University of Virginia Library

ACT. II.

Enter Agnes and Erric.
Er.
Why Agnes dost thou fly my proffer'd Vows?
Why to this Plain, expos'd to publick View,
Dost thou direct thy hasty Steps? Is it
To shew thy Conquest o'er my doting Heart,
To shew a Dane subdu'd, Erric enslav'd,
And by a stubborn Captive held in Chains?

Ag.
Ill suit such haughty Thoughts with our low State.
Thee and thy Love I shun, but not thro' Pride;
Weak is that Virtue, whose Support is Pride.
If 'tis Disgrace to love a Captive Maid,
Leave her for one of more exalted State;
Leave her to sigh and mourn her Country's Fall.

Er.
Why sigh, why mourn? By thy indulgent Stars
Thou art elected to subdue my Heart.
Thousands have I beheld with heedless Eyes,
Till thy kind Fate disclos'd thee to my View,
Now I submit to thee; at length be wise,
Delay no more, but yield to my Desires;
Freedom, and Wealth and Power attend my Love.

Ag.
Offers like these may win a sordid Mind,
And please ambitious Souls; but Love sincere
Looks with Disdain on all these Foreign Aids.
Not thus our Youth infuse the pleasing Pain,
Not thus they seek to warm the coldest Hearts.

Er.
Fame speaks indeed of their resistless Art,
Of their enchanting Pow'r to sooth the Mind,
To kindle Love, and blow it to a Flame.
Shew me this Art: Erric shall not disdain
To be instructed in these Magic Rules.

Ag.
They love to be o'ercome who shew the Way.

Er.
Resistance often makes the Treatment worse.

Ag.
And tame Submission shews an abject Soul.

Er.
I love and wou'd possess; need I say more?

Ag.
Aided by Virtue, I refuse that Love.

Er.
Perverse and peevish, phlegmatic and cold,
Ye fly our Loves, and then miscall it Virtue.

Ag.
What Man e're thought he fail'd to gratify
Love or Ambition thro' the want of Merit.

Er.
Think who it is solicites thee for Love;
Think it is Erric who vouchsafes to pray.
Who wou'd think Erric should descend so low?
Second in Pow'r to our victorious Chief,
To great Turgesius, equal in Renown.
To me he owes his Empire o'er this Land,
The Enterprize projected by this Brain,
And by my Arm the glorious Conquest won.

Ag.

Er.
Let me enjoy the Sweets of Wealth and Pow'r,
Let Slaves and Beggars preach against the Means.
I stand possess'd of those, and they are thine.
Leave to lament, take Shelter in my Arms,
In me thou shal't obtain full Recompence,
And with me share the Benefits of Conquest.

Ag.
Leave thou to persecute a Maid distress'd:
With Terror I behold, with Horror hear thy Love.
Methinks I see my Kindred bleed afresh,
Methinks I see my Country all in Flames,
And thou the cruel Cause.—
Sooner let Lambs seek among Wolves a Mate,
Than Agnes yield to such relentless Foes.—
Quit this mild Clime, back to thy frozen Shoars,
There seek a Love, there vaunt thy bloody Deeds,
And dazzle their dull Eyes with wicked Prey.

Er.
Who saw me suppliant thus, and heard thy Words,
Wou'd judge me Captive, thee the Conqueror.
Victor indeed! Thy Charms subdue my Heart,
And I can hear thee rail and yet be calm.
Yet such Resentment fills thy angry Mind;
Thou seem'st for War prepar'd, rather than Love.

Ag.
Oh were it decent for our feeble Sex
To wave the Sword and throw the flying Dart!
I have a Soul wou'd urge me to the Field,
And on thy Head revenge my Country's Wrongs.

Er.
Me wou'dst thou single out?

Ag.
Whom should I single out,
But him who glories in the Mischiefs done?

Er.
And dares a Slave do this?

Ag.
Traytor, I dare.

Er.
Traytor to me! 'Tis Conqueror thou mean'st.

Ag.
By Treachery that Conquest was obtain'd,
The basest Vice, and Traytor is thy due.

Er.
I thank thy Rage, it has awaken'd mine.
My Soul grew tame, unactive by my Love:
The subtil Passion wander'd in my Veins,
And glided to my Heart and seiz'd it whole.
Now Love retreats, and nobler Passions reign,
And I can view thy Beauties now, unmov'd.

Ag.
Let Hatred, Rage and Scorn possess thy Heart;
Leave to pursue, and I can bear all these.

Er.
I leave to love, but leave not to pursue.
With Pain I wore the Mask of servile Love,
Unbent my Mind, sought thee with humble Pray'r,
And proffer'd Wealth and Pow'r, the noblest Baits.
Now I appear myself; Thanks to thy Scorn,
And thou shalt yield to gratify my Pride.
I will possess thee now without Desire;
Then throw thee off, abandon'd and despis'd.

Ag.
Place me, good Heav'n, amid the savage Herd!
Throw me forlorn upon some Desart Shoar;
Seat me upon the Summit of some Rock,
Where the Winds roar, and the vast Ocean rolls!
I shall be happy freed from this bad Man.

Er.
Nor Heav'n nor Earth shall free thee from this Arm.
Here in thy Camp, before thy Monarch's Tent,
In View of all, I seize thee as my Prey,
And will in Triumph bear thee to my Bed.

Enter O Connor as he lays hold on her.
O Con.
Stay impious Dane! behold this vengeful Sword;
Quit thy Design, or perish in th'Attempt.

Er.
And who is he presumes to stop my Way?

O Con.
Behold and know, then be assur'd I dare.

Er.
I know thee well; oft from the Field compell'd,
By Flight thou hast secur'd inglorious Life.

O Con.
That we have been o'ercome, is true; so Fate
Ordain'd: But from the Field I ne'er retir'd,
Till daunted Erric trembling fled my Sword,
And safe at Distance loo'd his mungrel Curs
To hunt the Lion which he durst not face.

Er.
How vain and useless is a Captive's Boast?
Were I to own thee brave, that would augment
Our Fame, and prove superior Valour.
'Tis by our Mercy that thy Life is spar'd;
Your Wives and Daughters are our menial Slaves,
Thy Country's ravag'd by our pow'rful Arms,
And when Turgesius frowns, thy Monarch dies.

O Con.
Oh! It wou'd waste whole Days, shoud'st thou recount
All the Indignities we undergo.
Nor is it needful to increase my Wrath;
Were there no other Cause, Death is thy Due,
For the Wrong offer'd to this virtuous Maid.

Er.
Thou know'st I soon cou'd cool this mighty Heat;
This Arm suffices; or were that too weak,
Behold! and tremble at yon dreadful Camp.
Hibernia's Conqu'rors sit in Triumph there.
Safe and at Ease they sport their Hours away,
Free from the Care and Toil which wait on Crowns.
But when the tow'ring Eagle's Hunger bids,
He, at one Stoop, can seize the panting Prey.
Shou'd I command, thy Nation is no more.—
But I allow the Vanquish'd to lament,
Pardon thy Rage, and give thee Leave to live.

O Con.
How I shou'd scorn a Life preserv'd by thee!
Dungeons and wrankling Chains be first my Lot;
Let burning Pincers piece-meal, tear my Flesh;
Let hottest Poison seize on ev'ry Joint,
Parch up my Veins, and drink up all my Blood.

Er.
There needs no Poison to disturb thy Brain,
This Woman here, I ghess, has done that Work;
Yet thou can'st Pray and Whine to soften her,
Methods I scorn. Hear then how I resolve:
Without the Drudgery of Vows and Pray'r,
I will possess and rifle all her Charms.
When I am satiated, and she grown stale,
Then naked thro' the Camp she shall be led
The Spectacle of Scorn.

O Con.
Furies! I can no more! have at thy Heart.

Ag.
Forbear, forbear; think what it is thou do'st.
Be not transported to an Act like this;
For shou'd he perish here and by thy Arm,
'Twill be term'd Murder, violated Faith:
What then becomes of us? what of the King?
Their fierce Resentment will destroy us all.

Er.
Surrounded by thy Friends, before thy Tent,
Thou think'st it safe to give thy Rage this Loose.

O Con.
Lead to thy Camp; lead to Turgesius Tent,
Let thy own Chief be Umpire of the Palm.
Prepare for equal Fight; guard well thy Life,
For a more valu'd Blessing than is Life.
See the fair Prize! behold with fresh Desire,
And let the Cause lend Vigour to thy Arm.

Er.
Agreed: There be the Scene.

O Con.
Away, away:
Lead on; I follow with impatient Steps.

Ag.
Oh whither would'st thou go! with Passion blind.
By Love, by Honour, I conjure thee stay.
Wou'dst thou expose thee to his Rage, and draw
Inevitable Ruin on us all.

O Con.
He dares me on, 'tis Cowardise to stay.

Ag.
'Tis Madness to proceed: Hear me at least.

Er.
With Ease I can command his Death; his Death
Is not enough; my Hatred asks for more,
[apart
Their Monarch and their Nation, all must bleed:
And then for her—Damnation, how she charms.
Ev'n when she yields to him, she conquers me.
She shoots new Darts, anew inflames my Blood,
And I must turn aside to shape my Thoughts.
She may suffice to gratify Desire,
But my Revenge and Hatred shall spread wide.
I will infect Turgesius too with Love.—
O Brien's Daughter is for Beauty fam'd.—
He shall love her. My Art directs his Will;
With lavish Praises I will fill his Ear,
And work his Passion to what Height I please.
The haughty Dame, enrag'd at her Distress,
With Indignation will receive his Love.
Rage and Disdain will then possess him whole:
Then I will point his Passion to my Aim,
And gratify at once Revenge and Love.
Since thou art flown for shelter to her Arms
[to him
I will not press thee now; to me the Shrine
Is sacred, tho' my Offerings are disdain'd.
Few Hours shall pass, but we may meet again.

[Exit.
Ag.
Oh! we have been to blame, we have not weigh'd
Our wretched State, subjected to his Pow'r.
I dread his Anger and repent my own.

O Con.
Who cou'd be tame and hear him threaten thee?
My bleeding Country and our captive State
Were all forgot, when I beheld thee wrong'd.
And that he is escap'd would be Disgrace,
But Agnes interpos'd and stop'd Revenge.

Ag.
Too well we know, by dear Experience taught,
His Falsehood, Cruelty, and Arrogance.
He rules Turgesius with obsequious Arts,
Directs his Mind and moulds it to his Will.
What may he dare, what may he not perform?

O Con.
For thee I fear, for thee I am alarm'd.
Were but my Agnes safe, were she secure
From the Pursuits of this rash impious Man,
I shou'd descend in Peace and welcome Death:
What else remains, what have I else to hope?
What Hope of Joy, but in thy grateful Smiles?
Yet e're my Soul throws off this clog of Flesh,
Fain wou'd she taste some Pleasure here below,
And part in Peace and joyful take her flight.
Agnes alone can give my Soul that Peace,
And lull my Sorrows and assuage my Pains.

Ag.
Sure Love demands a quiet calm Retreat,
And flies dismay'd, the horrid Din of War.

O Con.
Who flies the Battle sure to overcome?
Love tears the Lawrel from the Victor's Brow,
And plants the fragrant Mirtle; blest Exchange!
Love rules Ambition, tramples upon Pride,
And makes the sordid Miser quit his Store.
Here, every where, he bears despotick Sway;
Thy Breast alone, obdurate to my Pray'rs,
Disowns his Empire and derides his Pow'r.

Ag.
Cease to reproach and wound me with Complaints.
I have a Heart susceptible of Love,
Nor am I blind to such distinguish'd Merit.
But Fear has got Possession of my Heart,
And with her ghastly Visage drives out Love.

O Con.
Condemn'd to Death, and to the Slaughter led
I still wou'd feast my Soul and banish Fear,
On thee wou'd gaze and revel in Delight,
Insensible of Pain, unmov'd at Death.
Enter O Brien, Sabina, O Neill.
Behold fresh Proofs of Love's extended Sway.
See the Ultonian Prince obeys his Pow'r,
Forces his Way ev'n thro' the watchful Foe
To claim the Recompense of all his Toils.

O B.
'Twas nobly fought, 'tis beautifully told.
Thy Arms have purchas'd thee immortal Fame;
Thy Modesty illustrates thy Exploits.
A vain Narration tarnishes the Glory,
And turns the noisy Boaster to contempt.
Thou speak'st of Conquest in such decent Phrase,
We know not where to place the Lawrel Wreath,
But that thy Presence leaves no room to doubt.—
Join my Sabina, join thy grateful Voice,
And praise the brave Attempts to set us free.

Sab.
Bring Garlands hither; strew with Flow'rs his Way;
Statues erect, triumphal Arches build,
Fame stretch thy Wings, thy Trumpet sound aloud,
Employ thy hundred Tongues in his Renown
Who frees his Country from a foreign Yoak.

O N.
And these might gratify ambitious Minds,
And be a full Reward for nobler Deeds.
Some small superfluous Branches we have lopt,
The Trunk remains and craves more weighty Blows.

O B.
Such fair Beginnings give us Ground to hope.
Who fears, suspects the Justice of his Cause.
Thou hast reviv'd my Soul and brought new Life,
And I reflect with Scorn on my late Fears.
Fortune not permanent to bless or curse,
With rapid Force has bore'n us down the Hill,
Thro' craggy Cliffs and over rugged Vales.
Now she ascends and smooths the Path before us,
And opens fairer Prospects to our View.

O N.
Then let us follow in the smiling Hour.
The Prize you seek is Empire, mine is Love,
The noblest Prize. What Pow'r, what Force, what Art
Shall bar my Race, Sabina at the Goal?
Thou the Reward, all Dangers I contemn.
When in Sabina's Cause I draw my Sword,
Conquest is sure, for 'tis the Cause of Heav'n.

O B.
Our honest Labours, crown'd with blest Success,
Our Wounds once heal'd, then Love shall be obey'd.
But now 'tis fit thou shoud'st repose a-while,
Then we will meditate to sight the Dane,
And free us from ignoble Servitude.—
And thou great Sire! from whom we boast Descent,
Implore Success to thy Milesian Race!
And thou blest Saint! the Patron of our Isle,
Who first didst plant among us Faith divine,
Join in the Pray'r and strengthen his Request.
And as envonom'd Insects fled the Land,
Forc'd by the Virtue of thy sacred Wand,
A greater Blessing may thy Pray'rs obtain,
Drive Tyrants hence and break the Danish Chain.

Exeunt.