University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

GONDIBERT, BIRTHA,
Gondibert.
I feel myself more light, my Spirits flow
Serener on, and Life is less a Burthen,
Since I have made this Vow to marry Birtha.
But I will go to comfort the poor Mourner,
Who weeps and groans in Bitterness of Spirit.
For, Thula tells me, when She heard the News
Of Rhodolinda, Life forgot its Office;
She dy'd away with tender Fears, and sigh'd
With all the piteous Harmony of Sorrow:
Then sought her Chamber, but with tottering Steps,
To hide her Woes in solitary Darkness.—
Methinks I hear Her Sighs:—It must be so:
I hear them softly breathing on my Ears,
Sad as the Nightingales melodious Woe
In gentle Even-Tide, when Westwinds shake
The new-blown Roses from their balmy Wings:
All-night She sings the Absence of her Mate,
While Sorrow pricks her Breast, and fondest Love
Mistakes Him ever lost.—Like kindly Dew
I'll steal upon this lovely-drooping Flow'r,
And wake it into Smiles: And, see, She comes,
In all the Beauty of Distress.—My Birtha!

Birtha.
What Voice is that, which in so sweet an Accent
Dare call upon so lost a Thing as I am?
They say, Compassion, in this Age, is cold.

Gondibert.
My Birtha!

[She sees Him.
Birtha.
Oh! And is it you, my Lord?
Indeed its kind to visit the distrest.
If Comfort cou'd diffuse her golden Dawn
On Grief so black as mine, it wou'd be now.
Your Presence ever blest my Eyes with Gladness,
Joy prun'd his purple Wings when you appear'd,
And waited on your Smiles.—Yes I remember
Those dear, white Hours. But now it is not so:
For, ah, I grieve the more to see you here,
So much my Heart is careful for your Peace,
Lest Sorrow prove infectious and you catch it.
And Sorrow shou'd be foreign to that Face,
When Rhodolinda opens all her Beauties
To charm my Lord, and crown his Soul with Joy.

Gondibert.
Why wilt thou break my Heart with mourning thus?
And why be so unkind, so very cruel
As thus distrust my Constancy and Love?
No, Birtha, no: were Rhodolinda fair
As summer Skies, when not a Cloud deforms
The blue Expanse, but all is spotless Beauty
Fring'd with celestial Streams of sunny Gold:
Cou'd Rhodolinda place beneath my Feet
The Stores and Realms which Juno promis'd Paris;
Yet, by the Softness of thy Soul, I swear,
I'd quit them all for Thee: tho' meagre Want,
And baleful Misery besieg'd my Way,
I'd venture on, I'd catch Thee in my Arms,
I'd feed upon thy Beauties, smile at Poverty,
And think the Gods were kind in giving Thee.

Birtha.
Ascend, ye Lover-Spirits, from Elysium
And sing this wond'rous Truth.—Amazing Constancy!
O Birtha, thou art quite undone with kindness,
And Admiration swallows up my Soul.
[After Pausing.
And can you think, my Lord, to stay with me?
For me, to quit the royal Rhodolinda?
It is too much, your Virtue is too bounteous:
I am unworthy, quite unworthy of You.
No; take Her, take the lovely, loving Princess,
And Heav'n incircle You with sumless Joys!

Gondibert.
What means my Birtha?

Birtha.
I absolve my Lord,
Yes, I absolve you from your Vows and Faith.
Why shou'd I ruin such unbounded Goodness,
And why, why stand between a Crown and You!
No: leave me to my Sadness; do, my Gondibert!
Ascend the royal Bed of Rhodolinda:
While I consume my solitary Days
In some forsaken Cave, or wayless Wild,
Where misery wou'd chuse her dreary Dwelling;
There will I teach the Streams to murmur “Gondibert;”
The Birds shall learn to whisper the dear Name,
And every Echo sooth me with the Sound:
There beg of Heav'n in never-ceasing Pray'rs
To bless you both with everlasting Love.

Gondibert.
I pray thee, hold; nor wound me to the Soul:
For while thou talk'st thus to me, see, my Eyes
Swell into Tenderness, and flow with Sorrow.

Birtha.
My Lord, I speak the Language of my Heart,
For tho' Heav'n knows I dye upon the Thought,
(Yes, while I think, the Weight of Death is on me.)
Tho' all the Sum of Bliss my Fancy form'd
In golden Dreams, and happier Days, depended
On you alone, the Cordial of my Life,
Joy of my Sense, and Comfort of my Soul:
Yet—oh!—since Heav'n will have it so, I yield;
I give myself to Wretchedness for ever,
With all the Fondness of a dying Lover.
By the chaste Splendours of the Moon I swear,
That gild yon Orange Grove with silver Softness,
By every Star that burns around her Throne,
The solemn Witnesses of both our Loves,
I'd rather part for ever from my Lord,
For ever part, than bar your Way to Greatness.
The King enrag'd, shou'd you refuse the Princess,
May let the Fullness of his Fury fall
Upon us both, and crush us both to Ruin:
Rather than both,—upon my Knees I beg it,
I beg it by these Tears, let Birtha suffer,
And, if I save You, Ruin will be pleasing.
'Tis more than Happiness to die for You.

Gondibert.
Thou Soul of Goodness, how shall I reward Thee—
Or how admire thy Virtues as I ought?
They stream in such Variety of Light,
My Senses all are dazzled with the Glory.
Whether the Lustre of thy Mind or Face,
The Beauty of thy Sorrow, or thy Joy,
Come o'er my Thoughts they equally surprise me.
Thus have I seen the many-colour'd Dove
Sport in the Blaze of Day: his changeful Neck
Waves beaming round a Rainbow of Delight:
The Purple varys into glossy Gold,
The Gold into the Robe of smiling Spring,
As different Points of Light present a Chain
Of transient Colours glancing on the Sun:
But whether Purple, Gold or Green diffuse
Alternate Rays, the Green, the Gold, the Purple
With equal Pleasure, but with varied Beauties
And bright Confusion entertain our Eyes.

Birtha.
Oh me!—

Gondibert.
Be comforted, the Gods are good,
Are kind to Virtue, and delight in Mercy;
And Heav'n, I hope, has Blessings yet in Store,
To lap us in Elysiums of Love,
And recompence the Miseries we taste of.
This Hour I mean to make thee mine for ever,
The holy Priest will meet us in thy Chamber,
By my Appointment, and receive our Vows.
Then Birtha!

Birtha.
O my Lord, I fear.

Gondibert.
No more—

Birtha.
But shou'd the King—consider O my Lord!

Gondibert.
None but the holy Priest shall know the Secret:
To-morrow's Light will further open to us
The King's Design: and shou'd He still persist,
Then, Birtha, then, my Soul, we'll fly together,
Together to some distant Realm we'll fly,
Where Aribert shall never more disturb us;
There sweetly roll away our Life in Love,
Blest in each other, and grow old in Joy.

Birtha.
And will you then forsake a Crown for me?
O think—

Gondibert.
My Birtha, Crowns are Trifles to Thee.

Birtha.
Then here I give myself to You and Heav'n.

Gondibert.
O bounteous Gift!—Heav'n make me worthy of Thee.
And, Thou, the God of Purity and Love,
Whose Pow'r is infinite, protect thy Servants:
O snatch us from the Malice of our Fortune,
And lead us to the quiet Ways of Peace.
O save us; we resign ourselves to Thee.