University of Virginia Library

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.