University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter Gentleman Usher and Peterson, who kneels.
Gent.
My Liege, Lord Peterson.

Crist.
Rise to our Trust, most worthy Peterson;
Rise to our Friendship: By my Head, I swear,
Bar but our Trollio here, there's not a Swede,
Who holds thy valued Level in our Heart!
For thou'rt unshaken, tho' thy Nation swerve;
Faithful among the faithless.

Peter.
What I am
Let this inform your Majesty.

[Gives a Pacquet.
Troll.
A Pacquet!
Whence had you that, my Friend?

Peter.
Even from the Hands
Of the once great Gustavus.

Crist.
Then you have seen him. Tell me, tell me, Peterson,
What said he? Eh! How look'd the mighty Rebel?
His Means, his Scope, the Pride of his Presumption,
Give me the whole!

Peter.
Last Night, my gracious Lord,
While yet I held your Messenger in Conference;
Arriv'd, who brought a Letter from Gustavus,
Wherein, digesting many flagrant Terms
Of mutinous Import against the State
Of your high Dignity; by Morning Light
He pray'd me to attend him; boasting much
Of plenteous Hopes, and Means of boldest Enterprize.
Of this I gave you Notice; and 'ere Dawn
Set out for fresh Intelligence—I came;
I saw him shrunk, that Glory of the North,
Soil'd with the Vileness of a Slave's Attire;
Where in the Depth and Darkness of the Mines,
For six long Months he hath not seen the Sun;
Colleagu'd with circling Horrors; hourly Toil
Hath been his Watch, and Penury his Earning;
But like the Lion, newly broke from Bonds,
The mingling Passions from his Eyes dart Glory;
Pride lifts his Stature, and his opening Front
Still looks Dominion.

Crist.
Who were his Adherents?

Peter.
The Traitor Anderson, and a few Friends,
To whom, 'ere I set out, he stood reveal'd.
And when I seem'd to question on his Pow'rs
Of Rivalship, the Props whereon he meant
To lift Contention to the princely Front
Of such high Opposition; he reply'd,
His Powers were near your Person.

Crist.
How! what's here?
[Looks on the Pacquet.
To Laurens, Aland, Haquin, and Roderic,
Confusion! Treason's in our Camp! Who's there?

Gent.
My Liege!

Crist.
Bear this to Norbi—Bid him seize
[Gives a Signet.
The Swedish Captains.

Troll.
Might I but presume—

Crist.
I will not be controul'd—bid him seize all,
Soldiers and Chiefs! By Hell, there's not a Swede,
But lurks an Instrument to prompt Rebellion,
And Plots upon my Life! Look there, 'tis evident:
[Gives Trollio a Letter.
They are all leagu'd, confed'rate with Gustavus,
Th' Abettors of his Treason.

Troll.
It shou'd seem so:
And yet it shou'd not—Tell me, Peterson,
Art thou assur'd thy Credit with Gustavus
Will answer to a Trust like this?—Ha! Say.

Peter.
Yes, well assur'd: My Zeal appear'd too warm
To give the least cold Colour for Suspicion.

Troll.
I fear, my Friend, I fear he has o'er-reach'd you.
Divide and conquer, is the Sum of Politics.
Beyond the dreaded Circle of his Sword,
Gustavus triumphs in an ample Genius;
He walks at large, sees clear and wide around him;
Calm in the Storm and Turbulence of Action;
He ponders on the last Event of Things,
And makes each Cause subservient to the Consequence.

Crist.
You over-rate his Craft; they're false, my Trollio,
False ev'ry Swede of them; I read their Souls.