 | Bonduca : or, The British Heroine |  |
Act V.
SCENE, I.
Enter Suetonius, Comes Dragging in Claudia.Claud.
O whither, whither wou'dst thou drag me, Villain?
Com.
To do a Deed thou'lt thank me for, when done,
Why all this vain resistance? Can you move
The Rocks or Trees to pity your Complaints?
I am as firm, and resolute in my purpose:
Nor wou'd I quit my Purchase for a Kingdom.
Where now is all the Pride? That Womans pride,
With which you melt the Endearments of my Love?
Claud.
'Tis here; 'tis fixt for ever in my Soul:
I always scorn'd, but now I hate thee too.
And sure—
If there are Gods, and Virtue be their Care,
I'm still secure from thy abhorr'd Attempts.
Some unseen Power will strike thee in the Act;
And Impotence blast all thy Expectations.
Comes.
Why, be it so? I'll put it to the Tryal
But Madam, you shall find, and find with Pleasure,
Not all the Powers of Heav'n can disarm me.
Come on; your Tears are now as vain and fruitless,
As were my Pray'rs, when I ask'd your Love.
Claud.
Love! And to thee! Thou art a thing so Loathsome;
Nature has shut thee quite from that thou art:
Made like the Bird of Night, to be Pursu'd,
Abhorr'd, and Loath'd, by all thy fellow Creatures.
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Woman! Woman! Oh how I love this Pride!
Thou now art fit to be belov'd by me;
Not made to fill our Arms the Vulgar way.
Claud.
Oh, I have been to blame; my foolish Tongue
Betray'd the weakness of my unwary Heart!
Th'art Fair as Light, and Innocent as Truth:
Royal by Birth, by Nature Excellent.
Com.
This is far more than my Revenge e'er hop'd for:
Not only to enjoy thy Body, but
Bend down thy Soul in Fear and Flattery;
Which feeds both my Anger, and my Love.
Nay, come, your Mignion's safely laid:
His Sword, proud Beauty, will never more
Be drawn in your Defence.
Enter Venutius.
Ven.
Oh where! Where is this proud Imperious Villain?
Claud.
He's here; he's here. Ye Gods, poor Claudia thanks you.
Ven.
Have at thee Prince; thus I salute.
[Draws.
Com.
Are you so hot, Sir? I have that
Shall cool you
[Fight here, and Comes falls.
Curse of your Sword! You are too sure a Marks-Man.
Ven.
Farewel; and tell thy fellow Devils below,
'Tis to Venutius's Sword, thou ow'st thy Death.
A Fate too Noble, for a Wretch like thee.
Com.
I'm going, but leave my Curse behind me.
May'st thou still Love, and be like me Rewarded.
Death, Horror, and Despair! Where am I now?
[Dies.
Claud.
Come to my Arms, my Hero, born for Conquest:
Dearer and Greater in the single Combat,
Than all the Labours of the busie day!
Ha! But he bleeds! O all ye Gods! He bleeds!
Those precious drops that might redeem a Kingdom;
In silent pace, bear his dear life away.
O fatal Conquest! dear bought Victory!
O wond'rous proof of unexampl'd Love!
Ven.
Love! Yes, I call the unknowing Gods to witness,
How much I love thee; through what Seas of Danger
I have ventur'd for thee: Thou art that precious
Diamond, that glorious Prize, which seated on a Rock;
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I the bold Lover, who in spight of Fortune,
By Heav'n Incourag'd, and Guided by my Love,
Rode o'er the raging Waves, and bore thee off.
Ha! Have I not? What Pict shall now oppose us?
What Roman Sword shall interrupt our Peace?
The Winds are still; Heaven gently smiles upon us:
'Tis all Serene, and I am thine for ever.
Claud.
Alas! Thou Rav'st! 'Tis Madness all thou utterst!
Help, help! Where now are all those Gods,
The Poets in their wild fancies Dreamt
Were in the Woods? No kinder Pow'r to hear
A Virgins Pray'r? No Æsculapius near, or
Great Apollo?
Ven.
No, 'tis too late: I find Death's Hand upon me;
And feel my Soul, just ready for the sally.
Weep not, my Claudia: there are Joys in store,
For thee and me, tho' I am now no more.
[Dies.
Claud.
He's dead, he's dead; and in my Cause! Oh thou dear
Youth! Winged like a Perseus for his rescu'd Andromeda,
Thou flew'st all Soul, all Love, to my Deliverance:
And this is thy Reward! Oh, where's your Justice,
Heav'n; when Virtue, that shou'd be the Charge of
God's, must thus neglected; thus untimely bleed;
And all that most deserv'd to live, must die.
But why do I live, ye Pow'rs!
Why gave ye us poor Lovers, one Soul,
And not one twisted Thread of life, to break and
Die together? No Venutius! The Gods are Partial.
I'll mend the work of Heav'n: But can Tears mend it?
Tears, the April-shower of Girls! No, I'll weep Blood!
Enter Nennius, with Soldiers.
Nen.
Cease Madam, cease; by your untimely fall,
You'll add to Royal Sorrow.
The unhappy Queen, with your much Mourning Sister,
Are i'th' Fort, by Roman Powr's immur'd; nothing
Remains but Death, or an Ignoble Flight, or Bondage.
Claud.
Death, Nennius; Death! Look here, then talk of Life;
Lead on, I'll show the way; and in my fall,
Be great as any Roman of 'em all.
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Bonv.
Where shall the wretched Off spring of Bonduca fly.
To escape those dismal Screams of Horror,
That fill the Britains Ears? Oh whetched Mother!
Unhappy Sister! More unhappy I!
Their Courage makes th'appoach of Death
Seem pleasing: But I have the true fearful
Soul of Woman; and wou'd not quit the World.
Julia, call Lucius, and bid him bring his Lute;
Fain wou'd I leave this dire consuming Melancholy.
Enter Lucius with a Lute.
Luc.
I'd have the Song you taught me last.
I fear, I do resemble now the Swan,
That Sings before its Death.
[Bonvica.]
Second SONG, by Miss Cross.
Oh! Lead me to some Peaceful Gloom,
Where none but sighing Lovers come.
Where the shrill Trumpets never sound,
But one Eternal Hush goes round.
There let me sooth my pleasing Pain,
And never think of War again.
What Glory can a Lover have,
To Conquer, yet be still a Slave?
After the Song, enter Messenger.
Mess.
Madam, the Queen expects you on the Walls;
Your Sister with you: the Roman Pow'rs
Are all come down with Fury 'gainst the Castle.
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Then, then farewel to this World.
I see, I see my Fate direct before me;
My Mothers Fury greater than the Romans,
Presents me Death in a thousand various forms.
Oh all ye Britain Powers! Oh great Andate,
Pity my Youth! Oh Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!
[Exit.
Appear Bonduca, Claudia, Nennius and Bonvica above.
Bond.
Now Claudia, now Bonvica, O my Children!
Is the time come to shew your constant Valours?
Think not, my Girls, we will be Slaves to Rome;
No, we will shew these Lords o'th' World, these Romans,
How they shou'd die with Honour: Hark!
They come, since we must fall, fall bravely.
Enter Suetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius and Soldiers.
Suet.
Bring up the Catapults, and shake the Walls;
We will not be out-brav'd thus.
Bond.
Shake the Earth;
You cannot shake our Souls: Bring up your Rams,
And with their Armed Heads make the Fort totter.
You do but rock us into Death.
Dec.
Yield Noble Queen.
Bond.
I'm unacquainted with that Language, Romans.
Suet.
Yield Honour'd Lady, and expect our Mercy;
We love thy Nobleness.
[Exit Decius.
Bond.
I thank ye, you say well,
But Mercy and Love, are sins in Rome and Hell.
Suet.
You cannot scape our Strength, you must
Yield, Lady, you must adore, and fear the Power of Rome.
Bond.
If Rome be Earthly, why shou'd any Knee
With Bending Adoration Worship her?
She's Vicious, and your partial selves confess,
Aspires the height of all Impiety;
Therefore 'tis fitter I shou'd Reverence
The Thatcht Houses where the Britains dwell
In careless Mirth; where the best Houshold Gods
See nought but chaste and simple Purity,
'Tis not high Pow'r that makes a place Divine;
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Make People Noble and the place Ador'd.
[Exit Decius.
Suet.
Beat the Wall deeper.
Bond.
Beat it to the Center,
We will not sink one Thought.
Bonv.
O Mother! These are fearful Hours: Speak gently
To these fierce Men, they will afford us pity.
Bond.
Pity thou fearful Girl? 'Tis for those Wretches
That Misery makes tame: Would'st thou live less?
Wast thou not Born a Princess? Can my Blood
And thy brave Father's Spirit, suffer in thee
So base a Separation from thy self,
As Mercy from these Tyrants?
Say they had Mercy.
The Devil! A Relenting Conscience!
The Lives of Kings rest in their Diadems,
Which to their Bodies, lively Souls do give,
And ceasing to be Kings, they cease to Live.
Enter Decius.
Decius.
There's a Breach made, is it your Will
We Charge, Sir?
Suet.
Once more Mercy, Mercy to all that yield.
Bond.
Hear me, mark me well, and look upon me
Directly in my Face, my Womans Face,
Whose only Beauty, is the hate it bears you.
See with thy narrowest Eyes, thy sharpest Wishes
Into my Soul, and see what there inhabits;
See if one fear, one shadow of a terrour,
One paleness dare appear, but from my Anger,
To lay hold on your Mercies. No, ye Fools,
Poor Fortune's Fools, we were not born for Triumphs
To follow your gay sports, and fill your Slaves
With Hoots and Acclamations.
Pet.
Brave Behaviour!
Claud.
The Children of as great as Rome; as Noble
Our Names before her, and her Deeds our Envy;
Must we gild o're your Conquest, make your State
That is not fairly strong but fortunate.
No, no, ye Romans, we have ways to scape you
To make you poor again, indeed our Prisoners,
And stick our Triumphs full.
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D'ye wonder we'll make our Monuments
In spight of Fortune, in spight of all
Your Eagles Wings? We'll work a pitch above ye.
Suet.
Decius, go Charge the Breach.
Bond.
Stick in thy Body, and make it good but half an hour.
Nenn.
I'll do't.
Claud.
And then be sure to Die.
Nenn.
It shall go hard else.
Bond.
Farewel, brave Nennius, we shall meet yonder,
Where few of those must come.
[Exit.
Bring up the Poison.
Bonv.
O my Fortune!
Bond.
Hah! What said you?
Bonv.
Good Mother, nothing to offend you.
Bond.
Here, Girl: behold us, Romans.
Suet.
Mercy yet.
Bond.
No Talking, come, short Prayers, and let's dispatch
The Business. You begin, shrink not.
I'll see you do't.
Bonv.
O Gentle Mother!
O Romans! O my Heart! I dare not.
Suet.
Woman! Woman! Unnatural Woman!
Bonv.
O! perswade her Romans: Alas I am Young,
And wou'd Live, Noble Mother. Can you kill
That you gave Life to? Are my Years
Fit for Destruction?
Suet.
Yield, and be a Queen still, a Mother and a Friend.
Bond.
Ye talk in vain, come Drink it.
Claud.
Fie, Sister, fie! What wou'd you live to be?
Bonv.
Mercy. O Mercy!
Suet.
Hear her, thou wretched Woman.
Bonv.
Mercy, Mother! O whither will ye send me?
I was once your Darling. Your Delight.
Bond.
O Gods! Fear in my Family? Do it, and Nobly.
Bonv.
O! Do not frown then.
Claud.
Do it, Worthy Sister.
'Tis nothing; 'tis but a Pleasure; we'll go with you.
Bonv.
O! If I knew but whither!
Claud.
To the Bless'd above, where we shall meet our Father,
Where nothing but true Joy is.
Bonv.
O! Comfort me still for Heavens sake.
Claud.
No Wars, no Lustful Slaves to Ravish us.
Bonv.
That steals me along; farewel to this World.
[Drinks.
48
That's my Good Girl.
Claud.
The next is mine.
Show me a Roman Lady in all your Stories
Dare do this for her Honour?
Bond.
Make haste.
Claud.
I will. Wou'd you learn how to Die bravely, Romans;
To fling off this Case of Flesh, lose all your Cares
For ever, hunt Honour and not Nations with your Sword:
Keep your Minds humble, your Devotions high,
So shall you learn the Noblest part, to Die.
[Dies.
Bond.
I come, my Noble Children, here,
Here's the Draught wou'd ask no less than Cæsar's self
To pledge it for the Glories sake.
Suet.
Madam, make up your own Conditions.
Bond.
So we will.
Suet.
Stay, be any thing.
Bond.
A Saint, Suetonius, when thou shalt fear and Die
Like a Slave; ye Fools, you shou'd have ty'd
Up Death first when ye Conquered.
You sweat for us in vain else, see him here,
He's ours still, and our Friend Laughs at your Pities;
And we command him with as easie Reins
As do our Enemies. I feel the Poison.
Poor Vanquisht Romans, with what matchless
Tortures cou'd I now Rack you, but I pity ye,
Desiring to Die quiet; nay, so much
I hate to prosecute my Victory,
That I will give you Counsel e're I Die,
If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole,
Place in your Romans Flesh, a British Soul.
[Dies.
Suet.
Desperate and Strange!
Give her fair Funeral, she was Noble, and a Queen.
Petilius haste, draw out three Companies,
And make up instantly to Caratach.
What means this Ceremony?
Pet.
The Body of Young Junius, that was
Slain in the last Battle.
Suet.
Go then Petilius, do as I commanded.
After due Ceremony done to th'Dead,
The Noble Dead, we'll follow you.
[Exeunt.
49
Cara.
Thus we Afflicted Britains climb for Safeties,
And to avoid our Dangers seek Destructions.
Thus we awake to Sorrows, O thou Woman!
Thou Agent for Adversities! What Curses
This Day belong to thy Improvidence?
To Britans, by thy means? What sad Millions
Of Widows weeping Eyes? The Strong Man's Valour
Thou hast betray'd to Fury; the Childs Fortune
To fear and want of Friends, whose Pieties
Might wipe his Mournings off, and build his Sorrows
A House of Rest by his Blest Ancestors
The Virgins thou hast robb'd of all their Wishes,
Blasted their blowing hopes, turn'd their Songs,
Their Mirthful Marriage Songs, to Funerals,
The Land thou hast left a Wilderness of Wretches.
The Boy begins to stir, thy safety made,
Wou'd my Soul were in Heaven.
Heng.
O Noble Uncle! Look out, I dreamt' we were betray'd.
Cara.
No harm Boy, 'tis but thy Emptiness, that breeds
These Fancies, thou sha't have Meat anon.
Hen.
A little, Uncle, and I shall hold out bravely.
Enter Macer and Soldiers with Meat and a Bottle.
Macer.
Hang it o'th' side o'th' Rock, as tho' the Britains
Stole hither to Relieve him: who first ventures
To fetch it off is ours; I cannot see him,
He lies close in a hole above, I know it,
Gnawing upon his Anger: Ha! No, 'tis not he.
1 Sol.
'Tis but the shaking of the Boughs.
Macer.
Plague shake 'em, I'm sure they shake me soundly.
There.
1 Sol.
'Tis nothing.
Macer.
Make no noise, if he stir, a deadly Tempest
Of huge Stones fall upon us: 'Tis done, close, close.
Cara.
Sleep still, sleep sweetly Child, 'tis all thou feed'st on;
No Gentle Britain near, no Valiant Charity
To bring thee Food; poor Knave thou art Sick,
Extream Sick, almost grown wild for Meat,
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All the Woods are double loin'd with Soldiers,
No way left us to make a Noble Escape;
I'll sit down by thee, and when thou wak'st,
Either get Meat to save thee, or lose my Life
I'th' Purchase: Good Gods comfort thee, Ha!
Courage my Boy, I have found Meat; look Hengo,
Where some Blessed Britain to preserve thee,
Has hung a little Food and Drink: Chear up Boy,
Do not forsake me now.
Heng.
O Uncle! Uncle! I feel I cannot stay long,
Yet I'll fetch it to keep your Noble Life.
Uncle I am heart-whole, and wou'd live.
Cara.
Thou sha't long, I hope.
Heng.
But my Head, Uncle!
Methinks the Rock goes round.
Don't you hear the noise of Bells?
Cara.
Of Bells Boy! 'Tis thy fancy,
Alas, thy Body's full of Wind.
Heng.
Methinks, Sir, they ring a strange sad Knell,
A Preparation to some near Funeral of State.
Nay, weep not, my own sweet Uncle,
You will kill me sooner.
Car.
O my poor Chicken!
Heng.
Fie, faint-hearted Uncle!
Come tie me in your Belt, and let me down.
Car.
I'll go my self, Boy.
Heng.
No, as you love me, Uncle.
I will not eat if I do not fetch it,
The danger only I desire, pray tie me.
Cara.
I will, and all my Care hang over thee;
Come Child, my Valiant Child.
Heng.
Let me down apace, Uncle,
And yon shall see how like a Daw I'll whip it
From all their Policies; for 'tis most certain
A Roman Train, and you must hold me sure too,
You'll spoil all else; when I have got it Uncle,
We'll be as merry—
Cara.
Go i'th' Name of Heaven, Boy.
Heng.
Quick, quick Uncle, I have it. Oh!
Cara.
What ail'st thou?
Heng.
O my best Uncle, I am slain!
Cara.
I see ye, and Heaven direct my Hand.
Destruction go with thy Coward Soul.
How do'st thou Boy? O Villain! Villain! Villain!
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O Uncle, Uncle! How it pricks me!
Am I preserv'd for this? Extreamly pricks me.
Cara.
Coward, Rascal, Coward, Dogs eat thy Flesh.
Heng.
O! I bleed hard, I faint too upon't.
How sick I am; the Lean Rogue, Uncle—
Cara.
Look Boy, I have laid him sure enough.
Heng.
Have ye knockt his Brains out?
Cara.
I warrant thee, from stirring more;
Chear up Child.
Heng.
Hold my Sides hard, stop, stop, O wretched Fortune!
Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, Uncle.
Cara.
Heaven look upon this Noble Child!
Heng.
I once hoped
I shou'd have liv'd to have met these bloody Romans
At my Swords point, to have Reveng'd my Father's,
To have beaten 'em. O hold me hard Uncle—
Cara.
Thou sha't live still I hope, Boy.
Heng.
I wou'd live a little longer;
Spare me Heavens, but only to thank you
For your tender Love. Good Uncle,
Good Noble Uncle weep not.
Cara.
O my Chicken! My Dear Boy! What shall I loose—
Hen.
Why a Child that must have Dy'd however,
Had this escaped me, Feaver, or Famine:
I was Born to Die, Sir.
Cara.
But thus unblown, my Boy.
Hen.
I shall go the streighter my Journey to the Gods:
Sure I shall know when you come, Uncle?
Cara.
Yes, Boy.
Heng.
And I hope we shall enjoy together
That Great Blessedness you told me of?
Cara.
Most certain, Child.
Heng.
I grow Cold, my Eyes are going.
Cara.
Lift 'em up.
Heng.
Pray for me, and, Noble Uncle, when my
Bones are Ashes, think of your little Nephew. Mercy.
Cara.
Mercy, you Blessed Angels take him.
Heng.
Kiss me, so farewel, farewel.
[Dies
Cara.
Farewel the Hopes of Britain,
Thou Royal Graft, farewel, farewel:
Time, and Death, you have done your worst.
Fortune, now see, now proudly pluck off this Veil
And view thy Triumph: Look, look
What thou hast brought this Land to;
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How sweetly, even Death embraces thee.
The Peace of Heav'n; the Fellowship of all
Great Souls be with thee.
Enter Suetonius, Petilius, with Roman Soldiers.
Suet.
Yield thee, bold Caratach; by all the Gods, I swear,
As I'm a Soldier, as I envy thee
I'll use thee like thy self, th'Valliant Britain.
Petil.
Brave Soldier, yield:
Thou Stock of Arms and Honour!
Thou filler of the World with Fame and Glory!
Suet.
Excellent Britain, do me but that honour;
That more to me than Conquest, that true happiness
To be my Friend.
Car.
O Romans! See what here is! had this Boy liv'd!—
Suet.
For Fame's sake, for thy Sword's sake;
As thou desir'st to build thy Virtues great!—
Car.
No Roman! No! I wear a British Soul:
A Soul too great for Slav'ry.—O my Boy!
My dear lov'd Hengo! From thy Heaven look down!
Behold the last of thy great Race is coming!
Suetonius, view this little Casket here,
By Roman Rapine Robb'd of all his Wealth.
A fair rich Soyl, that Precious Royal Gem,
By Fate's too Barbarous Hand, untimely snatcht!
These Tears I sacrifice to thee, my Boy!
But to my Queen, and my unhappy Country,
This richer Purple Stream, my Blood I give.
Suet.
O thou too envy'd Miracles of Worth!
What hast thou done? Was Rome, too poor a Mistress,
To Wed thee to her Arms? Not one Charm
In all her Courting Smiles, and Proffer'd Lawrels?
Car.
Rome, Sir, ah, no! She bids a Price too small,
To Bribe me into Life: my bleeding Country
Calls me to Nobler Wreaths; and in her Fall,
To mount a Star in Albion's long, long Night:
And when her Caratach dies in such a Cause,
A British Tomb, outshines a Roman Triumph.
Suet.
Prodigious Virtue!
Car.
Out-live my Country's Liberty!
Shall Caratach dare but to think that Thought!
Now Britain is all yours; but as my Blood,
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Lay this Young British Rose, Cropt in the Bud,
Close by my side; and since the World's your own,
Spare us but Earth enough to cover o'er
These small Remains, and I shall ask no more.
[Dies.
Suet.
Thou Hollow'd Relick! Thou Rich Diamond!
Cut with thy own Dust! Thou, for whose wide Fame,
The World appears too narrow all Man's thought,
Had they all Tongues too silent! Thus I bow
To thy most Honoured Ashes, tho' an Enemy,
Yet Friend to all thy Worths: Sleep peaceably.
Happiness Crown thy Soul, and in thy Earth
Some Lawrel fix his Seat; there grow and Flourish:
And make thy Grave an Everlasting Triumph
Farewel all Glorious Wars, now thou art gone.
All Noble Battels!
Maintain'd in Thirst of Honour, and not of Blood.
Farewel for ever. Now if you please,
Bear off the Noble Burden; build a Pile
High as Olimpus, that may make Heaven wonder,
To see a Star on Earth, outshine Theirs.
O ever Lov'd, and ever Living be,
Thy Honour'd, and most Sacred Memory!
| Bonduca : or, The British Heroine | |