University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

ASTRAGON, ULFINORE, Philosophers, Servants, &c.
Astragon.
Let Plenty walk around, and pour Herself
Into the foaming Gold: the rosy Wine
Shall laugh away our Cares and ill-tim'd Wisdom:
Forget awhile to be severe, my Friends:
Indulge the genial Hour;—To-morrow sees
My Birtha marry'd to the gallant Gondibert.
Blest be the Holy Pow'r who rules our Actions,
Who prompts our Minds to good, directs our Wills.
And stems the Torrents of unlawful Passions.
For sure the Love of Gondibert and Birtha
Is lighted by a sacred Beam from Him,
An Emanation of the God of Purity!
O, may He thus continue still to bless Them
With glowing Piety, with spotless Love,
The Fatness of the Earth, and Dew of Heaven!
[Exeunt Philosophers.
To the Servants.
Go crop the Virgin Beauties of the Spring,
And crown the Altars with unsully'd Flowers,
The vernal Blushes of luxuriant Nature,
Sweet as the Breath of Morn: for Heav'n is pleas'd
With humble Offerings from a grateful Heart,
But yet requires them sweet and undefil'd.
[Exeunt Servants.
But Sorrow seems to mark thy Visage, Ulfinore,
Amid this general Joy: what means that Sigh?
A Face of Gladness wou'd become this Hour,
When Pleasure waits upon thy gracious Lord,
And opens all her nectar-flowing Springs
To bathe Him in the Rivers of Delight.

Ulfinore.
I fear the King—

Astragon.
What of the King, good Ulfinore!

Ulfinore.
The King design'd His Daughter for the Duke:
And shou'd He marry Here, without his Leave
Or ev'n his Knowlege, think, O think what Storms
May crush this springing Joy, and blast its Sweetness.
For Aribert—you know not Aribert.—
He's haughty, stern, unbounded in his Pow'r;
His Temper stormy as the troubled Ocean,
When warring Winds with high-wrought Billows rage,
O'erturn the Deep and tempest all the Main.
Tho' now He smiles on Gondibert, as mild
As Ev'ning Suns, and gilds Him with his Favour;
Yet shou'd He—

Enter Servant.
Servant.
Sir a Messenger's arriv'd,
And waits without: I think his Name is Tibalt.

Ulfinore.
Good Heav'n, improve my Wishes!

[Aside.
Astragon.
Bid Him enter.
Tibalt? a Stranger to my Ears.

Ulfinore.
I know Him:
A Message from the King—

Astragon.
A Message, sayst Thou?—
A Message from the King:—an Icy Cold
Stiffens my shivering Blood. I fear the Purpose:
All-gracious Heav'n, avert these sad Forebodings!

Ulfinore.
My Peace and Life depend upon this Hour.

[Aside.