University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE The PALACE.
Enter the King and Seofrid.
King.
No! I will follow the fond Chace no more;
No more pursue the flying Fantome, Glory;
But lay me down, and rest in sullen Peace;
Secure of all Events to come, and careless
If the Gods guide the World by Fate, or Fortune
Let 'em take back the worthless Crown they gave,
Since they refuse their better Blessings to me.

Seof.
If not to Glory, yet awake to Love:
And tho' regardless of your Royal State,
Yet live for Ethelinda, live to save her,
Doom'd by the cruel Rodogune to die.
Helpless and desolate methinks she stands,
And calls you to her Aid.

King.
What! doom'd to die!
Shall those dear glowing Beauties then grow cold,
Pale, stiff, and cold? nor shall I fold her once?
Shall she not pant beneath my strong Embrace,
Swell to Desire, and meet my furious Joy?
Shall she not breathe, and look, and sigh, and murmur,
'Till I am lost for ever, sunk in Extacies,
And bury'd in ten thousand thousand Sweets?
What! shall she die? No, by the God of Arms,
No—I will once more rouse me to the War,
And snatch her from her Fate.

Seof.
Then hear the Means
By which the Gods preserve your Crown and Love.
Oswald, of all our Saxon Chiefs the first,
And nearest to your Brother's Heart, had drawn
The chosen Strength of all the British Youth,
Under the leading of the gallant Lucius,
To save the Prince from your impending Wrath.
By secret Marches they are near advanc'd,
And meant this Night to make their bold Attempt.

King.
How favours this my Purpose?

Seof.
Thus, my Lord.
I have prevail'd their Force shall join with all
Those faithful Saxons who are still your Subjects.
Your Foes, fierce Offa and his haughty Sister,
Secure and insolent with new Success,
Despise your Numbers, and inferior Strength,
And may this Night with ease become your Prey.
Oswald attends without to learn your Pleasure,
And bear it to the valiant British Chiefs.

King.
The Britons! Gods!—the Nation which I hate.
That Oswald too!—The Traitor still has been
Avow'd the Slave of Aribert, his Creature,
His Bosom, fawning Parasite—No matter;
They serve the present Purpose of my Heart,
And I will use 'em now. Taught by thy Arts,
I will look kindly on the Wretch I loath,
And smile on him I destine to Destruction.
Bid him approach.

[Exit Seofrid, and Re-enter with Oswald.
Seof.
The Valiant Oswald, Sir.

King.
Your Friend has spoke at large your bold Design,
Worthy your Courage, and your Princely Friend.
And howsoe'er the medling Hand of Chance
Has sown th'unlucky Seeds of Strife between us,
Yet I have still a Brother's Part in Aribert.
Nor shall my Hand be slow to lead you on,
'Till we have driv'n these haughty Inmates forth,
And independent fix'd that Sov'reign Right,
Which our brave Fathers fought to gain in Britain.

Osw.
With honourable Purpose are we come,
With friendly Greeting from the Britons King,
And the fair Offer of an equal Peace.
This only he demands; send back the Troops
Which late arriv'd with Offa, now your Foe
As well as his; and set your Princely Brother,
With the Fair Ethelinda, safe and free.
These just Conditions once confirm'd to Lucius,
Ambrosius is the Friend of Royal Hengist.
The Britons then shall join their Arms with yours,
To drive out these unhospitable Guests,
And leave you peaceful Lord of fruitful Kent,
The first Possession of your warlike Father.

King.
In friendly Part, take we his proffer'd Love.
Bear this our Signet to the gallant Lucius,
[Giving his Ring to Oswald.
Our Bond and Pledge of Peace, which in full Form
We will confirm, soon as the present Danger
Is well remov'd, and better time allows.
Haste thou to join our valiant Friends, the Britons;
My faithful Seofrid shall soon attend you,
With full Instructions for your private March,
And means of Entrance here; with the whole Order
In which we mean t'attack the common Foe.

Osw.
I go, my Lord, and may the Gods befriend us.

[Exit.
[The King looks after Oswald, then turns and walks two or three times hastily cross the Stage.
Seof.
Ha! whence this sudden Start! [Aside.]
That wrathful Frown,
Your Eyes fierce glancing, and your changing Visage,
Now pale as Death, now purpled o'er with Flame,
Give me to know your Passions are at odds,
And your whole Soul is up in Arms within.

King.
Oh thou hast read aright, hast seen me well;
To thee I have thrown off that Mask I wore;
And now the secret workings of my Brain,
Stand all reveal'd to thee. I tell thee, Seofrid,
There never was a Medley of such thinking.
Ambition, Hatred, Mischief and Revenge,
Gather like Clouds on Clouds; and then anon,
Love, like a golden Beam of Light, shoots thro',
Smiles on the Gloom, and my Heart bounds with pleasure.
But 'tis no time for Talk. To Siwald fly,
My Soldier and my Servant, often try'd;
Bid him draw out a hundred chosen Horse,
And hold 'em ready by the Night's first Fall.
Let 'em be all of Courage, well approv'd;
Such as dare follow wheresoe'er I lead,
Where-e'er, this Night, or Fate, or Love shall bear me.

Seof.
I hasten to obey you. But alas!
Might your old Man have leave to speak his Fears—

King.
I read thy Care for me in all those Fears;
But be not wise too much. Oft thou hast told me
Love is a base, unmanly, whining Passion.
This Night I mean to prove it, and forsake it.
I was, 'tis true, the Slave of this soft Folly,
And waited at an awful, abject Distance,
Restrain'd by idle Rules, which scornful Beauty
And sullen Honour dictate; but no more,
No! by our Gods, I'll suffer it no more.

Seof.
Where will this Fury drive you?

King.
To my Heav'n,
To Ethelinda's Arms. This very Evening,
While the deluded Britons urge our Foes,
And wreak my Vengeance on the Saxon Offa,
Amidst the first Disorder of the Fray,
'Twill not be hard to seize the weeping Fair;
And, while the fighting Fools contend in vain,
With all the Wings the God of Love can lend,
To bear her far away.

Seof.
Ha!—whither mean you
To bend this rash (I fear) this fatal Flight?

King.
Near where the Medway rolls her gentle Waves,
To meet the Thames in his Imperial Stream,
Thou know'st I have a Castle of such Strength,
As well may scorn the Menace of a Siege.
Thither I mean to bear my lovely Prize,
And, in Despight of all the envious World,
There riot in her Arms. But break we off.
Haste to perform my Orders, and then follow,
And share in all the Fortunes of thy King.
[Exit King.

Manet Seofrid.
Seof.
Fools that we are! to vex the lab'ring Brain,
And waste decaying Nature thus with Thought;
To keep the weary Spirits waking still;
To goad and drive 'em in eternal Rounds
Of restless wracking Care; 'tis all in vain.
Blind Goddess Chance! henceforth I follow thee.
The Politicians of the World may talk,
May make a mighty Bustle with their Foresight,
Their Schemes and Arts; their Wisdom is thy Slave.
[Exit Seofrid

SCENE changes to the Temple.
Enter Aribert and Ethelinda.
Ethel.
When this, the last of all our Days of Sorrow,
Flies fast, and hastens to fulfil its Course;
When the blest Hour of Death at length is near,
Why dost thou mourn? when that good time is come,
When we shall weep no more, but live for ever
In that dear Place, where no Misfortunes come;
Where Age, and Want, and Sickness are not known,
And where this wicked World shall cease from troubling;
When thick descending Angels croud the Air,
And wait with Crowns of Glory to reward us;
Why art thou sad, my Love, my Lord, my Aribert?

Ari.
It comes, indeed, the cruel Moment comes,
That must divide our faithful Loves for ever.
A few short Minutes more, and both shall perish,
Sink to the Place where all things are forgotten.
Our Youth and fair Affections shall be barren;
Shall know no Joys, which other Lovers know.
Shall leave no Name behind us, no Posterity,
Only the sad Remembrance of our Woes,
To draw a Tear from each who reads our Story.
And dost thou ask me wherefore I am sad?

Ethel.
'Tis hard indeed, 'tis very hard to part.
Tho' my Heart grieves to want its Heav'n so long,
Pants for its Bliss, and sickens with Delay;
Yet I could be content to live for thee.
Yes, I will own thy Image stands before me,
And intercepts my Journey to the Stars,
Calls back the fervent Breathings of my Soul
To Earth and thee, with longing Looks I turn,
Forget my Flight, and linger here below.

Ari.
Is it decreed, by Heav'ns Eternall Will,
That none shall pass the golden Gates above;
But those who sorrow here? Must we be wretched?
Must we be drown'd in many Floods of Tears,
To wash our deep, our inborn Stains away,
Or never see the Saints, and taste their Joys?

Ethel.
The great o'er-ruling Author of our Beings,
Deals with his Creature Man in various Ways,
Gracious and good in all; some feel the Rod,
And own, like us, the Father's chast'ning Hand.
Sev'n times, like Gold, they pass the purging Flame,
And are at last refin'd; while gently some
Tread all the Paths of Life without a Rub,
With Honour, Health, with Friends and Plenty bless'd,
Their Years roul round in Innocence and Ease.
Hoary at length, and in a good old Age,
They go declining to the Grave in Peace,
And change their Pleasures here for Joys above.

Ari.
To have so many Blessings heap'd upon me,
Transcends my Wish. I ask'd but only thee.
Give me, I said, but Life and Ethelinda;
Let us but run the common Course together,
Grow kindly old in one another's Arms,
And take us to thy Mercy, then good Heav'n.
But Heav'n thought that too much.

Ethel.
If our dear Hopes,
If what we value most on Earth, our Loves,
Are blasted thus by Death's untimely Hand;
If nothing good remains for us below,
So much the rather let us turn our Thoughts,
To seek beyond the Stars our better Portion;
That wond'rous Bliss which Heav'n reserves in store,
Well to reward us for our Losses here;
That Bliss which Heav'n, and only Heav'n can give,
Which shall be more to thee than Ethelinda,
And more to me—Oh vast Excess of Happiness!
Where shall my Soul make Room for more than Aribert!

Enter Rodogune and Attendants.
Rodo.
If, while she lives, still I am doom'd to suffer,
Why am I cruel to my self?—No more—
'Tis foolish Pity—How secure of Conquest
The soft Enchantress looks! but be at Peace;
Beat not, my Heart, for she shall fall thy Victim.
Appear, ye Priests, ye dreadful Holy Men;
Ye Ministers of the Gods Wrath and mine,
Appear, and seize your Sacrifice, this Christian.
Bear her to Death, and let her Blood atone
For all the Mischiefs of her Eyes and Tongue.

The SCENE draws, and discovers the inner Part of the Temple. A Fire is prepar'd on one of the Altars; near it are plac'd a Rack, Knives, Axes, and other Instruments of Torture; several Priests attending as for a Sacrifice.
Ari.
See where Death comes, array'd in all its Terrors;
The Rack, consuming Flames, and wounding Steel.
Your cruel Triumph had not been compleat,
Without this Pomp of Horror. Come, begin;
Tear off my Robes, and bind me to the Rack;
Stretch out my corded Sinews 'till they burst,
And let your Knives drink deep the flowing Blood.
You shall behold how a Prince ought to die,
And what a Christian dares to suffer.

[The Guards seize Aribert and Ethelinda.
Offic.
Hold!—
The Prince's Fate is yet deferr'd: The Woman
Is first ordain'd to suffer.—E'er she fall
A Victim to our Gods, she must kneel to 'em,
Or prove the Torture.

Ethel.
I disdain those Gods.

Offic.
Bind her strait, and bear her to the Rack.

Ari.
What her!—Oh merciless!—

Ethel.
Oh, stay me not, my Love! with Joy I go,
To prove the bitter Pains of Death before thee,
And lead thee on in the triumphant Way.

Ari.
And can my Eyes endure it! to behold
Thy tender Body torn? these dear, soft Arms,
That oft have wreath'd their snowy Folds about me,
Distorted, bent, and broke with rending Pain?
Oh Rodogune! read, read in my full Eyes,
More than my Tongue can speak, and spare my Love.—

Rodo.
And couldst thou find no other Name but that?
Thy Love!—oh fatal, curst, distracting Sound!
No, I will steel my Heart against thy Pray'r,
And whisper to my self with sullen Pleasure,
The Gods are just at length, and thou shalt feel
Pains, such as I have known.

Ari.
Let me but die,
Cut off this hated Object from your Sight.—

Rodo.
Nor that—for know that I can too deny,
And make thee mourn my Coldness and Disdain.
No more! I'll hear no more.

Ari.
They bind her! see!
See with rude Cords they strain her tender Limbs,
'Till the red Drops start from their swelling Channels,
And with fresh Crimson paint her dying Paleness.
Oh all ye host of Heav'n! ye Saints and Angels!

Ethel.
Oh stay thy Tears, and mourn no more for me,
Nor fear the Weakness of my Woman's Soul,
For I am arm'd, and equal to the Combat.
In vain they lavish all their cruel Arts,
And bind this feeble Body here in vain;
The free, impassive Soul mounts on the Wing,
Beyond the reach of Racks, and tort'ring Flames,
And scorns their Tyranny—Oh follow thou!
Be constant to the last, be fix'd, my Aribert.
'Tis but a short, short Passage to the Stars.
Oh follow thou! Nor let me want thee long,
And search the blissful Regions round in vain.

Enter an Officer.
Offic.
Arm, Royal Maid, and take to your Defence.
The King with sudden Fury sallies forth,
And drives our outmost Guards with foul Confusion.

Rodo.
The King! What Phrensie brings the Madman on
Thus headlong to his Fate?—But let him come,
His Death shall fill my Triumph—Wealth and Honours,
The noblest, best Reward, shall wait the Man,
Whose lucky Sword shall take his hated Head.

[Enter a second Officer, his Sword drawn.
Second Offic.
Hengist is here; he bears down all before him:
The Britons too have join'd their Arms to his,
And this way bend their Force.

Rodo.
Fly to my Brother,
[To her Attendants.
And call him to our Aid.

[Shout within, and clashing of Swords.
King
within.]
Slave, give me way,
Or I will tear thy Soul.—

Sold.
within.]
You pass not here.

Seof.
within.]
What, know'st thou not the King?—oh cursed Villain!

Enter the King wounded, Seofrid, Oswald and Soldiers, with their Swords drawn. Oswald runs to Aribert.
Seof.
Perdition on his Hand—you bleed, my Lord!

King.
My Blood flows fast—What, can I languish now!
So near my Wish!—Lend me thy Arm, old Seofrid,
To bear me to her—Ha! bound to the Rack!
Merciless Dogs—ye most pernicious Slaves!
And stand ye stupid, haggard and amaz'd!
Fly swift as Thought, and set her free this Moment,
Or by my injur'd Love, a Name more sacred
Than all your Function knows, your Gods and you,
Your Temples, Altars, and your painted Shrines,
Your holy Trumpery shall blaze together.

[They unbind Ethelinda.
Rodo.
'Tis vain to rave and curse my Fortune now.
Thou native Greatness of my Soul befriend me,
And help me now to bear it as I ought.

King.
The feeble Lamp of Life shall lend its Blaze,
To light me—thus far—only—and no further.
[Falling at Ethelinda's Feet.
Yet I look up, and gaze on those bright Eyes,
As if I hop'd to gather Heat from thence,
Such as might feed the vital Flame for ever.

Ethel.
Alas! you faint! your hasty Breath comes short,
And the red Stream runs gushing from your Breast.
Call back your Thoughts from each deluding Passion,
And wing your parting Soul for her last Flight;
Call back your Thoughts to all your former Days,
To ev'ry unrepented Act of Evil;
And sadly deprecate the Wrath Divine.

King.
Oh! my fair Teacher, you advise in vain:
The Gods and I have done with one another.
This Night I meant to rival them in Happiness.
Spight of my Brother, and thy cruel Coldness,
This Night I meant t'have past within thy Arms.

Ethel.
Oh! Horror!

King.
But 'tis gone: Those envious Gods
Have done their worst, and blasted all my Hopes,
They have despoil'd me of my Crown and Life,
By a Slaves Hand—but I forgive 'em that.
Thee—they have robb'd me of my Joys in thee—
Have trod me down to wither in the Grave.—

Seof.
My Master, and my King!

King.
Old Man, no more:
I have not leisure for thy Grief—Farewel—
Thou, Aribert—shalt live, and wear my Grown—
Take it, and be as curst with it as I was.
But Ethelinda, she too shall be thine:
That—that's too much. This World has nothing in it
So good to give—the next may have—I know not—

[The King dies.
Ari.
There fled the fierce, untam'd, disdainful Soul.
Turn thee from Death, and rise, my gentle Love;
A Day of Comfort seems to dawn upon us,
And Heav'n at length is gracious to our Wishes.

Ethel.
So numberless have been my daily Fears,
And such the Terrors of my sleepless Nights,
That still, methinks, I doubt th'uncertain Happiness:
Tho' at the Musick of thy Voice, I own,
My Soul is husht, it sinks into a Calm,
And takes sure Omen of its Peace from thee.

Osw.
To end your Doubts, your Brother, the brave Lucius,
[To Ethelinda.
Will soon be here: Ev'n now he sends me Word,
Fierce Offa and his Saxons fly before him;
The conqu'ring Britons fence you round from Danger,
And Peace and Safety wait upon your Loves.

Ari.
Nor you, fair Princess, frown upon our Happiness:
Still shall my grateful Heart retain your Goodness
And still be mindful of the Life you gave.
Nor must you think your self a Pris'ner here:
Whene'er you shall appoint, a Guard attends,
To wait you to your Brother's Camp with Honour.

Rodo.
Yes, I will go; fly, far as Earth can bear me,
From thee, and from the Face of Man for ever.
Curst be your Sex, the Cause of all our Sorrows;
Curst be your Looks, your Tongues, and your false Arts,
That cheat our Eyes, and wound our easie Hearts;
Curst may you be for all the Pains you give,
And for the scanty Pleasures we receive;
Curst be your brutal Pow'r, your tyrant Sway,
By which you bend, and force us to obey.
Oh Nature! partial Goddess, let thy Hand
Be just for once, and equal the Command;
Let Woman once be Mistress in her turn,
Subdue Mankind beneath her haughty Scorn,
And smile to see the proud Oppressor mourn.
Exit Rodo.

Osw.
The Winds shall scatter all those idle Curses
Far, far away from you, while ev'ry Blessing
Attends to Crown you. From your happy Nuptials,
From Royal Aribert, of Saxon Race,
Join'd to the Fairest of the British Dames,
Methinks I read the Peoples future Happiness;
And Britain takes its Pledge of Peace from you.

Ethel.
Nor are those pious Hopes of Peace in vain;
Since I have often heard a holy Sage,
A venerable, old, and Saint-like Hermit,
With Visions often blest, and oft in Thought
Rapt to the highest, brightest Seats above,
Thus, with Divine, Prophetick Knowledge fill'd,
Disclose the Wonders of the Times to come.
Of Royal Race a British Queen shall rise,
Great, Gracious, Pious, Fortunate and Wise;
To distant Lands she shall extend her Fame,
And leave to latter Times a mighty Name:
Tyrants shall fall, and faithless Kings shall bleed,
And groaning Nations by her Arms be freed.
But chief this happy Land her Care shall prove,
And find from her a more than Mother's Love.
From Hostile Rage she shall preserve it free,
Safe in the Compass of her ambient Sea:
Tho' fam'd her Arms in many a cruel Fight,
Yet most in peaceful Arts she shall delight,
And her chief Glory shall be to Unite.
Picts, Saxons, Angles, shall no more be known,
But Briton be the Noble Name alone.
With Joy their antient Hate they shall forego,
While Discord hides her baleful Head below:
Mercy, and Truth, and Right she shall maintain,
And ev'ry Virtue croud to grace her Reign:
Auspicious Heav'n on all her Days shall smile,
And with Eternal Union bless her British Isle.

[Exeunt.