and I'll conſent to go: Spare but thy Son, I am thy willing Captive. Luc. What, haſt thou giv'n thy Honour for my Life? A vaſt exchange, and better I had dy'd. Queen. My Honour, no! That is the Care of Heav'n; My Life I'd always give for thine. Luc. Oh! ſacred Sir. By all thoſe Tyes that keep bad Men from Crimes, From acting what their wicked Hearts conceive, I charge you not to think of Violation, I am your Son; ſhe is my wedded Wife; More were ſuperfluous. K. Vor. Away. Now for the Sea. Queen. And may it with unbounded Rage receive us. Blow Winds, exert on us your utmoſt Force, All Nature elſe be free; Plunge us beneath, Daſh us on Rocks: ye cannot be too cruel; Yet ſpare my Husband, amidſt all your Storms. But for this impious King and me, War, Fire, Fury, Blood and Devaſtation Purſue us, as ye did my wretched Father; O'ertake us, as ye have the ſlain Otharius: And when ye come, I ſhall account it Gain, That the curs'd Briton ſuffers in my Pain. [Exeunt. The End of the Fourth Act.
ACT V. SCENE I. The Outer-part of the Temple of Jupiter, Emmelin and Arminius meeting; She with a Dagger. Emm. UNfaithful Albany, is this the Truſt? Are theſe the Promiſes thou mad'ſt to me? I feel the Strength of Nations in this Arm, And thou ſhalt taſte my Dagger. Arm. A Hand ſo fair, ſhou'd never menance Danger, And Peace and Joy ſhould be the Gifts of Beauty: Were I not yet of Uſe to Emmelin, [Wreſts it from her. I'd not oppoſe, but meet the deſtin'd Blow. Emm. Say, fawning Traytor, haſt thou not undone me? Arm. Why are you thus againſt your Slave enrag'd? How can your Creature merit Death from you? Emm. Accompliſh'd Villain! plead'ſt thou Ignorance, And Lucius (whom my Soul is fond of) ſentenc'd? By thy curs'd Accuſation he's condemn'd. Thou told'ſt the Kings and Prieſts, he was a Chriſtian; For That he dies, nor can my Brother ſave him. Arm. Oh! hear me: I have ſerv'd you to the utmoſt: No other Way cou'd gain him a Reprieve From Vortimer, his jealous Father. Emm. Speak on— Arm. When firſt the King, your Brother, and my ſelf (With all his Guards, and Train of noble Huntſmen) O'ertook the flying Tyrant, with the Captives, He halted, to conſider of their Death. Emm. New Horror! murder his only Son! Arm. I thought what, by his Loſs, your Heart wou'd ſuffer, And therefore ſent for Audience from the Tyrant, In which, I ſoon his Confidence regain'd: For, whilſt the Action paſs'd, I boldly ſwore, Within the ſhady Foreſt I was ſleeping, 'Till waken'd by Honorius numerous Train, I was by them conſtrain'd to join his Party. Emm. Did he credit this? Arm. He ſeem'd to do it, yet was all Confuſion: Nay, vow'd he wou'd, himſelf, the Captives ſlay, Rather than from his Power they ſhou'd be wreſted. Emm. Cruel Tyrant! moſt unnatural Father! Arm. To gain a Pauſe of Time, ſome Hours to ſerve you, 'Twas my advice, that he ſhould yield them up As Chriſtian Converts, to the Flamen's Hands; From whence, he afterwards, might ſave the Queen, Shou'd he deſign to let his Rival periſh. Emm. Our Laws are ſuch, if Chriſtians are convicted, They muſt abjure, or die! The Queen, by all our People is belov'd: For, tho' they long have gueſs'd ſhe was a Convert, 'Till now, alas! ſhe never was accus'd: Thy Breath has kill'd her: Thou haſt ſlain thy Queen. The Gods will hunt thee round the World for this, Rebel and Traytor as thou art. Arm. To you I am no Traytor. Emm. How did'ſt thou know that Lucius was a Chriſtian? Arm. I thought the Queen might have converted him; And he, with Pride, upon the firſt Demand, Above his Father's Hopes, acknowledg'd it. Emm. This, then, is the Reſult: But if he die, (Mark me, my cunning Lord of Albany, For by Diana's Chaſtity I ſwear) I will have Veng'ance for the Prince's Death. Arm. They have refus'd the Druids offer'd Mercy: The jealous Briton urges for a Sentence: His Guards have got poſſeſſion of this Temple; Nor dares the King, for fear of popular Rage, Wreſt Chriſtian-Convicts from the Flamen's Hands. What can we then project to ſave the Prince? Emm. The Prince of Cambria, and the King my Brother, With preſſing, yet unproſperous Tears and Pray'rs, Have ſought the Tyrant to releaſe the Captives; But, by the ſuperſtitious People join'd, He Lords it here, as if he were in Britain. In this Extremity ſome Hopes remain, That we may yet ſurprize the Britiſh Guard, Which, if by thee, and by the Prince perform'd, May, from the publick Hate, preſerve my Brother: A choſen Party of the Gallick Troops, Have Orders to obey you. Haſte then, with theſe, and ſave the Royal Pris'ners; Relieve my Love, tho' he be ne'er for me. Fly—tear him from his Rival—ſet him free, Or my Revenge ſhall center all in thee. [The Curtain drawn up, diſcovers an Altar to Jupiter; Flamens attending: Lucius and the Queen under the Britiſh Guard. Luc. Yet, ere my Father ſhall pronounce our Doom, Let me, this Once, enfold thee in my Arms; Take from my Wife, this firſt and laſt Embrace. Oh! ſweet to Senſe—O yet untaſted Beauty: To die is nothing—but reſigning thee, I merit more than ever Man cou'd merit. Queen. So faſt theſe troubled watry Bubbles riſe, I cannot ſee thee through 'em. Oh! farewell. Luc. Farewell, my Queen: May the ſharp Pangs of Death Fall gently on thee, as when Children ſlumber. Queen. May Angels bear thee on their golden Wings, Without the intermediate Pains between. Luc. My Father comes, and now we part for ever. Enter K. Vortimer, Prieſts and Train. K. Vor. Chriſtians! once more, do ye Abjure or Die? Luc. Die. Queen. Both die. Luc. But firſt, great Sir, I beg, in Death, forgiveneſs, [Kneels. In what (as erring Man) I have offended; Tho' never, willingly, did I diſpleaſe My awful King and Father: As to my Love, it was involuntary; Hearts do not give themſelves; for that I die. Queen. As of my deareſt Lord, you are the Parent, Pardon thoſe Words I may in Rage have ſpoke; [Kneels. But ſure the Provocation was extream, I do forgive, and wou'd be ſo forgiven. Luc. I wiſh you Length of Days, and to forget me: Forget you e'er had an unhappy Son; But may you ſtill, with never-ending Grief, Remember Roſalinda. Queen. Long may you live, repenting Lucius Death: To you I recommend my helpleſs People, If e'er their Queen you lov'd (as much you flatter'd) Govern with Clemency. K. Vor. They ſhake my Heart: Yet, ne'er from Love, cou'd Pity gain the Ground. Yield up thy Bride to us, and thou ſhalt live; [Aſide to Luc. Thy curſed Marriage may be diſannul'd, And thou proclaim'd our Kingdom's Heir. Luc. Forſake my Wife! it is not in my Pow'r: Mercy is Cruelty, when ſo diſguis'd. K. Vor. Then thou ſhalt die, rebellious hard'ned Boy. You know your Charms, exert 'em now, be mine, And Lucius, my curs'd Rival, too ſhall live. [Aſide to the Queen. Queen. To ſave the Prince's Life, I wou'd do all But break the ſacred Vow, I plighted to him. K. Vor. Since thus I'm brav'd by their fantaſtick Paſſion, Their Death ſhall be an inſtant Cure for mine. Take hence, to diff'rent Priſons, both theſe Chriſtians, The Woman ſtrait ſhall die by Fire: But firſt, The common Deathſman riots in her Charms; Whilſt Lucius, on a lofty Scaffold bleeds. Their Sentence is irrevocable. Luc. A Queen condemn'd to ſuffer as a Slave, Oh awful Judge! I cannot call you Father. Let ſavage Beaſts hunt down my weary'd Life; Tear off my Fleſh, or bury me alive; Rack only me, and I will bleſs the King; But ſave, unhurt, the Honour of my Wife. Queen. Sacred to Vertue and immortal Glory, Sacred to chaſte and holy Purity, Who is it dares to ſentence our high Honour? Our ſpotleſs Fame aſpires to reach the Skies. Our Life we willingly reſign; there glut your Rage. K. Vor. Hence. Bear 'em to their Priſons. Queen. Oh! Lucius, Lucius, they wou'd drag me from thee. Luc. Slaves, Raviſhers, forbear to touch my Wife. Queen. He is my Lord; we cannot part, and live. Luc. Oh! Father, Monarch, Royal Vortimer, By my dear Mother's Honour, ſave the Queen's. K. Vor. Down, down with him to the Temple-dungeon. [The Stage opens, and Lucius is carry'd down by the Prieſts and Soldiers. Queen. Upwards to Heav'n, where he ſhall riſe a Saint. Oh! mighty Pow'rs, my Breaſt (by you inſpir'd) Foretels ſome Miracle, vouchſaf'd to me, Shall guard my Chaſtity from brutal Rage. All worldly Pomp I willingly forego; My Husband too, the deareſt Gift of Life. Thro' Fire I'll gladly paſs, my Faith to prove, If Fire can ſave me from an impious Love. [Ex. guarded. K. Vor. Now laugh, proud Queen, and ſcorn our proffer'd Throne. Enter Arminius. Lord Albany, what you advis'd, is done. Arm. It is Revenge befitting a great Soul: Oh! 'twill be great, be Extacy indeed, If you can perſonate the happy Slave Sentenc'd to raviſh this nice Piece of Beauty, And like brave Tarquin, claſp your far-fam'd Lucrece. K. Vor. Revenge and Love ſhall be together ſated: Under the vile Appearance of that Wretch, We will poſſeſs the Fair, yet ſhroud our Glory. Arm. How bears Honorius ſuch a foul Decree? K. Vor. The Coward Gaul, durſt not releaſe the Chriſtians, Durſt not command, ev'n in his Capital, Leſt his good People ſhou'd, forſooth, grow angry. We laugh'd to ſee the Royal Daſtard's Fears; Whilſt, by our ſeeming Zeal, and Gold well-plac'd, We gain'd a Sentence hateful to their King. Were ſhe not fair, what were her Gods to me? Let Nations wonder at the horrid Deed: Let all the Monarchs of the World unite, To pour down Vengeance on our guilty Head, We'll meet the Torrent, when we've quench'd our Flame. Yes, Roſalind! thy Beauties are devoted, Thro' Laws we wade, to reach thy cruel Arms, Thro' thy own Blood to taſte thy boaſted Charms. If Love alone can wiſeſt Counſels blaſt, Unpeople Kingdoms, and lay Nations waſte; With Indignation when the God is fir'd, At once by Fury and Revenge inſpir'd; Like Lightning from the Hand of Jove he flies, All Danger, and all Rule, his Rage defies, Nor dreads the threat'ned Veng'ance of the Skies. [Ex. King Vor. Arm. Fortune, once more, let me invoke thy Aid. Oh! thou great Goddeſs, be propitious now, And ſtand revers'd for ever! [Exit. [The Scene ſhifts to the Dungeon, Lucius diſcovered, Arminius enters to him. Arm. Long live the Prince of Britain. Luc. Who's there? Arm. A Friend to Lucius. Luc. Thou! guilty, treacherous Lord of Albany! C an'ſt thou, who wrong'd the Queen, and wrong'd our Fame Preſume to be a Friend? Oh! for a Sword. Arm. There, have your Wiſh: But turn it not on me, 'Till Fate has leiſure for ſo vile a Life. Luc. Speak on: What was thy Errand hither? Arm. Hope to preſerve the Queen from Violation. Meaſure my Zeal by her Diſtreſs: Alas! Both are too great for Words. Luc. Albany's Zeal! an ignominious Traytor Who has traduc'd us both; ſtain'd the Queen's Glory, And fix'd on me the Murther of Otharius. Arm. Wild to poſſeſs what moſt my Soul ador'd, What wou'd not a poor loſt, deſpairing Lover? But oh! no more ſhe lives for you, nor me: No more her Honour lives, without our Succour. By an unheard of, monſtrous, vile Decree, A ſordid Slave poſſeſſes all her Charms, Unleſs, this Inſtant, we the Wretch can ſlay. I'll lead you where you may the Deed perform: Time calls on me to head Honorius Troops, Diſpos'd, by him, and Emmelin, to aid you: Perhaps, ſome lucky Moment may look forth To ſave her ſacred Life, as well as Honour. What Vengeance Then, a noble Foe can ask, All the Revenge that Arm can take, be thine. Luc. Hope, once again, re-kindles in my Soul: This Deed perform'd, and the bright Queen preſerv'd, I claim the Juſtice of thy Sword: 'Till when, In the enſuing Tumult, ſpare my Father. [Exeunt The Scene ſhifts, they re-enter. Arm. That Door conducts you to the Queen; The Britiſh Guards are drawn around the Temple; The Prieſts themſelves, as loth to hear her Shrieks, Retire to Corners, to bewail th' Event. There's the Way; be ſure you kill the Raviſher. Luc. Farewell: Inevitable Death purſues him. [Luc. goes in. Arm. This is, indeed, a Maſter-piece of Cunning: This is a moſt accompliſh'd Strain of Thought. The Father kill the Son, the Son the Father: Either fall, or both; but one muſt periſh: I head the Gauls, and murther the Survivor, And then the Crown and Queen may yet be mine. [Ex. Arm. [The Scene changes. Enter Vortimer diſguis'd in a ſordid Habit: As he is going out at the oppoſite Door, Lucius purſues him, pulls him back, and ſtabs him. Luc. Stay, Ruffian, take thy Death from Lucius Hand. Where is my Roſalinda? where's my Love? My deareſt Queen? the Raviſher's no more: [the Queen enters. The ſordid, ignominious Slave is dead. K. Vor. Yet, but a moment's Space, and I am gone; The God's have prov'd themſelves, and I am ſlain. Luc. That Voice has ſomething ſacred in the Sound. K. Vor. It is thy Father: Thou haſt ſlain me, Lucius. Kill'd him, who gave thee Life: Curſe on the Deed. [Dies. Luc. Oh! 'tis he, 'tis he; the Royal Vortimer: Ev'n now, his angry Soul has forc'd its Paſſage: Swiftly his Breath fleets upwards from my Sight. Now he arraigns me at the Bar of Juſtice, Now he accuſes his ill-fated Son; Now he pulls down the righteous Veng'ance on me, Invokes the Thunder, and all-piercing Lightning. How full it glares on my defective Sight: O'erwhelm'd by dreadful Bolts, the Wrath of Heav'n, Down, down I ſink to meet the Fate of Parricides: Avenge my Father's Blood, Deſpair and Death: A King's, a Parent's Blood! Deſpair and Die! [Falls in a Trance. Queen. Oh! great unhappy Hero, born for Woe: Oh! fatal Moment, that inclin'd thy Heart, To think the wretched Roſalinda fair. Dear, lovely Eyes, admit no more of Day: Eternal be this Lethargy of Grief: Do not return to conſcious, racking Thought. He comes again to Miſeries untold: To Life, to Senſe, to Reaſon, to Diſtraction! Luc. Say, thou bright fair One, who firſt taught me Truth, May not this Hand avenge a Parent's Blood? Queen. The Gates of Mercy are for ever ſhut Againſt Self-murtherers. Luc. What, cut a Father's Thread, And calmly wait the breaking of my own? Not Years of ſtricteſt Pennance can attone; Can expiate, for ſnedding ſacred Blood. Oh King! thy Uſurpation and bad Deeds, The Murder of thy Prince, are here reveng'd: For ever Scarlet, thoſe deep-tinctur'd Crimes (By an irrevocable, righteous Doom) Have made thy Son thy Executioner. On me thy Sins deſcend, for thee I am curs'd. Queen. Ariſe, my Lord, new Miſchiefs are at hand. Luc. 'Tis falſe Arminius fighting with the Guards. Arminius ſays, I ſlew the great Otharius, Arminius ſtain'd the Honour of the Queen, Arminius urg'd me on to kill my Father, Arminius comes for Payment of his Crimes: Traytor! have at thy Heart! An Alarm and fighting within: Arminius enters at the Head of a Party, goes to kill Lucius, is kill'd by him: Then enter the Prince of Cambria, leading Emmelin, Irene, &c. Arm. Oh! I am ſlain. I've juſtly met my Death from Lucius Hand. Queen. Yet, as thou hop'ſt for Pardon of thy Crimes, If thou haſt Breath, tell me who kill'd Otharius? Arm. I ſlew your Lord, and fix'd it upon Lucius; Wild Love and falſe Ambition were my Guides: The Gods forgive us all. [Dies. Prince of Camb. Dear noble Youth, The Pow'rs have brought us to preſerve thy Life, From the hard Sentence of a cruel Father. Luc. Oh Uncle! ſhroud me from an impious Deed: Oh! hide me in your Boſom from the Light. Behold that ſacred Body! There's my Father: Behold, in Lucius, the curs'd Parricide. Pr. of Camb. Vortimer ſlain, and by my Nephew's Hand! Thou great, illuſtrious, happy, happy Youth, The Fates have now been buſy for thy Glory. Hear all, and tremble at this righteous Juſtice. Thou haſt ſlain thy Father's Murtherer, Lucius; Aveng'd his Death, and puniſh'd the Uſurper. Luc. Oh Uncle! was not Vortimer my Father? Pr. of Camb. This Monſter cou'd not have a Son, like Lucius. Thou ow'ſt thy Birth to the late Royal King, Whom this vile Traytor, at a Banquet ſlew: The Queen was then in Child-bed; You her Off-ſpring. To ſave you from a cruel Tyrant's Sword, We ſpread the Rumour of your ſudden Death, And with feign'd Tears, wept o'er an empty Tomb: The War in Gallia drew him from the Throne, In foreign Fields to bury loyal Chiefs, Who ill cou'd bear the Murther of their King. Luc. But how, great Sir, was I ſuppos'd his Son? Pr. of Camb. He forc'd a Marriage with the Queen my Siſter. By my Advice, you ſeem'd to ſpring from thence: The Queen's retir'dneſs bar'd intruding Eyes; 'Till broke with Sorrow, ſhortly ſhe expir'd. Six Years the Tyrant paſs'd in foreign War: At his return, I gave you to his Arms, Who, as a forward Miracle, receiv'd you. Thus the juſt Powers have led you by the Hand, To puniſh, in curſt Vortimer, the Man, Who caus'd the Death of both your Royal Parents. Luc. Oh holy Angels! tune it in your Choir; Eccho it Heav'n, thro' all yon azure Sky; The happy Lucius has not ſlain his Father. To you, bright beauteous Princeſs's, I ſue: To you, my noble Uncle, and our Friends, Kneel all, and kiſs the Duſt in Adoration, Kneel all, and praiſe the Eternal Pow'r with me: The happy Lucius has reveng'd his Father. Queen. My Life, my Honour, and my People reſcu'd, Cou'd only be the Work of Heav'n, and Lucius. Luc. Once more thou art my Wife. Queen. Once more and ever be my Love. Emm. Here, Emmelin, thy Hopes of Lucius die; Be then no more miſled by fatal Love, But to Diana's Train, devote thy ſelf For ever. [Aſide. Luc. What Thanks, bright Princeſs, ſhall I pay to you, And your great Brother, who has help'd to ſave me?[to Emm. That I have paſs'd the threat'ned Storms of Fate, Aveng'd my Parents, and preſerv'd my Wife, Are Bleſſings firſt deriv'd to me from Beauty. Benighted, grov'ling on my Mother Earth, 'Till Beauty call'd, I unenlightned lay: By Beauty lead, I ſought eternal Day. I view thoſe ſhining Realms of Light above, And gain immortal Happineſs by Love. [Exeunt omnes. FINIS.