University of Virginia Library

SCENE before the Camp.
Enter Cristiern, Trollio, and Attendants.
Crist.
Your Observation's just, I see it, Trollio:
Men are Machines, with all their boasted Freedom,
Their Movements turn upon some fav'rite Passion;
Let Art but find the latent Foible out,
We touch the Spring, and wind them at our Pleasure.

Troll.
Let Heav'n spy out for Virtue, and then starve it:
But Vice and Frailty are the Statesman's Quarry,
The Objects of our Search, and of our Science;
Mark'd by our Smiles, and cherish'd by our Bounty.
'Tis hence, you lord it o'er your servile Senates;
How low the Slaves will stoop to gorge their Lusts
When aptly baited: Ev'n the Tongues of Patriots,
(Those Sons of Clamour) oft relax the Nerve
Within the Warmth of Favour.

Crist.
How else should Kings subsist? For what is Pow'r,
But the nice Conduct of another's Weakness?
That Thing call'd Virtue is the Bane of Government,
A Libel on the State, that asks Suppression;
It has a hateful and unbending Quality;
It serves no End, still restive to the Rein,
And to the Spur unspeedy: They who boast it
Are Traitors, Rivals of their King, my Trollio,
And, wanting other Subjects, greatly dare
To lord it o'er themselves. Such is Gustavus,
If yet he be—
And such Arvida was; tho' now, I trust,
He is too far advanc'd in our Designs
To think of a Retreat.

Troll.
Impossible!
Already has he leap'd the guilty Mound
That might appal his Virtue; for the World
He dare not now look back; where Shame pursues,
And cuts off all Retreat.