University of Virginia Library

Act I.

Scene the First.

Enter Maurice Regan.
Reg.
Thus far my Royal Master's Orders, are
Obey'd, all his Subjects; groaning under
Rotherick's Tyranny, are Yerning for
Their Lawful Prince, and wish with longing Hearts,
To Prostrate themselves, and fall before him:
I have nothing more to do in State Affairs,
But will unbend my Mind, and give it up
To Love; and see the Object of my Heart's
Desire, appears, full of her Native, and
Her heavenly Charms.

Enter. Eva, Dress'd like a Shepherdess .
Eva.
Welcome; my Father's Faithful Friend and Mine.
I have perused the Letters that you sent,
And with a Heart o'rewhelm'd with joy, am glad,
To find great Henry, that Godlike Man,
So good as to espouse, our Monarch's Cause.

Reg.
Your Virtue would engage the Gods, to be
The King of Leinster's Friend, your Prayers are heard.

Eva.
In your most tedious Absence, I have been
A constant Guest, to this poor homely Cottage,
And with my Tears, and Prayers, spun out my Time.
Rotherick, the Cruel King of Connaught;
Hated by Gods, and Men, offer'd Rewards;
To those who found me out, and brought me to him;
But by Repeated Miracles, good Heaven,
Saved me from his Tyranny, my Forsterer,
The faithful Man, oft with his aged Hands,
Has drove the Savage Kerns from off his Land,
And guarded me with wakeing, watchful Eyes,
Many a long cold and blustering Winter's Night.

Reg.
The poor Man's faithful Care, shall be rewarded:
Oh my Charming Eva, what Thoughts had I;
Who not only loved you as my Princess,
But as my Angel, and the Saint to whom I pray'd,
When your cruel Father, only so to me,
Lay'd his Commands upon me, to attend
Him to great Henry's Court, the gaudy Sight
Could not divert me from the Thoughts of you,
Amidst the Gold and sparkling Diamonds
The well burnish'd Helmet, Barbered Horses;
Glittering Equipage, and fawning Courtiers,
Nay; amongst a Multitude of English,
Welsh, and Norman Beauties, I could pass along:
And neither lend an Ear, nor cast an Eye;
Indulging all my Senses and my Thoughts,
On you, the Object of my Soul's Desire.

Eva.
Sure then, there is a sympathy in Love,
For when I've try'd to drive you from my Thoughts,
And listen'd to the Shepherds awkard Tale:
My Attention stole from him by Degrees;
And ne're would leave, till center'd all on you:
But tell me pray now, what these Strangers are?
My Father has engag'd to fight his Foes.

Reg.
A Warlike Race of Men, they Britains call,
Mix'd with some English Archers most Expert,
Who gain upon your Father's Enemys;
Like stormy Floods, upon a level Sand,
They like a Torrent came, and drove down all,
And Wexford, soon surrender'd to their Mercy,
Your Father, to Reward their Warlike Care;
At once gave Fitzstephens and Fitzgerald:
Two of their Chiefs, as by Agreement made;
That City, and two Cantreds adjoyning.
And to oblige the noble Earl of Chepstow,
Your Royal Father as King of Leinster,
Has bestow'd on Henry of Mount Maurice.
Two Cantreds, Situate between those Towns;
Of Waterford, and Wexford near the Sea:
The Earl with all his gallant followers,
Are with Impatience soon expected here.

Eva.
But when they have conquered all our Enemy's,
Perhaps they'll then attack my Father's Friends,
And so in Time, make Slaves of all this Island.

Reg.
The Men are gallant Men, and make some Show
Of Virtue, and compassionate, good Nature;
Their Country seems, more civiliz'd than ours;
With Arts and Sciences, they polish all
The rude, the wild, ungovernable Crew.
No petty Princes there, dare take up Arms,
Or by a lawless Force, pretend to Right:
One mighty Monarch Governs through the Land,
He takes Advice indeed of all those Men,
Who are by long Experience made most Wise
His constant study is his Peoples care,
They are his Servants, Children and his Friends.

Eva.
Regan, Your Zeal for Strangers knows no Bounds;
You have forgot you were in Ireland born,
Where pure Religion by St. Patrick taught:
Is still kept up, with a becoming Zeal.
Here we are govern'd by Nature's Dictates,
Not by dissembling Art, which teaches Men
To Act, quite opposite to what they think;
Wisdom makes Hypocrites, Nature makes none.
Perhaps with artful Engines made for War:
These Strangers may strike Terror through the Field;
And so afright my Father's Rebel Subjects:
Who Conscious of the Injuries they have done,
No doubt in dread of him, will fly before them;
But when the Hibernian Spirit's rous'd,
These Strangers, will not be such mighty Men.

Reg.
Your Pardon fairest Princess. I ne're meant,
By praising of these Strangers, to take off
Any Glory from the Heroes of my Country,
I know at once, we act what Men dare do;
And always justifie, what we think Right:
But our mistaken Zeal is led away,
Without our Wisely weighing of the Cause,
Or why shou'd the Tyrant Rotherick, thus pursue;
And drive your Father from his Native Throne,
Force him to sue to Strangers for their Aid;
To Hire them with his Lands, to shed the Blood
Of those, he once did call his Faithful Subjects.

Eva.
Rotherick is revengeful, and ambitious,
Tho' he pretends, my Father was the Aggressor,
And much I fear they have been both to blame,
What Murders does a Tyrant's Will invent,
How insolently do they Lord it or'e.
The greatest part of the Creation;
And yet a Feavour shakes them, and they dye,
And crumble into Dust, and Ashes, like
The poorest, and the meanest of their Subjects.

Reg.
These are too melancholy Reflections
For us, whose business shou'd be Love.
My long and faithful Services to your Father,
Will Embolden me, to ask you of him.
Before your Exile, you have of't confest,
A loving and a tender Passion for me.

Eva.
And you as of't, have triumph'd or'e my Weakness,
And with such strange aluring Ways so wone,
My tender, weak, ungarded Heart.
It heaves and throbs, and trembles at your Name,
And makes my Mind, subservient to it's Laws,
And will not let me think of ought but you.

Reg.
You Gods, how exquisitely blest am I!
I envy no Monarch, fear no Rival;
Nor would I quit my Interest in your Love.
To be the greatest Thing I ever saw,
That's the British King in all his Glory.

Enter Mortagh her Forsterer.
Mor.
Oh doleful News! I doubt you are betray'd,
My Cabin is beset with fifty Horse,
They say King Dermond did Command them here,
To fetch away his Royal Daughter Eva.
But too much I fear, they come from Rotherick.

Regan.
Oh, curst Fate! the Tyrant has betray'd us;
Death is not half so Terrible as he.

Eva.
I despise your Fears, neither he nor Death,
Can once be dreadful, to a noble Soul.
Remember Regan, you're an Irish Man;
And whether Life, or Death, behave as such.
This Dagger is the Guardian of my Virtue,
When that's Attackt, my Life's not worth my Care:
To Dye in such a Cause, is Nobly brave,
Death is Freedom, whilst Life is for a Slave.

Enter Auliffe O'Kinaude.
Speaks as he Enters
Kin.
Guard well the Doors, I'll search the Cabin Through.

Reg.
You'll not search far, before you find your Prize;
But you must call more Help, before you gain her,
This Sword, will make you buy your Conquest dear.

Mor.
The Pincess shan't be your's, till we are Dead.

Kin.
The Princess! oh you Gods! then is she Here?

Reg.
Pleasing Surprize! my dearest best of Friends,
Most noble Princess Auliffe O' Kinaude,
Your Father's faithful Friend, and Counsellour.

Eva.
I hope you left my Royal Father Well.

Kin.
In a good State of Health, and full of Friends,
Strongbow, Earl of Chepstow, with two Hundred Knights,
And a numerous band of gallant Soldiers,
Were met near Waterford, by Leinster's King,
The English furiously attack'd that City,
Enter'd the Breach, ransack'd the Place, and slew
All those they found in Arms, except Reginald,
And one Ophelim, Prince of Decies, whom
They have imprison'd, this Pacquet fairest
Princess, was from your Royal Father sent.
I have obey'd his orders hitherto,
But now, oh Joy! must wait for your Commands.

Eva.
(Reads)
“It is our Will and Pleasure, under the
“Care of our faithful Counselour Auliffe O'
“Kinaude, that you strait repair to our
“Royal Court at Furness, where you will
“Not only meet your loveing Father, but the
“Earl of Chepstow, to whom I have betroth'd you,
(She Speaks)
I've read enough to drown my Peace Of Mind for ever.

Reg.
How strangly is her Countenance perplext!
Something in that Letter, much displeases her,
I fear to guess, what Horror it contains.

Kin.
And if your Royal Highness, so thinks fit,
The sooner we set out upon our Journey,
The safer it will be; a hundred Horse,
From the Mountains, this Morning we espy'd,
And the Country People has inform'd us,
Two hundred more, are scouring of the Roads,
The Tyrant Rotherick, now begins to fear
The English Power, which he once dispis'd,
Is drawing all his Forces to the Field;
And does design, as he has given out,
To give your Father and the English Battle.

Eva.
Death! Horror! and Destruction! seize us all.
I curse the Hour, since first these Stangers came.
They will enslave us soon, at least those Fools,
Who are in Love, with the simple thing call'd Life.
I'm ready for your Journey when you please,
Those Monarchs still are Tyrants to me,
Who would command my Will, and force me to
A Deed, which shocks and stabs my very Nature.
Obey our Parents, 'tis a harsh Command,
My Faiths already given, well what then,
How will these Contradictions both agree,
Death ends the Argument, and sets me free.

Mor.
Will not my fairest charge, give leave for me
To attend you to your Royal Father.
Then when your safely lodg'd, under his Roof,
I may contentedly come home and Dye.

Eva.
My Father will I hope take care of you,
Heaven is my witness honest Mortagh,
With what reluctancy I leave this Cabbin,
When I go from hence, I go from happiness,
To be Wretched, Great, and Miserable.

Mor.
Say not so, my Royal Mistress, Heaven
Has in store for you a thousand Blessings.
Which Day by Day, it will pour down upon you.

Reg.
I hope the Letter from your Father, does
Not contain ought that can disturb your Breast.

Eva.
It does contain enough to shock us both,
Upon the Road perhaps I'll tell you more.

Reg.
Too well I guess the Trouble it must give us.

Eva.
Come Sir, lead on to Death, or to my Father.

Kin.
If the Enemy attack us, it is Death,
For none of us will Live, and part with you.

(Exeunt.
SCENE draws and discovers Rotherick Catholicus, and Guards.
Rothe.
What have we no Intelligence to Day?
No Strangers, nor no Leinster Men brought in?

Catho.
Several Parties of your Horse, and Foot,
Whose Orders were to cross the Shannon,
Are Hourly expected back my Leige.

Retho.
'Tis well, but if they bring not Prisoners with them,
Those who command those Men, shall surely die.
I Rotherick O' Connor, King of Connaught,
Will make the Nation tremble at my Sway,
And force each native Slave, to drive away
These Vagabonds, these Strangers, from our Land.
Well my good Catholicus, have you perus'd.
The Copy of that Grant? sent to be sign'd,
By that most mighty Lord, of all our Church,
Infallible and never erring Pope
Adrian the fourth, and since that confirm'd,
By Allexander's Bull, to give my Land
Away to Henry the English King.
Now by St. Patrick, who was a greater Man,
Then ever fill'd your jugling, Papal Chair,
I swear revenge on all the Romish Tribe.
Would thou have done so, hadst thou been a Pope?
No! I know thou durst not Who gives the Priest
The Power, he pretends to have on Earth?
Is it not your King; and pray now, who am I?
Your Spiritualities of Tuam,
Are not worth much, without my Subjects Gold.
You talk of Heaven, but you covet Earth.

Catho.
Far be it from my thoughts; to disobey
My Royal Master's Will; we know our Church,
Our Lives, and all we have, center in you.
And we of Ireland, have never own'd
The Pope's Supremacy, or Power here;
For from St. Patrick, to this present time,
Our Church has always, strenuously opposed him.

Rothe.
Or there should be no Churches, through my Realm.
What use have I for Priests? except their talk
Can keep the wild, unruly Mob in awe,
And give a Sanction to my Kingly Actions.

Catho.
I and my Clergy are at your Devotion.

Rothe.
Or they would live but slavish, wretched Lives.
Catholicus, full well I know thy Worth;
And what I think a mighty Vertue in thee;
Thou never contradicts, in ought, my Will;
Thy Zeal has never been impertinent,
Nor push'd it self between me and my Pleasures:
Thy Knowledge is too great, to think that Kings,
Are tyed to Rules, like other Mortal Men.
Oh! how I would crush a Fellow that should cry,
His Liberty, or talk of self defence,
Property, or scan the Actions of his Prince:
Thou should Excommunicate the saucy Slave;
And doubting that thy Curse would not take Place,
This Javelin should push his Soul to Hell.
A Noise without.
Catholicus, go learn from whence that Noise.

Catholicus goes to the Door and returns.
Catho.
My Leige, the Guards are leading
Dermonds Son to Death, according to your late Commands.

Rothe.
Call back the Wretch, I'll see him e'er he Dyes.

(Catholicus goes out and returns with Cothurnus)
Catho.
Bring him near the King.

Rothe.
Bring him nearer yet.

Cothur.
Barbarous Tyrant, when my Thoughts were fixt
On future pleasing Joys, and things above;
Why wouldst thou make me think of Hell and thee?

Rothe.

So you'r prepar'd to die, your Mind is calm,
and you forgive your greatest Enemies.

Cothur.
Mankind I can forgive, but thou'rt a Devil.

Rothe.
Am I so? that Devil shall torment thee then.

Catho.
For shame, you talk not like a dying Man,
Nor know not the Respect to Majesty.

Cothur.
Call'st thou that Pageant Wretch a King?
He is a Rebell with a Tyrant's Power;
And has usurp'd my Father's lawfull Right.
His Life has been, one Scene of Wickedness,
Rapine, Lewdness, Murder Paricide;
And thou his fawning, pious, cringing Priest,
With your exalted Hands, and turn'd up Eyes,
Can first confess and then absolve him for it.

Catho.
So please your Majesty, 'tis time he dies.

Rothe.
Let him talk his Glass, 'twill soon be run:

Catho.
He rails against the Church, no Priest of mine
Shall give the Wretch a Christian Burial.

Cothur.
I shall go to Bliss, without thy Pasport.
Thou Wolf, crouded into a sheepish Cloathing.

Catho.
The people, are with Impatience waiting
For the Execution, so please my Leige,
The Guards may now conduct the Heretick there.

Rothe.
Hold, let me talk and reason with the Youth,
Thy Father it is true, was King of Leinster,
And had he govern'd well, might still have reigned;
But you forget, he ravished O Rourk's Wife,
Who was the Daughter of the King of Meath;
Know you, that he plunder'd all the Country round,
And forc'd O Neale. O Carroll and Mc Loughlin,
To give him Hostages, which he destroy'd;
Whilst O Borne and Daniel Prince of Ossory,
Amazed at all his horrid Villanies,
As all good Men should do, deserned him;
At which the abandon'd Wretch to England flies,
And humbly sues, to Vagabonds and Strangers,
Bringing the lawless Rout to murder us,
And for their Reward, gives them whole Cities,
Notwithstanding which, he sues to me for Peace;
And I, as good Catholicus can tell,
Took his Homage, but on these Conditions;
That he shou'd dismiss the English Strangers,
You his Son was sent to me as an Hostage,
And had he but perform'd, you should have had
My Daughter Avelina for your Bride;
But he you know, has broke through all his Oaths,
And let the British Stranger you call Strongbow,
With his Rebell Rout, invade and plunder Meath.
I did upbraid him for his Breach of Oaths,
And threatned, if he kept not well the Peace,
That you his favourite Son, shou'd lose your Head,
His surly Answer was; He would proceed
To conquer Connought, which the Villain claim'd
As if it once had been his ancient Right,
For which base Act of his, you suffer Death.

Enter Avelina.
Ave.
Oh! dread Sir, recall your horrid Sentence,
And let nor that brave Youth, be punish'd so;
By your Commands, I gave him up my Heart,
And you declared I was to be his Wife.

Rothe.
Go too; my Mind is altered, that's enough for you.
Take back your foolish Bauble of a Heart,
And carry it with you to a Nunnery.

Ave.
To Death most willingly, I can't survive him.

Rothe.
Ha! what says't thou? Death! die, and if you dare,
I'll make you live, and live in Torture too,
That rebell against your King, your Father.

Catho.
It is a crying, roaring heavy Sin.
Perhaps a Nunnery and Penitence,
With Store of Fasting, may wash off the Crime.

Cothur.
Rotherick, forbear to use your Daughter ill
Pour all your haughty Vengeance down on me;
It is a double Death to see her Tears.

Cothur.
Oh! have I found a way to Torture you,
And bring your haughty Soul within its Bounds,
I have a Pleasure yet to come; your Death
Had been a petty Vengeance to my mind.
But you are deep in Love, and with my Daughter:
Now by the Gods
She straight shall suffer Death before your Face
And whilst her trickling Blood is reeking Hot,
I'le open all your Veins, to mix amongst it.

Ave.
Thou best of Fathers, dearest best of Kings,
That Sentence is the Thing I wish'd for most;
My tender Heart, can never bear to see
His mangl'd Carcass, thrown about the Streets;
But whilst I am dying, I may fix my Eyes
With eager Wishes, give a parting Sigh,
And hope to mingle with his Righteous Soul;
Above the unbounded Regions of the Air.

Catho.
She's raving Sir, and has not mention'd yet,
One word of Paradise, and Purgatory;
I dare pronounce, he's taught her how to Raile
Against the Mother-Church, and Pious Church-men;
'Twere fit we purge her of her Sins before
She suffers Death, mean while if he were Dead,
She might be brought to own, her horrid Sin,
Be penitent, and so be made a Saint.

Rothe.
Well, it shall be so, haste and see him die:
And Avelina too shall see him die,
Cothurnus, 'tis your Father's sins have drawn
This heavy Death upon your youthful Soul,
He sold his Country to a forreign Yoke:
Be satisfy'd in this, I'll seek him out,
And soon his groveling Corps, shal overtake thee:

Ave.
In pity to my tender Youth, forbear
To blast his Soul, whilst mine is blossoming.

Cothur.
How tender does she plead, and would prevail,
With any thing that's humane, but a Tyrant.
Farewell my softest, fairest Avelina,
Death I can bear, but not the Sight of you.

Catho.
Make way there, and let the Prisoner pass.

Cothur.
Farewell proud Priest, we two shall meet no more;
I shall mount up, whilst you must sink below.

Enter a Souldier.
1 Guard.
My Leige, a Messenger from Leinster's King,
Is with a Trumpet come and brought this Letter.

The King opens the Letter.
Catho.
The King is taken up with State Affairs,
You have your Orders, lead the Prisoner off.

Ave.
Oh cruel Man, 'tis from my Fathers mouth
You must receive the Orders for his Death.

Rothe.
Cothurnus, for a Day or two your Life's
Prolong'd, your Father writes me Word, he'll send
Donagh, Abbot of Furnes to this Place,
To treat with me about the safest Way;
Of driving back these Welsh, and English Men;
Perhaps it is a Stratagem of his
To gain some Time, or may be to Surprize
Some Fortress, or some Castle in the Frontiers,
Be it so, we can Revenge it soon enough:
Catholicus, my Daughter is your Care;
If Dermond sends us Peace, she may Love on,
If not 'tis fit she bid the World Adieu:
Guards, lead back Cothurnus to his Prison.

Cothur.
I thank you not, since Death's my Lot;
Happen when it will, it shall be welcome.

Exit.
Catho.
Perhaps my Leige, he is prepar'd to die:

Rothe.
If so Catholicus, where's my Revenge?
To take him from a State of noise and Strife,
And give him Happiness beyond my own;
So from an Enemy become a Friend:
A Monarch's made to Rule each petty Slave,
To bid him Live, or send him to his Grave.
Mercy, is for a vile Mechanick Soul,
No humane Passion, should a King controul:
'Tis Justice is the Rule, that Guides his way;
And all is Just and Good that Monarchs say.

Exeunt.