University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Rapatio and Gripeall.
Rapatio.
Hail halcyon days! when every flying moment,
Affords new scenes of joy; what tho' the soldier
True to my purpose hurls promiscuous slaughter;
He lives and triumphs while the scales of justice,
Thus by my tools are held. The day is ours.
Such acts my Hazlerod, demand promotion—
And thou shall have it—Yes the time approaches,
The happy period dawns, when thou shall swell
The chair of state, and roll in wish'd for honors—
Thus while each post is garnish'd with my creatures,
I'll show my pow'r, and trample on my country.

Gripeall.
'Twas nobly spoke—there breath'd the soul of Cæsar.
Nor will I pause—my faithful myrmidons
Wait thy command and hang upon thy will.
I'll use the little pow'r that's lodg'd within me.
I'll cramp their trade 'till pale ey'd poverty
Haunts all their streets, and frowns destruction on them.
While many a poor man leaning on his staff,
Beholds a numerous, famish'd offspring round him.
Who weep for bread. God's how his bosom heaves!
Ghastly he rolls an aching eye upon them,
Then blasts my name, and with a groan expires.

Rapatio.
What throbs of joy—Nero, I tow'r above thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rapatio's House.
Rapatio
solus.
O Fortunate!—
Could I have tho't my stars would be so kind
As thus to bring my deep laid schemes to bear.
Tho' from my youth ambition's path I trod,
Suck'd the contagion from my mother's breast;
The early taint has rankled in my veins;
Dispotic rule my first, my sov'reign wish.
Yet to succeed, beyond my sanguine hope,
To quench the generous flame, the ardent love
Of liberty in Servia's free born sons,
Destroy their boasted rights, and mark them slaves:
To ride triumphant o'er my native land,
And revel on its spoils—But hark!—it groans!
The heaving struggles of expiring freedom!—
Her dying pangs—and I the guilty cause:—
I shudder at the thought—why this confusion?
The phantom conscience, whom I've bid adieu—
Can she return?—O let me, let me fly!
I dare not meet my naked heart alone.
I'll hast for comfort to the busy scenes,
Where fawning courtiers, creatures of my own,
With adulating tongue, midst gaping crouds,
Shall strive to paint me fair—the day is lucky—
The divan meets and Hazlerod presides.
'Tis true in rhetoric he don't excell
Demosthenes, or Cicero of old:
But what of that, his gratitude to me,
Will animate each period of applause.
I from a fribbling, superficial dabler,
A vain pretender to each learned science,
A poet, preacher, conjurer and quack—
Rear'd the obsequious trifler to my purpose,
Rob'd him in scarlet, dignifi'd the man:
An hecatomb of incense is my due.
How grateful to my ear, these flatt'ring strains!
His fulsome requiem's sooth my soul to peace.
Who else wou'd place in such a sacred seat,
Credulity in wove with the extremes,
Of servile, weak, implacable and pround.
But see he comes—see that important phiz,
A speech prepar'd, but what I must correct,
If interlarded with profuse encomiums.—
To hold me up the paragon of virtue—
But it may pass—of modern composition,
That's the test—

Enter Hazlerod.
—Welcome, my Hazlerod.—
My friend, my brother, or still dearer name,
Thou firm abettor of my grand design!
Thou now canst cover what the world call crimes.
We'll then securely crush the scoundrell mob,
And Claudia like, the citizens ride o'er,
And execute what Nero durst not do—
[Hazlerod going hastily off, Rapatio stops him.]
I'll call my myrmidons, they shall attend,
Swell the parade with all the venal herd.
Gripeall, that minion of oppressive power,
With simple Dupe, the ready tool of state;
And virtuous Limput perjur'd only once,
Then indispensible to serve a cause
Which truth would ruin; doubtless they'll be there.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Opens with a procession of coaches, chariots, &c. Changes to the Chamber, where the Divan is opened with a speech by Hazlerod, highly pleasing to the creatures of arbitrary power, and equally disgusting to every man of virtue.
Enter Hazlerod.
Rapatio—hail! 'tis by thy faust'ring hand,
This happy day beholds me rob'd in honor.
Pow'r! 'tis a charm the gods can only know:
These, while they view this little globe of earth,
And trace the various movements of mankind,
With pleasure mark that soul, that dares aspire,
To catch this heavenly flame and coppy from them.
And sure Rapatio, if mortality
Could ever boast an elevated genius,
That scorns the dust, and tow'rs above the stars;
A soul that only grasps at high atchievements,
And drinks intoxicating draughts of power,
The claim is thine—while simple yet they station,
True greatness peer'd, and promis'd future glory.
Yea while an infant, hanging at the breast,
With life, you largely suck'd the lust of power.
In youth, in age, invariably the same.
Thy easy flow of passion, happy talent!
Which work'd on unsuspecting minds so strangly.
Push'd on the plan, and pav'd the road to honor.
With this in view, you'd imitate devotion,
Which like a mantle, cover'd great designs,
With virtue glow, and set among her sons:
While these with transport listned to the tale,
Gaz'd as they heard, and wonder'd how they lov'd.
To catch this prize, in what have you not toil'd.
When nature slept, thy busy mind awoke,
And por'd on future scenes, and plan'd thy fate.
Then, when the ties of virtue and thy country,
Unhappy check'd thy lust of pow'r—like Cæsar,
You nobly scorn'd them all, and on the ruins,
Of bleeding freedom, sounded all thy greatness.
And what a rich, a glorious compensation
For dangers past—gilded all o'er with pensions,
Here like a mighty deity you sit,
Enthron'd in state, nor envy Jove his thunder.
While aw'd by thee, the distant nations gaze
And thousands yield their tribute of amaze.
Mean while at humble distance I pursue,
And grow illustrious as I copy you.
Then when I've trampl'd on my country's fate,
And no one lives my actions to relate,
With my own ashes light the funeral fire,
Die as I liv'd, and in a flash expire.

[Exeunt.