University of Virginia Library

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 Cœlestial Reasons:
Enlighten'd from above, my glowing Breast
Bids me undaunted own the sacred Faith,
Which, when profess'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 faint 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 Cæsar'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 Cæsar 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.

[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.