University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

KING, ASTRAGON, PHILOSOPHERS.
King.
The Wonders I have heard and seen surprise me.
The Life of Knowledge is the Life of Bliss.
What Scenes of Glory open on my Mind
With new Delight, which Ignorance had veil'd!
How often I beheld yon azure Vault,
The spangel'd Firmament, and glittering Host
Of Stars innumerable sparkling round,
With cold Neglect and stupid Inattention?
Till You, ye Sons of Wisdom and of Virtue,
Dispel'd the Gloom and lighted up my Soul.

Astragon.
The Firmament's a Volume fair display'd
With sacred Characters that shine Conviction,
And glorify their Maker in their Courses:
There's not a single Spark but glows with Praises;
The Spheres harmonious roll the glorious Hymn,
Tun'd to the golden Harps of winged Flames,
From World to World, and burn with Adoration.

King.
O wou'd some God but purge th'obstructed Ear,
What elevating Musick might surround
Th'inferior Globe with symphonising Peals
Of Melody celestial, Orbs to Orbs
Sweet quiring, and exalt the Soul to Heav'n!

1. Philosopher.
Heav'ns Ordinances, Royal Sir, are just,
And suited to the present State of Man.
This radiant Scale of Music meets the Eye
Not meant to pierce the Ear. Our feeble Organs
Confounded while the Constellations sing,
As if ten thousand Thunders burst around,
Wou'd faint beneath the Melody divine.
Th'ethereal Roll of loud resounding Spheres
Wou'd stun if not unloose the World below.

Astragon.
So much the rather let us strive to tune
These little Worlds ourselves to righteous rule,
Compose Them to the Harmony of Virtue,
Assuage the Tumults of rebellious Passions,
And teach Subjection to our Foes within.
Thus fitted to the Laws of Good and Just
Shall universal Order rule the Whole,
Our Souls be Music and our jarring Bodies
Obedient to the Music of our Souls.
So Peace shall wave her Olive Branches o'er Us
And Concord bind Us in her golden Chain.

King.
I cou'd for ever hear You. O how blest
Had been my Fortune, O what Joys unmix'd,
What Days of Innocence, what Nights of Rest,
The Brow unclouded and the Breast serene,
If Heav'n had plac'd me in these Seats of Science,
Of Purity, Contentment, Health and Peace!
For Royalty too oft, the Gaze of Ideots,
The Pageantry of Guilt and splendid Danger,
This Royalty I say is rais'd on high,
Only to sink beneath its Weight of Grandeur.

2. Philosopher.
Few Monarchs like yourself are born to bless
An happy People, in their Princes happy.
That King is only great who rules by Goodness.
Justice supports but Mercy fills his Throne:
Tho' Gold and Jewels flame around his Temples
The Wreath of Virtue is his brighter Crown.

3. Philosopher.
His Throne, establish'd in his Subject's Hearts,
Nor overthrown by Foes nor sap'd by Treason,
Shall flourish still unmov'd and stand unshaken,
Firm as the Pillars of the Earth and lasting.

Astragon.
Such are the Blessings which attend on Kings
Who reign in Righteousness, like royal Aribert,
By Mortals honour'd and approv'd by Heav'n.

King.
For Virtues such as these I choose the Duke
The gallant Gondibert to wed my Daughter.
Tho' Young, his Name is mighty in the Field:
Thrice He repell'd my Foes and thrice He stain'd
Our silver Adice with hostile Purple,
Victorious in his March. Nor less his Skill
In Counsels and the Mysteries of State.
Beneath his Rule my People, all my Care,
May live secure and happy. For myself,
Since Age unnerves this Arm and damps my Brain,
Unequal now alike to War or Counsels,
Times hoary Victim, gladly I resign
My Crown and Scepter to his Brow and Hand,
To glory there afresh with pristine Lustre.

Astragon.
Yet hear your faithful Servant, royal Sir,
Tho' Time has snow'd his venerable Honours
Upon your sacred Head, still unimpair'd
Your Wisdom might direct a larger Kingdom,
Your Virtues still may bless your loving People,
Who long to live and die beneath your Sway.

King.
Yes, Astragon, my People are my Children,
Their King's and Father's Blessing shall await Them,
Till Death forbid. But Gondibert must share
The Honours with the Troubles of my Crown.
Ease is the Balm of Age. My Years demand
The Comforts of Retirement and of Peace.
The Fire which kindled up my Soul to Fame
And Deeds of Prowess languishes within me.
His ardent Spirits like an active Flame
Shall warm his Subjects, but consume his Foes.
My Laurels, well-nigh faded with the Frosts
Of seventy Winters, shall revive anew
Transplanted to his Brows, again shall flourish,
And gather Verdure from his youthful Spring.
But come, my Astragon, and you, my Friends,
My Daughter Rhodolinda will expect me.
With you conversing, Time on Feet of Down
Pac'd unperceiv'd away, so sweet the Hours
By sacred Wisdom led! It must be late;
For lo the Moon, which only seem'd to tip
The Summits of the Grove, advanc'd in Glory
Now pours a silver Deluge o'er the Night,
Near mounted to her Noon.—Perhaps my Daughter
May be retir'd; for early at the Dawn,
I order'd our Departure for Verona,
To celebrate the Nuptials: so good Night.

Astragon.
Permit us to attend you to your Chamber;
That done, we'll beg of Heav'n to bless your Slumbers
Humbly before the Altar.

King.
Thank your Goodness:
The pious Prayers of holy Men like you
Are powerful Intercessors with kind Heaven,
They rise in Incence and descend in Blessings.

[Exeunt.