University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Queen and Zenomira.
Q.
To stoop beneath a constant weight of cares
To purchase ease for others!—Poor and senseless!
Injurious to himself, and base to me!

Zen.
The King is held by all most wise and just.

Q.
For me, I cannot think so—Then this start
To Palestine, this warlike pilgrimage,
This holy madness will bear no excuse.
Need he regard whether the line of Baldwin,
Or Saladin, be victors in a clime
So far remote, who might enjoy repose
And pleasure here? I tell thee, Zenomira,
I'm not, by far, so happy as Ismena.
For Elmerick, the theme of every tongue,
Can love: And to our sex, love crowns all merit.

Zen.
Madam, the King—

Q.
He comes to take his leave. Ungrateful man!
He merits not my heart, who vainly dares
To rate his pride above it.

[Exit Zenomira.
Enter King.
K.
The urgent business of this day, Matilda,
How has it robb'd me of thy dear society!

Q.
You will have constant business, Sir—The camp
Detains you from me now, and now the senate;
And when your court receives you, restless still,
And fired with some bright phantom of ambition,
You mix with hoary heads, and plan new glories.

K.
If, faithful to the trust imposed by Heaven,
I oft have born with grief thy painful absence;
O think me not less thine, my lov'd Matilda,
But pity my sad duty.

Q.
Said you duty?—
Your idol Honour rather—that you worship—
That sends your banners to the distant East,
To fruitless wars, and visionary triumphs.

K.
Honour's a duty, Madam, and the noblest;
And ardent I pursue the powerful impulse.
There are (with shame I speak it) those who loiter
In this religious warfare. The Emperor
Cannot unite his Germans; France delays:
Grim death has forced the slaught'ring battle-axe
From Cœur de Lion's strong unerring hand;
And John of England, his unthrifty brother,
Repell'd abroad, prepares his luckless sword
To wound the liberties, rescind the laws,
And sheath it in the bowels of his kingdom.
Our troops are ready: Sion's mournful cries
Call loud for instant succour—and I go.

Q.
Then I must learn to bear my King's neglect,
And endless solitude.

K.
No, my Matilda;
The time will come when wars rough labours ended
Shall give me up devoted to thy beauties,
And all our days to come shall blended flow
In one pure stream of calm, unruffled love.

Q.
Our days to come
Are dark uncertainties; and doating age,
Shou'd we attain it, painful or insipid.

K.
Do not distract me, call back these reproaches.
Urge not, my Queen, thy soft'ning power too far,
But think thy husband's triumphs will be thine.—
Mean-time, to soften my unwilling absence
Thy brother comes, the partner of thy heart:
Each day my Court expects him from Moravia.
His sprightly temper, his engaging converse,
Will steal all sorrow from thee.

Q.
In my brother
I still have found a friend; and friendship now
Is all the good my widow'd heart must hope for.—
But in your absence, Sir, the Sovereign Power
To whom intrust you? Whom must I obey?

K.
Lord Elmerick, as you know was my fix'd purpose,
I have appointed Regent of my Kingdoms.

Q.
The world talks loud of Elmerick's fair merits,
And I, unused to think on such grave subjects,
Congratulate your choice.—

K.
You're just; and kind
To crown with your auspicious praise the man
Whom I so love and honour.—May I hope.
That all those lips have dropt less gentle to me,
Was but the tender fears of love alarm'd?
Oh say but this! and I will think it kinder
Than all th'endearments of affected fondness.

Q.
Think what will please you best, and that I said it,—
And may the shining Fame you seek so far
Pay your long labours!

K.
One embrace, Matilda!
May Heaven on all thy days shed sweetest comfort,
And peace with angel wings o'ershade thy slumbers!
Eager for Fame, and zealous to chastize
The foes of Heav'n, I thought I could resist
This heart-invading softness—Fond mistake!
Call'd to begin the task by leaving thee,
I find my fancy'd heroism vain,
And all the feeble tender man returns.—
I must not give it way.—Once more, farewel.

[Exeunt separately.