University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

ARIBERT, GONDIBERT, ASTRAGON.
Aribert.
Thy Actions, Gondibert, were so conspicuous
That Fame employ'd Her hundred Tongues to spread Them,
And charm'd the Ears of Envy with thy Valour.
When all the Battle glow'd, and bloody War
Frown'd horrible; when Shrieks and dying Groans,
Tormenting dismally in Peals the Air,
Roll'd, as the Murmurs of Despair, along,
And Spears, like Light'ning, blasted half the Field;
Yet then, ev'n then, thy gallant Spirit press'd Thee
To pierce the Cloud of Death, to dare all Danger,
To pour thy Thunder where the thickest bled,
To bleed thyself, till Victory with Tears
Deform'd her Smiles to see her Heroe's Wounds.

Gondibert.
Too much you Honour with your royal Praise
My humble Deeds in War—

Aribert.
I know thee modest,
Nor will offend Thee with the glorious Truth,
Thou excellent Young Man!—Thy Father's Soul
Beams in thy Looks; the Soul of my old Friend.
And when I see Thee, I am warm'd again
Into the dear Remembrance of my Youth;
When oft with Him I launc'd the foaming Boar,
Or rush'd into the Bowels of the Battle:
Or in the midnight Dance, and courtly Ball
Sigh'd on the trembling Hand of blushing Beauty
And Sighing have prevail'd. But, ah, those Days,
Those happy Days and Nights are vanish'd long.
Old Men can only meditate with Pleasure
On the past Joys of Youth, and wish, in vain,
The former sprightly, gay, and lusty Years,
When every Prospect smil'd, wou'd glide again
A Revolution of returning Bliss.
But Thou art in thy Prime: the Blood of Youth
Now dances briskly in the crimson Channels:
The Season of Delight! And since thy Wounds,
(Thanks to the Care of Astragon) are heal'd,
The Court and Beauty may be grateful to Thee.

Gondibert.
Eternal Thanks are due, my royal Master,
To this obliging, condescending Goodness.
But well I know the polish'd Gallantry,
The easy Gayety which shine in Courts
Can never suit a Soldier bred in Camps,
Unpractis'd in the Art of ought but War.
The gaudy, wanton, smiling, dancing Courtier
Wou'd only laugh, and wonder at my Awkerdness.
No: send me to the Field, when Business calls;
There send me, and my Life shall gladly bleed
To serve my Master, Liberty, and Country.
But now, with your Permission, I'd retire
Unto these Shades, and learn the Works of Nature,
Turn o'er the Volumes of the sage and good,
And here philosophise with Astragon:
This Life is better suited to my Temper.

Aribert.
By Heav'n, Thou art injurious to thyself:
That Form of thine was made to charm the Women;
For Strength and Harmony are blended there.
I well remember, for it is not long,
Before the Battle call'd Thee from the Court,
Before these manly Graces flourish'd in Thee,
When Gondibert pass'd by, the Ladies sicken'd,
And blest Thee with their Eyes; ev'n Rhodolinda,
My Daughter Rhodolinda languish'd for Thee.

Gondibert.
Let not the Lord my King thus mock his Servant.

Aribert.
Mock Thee? I tell Thee, Gondibert, thy Virtue,
And Grandour of thy Soul have greatly charm'd me:
And by the Pow'r I serve I swear, my Daughter
Shall take Thee to her Bed, her Lord and Husband.

Astragon.
Oh, there He falls: oh Birtha, oh! my Daughter.

[Aside.
Gondibert.
O never, never! What? your Rhodolinda,
My Princess wed her Slave? far be it from me,
Far be it from me thus to stain her Beauties,
To sully thus the Lustre of your Crown.
I will not, dare not aim—While crowding Kings
With Transport lay their Hearts and Crowns before Her.
No! at an humble Distance let me wait
And thank the Gods for Forming so much Beauty.
I'd venture Life in Honour of her Virtue,
But wou'd not live to sacrifice my Princess
To my Delight, tho' Heav'n is in her Arms;—
Too much I honour and regard her Happiness.

Astragon.
O matchless Truth! and more than mortal Goodness!

[Aside.
Aribert.
Thy great Humility has urg'd in vain.
I know thy Passion will be welcome to Her.
I know how sweet thy Name and Virtues sound
In Rhodolinda's Ear: when late I mention'd
This my Design, a various Glow of Blushes
Ran flushing through her Face, and dy'd her Cheeks
In Love's own purple Dress; She stole a Sigh;
A lucid Softness dy'd upon her Eyes,
And every Look and Gesture spoke her Love.
But we will leave Thee:—Tibalt, call the Princess.
—It shall be so—have done.—Come, worthy Astragon,
In the mean time, I'll view thy House and Gardens,
For they are fam'd for Beauty and Design:
An elegant Simplicity conspires
With Nature to command our Admiration,
And pleases better than the swelling Pride
Of marble Domes and sculptur'd Alabaster.