 | Rotherick O'Connor, King of Connaught |  |
SCENE a Prison.
Enter Avelina.Ave.
This dark, this dismal dead of Night, so fills
My soft, my tender Mind with fear and horror:
I start and tremble, at each gush of Wind.
Catholicus at last is gone to Sleep;
May he Sleep for ever, dreadful Goaler,
Most cruel Persecutor of my Love.
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Does beat, and throb, and bleed in your Behalf:
Guard me you Saints, since Virtue is your care,
Reward my Love, and Constancy; give me,
Oh give me, to the Arms of that dear Youth,
Who when he dies, will joyn your Pious Quire,
And add a Lustre to your Heavenly Glories.
Why name I Death, I fear 'tis ominous:
My Nerves begin to tremble, and my Legs
Refuse to move, and lead me to the Prison.
Assist my Soul, shake off this Female weakness.
Give me a Hero's Heart, a Hero's Hand,
And all the barbarous cruelty of War.
Let me rush on, and beat down all his Guards;
Fly to his Arms, then be again a Woman.
(Exit.
Enter Cothurnus with his Sword drawn.
Cothur.
Take this Sword, and fight for Love and Liberty:
Those were his Words. The Slave was surely sent
By Avelina; this scroll of Paper,
Is the Pening of her lovely Fingers.
Reads,
‘Force through, I'll meet you at the Prison Gate,
‘The silent time of Night, 'twixt Twelve and One.
Then be it so, the Guards are all asleep;
But my retreat will never be secure,
Without I murther all that are my Watch.
Rotherick is a Tyrant, how can that
Justify the murder of these Wretches;
Tyred out with Labour, and with Duty:
They are Innocent, and sleeping calmly,
Scarcely Dream of Wounds and Horror, Blood and me.
There's self Defence, 'tis all I have to plead;
Oh no! my Avelina's waiting for me.
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Take care, and waft the Righteous Souls of those,
Whom my poor Hands are forc'd to push from Life:
Conduct them to that place of Harmony,
Where Bliss and Happiness; fill up the space
Of great Hereafter, and Eternity.
The time draws nigh, then hardned be my Heart,
That I may act the murthering, killing part.
(Exit.
(A Noise without, clashing of Swords and crying out.)
1 Guard.
Treason, Murder, Cothurnus is broke loose
Has forc'd the Doors, and will escape.
(Groans are heard)
Hard hearted, cruel Monster, Oh!
| Rotherick O'Connor, King of Connaught | |