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Strong.
My Informations are good I'me sure, and you
Have Dealings under Hand with Rotherick.

Der.
Will you not hear me speak, I'll tell the Fact:
Cothurnus is my Darling only Son,
The day was fixt for him to suffer Death;
I thought my Letter might prolong his Life,
Till we were able to o'rethrow the Tyrant.

Strong.
Why was not I consulted all this while?
Come 'tis unfair, it is deceitful, base;
And I, nor mine, have not deserv'd this Usage:
Did I from England come, with Gallant Troops,
To serve a Prince, who would betray us all;
Now by St. George, and his bright Sword I swear;
It were a Deed, that would be Justify'd:
To give you up a Victim to your Foes,
And leave your Land, a Heap of Desolation.
But why this mighty Care to save your Son?
Is it consistent with the Agreement made?
How can you fulfill your Sacred contract?
'Tis like you have forgot, that when you die
Your Kingdom must descend to me, and that
Your Daughter Eva was to be my Wife;
You put me off from Day to Day, Perhaps
You do repent you of the Bargain made?
I do not die for Love of her, nor all
The paultry beauties of your barren Land.

Der.
Believe the Word and Honor of a King:
Each Tittle I'll most Sacredly perform,
My daughter Eva is expected soon;
The Moment that she comes, the Priest shal tye
The holy Knot, and so unite your Hearts.

Strong.
Till when 'tis fit a Guard be set on you,
My Souldiers murmur, and my Friends give out,
Your cut-throat Subjects, have contrived a Plot
To Murder all of us, at Dead of Night.

Der.
Oh horrible! Rotherick has surely sent,
Some Traytor, to disperse the Seeds of Discord:
Between your Troops and mine.

Strong.
It can not be—
You only are to blame, and gave us Cause
To be uneasy, and mistrust you all:
Deceitfulness, is very deeply Rooted.
In each Corner of this wretched Isle,
Instead of Friendship, Charity, and Love;
You plunder, burn, and sacrifice each other:
And strive and fight, and gape for Revenge.

Der.
A horrid War, long Time has Plagu'd this Isle
And Right and Wrong, are to Confusion brought:
Their lawless Passions thirsting after Blood,
Have even Depopulated all the Land.
Nobility is no where to be found:
The base Plebean, Lords it over all.

Strong.
Such is the horrid fate of civil War,
Shame and Destruction, always Fall on those;
Who by their Factions are the Cause of Strife.

Enter Auliffe O Kinaude.
Wounded, Leaning on his Sword.
Der.
What means this Dreadful Sight! my Heart misgives me!
Kinaude! What makes you Bleed! Where's my Daughter?

Kin.
Death is not half so Terrible, as what
(If I have Life;) I have to tell you:
As we were guarding onwards to this Place,
By your dread Commands, Her Royal Highness;
A Party of two hundred Horse, attackt
Us in the Rear, some Miles we did retreat,
Tho' a Pace, not much faster than our Foes;
My royal Mistress, bid us face about:
And force the Enemy with Souldier's Hearts,
Much asham'd to see her Courage more than ours,
Our Souls push'd forward to the War:
At first we gain'd some Ground, and kill'd our Share.
But being over power'd, they cut us down
On the Field of Battle, all were left for Dead,
Except the Princess, whom they carry'd off.
Regan was wounded in our first Attack,
But when I search'd the Field, I found him not:
My woeful Story makes my Wounds gush out,
I'm Faint, I can no more.
(Dies.)

Strong.
Dermond, thy Crimes have been of horrid Hue:
Or Heaven sure, would never punish so.

Der.
Since it's Heavens Will, I'le try to bear it;
To loose my faithful Friend and Counsellor:
Death with his Iron Claws has done the Deed,
And no doubt, has robbed me too of Regan.
But then my Daughter, that goes through my Heart;
And pierces to my very Soul, Revenge,
Revenge is all my Cry, and all my Thoughts.

Strong.
Now whilst you're Warm, let's execute the Deed;
And march with all our Forces to this Tyrant;
Rescue the Princess, from his Hellish Arms;
Or sacrifice our Lives in the Attempt.
Robert Fitz-stephens, Henry of Mount Maurice,
And Fitzgerald, wait impatiently for Orders
On the Shanon's brink; give 'em but the Word:
And Connaught soon shall find it self o'rewhelm'd,
With blood and Slaughter, be honest to your Friends,
Intirely rely on them, be Firm
And stedfastly adhere to what we say;
No Danger can alarm our noble Breasts;
It is true Courage leads us calmly on:
We're Heroes if we conquer, if we die,
We'll die like Men.

Der.
Thy generous noble Soul
Raises and animates my drooping Spirits
Be witness all that's Sacred, here I swear.
Just, and inviolably to perform;
Each circumstance of what I promised you;
And at my Death, you reign sole King of Leinster.
Could we but relieve my darling Daughter,
The joy and Transport it would give my Soul,
Would make me quite forget all other Grief;
But oh, I fear the cruel Tyrant's Will,
May lead him on to Butcher all my Race;
My only Daughter, and my only Son.

Strong.
These are but Words, lead on to Blows;
Leave Words to Women, if you'd crush your Foes,
Draw to the Head, with Zeal, the pointed Arrow,
Raise the Javelin, bring forth the keenest Sword;
And all the destroying Instruments of War:
Let Skrieks and Groans, the Musick of the Field,
In one continued Clamour, fill the Skies,
And cover o'er the Ground so high with Blood,
That Shoals of gasping, dying Enemies,
May float, and swim about, upon the Surface.

Der.
Thou Great, thou God-like! more than Man, thou Britain!
When once my Soul knows Fear, or shrinks from thee,
May I become the abjects, Wretch on Earth.
Oh could my Sword, but pierce the Tyrant's Heart,
The Dog, the Villain, Monster, Rotherick;
Oh! how I'de feed, and please my just Revenge,
And eagerly push on the Fiend to Hell.

Strong.
Lead on, let Fortune bring him to our
View, and leave the rest to us.
We'll Crown our Heads with one eternal Fame,
And blast his Laurels, with perpetual Shame.

Exeunt.