University of Virginia Library

THE ROYAL MESSAGE,

A DRAMATIC POEM.

THE ROYAL MESSAGE.

PERSONS.

• David.
• Absalom.
• Achitophel.
• Hushai.
• Benaiah.
• Joab.
• Uriah.
• Adriel.
• Eliezer.
• Jonadab.
• Shimei.
• Abdon.
• Oniah.
• Queen.
• Tirzah.
• Bathsheba.

Scene—Jerusalem.

ACT I.

[SCENE I.]

SCENE.—A street in Jerusalem—A mournful procession seen at a distance.
BENAIAH and HUSHAI meeting.
Ben.
Welcome from Rabbah's camp!—your stay was short—
I trust your mission prosper'd?

Hush.
Friend—all hail
The success of my mission lies in clouds
Till time shall draw aside the mystic veil,
But, say, what means this solemn pomp? It seems
Attended by half Judah! some disaster
Has blank'd the face of Salem, do they bend
Their march to Israel's holy shrine, to seek
For aid or counsel?

Ben.
Nought of holy import
Conducts the pomp, but sacrilege and guilt
To one indeed confin'd: the crowd, are free
Tho' touch'd with honest and indignant grief
To find so foul a taint infect their name.

Hush.
Is it such guilt, as justice cannot reach?

Ben.
It can!

Hush.
What hinders then the needful stroke
That lops the foul infected limb away?

Ben.
Now they come near!—say, canst thou recognize
That reverend from that leads the mourning train?

Hush.
Can I believe my sight! 'Tis Nathan's self
The holy man! Heavens!—how serene he looks
Amid the general woe!

Ben.
Yet in his looks
Seest thou what kindling indignation gleams
At times? and how his rapid eye-beam darts
Into futurity, and what a glance
Of anger mixt with sorrow oft he throws.

Hush.
What can it mean
In such a saintly bosom, long estrang'd
From human passions, such disorder'd starts
Such flaws, as seem to shake his aged frame,
Such agony, such hear-tfelt grief, as paints
His visage, seem of some mysterious themes
With more than human organ to discourse!

Ben.
You saw him calm, but now,—he sooth'd the crowd
In the most dreadful hurricane of rage
That ever threaten'd change.

Hush.
What mov'd their wrath?

Ben.
The strange and frontless guilt
Of Nathan's son, to whom th'indulgent sire
Had given his all, and that inhuman wretch
(Spite of his double sanctity, compos'd
Of prophet and of father) forc'd him thence
(With insult, next to outrage,) in the eye
Of noon and Judah's sons, assembled round
Who gaz'd with horrour on this impious deed.

Hush.
Why, all things seem revers'd—how bore the crowd
Th'abominable fact?

Ben.
Their fury swell'd,
And seem'd beyond the power of aught, but Heaven
To sooth—when, with authoritative tone
That seem'd to palsy every lifted hand
And quench the sire in every sparkling eye
The sire commanded, and they spar'd the son—
“Go! take my farewell to the King” he said
(To a young friend, that stood dejected by)
“And tell him what you saw” then past along
Self-sentenc'd, self-exil'd. The mourning crowd
That for a benediction press around
Have thus delay'd his exit.

[Procession passes by,—some Israelites remain behind.
Hush.
This vile son
Had never dar'd this outrage, but he knew
The King's aversion to his reverend sire!

Ben.
In days of old, a prophet's mystic deeds
Were often (like the nightly waving sign
That leads the vaward of the coming storm)
An awful harbinger of Heavenly wrath
That figur'd forth disastrous days to come:
Their actions speak, when words are found to fail
Thus may it be once more!
To any ears, but thine, I should not trust
My thoughts, but this late coldness in the King
To his best friends in general, make his hate
To Nathan less prodigious.—How he sinks
From the fraternity of angels, down
To mingle with the common mass of men!—
Oh what a change! since with yon reverend sage
He us'd to mount beneath the morning star
To Olivets calm brow, like Amram's heir
There half the journey of the summer sun
Beneath her hallow'd bowers abstracted sate
With the rapt prophet, and with kindling eye
And attitude of wonder, catch afar
The strong delineations of that hand
Which trac'd the pageants of the times unborn
Thick rising to Imagination's glance
Like atoms in the sun's unfolding beam!
Oft would they traverse all the sacred hill
As if that lofty range, in time to come
Were meant the scene of some heroic deed
Or second revelation of the law
Of Heaven, like Horeb's summit: but since then
Late, in the gleam of twilight, mute and sad
The prophet of the alienated King
Has oft been seen to wander there alone
There, oft he seem'd in fixt and leaden pause
To muse awhile, then, on a sudden, rapt
With strong emotion and irregular glance
He scann'd the green lawns, and the shady bowers
As if they all seem'd conscious of the change—
The very dregs of Israel feel the change
And like foul vapours, by the sun exhal'd
They mount in mutinous revolt, and hide
The orb of majesty in dim eclipse.

Ben.
They feel the weight of glory, and bow down
By trophies and by taxes doubly prest.
Our anarchy at home, and fame abroad
Are like the spasms of an expiring man
Who seems to grapple with a nerve of steel
Tho' Death's cold siege his lab'ring heart assails.

[Shout.
Hush.
Now, like the fiery fever's rising rage,
The people's fury threat the public weal
With wild delirium and misrule.—Behold
How the wide tumult fluctuates! now they shout
As if some demon, in the seemly mask
Of popularity had fir'd their souls.

Ben.
You guess aright—it is that artful fiend
That, in the shape of Absalom, purloins
The people's loyalty, and, in its stead
With unfelt skill infuses in their veins
Sedition's deadly bane.—Let us retire
And mark the demagogue's perfidious art.

[Retire to one side.

SCENE II.

ABSALOM—ISRAELITES.
Abs.
It must not be, my friends! my loyalty
So combates with my feelings for your woes
That I must fly the strong seducing charm
Or deviate from the strict and narrow path
That filial duty points! The royal wrath
Already burns, because I dar'd to ask
Some relaxation of your bonds! alas!
My voice is discord in my father's ear
It sounds a raven's note! some other strain
More tuneable may reach the regal sense
And touch the nerve of pity! They, whose spells
Build up the high, invisible mound, that bars
All access from the people to their King,
Can seal his eyes, when the inhuman son
Expells his father, and let Piety
Be chac'd with scorn from Salem's sacred streets.
Yet should I lift my voice at Israel's wrong
How would they conjure up the deadly forms
Of foul revolt, and charge me with the crime
Of most unnatural treason? Let this plead
Your friend's excuse, who must in silence mourn
But dare not vent his grief in aught but tears
Farewell my friends! be patient, and resign'd.

[Exeunt severally Absalom and Israelites.
Manent HUSHAI and BENAIAH.
Ben.
Such is the oil that subtle Arlist pours
Upon the flame, and bids it blaze the more;
His secret machinations cannot still
Be hid, as now; the conflagration soon
(I fear) will blaze his practice to the world
And show the danger, when beyond a cure.

Bush.
O for a man to cross the deadly spell!
A friend to King and people both at once
Whose worth might add a dignity, and give
His words due aim and weight to reach the ear
Of monarchs with effect; and touch the soul!
Not like those random and uncertain shafts
Of declamation, wing'd by every wind
That fluttering fly, and fall without a scope.—

Ben.
Unless the mandate be already given
To the destroying angel not to spare,
I know the man could stand within the breach,
Could stop th'invading pest and teach the King
To ward the danger off, a man beloved
By Israel, and his monarch's chosen friend!

Hush.
Name him!

Ben.
Your eyes were witness to his worth
Not many days ago!

Hush.
Uriah!

Ben.
He
Or none, could heal the growing malady
Which else might turn a gangrene!

Hush.
Hope suggests
That the late message of the King portends
Immediate exaltation, and high trust
To him—some powerful reasons could be given.

Ben.
True—friend!—and so I thought, when I perceiv'd
No common messenger employ'd, but one
Whose searching eye thro' courts and camps pervades
And like a sun-beam spies the latent ill.

Hush.
To me such courtly language—from a friend—

Ben.
Pardon me—but I guess'd (tho' little skill'd
Or studious in the mystic things of state
To pry) that, not alone to call the friend
Of David, you were sent, but to explore
Whether, with fervent zeal, or lukewarm love
In Israel's camp the General's name is breath'd.

Hush.
You know the humours of a camp, my friend!
How liberal of reproach against their chief
Even him that all would bleed for—but in Joab
I fear that jealous and malignant spirit
Still lives, that cost the friend of Saul so dear.

Ben.
What reason have you to suspect so deep?

Hush.
The mandate of his monarch he receiv'd
With martial dignity, but, when he learn'd
The message for Uriah, o'er his cheek
Past, in a twinkling, all the varying hues
Of close conflicting passion, till his art
Seren'd the ruffling storm; that night I stay'd,
Next morn I sought the General! but I found
Admittance was deny'd.

Ben.
To David's envoy?—
This was a strain of insolence indeed!

Hush.
This sturdy opposition will be found
Perhaps, the child of fear, a conscience gall'd
With guilt, for if to rumour we may trust
Under the shadow of a moonless night
This great commander, like a felon, stole
From his pavilion, and the trenches past.—

Ben.
What proof of this, besides malignant fame?

Hush.
His brother's doubled vigilance and care,
His trumpet singly call'd the host to arms
The absent General's part he well sustain'd
From wing to wing he travers'd all the host
And kindled up the slumb'ring war anew.

Ben.
Nor yet appear'd the Chief? and was it fear
Or sullen indignation that withheld
The General?

Hush.
Time his purpose may disclose;
Meanwhile, conjecture dogs his lonely steps
Over the burning waste to Tadmor's bounds
Where those, whom late his lifted vengeance spar'd
On the dry skirts of Midian, wait the sign
To leave those wilds, where parching thirst abides
And settle on Samaria's water'd vales
Like locusts.—Others think his course is turn'd
Among the tribes of Israel to foment
Revolt and war.

Ben.
To me, this enterprize
Seems foreign to his bent: is he a man
On bare suspicion to forsake his post?
Would he the rebels daring flag unfurl
And fling his fortune in the dubious scale
Of wild domestic rage, because her lord
Sent for a faithful servant from the camp?
It bears no semblance of his ancient art
He would not plunge himself in Jordan's flood
Because, in thought, he heard a lion roar?

Hush.
Yes—he will plunge,—but like a water snake
Close vigilance must watch the passing stream
For none can tell to what unhappy shore
The monster first will point his crested head.
—All yet is dubious, but his flight!

Ben.
And we,
Shall we conceal those tidings from the King?
'Tis fit he knew the dangers full extent!

Hush.
Far, far beyond the limits of the camp
(If I conjecture right) the danger spreads
And much more near, than Tadmor's burning sands
Or even than Jordan's bounds!

Ben.
Too true: alas!
The democratic spirit spreads abroad,
Like a proud overpeering flood it sweeps,
And levels all distinction, scorns all rule,
As if the waves should lift their foamy heads
To dash their empress from her throne of light
Whose silver wand their mighty motion sways
Uriah's popularity and skill
Might fix the helm of empire in his hand,
And bid the menac'd barque out-ride the storm.

Hush.
Or, to surprize him with unwonted honours
Or profit by his counsel; David brings
At such a time, the soldier from his post—
But it were well if some experienc'd friend
Would meet the warriour, ere he sees the King
And hint some useful topics for the times
Such as the smooth-tongued courtier dreads to use
But which a soldier's candour might enforce
And amplify with fearless eloquence.

Ben.
Is he arriv'd?

Hush.
A few short hours will see
The warriour here.

Ben.
These moments must be us'd
To counsel your brave friend, how best to serve
His country and his King.—I go to find
That friend who in his inmost bosom lives
Who best can sire his zeal, or suage his flame.

[Ex. severally.

SCENE III.

An apartment in the Palace of the Queen.
The QUEEN, TIRZAH.
Tirz.
O Princess! yet reflect! a husband's love
By arts like those was never yet regain'd!
Vengeance may quench the flame, if any spark
Should yet survive, but ne'er can wake the fire
In such a heart as his—recall thy words
And bid thy messenger return! this hour,
Perhaps this moment sees the spell begun
That calls the fiends of discord from the deep
And poisons homebred joy.

Queen.
Were I a slave
Call'd by th'inconstant smile of royalty
For a few April days of transient love
Like a fond flower to bask beneath the beam,
Then hang my patient head, surcharg'd with dew
And patient weep the sun's departing ray
Thy lessons might have weight! But I was born
Of one, whose voice, by him that lords it now,
Was dreaded worse than thunder! when thou seest
An eagle's aiery breed the patient dove
Then preach forbearance! when thou seest the drops
Of autumn wash away yon lofty frame
That lifts its brow to Heaven, expect my tears
Will melt a stubborn heart!

Tirz.
Nor prayers nor tears
Would I advise, but patience, and the calm
Of resignation, unassuming worth,
Virtues, that speak by action, and confess
That more than mortal guest that dwells within
That soul-subduing grace, whose cherub smiles
Can reach the heart, and bid revolting love
Obsequious, own your sway,—forgive my zeal
If my too liberal tongue offend! but late
You thought more calmly, and confess'd these arts
Were not below your care, by arts like these
(So well conceal'd, they seem'd no longer art)
Not many moons ago you thought you saw
His love returning.

Queen.
This augments my grief
That then, from bloody wars but new return'd
When calm reflection brooded o'er the past,
And brought again forgotten times to view
My faithfulness and zeal, when for his life
(Threaten'd by angry Saul, who sent his slaves
With bloody purpose) I expos'd my own,
Sav'd him from slaughter, and a crown bestow'd—
This he remember'd, and methought, I saw
The tender lover o'er the king prevail,
And halcyon days return! when, like a blast
That withers all the genial blooms of spring,
This syren came, a suppliant, as it seem'd,
Drest for persuasion, tho' in weeds of woe,
In all the winning eloquence of tears
Adorn'd. And with a pious charge, to gain
A brother's pardon. So the rumour past,
But all was fraudful practice, all design'd
To ruin my projected schemes, and lay
My tow'ring edifice of hope in dust.—
I will not bear it.—By the awful name
Of him, whose blood I share, his ghost shall see
Ample revenge for his insulted line!

Tirz.
Oh yet reflect! you draw a scene of guilt
With Rumour's pencil, from imagin'd wrong!—
Must Israel's sacred monarch be aspers'd
Because Uriah left his blooming bride,
And to th'inviting couch of love, preferr'd
The warrior's lonely bed. He might have stay'd—
No voice imperial call'd him to the field,
Till the revolving moons had brought again
His nuptial day . His fellow-bridegrooms all
Pleaded the law, nor for the martial trump
Would change the hymeneal lyre. But he
Disdain'd the flowery chaplet, and put on,
With pride, the warrior's plume. His spouse's prayers,
Her adjurations, and her trickling tears,
That heighten'd every charm, unmov'd he bore,
When honour call'd. And must we then conclude
That fixt aversion in her bosom grew,
Because her lord preferr'd his country's call
Before ignoble ease? Such merit claim'd
Encrease of love. And must Bathsheba stray
Down that alluring path where pleasure leads,
Because Uriah chose the rigid path
Where honour marshalls on her hermit train?
—Not such effects from such examples flow!—

Queen.
The blessed sun that bids the flower expand,
Matures the poisonous weed. And scorn with scorn,
And hate with hate the female heart repays
Oftner than tame servility, inspir'd
By contumelious negligence and pride.
Would heaven I could forget—but thy defence
Brings to my mind the hateful circumstance
Of their first meeting. Then how David's heart
Glow'd at her opening beauties, when he sought
Her father's house, a refuge from the rage
Of his pursuers! Hope inspir'd his vows—
But when he learn'd Eliam's solemn vow
Had given her to Uriah, he resign'd
His love to friendship: with dissembled virtue
He gave her—but to make her more his own!

Tirz.
Thus still suspicion clouds the noblest deeds,
With her Tartarean shades! Let Reason speak,
Reason will tell, that if she scorn'd her spouse,
Who sought, at Honour's call, the bloody field.—
She too must scorn that lover, who resign'd,
At Friendship's voice her blooming virgin charms.—
Reason will tell, that he, whose strenuous hand
Could shut the pleasing image from his heart,
At Friendship's call, would never wound the peace
Of one, for whom he sacrificed his feelings!—
O then my sovereign, hear thy servant's plea,
Recall your mandate! trust not vague report,
Nor be it ever said that she, who draws
Her blood from Israel's first and mightiest king,
Should seek the level of the slave, and mine
Domestic peace! 'Tis nobler far to look
Above such injuries! and leave to time
To cure such casual wand'rings of the heart.
If he have stray'd!

Queen.
Thinkst thou I would proceed such dreadful lengths,
Without the clearest proof?
Were it but casual, there indeed were hopes
Of speedy reformation. But I fear,
I fear! nay, I am certain. Years on years
Have seen their passion grow! It ne'er can be,
It gives the lie to reason, that a glance,
A casual look, tho' arm'd by Heaven or Hell,
With all their enginry, should fire the heart
At once. Of spells and magic I have heard,
But not believed. And there are men whose hearts
Yield at first onset. But, 'mongst such, the name
Of David numbers not.

Tirz.
There must be charms
Of mind, as well as person, to secure
Lasting esteem; unhappy is that fair,
Who, trusting to th'enchantment of the eyes
Alone for conquest, when th'artillery fails,
Has no supply of mental charms within.
Hers is a short dominion!

Queen.
To her charms
The fair adult'ress trusts not! There are powers
Whose strong assemblage keeps her in the throne
Of royal favour. And, should she be cast
Aside, the busy panders soon would find
Another in her room! By her, they rule;
She is their instrument to wind at will
This royal engine to their sordid ends.
And, does it not become my birth, my place,
To scatter that obnoxious cloud, that damps
The royal virtues? Long the sacred lamp
Of Judah has burn'd dim beneath the gloom,
But soon it shall revive, and justice reach
The trembling victim, tho' behind the throne.
A loyal few, who lov'd my father's name
(Trusty and bold, all friends of antique stamp,
Who mourn my degradation feel the fall
Of her, that added lustre to the name
Of Bethlehem's haughty lord,) shall aid my views.
To David's counsels they shall find their way,
And force attention to the people's prayers.
The house of Saul again shall lift its head
In ancient splendour, on the blasted hopes
Of those, who scoff her faded fortunes now.—
But, see! my faithful messenger returns;
His chearful looks proclaim the deed is done,
And I shall rest in peace! But thou retire.
His message needs no witness.

Tirz.
Heaven forefend
Those evils, which my sad presaging soul
Sees in approach, perhaps before the sun
Descends; for council now is all in vain.

[Exit Tirzah.

SCENE IV

The QUEEN—SHIMEI.
Queen.
Thy countenance declares, before thy speech,
The success of thy message.

Shim.
Yes, my queen!
The deadly vapours of illicit love
Have reign'd too long. But soon the wholesome gale
Of great revenge shall lift its awful voice,
And sweep from yon polluted palace walls
The noxious brood, that long in swarms besieg'd
Each avenue, and banish'd from its bounds
The sons of modest merit, ancient worth,
And lineal honour! Soon that upstart race,
With that perfidious, bloody man, who slew
Thy father's friend, shall lower their haughty crests.

Queen.
Follow me to my chamber—there disclose
Thy tidings at full leisure, the loose tribe
Of profligates and panders soon shall find
Their empire at an end—convene your friends
But one by one, left over-curious eyes
Should mark their movements.

Shim.
I but stay to meet
One of my confidential friends who waits
My coming at this instant, and the next
Shall see me, with the rest, attend thy will.

[Exit Queen.
Shim.
alone.
O sacred house of Benjamin! again
Thou shalt resume the sceptre, or at least
Its lineal honours share.—Alas! with them
The old renown of Jacob sinks in night
Our glory is departed! Freedom fell
With thee, or what of freedom still remain'd
And bloody conquest now, and martial law
And costly pomp, by parasites ador'd
Succeed the rustic majesty of Saul
Who mingled with the people, nor disdain'd
To lead their legions, or in peace partake
Their humble joys—but see! my trusty friend
Approaches to my wish—Abdon—all hail.

SHIMEI—ABDON.
Shim.
The moment comes, when they, who shed the blood
Of Abner, thy lamented friend shall pay
The fine of festal treason, and prepare
A banquet of revenge, that fiends might smile
To view!
Uriah comes, and in himself an host
Arm'd with his wrongs, he soon shall shake the walls
Of parasitic power! the kindred hosts
Of Ammon and of Tadmor thro' the tribes
That line yon courts, would scatter less dismay
If our designs succeed!

Abd.
Too well I know
Uriah's spirit—still untractable
And stern, he moulds his manners on the code
Of our republic: and her name adores
With true devotion: our neglected laws
He so reveres, that neither power, nor wealth
(Tho' next to regal honours on his brow
Were plac'd, with liberal hand) could bend his soul
To smother his revenge or let his wrath
Be satisfied with gentler penalty
Than what the law requires.

Shim.
And that is death
With propagated shame!

Abd.
And wouldst thou wish
That shame should reach to David? could'st thou bear
To find the name of that heaven favour'd man
Tainted with scandal's vile ignoble blot
An imputation, made by factious hands
Perhaps the fuel of the people's rage?—

Shim.
aside.
Then is it as I fear'd—this interview
Was timely—but I must dissemble now
And wear the mask of loyalty!

To Abd.
My soul
Is seiz'd with horrour at the thought!—But still
Some moderate method may be found, to steer
Between the wild extremes, the Sanhedrim
And popular delegates at Salem now
Conven'd, thy art may sound—they all revere
The patriot's name, and hate the haughty man
Who leads our armies—and, for selfish ends
Fires, with incessant schemes of foreign wars
The royal mind, that he may hold the sword.—
His is the power—the shadow here remains
Behind at Salem—should the general vote
Prefer Uriah, (ere the husband knows
His bed's abuse,) his wrongs perhaps might rest
In long oblivion.—Bathsheba's return
To welcome home her warriour, with the spell
Of loyalty and wedded love at once,
Might lull the whirlwind to a lasting calm.

Abd.
Be it my business then to sound the tribes
Perhaps the monarch, struck with deep remorse
Nor less by merit won (by chance, or heaven
Combin'd, at this fair crisis) may consent
To crown the warriour, tho' he wrong'd the man
And all at last be amity and peace.

[Exit Abdon.
Shim.
Go! loyal fool! and, like the sightless mole
Mine for me! while the rude materials rais'd
By thy blind industry, shall raise a pile
Of finer masonry, exalted far
Above the present fabric, which thy love
So idolizes! this Jessean stem
If Fate's mysterious volume right I read
Shall know no second spring! He little dreams
I hate Uriah too! vain-glorious man!
He scorns the courtier, prizes honesty,
And looks contemptuous on the lazy herd
That bask at ease, beneath the royal beam
At home, while he sustains the sultry noon
And reaps an iron harvest—not aware
That, bought and sold, the single-hearted slave
Toils out his weary youth to feed our pride
But we are grateful—witness he, who walks
Thro' yonder shades in contemplation deep
Fain would I listen—but his friend is near
Achitophel, the partner of our hopes—
He will discover all in proper time
Nor at this crisis would I here be found!

[Exit Shimei.
DAVID, (ACHITOPHEL—at a distance.)
[Seeing Achitophel.
Ach.
My sovereign lord,
My faithful counsels—

David.
—Fed my passions high.
'Twas thou inflam'd my pride, and woke the war
With Ammon , for a slight affront, a wrong
Which wisdom would have smil'd at. Thou advis'd
To leave the toils and hazard of the war
To Joab, and rest at home, lull'd by the sound
And distant din of arms. A stripling's scorn
Must be repaid with blood, while sloth at home
Fosters worse passions. Had I brav'd the field,
And cop'd alone with unbelieving foes,
Cas'd in bright arms, beneath the beam of noon,
My worst foe had not found me!

Ach.
Witness Heaven!
Witness my honour unimpeach'd! no views
But for thy sacred safety sway'd my voice
To counsel thy delay!

David.
O blessed times,
Tho' deem'd afflictive, when, from hill to hill
I fled the royal blood-hounds! Them I thought
My only foes, my only trust was Heaven!
His favour to obtain, my vigilance
And caution still with keen, observant eye,
Guarded against the taint of every vice,
I saw but one protector, but one way
To gain his favour. Every morning shone
On some new miracle. Some wond'rous scene
Of prompt deliverance.

Ach.
Let my sovereign lord
Not forfeit his dependance. On despair
Heaven frowns, and hates the soul that doubts his love.

David.
His love!—Too much I trusted in his love!
Abus'd his mercy and his power defy'd,
But now, alas, I dread the eye of man.
My heart is bare and bleeding—every glance
Sends a shaft thro' it—tho' but late it seem'd
Enclos'd in steel. Say, is Uriah come?
And is there hope to veil the glaring shame
From every eye, but Heaven's—for man to man
Is an inhuman judge, and I have foes
That soon would dog my name, and hunt it down
Thro' every maze of endless infamy!

Ach.
Uriah is return'd.

David.
And wherefore yet
Has he not claim'd an audience? Tho' I dread
To see him, yet his absence wounds me more.
I know not what to wish, or to enquire
Has he vouchsaf'd a visit yet at home?—
Or has allegiance vanquish'd love, and sent
The gallant, injur'd warrior, first to pay
His duty to his king?

Ach.
At your command
His motions all are spy'd.

David.
And what result?
Torture me not with doubt; nor, on your life
Dare to conceal the worst!

Ach.
Compell'd, adjur'd,
My loyalty commands, what love would hide.
Ere those you sent had met him on the way,
Who meant, beneath some seeming fair pretext
To tend his footsteps till they lodg'd him safe
Lest any foul report, or dark surmise
Should taint his eyes, or ears—he was observ'd
In close and serious conference with Shimei.—

David.
Then all is public—that curst Benjamite
(Sworn foe to me and mine) has told the tale
Whate'er he knew, and what he knew not, feign'd
Disloyal, tardy slaves! whose task it was
To meet him first, and keep his mind serene
From each contagious rumour! all is lost!
Has he yet reach'd his home, or have you learn'd
Of his reception there?

Ach.
I had not means.—

David.
How seem'd he on his coming to the palace?
I know his open nature, far above
Dissembling, or the usual craft of courts
Whate'er he feels, his feelings he proclaims,
Each look and gesture shows his inmost soul—
Oh! could I read his looks!—but mine would show
What most I want to hide!

Ach.
He will not brook
(Proud, and a soldier as he is) to tell
Whate'er he knows to all, if aught he knows—

David.
If aught he knows!—where'er the serpents sang
Was fixt, the poison rankles in the wound—
And Shimei's love to me I long have known!—
That Benjamite by every art has try'd
To taint my purest actions with the stain
Of some malignant view, and put the mask
Of malice, even on innocence—oh then
What horrid vizors for deformity?—
It needs none, for the slightest hint of truth
Is foul enough!

Ach.
Yet Shimei scarce would dare
To give his venom breath—for, well I know
The coward tongue would falter in his fears
He is not one whom noble Natures soon
Would condescend to trust!—there is between
His nature, and Uriah's such repulse
Such fierce antipathy as ne'er would blend
Their jarring natures in one common view
Or common trust.—

David.
Go find him, and explore
His spirit, while I study to receive him.

[Ex. severally.
End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

An open Space before the Palace of David.
URIAH.
To him, ADRIEL.
Uri.
Welcome, my friend! But what dost thou behold
In me, to touch your features with concern
So ill disguis'd, and deep, as what I see
In every line of that once chearful face?
Before we met you seem'd to turn away
And hide a burning blush! Was it for me,
You blush'd, my friend? Was it for me that tear
Stole down your glowing cheek? Have I behav'd
Or, as a soldier, or a friend, to bring
Shame on my friends? Uriah knows no guilt,
No soldier's stain, nor will he hang the head
For others folly. Come, my friend, I know
My wife is false!

Adr.
The tongue of calumny
That oft envenoms virtue, here, perhaps,
Has stain'd the stainless!

Uri.
Be it so, my friend;
Then I will search the slander to the source,
And be it distant, as the springs of Nile,
Or high as Sinai's thund'ring tops; the power
That spoke his mandates thence, shall see this arm
Assert his sacred law, by Israel heard,
Thou shalt not bear false witness.

Adr.
Well resolv'd!

Uri.
Ah, were that all, my friend! But much I fear,
The foul contagious air of courts has breath'd
Infection thro' my dwelling; how, or whence
It came, I know not. But the plague has spread!
It has possess'd her blood! Her mantling cheek
And trembling eyes confess'd it; too serene
Was once that heavenly aspect, not to show
The smallest vapour which disturbs the peace
That dwelt within, for many a tranquil day,
In better times! Now, all is dark and deep,
Tho' dress'd in borrow'd smiles! She scarce had breath
To speak my welcome—cold to my embrace,
I felt not there that throbbing heart that us'd
To beat in unison with mine!

Adr.
Perhaps,
The sland'rous tale has reach'd her ears, and she
Is apprehensive that thine ear has drunk
The deadly poison, and thy rage believ'd
The foul, calumnious tale. This thought might wound
The purest bosom, and induce a tinge
On the most innocent cheek, to look like guilt.—
Your visit was but short! Suspend your judgment
'Till but to-morrow's dawn arrive. This night
May bring conviction!

Uri.
What! this night! this night
Am I to sleep, and will some angel come
To tell me in a dream my spouse is true?—
Or must I, lull'd by charms to soft repose,
Perhaps, within a practis'd harlot's lap,
Help out her soft assertion of her truth
With all a husband's fond credulity?
No—by my father's shade! By all the tombs
Of all that line, whose honourable dust
No stain like this has tarnish'd, I will tear
The mantle from this mystery, ere I sleep,
Or never sleep again!

Adr.
Say, wouldst thou watch
Her door, or lie in ambuscade at home?
This wild demeanour, if she still is pure,
She soon would know, then hate, and deadly scorn
Would pay your ill-starr'd pains!

Uri.
And must I doubt
For ever? Have I neither friend nor foe
To end my vain suspence at once?

Adr.
This night,
If thou regardst my counsel. Shun thy house,
And lodge with me!

Uri.
I know thou art my friend,
And yet thy softest implication sounds
Like thunder! What sad change, or deadly form
Of danger, lurks at home? Or must I give
My room to others! Say, what blasting power
Of earth or hell shall cross a husband's steps
That goes to visit home?

Adr.
Mistake me not.
You torture every word to guilty meaning,
To images of shame and turpitude,
Which on the canvass of the passing clouds,
Your sick'ning fancy draws! I meant no guilt,
Or danger in thy parting or thy stay!

Uri.
Long since, we have exchang'd our souls! our love
Surpass'd a female's fondness: can I think
You treat me like a froward child! to lull
My sense of honour by a drowsy charm
To bid me sit down calmly with my wrongs
And wink at broad detection? Tell me, friend,
Does this become a soldier and a man
Not lowest in esteem?

Adr.
To that high point
I wish to raise thee, which thy merit claims
Where worth like thine will meet its due reward;
Thy country calls thee!—To Uriah's name
The public chorus chants her sweetest praise,
Mixt with indignant murmurs; when it sees
Thy merit sunk, beneath its pitch so far
Subordinate to fawning slaves, whose tongues
By licking up imperial dust, have cleans'd
Their way to wreaths for which they never bled!—

Uri.
Where wouldst thou lead me? thro' what mighty breach
Of loyalty and law conduct my steps
In vanity's broad mirrour to behold
My puny shadow stretch'd to giant size,
And menacing the moon—I am not craz'd
Nor (tho afflicted deep) can yet mistake
The moody madness of a moon-struck brain
For sober reason.—Adriel! I perceive
Your friendly purpose, in my private wounds
To pour the soothing balm of public love—
And lead me gently from the precipice
Where reason's self grows giddy!—but once more
Why leave my home to-night?—

Adr.
Because a prize
Worthy a soldier may this night be won
A game, to save a kingdom! far beyond
The chace of idle rumours! meanwhile, tell
Does your proud general keep his old esteem
Among his bands? Say, has he learn'd of late
To triumph over hearts, no more content
With humble looks alone?—

Uri.
Neither time
Nor place accords with such a question now;—
This, of my general ask'd—my ready sword
Had to another's inquisition given
A suitable reply!

Adr.
Reply to me
Not as a soldier, but a trusty friend
That knows to whom he speaks, and therefore dares
No calumny exists in private words
No faithful bosoms trusted.

Uri.
True, if nought
Invidious, or detracting, from my words,
Calumnious art, against the great in name
Or office, may derive: that vapour draws
Her poison, from the most innoxious flowers
That e'er perfum'd the gale!

Adr.
Art thou become
That honest, loyal bigot of the camp
That does his duty boldly, and winks hard,
(Whene'er his general bids him face the foe)
And sees no danger?—Hast thou sunk so far
The citizen of Israel in the soldier
As not to see and feel th'enormous load
Our martial honours lay upon our necks?—
How gaudy does the cause of glory seem
Like meteors, streaming thro' the waste of night!
Like them, it waves sublime, to witch the world
With gaudy draperies; but, like them, portends
The sounding hurricane, that sweeps away
At once, the ripen'd harvest and the swain.—
'Twas thus you thought, ere war became a trade
When the bold peasant flung away his goad
And seiz'd his javelin at his country's call—
Then hung his shield aloft and join'd the plough.
But, now, in endless wars on wars engag'd
Where veterans, grown beneath their helmets gray
Forget they have a country you have learn'd
The dialect in vogue, and spurn the swain
Who groans beneath the burden of your wars
If his too liberal tongue but glance a hint
Against th'imperial politics, that teach
Unbounded conquest, and unbounded sway!

Uri.
You wrong me much, my friend! there is no heart
In all Judæas bands, which throbbs more quick
At freedom's call, than mine! or more regrets
The time, when our victorious flag (which now
Hangs like a meteor, o'er the troubled east
Portending ruin) more benignly shone
Like Phosphor, o'er those native hills, a sign
Of gentle peace, to all but Israel's foes
Invading foes—but now, we seek them far
From home—and seem to love the cruel trade
Even for itself!

Adr.
Believe me, friend! there lies
Beneath the splendid pile of trophied arms
A deep abyss of ruin for the state!—
Ambitious views, and overweening thoughts
Ideal crowns, and sceptres in the grasp
Already lead our leader, we pursue
And ask not why, nor whither.

Uri.
Such designs
In other minds at other times may grow—
But our commander ne'er will bribe his host
Such dangerous lengths!

Adr.
Thro' want of power—perhaps
I doubt his self-denial.

Uri.
Be th'effect
From this, or from whatever cause deriv'd
His honours on his loyalty recline
And that reposes singly on the name
Of David.

Adr.
You already have return'd
All unawares, the answer I desired
And clear'd my doubts, then from himself he holds
No claim to general love; has he no arts
Of popularity?

Uri.
His arts are vain
Since his ill-omen'd hand in Abner's blood
Was dy'd, tho' bold in arms, in counsel wise
Tho' with the semblance of paternal love
He courts his gallant bands, their hearts revolt.
Tho' by their King's command, their hands are his.
His persidy to Saul's lamented friend
So taint his every deed, his every look,
His words seem fawning, and his liberal gift
The purchase of sedition—that foul deed
Attaints the general, and degrades the man.

Adr.
On kingly favour then he rests alone!—
Say, should the rays of royal grace illume
Some heroe in eclipse, and point their rays
Full on another head, would Israel's bands
Approve the monarch's choice?

Uri.
I question that,—
His brother still, with honest martial worth
Of half the popular indignation, robs
The general's name, obnoxious tho' it be—
Another choice might sow dissension's rage
Among the troops.

Adr.
But Israel's choice at home
The sanction of the tribes, the senate's voice
Would, like the word, that bids the troubled deep
Compose her tumult, send a sacred calm
Among the hosts of Jacob.

Uri.
The intent
Of your discourse, I know not—if to soothe
My grief, you miss the means! while thus you gall
My sore impatience—Was I sent for home
To vent at large my unavailing sighs
For undeserved shame, or lend my breath
To faction's aims!

Adr.
And art thou yet to learn
The general discontent, that spreads around
From tribe to tribe, and what the delegates
Intend, this moment in full counsel met,—
An awful consistory? thou shalt know
Their purpose soon, and you, perhaps, may hear
Uriah's name the master-note that fills,
The awful harmony of popular claims.

Uri.
Uriah's name!

Adr.
No longer will they bear
Oppression's iron rod, nor brook the sway
Of those confederates, who have rul'd the state
So long at random; now a single word,
Perhaps, will break the charm!

Uri.
And were my name
That of the luckiest rebel, who dissolv'd
The bonds of loyalty, and blew the storm
From mutiny to madness, 'till the crown,
Purchas'd by blood, adorn'd the villain's brow.
Sooner upon the footstool of the throne
My blood should flow in royalty's defence,
Than this right hand should break the hallow'd bounds
That lets in loud misrule to lord it wide
O'er sacred order and imperial sway.—
Even gratitude, and friendship's ties forbid.—
I love my king, his virtues well I know,
To them I trust in time to break the cloud,
And chace the noxious fogs that hide his beams.

Adr.
You wrong my meaning much, if you surmise
I wish to tempt you from your loyalty—
I rather hope that some high office waits
Your coming, either in the court or camp,
To serve thy king, and Israel's state at once;
Some station, whence your eye, like yonder beam,
May pierce corruption's haunts, and bid it die,
And wither up the foul and noxious stems
Of luxury and vice, where'er they spring.—
This David owes thee, and I trust, he means
The retribution now, for much it taints
His fame, to leave his long-try'd friend obscure,
(Altho' his worth compells a nation's praise)
Like day's bright lamp, which, tho' beneath the deep,
Yet wakes the warbling lark's instinctive song.—
Shouldst thou succeed, the choice would soon dispell
All discontent, and lay the rising storm.—
If he neglect thee, and continue still
His favour to that dark society
That fill the court and camp, would'st thou refuse
A hand to help to save a sinking state,
When Israel claims thine aid?

Uri.
I see not yet
The pressing need to leave the beaten track
Of loyalty.

Adr.
And may it never come!
Yet time, my friend, may soon discover more!
Then, if thy country calls, attend the call,
Nor fear to spread thy pinions to the gale,
Mount to an eagle's pitch, and boldly soar
Against the sun, if fate demands thy rise!
Think on thy wrongs, if any faults be found
Where most thou fear'st. Remember Israel's claim—
And, when I see thee next, be resolute,
Be fearless, as becomes thy country's friend,
Be bold, be cautious, and avoid thy home.

[Exit Adriel.
Uri.
Was it a demon in a friendly form
That came to tempt me thus!—I yet am firm—
The noxious spell has neither touch'd my head
Nor heart. I feel the seat of reason clear—
What am I then to think, or what resolve.
Think on my wrongs. Why, then, my shame is known.
Yon travel'd sun but propagates the tale
From east to west! Yet I must shun my home!
Or glares the proof abroad?—perhaps—at court.
Or from the court my shame at first began.
For we, that fight the battles of our king,
And bear the vengeance of our God against
Rebellious states, and purge the noxious clime,
Yet know not what pollution breeds at home,
Or what foul vapours taint the stagnant calm
Of high-vic'd cities. Some new favourite
Of this new faction, that besiege the throne
Of too indulgent David, has undone
My peace for ever; yet, whoe'er he is,
My friend even dreads to name him. Should it be
Amnon, or Absalom, my sovereign lord
Will not, like old lethargic Eli, spare
The criminal, for his exalted rank,
Or royalty of blood. Yet why my friend
Should warn me thus to keep aloof. Some spell
Or danger lurks within. I have it! Fiends!
The veil is drawn at last! O stupid, numb'd
To sense! O for a long and quiet sleep!
Unvisited by dreams!
O for the wings of eagles to escape
This odious scene, and the detested truth
That rushes on my sense—pursues my steps
With harpy stings. Madness were ease to this!
I then was call'd for home, to cloak her shame.—
The foul adult'ress! lest the swelling crime
Should force discovery 'ere the camp allows
A regular return. Oh, Adriel,
Would thou hadst kept the secret! Yet I thank thee—
Thank thee—for frenzy—madness. Yet I'm calm!
I will collect myself! Ah now I know,
Too well I know thy kind assiduous care,
To lure me from the soul-corroding scene
To fairy strains of popular applause!—
Yet I will keep my post—besiege the court
Till day succeeds to night, and night to day.
Well am I us'd to watching, care and toil,
In Israel's cause; and in my sov'reign's ear,
Even in his dreams, I'll hollow for revenge;
And, if I fail, I'll find the way to reach
The nearest to the throne, or shake the seat
Of royalty itself with my appeal.

[Exit Uriah.
Scene changes to an inner Apartment of the Palace.
DAVID.
How all things change, thro' the dark medium seen
Of self-abhorrence, and the gloom of sin!
Yon sun that us'd to lift my mental view
Thro' boundless journies, till his lamp was lost
On the pure limits of eternal day,
Seems but a flickering taper now, that leads
To the licentious bower. Yon quiet groves,
Where, when the day-star, (sunk beneath the deep)
Call'd in his wand'ring glories, when forlorn
The widow'd evening flung her gaudy robes
Aside, and walk'd the woods in graver state,
Sedate and slow; when each dim alley seem'd
To fluctuate with aerial shapes, that mov'd
Celestial measures to the soothing swell
Of the soft breeze, which, thro' the lofty sweep
Of the green theatre, alternate rose,
Alternate sunk, and varied with soft touch
The waving scenery of the pendent gloom!
How did the movements of my soul accord
With the grave minstrelsie! But now, these woods
Put on the pomp of Hades. Whispering fiends
Mock the sweet woodland echoes, till they seem
To sicken at their breath! They line my walks,
Marshall my lonely steps, and, thro' the air,
Hurl their dark spells that check the mounting thought,
And tame the soaring soul to base pursuits,
Like the sad bird that skims the mantled pool
When humid vapours clog his weary wings.

To him, ONIAH.
[ONIAH]
Aside.

Oniah.
Pardon, my lord, and, if my tongue offends,
Think it an organ, by the powers above,
Reluctant, in an odious task employ'd!

David.
Whate'er it be, with confidence declare
Thy message; I must learn to bear the worst.
What has been, has been, nor can fate recall
The deeds of yesterday, the deep remorse
Of years to come!

Oniah.
Whatever is to come,
Heaven tells not. All her oracles are dumb
To thy enquiries.

David.
In the people's voice,
Perhaps, it speaks too plain! That awful organ
Is often touch'd by Heaven. Did Zadok give
No answer?

Oniah.
What he said, I shall report
Most truly—when I pray'd him to apply
For counsel to th'eternal majesty
That dwells between the cherubim—I dare not,
Was his abrupt reply. “I saw last night
“An awful vision sent from him, who lives
“For ever. In the holiest place of all
“Methought I stood, and saw the heavenly lamp
“Burn ominously dim, all mute and sad
“Seem'd the attendant choir, the warbled hymn
“Paus'd on a sudden, and their startled looks
“Were all bent upward, with expectance dread
“Of some descending terrour from above
“Clad in empyreal glory; when anon
“Like light'ning it appear'd, and quick was gone—
“And all was desolate and dark, forlorn
“And silent; but the flash forerun the storm
“Soon rose below a tempest of misrule
“And various clamour, like the winds of Heaven
“That lash th'insurgent waves,—the dread result
“To me is all unknown, nor Heaven vouchsafes
“By oracle or Urim to unfold
“His will at large.”

David.
I only wish'd to know
If by th'expulsion of a man, involv'd
In tenfold guilt, I might, in part, appease
Heaven's anger, which against me seems to burn!
This is denied—and yet—the voice within
Tells what the vision meant, too plain—but still
The sanction of the prophet was requir'd—
—Was Nathan found at last?

Oniah.
Long was the search
And hopeless, till at last we trac'd him on
To Moreh's hill; with hasty march he strode
To the tall summit, which o'erlooks the vale
Of Hinnom, where the dark flood finds below
His gulfy way, then looking back, he cast
An angry glance, “Yon city soon shall pour
“Her worst abominations forth in vain—
“Other abominations shall succeed!”
“Loud in the breeze I hear the birds of prey
“I see them hover o'er yon hated roof
“Then westward wing their way, till Ephraim's wood
“Presents an unexpected feast,” no more
He deign'd, but plung'd amid the forest gloom
Inscrutable to eyes profane, where still
He shuns all human converse.

David
to Oniah, who retires.
To Oniah.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Court before the Palace of David.
Enter JOAB disguised.
[JOAB]
What do I see and hear? I left one siege
It seems, to stand another! Rabbah's streets
Were I this moment hem'd by hostile spears
Were not more dangerous to my hunted life
Than Salem's sacred squares.—I heard my name
In execrations sent from lip to lip
As if it breath'd infection! I would find
As many hands to end my hated life
As if the sons of Ammon dog'd my heels
Were I but known among them! soon I'll learn
The drift of this commotion, and, perhaps
Discharge it on my foes.—'Tis true, the people
Have been aggriev'd, and, should their curses light
As they are meant, there lives not one whose life
Is more obnoxious! But I much admire
Why David hides his head, and lets the storm
Roll on resistless, like th'unbridled winds!
Great was his ancient influence—great the love
His people bore him, else my blood, long since,
Had paid the public hatred, but I hung
On him, like clasping ivy on the oak,
And while the vigorous root supply'd his stem,
My branches flourish'd green. But who are these,
Who toward the palace move in solemn pomp?—
By all my fears, the delegates of Israel.
What can it mean? I'll mingle with the crowd,
And learn their destination! Could I trust
The rumour of the day, they threaten me!
I'll follow with the stream, but find, perhaps,
A way at length to fix a lasting mound
Before the fury of the people's power.

AMOZ, HELKIAH, with the other Delegates of the People, approach the Palace.
To them, ACHITOPHEL.
[ACHITOPHEL]
The king has sent me—(so I must pretend)
—[Aside].
From you to learn the purport of your claims,
Ye might have staid, till from the conquer'd foe,
Our general came triumphant, and laid down
His crested pride, to join in sage debate.
We then confirm your laws.

Hilk.
The general's voice
Is futile here; in his own cause, no man
Is judge and advocate! The law we come
Now to propose regards himself the first.

Ach.
If it be wrong to judge the meanest man
Unheard, and unimpeach'd, then judge not him!

Hilk.
On him we lay no blame; nor derogate
From his illustrious rank, and kindred ties
To Jesse's royal stem; but this, (with him)
Respects a public cause!

Ach.
Declare your grievance.

Hilk.
It has been oft declar'd, but still in vain.
But pent up waters, though deep mounds oppose,
Will find their way at last. It is more fit
To form a regular channel for its rage,
Than to confine its fury, lest it rise
In dread rebellion, and convulse the globe.—
Why does the flower of Israel waste its prime
In foreign fields, while years on years revolve,
And sees our bounds extend, our people fade.
The soldier's glossy raven locks assume.
The griesly hue, beneath the batter'd helm.
At home the hind out-toils the travel'd sun,
And sees the harvest of his labour, swept
Away, to feed the famine of the war.
And, worse (if worse can be) to waste at home
The soul infections of an haughty court!

Ach.
Whence this new insolence?

Hilk.
Achitophel,
You much mistake, or wilfully misname
Our privilege; this insolence is old,
Old as the days of Aaron. Then the voice
Of the assembled tribes was law and truth,
Tho' now it sounds in some fastidious ears
Like treason!

Ach.
What you gave, ye would resume.
When, all unable to defend yourselves
Against the numerous foes, that hem'd you round
On every hand, and held in manacles
Your martial ardour; then you claim'd a king
(Such as the nations boast) to lead you on
To conquest and to glory, now, averse
To your own choice (a choice confirm'd above)
Ye would undo your work, and grudge to bear
That easy load ye laid upon yourselves.
But this, were this allow'd, by sudden change
Would quite unhinge all government, and break
The settled course of things; as if the moon
Of bleak December should assert her right
O'er July's sultry calm, and freeze his dews
In her cold crystal urn.

Amoz.
Those arguments
Your royal master needs not to support
His state, for in his subjects hearts he reigns:
Nor needs the claims of tyranny, to guard
His firm, establish'd throne; it is to give
His power a better basis we propose
These laws. Our loyal meaning is to give
Our King a surer title to our loves,
And counsel him to trust his sacred cause
To those we can confide in. This we claim—
We wish to see old Judah's line restor'd
To its first honours, and we must have way.—

Ach.
Ye know not whom ye toil for, if ye did
Ye were more culpable, but now, no more
Ye know the hand that turns your headlong rage
To his own factious purpose, than the mass
Which from its flaming gorge the mountain flings
Knows, why it falls in ruin on the swains
And lays their harvest low!

Hil.
We need not blush
To name the man, whose virtues long have won
A nation's confidence, and given them trust
In all his days to come!

Ach.
Produce the man
Whose merit soars above the common pitch
Of statesmen and of heroes!

Amoz.
Who can doubt
The man, or who has borne so mean a lot
In Israel's tribes, as never to have heard
Uriah's name?

Ach.
His virtues are allow'd
By all, nor can that age be quite corrupt
When such men are esteem'd! But should the King
Allow such ready monitors at will
To win their way by clamour, and besiege
His throne, on every petty discontent
What would become of majesty and awe
What would become of Israel, still the prey
Of every popular gust? yet mean I not
To slight your grave proposal, when I find
The sanction of the senate join your claims,
But these are sudden measures and require
Deliberation. To degrade the man
Whom years have crown'd with glory, seems a step
That leads to danger.

Amoz.
For ourselves, we scorn
The danger, and we know the general host
Abhors their leader's view; nor aught supports
Obedience in the camp but David's name
Remove that column, and the general sinks
With all his martial fame.

Ach.
Of this I own
Some symptoms have appear'd, the people's voice
Demands respect—but, for this day, the King
Requests a respite, till to-morrow's dawn
Matures his counsels, some domestic cares
At present have engross'd the royal mind
To these he dedicates his present hours!
To-morrow is the peoples!

[After a short conference with the rest.
Amoz.
We depend
Upon his wisdom, and with joint assent
Postpone our message, till he claims our presence

[Exeunt Delegates.
Ach.
The man who watches not the turning tide
Nor weighs his anchor, when the current serves
Must leave his vessel stranded on the beach
And mourn the moments lost! I did not rise
To this uncertain height to stem the blast
Of popular favour. He, that holds the helm
Of state should learn to veer with every wind
And have a harbour still secure and safe
On whatsoever coast the shifting gale
Blows from all quarters under heaven—I saw
This tempest in the cradle, nor despis'd
Its infant frowns, nor, when it grew at last
To giant size, it found me unprepar'd
To ride the wild waves in my steady barque!—
Let Joab and them, who scorn'd to shun the flaw
Beneath its fury sink!—for me, I scorn
To share the sounding fall of wilful men.—
Another crew may man the toiling ship
Tho', by themselves undone, the mariners
Were all swept overboard. Uriah then
Is Israel's favourite, and too well I know
The guilty reason why the conscious King
Would wish to raise him!—He has one way left
To calm the people's and the husband's rage
At once; I see the former chief's decline
And this new favourite's rise—whate'er I owe
The general, to myself a larger debt
Is due, nor will I break the ancient law
Of self-defence, to aid a desperate cause—
But who comes here?—

Enter a MESSENGER.
Mess.
My lord! a stranger sues
For audience.

Ach.
Let him come

Mess.
He shuns the view
Of public eyes.

Ach.
Let him declare to you
His business.

Mess.
He refuses to disclose
To any ear but yours', whate'er he claims!

Ach.
What means this mystic semblance? does he seem
A foreigner or native, one of rank
Plebeian, or above the common herd?

Mess.
His habit speaks the soldier! but he seems
A man, that on himself alone depends
Scorning the sun-shine and the storms of life
Not us'd to tremble at a despot's nod
But daring to confront him; as the time
And his disguise allow'd me, in his mein
And port, I this could learn.

Ach.
I hazard not
An interview with strangers—I have foes
That seek my life! before I see this man
He must with cautious hand be scrutiniz'd
For private arms.

Mess.
Already that is done
He of himself unfolded all his robe
And bade me search him round!

Ach.
Then let him wait
My coming at the secret place of audience.

Scene changes to a Closet in the Palace.
ACHITOPHEL, A STRANGER.
Ach.
[Joab discovering himself.

Joab.
Yes—I watch
While you securely sleep, nor seem to mind
The pent-up storm that seems to rage beneath
And threats to blow you to the moon! for me
I heard its voice afar, I mark'd its rage
Even from the camp, till under Salem's towers
It threatens dread explosion!

Ach.
For what end
I know not, but for some important end
The noble chief forsakes his watchful post
By Rabbah's towers, in those more dangerous walls
To face his unseen foes, that brew a storm
Which menaces more near.

Joab.
Ideal horrours
Of popular commotion! Let it rage
I've weather'd many worse! but this appears
A reptile, noxious vapour, carrying plagues
Deep in its bosom, which it sows around
And drizzles death, where'er it sweeps along,
Already has it poison'd half the camp
And now it sails away, and threats the city.

Ach.
Be calmer! and by certain signs describe
Your secret foe.

Joab.
His name at once declar'd
Discovers all—Uriah.

Ach.
Whence your dread
Of him?

Joab.
Are you to learn his guileful arts
His serpent fraud, that hisses as it stings
His whisper'd faction thro' the tribes of Israel—
It must be he—for since he join'd our bands
They hate the track of glory, and begin
To sigh for home—there was a time, of late
When honour was a soldier's sole religion—
But now, by yonder heaven, they talk of right
The rights of men and citizens, nor think
That fields, manur'd with blood, and leaguer'd walls
And thund'ring battlements (to swell the fame
Of conquerors and Kings), and laureate wreaths
To the survivors, pay the sighs and groans
Of a few mournful widows!

Ach.
What or who
Has taught them this new doctrine? have the murmurs
Of this seditious city reach'd the camp?—
Or is there one among themselves who sows
Those cockles in their minds?

Joab.
I tell thee, statesman
Uriah must be he!

Ach.
Uriah's name!
Say, is it sounded with more dread than yours?
Does he command the camp, conduct the siege?
Are you the rebel's master or his slave?—
What dread enchains your tongue, or what prevents
Your sentence on your substitute?

Joab.
His art
Baffles my rage, nor does he leave a mark
Even for the shafts of slander to insix
Its venom'd point. In loyalty's close mask
He veils the soulness of his deep designs
In darkness and in doubt! the common camp
Adores his name!—with more than wizard spell
Still as the factious clamour swells to Heaven
His balmy elocution sooths the storm
Like lenient oil on turbid waters pour'd—
Thus voluble and artful as the snake
That poisons with a kiss, he slips the hold
And baffles the pursuer!

Ach.
Curse his virtues!
Worse than the red plague, and the hidden fire
That wins its fearful way against the wind
His fame infects even here! the noisy crowd
That haunt our streets return his hated name
In echo to the camp, the storm you fear'd
Has crost another whirlwind in its way
And sweeps the forest with redoubled rage!

Joab.
And thou and I will in the whirlwind fall
Unless we foil its fury! Fate or chance
That led me here, I thank thee! else my hand
Perhaps had never drawn th'imperial sword!
—Canst thou conjecture yet the King's intent
With what new honours he designs to load
His favourite?

Ach.
But, that I know the King
Bound to his friends by more than kindred tyes
For loyalty, and long-try'd services
I would have thought he meant to raise him high
Or in the civil or the martial line.

Joab.
It was not then for nought the soldiers seem'd
To hail his name at parting, with the sound
Of many a hearty farewell, and the strain
Of public benedictions mixt with tears!—
I see the deadly birth of many a moon
Begin its dreadful progress in the clouds
And fall at length in horror on my head
We must return the poison to his lips
Or learn to drain the venom'd bowl ourselves.—

Ach.
Depend upon the King!

Joab.
The ties of blood!
My hapless hand has cut the holy knot
Long since—my loyalty is like his love!—
By a far different tenure I possess
My lofty post, I flourish in his fears
He dreads me, like a phantom of the night—
Whene'er he dares to turn a steady eye
Upon the dark and formidable shape
The shape is gone!—Achitophel! to thee
This is no mystery! since I clear'd my way
To military honours thro' the breast
Of Abner!—to my thought, I read my doom
Too plain, in David's alienated eye:
And did he know, that when he gave the word
For slaughter, echo would repeat the doom
From many a factious voice in Israel's camp
He would not linger long! This to thine ear
I trust with safety, for I know thy doom
Is link'd with mine, and thou wilt lend thine aid
To ward the coming ill.

Ach.
aside.
To Joab.

Joab.
Ha! statesman!—is it thus? have I upheld
Your pride and rais'd you from the dust to spurn
Your patron! but I come not here, on thee
Dependent, for I know thee! other arms
And arts are mine, than puny statesmens skill
I came no suppliant, with a gentle shower
Of woman's tears to court thy slender aid
But tell thee, in a voice of thunder, tell thee
Thou must dispatch this rival or resolve
To sink beneath his influence! he detests
Thine arts and thee—the watch-day to the wolf
Bears not more mortal enmity than he
To thee! and doest thou hope to live, when he
Rules paramount? as well the shadowy ghost
Might dare the sun's full beam, he dies, or thou
Must fall!

Ach.
aside.
I now must soothe him, till I point
My dart at leisure for a surer blow! To Joab.

Thou hast convinc'd me! but in David's love
If he has found protection, who shall dare
To snatch him thence?

Joab.
The law of self-protection!
Shall clear thee to thyself! nor have I shar'd
With thee so long the chace of common foes
To doubt thy skill to circumvent or snare
Thine enemies at will! thou hast the ear
Of David!—thro' that organ pour the bane
That taints the mind, thou strik'st as sure a blow
As if the murtherer's dagger arm'd thy hand!—
It was no trivial errand call'd me here
From Ammon's leaguer'd walls! I could confide
The secret to no bosom but my own
And thine—reflect, tho' numerous are my foes
Yet far more numerous are my friends—they spread,
From Tadmor's eastern bounds to Jordan's flood!—
Remember this, and let me ne'er behold
His hated face again, if thou wouldst wish
To see thy friend in peace!—I must away
And join my followers, ere the rosy morn
Blush for my seeming negligence! adieu.

[Ex. Joab.
Ach.
To-morrow's dawn shall see thee linger here
Or I am not Achitophel!—Am I
A man to be insulted, menac'd, plung'd
In ruin! selfish man! he nought regards
My cause, my life, my honour! so I lead
His hated rival to the dark abyss
He cares not, tho' I drown along! but they
Who guide the helm of state, are not to leave
The rudder at each hot-brain'd fools' command
That mutinies for sway! It seems a trifle
For you to leave your camp, in mean disguise
To leave the cause of nations on the point
And hazard of a moment, to pursue
Your guiltless foe, and from your Sovereign's heart
Tear the new favourite, and again secure
Your station with a second Abner's fall!
But I have felt your tyranny too long—
I help'd you! but the trade of blood has taught
The gratitude of wolves! But now, behold!
Thy savage fury drives thee to a snare
Thou little dream'st of! (If the King but dares
To be that heroe which he was of old
And 'venge a peoples wrongs.)—Let him do this,—
Sedition's fangs are drawn, and Faction hides
Her glaring orbs, that (like the comet's beam
Menac'd the state,) in everlasting sleep!—
Two savages at once are in my snare
If one escapes, he rends me—so perhaps
The other may,—but gratitude would bind
Uriah's noble nature to repay
Life for his life, and thanks for dignity—
The other's disposition nought secures
But adamant, and Hell's eternal chains.—
This is no time to falter, or delay
My purpose—who attends there? Bid the guard
Secure the outward gate! A spy is caught
From Rabbah sent! But see, the King himself;
This even exceeds my most exalted hopes!

Enter DAVID.
David.
What means this outcry! these unsual signs
Of trepidation which your visage tells
As if some terrible conspiracy
Was found?

Ach.
My Lord! if still you think me leagued
With the proud general to secure my sway
By his audacious aid, vouchsafe to hear
And judge my candour, loyalty, and truth
By what I now disclose!—in hot pursuit
Of brave Uriah's guiltless blood, the chief
This military star, the lasting dread
Of Ammon, leaves his post in mean disguise
And dares, beneath the glance of majesty
Beneath the double frown of you and Heaven
To dictate murther to me!

David.
Why, and how?
Amazement! can it be? would Joab forsake
His station? fling aside the general's staff
To seize th'assassin's dagger? we must be
Convinc'd of this by more than vague report
Belief is tardy to such 'scapes as these,
Prodigious, far beyond the reach of faith!

Ach.
Your own sight shall convince you! for, by this
He is secur'd, and now, if e'er you dar'd
Or when Goliah or his brother fell
Put on the warriour! strike the rebel down
With that awaken'd thunder, which (he says,)
You fear to wield, and start, even at the flash
Of your own bolt! His partizans are gone
His faction distant! Here the serpent's head
By its own fury and revenge impell'd
Has found its way, a single blow decides
Its doom, and then, its spires, and deadly sting
Will cease to threat!

David.
How will he meet my eyes?

Ach.
Oh think no more on that! but crush him now
Draw the knot hard that stifles him, or soon
The furies from thy hand will snatch the cord
And change it to Rebellion's scourge, to drive
Thy friends to fill Sedition's deadly files!
His fall will soothe their rage! the powers above
Have given another cast for royalty!
Seize it with noble daring, or you're lost!

David.
We must not be precipitate! the bent
Of Israel's mind would scarcely bear it now!

Ach.
Think on their hatred for his crime, the theme
Of general detestation thro' the tribes!

David.
Think how his name's ador'd in Israel's host!

Ach.
'Tis worth the tryal—you may trust too far!—
Resolve to vindicate your name, or go—
Go to the wilds again, and stray forlorn
In Paran's woods, or in her gloomy caves
Conceal your menac'd head! you must not look
For Heaven's protection now, as when you fled
From Saul!—that was your fate, but this your fault.
That was a test of holy confidence
But this, distrust in Heaven—resolve, and strike
The blow!

David,
Is he secur'd?

Ach.
He is, but yet
Feels not the pressure of the viewless snare
That waves its meshes o'er his sentenc'd head
Not to be broken, if your fiat seals
His doom, at once!—I go, to give the sign
But must not now be seen!

David.
Go, and return
Even with the expedition of a thought—
Each moment labours with the births of fate!—
His actions speak presumption, next to madness—
They call for punishment, or wild misrule
Will break subordination, and the child
Unborn, may live to curse the nerveless hand
Of Israel's King, who let the ruin spread [Exit. Achitophel.

Since first I sheath'd the sword that ought to blush
With penal blood for the lamented fall
Of Abner, still above my guilty head
The blade of heavenly justice seems to wave!
And is there then no second cause—no more
Let me extend the veil of others crimes
To hide my own abasement!—Hence, avaunt—
Say, whence and what art thou, insidious fiend
That strivest with opiate draught to lull the sense
Of Inward shame, and point'st another's sin
As if the blood of Abner could efface
The stain of David! but perhaps the doom
Of Joab may break one chain, and give the means
Of reparation to that injur'd man
Who well deserves, and well can fill the post
Of this audacious rebel! He is just,
And loves his King, tho' by the crowd rever'd;
His name the tumult of the streets resounds
His name the awful organ of the state
That speaks in Israel's delegated band
Exalts, and claims for him the martial wreath
'Tis Heaven itself the welcome choice inspires
'Tis Heaven, that bids the tempest lift its voice
And from the deep and stagnant gulf of air
Sweeps the contagion of the settled calm
Away!—I will obey the awful sign
And lull the storm by some great sacrifice
Before the whirlwind lays my honour low,
And spreads them in the dust—the voice of blood
Cries for revenge, and strikes the vault of Heaven.

Exit David.
Scene—A Prison.
Joab.
The statesman's art at last has gain'd the day
And I must fall, the victim of my pride
And folly!—I have heard of miracles
But never knew a lion snar'd before
In such a vile envenom'd spider's web.—
My blood must pay the purchase of his guile—
But force I dread not—David would not risque
The stroke of public justice. But the steel
Of the assassin, or the well-drug'd bowl
Will do the deed, and Abner's fall atone.—
Blood will have blood—and is there such a charm
In dying groans, that they can pierce the clouds
And wake the sleeping thunder?—When I feel
The bolt, I will believe it. But my heart
Still keeps its wonted measure—I may live
(For so my mind presages) to repay
My enemies, with grateful recompense.—
But who comes here? he does not bear the stamp
Of an assassin! royalty and youth
Blend in his aspect their united charms
—'Tis Absalom—he has not yet forgot
His ancient friends, altho' in faithless courts
Long educated; well I know his mind
Fearless and prompt as light'ning, yet as dark
As gathering tempests wrapt in midnight gloom
Altho' a beauteous surface hides that heart—
—What may this visit bode?

To him ABSALOM.
Abs.
What have we here
An eagle in a cage?

Joab.
True, royal youth! the kites
And daws have won the day!

Abs.
But who could dream
To see thee here! Is this thy generalship
To leave the siege?

Joab.
A little time had told
The purpose of this step, a slender space
Had shown, it was thy cause as much as mine!—
The common claim of royalty, the safety
Of David's house, as much as my command
That led me from the camp in this disguise
For one impending peril threatens both.

Abs.
This artful involution of your cause
With ours, were calculated well to gain
Our favour, were it true.

Joab.
By nobler arts
In happier times I thought I gain'd your love
And, low as I am now reduc'd, I scorn
By adulation's little arts to gloss
A bad cause over!—What I say, I'll prove.—
There is no room for hope, and if there were
I scorn by falsehood to obtain the boon.

Abs.
I came not here to offer hope, or try
With empty promises of useless aid
To soothe your dying moments—yet, if duty
The interest of my father, and the state
Permitted me to use my power, thy life
Were safe as mine!

Joab.
I know thy influence well
And well you know that I could pay, the price
Of thy protection, were I once again
In freedom to collect my numerous friends:
But let me fall, by vulgar arts o'erthrown,
Ere I expose the life of David's son
To danger by my flight!

Abs.
aside.
I know thy love—
(Rather thy interest—) and could well depend
Upon thy loyalty: but other bars
Divide my cause and thine—my name upholds
The people's privilege! I swell the breath
Of opposition; you support the power
Of new prerogative extended far
Beyond its ancient bounds!—

Joab.
aside.
(I see his views!—)
And wouldst thou wish the people's privilege
Extended equal to their haughty claims?
Wouldst thou desire to see Uriah rule
The banded powers of Israel? trust me, Prince!
That stern republican would lift his crest
Above the fading glories of the crown
And with its gems, purloin the public voice
To sanctify the robbery! those brave youths
Who eastward far in conquest spread the name
Of David, soon would see their mould'ring bands
Sink like the files of Lebanon before
The woodman's stroke! disbanded, or confin'd
Tamely in garrisons to waste their prime
And on our castled frontiers, face the foe
As lordly lions from their range confin'd
And chain'd, like shepherds dogs! would this become
The throne of Judah? You might see the time
When thou wouldst mourn the change, and weep to view
The martial fire of Israel thus confin'd
To fume away like smother'd lamps, at home!
How would the Arab, and the Ammonite
Rejoice to see the torrent of our rage
That swept their sandy plains, repose at last
In dull stagnation?

Abs.
Tho' I seem to blame
The bloody trophies from our neighbours won
And fill the cry of faction, to preserve
The interest of our family alive
And raise an artificial mound, to stem
The sinking torrent of the people's love
That fleets from David's name so fast away;
Yet, were this head ordain'd to sill the crown
I would not wish it had a hold so slight
As to be puff'd away, by every breath
Of popular discontent, I would not chuse
A bulrush for my sceptre, to be bent
By every breeze that blows!

Joab.
And wouldst thou wish
Like a state-captive, to implore thy guards
For liberty—to leave the palace dungeon
And breathe the liberal air? wouldst thou submit
To have thy progress bounded by the stream
Of Cedron's brook, nor ever from the brow
Of Olivet to see thy subject vales
Wave with their plenteous harvest? this must be
The fate of David! he has lost the people,
By the same cause that lost his own esteem.
And when this head lies low, as soon it must,
Be this my consolation, that those eyes
Shall not behold my Monarch's low disgrace,
Condemn'd at stated holidays to show
The gaudy pageant of fallen royalty
Led in the rabbles triumph!—

Abs.
This the sun
Shall never see, if I survive to fill
The throne of Judah!

Joab.
How canst thou avoid
This doom, if David shows the crowd the way
To domineer above the falling crown
How wilt thou stem the torrent when it roars
When that vile bird, that pecks the royal image
Grows to an eagle size, with all her brood
Of feather'd imps about her, long enur'd
To prey on kingly power? then, who will dare
To clip their wings, or lure them from the scent
Of palace plunder? not the boasted wand
Of Moses, which dismist the living cloud
Of locusts to the Erythrean main!

Abs.
There still are hopes, for yet this vulture's nest
Is callow, and a little art can rule
The unfledg'd family!

Joab.
Yes—would the King
Resign to thee the sceptre, or admit thee
The partner of his throne, he then might rule
O'er all the hearts in Israel.

Abs.
Would that awe
Due to my father, to my faltering voice
Give its full compass, I could claim my share
Of royalty, in thunder's deepest note!

Joab.
I praise thy piety, that deigns to wait
For thy legitimate boon, till sage Uriah
A proselyte to loyalty and order
Allows the sapient measure, founded deep
In wisdom, and permits thy greener boughs
To climb the withering stem of royalty
And clothe it with new blossoms!

Abs.
Deep I feel,
The keen edge of thy censure! Jesse's stem
Was never doom'd to bend and sue for grace
To this new favourite, by a female hand
Rais'd to the pitch of greatness!

Joab.
On that theme
Silence befits us best. The mind may see
What our eyes wink at!—

Abs.
Yet a thought occurs!
I am not deeply read in Israel's story
But say—was Saul, the royal Benjamite
Chosen by the voice of Heaven, or of the people!

Joab.
Nam'd by the prophet, but the common vote
Confirm'd it!

Abs.
Then the people in their tribes
Pronounc'd the will of Heaven!—another question!—
Was not this Benjamite, (altho' by Heaven
Propos'd, and by the people's voice confirm'd—)
Yet by a righteous mandate set aside
Hurl'd from his throne, altho' the sentence hung
In short suspence; did he not wear the crown
And royal mantle like a victim drest
For hallow'd butchery, before he fell
In Gilboa's fatal field?

Joab.
Your sire possess'd
The sanction of the prophet—long before
The death of Saul. His hatred rose from hence—
Hence rose his persecution of thy father.

Abs.
The people's voice at Hebron chose my father,
Their acclamations rais'd him to the stars,
But now the buoyance of their breath subsides,
And down he sinks!

Joab.
Thy words forerun my thoughts,
And give that breath, which I had scarce presum'd
To picture in my mind! Nay, do not start!
The low declining cause of royalty
(Tho' by unusual methods) must be prop'd;
The public is our first concern, whate'er
Becomes of private ties.

Abs.
'Tis piety
To save a father, plunging in the stream,
Tho' at th'expence of half his cumbrous robes,
Which hinders his exertion. It were sacrilege
To strip a parent, were it not to save
His life.

Joab.
Were but those hands unchain'd,
My voice could call ten thousand warlike hands
To aid thy claim!

Abs.
I have the people's voice—
Yet such a great and arduous enterprize
Throbbs at my heart in ominous presage!—
I dread the hazard of a precious life.
My father will not tamely share his crown,
Tho' all the tribes demand it! He has still
His band of heroes to support his claim,
Uriah at their head!

Joab.
Had David fled
The prophet's holy unction, he had kept
The flocks of Bethlehem still, and never grasp'd
The rod of royalty. But thou, perhaps,
Hast doubts of me!—Uriah may be found
To suit thy purpose better.

Abs.
Thou betray'st
The father! can the son confide in thee?

Joab.
'Tis by the son's advancement I preserve
The father, for unless with thee he shares
The steerage of the state, the barque is lost.—
Heaven smite this head with all its choicest plagues
If e'er I lost my loyalty to him!—
Yet you perceive how he rewards my truth!—
Consider, prince, my voice could oft have rais'd
A tempest, that had shook his blasted boughs
Ere yet he fixt his fibres in the soil!—
'Twas in his cause I rais'd my hasty hand
'Gainst Abner's life, and risqu'd the people's hate.
I graft you on his stock to save the stem,
To save you from the storm that threatens both!

Abs.
Should I procure you liberty and life,
What pledge could you afford me of your faith,
And pure intention to support my claim
With all your means?

Joab.
If I forget my faith
And promise pledg'd, you still can reach my life,
At least my fame, and at my armies' head
Thy voice can blast my fortunes, tho' my flag
Stream'd on the walls of Rabbah, and you know
My hatred to Uriah! I must leave
My deadly rival basking in the beam
Of royal favour, and your voice to him
(If I deceive you) can at once secure
The rule of Israel's bands!

Abs.
The dye is cast—
I free thy body to secure thy mind—
But with the strong and viewless bond of souls
I first must bind you fast. I go to find
The means of your enfranchisement.

[Exit.
Joab.
Why go!—
I like thy soaring spirit! but, alas!
How shallow to suppose, my schemes possess
As little reach as thine! Shall I employ
My master-engine, form'd with patient art,
To play for children's bidding, to disturb
The settled elements, and almost disjoint
Both worlds, to mount a bubble on the breeze
For fools to laugh at? No—presumptuous boy!
Thou didst not feel the still and subtle breath
That blew thy flame to such a raging height.—
My lungs deny their office, and thy blaze
Goes out! The stubble is consum'd that fed
The conflagration. Go—Convene thy tribes,
Hollow sedition in the general ear,
And bid the trumpet of rebellion sound,
Emblaze the streaming flag of proud revolt
With gorgeous colours of necessity,
And exigence of state! I'll aid the king.
My loyal trump shall blow a blast so loud,
As soon shall drown thy factious minstrelsie,
And stun sedition's bands. A fair pretext
Thy riot shall afford, to weed the land
Of all those rash and fiery volunteers
That spend their mouths and bark at royalty
This this shall found again my tottering power
On adamantine base! the King shall reign
My delegate, and I his earthly God—
Hark—to the jarring music of yon gate
Hail! glorious freedom! hail! unbounded sway!—

ACT IV.

[Scene I.]

The Palace.
ACHITOPHEL.
Was it the fiction of an hideous dream
That gave the General to my cheated view
Or did that demon, who protects him still
Bring him in sight, and waft him hence away
To propagate his guilt and force the King
And me, on dreadful measures? Must we then
Complete the bloody task? does hell's deep gorge
Claim her detested sacrifice? behold
Those haughty lines, trac'd with a rapid hand,
“I have escap'd the snare! thou canst not spread
“Cobwebs for eagles. Wouldst thou save thyself
“Thou knowst the ransom. Tremble and obey!
“Reflect on Abner's fall.” Unheard presumption—
—But let me curb my tongue! those walls have ears
Those palace-gates, that open'd to his flight
Spontaneous, to the viewless hand, that aids
His hopes, would close on me, did any word
Escape, which courtly malice could distort
To treason! well I see, but dare not own
I know the hand that freed him! hapless King!
Thou too must render up thy stedfast friend
To soothe these tygers? or they leap the fence
And o'er the fold in devastation range—
And, if mistaken tenderness unsteels
Thy resolution, thou, or I am lost;
Lost in the whirlwind of the General's rage
Or in the deep devouring gulf absorpt
Of thy proud son's ambition!—all my trust
Is only this, that selfish ends will lead
The royal rebel, and the haughty chief
To foul suspicion of each others views
And each will think himself unsafe, unless
By force or fraud he fastens on the power
Own'd by the other!—Thus, between two storms
Of adverse wing, the royal barque may ride
Awhile in safety, tho' in giddy whirls
Dash'd round and round. This fury of the field
We first must sooth, the tyger of the court
Is yet unfang'd!—But here the father comes
Incenst, yet trembling at the prospect sad
Of sure domestic strife!

To him, DAVID.
David.
To thee I owe
That here I stand deserted by my friends
And, of my God forsaken!

Ach.
aside.
(Thus the guilty
And the unfortunate, on others, strive
To fling the galling load that weighs them down)
My royal master knows, the guard to me
Was not permitted!

David.
Has my son the heart
(Unless, by some fell demon of the state
Some pupil of left-handed policy
Like thee, seduc'd) to meet his Father's rage?—
If you revere not Joab, you fear his wrath!—

Ach.
I therefore wish his fall!—

David.
I know not that—
I know thee subtle, undermining, dark:
One, that would worship Moloch for his power
And to his burning idol sacrifice
The son of thine own bowels!

Ach.
Tho' I feel
The keen reproach, yet to thy grief alone
I charge its bitterness!—a cooler moment
When your corroding anguish is assuag'd
Will tell thee, that had I conniv'd at this
I ne'er had staid behind to meet thy rage,
But to the General's camp for shelter fled!—
The hand, perhaps that freed him, is beyond
The seizure of thy power, or claims at least
Some spell to ward the tempest from his head.

David.
—Oh! that my memory could escape that pang!—
Thou takest thy time to probe a father's wound
When Heaven's deep judgment has disarm'd his hand
Else thou hadst not presum'd!—but thou, perhaps
Art leagued with both against thy sovereign lord.

Ach.
opening his breast.
Secure my faith at once! the solemn tomb
Contains no traitors, and my dust-clos'd ear
Will hear no imputations, which my soul
Abhors!

David.
I know not whom, or what to trust?
Forgive my rage—forgive a father's anguish
To madness driven by the degeneracy
And treason of a much-lov'd son—Degeneracy!
From whom degenerate? am I not a rebel
A rebel to myself, and to my God
My country's foe? and can I blame the power
That, when I lost the reins of self-command,
Let loose this bosom tyger; yet less guilty
Than those black passions which laid waste before
Each province of the intellectual world,
And manacled my reason? I must bear it!
Soon too, perhaps, the voice of public shame
Will thunder in my ears! My untold crimes,
Like deadly exhalations in the gale,
Will rise, and poison all the ambient air,
Till Nature's self, whose glories once I sung,
Will sicken at my name!

Ach.
That danger yet,
I trust, is far remote!

David.
How can you trust,
Or how believe? Does not Uriah feel
Bathsheba's guilt?

Ach.
He keeps in silence still
His knowledge, or his doubts. A stronger spell
May lead him home. The banquet is begun
By your command. The failure of a night,
Chance might have caus'd, or some fantastic vow.

David
O for a prophet's eye, to mark the scenes
To-morrow's sun must see!
This night, revolving on her ebon throne,
Winds up the doom of Bathsheba and me.
I cannot bear to ponder on her doom.
Ruin'd by me, for me to public shame,
Perhaps, to ignominious death expos'd.—
On me, me, rather let the tempest fall—
I was the tempter, I deprav'd her mind,
I blew the embers of a former flame
To their first conflagration.

Ach.
Yet, my lord,
All may be well. You tremble at a shade,
The coinage of your fancy. If her spouse
Can stand the siege of circulating bowls,
Of music's charm, and hymeneal songs,
Warm as the amorous descant in the grove
Of Araby the blest, which to the fair
The raptur'd lover chants, as evening draws
Around their flowery couch her raven pall;
Then is he more than man. But he will melt,
The subtle spirit thro' his nerves will thrill,
Till his rapt fancy represents his spouse
Drest in the bridal robe, while o'er her cheek
Soft wishes and soft fears alternate stray!

David.
Night wears apace, and soon the crisis comes.
Go thou and watch his passions how they tend,
Whether the bowl has sooth'd his cares asleep,
Or drawn the painful secret from his heart.
If so, we must prepare to meet the worst.

Ach.
I go.— [Aside.]
(But I have spirits there at work
Thou little dream'st of, to unlock the soul,
And draw the painful secret forth in storms.
The noble savage must be roused to rage,
Else he would ne'er be tempted to the snare.)

[Exit Achitophel.
David
Oh! what a torture of suspence I feel,
While in the balance of my rival's mind,
That plays with every breeze, my doubtful doom
Hangs trembling! If resentment steels his soul
Against his spouse, to-morrow's rising sun
Lights up my shame, and paints my midnight deeds
To gazing multitudes! Already Heaven
Has left me, and I now must court the power
Of reeling madness, in the luscious grape
To aid my purpose! To what noxious fiend
Must I address my prayer, to cloud the beam
Of reason, and before suspicion's eye
Hs gaudy tints display, that lead the mind,
Like the night-wand'ring sire to seeming safety?—
Oh, blessed times! when, thro' the ruffling storm
Of fell adversity, that howl'd around,
When in each breeze I heard the savage yell
Of them that sought my life; against the gale,
That seem'd to bear my blasted hopes away,
My prayers could gain the steep ascent to Heaven,
And draw a beam of comfort from the skies
That shot athwart the gloom its vernal ray,
And lighten'd all within! Tho' lonely caves
Conceal'd my slumbers, and the desart hills
Oft saw my midnight steps pursued along
By the rude tempest, and relentless man
I did not fear you then, my deadliest foes!
Seducing demons! who in gaudy shapes
Bask in the day-dreams of unruffled life.
The air was winnowed then by wholesome gales
That shatter'd your fine forms, and bore away
The fraudful vision! In the thunder's voice
I heard the plaudit of approving Heaven—
Even the fierce lightning wing'd my ardent soul
Above the conflict of these elements,
To scenes of endless peace! Now all is peace
Abroad. The deadly feud begins within.—
Oh! for his voice again, tho' in the tone
Of Heaven's terrific organ, as it spoke
With awful voice, yet friendly, to the land
Of Egypt! I would hail the welcome sound—
Now, like a barque becalm'd, with languid sails,
I'm left to slumber on the stagnant wave,
While the wild passions rise in rude revolt
Against their pilot, whose unprosperous hand
So madly trifled with the friendly gale!—
I cannot linger thus—Impatience burns
For some relief! But soon the crisis comes.
The watchful eye of Jealousy may sleep
By love, compos'd to rest, and peace return!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

ELIEZER, JONADAB; URIAH—as rising from a banquet.
Eliezer.
You had his love before—the public voice
Now sanctions his—and, on the swelling gale
Of popular applause your worth shall mount
To heights unthought before! Then, why this caution?
This cold reserve? I would not wish the king
Should know it, he would deem such cool return
But ill beseem'd a friend so nobly try'd
In fortune's worst extreme.

Uri.
Aside.

Jon.
If my thoughts
Could wander from the present scene, nor camps,
Nor ambuscadoes, nor the night-alarm
Would claim my contemplation! Other views
Of more pacific import, might demand
The meditations of a youthful mind.

Eliez.
Where would your fancy point?

Jon.
To rosy bowers,
And moonlight glades, by gentle whispers led,
And beauteous forms, soft stealing from the view,
Where no rude trumpet, nor barbarian yell
Disturb the sleeping lovers!

Uri.
Such thefts as these
Have often stolen the laurel from the brow
Of conquering Israel, and transfixt her shield
With hostile javelins; still, where'er we turn'd
Our waving banners, our most deadly foes
Were found at home!

Jon.
Aside.
What magisterial censure.
But he is gall'd—I fear we've gone too far.

Eliez.
Pardon a jest—the language of our friend
Is free—perhaps, his manners not less pure
Than those that wear religion's darkest mask.

Uri.
I own my ignorance, nor yet can learn
How, when th'unguarded ear, and roving eye
Is open to contagion, by the use
Of this too liberal language, from the taint
The mind can 'scape.

Jon.
Plain truth was never
So deep a crime before—but I am school'd.

Uri.
Do you adorn it with the sacred stamp
Of manly plainness thus to blazon vice?

Eliez.
You're too punctilious—form'd of antique mould
And wedded to the ways of a republic
They fit not monarchies.—those sterner virtues
Might suit, perhaps, the camp where Joshua rul'd,
Or Gideon.—But the season now is gone!
There was a time to mourn and beat the breast
'Tis gone—the storms of winter now are past
And jocund May leads on the playful hours.—

Uri.
Virtue and honour I suppos'd the same—
The same their obligations, not to change
With cloud or sunshine, like the vernal flower
That courts the rising sun, and folds her leaves
When night ascends.

Eliez.
While, like the vigorous stem
Of baleful yew, that braves the winter blast
You wear your gloomy honours thick upon you
And sicken all the sacred train of mirth
Around! I envy not such solemn pomp.
The blessed sun that warms my mounting blood
Points other joys to me!—

Uri.
The people's voice,
The language of misrule, the general cry
Of mutiny; do those with soft applause,
Immortalize that riot, and excess
That cause the intestine plague?—they too proclaim
Your vices with like freedom to the world
But in a louder tone, and boldly tell,
What you conceal, the ruin that attends
Such principles.

Eliez.
That man may preach at ease
Of temper'd blood, and boast his self-command
Whom heavenly virtue in an angel's form
Expects, to bless his honourable toils
At home with mutual rapture.—

Uri.
Now, by Heaven—
Did not my honest sword disdain the blood
Of such a venom'd sycophant, a reptile
Bred in the sunshine of a court, that word
Had been your last!—malignant miscreant
The sting within that sneer, which fits a fiend
In all the triumph of infernal glee
Confirms it! cursed be those fatal charms
And doubly curst, the guilt-concealing hour
When first her broken faith became the theme
Of court applause!

Jon.
What fiend impels you thus
Beyond the bounds of reason? say, what proof
What test, or knowlege of your spouses guilt?
What wretch so busy with a matron's fame
As to compel you thus to blast her truth
With foulest imputation?

Uri.
All the skill
Of glozing rhetoricians, to conceal
Or varnish o'er her guilt, are futile! vain!—
If the light gossamer might wrap the limbs
Of the fell tyger, or the famish'd pard
In lasting bondage; then the flimsy art
Of courtiers might controll my waken'd rage!—

Jon.
Your proofs I know not—all is new to me
As my surprize!

Uri.
It is no common pain
That wrings the secret from a soldier's breast
Which burns the cheek to tinder, and writes shame
Indelible, a foul, stigmatic mark
On him and his for ever! Do I live
And am I patient underneath my wrongs?—
No—earth shall tremble, and high heaven applaud
My vengeance! I have proofs, convincing proofs!—
Why—honest nature spoke it in her face
At her first sight of me! tho' she was school'd
Prepar'd, and tutor'd (as it since appear'd)
For the encounter! I was warn'd before—
And she had drest her looks to scorn surprize
But a few searching questions soon brought up
The conscious blood to her adulterous cheeks!
And she had paid the forfeit on the spot
But Heaven restrain'd me!

Jon.
Have you nought but this!
No proof, no evidence?

Uri.
Yes—proofs on proofs,
As soon the sun shall see!—

Jon.
Forgive—forget!
Are you a soldier?—Let your self-command.
Proclaim your manhood!

Uri.
I—shall I forgive?
To let contempt pursue my taintless name?
Tamely to suffer wrong?—It must not be.
Tho' all the vicious court connives at crimes,
Uriah shall revenge, tho' yawning hell
Should flame across his way!

Eliez.
And how revenge?
You little think how strong an arm is rais'd
To guard her threaten'd life!

Uri.
Altho' the siend
Who blasted all my hopes, should take the form
Of one, who proudly boasts the royal blood;
The Father of his People, would revenge,
Altho' the stroke should wound a father's soul!
The safety of his throne, his spotless name,
Demand the painful task.

Jon.
Should he deny—
Should he, to screen the high-born criminal,
Offer unhop'd for honours, and a place
Which envy might repine at, and your foes
Lament to see, could you support the thought
That your blind vengeance had embroil'd the house
Of David, and transfixt a father's heart
With grief's envenom'd shaft, and burning shame?—
Ponder the sad result, before you dip
Your foot in blood.—

Uri.
Will Justice hear the plea?
Eternal Justice! will she break her sword
Because a father weeps? Will his salt tears
Assuage the penal flames, that heavenly wrath
Awakes to punish crimes? Heaven to this hand
Entrusts her awful cause, and were I false
To her eternal trust, the crimes to come
Patron'd by this example, would derive
Their blackest guilt from me, (should I refuse
To draw the delegated sword of vengeance)
A soldier's honour, and religion calls,
It is the cause of man, the cause of heaven,
And by our mighty legislator's soul
I will not slumber till I 'venge his laws!—
I'll instant to the king, and boldly claim
The strumpet's doom, and if the king denies
My claim—my country's universal voice,
Swell'd to an hurricane, shall echo mine—
Ten thousand hands shall drag the culprit hence,
Even from the guarded steps of Judah's throne!

[Exit Uriah.
JONADAB—ELIEZER.
Jon.
See what a tempest your ungovern'd tongue
Has rais'd! Was this a time to gall the wound
That rankled in the husband's heart? The king
Will on thy folly charge whatever ills
May come; my care had mixt a cup of balm
To lull the soldier's anguish, and my hand
Perhaps, had drawn a soft and gaudy veil
Between his mental eye, and those dire scenes
That wake his fury. With unhappy hand
You tore the curtain down, and gave to view
Those hideous images that fire the brain!
By Heavens, the King shall know it—not on me
The blame shall lie!

Eliez.
Go! and inform the King
Short-sighted man! and are you then to learn
Who gave th'ingredients which this skilful hand
Dash'd in the soldier's bowl?—their first effect
(Like other poisons,) seems ungovern'd rage
And furious frenzy; but this stormy gust
Will soon fatigue itself, and work its end.
The tempest sweeps along the waste of Heaven
And seems to drive the baffled vapours on
In rude voluminous triumph, but full soon
It breathes its rage away—the gloomy foes
Rally their files o'er all the shaded sky
Surround their victor, and involve his plumes
In humid bondage, while the welkin weeps
The wild winds durance, in continuous flow.

Jon.
Explain your mystic words.

Eliez.
There is no need—
The dread event that labours to the birth
Shall soon disclose it. Tho' Uriah seems
(Exulting in his freedom) to defy
The congregated powers of earth and hell,
And on the public favour to rely,
Yet thro' the waste of night, across the wild,
O'er many a desart league of burning sand,
All viewless to the eye, the waving snare
Extends, which wraps the warrior in its folds.
His hands are fetter'd, tho' he feels it not,
And soon his silent tongue shall own the spell.

Jon.
But why provoke his rage?

Eliez.
The bird, that strives
In the fine meshes of the fowler's snare,
But binds himself the firmer, and exhausts
His little strength in vain! That clamorous rage,
That haughty language of insulted honour,
These vows of vengeance, and that fiery glance,
Whose lightning seem'd to wither all around,
Were but the playthings of superior art,
That bids the tempest rage, and the rude blast
Harrow the sea, and cover any shore
We please, with shatter'd wrecks! While we above,
From the calm summit of imperial skill,
Laugh at the lightnings as they dance along
Th'interminable waste of clouds below.
This is our triumph, tho' the awful scenes
Are yet involv'd in night!

Jon.
Your words, I fear,
Import Uriah's doom; and must he fall?
Is there no charm to soothe a husband's rage,
But death's eternal sleep! No refuge given
But the asylum of the quiet tomb,
For his swoln anguish?

Eliez.
Hear me, and be dumb
For ever! He, or thou and I must fall,
Should he survive; his wrongs, the people's voice,
His claims of public favour, would compel
Even David to adopt him, and resign
To his stern grasp the rudder of the state.
The barque, indeed, might steer in safety on,
But we, the ancient leaders of the crew,
Must perish, or forsake the lightned keel;
His zeal would deem us but the useless lumber
Of the disorder'd ship; or, should we 'scape
The wreck that threatens from Uriah's pride,
We could not stem another deadlier storm,
That from another coast of angry heaven,
Threatens no less—the general, his sworn foe—
Tho' secret, never will forgive the men
Who let Uriah 'scape the deadly snare
That holds him now—and well you know, his hate
Is mortal, as his power is uncontroll'd.
I had my orders, else I had not dar'd
To rouse the lion's rage. Behold the king!—
My task demands me, I must not be found
To loiter at this juncture.—Fare thee well.—

[Exeunt severally.
Scene continues.
Enter DAVID and ACHITOPHEL.
Ach.
Yet he may live;—but royalty must die
If he survive; subordination, rule,
And order, all must cease!

David.
Did he disdain
The proffer'd honour! Did he scorn the bounty
Of him, whose friendship was his noblest pride
Of old?

Ach.
You seem to doubt your faithful servant.
If you would condescend yourself to try
His temper, and observe the brooding storm
Beneath the settled gloom that clouds his brow,
Your doubts would end in certainty!

David.
Alas!
I know too much. I heard him threaten loud,
And shake the palace with vindictive rage.
This is not to be borne! Yet, coward conscience!
—I trembled at the menace of my slave
As if the thunder lent its awful sound
To every accent—what does he resolve?

Ach.
I know not—thro' the hall that fronts the gate
He roams disturb'd, and often smites his brow
Then calls on friendship, and arraigns the name
Of hapless love!

David.
Did any word or sign
When the freed soul was strip'd of its disguise
And spurn'd all danger from a mortal foe
Seem then to point at me?

Ach.
Not, as I heard—
He rather seem'd on you to place his trust.

David.
The torture of the fiends is in the thought!
Generous, believing man! altho' I know
That whatsoever sycophant disclos'd
His consort's lapse, with keen malignant joy
Pointed at me, yet, tardy of his faith
My friend, my injur'd friend! believ'd him not!
Why will he rush on danger thus and brave
Perdition for the sake of doubtful vengeance
I cannot, must not hurt him! I have sinn'd
Beyond redress already—I must save him!

Ach.
aside.
I'm lost, if he relents!—My royal Lord
Trust not appearance—he may know too much
Tho' with such art his knowlege he conceals,
Design'd, perhaps, to throw you off your guard
And give him means to strike the surer blow)
Your noble nature flings a gorgeous veil
Of seeming excellence before your sight!
Thro' your own matchless medium you behold
The characters of others. Every tint
Of your own genuine virtues, on their shadows
Reflected falls, and gilds the vapours o'er
(Like evening's watry vest!) with fluid gold!
Dost thou suppose Uriah's soaring soul
Can stoop to wrongs, and to a woman's fall
Limit his daring? He has other views!
Go to the senate! to the crowded camp!
You see his footsteps like a stormy god
Thro' the tumultuous waves: across the wild
And o'er the burning sand, Uriah's name
Loads the full gale: from Arnon's distant shore
To Salem's towers, the thorough-fare of Heaven
On its broad bosom wings from clime to clime
The magic syllables! the common herd
Nay, even the reverend Sanhedrim proclaim
The seeming virtues, which adorn the robe
That hides his dark ambition!—do you doubt?—
Doubt on! till faction and revolt o'erturns
The steady balance of imperial power!—

David.
His guilt at least is dubious—mine is certain
I'll own it—ask forgiveness—well I know
His generous nature!—

Ach.
Did you ever know
This generous friend forsake his first resolve?—
I grant his nobleness of mind as high
As e'er upheld the diadem, or rod
Of regal sway: will he consent to soil
His taintless honours with degrading shame
And live, a breathing monument of scorn?—
He would not for this kingdom! He'll revenge
His wrongs on you, or her.

David.
Did not my fall
Involve a people, I would much prefer
My fall to hers—for oh! whatever power
In love's soft name has fasten'd on my heart
There, there it domineers! the purple tide
That warms my veins, is not more native there!—
Nor does the watry waste obey the moon
With more subjection.

Ach.
You must learn to bear
Her loss!—But that is small—you must already
Have own'd the call of Prudence to resign her
To her first Lord—already you have felt
The cruel, deep divorce!—the second pang
Will not be half so poignant as the first!

David.
Too deep I feel the bitter irony!—
I know his proud integrity would scorn
To mingle with contagion!—Hell reward
The man, that told the secret! But for him
All had been well!

Ach.
We only now must toil
For the best possible! among the worst
There is a choice of evils; when the hope
Of good is gone already! well I know
(Or my old observation quite has fail'd)
There's danger in the man! His smooth address
His favour with the populace, denote
Sinister meaning—His attractions draw
Like the sun's influence to the point of noon
The wat'ry vapours, till his stores are full
And then the deluge comes and drowns the world.

David.
I cannot think it!

Ach.
Confiding in his pity! He perhaps
May grant forgiveness and again receive
His consort to his bosom—No—by Heaven
He ne'er will do it; were there nought besides
To steel his resolution but the fear
Of losing popular favour, should his baseness
Be known as it must be!—at least surmise
Would construe all the honours he might gain
To shameful bribes for silence and consent.
A man may oft be injur'd in his bed
While it's unknown, and may be still a man—
If he consents, and looks upon the theft
With undistinguishing, cool apathy
He is no more a man, but a vile slave—
An idiot:—such Uriah ne'er was deem'd

David.
A dreadful aggravation of my crime!
All this, in horrible detail I saw
Ere my first lapse, a certain consequence—
And yet I fell—tho' leisure was allow'd
For full deliberation, and the damp
Of cold presage, that chill'd me to the heart
Might well have bid th'unhallow'd ardour cool—
I persever'd, and now I must go on
Or perish by retreat: a stable stand
On those deluding, slippery paths of vice
Is not allow'd.

Ach.
Can you resign her?

David.
Never!—
She lives an inmate here! Even Nature's voice
Declares her born for me, and me for her!—

Ach.
Make her for ever thine.

David.
But how?

Ach.
All men
Are mortal, and the shaft that flies by day
Or pestilence, that walks the gloom of night
May reach their lives!

David.
Ha! Belial! name it not!
The thought is madness! must adultery then
Be cloaked by murder?

Ach.
Think Bathsheba lost,
Fallen, fallen a victim to the Judge's doom
You live a victim to the public scorn
Perhaps, dethron'd and exil'd! that is small.—

David.
What worse? exile with her, could she be sav'd
Were—but I rave!—some frenzy fires my brain!
Must I, by merit rais'd, when haughty Saul
Had fallen from Heaven's protection, thus abuse
The gift?

Ach.
I own, in thee religion lives
Thy fall involves her ruin, on thy head
The solemn fabric sinks, with all its pomp
And Israel's veneration, turn'd with toil
From idols, like the tide that bursts its bounds
Reverts with violence to its former course—
A single life prevents it!—

David.
What a life!

Ach.
When Abraham and Jephthah first resolv'd
To sacrifice their children, was there nought
To wring the bosom, or to melt the heart?
And what induc'd them, but religion's cause?
What seal'd the father's vow? religion's cause.
He for religion's cause a daughter slew
You scruple to resign a dangerous man
Whose life protracted, threats the very soul
Of state,, religion, and your life itself!—
For when it threats your life, it threatens all!
Religion's being on your life depends!
—You must acquire more fortitude, or sink
Beneath your numerous foes!

David.
I must not think.

Ach.
There is no time for thought—resolve at once—
Dost thou not wish the obstacle remov'd
By any safe expedient?—Search thy heart—
Examine well within! I know thou dost—
But Heaven, that marks the movements of the mind,
In equal balance weighs the guilty deed,
And guilty thought! Already is thy mind
Deep stain'd with blood, in Heaven's impartial eye,
And sentence past already. What remains
But give th'imperial mandate—and 'tis o'er—
One act of penitence atones for all.

David
And must I yield against my better sense?—
My reason reels, and all within is doubt.

Ach.
No choice is given, but everduring shame,
Or one decisive blow, that lops away
The noxious plant that shades your nobler views.
It is a public cause, the cause of kings,
Of Israel! And shall private cares pervent
That necessary doom, which public love
Demands? Can you resolve to suffer shame,
(The last of ills! which angels scarce can bear)
To see the tribes assembled to thy fall,
Like some stern woodman's train, whose sturdy strokes
Assail the noblest plant of all the grove,
Till, overcome by many a ruthless blow,
It bows th'aerial head and sweeps the ground?
Will you encounter this, and live to see
Some alien stem transplanted in your room.
Some Gentile god, with solemn rites abhorr'd,
Expell the dread of Israel from his shrine?—
Such things must be, if to the rising gust
Of popular fury stern Uriah joins
His vengeful clamours—should he send around
The dreadful tokens of a husband's wrath,
Thro' each astonish'd tribe, as he of old,
Who turn'd the torrent of a people's rage
On one devoted town, and sacrific'd
A slaughter'd people for a wife abus'd;
What were the consequence?—Wild anarchy,
And nameless horrors! Law, religion, form,
And loyalty, all trampled under foot.
Bathsheba's sprinkled blood will rouse the flame
To tenfold rage, whose fury will involve
The palace and her king! But here, behold!
The victim comes, from thine own lips, to hear
Her sentence.

David.
Save me, save me from her eyes
They flash the vengeance of insulted Heaven.

Ach.
introducing Bathsheba.
Look on the vengeance of insulted Heaven!
And think—will Heaven permit a form like this
To plead in vain—she flies to thee for refuge.

[Exit Achitophel.
David.
Bathsheba! oh—was this a time to claim
An interview? or art thou come to see
The double triumph of thy fatal charms
Over thy husband and thy King at once?
He domineers below, and thou art come
To charge me with your wrongs—is this an hour
To add new aggravation to a load
That bends me to the ground?

Bath.
Our shame and woe
Are mutual, but, my Lord! you much mistake
The purpose of my coming at this hour
Of danger and distress! I know my guilt
I feel what self-infliction wounds within,
Yet still some inborn dignity remains,
Yet undeprav'd, still some regard to truth
And justice, which for ever locks my lips
From charging on thy soul this fatal lapse
(Fatall to me!)—I come to ease thy care
Andre ason down the conflict in thy soul!

David.
Then—I have drawn within the bounds of guilt
And cureless sorrow, this distinguish'd mind
This generous spirit, which disdains to charge
The cruel spoiler, with her deadly wrongs!—
For this, Bathsheba! I was not prepar'd!—
Rather pursue me with thy keen reproach
Charge me with all the guilt! a manly mind
Should have repell'd the foe, not sunk, like me
To childish weakness! I was steel'd within
But I flung off the armour of the mind
Before the danger came!—

Bath.
It was surprize—
A smother'd passion, by a sudden spark
Rais'd to a conflagration, which o'ercame
All obstacles—that conquest o'er yourself
When with a trembling hand, and bleeding heart
You first resign'd me to your chosen friend:
(Too well I mark'd, and never can forget
Your pangs that moment, when you lost me first
Resign'd me, like a martyr to your honour!)
—That was a glorious tryal, whose desert
Should sooth your present woes!—ah! would to Heaven!
Thy friend had caught the godlike zeal of friendship
That warm'd thy bosom then! I had not now
Been doom'd to sate his vengeance with my blood
He took th'advantage of a solemn vow
By a stern father's will impos'd before
And well—too well he knew, my father's will
Was his sole claim!—he ne'er possess'd my heart—
And when a nobler interest warm'd my breast,
It was not like a soldier, nor a friend
To seize th'unwilling hand!

David.
He was my friend
For me he risqu'd his life, and, tho' to part
From thee, was then a summons, like the stroke
Of death, I own'd not then that selfish mind
To rob my fellow-soldier and my friend
Of such a gem, beyond the wealth of Kings
To buy.—But pardon me—this language now
Must be renounc'd for ever!

Bath.
Too, too well
I know the sad necessity. But hear
At least a palliation of thy fault
From her, who feels her own, nor fears to add
A share of that, which, to yourself unjust
You claim, a debt which Heaven too clearly sees
Is due to me, and what my life must pay.—
I blame not him, altho' it look'd like coldness
That such a length of time unheeded past,
And yet his spouse he claim'd not, from the hand
Which first bestow'd her.—Did he seem to prize
The present when it came? a few short months
Had seen me wedded, when the trumpet's call
Lur'd him from love and the soft lap of peace,
Tho' no invasion shook our trembling bounds
And our indulgent legislator's voice
To the new-wedded pair had given a year
Unvext by wars alarms!

David.
It prov'd at least
His love of fame and of his King's renown!

Bath.
I too could give my life for Israel's cause,
To purge the taint affronted pride disdains
From his imperious mind, who slighted me
Who flung me, like a worthless toy, away
Nor thought it worth a lordly husband's pains
To throw away a few neglected hours
To gain a consort's heart, too cold before!
Yet to his vengeance I must pay my life,
Whose scorn the seeds of alienation sow'd
The source of all my woes! yet this is well!
Since, ere suspicion singles out my Lord
The tomb shall close on me, and bury all—
Deep, deep below the busy fiend shall rest
Whose obloquy might reach the royal name
Did I survive!

David.
And you—must you atone
—(Less guilty far,) for my more deadly crimes
It must not, shall not be!—

Bath.
The law's demands
Must be obey'd—they claim a forfeit life.—

David.
No palliation, no excuse allow'd
For one whose fatal fall, her spouses fault
Perhaps alone had caus'd?

Bath.
So human laws
Ordain—perhaps in other worlds than this
In the great tribunal that sifts the heart
Distinction may be made between the tinge
Of guilt and weakness!

David.
I, alas! was chosen
Heaven's delegate (had I deserv'd the name,
This ne'er had been!) I ought—but now 'tis late—
To have display'd at once my sovereign power
To solve this dark enigma of your fate
But, self-involv'd in guilt, I durst not move
Left hissing scorn, and obloquy, combin'd
Should hurl me from the throne!

Bath.
Would Heaven, my doom
Were past! then all would end, and peace return
To your perturbed spirit.

[Going.
David.
Stay—oh Heaven!—
Must she submit to fate? whose generous mind
Would hazard all for him, who caus'd her fall?
It must not, cannot be!—Nature exclaims
Resistless, raging, in the cause of her
Who reigns in every pulse! yet, go—send in [Ex. Bath.

Achitophel to me, his keen research
May find some specious means to reconcile
My fighting duties! oh unhappy fall!
Other asylums I was us'd to find
In my distress, while I had trust in Heaven!
—I now must trust to man.

Enter ACHITOPHEL.
David.
Achitophel!
Is there no port! no refuge from this storm
That menaces so loud?

Ach.
The storm is o'er
Uriah waits your orders to the camp
Ere morn he must depart!

David.
Why thus prevent
The dawn?

Ach.
I know not, but conjecture lends
Her glimmering lamp that throws a dubious ray
On the dark purpose of the warriour's mind.

David.
Tell what you fear at once!

Ach.
In two days hence
The Judge of life and death ascends his seat
—This will afford him space to reach the camp
To sound revolt among his partizans
Then, with the expedition of a bolt
That, glancing from the shiver'd rock, o'erthrows
The blasted tree, his fiery-footed haste
Will chace his hapless consort to the grave!

David.
Ha! is it so—it bears a dreadful form
Of something like the truth!

Ach.
Resolve, my Lord!
This is no time for pause! Bathsheba's doom
Is fixt already, past thy power to ward
If he returns.

David.
How knowst thou that? explain!—

Ach.
Too well—a friend of his has borne the scroll
To Zadoc.

David.
Prove it!

Ach.
Oh my Lord! is this
A time to search for proofs, or is my faith
No better known?—when he returns, the proofs
Will come in thunder, when redress is past!—
—Nay more, the malecontents, who lurk'd of late
In corners, meet in crowds, and waft the sound
Of clamorous obloquy from band to band,
Their slanders spare not even the royal name!
They only want a leader to assert
The baffled claims of Benjamin's proud race!

David.
This is but rumour still!

Ach.
[Shews a Parchment.

David.
He, that gave
Can keep the sceptre mine! but we must find
Some means to save the state.

Ach.
To save thyself
And all that's dear.

David
No more—we must contrive
To setter headlong rage—nor risque our all
At jealousy's demand, or faction's frown,
The means shall be resolv'd upon within.

[Exeunt.
Scene—Another part of the Palace.
URIAH—ADRIEL.
Uri.
And is it thus the King has learnt to treat
His early friends? It was not so of old!
—Sent for in haste, exalted with vain hope
Of freedom from this tyrant of the camp
Whom now I serve—then!—what a deadly blank
For all the comforts of domestic joy
I felt at home—the royal presence barr'd
By sycophants against the monarch's friends
Yet that were well! but this unheard-of wrong!—
—What?—am I grown a savage of the wild
To be thus baited by the last of men
The rabble of a court?—

Adr.
Compose your rage
And take your measures coolly!

Uri.
I will find
A passage to the King, or lose myself,—
Soon shall I know, if he allows his friends
—The partners of his glory, to submit
To such a welcome!—were I call'd my friend!
Among my foes, like Sampson, to make sport
By my blind gambols! I could bear it well—
—But, to be hoodwink'd thus among my friends
Expos'd to all the ridicule and sneer
Of scorners, who would tremble at my frown
Were they to meet me in another field—
—This is not to be borne!—thou too, my friend
Contrivest to hold the veil upon my eyes
And keep me blindfold here, among the rest!

Adr.
Why dost thou stay then in this dangerous place
Where, to provoke and sting thee into rage
And make thee do some deed of lunacy
To draw on thee perdition from the King
Is all they wish for? They have miss'd their ends
To lure thee to the snare, and now, they try
To rouse thy rage, and drive thee to the toils—
Art thou, like Sampson, blind amongst thy foes?—
—Then, be a Sampson! pull the fabric down!
And whelm them in the ruin.

Uri.
Talk no more
In riddles, but explain!

Adr.
Thou seest the hand
Of royalty, extended to protect
The guilty—of thyself they meant to form
An engine, a machine, to cloke their schemes,
And sooth the tongue of obloquy to rest—
—You 'scap'd the snare, and now, they doom you dead—
—You ne'er will bear your life to Rabbah's camp—
—But—if you stay
Oh—there is noble vengeance yet in store!
Which not a single voice, nor single arm
Can claim or execute.—Tell your wrongs loud
In Israel's ear, and echo shall reply
From every wood around, where freedom waits
The word to start, and over hill and dale
Pursue the noble chace till lawless power
Forsakes our happy bounds, and breathes her last.—

Uri.
Thou hast indeed disclosed
An unexpected scene!—and must I be
Either an instrument of private guilt
Or the blind tool of faction? am I made
The trumpet of rebellion, or the flute
That breathes soft peace thro' every royal room
Of guilty courts?—at least, my sovereign Lord
Will not deny me justice, which alone
I seek for—but, my scandal to proclaim
To blaze my wrongs before the noontide beam
Is, what the honour of a soldier's name
Or bosom, cannot brook!—and, must I give
My breath to blow sedition's flame abroad
And in sad triumph celebrate my wrongs,
With flaming villages and bloody fields
And devastation and ungovern'd rage?—
No—let me do my duty, as becomes
A soldier. I will ne'er be a machine
Of the blind rabble's fury—if the shaft
Of unseen death should meet me by the way
Sent from my public or my private foes,
Vengeance is heaven's—and what on earth have I
Or to regret, or grieve!—

Adr.
That you mistake
My upright meaning, much afflicts thy friend!
—I could discover more!—but thy warm zeal
Perverts whate'er I say!—I much could wish
My doubts unfounded, but I fear for thee—
Consent at least to take a guard of friends
To bring you hence in safety to the camp
(If any sudden mandate should be given
To haste thy journey in the gloom of night)
For certain treason then shall dog thy heels—
But they shall guard you, and, perhaps, detect
Some mysteries yet untold, whose weight may turn
The scale for freedom in that dubious breast
And echo from her woodlands, shall repeat
Ten thousand fold, the soul-enliv'ning strain.

Uri.
No private wrongs shall make me lend my name
To public mischief—for the rest—my friends
I would not wish endanger'd for my sake—
The law shall right me! or farewell, revenge!

Adr.
No danger need be fear'd, but from yourself
If you too tamely bear such flagrant wrongs—
I'll tell you more, expect me here anon.

[Ex. severally.

ACT V.

The Palace.
DAVID.
Not yet return'd! 'tis strange! they could not miss
The track, nor would they linger in the chace!—
—The morning dawns, but all is dark within.
Ye solemn glooms! and thou still midnight hour
Whence were your secret hoards of vengeance drawn
That thus could fire my brain, and people night
With forms, that made me wish for whisper'd tales
Of ambuscades, of massacres, and blood
To slake the kindling plague that burns within!
—Perhaps they have deserted me, and join'd
The foe! O coward reason! how you reel!—
They have discover'd all, and he returns
Returns, full fraught with vengeance, like a plague
To breathe his venom round in every breast
Till royalty expires, and David's name
That us'd to fill the plausive shouts of thousands
Is breath'd in execration, stamp'd with shame!
I now repent the step, and wish recall'd
The messengers of mercy—never more
Will he consent to pass those guilty gates
Again! perhaps, his rash, mistaken valour
May deem them blood-hounds, meant to lure him back
To certain fate, and stand on his defence!
But they were far too numerous to be foil'd!—
Or force or supplication must prevail—
I should have kept him here! my good resolves
Are now the sport of chance! for, if he 'scapes
Not all the world can save him! But, alas!
Should he return, can I endure his look?
Can I endure to see his lovely spouse
Thro' gazing multitudes led to her fate?
Ah no—tho' shame and ruin should ensue
I would defy the law, profane the court
And boldly rescue her, or lose myself!—
He then must fall—for, should he now return
What plea could I invent to screen my plot
Of death against him? He would still suspect
The man, who once could give him up to fate!—
I know his noble nature, he would scorn
To hold his life on such precarious terms!
Revenge and fear at once would urge him on
To join the faction, and embroil the state!—
Had I upon his loyalty rely'd!—
I knew his nature noble and forgiving—
But now, it is too late!—and, could I bear
To lose her?—never—never—tho' the voice
Of thunder, call'd her from me! then farewell
Remorse! farewell compunction—she is mine!
—But now my palpitating heart informs me
The crisis is at hand—my valiant friend. Enter BENAIAH.

Say, are the messengers return'd?

Ben.
Not yet
At least, not all.

David.
Some dreadful chance, I fear
Has interven'd. What mean your dubious words
At least not all?

Ben
A direful chance indeed!
The messenger that came, has scarce escap'd
With half a life!

David.
What sad reverse is this!
How could he cope with odds! or what bold arm
Was join'd with his?

Ben.
A numerous band of friends
Rous'd by some rumour of an ambuscade,
By Joab prepar'd against his threaten'd life
Triumphant led him thro' the opening gate
And tend him to the camp!—your messengers
Arriving at this moment, when surmise
Teem'd with intended murders, perfidy
And midnight plots—were deem'd the ruffian train
Combin'd to lay the noble warriour low;
Then all was clamour and misgovern'd rage
In vain Uriah strove to lay the storm—
Twice fifty level'd swords at once surround
Your friends, who plead their innocence in vain
One dar'd to menace vengeance, but the threat
Was fatal to the wretch that gave it breath,
His hapless fellows shar'd his bloody doom
Save one, whom favouring night, (tho' wounded sore)
Befriended in his flight, from him was learn'd
The dreadful chance!

David.
Then to his doom he goes!—
Fate has him in the snare, and baffles all
Our vain attempts to save him!
O for a winged messenger of Heaven
To reach the camp at Rabbah, and instill
Unusual pity in the General's mind!—
But they, whose ready ministry of old
Turn'd from my hunted steps the deadly foe
And render'd me as viewless as themselves
Have all forsaken me—nor am I left
Alone. Remorse and guilt, and death, and shame
With dragon wing o'ershade me in their turns
Their harpy clang severe, and funeral yell
Proclaim perdition to my trembling soul! [OMITTED]
Amazement! Nathan here! I thought him fled
For ever from his country, to avoid
The killing sight of an ungrateful child!—
Him, last of all mankind, I wish'd to meet!
What terrible tranquility pervades
His reverend mien and seems to threat a storm—
Would that were all! this deadly calm is worse
Where nought but sense of Heaven's desertion lives!

To him NATHAN.
David.
Prophet, why didst thou thus forsake thy post
Still deem'd the guardian of thy country's weal?

Nath.
The times are not the same! those cares are o'er
Domestic woes have quench'd the patriot's flame!
No more my bosom kindles at the touch
Of Heaven's descending fire! the port is clos'd
That show'd my ravish'd eyes the splendid view
Of ages yet to come! How soon the veil
May rise, I know not! what the sun beholds
Those aged eyes can see, but boast no more
The power to pierce the midnight-woven gloom
In which the cause and consequence are hid!—

David.
This studied ambiguity implies
A meaning, which thy humble words disclaim!

Nath.
When such unerring wisdom guides the helm
Form'd like the diamond in the pregnant mine
With that deep lustre fraught, those mingling beams
Which angels love to gaze on! when the soul
Reflects Heaven's image like the limpid lake
Smooth, and unruffled, by fell passion's gale;
A private man it much would misbecome
To play the pilot, and usurp the helm
From such consummate guidance.—But for me
No such ambitious folly taints my views
Judge by my errand! on a private cause
I come, a suppliant only—With the state
And all its cares, I long have shaken hands,
Content to introduce a poor man's plea
To your indulgent ears—for well I know
Tho' to the dangerous claim of passion deaf
Tho' to the domineering proud appeal
Of appetite, thou turn'st a heedless ear
And look'st on sensual spells with cool regard
Yet wilt thou not contemn the suppliant's prayer!

David.
With the known rigour of thy stern rebuke
Such lavish adulation ill accords—
The humble topic of a poor man's plea
Needs no such pompous prelude.—I suppos'd
My known contempt of flattery might suggest
(To thee at least) a manlier mode of speech
Unless thy words and meaning are at strife.

Nath.
I stand corrected, and shall err no more,
Nor mingle with my rough uneven woof
The tissue of the courtier's silken strain!
It suits not with a plain, pathetic tale
Of rural violence and village wrongs
Which thy paternal care shall soon redress
When known.
When from the bounds of Salem late I past
Self-exil'd, to avoid domestic woe
I thought in some sequester'd vale to find
That peace and innocence devoid of guile
Which (tho' thy bright example beams around)
Even in those sacred bounds are sought in vain,
A peasant's lodge I sought, whom long I knew
Of Heaven so favour'd in his mean retreat
So sanctify'd, that his æthereal guard
Kept from his lonely cot, at distance due
All the vain Images, the gaudy train
Of Syren forms (this world's peculiar boast)
That lures the heedless votary from Heaven.

David.
Could they not guard him from oppressive wrong?

Nath.
They saw him wrong'd, and yet th'oppressor lives.
This hermit for my host I rather chose
Than the proud owner of a neighb'ring pile
Who kept his hospitable gate unclosed
With oftentatious welcome to allure
The way-worn pilgrim's foot—But here instead
Of the long retinue, that fills the haunts
Of luxury, and the unmeaning phrase
Of hollow friendship, warm in words alone,
One gentle lamb, his single inmate play'd
About his joyous hearth and told a tale
Of warm attachment in its honest looks
And gentle bleatings, far beyond the phrase
Of courtly adulation. This remain'd
The solitary orphan of a flock
Which fell contagion, or the fellor gripe
Of lawless usury had reft away
The rest, or fill'd the concert of the vales
Which own'd his wealthier neighbour for their Lord
Or bled, by turns, the victims of his board.

David.
That wealthy neighbour shall refund his store
If aught of inhumanity appears
Before the Judges tribunal—for soon
It shall be closely sifted,—but proceed!—

Nath.
A stranger, to the camp of Israel bound
Of seeming rank, tho' hid in close disguise
The proud man's hospitality had claim'd,
He spar'd his numerous flocks, and sent his hinds
To robb the hermit of his bleating friend
The sole associate of his lonely hours.—
I saw it borne away—I mark'd the tears
Of its sad owner, all in vain they fell
In vain, with supplications he pursued
Even to the proud man's door his innocent charge
His whole redress was insult, scorn, and blows.—

David.
Now Heaven so deal with me, as he shall reap
The bitter fruit of an unfeeling heart
And with his forfeit life redeem the land
From such a foul contagion! soon the world
Shall know, I do not bear the sword in vain!

Nath.
In thee, my Lord, whose pure, unsullied life
Reflects a glowing transcript of Heaven's laws
Such rigour is becoming, but to us
Whose feeble optics boast no angel's ken
The sword of justice dazzles as it strikes—
There needs not such gigantic force to venge
Such petty wrongs.
You know, my Lord! how long the penal sword
Has slumber'd in the sheath, and it might seem
The rigour of severity, at once
To wake its terrours now, for fame would tell
That for a petty wrong, which might be paid
Four fold, a soul was forfeit!

David.
Strange to me
It seems, that thou, whose eagle-sight could pry
Beyond the journies of the sun, to view
The late effect that slumber'd in its cause,
Should be dim-sighted here! but time and grief
Have shed a frost upon your faculties
Else you would see, that famine, sword and fire
With all the woes that on those furies wait
Are not so pestilent as that still plague
That cold, narcotic vapour, worst of ills
With which hell teems, that last result of vice,
When all the virtues, poison'd in their source,
Stagnate at once, and petrify the heart.—
Heaven's! what a journey with his fellow fiends
Thro' every devious tract of every crime
This man must first have run, who thus could tear
The fellow-feelings from his savage heart!
His soul is gangren'd, and the sword alone
Can ward the vengeance stor'd above the sky
Which else, perhaps, would burst upon our heads
In flaming ruin; or the plague might catch
From bosom on to bosom.—He, who dar'd
To seize the lamb, would he have spar'd the child
To join his servile train, or change for gold,
As pride or caprice, or the thirst of gain
Had chanc'd to domineer?

Nath.
Yes—or his spouse!

David.
Ha!

Nath.
Thou art the man! why does thy cheek turn pale
At thy own semblance? was the mask so foul
As even to wake thy rage: and art thou dumb
When thou behold'st the phantom's genuine face?
Thine own most righteous doom has past thy lips
Without recall, and heaven has seal'd the word!
To punish other crimes, were but to prune
The wild luxuriance of a poisonous growth,
While the pernicious root behind remains,
Royal example!

David.
after a long pause.
Then thy flight was feign'd
And thou who seem'd degraded from thy post
As Heaven's own delegate, by Heaven's own hand.
With all thine honours blasted on thy brow,
Return'st with tenfold power, and seem'st to wield
The bolt of vengeance, but thy forward zeal
May be th'effect of petulance; the lamp
Of Heav'n no more may show its light by thee;
Perhaps, 'tis merely to indulge thy spleen,
That thus you dare to thwart me.

Nath.
Judge yourself,
When that fell adder, which you foster now,
Such gratitude will show, as you have shown
To Heaven! My son's rebellion, and my flight,
Were mystic warnings to the mental eye
Of tragic scenes to come! Of wild misrule,
And nameless horrours, even within those walls
To be committed. These will clear my faith,
And vindicate my name. But who, alas!
Who shall exculpate thee? Thou who wast call'd
From a rude scene of turbulence and blood,
Like yon emerging sun from chaos old,
Th'interpreter of Heaven's benignant will
From thy bright station to revive the world
With intellectual light! What demon's hand
Has chang'd thee to a comet, worse than they
Who wave their blazing tresses o'er the globe,
Shedding diseases and sidereal blast?
Thou hast, as far as thou hast power, derang'd
The blest designs of Heaven, eclips'd her light
With deep Egyptian darkness, and reduc'd
Her order to confusion! Thou hast given
A louder note to Passion's loudest storm,
And strengthen'd all her pleas! For who that feels
Her mutinous demands, but well may plead
David's example for his worst offence;
David, selected by applauding Heaven
Her delegate, her prophet, and her priest?—
The faithful husband, of his spouse bereft,
Heart-wounded sires, who mourn the cruel hand
That robb'd his family of all its grace
And comfort, lost at once, shall join to curse
Thy mournful triumphs o'er connubial bliss,
Shall curse thy name, whose magic syllables
Breath'd, as a vile apology for crimes,
Could, like a deep and powerful charm, compose
The loud complaints of conscience!

David.
Oh, no more!
Thou rendst my very heartstrings! I have sinn'd,
Beyond redemption sinn'd. O send in haste
To save Uriah.

Nath.
It is now too late.—
Even should thy messenger in time arrive,
Should the swift mandate reach the general's hand
It would but hasten brave Uriah's doom,
Such is his deadly jealousy of all
That share thy favour, thy solicitude
To save him, would be thought a close design
To hurl him from his post, by murther bought,
And fix the hated rival in his room.—
Even Providence ordains that he shall fall.
Guilt must have all its dreadful consequence,
No single plague of all its ghastly train
Shall lagg behind. The whole Tartarean pomp
Shall march in horrour o'er the frighted world,
To shew the perils of beginning vice:
The dreadful admonition else were vain.—
Think not to save him! Thou hast doom'd him dead,
And even Omnipotence has seal'd his fate.

David.
Is there no means to save him?

Nath.
Do you doubt
My mission still? This moment gives a proof
That makes me shudder, while a stronger power
Compells my trembling hand to rend the veil.
See there! [Vision of a Man in a mask appears.

A youth without a name! He boasts thy blood.
Wrapt in unholy musings how he walks!
His eyeballs seek the dust, as if he fear'd
Each glance should tell the fires that burn within,
And soon the dust shall drink his boiling blood,
And vengeance quench the flame!—Stand close, and mark
His dire soliloquy! Nor shalt thou learn
The object of his flame! for Heaven's behest
Must not be stop'd or thwarted, else the close
Of vice, would want its horrours!—Here he comes. The PHANTOM Speaks.

Why was I form'd with such impetuous passions
Oh ill star'd lot of royalty, indulg'd
In every wish! the fuel feeds the flame
Till raging past all bounds, it finds its way
Even to the sanctuary! Ye chaste stars!
I must not name her to you! Even my heart
Treacherous, and inconsistent, with itself
At that lov'd name recoils!—yet urges on
My feet to find my doom!—yet, why recoil?
No husband's forfeit blood I mean to shed,
To meet him with a smile and, with a smile
Dismiss him, with the mandate of his fate—
I dare not reach the mark of Heaven's-belov'd
My crime is short of murther, tho' beyond
Common adultery! and if Heaven connives
At David's crimes, his complicated guilt,
Why should I doubt of pardon, while my sin
Is secret, nor involves the guilt of blood?
(If pardon be required, and right and wrong
Perhaps, whatever priestcraft may devise—
Be not the coinage of a statesman's dream)
I'll think no more!—the genial feast invites
I go to drown reflection in the bowl.

David.
Who is this monster? oh disclose his name
By swift prevention to arrest the course
Of such consummate crimes!

Nath.
It cannot be—
He boasts thy blood, and, as thou seest pursues
Thy steps—you err'd from appetite alone,
While he, improving on the royal crimes
Turns passion into principle, but soon
Vengeance shall cut him short, and lop away
One deadly limb of that malignant plant
Thy crimes have sown in Israel.

David.
I adore
Heaven's ways, nor dare to deprecate her wrath!

Nath.
But other scenes await thee.—Spectacles
Of wider horrour, and more general plagues
When for one lawless deed, a nation mourns;
And slaughter, fire, and devastation strides
From province into province, led to spoil
By vengeance, vengeance for a monarch's crimes,
Where pure religion and her votaries
Are banish'd from the clime by vice disgrac'd.
Arise ye tribes unborn! ye future scenes
Distant, and indistinct in time and place
Behind the convex of the world conceal'd
And on the buoyant bosom of the air
Expand your figur'd pomp, and meet the eye!—
Far distant from those shores, a warlike race
That mark the wheels of the descending sun
Shall see another luminary rise
On their benighted souls, from Salem sent,
From Hermon to Pyrenes distant bourne
Wide flushing o'er the sky. The savage tribe
Shall doff the bloody mail, and bathe their limbs
In pure baptismal waters, where the stream
Of Guadiana laves the fertile fields.—
Long shall their tribes enjoy the deep serene
Of rural bless, beneath their Lords renown'd
Of Alemannia's old heroic race,
Till peace induces luxury and vice,
The court begins the example, taught by thee,
(When thy prophetic eye, that us'd to pierce
Thro' the long vistas of futurity,
Forgot its visions, for th'unholy glance
That led to deeds of darkness and of blood)
The monarch lets his eye at random rove
After forbidden charms, forgets the tye
Of hospitality, and leaves the sire
To weep at home his violated child;
His tears are treasured up above; they fill
The vial of Heaven's vengeance, and come down
In showers of wrath. The raging sire, misled
By the vindictive fiends, ascends the deck,
And to his country's foes a suppliant bends!
See where the reverend senior kneels before
The misbeliever's throne, but not for peace,
For mercy he implores not, but demands
The congregated furies of the south,
Fire, sword, and famine, to revenge his wrongs.
See! where they scowl across the midland main,
And meditate their prey, and mount the wind!
A living cloud of mischiefs, worse than those
“Which Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
“Brought up, and darken'd all the land of Nile.”

The Vision of a Royal Court appears.
The King on his throne, and his Nobles attending.
Enter a SUPPLIANT, and kneels.
[SUPPLIANT]
To thee, dread sovereign of an hundred thrones,
Who sees the swarthy sons of Lybia bend
Before thee, and canst bid their headlong zeal
Sweep o'er the subject nations, or subside,
Like the wild hurricanes that rage or sleep
At the great bidding of the power who rules
The kingdom of the winds: if ever zeal
In thy great prophet's cause thy sabre drew,
If ere the wrongs of yon proud Nazarenes
Enflam'd your rage, oh! seize the golden hour,
That zeal and vengeance sanctify at once,
Or sleep for ever! Now the martial sife
No more accords the measur'd march; no more
The trumpet's clang awakes the levied horde,
But o'er the blasted laurels of their groves
Vice curls her reptile tendrils, and consumes
The vital sap, that nurs'd the vig'rous stem!—
The king repays the hospitable rite
With violence and wrong! His nobles view
His mad career in heartless apathy,
Or join his deadly orgies! What remains,
But up—and give the victim to the sword.—
Nature is burden'd with the hated race,
And Heaven's own ministers, that ride the clouds,
To all the winds proclaim the harvest ripe.
Go borrow Time's keen scythe, and lend its edge
To Devastation's hand; the reverend sire
Will shake his hoary locks with joy to see
His task of ages, in one glorious day
Perform'd, then everlasting Righteousness
Will look from Heav'n, and bless the rising flame
That lays the temples of Gomorrah low!—
Seek ye an hostage? take my life in pledge,
If I should fail on yonder hated coast
To give you ample means to plant your power
And bid the Mauritarian stem extend
Its boughs luxuriant o'er the conquer'd land!

King.
Fathers! attend the summons! Heaven itself
Calls us to conquest, and o'er haughty Spain
Our prophet's name to raise, our hallow'd arms
Are cover'd o'er with dust, and want a cause
To furbish them anew. Shall narrow seas
Oppose their march, whom Barca's burning sand
Withheld not, burning fiercer in pursuit
Of glory? think, for every added realm
A double weight of glory waits above
To every one, whose arms have lent their aid
To this victorious cause . Begin the vote.

The Prospect changes to an invaded Country—Cities in Flames— Peasants Massacred, &c. &c.
Nath.
Behold the fruit of thy luxurious hours,
The sequel of thy fond Elysian dreams!
That King who dar'd to violate the laws
Of sacred hospitality and friendship
Bred in religion's pure and sacred rites
Had never dar'd to brave the flaming bolt,
Nor cope with Heaven's dread edict, hadst not thou
Marshall'd the way before! contemplate now
The dreadful harvest which thy hand has sown
How far beyond thy hopes, and let thy heart
Weep blood, if yet the fount of tears be dry,
Uriah too might have embroil'd the state
And with rebellion's shrill sonorous trump
Publish'd his wrongs, and call'd the tribes to arms
But nobly he refus'd—thou little knowest
What a defender you have flung away,
If e'er sedition's flag shall crown thy towers,
If e'er the desart, thro' its lonely bounds
Shall joy to see its exiles steps return!
I see thine agony, and for relief
Of thy soul's torture, to another scene
Direct thy charmed eyes, thou hast beheld
The dark complexion of thy deeds outdone
By Heaven's profest disciple, blest with rays
Of Heaven's peculiar brightness:—how he curst
The beam, and like an adder slunk away
To mingle with his kindred glooms, incenst
To feel the sacred light pervade his soul!
Now view a warriour, whose benighted eyes
Roll'd round in vain to find that heavenly ray
Vouchsafed to that Iberian King,—whose lips
The living waters from the hallow'd fount
Never bedew'd, yet, (dubious as he stands
Upon the trembling verge of life and death
Whether the yawning grave shall close for ever
His prospect, or the conscious mind survive
To endless raptures, or incessant woes,)
He minds not passion's call, he spurns away
The snares of appetite that cross his path
And court him to relax the stubborn nerve
Of steel'd exertion, the seraphic forms
Of good and fair, altho by glimpses caught
Hurry him thro' the phalanx of his foes
And bid him scatter all their adverse bands
Like fire, ascending thro' th'incumbent mass
Of some embowel'd hill. It bursts abroad
All glorious, and the cloudy face of night
Paints with aspiring flame, and vollied hail
Of mimic stars!

The Prospect changes to a Camp, Military Trophies, &c. The General seated as if to receive an Embassy.—A Train of Suppliants approaching at a distance.
David.
Oh Heaven's! all other mortal forms, to this
Are fleeting vapours, unsubstantial air—
Or beauty ne'er was seen by me before
Or she surpasses all the beauteous kind—
His virtue, if he can resign such charms
Exceeds the human pitch.

Nath.
[Goes into a Pavilion and returns with a young Princess.

[Prospect closes.
Nath.
Ponder this scene! then weigh with equal hand
The Gentile, and Believer, then reflect
Whence flow'd the continence of one, and whence
That wild misrule that madden'd in the mind
Of that misguided King, and woke the storm
That wreck'd his country's peace, then ask yourself
If meddling zeal inspir'd my just reproof.

[Exit Nathan.
David.
Was there not shame enough to sink my soul
In the dark gulph of absolute despair?
But horror too and grief must add their weight?—
Yet they are welcome!—cover me, deep night!
Ten thousand fathoms down, where never more
The blessed beam of Heaven shall visit me
Where never winged minister of her's
Thorough the dismal gloom shall wing his flight
To look on my sad fall, and turn away
With deep abhorrence!—but what midnight shade
Can hide me from myself! What curtain fall
Between the piercing beam of torturing thought
And its sad object? Yet, how gentle that
To what this instant I perceive within
This sense of desolation—Heavenly hate,
This dead vacuity, this gloom of being!
This settled sorrow of the swelling heart
By which alone I feel that I exist!—
Where shall I find him, where, the friendly power
Tho' arm'd with vengeance? yet I wish to feel him
And own the father in his dread correction.
Father of mercy! let me own once more
Thy presence, tho' it blast me! turn again
Thy aspect, tho' incenst, on thy fallen son,
And let me feel thy pity in the scourge
That wounds to heal!—far, far around I look
Amid the tossing of this mental storm
Yet see no dawning of that welcome light
Sign of returning peace! it is but just
That I should wander in eternal gloom
For wilfully on heaven's benignant beam
I shut my eyes, and chose to grope my way
To swift perdition with a demon guide. To him, ZADOK.

From him, whom never yet desponding soul
Address'd in vain, I come, but not with peace
Nor soothing promise, long the storm must rage
The dashing rain descend, and deluge spread
Ere with the olive branch the dove returns
Thy soul has lost its vigour—all its powers
Are run to waste, its energy is gone—
Extinct, by foul voluptuous charms exhal'd
This to recover, needs strong discipline
Effective, lasting, till its energy
Recovers in the conflict, like the spark
From stricken steel, or winter's fire, compress'd
To tenfold ardour by the rigorous grasp
Of winter's frory hand—This is Heaven's will
Her primal law, by most effectual means
To keep that sacred, active power awake
In which th'excellency of mind consists
If this be dissipated in the calm
Of sensual life, or if, in sloth relaxt
The faculties lye slumb'ring—then he calls
His ministers—fierce pain, the alarm of war
Domestic grief, adversity's stern march
And quiver'd woes. They rouse the torpid mind
Hunt her thro' all her feelings, till she rise
From her terrene and most inglorious laire
And Heaven-ward looks again, asserts her birth,
Puts forth her pinions, vindicates the skies
And leaves the worldly dim eclipse behind,
But, if those fail, the gangrene is begun
That leads to swift perdition.

David.
Heaven forbid
Such means should fail! Oh let the discipline
Be sharp enough! I shrink not, tho' it leave
My trembling nerves all bare! welcome! affliction
I bless your friendly frowns, to my sick soul
More chearing than the Syren smiles that led
My wand'ring feet astray. Your awful march
And funeral ensigns, seen afar, I hail!
Print not your footsteps lightly in the dust
For every vagrant gale to waft away
The traces of your visitation dread!
But leave a deep, indelible path behind
As when the avenger of his people's sins
Treads the red wine-press in his jealous rage
And stamps his vengeance deep—but me alone
Visit, nor let my people share my woes!