 | Edward and Eleonora |  |
SCENE II.
Edward, Gloster, Theald.Edward,
entering.
O thou bright Sun! now hast'ning to those Climes,
That Parent-Isle, which I no more shall see;
And for whose Welfare oft my youthful Heart
Has vainly form'd so many a fond Design;
O thither bear, resplendent Orb of Day,
To that dear Spot of Earth, my last Farewel!
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And for whose Welfare oft my youthful Heart
Has vainly form'd so many a fond Design;
O thither bear, resplendent Orb of Day,
To that dear Spot of Earth, my last Farewel!
And thee, Eternal Providence, whose Course,
Amidst the various Maze of Life, is fix'd,
By boundless Wisdom and by boundless Love,
I follow thee, with Resignation, Hope,
With Confidence and Joy; for thou art good,
And of thy rising Goodness is no end!
Amidst the various Maze of Life, is fix'd,
By boundless Wisdom and by boundless Love,
I follow thee, with Resignation, Hope,
With Confidence and Joy; for thou art good,
And of thy rising Goodness is no end!
Well met, my dearest Friends!—It was too true
The Villain's Threatning, and I nearly touch
That awful Hour which every Man must prove,
Yet every Man still shifts at distance from him.
Come then, and let us fill the Space between,
These last important Moments, whence we take
Our latest Tincture for Eternity,
With solemn Converse and exalting Friendship—
Nay—Theald—Gloster—wound me not with Tears,
With Tears that fall o'er venerable Cheeks!
What could the Princess more?—Ah! there, indeed,
At every Thought of Her, I feel a Weight,
A dreadful Weight of Tenderness, that shakes
My firmest Resolution—Where is she?
The Villain's Threatning, and I nearly touch
That awful Hour which every Man must prove,
Yet every Man still shifts at distance from him.
Come then, and let us fill the Space between,
These last important Moments, whence we take
Our latest Tincture for Eternity,
With solemn Converse and exalting Friendship—
Nay—Theald—Gloster—wound me not with Tears,
With Tears that fall o'er venerable Cheeks!
What could the Princess more?—Ah! there, indeed,
At every Thought of Her, I feel a Weight,
A dreadful Weight of Tenderness, that shakes
My firmest Resolution—Where is she?
Theald.
She burns with fond Impatience to attend you.
Edward.
And how, brave Gloster, did you leave the Camp?
Gloster.
The Camp, Sir, is secure: each Soldier there
From Indignation draws new Force and Spirit.
O 'tis a glorious, an affecting Sight!
Those furrow'd Cheeks that never knew before
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Are bath'd. Around your Tent they, various, croud,
Rank over Rank: some pressing for a Look;
Some sadly musing, with dejected Eye;
Some, on their Knees, preferring Vows to Heaven;
And, with extended Arm, some breathing Vengeance.
“Base Saracens, they cry, perfidious Cowards!
“But Blood shall wash out Blood—Ah! poor Atonement!
“Did the whole bleeding City fall a Victim!
Edward.
What unbought Love and generous Valour fire
The free-born Heart!—Yet moderate their Zeal;
And let the Sword of Justice only strike
The faithless Selim, and his guilty Creatures.
My new-departed Spirit, just escap'd
From the low fev'rish Passions of this Life,
Would grieve to see the Blood of Innocence,
With that of Guilt confounded, stain my Tomb.
Theald.
Permit me, Sir, the Hope, that you your self—
I speak it on just Cause—may live to punish
This Breach of all the sacred Rights of Men.
Edward.
Why will you turn my Thoughts, from Earth enlarg'd,
To soft enfeebling Views of Life again?
Theald.
Not to a vain Desire of Life, my Lord,
I would recal them; but inspire each Hope,
Advise each Possibility to save it.
And there is yet a Remedy.
Edward.
Delusion!
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The fair Arabian Princess mention'd one.
Edward.
She one!—Daraxa!—something to compleat
Her Lover's Crime.
Theald.
You could not wrong her thus,
Had you beheld the Tempest of her Soul,
Her Grief, her Rage, Confusion, when she heard
Of Selim's Baseness; had you seen that Honour,
That glorious Fire that parted from her Eyes;
'Till in a Flood of virtuous Sorrow sunk,
She almost equal'd Eleonora's Tears.
Edward.
What was it she propos'd?
Theald.
It was, my Lord,
To find some Person, who, with friendly Lip,
Might draw the deadly Spirit—
Edward.
I have heard
Of such a Cure; but is it not, good Theald,
An Action fatal to the kind Performer?
Theald.
Yes, surely fatal.
Edward.
Name it then no more.
I should despise the paltry Life it purchas'd.
Besides, what Mortal can dispose so rashly
Of his own Life? Talk not of low Condition,
And of my publick Rank: when Life or Death
Becomes the Question, all Distinctions vanish;
Then the first Monarch and the lowest Slave
On the same Level stand, in This the Sons
Of equal Nature all.
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Allow me, Sir.
If 'tis a certain, an establish'd Duty,
Than Duty more, the Height of human Virtue,
To sacrifice a transitory Life
For that kind Source from whence it is deriv'd,
And all its guarded Joys, our dearest Country;
To sacrifice it in the Cause of Heaven,
Author of every Good: by the same Reason,
It may be justly sacrific'd for Those
On whom depends the Welfare of the Public.
And there is one, my Lord, who stands devoted,
By solemn and irrevocable Vows,
To die for you.
Edward.
To die for me!—Kind Nature!
Thanks to thy forming Hand, I can myself,
Chearful, sustain to pay this Debt I owe Thee,
Without the borrow'd Sufferings of Another.
No, Theald, urge this Argument no more.
I love not Life to that Degree, to purchase,
By the sure Death of some brave guiltless Friend,
A few uncertain Days, that often rise,
Like This, serene and gay, when, with swift Wing,
A Moment wraps them in disastrous Fate.
Gloster.
Did we consult to save your single Life,
Was that the present Question, thy Refusal
Were just, were generous. But, my Lord, this Person,
Who stands for you devoted, should, in That,
Be deem'd devoted for the Christian Cause,
The common Cause of Europe and thy Country.
For That this Martyr dies; dies for thy Children;
Dies for the brave Companions of thy Fortune,
Who weeping now around thy Tent conjure Thee,
To live for them, and England's promis'd Glory.
Was that the present Question, thy Refusal
Were just, were generous. But, my Lord, this Person,
Who stands for you devoted, should, in That,
Be deem'd devoted for the Christian Cause,
The common Cause of Europe and thy Country.
For That this Martyr dies; dies for thy Children;
Dies for the brave Companions of thy Fortune,
Who weeping now around thy Tent conjure Thee,
To live for them, and England's promis'd Glory.
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O I must give it way! My Heart is full
Of Thee, my Country; and my aged Veins,
At Thought of Thee, resume the Fire of Youth.—
If Honour, Glory, can exalt the Mind,
Above the common Passions that involve
The groveling Race of Men; if the first Beauty,
If Virtue drest in her divinest Charms,
All Nature's mingled Tenderness, the Parent,
The Brother, Lover, Friend, can touch the Heart;
O save our Country, Edward! save a Nation,
The chosen Land, the last Retreat of Freedom,
Amidst a broken World!—Cast back thy View,
And trace from farthest Times her old Renown.
Think of the Blood that, to maintain her Rights,
And nurse her sheltering Laws, has flow'd in Battle,
Or on the Patriot's Scaffold. Think what Cares,
What Vigilance, what Toils, what bright Contention,
In Councils, Camps, and well-disputed Senates,
It cost our generous Ancestors, to raise
A matchless Plan of Freedom: whence we shine,
Even in the jealous Eye of hostile Nations,
The happiest of Mankind.—Then see all This,
This Virtue, Wisdom, Toil and Blood of Ages,
Behold it ready to be lost for ever.
Behold us almost broken to the Yoke,
Robb'd of our antient Spirit, sunk in Baseness,
At home corrupted, and despis'd abroad.
Behold our Wealth consum'd, those Treasures squander'd,
That might protect and nourish wholesom Peace,
Or urge a glorious War; on Wretches squander'd,
A venal Crew that plunder and disgrace us.
Of Thee, my Country; and my aged Veins,
At Thought of Thee, resume the Fire of Youth.—
If Honour, Glory, can exalt the Mind,
Above the common Passions that involve
The groveling Race of Men; if the first Beauty,
If Virtue drest in her divinest Charms,
All Nature's mingled Tenderness, the Parent,
The Brother, Lover, Friend, can touch the Heart;
O save our Country, Edward! save a Nation,
The chosen Land, the last Retreat of Freedom,
Amidst a broken World!—Cast back thy View,
And trace from farthest Times her old Renown.
Think of the Blood that, to maintain her Rights,
And nurse her sheltering Laws, has flow'd in Battle,
Or on the Patriot's Scaffold. Think what Cares,
What Vigilance, what Toils, what bright Contention,
In Councils, Camps, and well-disputed Senates,
It cost our generous Ancestors, to raise
A matchless Plan of Freedom: whence we shine,
Even in the jealous Eye of hostile Nations,
The happiest of Mankind.—Then see all This,
This Virtue, Wisdom, Toil and Blood of Ages,
Behold it ready to be lost for ever.
Behold us almost broken to the Yoke,
Robb'd of our antient Spirit, sunk in Baseness,
At home corrupted, and despis'd abroad.
Behold our Wealth consum'd, those Treasures squander'd,
That might protect and nourish wholesom Peace,
Or urge a glorious War; on Wretches squander'd,
A venal Crew that plunder and disgrace us.
In this important, this decisive Hour,
On Thee, and Thee alone, our weeping Country
Turns her distressful Eye; to Thee she calls,
And with a helpless Parent's piercing Voice.
Wilt thou not live for Her? for Her subdue
A graceful Pride, I own, but still a Pride,
That more becomes thy Courage and thy Youth
Than Birth and publick Station? Nay, for Her,
Say, wouldst thou not resign the dearest Passions?
On Thee, and Thee alone, our weeping Country
Turns her distressful Eye; to Thee she calls,
And with a helpless Parent's piercing Voice.
21
A graceful Pride, I own, but still a Pride,
That more becomes thy Courage and thy Youth
Than Birth and publick Station? Nay, for Her,
Say, wouldst thou not resign the dearest Passions?
Edward.
O there is nothing which for Thee, my Country,
I, in my proper Person, could not suffer!
But thus to sculk behind another's Life,
'Tis what I scarce have Courage to support,
It makes a kind of Coward of me, Gloster.
And yet the Reasons urg'd, I must acknowledge,
Demand a deep Regard.—Well—be it so—
Ere to this Instance of amazing Friendship
I can submit, let me behold the Friend.
Perhaps my Bounty may requite his Love,
To those he holds much dearer than himself.
Conduct him hither, Theald.
| Edward and Eleonora | |