University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Second.

Scipio, Lelius.
Lel.
Methinks, my Lord, this Lethargy of Love
Has crept through all the Camp, th'Infection sits
On ev'ry Brow; the Warriour minds no more
The grateful Clangor of the Martial Trumpet;
Glories no longer in his well-try'd Arms,
Or burnish'd Helmet; but in wanton Mood
Sits down, and revels on the Eyes of Women:
[A Sound of Musical Instruments.
Hark, their loud Mirth.

Scip.
Enter Trebellius, with Alucius Prisoner.

Tre.
This rash Spaniard thus
Disguis'd in Roman Habit, with Design
T'attempt some dang'rous Enterprize, found means
Of Entrance to our Camp; but as returning,
Examin'd by Chrysantus Captain of the Guard,
And being stopp'd his Passage, he refus'd
An Answer, but that Instant drew his Sword,
And offer'd at Chrysantus, who when stabb'd
Alarm'd the Soldiers with his dying Groans,
By whom this Pris'ner was pursu'd and ta'en.

Scip.
What urg'd thee, Spaniard, to so rash a Deed,
So base to us, so dang'rous to thy self?
Speak, by Confession mitigate thy Crime.

Alu.
'Twas Rashness, I confess; but where's the Guilt,
The Baseness, to commit an hostile Act
Upon a Foe, and such is Rome to Spain?
'Tis true, you are successful, and your Arms
Fam'd for a Conquest purchas'd by Surprize:
Yet, would our Country but again assume
Its pristine Valour, and inspire her Sons
With the Immortal Sound of Liberty,
List the firm Patriots in the Godlike Cause,
Your now victorious Bands in Death should feel
How much we dare, and can to set her free.

Scip.
So haughty and so proud, so brave in Bonds?

Alu.
A gen'rous Soul can never be subdu'd,
You may confine the Body in a Dungeon,
With Iron Fetters manacle each Limb,
But yet his Soul dares, is, and will be free,
And scorn his Victor, though he feel his Chains.

Scip.
Presumptuous Youth, cease thy ill-manner'd Boasts,
This Carriage suits not with thy present State;
If thou can'st hope for Mercy, plainly tell
What Motive brought thee here, and who thou art.

Alu.
Make thy Demands elsewhere, my busie Soul,
In weightier Tasks employ'd, disdains to hold
A Parley.

Scip.
Fond Youth, spite of my Nature,
Thou wilt draw down my Anger on thy Head:
Speak, I adjure thee, on the Pain of Death,
Speak to the Purpose.

Alu.
Me wouldst thou frighten
With the harsh Sound of Death? 'Tis what I court,
The greatest Mercy that my Foe can grant.
Yet to acquit my Honour, not comply
With thy severe Commands, I ll boldly tell
What mov'd a Prince t'assume a mean Disguise;
'Twas Love—Love, that transform'd the Thund'rer himself,
And chang'd him to a Mortal from a God.

Scip.
Love, Sir! for whom? What Mistress canst thou find
Within our Camp, whose Beauty can deserve
This Peril of thy Life?

Alu.
Yes, there is one
For whom I'd hazard Life a thousand times,
A thousand more, if 'twas as oft renew'd.

Scip.
Sure she's some wond'rous, more than common Fair,
That pushes on, and animates thy Soul
To this extravagant unbounded Daring.
Her Name?

Alu.
Hold, thou imperious Roman!
Insulting Conqueror! think not these Chains,
These shameful Bonds deprive me of the Sense
That's deeply grafted in the gen'rous Minds
Of Princes, such am I, great as thy self,
Sprung from the purest Blood that Spain can boast.
Damnation! I've already been too mean,
Too lavish in my Tongue to own my Love;
But may it rot, or be for ever dumb,
If I inform thee further—Come wreck your Malice,
Doom me to Tortures, Dungeons, and Despair,
There let me give a Loose to all my Rage,
Curse my Ill Stars, my Fortune, and my self,
My Conq'rors and the World, then like a Man
And like a Prince expire.

Scip.
Trebellius, bear him hence,
Confine him strictly, but with a Respect
Suiting the Greatness of his Character.

[Exeunt Treb. and Alu. guarded.
Scip.
A Spanish Prince (for so he stiles himself)
Siez'd in our Camp for Murder?—And in Love?
In Love! with whom? Nay, that's a Myst'ry still.
It cannot be Almeyda that he loves—
Why not? Almeyda is endu'd with Charms
To wound the Noblest Breast—A Spaniard too?
Nay then the Doubt is clear'd, it must be she;
Yet let not Jealousie prevail too far,
Examine ev'ry Point, be well inform'd,
Urge not the hov'ring Tempest down too soon,
Which, whensoe'er it falls, will crush us all.

[Exeunt Scip. Lel.