University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Enter Armida, the Warlike Maid; with Erminia, Sister to Achmet, and Mistress to Saladine.
Erminia.
Forgive me if I plead the Sex's Cause,
As willing to recover what we lost,
And by one Question all my Scruples ease;
How does thy Eye regard the Tyrant Man,
Has no one Form more exquisitely fram'd,
Call'd thee to gaze with Wonder or Delight?

Armida.
Just as on other Objects of my Sense,
The tallest Oak or Cedar of the Grove,
The well-turn'd Statue, or the breathing Paint.
But yet if any of the Sex I prize,
'Tis he who scatters Death the widest round,
And makes most Havock of his worthless Race.

Erminia.
These cruel Words convince a wounded Heart,
That Love has enter'd at the Gate of Scorn.

[Aside.
Armida.
Yet I would know—How was it with thy Heart,
When first it leant and listen'd to thy Lord?

Erminia.
O Saladine! the Day—Remembrance keep the Day,
In the full Height of painful Extacy!
That Day, when long sollicited to hear,
The thousand times unfinish'd Tale of Love.

Armida.
Why this Suspence! this Prologue to thy Fault?

Erminia.
Since 'tis ungrateful—

Armida.
No!—Heaven that it were!

[Aside.
Erminia.
Then, some God had dress'd him out for wonder then,
My King approach'd, but with such soft'ned Looks,
A Mind so full, so fearful of Offence,
That Cruelty now chid it self, and Pride,
Which keeps the outward Fences of the Heart
Like an o'er-watch'd Centinel, retiring, slept.
He touch'd my Hand, and Fire was in the Touch;
He look'd, and spoke, and Joy was in his Speech.
My Blushes rose and fell like doubtful Winds,
That toss the Bosom of a wanton Sea.
He saw Confusion, and pursu'd his Charge,
Till Fears, like routed Armies in their Flight,
Soon beat, resign'd to his victorious Love.

Armida.
The Conquest made, how felt the new-found Yoke?

Erminia.
Easy as silken Chains on captive Birds,
Who love to feed-from the beloved Hand,
And, hov'ring round the fair Bestower, sing
Their new Captivity in sweeter Tunes.

Armida.
Alas! it may be! yes! it must be so!
Happy Arminia!—

Erminia.
Not Armida too!

Armida.
'Tis not in Fate to call the Minutes back
That might have made me—What I must not be.
Severe Necessity! Mysterious Love!
At once a Prodigal and Bankrupt too.

Erminia.
How, how, Armida, I conjure thee tell—
For, ah! I see thy Blood return and go,
Like a sad Messenger, to ev'ry Part,
Threat'ning to speak, but starting at the Tale
Of its own Woe—Tell—by our Friendship tell—

Armida.
Think not this Garb of War is Nature's Choice,
Fate and Revenge have forc'd it on my Arms,
For, O! four Suns have run their annual Course
Since passing thro' the Woods of Palestine,
Attended slightly by a Maiden Guard,
A Troop of Robbers—They were Christians too,
I can no more—

Erminia.
They could not force thee sure!

Armida.
Their Captain—

Erminia.
Where slept the Thunder then,
Who hid the Light'ning in its secret Cave?
How were the Hands of Providence employ'd,
Painting new Goats and Rams arm'd in the Sky,
To shed the guilty, Influence here below,
And justify the Monsters of the Earth?

Armida.
Since then—I swore an Enmity to Man—

Erminia.
And here I swear it too, till Vengeance comes,
O Traytor!—Hide him not concealing Earth,
Ye Rocks and Caverns shut your stony Mouths
When he would enter, let no guilty Shade
Afford him Place of Rest, but Darkness fly
As frighted when he comes—Heavens! is it right
That other Beings shall, by Instinct, trace
The secret Robber, and revenge the Guilt;
While favourite Man,
With Wit and puzzling Reason for his Guide,
Sits down and weeps his Injuries unredress'd—
Not half so privileg'd as the Dogs he feeds.

Armida.
Yet more remains, the Vow I made is broke,
Man triumphs still, the Theft of Violence
Is follow'd by the willing Gift of Love.

Erminia.
Achmet, or Mauro, say—

Armida.
Both Objects of my Hate—
A stranger Prince has stole my Heart away,
Daily in Arms I seek the Life I love—
Have I not said too much?

Erminia.
Thy Queen secures—
The secret her's—Hast thou entrusted me
With Images of Darkness and Despair,
The tempting Themes of our loquacious Sex—
And wilt thou hide the friendly Beam of Light,
That helps me to conduct thee to thy Safety.

Armida.
The Scottish Prince—You saw him in her Court,
And who beheld him—But yet wish'd them there?

Erminia.
He seem'd indeed the Wonder of his Sex.

Armida.
O He is all Perfection! every Limb
Calls upon Nature to avow her Work;
Had Fortune cloath'd him in her dirty Weeds,
And drest him in the Habit of Disgrace,
His Air, his Action would have spoke the Prince,
But as he was—Methinks I see him now,
In mock of us to lead the sprightly Ball,
While Motion chides the ling'ring Instrument,
While Harmony pursues him as he bounds,
Steps, as he steps, and measures out the Dance.

Erminia.
Tho' I hold David as our mortal Foe,
Foe to our Country's Altars, and our Faith.
[OMITTED]