University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE a Royal Gallery.
Enter Guiderius and Decimus.
Guid.
My Friend,—I can't but curse Triumphal Power,
If thus it can transform the Noblest Minds;
When the Crown fell, and Empire empty stood,
When joyful Britain hail'd him first its King,
How was he Lov'd!—Lov'd even to Adoration!
So Just, so Generous, Merciful, and Valiant,
We talk'd of nothing but a Reigning God,
And all our Dreams, were of a Golden Age.

Dec.
But now! how chang'd from what Arbelline was
Secur'd by Conquest, Popular Applause,
The Fears and Flatteries of Neighb'ring Nations,
He swells to Tyranny.

Guid.
Forbear that Term, my Friend; it strikes too harsh
Upon a Brother's and a Subject's Sense.

Dec.
Come, come, no more of Brother and of Subject;
Shake from thy Mind the Bonds of servile Custom,
Merit prints out to thee the Orb of Honour,
Arise, and Shine the highest;—hear me Friend,
Let thy bright Memory reflect thy Wrongs,
And his Ingratitude—Thy dying Father,
Royal in Fame and Faith, Romes firm Ally,
Left thee unsettled, to this Brother's Care,
Thee his Last Born, but Eldest in his Love;
With all th'engaging Arguments, which Fondness
And Pow'r bestow'd, cou'd urge in thy Behalf.

Guid.
Nor did he deviate from the dying Will;
For like the Son, and Brother of a King,
He us'd me still—Nay, let me urge the Truth,
I ev'n liv'd the Leader of his Favours,
Till with the Legions you arriv'd from Rome,
Against the Rising Picts.

Dec.
Then what thy greater Glory shou'd have been,
Prov'd thy Disgrace—methinks I see the Plains
Darken'd with dreadful Savages, which stood
Resolv'd and numberless in rude Array,
Grinning Defiance to Politer War.
Methinks I see thee foremost of the Brittons,
(The Young, the Beautiful, the Gay Guiderius,
Chief of the Courtiers, Darling of the Fair,)
With Bravery unlook'd for, forcing Fame;
And like a new sprung Lion, ranging wide,
Eager of Blood, and wanton of the Prey.

Guid.
If emulating you I courted Danger,
I went not unrewarded since that Day
I gain'd you for my Friend.—

Dec.
And thy Brother for thy Enemy—O Prince!
He saw thy Gallantry with Envious Eyes;
He saw thee in the Dawny Bloom of Manhood,
Perform those Deeds, which strong Experienc'd Valour
Shrunk at the sight of—hence his Hatred grew,
His base Aversion to thy mounting Fame,
Like a pretending Coward did he cast thee,
Forth from his Smiles, a Prey to Scorn and Sorrow.

Guid.
Since Kings like Gods, may give and take away,
And plead no other Reason, but their Pleasure;
Oh! Decimus!—I should have dy'd in Battle,
Had Fate propitious been.—

Dec.
—all thy Posts,
Of Honour, Trust and Profit, has he giv'n
To Factious Cowards, Flatterers, and Fops;—
Who from their Lofty, their luxurious Lodgings,
Behold thee, (fall'n Favourite) with Contempt,
Or in their Golden Chariots, proudly lolling,
For Fashions Sake vouchsafe a formal Bow.

Guid.
Meer Apes alas! Of Pow'r, who mimick Greatness,
Who walk and talk, nay, act too by Example;
And only in their aukward Pride are Presidents.
But sure the Time will come, when these shall fall,
These Sons of Folly, nauseous to the Subject;
And patient Merit be again restor'd.

Dec.
Your Hopes are Mean and Vain; can Manly Virtue
Be thus forgetful of it self?—ye Pow'rs!
Esmire and Otham Yesterday were living;
Esmire the Leader of that treach'rous Zeal,
Which Rigour ne'er cou'd tame, nor Gentleness affect,
Like Serpents, in the Winter of their Fortune,
They lurk in Holes and seem to mischief Dead?
But when Rebellion Scorches, out they spring,
Renew'd in hopeful Strength, and Hiss aloft.

Guid.
And cou'd I have comply'd without Dishonour,
Without obliterating former Fame,
With those ill Humours, which infest the Kingdom,
Those Seeds of Slav'ry, those restless Wretches,
Who envy others Good, and scorn their own;
Those Foggs that from the waste of Empire rise,
Aiming to cloud the Sun, and shade the Land.

Dec.
No Prince—but when their Secrets you disclos'd,
When by your Means, this shining Brother seiz'd
The willing Traitors, and secur'd his Crown:
Did he not well to thank you with a Grin,
A Cold insulting Grin; as if he'd say,
This hast thou done, to screw into my Favour.

Guid.
Oh! Gods!—

Dec.
Out with it; give a loose to manly Rage,
Awake thy Soul, with this abhor'd Ingratitude,
And muster up thy Thoughts to brave Designs;
Curse thy vain Hopes, curse thy profusest Loyalty,
Which sav'd his State and him from utter Ruin.

Guid.
Oh! That I cou'd repent the Gen'rous Deed;
Oh! That I ne're had known to act it.

Dec.
Hadst thou ne're known it safe had been thy Life.

Guid.
My Life.—

Dec.
Thy Life: what else can this vile Usage mean,
But on some desp'rate Attempt to force thee;
That Death design'd, may wear the Face of Justice.

Guid.
Thou hast alarm'd me from the lowest Soul,
And Nature rises in her own Defence;
Follow'd by crowding Passions, Vengeance urging;
Vengeance to utmost Earth I cou'd pursue,
Through Bounds of Fire, or undiscover'd Deeps;
Or Perish, or be Satisfy'd.

Dec.
Since I have warm'd thee to my wish, I'll tell thee:
'Tis in thy Pow'r to right thy self, nay more;
To punish this Unjust, Ungrateful Brother;
To be the King of Britain—Start not Friend,
I love thee, by the Gods I love thy Honour;
The Romans love thee, and the warring Britton,
Keeps his Sword, his nimble Buckler bright,
And murmurs for Guiderius.—

Guid.
Ha! Whither am I push'd?—on mighty Roman;
Tho' my Soul Hungers, after Arms and Glory,
Insatiably as thine; form'd of those eager Fires,
Which struggle to ascend Immortal Heights,
Or be extinguish'd ever;—yet Rebellion,—
By Heaven my Mind is startled at the Thought,
Takes Instant Arms, and stifles Traiterous Nature.

Dec.
Thou canst then choose, to live disgrac'd,
Choose to be pity'd rather than be fear'd,
Degen'rate Son of Honour!—

Guid.
'Tis true, I am of all the Lively Growth,
The Pomp of Honour, partially depriv'd;
But still the Noblest Part of it is Mine;
The settled Trunk, that stands resolv'd for Virtue,
Against the veering Blasts of sordid Interest.

Dec.
I'll say no more, be still oppressed, degraded,
The lasting Laugh, of ev'ry Favo'rite Fool,
And the detested Scorn of stirring Merit.
Till by encreasing Tyranny made sensible,
You're hateful to your self, and so farewel.—
If you have nobler Thoughts, during my Stay,
In Britain, in the Roman Camp, you'll find me.
[Exit Dec.

Guid.
Enter Aurosia.

Aur.
Since then the purest Part of Life is thine,
(At least insured by Faith and holiest Vows,)
Neglected be the Dross. But oh! Guiderius!
If Sorrow shoeks thee thus, at outward Losses;
Ah! What will it not do, when I shall tell thee,
Thy last, thy inmost Quiet, is in Danger.

Guid.
Oh! Threatning Angel, Is my Life concern'd?
Speak, ease me, kill me; thou alone canst end
My weary Hopes; and make Destruction certain.

Aur.
First, let me ask thee, unexperienc'd Lover,
If fondly thou hast ne're reveal'd our Secrets,
Nor proudly boasted of Aurosia's Favours.

Guid.
Can'st thou suspect me? O could I forget,
That happiest Hour e'er I had in Life,
[And much I fear that e'er I shall have now;]
When spent with Sighs, and dying with Dispair,
You quicken'd me with Smiles, and yeilding Blushes,
Approv'd my Passion, and avow'd your own:
Nay, promis'd Love eternal, on Condition
I never shon'd, without your Leave, disclose it;
Why then that Question, how can I be guilty?

Aur.
The King inflam'd by my unwilling Eyes,
Has importun'd me long you know with Love,
But now by Coldness urg'd, provok'd by Hate,
He swears some other does my Heart possess;
Therefore resolves, nay, has this very Hour,
Compell'd me to be ready for Confinement.

Guid.
Confinement! ha! Confusion! Can the Monster!
Then play the Tyrant, with the softer Sex?
Excus'd from rough Controul, by Nature free:
Thou art not marry'd to him fairest Hypocrite,
Say'st thou, compell'd? Or art thou not seduc'd?
Has not the glowing Glories of a Crown,
Dazled thy Faith, and warm'd thee to Desire.

Aur.
My Lord, you ought to know Aurosia better.

Guid.
Oh! Leave me! Leave me! To Dispair and Death,
Rather than Frown thus on me; oh! Aurosia!
I have enough, enough to blast my Heart,
Without this Rigour; all my early Joys,
My blooming Comforts, the good Gods had Crown'd,
With a dear Friend, and a far dearer Mistress:
These, when the Storms of State fell heavy on me,
Upheld my fainting Soul; but now grown weary
With the encreasing Weight of new Misfortunes,
They have forsaken me in deep Distress,
In Deserts wild to ev'ry Grief a Prey.

Aur.
I cannot bear these doleful Thoughts; these Sighs,
Thy sad Complainings strike me to the Heart;
And chills my tender Sense. Oh! My Guiderius!
Come let me heal, or ease thy wounded Soul,
With softning Sighs, unfeign'd with trickling Tears;
The Simpathatick Balm of purest Love.

Guid.
Love! Canst thou talk so to a ruin'd Wretch!
Pursu'd by Envious Stars, and Earthly Pow'rs?
Lost to himself, to Peace, and Rest for ever.

Aur.
Do not dispair, for if the tend'rest Passion
Abounding lastingly, resolv'd, and own'd,
Can give thee Peace, thou'rt not yet lost to Happiness;
For I will tell thee, nay I'll proudly tell thee;
Tho' once Ambition, was my darling Passion;
Yet since I heard, since I believ'd thy Vows,
Not all the Pow'r of a conqu'ring Throne,
Nor Diadems with gayest Grandeur grac'd;
Cou'd move my Thoughts in Competition with thee?
No dear Detractor, wer't thou far more wretched,
Than Fate, or ev'ry envious Pow'r can make thee.

Guid.
then Farewel Friendship, farewel Fame, and Honour;
Publick Applause, and private Pride, farewel;
With all the wealthy Greatness of this World,
Love still is mine! and Love out weighs you all:
Yet I must part with that: Oh! Thought distracting,
Tyrant! Damn'd Ravisher! Oh Lost Aurosia!

Aur.
What wou'dst thou have me say? What can I do?
Love bids me fly with thee all o'er the World;
But Prudence, Modesty, and Virgin Pride,
The Niceties of which can never bear
The thought of being us'd in vulgar Talk,
As a foul Argument of Woman's Lightness.

Guid.
Let me be damn'd, rather than bear it thus:
Yes, I'll Rebel—Fly to the Roman Camp;
Proclaim my Wrongs: Then with the eager Legions,
Come thundering on to gaudy Trinobant.

Aur.
But art thou then secure.—

Guid.
as Mischief cou'd desire—Yes, brutal Brother:
You now shall find, that tho' the vilest Injuries,
You heap'd on me, were stifled and forgiven;
Yet when you dar'd to wrong the lov'd Aurosia,
I dar'd to punish you.—

Aur.
Now thou art he I long have wish'd thou wert;
The Hero, that thy rising Valour promis'd:
Go on, go on, bring here thy dreadful Legions,
Storm, storm, the Tyrants Gates nor stay thee there;
But ent'ring, when thy Sword is in his Breast,
Remember it was he that wrong'd Guiderius;
Remember it was he that wrong'd Aurosia.

Guid.
Ha! wou'd Aurosia have me then rebel;
I thought that Virtuous Maid, wou'd have oppos'd me;
Have curb'd the Headstrong Phrensy of my Soul,
And smooth'd to Peace the starting Passion there;
But contrary, she urges me to Ruin.—

Aur.
No! Thou unsettled Man, thou willful Sufferer;
She urges thee to Love, to Life, to Happiness;
To just Revenge, and everlasting Honour.

Guid.
I am most wretched, yet I can't be guilty;
Kings are the Deputy's of Heaven; below,
They execute it's high Decrees; and he
That dares to lift his Hand, strikes not at him,
But at the Gods, whose Choice confirm'd their Pow'r,
And who alone, can faultless judge their Crimes.

Aur.
By this Opinion both of us are ruin'd.
The Grave's thy speedy Lot, but mine is Heavier far;
From close Confinement, and Tyrannick Love,
Now never to be freed—farewel lost Lover,
Ingrateful to thy self and me, farewel.

[Is going.
Guid.
Parting's Confusion to my anxious Soul!
'Tis Death, 'tis more, 'tis Life in tedious Tortures;
Stay then Aurosia, I am what thou'dst have me,
[She stays.
I swear by all that's binding, great and good,
I'll free thee soon, or perish in th'Attempt.

Aur.
Go then, be ev'ry Influence propitious;
And all the Stars as fond of thee as I am:
May the Gods join with thee, and justly move;
Against a Tyrant, in the Cause of Love:
Drive him to Death, and when he breathless lies,
Lead the dear Victor to the Elysian Gardens;
(There on the Rivers brink, within his View,)
Haste, haste his Way, for me to Crown his Conquest.

Guid.
But shou'd the King by force—By force oh Gods!

Aur.
Tho' ev'ry thing assists his hated Passion,
Doubt not Aurosia's Spirit, or her Faith.
But I must go, or be suspected here;
A worser Evil, if a worse can be;
Than that of parting with thee—oh farewel.

Guid.
Stay, let me take a Lovers Farewel of thee,
One dear Embrace, firm as my Faith—Oh Blessing!
Thou balmy Softness, as the Morning Sweet,
When the glad Lark with mounting Musick Charms,
The mild unclouded Heav'ns—and must I leave thee?
Some Hours will pass, e're I depart,
It will not be impossible to see thee.

Aur.
It will—Oh Love!—It will not, oh my Prince?
If thou wilt give me Liberty in Prison,
And Life in lonesome Death, it will be kind?
East of the Garden near the River Side,
The Walls are low, t'admit the Sacred Prospect
Of a dark Grove; to British Gods devoted,
Which if thou shou'd'st surpass,—
I say no more—more must not be express'd;
Love much, Hope all, be Secret, and be Bless'd;
[Ex. Aur.

Guid.
She's gone,—And I am left to be a Rebel;
A Rebel, most Disloyal and Unnatural:
Well, well, Aurosia! May'st thou beauteous be,
To my fond Thoughts more fair, more dear, than Virtue;
Brighter than Fame, more excellent than Justice;
Far more delectable than free Society,
And all the fruitful Hopes of an Elizium:
For sure the Price I pay for thee, is all
The Good I can have here, or ev'n hereafter.

Enter Decimus.
Dec.
—Then Love, at last, has rais'd
That Heart, which Honour strove in vain to rouze:
Love! The Course gilded Pageant of our Lives;
Which ev'ry Storm of Fortune washes off,
While Golden Honour nothing can decay.—
Ev'n Time, that ruins all things, adds to that;
And still with common Honesty refines,
Its Native Lustre, from the Damps of Envy.

Guid.
Loves Shafts have only rais'd thy tender Heart,
And pointed thee to light unconstant Pleasures;
Had'st thou yet known the Sighs, the growning Longings,
The sudden Turns of Hope and of Dispair,
And all the Languishing, the sweet Advances
Of constant Passion; thou wou'dst own with me,
Its very Crosses, more to be desir'd,
Than ought in Life beside—Nor had She conquer'd;
Had not thy Reasons waken'd me before,
And more than half subdu'd me.—

Dec.
Bless'd be her little Arts, since they have won thee
To Arms and Honour; oh! I long to see thee,
Shining the foremost in the Rapid Squadrons,
In Blood, and Fire, triumphant bold Disorder.

Guid.
To Death and Ruin will I with thee go,
On this Condition, that whatever happens,
His Life and Throne, shall still be Sacred to us:
The flushing Victors, Fury shall not dare,
Nor raging Vengeance, to attempt on either;
But let the King go free and unmolested.

Dec.
By Roman Jove, by all the British Gods,
I swear they shall be both untouch'd; but then,
Swear thou Guiderius, ne'er to lay down Arms,
Till thy just Privileges be restor'd.

Guid.
Ne'er till I've freed Aurosia I swear:
The rest we may consider at more Leisure.

Dec.
No more then, but away.—

Guid.
A Day at least must pass, e'er we can reach
The Roman Camp: Before another Morning
Shall gild the Skies we go; and in the mean time,
Some Friends I wou'd ensure, who when our Purpose opens,
May justify our Conduct to the World.

Dec.
Go and be Prosp'rous;—
While I a Sister summons from the Court;
I'll meet thee then—
A surer Conquest farther to Concert,
Till then farewel.—

[Exeunt severally.
Enter King Madoc, Attendance.
K.
This haughty Roman, and my hated Brother,
Have strong Designs of Treason in their Looks;
They parted now, as warm'd with Instant Hopes,
And ripen'd Resolution; they observ'd me not,
Perhaps they wou'd not! oh the Plague of Doubt:
Must I be from it never, never freed?
Never enjoy my Power unperplex'd?
Can neither Fortune, Fame, nor Majesty,
Awe these two busie Slaves?—
Away, and seize them both; from their close Souls
I'll rack my Peace of Mind.—

Mad.
Consider Sir the Roman,—

K.
Consider Sir, a Dotard, and a Coward,
Perhaps a Traytor too: Priests have been so:
Consider that the Romans will revenge
Their Generals Death with mighty Reinforcements;
Deprive me of my Throne, and Seat my Brother there;
Say Dreamer; Are not these thy Thoughts?

Mad.
I wou'd have said; 'tis Wisdom to be safe,
But—

K.
Ay safe; thou hast it now, the Word becomes thee;
(Thou wealthy well-fed Druid) but I'll tell thee,
It is the Blast, the Death of springing Glory;
The Nourisher of idle Peace, the Rust
That preys on the experienc'd Edge of War,
Which active Ages scarcely can restore;
Gods! Were it not for our Regard to safety,
Britain e'er this, had no Rome to curb her,
But wou'd have held her self the conquering Reins,
Of universal Pow'r, and lash'd th'unrul'd World.

Mad.
But since by ancient Articles and Faith,
So often solemnly renew'd with Rome,
The Roman is above the British Laws,
You can't, without Apparent Danger, touch him.

K.
Slave, Must I live then in Obedience to him?
Am I a King? art thou a Politician?
Reflect with Shame, upon thy dastard Thoughts,
And the vile Off-spring of thy Mountain Brain.

Mad.
Tho' He's above your Laws, Guiderius is not;
And if they are united in Conspiracy,
Sever but one of the supporting Limbs,
The other sinks beneath the weighty Burthen.

K.
Now thou talk's Sense, most seasonable Sense;
Hence forth be call'd the Lining of my Crown,
The Pillar that shall still support my Throne:
But find me some Pretence to take his Life,
A specious one, and quickly—
Or I will snatch thee from thy Holy Glories,
Hurl thee to Earth, and tread the into Nothing.

Mad.
Your Threats, dread Sir, or Praises, cannot make me,
More than I am, devoted to your Service.

K.
Go Muse then, and be swift in subtle Mischief;
While Love employs my Thoughts, and winds them up to Extasy:
Aurosia to my nearer Hopes transporting,
As coming Crowns to destitute Ambition;
As Wealth and Freedom, to the needy Slave.
To her I'll haste, gaze on each single Charm,
With Rapture View, their Nice, their grateful Order;
Her Golden Tresses with a careless Grace,
Curling upon her Neck, and brightned by her Face!
Her Face! More sprightly Fair than new-born Light,
Her every Feature ravishing to the Sight;
As Nature's lovely Lines from the refreshing Night.
And then, to press the Bosom of the Fair,
That heaving Bosom, soft as dewy Air,
And all the sweet of Morn' unwafted there.
Her ev'ry Motion, has the Pow'r to Charm,
Raises to Joy, and does to Love alarm;
And with new Vigour does our Senses warm.
But to enjoy her; oh! What mighty Bliss,
'Tis for to press her with an eager Kiss;
Take all your other Joys you have in store,
Give me but her, ye Gods! I ask no more—