University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE a Room of State.
Enter Claudia.
Claud.
Oh! The quick Tortures of departing Hope;
Guiderius oh!—
He loves me too, as I do him to Madness;
A thousand Circumstances tell his Passion,
Tho' he is Silent, Bashful stupid Prince.
Had'st thou e're once endanger'd, once address'd me;
But with dissembled Complaisance at least,
Met the exciting Motions of my Eyes,
We both had now been happy, free from Tyranny:
I wou'd have fled with thee thro' Toils, thro' Dangers,
Nay, I wou'd have dy'd with thee; but now all's past.
Curs'd be my Pride, and my too fearful Tongue,
That did not boldly first declare my Passion;
Be curs'd the Slavish Awe, the formal Follies,
And impotent Examples of thy Sex;
Who follow us with Cold, with trifling Skill,
And court our forc'd Behaviour, not our Will.
Woman like Princes, have peculiar Ways;
Which Man by imitating disobeys:
His Royalty of Nature, spoils his Sense;
And with the Traitor, does the Fool Commence:
We must be Modest or our Pow'r profane,
But Modesty is Impudence in Man.

Enter Decimus.
Dec.
What in the Royal Lodgings?—
It seems you're grown a Favo'rite, ha! Madam.

Claud.
Is that a Crime?

Dec.
Art thou a Daughter of the Claudian Race,
Whose Sons triumphantly have led the Romans,
From far Euphrates, to the Western Shores;
Whose modest Matrons, from the first have been,
The bright Examples of excelling Virtue;
And can'st thou ask that Question?

Claud.
To scan the present, by succeeding Ages,
Shows more the Scholar than the Man of Wit;
A stupid Genius, stinted to the past,
And ne'er to be refin'd: Be thou in Arms excelling;
Exalt thy self, to the Imperial Diadem,
Which oft' has grac'd our Fathers,
And make thy Bounds of Empire, those of Nature;
Yet shall thy Glories, be Eclyps'd by mine?
Our Name shall less be fam'd, for Blood than Beauty;
While I in Courts, the Theaters of Love,
More Victims make, and greater Conquests gain.

Dec.
Curs'd be your Conquests; blasted be your Beauties;
Destructive to the Claudian Honours. Syren!
Vain foolish Syren! Whose Infernal Graces,
To the soft Shore allures the gazing Wanderer;
Yet only there, art hurtful to thy self.

Claud.
Thou dar'st not mean my loss of Honour.

Dec.
If thou hast yet preserv'd that dearest Jewel;
That, which alone, brightens thy feeble Sex,
Beyond your Beauty, and adorns your Faults;
Why does the prying Scoffer, Grinning, Stile thee,
The Mistress of Arbelline?—

Claud.
The Slaves! The Pimps of Fame, whose Livelyhood is lying;
Frequenting still the Tables of the Great,
Who cannot feed without their fordid Scandal;
Scandal; the Sauce that fattens Rev'rend Dulness.

Dec.
Tho' Rumours false, or at the best Extravagant;
Yet there's no dallying with our Reputation:
'Tis like the tender Plants; which if but touch'd,
Lets fall its lively Leaves. Therefore be wise,
And if thoud'st have me think thy Fame untrue,
This instant, leave the Court and come with me.

Claud.
Obeying thee, wou'd show too much Compliance
To Groveling Envy; no imperious Brother,
As much as is the Court above the Country,
(For all that's Gay, and delicate in Love,)
So much am I, above thy proud Commands.

Dec.
Thou art above the Sense of Honour too;
But by the Wrongs, thou do'st thy self and me,
I'll force thee from this Scene of Guilty Life.
No more the Palace, or the crowded Town,
Shall Harbour thee: to Desarts, waste and wild;
To Brutes, and Brutish Mortals, will I drive thee;
There trim thy Pride, and satiate with thy Folly.

Claud.
Your Frowns, your Threats, and all your Antique Wit;
Much better were employ'd to save your Friend.

Dec.
What do'st thou mean?—

Claud.
Thou do'st not know the Prince is prov'd a Traytor,
By those to whom he trusted his Designs.

Dec.
I do not.—

Claud.
True Son of Mars! In ought but Camps unskill'd;
While thou art shooting to the Heav'ns thy Head
With busy Pride, improving tender Fame,
The Cankers of the State are at thy Root,
And gnawing to thy Heart, dull honest Warrior:
Thou art suspected too, and had e'er this,
Altho' a Roman, been arraign'd;—
Had not Guiderius of himself Regardless,
Strongly deny'd thy Knowledge of his Thoughts.

Dec.
Oh! Matchless Friend, unfaithful to himself.
And must I be out-done in generous Virtue?
No: by the Honours of the Roman Name,
The Legions to his Rescue shall be brought.

Claud.
They'll come too late; before to morrow's-noon
He dies; the King has so resolv'd already:
All but the Sentence of his Death is over.

Dec.
What can I do? (pausing)
by Heav'ns a God-like Thought:
Worthy my Friendship, worthy of my Fame, (Pauses again.)

It is resolv'd. The Hours he has to live,
Shall raise his Name above the Clouds of Envy;
Above the Life-long Toils of out-side Greatness:
In the fix'd Stars, the Youth shall shine for ever,
The brightest Record, of excelling Friendship.

Claud.
Oh! cou'dst thou but preserve the lovely Hero,
To thy Stern Will, I'd ever be Obedient:
No creeping Vassal, nor no doting Wife,
To the rever'd Command, shou'd stricter Duty pay.

Dec.
And why art thou so earnest for his Safety?

Claud.
If Women can admire the Martial Front,
And fierce Demeanour of the Man of War;
Is it so great a Wonder she shou'd Love,
When to the Soldiers Face, the Lovers Air is joyn'd?

Dec.
What dost thou Love him! By the King possest.

Claud.
The King with Pomp and Power, woed my Favour,
With haughty Homage, as secure of Conquest;
But oh! his Brother, with dejected Beauty,
With trembling Love, and sighing Silence, won me:
I charm'd Arbelline, but Guiderius more.
He that had my Pride, has, alass! my Person;
But he that had my Pity, has my Heart.

Dec.
If thou do'st Love him, thou art lost to Happiness
As well as Honour. Did not Pity plead
Against Revenge, I'd urge thee to Love on.

Claud.
What e'er your Thoughts are, by your Words unbiass'd,
Know I will still Love on; by ought unaw'd:
My Love shall emulate your boasted Friendship;
And let his Heart reward the highest Obligations.

Dec.
No: cou'd he Love thee with an equal Flame,
Know I wou'd squench it. Stay thee with the King,
Be still his private, lasting Plague: for now,
Thou art no more my Sister. I have done with thee;
Yet if thou dar'st Design to Help my Friend,
Thou'lt find, in Vengeance, I'm thy Brother still.

Claud.
Vengeance shall first be mine; Aid, Earth, and Hell,
And the more active Thoughts of raging Woman.

Dec.
I Scorn and Pity thee. Vain abject Wretch!
Thou blazing Infamy! thou blot of Honour!
Methinks I see thee, from thy Pride ill-grounded,
Toss'd headlong down into the Vale of Sorrow;
There wand'ring like a Spirit doubly damn'd,
Excluded from the Mansions of the Dead:
Viewing, and longing, for those pleasing Things,
Which from the stronger and receiving Senses,
By loss of Hope, are ever, ever barr'd;
Hope, which makes Life so lov'd, and Death so fear'd.
[Exit Decimus.

Claudia Sola.
Claud.
No, false Prophet, no, my Blooming Beauties,
Will rule the Gazing World, where-e'er I go,
Beauties, my Friend, and who can be my Foe;
Beauty, the Sole; the ever-guiding Fire;
The Glorious Witness, of a Heav'nly Sire;
Which all that can behold by Fate admire.
Beauty, which warm'd to Life the Seeds of Love,
Which form'd the Globe, and is the greater Jove.

[Exit.
Enter King, Madoc, Attendants at a distance.
King.
There, there she goes, the haughty, sullen Claudia,
And longing Love goes with her: To my Fancy
She seems like Winter Fields laid o'er with Snow;
Which my least Rigour, freezes e'en to Starving,
Or my returning Warmth, dissolves away
To an unverdur'd Fondness—I am Sick of her.

Mad.
'Tis Strange! I've heard your Majesty affirm,
Her Charms were wond'rous! capable to Captivate
The wildest Minds. That she was all Variety!
That Goddesses were not more Fair and Nice;
Nor the brown Rural Lass more fondly Easy.

King.
Then she was new: the gay, the sportive Hind,
The fairest of the Herd, was just run down;
The active eager Chace of hot Desire,
O'er Hills of Hopes, thro' Vales of Fears, just ended;
But when the panting Maid was siez'd, I cool'd,
When nothing could be added, I was cloy'd:
Her luscious Beauties surfeited my Soul,
And urg'd me to the Hunt of New Desires.

Mad.
Aurosia, I presume, the Game once over,
The elevating Game, that works your Passions
Into a thousand pleasing Turns of Thoughts,
Will be as Claudia: Now a Goddess; but enjoy'd—

King.
Oh! never, never, infinite her Beauties,
And all the Graces of her Sex are hers.
What Man with her could ever Cloying know!
Still while our Lives, in Raptures ebb and flow,
Imagination shall Support the Joy,
And re-inflame the Spirits when they Cloy.
The happiest Lovers, past our selves we feign,
And act their diff'rent Pleasures o'er again;
Thus, thus we'll thro' a World of Blisses rove,
Devote our Minds, and give our Souls to Love.

Enter Attendant.
Attend.
Dread Sir, the Judges in the Laws agreed,
Have prov'd the Prince of highest Treason guilty,
And to your Sacred Pleasure, have referr'd
The Sentence of his Death—He waits your Royal Will.

King.
Go bring him in—
Enter Guiderius guarded.
So haughty, so unmortify'd, as if
The Guards of Might and Innocence were thine;
As if thou woud'st out Face the Gods and Me:
Thou art not guilty—

Guid.
Brought forth a Prince, and fashion'd for Command,
Train'd up for Honour, and the Pride of Pow'r,
Yet the base Object made of formal Justice,
Led publickly about like common Criminals,
The mark of grinning Scorn, and gazing Pity:
Well may my Royal Blood, my Mounting Soul,
Swell with unnat'ral Scorn, at Shame impos'd,
And with fierce Pride, Resent this barbarous Usage.

King.
Hast thou not bastardiz'd that Royal Blood,
And made thy Self unworthy of Respect?
Hast thou not traiterously sought my Life?
Hast thou not with most damn'd Designs attempted,
To seat thy self, (the younger Born, whom Heav'n
Ordain'd for Servitude,) in my Inheritance?

Guid.
I had not been arraign'd and censur'd thus,
Had not my tender Care of Both betray'd me;
The Wretches that abus'd my honest Confidence,
Might have inform'd you I design'd on neither.

King.
You are not guilty then—

Guid.
How far I'm guilty, is beneath my Thonghts
To Hide or to Excuse with Fear or Shame.
Long urg'd with Wrongs, unmerited Disgraces,
I aim'd at a Redress—

King.
You did—

Guid.
Had I not Reason? all my Services slighted:
Rewards, which, in the very grasp of Danger,
I truly had deserv'd, still partially deny'd me.
For loss of Blood, my only Gain was Envy,
Suspicion, and Contempt; till I became
The scurrile Theme of ev'ry Courtly Wit,
Nay, ev'n the lowest Jest of creeping Slaves!
Those very Slaves! who when their Master Frown'd,
Durst meditate vile Vengeance! And shou'd I sit
Down with bleeding Honour unredress'd?
Be Patient and be trod on? No: My Soul,
My inmost Soul, Rejoyces but to think,
I dar'd at least, tho' in the Means unhappy,
To do my Self that Justice you refus'd.

King.
—Triumphant Rebel!
But as you hope for our insulted Mercy,
Declare your curst Accomplices, and all
The Means by which you Thought to effect your Treasons.

Guid.
Since our Designs were Just, Confessions Treason;
Treason against my Conscience, and my Honour:
But were I so inclin'd, that Name of Mercy,
Within my Breast wou'd bury it for ever.
What! Should I live a Prince, forlorn, and bare
Of Glory and Esteem? degraded? branded?
No: Scorn'd be Mercy; be my Life abhor'd;
Since you have made it odious, both I hate:
Mercy, a Vulgar Hope; and Life, a Blessing
Only to those who fear to die.

King.
Since Mercy you refuse, it shall be
Forced on your Soul; at least, you shall be Wrack'd to Death,
The weighty Treasons from your Bosom torn,
That lighter you may Wing your horrid way,
And unincumber'd, dart the dark Abodes.

Guid.
I dare your Wracks, set all invented Heads
To study changing, linguering Torments for me,
Advancing Death at last must take its Fort
Of yielding Flesh, in spight of Art that guards it;
That certain Comfort shall my Pains allay,
Seal up my Lips, and close my rending Heart.

King.
Since you will be a stubborn Rebel, die so.
To Morrow sums your Fate; before the Suns
High Noon ascends, upon a publick Scaffold,
The Death of Noble Traytors shall be thine:
From whence, thy bleeding Head, upon a Spear,
Shall thro' the shouting Crouds be born on high,
And plac'd upon some lofty lasting Tow'r,
A long Example to rebelling Subjects.

Guid.
So—my Doom's sign'd—and I am force to pass
Into that gloomy Scene, that silent somewhere,
That startles all Mankind!—
If it be like the Life I've gone thro' here,
'Tis bad indeed; but that is yet to try:
Farewel ye Wretches of this giddy World,
Where only Fools and Madmen can be Happy.
False Hope, base Fear, ye constant Springs of Life,
Eternally Farewel: and thou, oh Love!
Must I bid thee Farewell? thou only Gemm,
Upon the thread-bare Robe of proud Mortality,
Must I leave thee behind?—Aurosia! oh.

King.
You seem disturb'd in Thought, or why that Sigh?
Say, have you ought to speak before you go
To Prison, where your Words may 'scape our Ears?

Guid.
No more but this. If e'er the Gods should add,
The Charms of Children to your giv'n Glories,
Ne'er let your younger Princes dream of Honour;
Ne'er know the Niceties of fertile Greatness;
(The King our Father, spoil'd me in the Bud;
With too much Care, the Flow'r belov'd grew Rank.)
Be Ignorance their Tutor, use them still
To Want, Disgrace, and Scandal, least they prove
Unfortunate like me. That's all—Now take me hence.
Brother farewel—I wou'd say I forgive you,
But that I can't dissemble.
[Exit Guiderius guarded.

King.
In the next Room, till farther Orders, guard him.
Had I been born the younger, such my Fate,
Such had my Spirit, such my Glory been.
Oh! Youth unhappy, destin'd to Obey,
Why wast thou form'd with such ascending Fires?
As if the Pow'r that number'd out those Stars,
Had told too fast; or thy great Soul's Mistaken.
Why was Inheritance first fix'd to Eldership?

Mad.
Because the Eldest was the Choice of Nature,
Confirm'd by Reason, and the Laws Divine;
Form'd in the newest and most vig'rous Raptures,
E're Passions grows familiarly indiff'rent.

King.
It must be so—

Mad.
[Aside.]
It is so: (musing)
Sure some Qualm of Nature
Works in his Mind; but Nature will return
With gather'd Strength, and crush the vain Usurper.
But now he wakes from his Dream of Virtue.

King.
Undone Guiderius; hard fated Brother.

Mad.
Ah! goes it there! Protius thy Shape accord.
[Aside.
I grieve to think, that hapless Prince must die,
For Crimes scarce half his own.

King.
Most certainly the Roman urg'd him on;
It can't be otherwise: That daring Epicure,
Forc'd his great Mind from Customs peaceful Laws.
He taught him, Rome, the Worlds tyrannick Mistress,
In all the Pomp of her tumultuous Honours;
With which, the Prince's active Heart enlarg'd,
His Reason dazl'd, and his Fancy fir'd;
No wonder if he yeilded to his Arts,
His gilded Arts, their Bottoms undiscover'd.

Enter an Attendant.
Attend.
May it please your Majesty,
The Roman General Decimus,
Desires Admittance to your Presence.

King.
Conduct him in.

[Exit Attendant, and returns with Decimus.
Dec.
Of thee, Arbelline, King of Britain,
I Decimus Claudius, Citizen of Rome,
Of the Patrician Blood, demand a Favour.

King.
Demand with Honour, and of Grace be certain.

Dec.
The Prince Guiderius is, I hear condemn'd
To die, how justly, is not mine t'examine,
But as his Friend to serve him to the last.
Long has the Prince, a Lover been, belov'd;
His tender Mistress Beaut'ous and Obliging,
Has charm'd him without Scandal to his Race;
Enlarge him but to mourn the loss of Love,
To Comfort her, and take a final Farewel;
Least at the Block, regardless of his Greatness,
He dies unworthy of Himself and You.

King.
How can I be assur'd but some Design,
May intercept my Justice?

Dec.
I'll be his Bond, supply his Place in Prison,
And if to Morrow, e're the Time is fix'd,
He not return, let me supply his Place in Death too.

King.
And dar'st thou trust the Rebel with thy Life?

Dec.
I dare—

Mad.
Thou hot-brain'd faithful Fool!
What more could meditating Vengeance wish thee!

[Aside.
King.
Friendship indeed! I grant thee thy Desire;
For were the Reasons greater for his Stay,
My wond'ring Curiosity wou'd slight them.
Let them without delay the Prince release,
And to the Royal Tow'r Conduct this Romam.

[To an Attendant, who goes out with Decimus.
Dec.
From my free Heart I thank thee.
[Exit Decimus.

King.
Now, boasting Brother, I shall hear thy Heart.
[Aside.
Well, what are thy Thoughts on this?

Mad.
I think your Foe (suspected) like a Roman,
An inconsiderate senseless daring Roman,
Has generously sold himself for Fame,
And sav'd our farther Thought.

King.
Doest thou not think Guiderius will return?

Mad.
Will British Bullies die when Honour bids?
Or Youthful Lovers, leave their fawning Brides
But once enjoy'd, for ever to be talk'd of?

King.
Thus grov'ling Mortals scan the Great Man's Deeds;
Their Clay, half kindled by the Breath of Heav'n,
Doubts of the perfect Blast that Forms the Hero:
Choak'd up with Wealth, the Filth their Souls digest
And fatten on; the very Owls of Reason,
That cannot bear the Rays of bright Ambition;
Ambition, the Original of Gods,
The Glorious Crime that rais'd them to Olympus,
And all the starry Scepters of the Skies.

Mad.
Might I presume to speak.

King.
No, Pious Insolence, base Statesman, no;
Thou Scandal to the Gods as well as me,
I've found thee out, and I shall live to punish thee.

Mad.
Dread Sir, in what have I offended?

King.
Have I not rais'd thee from vile Nothing? Slave!
Have I not made thee Master of the Druids?
Hast thou discharg'd the weighty Trust? Say, Villain!
Has not thy cheifest Care been worldly Int'rest
Though thou hast preach'd against it?
If thou hadst not conniv'd at all my Errors;
Wherefore am I not Generous and Just,
Like him I have Condemn'd, or him Imprison'd.

Mad.
A King cannot do ill, the Gods attend him;
They guard and guide his Will, frame all his Actions,
As best befits the Government of Earth.

King.
'Tis false, pernicious Flatterer, 'tis false;
Thou Satyr on the Gods, I'll think thy Punishment;
In the mean time, my Palace is thy Refuge,
From my wrong'd Subjects Vengeance. But the Cares
Of Empire will I now divert with Love,
Thus when the Thracian Mars has all the Day,
Labour'd in Arms, and made the Bold obey,
The longing God-head does from Courts remove,
And Courts the God-head of the Queen of Love.
[Exit King.

Mad.
Where's all thy Wisdom now, lost Politician?
Too near the Surface hast thou spread thy Finns,
And ev'n taught the Angler how to take thee.
Now how the scornful Mistress will rejoyce,
And ridicule the Priest? Cou'd I but sink her with me,
My Fall were lessen'd half—A lucky Thought;
The King now hastes to the Edesian Gardens,
There to indulge his Eyes, and feed his Flames,
Till they blaze up to Madness—
The Fair, the Haughty Claudia shall after;
And when the Passions of his Soul are loose,
Surprize him to her Ruin,—that may raise me
Again to Favours height, the Courtiers Heav'n;
Which when I've reach'd—
I'll with more caution move; this Maxim still retain,
'Tis harder to preserve, than Happiness to gain.

[Exit.
The SCENE changes to a Prison.
Enter Guiderius and Decimus; Guards at a distance.
Dec.
Once was thou hail'd of British Youths most bless'd,
By all in Fame and Fortune fully grac'd;
The Praises of the old, the young Man's Pattern,
The careful Wishes of ambitious Mothers,
And the soft Virgins Sighs, were summ'd in thee.
Who but Guiderius! happy, gay Guiderius!
Fill'd ev'ry Ear, and captiv'd ev'ry Eye;
And can'st thou Life, without Regret, lay down,
Thou first of Hero's! for whom Pity bleeds?
Is it not wond'rous hard, so fair a Flow'r,
So early, yet so gloriously blown,
Shou'd to the Earth be sunk, and trod on e're improv'd?

Guid.
Life seems to me, a vain a tiresome thing,
Its Cares, its Disapointments, ling'ring Racks,
And all its Pleasures, cloying to Abhorrence;
As if the God's ordain'd is as a Punishment,
To keep in awe the Inhabitants of Heav'n,
And give the guilty Spirits their Deserts.

Dec.
What deep Remorse, what hollow Murmurs, must
Possess those faulty Suff'rers, when they go,
To clogging Flesh, and sentenc'd Years of Woe;
But with what Joy, from earthly Vapours freed,
They mount their native Heav'n with ecstatick speed,
Their Shouts, the azure Shores, the Hills of Bliss resound,
And their bright Friends, forgot on Earth, again in Heav'n are found.

Guid.
The Fruits of Fancy this; but 'tis most certain,
Were Death less easy, less wou'd it be dreaded;
Remoter from our Reach, it were an aim
For our Ambition: Life's the Wise Man's Toil;
Its Pleasures, but the Harmony of Sorrow.

Dec.
Life's but a Fable, and the Moral Death.
In vain the blazing flourishes of Honour,
Passions, and Virtues, Valour to attract
The slumb'ring Gods, and Force them to our Fortunes,
If the great End, Crown not the tedious Labour.

Guid.
Why I will die, deserving of thy Love,
Worthy a Roman's Friendship; die like him,
Whom thou hast guided from the dark Abodes,
Of a benighted, and deluded World:
Gay and unruffled like the happy Swan,
When Death approaches on the gliding Rivers,
While the Sun Sets, and Smiles a last farewel,
Calling in Songs, more gay, attending Fate.

Dec.
I do believe when on the open Scaffold,
Thou wilt not, like an untaught, sordid Wretch,
Ghastly with Fear, heave up thy trembling Hands,
Knocking thy Breast with sobbing Tears and Groans,
Preach to the Rabble and desire their Pity;
But will this save thee from the blast of Envy,
Alone with Fame's transcending Sons enrol thee?
No, thou wilt lessen like an Inland Tide,
Till lost for ever.

Guid.
Thou Generous, only Friend, my Fate has left me,
What woud'st thou have me do?

Dec.
Thou hast a Mistress—

Guid.
Ha!—What then?

Dec.
Thou hast thy Freedom, by the King's Permission,
Until to morrows Noon, and thou may'st use it—

Guid.
What with Aurosia?

Dec.
Yes with Aurosia; she prescrib'd the Means.

Guid.
Oh! blissful Sound: It strikes my bleeding Heart-strings,
And Charms me back to Life; O Love! O Friend!
But do'st thou not deceive me? shall I see her?
Not as a Pris'ner but a splendid Prince,
A Pleasure, not a Burthen to her Eyes?

Dec.
All this and more.

Guid.
More! Why I'll press her to my ardent Heart,
Gaze on her melting Eyes, and swoon with Exstasy;
Then from her Lips, Souls cheering Cordials draw,
And Dream at least of Heav'n and Immortality.

Dec.
These are but Coastings on the Lands of Bliss;
Into the spicy Groves, the downy Plains,
Within the flowing Rivers steep thy Soul,
And satiate ev'ry Sense:
Marry her, bed her, nothing will molest thee,
Nor knows she of thy Doom.

Guid.
Thy Words, at once, raise and confound my Mind.
Love, like the Morning Sun, gilds my Despair,
And fiercely warms me; but the Clouds of Death,
All of a sudden, gloom, and cool my Ardour.
Would not Enjoyment now be worse than Madness?

Dec.
In the Opinion of a stupid Man,
Pleasure is always Madness. Oh Guiderius!
How have I labour'd to refine thy Fortune;
What Difficulties past to leave thee Famous,
Spite of contending Fate?

Guid.
What means my Friend?

Dec.
I have obtain'd your Freedom of the King;
Who tho' my Enemy, I must call Generous:
Unguarded, you may hence depart this Moment,
And as a Bond for your return to Death.
I in the Castle do remain.

Guid.
Must you! will you here remain!

Dec.
Yes, I've engag'd not only to remain,
But if to morrow, by the hour prefix'd,
You not return, to die for you.

Guid.
Thou more than Friend! O thou unequall'd Man!
Thy own correcting Genius fills and fires me:
I go, I go, and Glory in my Doom;
Methinks there's something in it, newly Noble,
Smething triumphantly above Mortality,
Which will distinguish me thro' endless Ages:
Let Fortune then, with Envy joyn'd, blot out
Each of my former Deeds from future View,
And from this Moment date my Life anew;
This, this alone will fix my Glory high,
I liv'd for Love, and did for Honour die.
[Exit Guiderius.

Dec.
May whining Friends, to win the noisy Breath
Of Fools, the Man they Love, attend in Death;
Unaw'd, or unrestrain'd, with all my Pow'r,
I'll firmly serve him to his latest Hour;
But when he's past my Aid, 'tis vain to mourn
I'll Laugh at Fate, and Revel on his Urn.

[Exit Decimus and Attendance.