University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE A Court of Justice.
Enter Mr. Justice Bull preceded by a Tipstaff, two Council, Mr. Serjeant Dolt for the King, and Mr. Smooth for the Prisoners. The Prisoners chain'd on one side of the Stage.
Tips.

Make room there, make Room for the Court.

Judge.

Well, what have you to say Mr. Serjeant
against the Prisoners at the Bar, for if no Body appears against
'em, look ye, we must either acquit 'em, or condemn 'em.

Chic.

Sir, I dispute the Jurisdiction of the Court, I'll have a
Habeas Corpus, and a Certiorari to remove the Body, and the
Cause, Sir.

Judge.

We shall hang you Sir, we shall make you feel the
Jurisdiction of the Court, and after that, if you don't acknowledge
it, I am mistaken. Go on Mr. Serjeant.

Serj.

May it please your Lordship, and you Gentlemen of
the Jury, the Prisoners at the Bar stand indicted, for that they
the said Prisoners Predict die, Predict Mensis, &c. Scandalose
& Malitiose Conspiraverunt & Consultaverunt Unanimiter (Anglice
one and all) Murthrare & overthroware Constitutionem
Nostram, (Anglice our Constitution) contra formam Statut, &c.
My Lord, we have very full Proof that the Prisoners at the Bar
did all meet; that upon that Meeting they did consult, there is
the Conspiracy, and the Consultation: Now they wanted nothing
but an Opportunity to put these their bloody Designs in
Act—And my Lord, if there is no Overt-Act, yet I do say
that their Intentions were declarative of an Overt-Act.

Smooth.

If your Lordship pleases to favour me with one Word,
on the other Side; I am Council in this Case for the Prisoners, (I
hope what I shall say in Defence of my Clients won't be taken
otherwise than as my Brief instructs me for their Defence,
if innocent.)

Judge.

No, no, Sir, you have free Liberty to say any thing for
your Clients, provided you say nothing that shall displease the
Court, or in Defence of the Prisoners at the Bar.

Smooth.

I humbly thank your Lordship—

Serj.

But my Lord, with entire Submission to your Lordship's
Judgment—

Smooth.

Mr. Serjeant, I did not break in upon you.

Serj.

Pray Sir, give me Leave—

Smooth.

With your Favour, Sir—my Lord, in this Case—

Serj.

Pray Sir, I am Council for the King—
These Conspirators, my Lord—the Indictment 'specially sets
forth likewise, Quod compassavere & imaginati fuere Destructionem
Domini Regis (Anglice, the Destruction of the King).

Smooth.

Tell the Cook I wou'd have the Venison well soak'd,
and d'ye hear a Pudding in the Belly of the Hare; you'll remember
the six Dozen of the Red Burgundy, the same we drank
Yesterday.
[To a Servant behind him.
My Lord, what Mr. Serjeant offers, tho' it bears the Face of an
Argument; yet with Submission I pray Leave to object in half
a Word—

[To the Court.
Judge.

Sir 'tis past twelve a Clock—I will hear no Objections.

Smooth.

I have done my Lord—But here is no Proof of any
thing but a naked Meeting and bearing Arms. Now the Statute
says, Mes soit adjuge Felony ou Trespasse selonque le Ley de
Terre auntientment use. And so 'twas resolv'd in Parliament the
fifth of Henry IV. the Earl of Northumberland's Case.

Serj.

The Earl of Northumberland's Case is very well known
—But here let me tell you—Voluntas Reputabitur pro Facto,
as in the Case of Goose and Pennyfeather.

Judge.

Ay, ay, Sir, we will take the Will for the Deed—
Is it not the surest Way to prevent Mischief—Look'ee, wou'd
it not be Madness to suffer audacious Rebels to run on 'till there
were some Proof of their Villany?

Smooth.

But with Submission, my Lord, it appears in the
Case of King Elfred, before the Conquest, and in Beverly's
since—

Judge.

Fie, fie, Mr. Smooth, why will you carry things so
far?

Smooth.

I don't insist on these Cases; but my Lord, this is
a very heavy Charge that is brought against my Clients, the
Prisoners at the Bar; their Estates, their Lives, their Families

at Stake—But Mr. Serjeant Dolt has stated the Objection as
thus, my Lord—Either there has been an Overt-Act, or there
has been no Overt-Act; if there has been no Overt-Act, what
Overt-Act has there been?

Chic.

That's right, let 'em stick to their Apertum Factum—
prove that.

Judge.

Why, if they are guilty of Treason, they are guilty
of Treason, Mr. Smooth, whether they have committed any
Overt-Act or no; for a Person may be guilty of an Act look'ee
without doing, or thinking of it—Provided always there be
a Legal Proof.

Smooth.

I submit to your Lordship's great Judgment, but—

Judge.

Look'ee, Mr. Smooth, I am resolv'd before-hand to
hang 'em all; so if you have any thing further to say in their
Defence, Heav'n forbid I shou'd hinder you from doing your
Duty for your Client—Fiat Justitia Currat Lex.

Tul.

Sir, Sir, you know my Case—Here is a small Parcel of
dumb Orators, let 'em prevail with you to throw in one Word
more for your most Obedient—

[Coming forward to Mr. Smooth.
Smooth.

It shall be done—Hem—

Tul.

I shou'd have been an Evidence, Sir, for I discover'd the
whole Matter, but I receiv'd the most ungentleman-like Usage.

Smooth.

Enough, enough, I'll take care of you.
I beg Leave only to trouble the Court one half Quarter of a
Minute, in behalf of Sir Gaudy Tulip, one of the Prisoners at
the Bar—My Lord, my Client is now in the seventy fifth
Year of his Age.

Tul.

What is that to the Purpose? What has he to do
with one's Age?

Smooth.

And he has, for above threescore Years last past, been
happily distinguish'd by all the politer World for a Gentleman of
very elegant Dress, and Address—(Anglice a Beau) in that
Character he has run through all the necessary Courses, he has been
duped by his Mistresses Friends and Companions; he has been
a constant Bubble to his Vanity, and when his Glass wou'd give
him Credit no longer, he has been flatter'd by his own Footmen—
Now, my Lord, I must appeal to your Lordship, and
the Court, and if Mr. Serjeant can shew in all his Books one

Precedent of a Gentleman in his Character, that ever was, or
suspected to be, or before my unfortunate Client accus'd of being
a Plotter—why, I'll give up the whole Cause, tho' my Client's
Life depends upon't—For, my Lord, 'tis contrary to the very
Nature of the Creature, a Conspirator is always fierce, bloody,
secret, active, and intrepid; a Beau is gentle, tender, open, indolent,
and meek—the one is affable and free, the other close and
thoughtful—In short, my Lord, 'tis opposite to the common
Reason of Things—the general Consent of Mankind, and the
Law of Nature. Yet further, my Lord, let the Gentlemen
impannel'd on the Jury look stedfastly in his Face, and if they
can with Conscience, let 'em declare whether they think it possible
he shou'd be guilty of what is here laid to his Charge—
therefore I humbly hope Judgment may not pass as to his Particular.

Tul.

Besides, my Lord, I was to be an Evidence, I was to
peach.

Judge.

Ay, ay, 'tis true; Codso, I had like to have made a
Mistake; 'tis true, he is the King's Evidence—

Tul.

I am infinitely oblig'd to your Lordship—
What a cursed Mistake wou'd here have been; 'tis ten to one it
came into his Bullet Head before I was hang'd.

[Aside.
Judge.

Well, but Sir Gaudy, you swear then point blank,
and generally to every Particular Article in the Indictment, against
the Prisoners at the Barr?

Tulip.

Yes, my Lord, to every Particular, if there were twenty
& cætera's more in it.

Chic.

I fling in my Writt of Appeal, I'll not be try'd by
your dumpling Headed Judges, nor your Pack'd Jury neither.

Judge.

How now! how now! what, do you affront the Court?
take him away, take him away there.

Chic.

Remember, remember 'tis contrary to Magna Charta,
and the Liberty of the Subject.

Judge.

So, we've done, return 'em to Goal, and expect a
Warrant for Execution.

De Sale.
Ye empty Tools of Arbitrary Power,
Why do you use these silly Forms of Justice—
Oh Piracquo.—
We ventur'd hard, but Fortune has undone us.

Pirac.

Ay, Fortune, and that Dough-bak'd Thing, Sir
Gaudy.

Tul.

You are merry Gentlemen, I wish you a good Journey,
you'll excuse me I hope, that I can't possibly wait on you.

Tipst.

Make way there, make way for my Lord Judge.

Judge.

Come Brother, come, really I am afraid our Dinner
will be spoyl'd.

[To Serjeant Dolt.]
[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to a Grove.
Arviragus discover'd alone.
Arv.
Yet ere this busie Form's resolv'd to Air,
Yet—let me think—but when I inwards turn
The piercing Probe,—and backwards trace the Scene
Of Blood and Rapine—my distracted Mind
Wou'd, like the Viper, hide her Monstrous Brood
From Heav'n and Earth: And yet repentant Tears
Might cleanse and wash these crimson Stains away;
They might; but Oh! my stony Heart, Obdurate
Merits not Mercy's gentle Touch; but once
The Stony Rock, struck by the Prophet's Wand,
Pour'd forth a limpid Stream. No more—No more—
Reflection wounds me worse than Death; Despair
Is a most ugly Friend—Aranes, oh!
Ay there he stands, fast by the Throne of Grace,
A bleeding dreadful Evidence against me.—
Enter Boreal.
Who's there? Ha! Boreal, Welcome; you and I
Have fought together, when the shatter'd Rigging
Lay smoaking on the Bloody Deck; our Masts
Shot by the Board, and Death in various Forms
Lookt ghastly to appale our constant Hearts,
Yet then I knew no Fear;—How comes it, Soldier,
That now I feel an inmate Foe who shakes me?
I tell thee that I tremble at my self.

Bor.
My Lord, what you call Fear is only Spleen,
Perhaps the Fumes of indigested Food.

Arv.
Aye!
We know 'tis Constitution all; the Blood
Stands cold, a sluggish Puddle, in our Age,
And breeds these Ague Damps, like Marshy Air.
No more, I am satisfy'd—Well, to your Business—

Bor.
I came to ask your Warrant, Royal Sir,
For Execution of those Criminals
Our Law has judg'd worthy the Pains of Death.

Arv.
Ha, ha, what Right? what Royalty's in me?
Death! who must Die? what, must my Fellow-Creatures,
Because they bravely wou'd no longer bear
A single Person's overweening Pride,
And Power usurp'd: What, must they die for this?
Oh! Boreal, I am sick of my own Folly,
The gaudy Bubble breaks, this Toy Ambition
Is idler than a Feverish Dream, or Infant's Wish.

Bor.
You rightly hold your Power, and justly use it.

Arv.
What hast thou learnt, Old Friend, to flatter too?
Nay, then this Air's Infectious.

Bor.
No, let those gilded Flyes buz in the Sunshine,
Who cannot live without it; my good Sword
Will feed me, Sir—I need not sell my Words.

Arv.
Well—but I have a Friend wou'd commune with me
Alone, he says, a clamorous Bosom Friend;
Leave me, good Boreal.—

Bor.
But one Word more, and I obey my Lord;
These Jewels, worthy to be worn by Kings,
[Gives him a Bracelet of Jewels.
And deck a Diadem; I found this Morning
In the Possession of a private Soldier,
And seiz'd 'em for my Royal Master's Use.
His Noble Spirit's touch'd with deep Remorse,
Now, now's the Crisis; Aid him, candid Virtue,
Fair Daughter of the Gods, and give him Strength;
[Aside.
Oh what Revulsions must his burning Blood
Feel, ere this Physick heals—How d'ye, Sir?

Arv.
As one who Labours up the Stream, is thrown
By stronger Waves yet further from the Shore;
Why do you heap on this superfluous Guilt,
I had enough before to sink a Nation—
Zelmane dropt this Sacred Pledge from Heav'n,
A living Witness of my perjur'd Love.
Where had the Soldier this? it shakes my Soul.

Bor.
He tore it from Aranes' bleeding Arm.

Arv.
Aranes whom I murder'd! That Aranes!

Bor.
From that unhappy Youth, whose I'll-tim'd Love
Made him a Sacrifice to your Command.

Arv.
Thou ly'st, old Dotard—This is false as Hell.
Oh Heav'n, and Earth! what, wou'd you load my Soul
With filial Murder—Yet 'tis just, ye Powers,
From my Youth upwards, double dy'd in Blood,
At length I've finish'd the whole Tragick Scene,
And turn'd the Reeking Point on my own Off-spring;
Whip me ye Fiends, plunge me in Seas of Sulphur:
Let your Eternal Fancies work New Torments,
And add 'em to the Pains of Hell—But here;
Oh here I feel 'em all—Hah, Boreal there
Look, there's a Sight—
[Aranes and Zaida coming forwards in the Grove, guarded by Officers.
Why do's the Air take that Tremendous Form
Now they advance—Oh bury me, ye Rocks!
Hide me, ye Mountains—'Tis not in Feeble Nature
To stand this dreadful Shock.

Bor.
Recover your Amazement, Sir, he lives,
Aranes lives, by me preserv'd, and here
Dismiss the Terrors of your troubled Mind,
And be your self again.

Aran.
Shipwreck'd, and cast by Fortune on your Shores,
Again, I ask, in the high Name of Heav'n,
Your Hospitable Care—It well becomes
Your Trust, to guard the Innocent and Stranger,
If your reviving Reason feels her Error,
Retrieve the past, and present, by the future:
Arise the Patron, and the Guard of Virtue,
Bright Seeds of Honour seem inclos'd and lock'd
Within the Cast of Custom, and a rough
And lawless Habitude of Ill, like Jems,
They shoot a Lustre thro' the Gloom of Night.

Arv.
Joy, Wonder, Fear, Amazement, all at once,
Burst on my Soul, and tear my trembling Frame.
Oh 'tis the Voice of Heav'n—Illustrious Youth,
Eternal Mercy's ward: How didst thou 'scape
A Barb'rous Tyrant's Rage? but a New Scene
Breaks on my Ravish'd Tongue, and bids me ask
What Miracle first brought you to Laurentia?

Aran.
You've heard from Indian Shores, the Raging Seas
Drove your Unhappy Captives to this Port.

Arv.
From India, right; Were you of Noble Blood?

Aran.
An Omrah's House, the Valiant Ariaspes
Gave Being to my Mother.

Arv.
Oh Boreal, Boreal!
[Turning in Transport to Boreal.
You talk'd of Ariaspes, Sir, and India.
Your Mother too was call'd—

Aran.
Zelmane.

Arv.
My Hopes, my Joys are just; let me Embrace thee.
Propitious Heav'n!

Aran.
Say wherefore, Sir, is all this Curious Search?
What means my Sympathetick Heart,
That joyns his Joy, and seems to aid his Transports.

[Aside.
Arv.
Your Father was not Born in India too?

Aran.
My Father was a Briton, as your self,
Averio call'd; Brave, but Unfortunate;
Restless, like the Great Orb of Light: He roll'd
Around the Globe, and in the Western Ocean,
Like him he set; the Ocean was his Grave,
For his o'er-travell'd Ship founder'd at Sea,
And weary'd ere his Mighty Spirit flagg'd.

Arv.
Bear it ye Winds upon your Balmy Wings,
Sound the loud Mouth of Fame; let her big Trump,
Around the Concave Vault, the Arch of Heav'n,
In never-dying Ecchoes still repeat
My never dying Joy! Welcome my Son:
[Embracing him.
The Gods immediate Gift—Oh Bounteous Heav'n!
Thus let me Kneel o'burthen'd with my Joy,
And pay the worthless Tribute of my Vows,
My grateful humble Thanks for endless Mercies.

Zaid.
New Scenes of Wonder fill the Ravish'd Sense,
Aranes, Heav'n is still the Guard of Virtue.

Aran.
Still have I felt a Reverential Awe,
Which when I call'd you Tyrant, check'd my Tongue.
Yet Fame reported that your shatter'd Bark
Perish'd at Sea; and that you shar'd her Fate.

[Arv. takes another Bracelet, that he wears, from his Arm.
Arv.
She perish'd on the Seas, but with our Boat
We reach'd another Vessel I commanded,
And steer'd successfully to this Fair Isle.
But here, Oh here's an Everliving Proof,
This Bracelet is the Counterpart of this,
These we exchang'd, when I, and chaste Zelmane,
Your Beauteous Mother, were by Fate divided;
Behold the plated Side, in double Hearts,
Wrought by the Graver's Skill, these Words appear,
Averio, and Zelmane; 'till I chang'd
The Name my Father gave me, for Arviragus,
I was call'd Averio.

Aran.
There is no room for doubt, each wondrous Word
Recalls my Mother's Story to my Mind:
And while I view you thus with eager Eyes,
I trace that Image which Zelmane wrought,
Which yet survives within my Memory,
Yet there is one Debt due to Virtue still,
Let this fair Favourite share the Blessing with me,
Shake off that fatal Passion, give me, Sir,
Without a Rival now to Zaida's Arms.

Arv.
I had resolv'd before to quench this Flame,
Tho' in Eternal Night; bright Zaida live,
Live then Unrival'd, live Aranes' Queen;
Behold Aranes, see, her rising Joys
Suffuse around her Face a blushing Light,
Such as the Morning Sun gives opening Roses,
Now I behold her with the purer Flame
Of Love Paternal—with such chast Affection
As Angels feel, or Souls of ancient Friends,
The grosser Particles of Earth dismist.

Zaid.
And such Rewards as Filial Piety,
As Angels feel, or Souls of ancient Friends
Receive from the just Gods, be yours for ever.

Arv.
But say, did you unwounded then escape
The barb'rous Orders of my jealous Love?

Bor.
O, Sir, you open now a Wound that bleeds
Afresh; his pious Friend Alvarez dy'd
The Martyr of your Rage—dy'd for Aranes.

Arv.
Hold, hold, I no where turn my Thoughts, but Guilt
Glares horribly on all my Actions past.
Melt, melt, ye frozen Veins, relent, and move
With penitential Waters heav'nly Mercy;
My Hours to come, like Roses in th'Alembick,
Shall waste themselves in Tears, and weep to Death.
Here I resign all Power and earthly Rule:
The gaudy Tinsel of ill-taught Ambition,
First tempted me to leap at once the Pale
Of all Laws Human and Divine, to reign,
But here I lay it down—Take it, Aranes;
Thou may'st without a Crime enjoy my Throne,
That was not the foul Purchase of my Guilt,
Altho' the Means that fixt me here were bad.
The Nation with one Voice proclaim'd me King,
And made their Gift successive—May you both
For ever reign with Peace in Madagascar.

Aran.
O, Sir! what Gratitude, what Duty now
Must filial Piety for ever pay?

Arv.
I merit not your Thanks, weary of Rule,
Before the Miracles of this blest Day
Ripen'd to view, I had resolv'd to quit
Imperial Sway, and die a private Man,
As I was born—And well I hop'd in Britain,
Such strong Desires mov'd me to taste again
The Sweets of native Air—I thought with Gold,
Gold, (the World's Mistress) to attone my Crimes,
And buy off with the Prize the Penalty.

Bor.
With what Contempt the Brittish Heroine view'd
That vast Temptation, Wealth; but in Britannia
Strict Justice sways alone.

Arv.

[Exeunt.