 | The Royal Convert |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE, A PALACE.Enter Aribert and Oswald.
Ari.
Such are, my Friend, the Joys our Loves have known,
So still to be desir'd, so ever new,
Nor by Fruition pall'd, nor chang'd by Absence.
Whate'er the Poets dreamt of their Elysium,
Or what the Saints believe of the first Paradise,
When Nature was not yet deform'd by Winter,
But one perpetual Beauty crown'd the Year,
Such have we found 'em still, still, still the same.
Osw.
Such grant, kind Heav'n, their Course to be for ever;
But yet, my Prince, forgive your faithful Oswald,
If he believes you melt with too much Tenderness;
Your noble Heart forgets its native Greatness,
And sinks in Softness, when you languish thus;
Thus sigh and murmur but for six Days Absence.
Ari.
Chide not; but think if e'er, when thou wert young,
Thou lovd'st thy self, how thou wert wont to judge
Of Time, of Love, of Absence and Impatience.
What! six long Days and never write nor send,
Tho' Adelmar and Kenwald, faithful both,
Were left behind, to bring me Tidings from her:
How, Ethelinda! how hast thou forgot me!
2
Perhaps I err; but if the Pain be such,
Why is the Fair One, who alone can ease it,
Thus far divided from your longing Arms?
'Twere better ne'er to part, than thus to mourn.
Ari.
Oh Oswald! is there not a fatal Cause?
Thou know'st my Ethelinda—
Osw.
Is a Christian;
A Name by Saxons, and their Gods abhorr'd.
To me her differing Faith imports not much;
'Tis true indeed, bred to my Country's Manners,
I worship as my Fathers did before me.
Unpractis'd in Disputes, and wrangling Schools,
I seek no further Knowledge, and so keep
My Mind at Peace, nor know the Pain of doubting;
What others think I judge not of too nicely,
But hold, all honest Men are in the right.
Ari.
Then know yet more; for my whole Breast is thine,
Ev'n all my secret Soul: I am a Christian.
'Tis wonderful to tell; for oh, my Oswald,
I listen'd to the Charmer of my Heart;
Still, as the Night that fled away, I sate,
I heard her with an Eloquence divine,
Reason of holy and mysterious Truths;
Of Heav'ns most righteous Doom, of Man's Injustice;
Of Laws to curb the Will, and bind the Passions;
Of Life, of Death, and Immortality;
Of gnashing Fiends beneath, and Pains Eternal;
Of starry Thrones, and endless Joys above.
My very Soul was aw'd, was shook within me;
Methought I heard distinct, I saw most plain,
Some Angel, in my Ethelinda's Form,
Point out my Way to everlasting Happiness.
Osw.
'Tis wonderful indeed; and yet great Souls,
By Nature half divine, soar to the Stars,
And hold a near Acquaintance with the Gods.
And oh, my Prince, when I survey thy Virtue,
I own the Seal of Heav'n imprinted on thee;
I stand convinc'd that good and holy Powers
Inspire and take Delight to dwell within thee.
Yet Crowds will still believe, and Priests will teach,
As wand'ring Fancy, and as Int'rest leads.
How will the King and our fierce Saxon Chiefs
3
Thy Father, liv'd!—
Ari.
'Tis on that Rock we perish;
Thou bring'st his dreadful Image to my Thoughts,
And now he stands before me, stormy, fierce,
Imperious, unrelenting, and to Death
Tenacious of his Purpose once resolv'd.
Just such he seems, as when severe and frowning
He forc'd the King, my Brother, and my self,
To kneel and swear at Woden's cruel Altar,
First, never to forgo our Country's Gods;
Then made us vow with deepest Imprecations,
If it were eithers Fortune e'er to Wed,
Never to chuse a Wife among the Christians.
Osw.
Have you not fail'd in both?
Ari.
'Tis true, I have;
But for a Cause so just, so worthy of me,
That not t'have fail'd in both, had been t'have fail'd.
Yes, Oswald, by the conscious Judge within,
So do I stand acquitted to my self,
That were my Ethelinda free from Danger,
On Peril of my Life, I would make known,
And to the World avow my Love and Faith.
Osw.
I dare not, nay 'tis sure I cannot blame you;
You are the secret Worship of my Soul,
To me so perfect, that you cannot err.
But oh! my Prince, let me conjure you now,
By that most faithful Service I've still paid you,
By Love, and by the gentle Ethelinda,
Be cautious of your Danger, rest in Silence.
In holy Matters, Zeal may be your Guide,
And lift you on her flaming Wings to Heav'n;
But here on Earth trust Reason, and be safe.
Ari.
'Tis true, the present angry Face of Things
Bespeaks our coolest Thoughts: The British King,
Ambrosius arms, and calls us forth to Battel,
Demanding back the fruitful Fields of Kent,
By Vortigern to Royal Hengist giv'n;
A mean Reward for all those Saxon Lives
Were lost, in propping Britain's sinking State.
Osw.
The War with Britain is a distant Danger,
Nor to be weigh'd with our domestick Fears.
4
Who at the King's Entreaty friendly came
From Northern Jutland, and the Banks of Elbe,
With twice ten thousand Warriors to his Aid,
Frowns on our Court, complains aloud of Wrongs,
And wears a publick Face of Discontent.
Ari.
'Tis said he is offended, that the King
Delays to wed his Sister.
Osw.
'Twas agreed,
'Twas made the first Condition of their Friendship,
And sworn with all the Pomp of Priests and Altars,
That beauteous Rodogune shou'd be our Queen:
Then wherefore this Delay? The Time was fix'd,
The Feast was bid, and Mirth proclaim'd to all;
The Croud grew jovial with the Hopes of Holy-Days,
And each, according to our Country's Manner,
Provok'd his Fellow with a friendly Bowl,
And bless'd the Royal Pair; when on the Morn,
The very Morn that should have join'd their Hands,
The King forbad the Rites.
Ari.
Two Days are past,
Nor has my Brother yet disclos'd the Cause.
Last Night, at parting from him, he stopp'd short,
Then catch'd my Hand, and with a troubl'd Accent,
With Words that spoke like secret Shame and Sorrow,
He told me he had something to impart,
And wish'd that I wou'd wait him in the Morning.
Osw.
But see, Prince Offa and his beauteous Sister:
The King's most favour'd Counsellor, old Seofride,
Is with 'em too.
Ari.
Retire; I would not meet 'em.
That Princess, Oswald, is esteem'd a Wonder.
To me she seems most fair; and yet, methinks,
Dost thou not mark? there is I know not what.
Of sullen and severe, of fierce and haughty,
That pleases not, but awes; I gaze astonish'd,
And Fear prevents Desire—So Men tremble,
When Light'ning shoots in glittering Trails along:
It shines, 'tis true, and gilds the gloomy Night,
But where it strikes 'tis fatal.
[Exeunt Aribert and Oswald.
5
Offa.
By Woden, no! I will not think he meant it;
Revenge had else been swift.—So high I hold
The Honour of a Soldier and a King,
I wo'not think your Master mean't to wrong me.
Let him beware however!—jealous Friendship,
And Beauty's tender Fame, can brook no Slights.
What in a Foe I pardon or despise,
Is deadly from a Friend, and so to be repaid.
Seof.
Whatever Fame or antient Story tells,
Of Brother's Love, or celebrated Friends,
Whose Faith, in Perils oft, and oft in Death,
Severely had been try'd, and never broke,
Such is the Truth, and such the grateful Mind
Of Royal Hengist to the Princely Offa.
Nor you, fair Princess, frown, if Wars and Troubles,
[To Rodogune.
If watchful Councils, and if Cares, which wait
On Kings, the Nursing-Fathers of their People,
With-hold a while the Monarch from your Arms.
Rodo.
When fierce Ambrosius leads the Britains forth,
Thunders in Arms, and shakes the dusty Field,
It suits thy wary Master's Caution well
To sit with dreaming hoary Heads at Council,
And waste the Midnight Taper in Debates.
But let him still be wise, consult his Safety,
And trouble me no more. Does he send thee
With Tales of dull Respect, and faint Excuses?
Tell him he might have spar'd the formal Message,
'Till some kind Friend had told him how I languish'd,
How like a Turtle I bemoan'd his Absence.
Seof.
Pardon, fair Excellence, if falt'ring Age
Prophanes the Passion I was bid to paint,
And drops the Tale imperfect from my Tongue.
But Lovers best can plead their Cause themselves;
And see, your Slave, the King, my Master, comes,
To move your gentle Heart with faithful Vows,
And pay his humble Homage at your Feet.
Enter the King, Guards, and other Attendants.
King.
But that I trust not to that Babler, Fame,
Who, careless of the Majesty of Kings,
Scatters lewd Lies among the Croud, and wins
6
I should have much to charge you with, my Brother:
I stand accus'd—
Offa.
How, Sir?
King.
So speaks Report,
As wanting to my Honour, and my Friend;
By you I stand accus'd.
Offa.
Now by our Friendship,
If that be yet an Oath, resolve me, Hengist,
Whence are these Doubts between us, whence this Coldness?
Say thou, who know'st, what sudden secret Thought
Has stept between, and dash'd the publick Joy.
Thou call'st me Brother; wherefore wait the Priests,
And suffer Hymen's holy Fires to languish?
What hinders but that now the Rites begin,
That now we lose all Thoughts of past Displeasure,
And in the Temple tie the sacred Knot
Of Love and Friendship, to endure for ever?
King.
What hinders it indeed, but that which makes
This medly War within? but that which causes
This Sickness of the Soul, and weighs her down
With more than mortal Cares?
Offa.
What shall I call
This secret gloomy Grief, that hides its Head,
And loves to lurk in Shades? Have royal Minds
Such Thoughts as shun the Day?
King.
Urge me no farther,
But, like a Friend, be willing not to know
What to reveal would give thy Friend a Pain.
Be still the Partner of my Heart, and share
In Arms and Glory with me; but oh! leave,
Leave me alone to struggle thro' one Thought,
One secret anxious Pang that jars within me,
That makes me act a Madman's Part before thee,
And talk Confusion—if thou art my Friend,
Thou hast heard me, and be satisfy'd—if not,
I have too much descended from my self
To make the mean Request—but rest we here.
To you, fair Princess—
Rodo.
No!—there needs no more;
For I would spare thee the unready Tale.
Know, faithless King, I give thee back thy Vows,
7
Since if our Gods behold thee with my Eyes,
Their Thunder shall be kept for nobler Vengeance,
And what they scorn, like me they shall forgive.
King.
When Anger lightens in the Fair One's Eyes,
Lowly we bow, as to offended Heav'n,
With blind Obedience, and submissive Worship;
Nor with too curious Boldness rashly reason
Of what is just or unjust, such high Pow'r
Is to its self a Rule, and cannot err.
Yet this may be permitted me to speak,
Howe'er the present Circumstance reproach me,
Yet still my Heart avows your Beauty's Pow'r,
My Eyes confess you Fair.—
Rodo.
Whate'er I am
Is of my self, by native Worth existing,
Secure, and independent of thy Praise;
Nor let it seem too proud a Boast, if Minds
By Nature great, are conscious of their Greatness,
And hold it mean to borrow ought from Flattery.
King.
You are offended, Lady.
Rodo.
Hengist, no.
Perhaps thou think'st this generous Indignation,
That blushing burns upon my glowing Cheek,
And sparkles in my Eyes, a Woman's Weakness,
The Malice of a poor forsaken Maid,
Who rails at faithless Man—Mistaken Monarch—
For know e'en from the first my Soul disdain'd thee;
Nor am I left by thee, but thou by me.
So was thy Falshood to my Will subservient,
And by my Purpose bound; thus Man, tho' limited
By Fate, may vainly think his Actions free,
While all he does, was at his Hour of Birth,
Or by his Gods, or potent Stars ordain'd.
Offa.
No more, my Sister: Let the Gown-men talk,
And mark out Right and Wrong in noisie Courts;
While the Brave find a nearer way to Justice,
They hold themselves the Balance and the Sword,
And suffer Wrong from none. 'Tis much beneath me,
To ask again the Debt you owe to Honour;
So that be satisfy'd we still are Friends,
And Brothers of the War. But mark me, Hengist,
8
Pass unregarded as the former two,
Soon as to Morrow Dawns, expect me.—
King.
Where?
Offa.
Arm'd in the Field.
Seof.
Beseech you, Sir, be calm,
[To the King.
The Valiant Prince.—
Offa.
Tho' I could wish it otherwise.
And since the Honour of the Saxon Name,
And Empire here in Britain, rests upon thee,
Believe me I would still be found thy Friend.
[Exeunt Offa, Rodogune, and Attendants.
King.
No, I renounce that Friendship; perish too,
Perish that Name and Empire both for ever;
What are the Kingdoms of the peopled Earth,
What are their Purple, and their Crowns to me,
If I am curst within, and want that Peace
Which every Slave enjoys?
Seof.
My Royal Master,
It Racks my aged Heart to see you thus;
But oh! what Aid, what Counsel can I bring you,
When all yon Eastern Down, ev'n to the Surge
That bellowing beats on Douer's Chalky Cliff,
With crested Helmets thick embattel'd shines;
With these your Friends, what are you but the greatest?
With these your Foes—Oh! let me lose that Thought,
And rather think I see you Britain's King;
Ambrosius vanquish'd, and the farthest Picts
Submitted to your Sway, tho' the same Scene
Discover'd to my, View the haughty Rodogune
Plac'd on your Throne, and Partner of your Bed.
King.
What, should I barter Beauty for Ambition,
Forsake my Heav'n of Love to reign in Hell?
Take a Domestick Fury to my Breast,
And never know one Hour of Peace again?
Statesman thou reason'st ill. By mighty Thor,
Who wields the Thunder, I will rather chuse
To meet their Fury. Let 'em come together,
Young Offa and Ambrosius. Tho' my Date
Of mortal Life be short it shall be glorious,
Each Minute shall be rich in some great Action,
To speak the King, the Heroe, and the Lover.
9
The Heroe and the King are glorious Names;
But oh! my Master, wherefore is the Lover?
In Honour's Name remember what you are,
Break from the Bondage of this feeble Passion,
And urge your way to Glory: Leave with Scorn
Unmanly Pleasures to unmanly Minds,
And thro' the rough, the thorny Paths of Danger,
Aspire to Virtue, and immortal Greatness.
King.
Hence with thy hungry, dull, untimely Morals,
The fond deluding Sophistry of Schools.
Who would be great, but to be happy too?
And yet such Ideots are we, to exchange
Our Peace and Pleasure for the Trifle Glory;
What is the Monarch, mighty, rich and great?
What? but the common Victim of the State:
Born to grow old in Cares, to waste his Blood,
And still be wretched for the publick Good.
So by the Priests the noblest of the Kind
Is, to attone the angry Gods, design'd;
And while the meaner sort from Death are freed,
The mighty Bull, that wont the Herd to lead,
Is doom'd for fatal Excellence to bleed.
[Exeunt.
End of the First Act.
| The Royal Convert | |