University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE the First.

Flaminius and Ænobarbus.
Flaminius.
Ho! Ænobarbus, thou mayst now come forward.
What has thy angry soul been brooding o'er?

Ænobarbus.
Well, thou hast su'd, and hast obtain'd thy suit;
Of these Barbarians meanly hast implor'd
Thy wretched life, and hast it, Must I thank thee
For this uncommon privilege to stand
A tame spectator of the Roman shame,
To see exulting savages o'erturn
Our walls and ramparts, see them with the spoils
Of our waste dwellings, with our captive eagles,
And ancient trophies, ravish'd from our temples,
March in rude triumph o'er the gods of Rome?

Flaminius.
What, thou hadst rather die?

Ænobarbus.
And thou hadst rather
Live, like a dog, in chains, than die with courage,
Thou most unworthy of the Roman name.

Flaminius.
Did those, who now inhabit Rome, deserve
The name of Romans? did the ancient spirit
Of our forefathers still survive among us,
I should applaud this bold contempt of life.
Our ancestors, who liv'd, while Rome was free,
Might well prefer a noble fate to chains;
They lost a blessing, we have never known;
Born and inur'd to servitude at home,
We only change one master for another,
And Dumnorix is far beyond a Nero.

Ænobarbus.
Meanst thou to mock me?

Flaminius.
No, I mean to shew,
Thy stern opinions suit not with the times.

Ænobarbus.
Still by our valour we control the world,
And in that duty will I match the foremost.
If our forefathers' manners be neglected,
Free from that blame, I singly will maintain them.
My sentiments are moulded by my spirit,
Which wants thy pliant qualities to yield
With ev'ry gust of fortune rude, or mild,
And crouch beneath example base, or worthy.

Flaminius.
Well, if thou canst not brook a British master—

Ænobarbus.
No, nor thy wanton folly will I brook,
Which sports alike with slavery, or freedom,
Insensible of shame.

Flaminius.
Suppose, I free thee.

Ænobarbus.
Free me?

Flaminius.
This day, if fortune be propitious.

Ænobarbus.
Ha! do not cheat me with delusive fables,
And trifle with my bonds.

Flaminius.
By all my hopes,
I do not trifle.

Ænobarbus.
Wilt thou give my bosom
Once more to buckle on the soldier's harness,
And meet in battle our insulting foes?
Shall my keen falchion gore the flying rout,
And raise a bleeding trophy to revenge
For each indignity, which Rome hath borne?
Hold me no longer in suspence; instruct me,
From whence these hopes proceed.

Flaminius.
Thou know'st, I lov'd
The British princess.

Ænobarbus.
Hast thou rais'd my hopes
To freedom, future victory and honour,
And dost thou talk of love?

Flaminius.
That love shall save us.
Thou saw'st, the gentle Emmeline but now
Stole to our tent, and gave her tend'rest welcome.
Unchang'd I found her, soft and artless still.
The gen'rous maid already hath suggested
The means of flight. The battle once begun,
While ev'ry Briton is intent on war,
Herself will guide us to a place of safety.

Ænobarbus.
Now I commend thee.

Flaminius.
Thou approv'st then.

Ænobarbus.
Ay.

Flaminius.
And see, the joyful moment is approaching;
See, where th'unnumber'd Trinobantians spread
In rude disorder o'er the vale beneath,
Whose broad extent this eminence commands.
Mark their wide-waving multitude, confus'd
With mingling standards, and tumultuous cars:
But far superior to the rest behold,
The brave and gen'rous Dumnorix, erect
With eager hope, his lofty jav'lin shakes,
And with unpolish'd majesty adorns
The front of war.

Ænobarbus.
I mark the rabble well;
And soon shall view the Romans from their station
Between those woods, which shade the adverse hills,
Sweep with resistless ardour to the vale,
And trample o'er the savages, like dust.

Flaminius.
That smiling vale with pity I contemplate,
And wish, more gentle foot-steps might be seen
To press its verdure, and that softer notes,
Than war's terrific clamours, might be tun'd
From those surrounding shades to join the murmurs
Of that fair channel, whose sonorous bed
Receives the stream, descending from this grove
To form the limpid maze, which shines below.

Ænobarbus.
I see it glist'ning in the noon-day sun.
But British gore will change its glassy hue.

Flaminius.
Oh! might we rather on its friendly banks
Erect a grateful monument to peace;
That she, her sway resuming, might afford me
To clasp the gallant Dumnorix, and stile him
My friend, my benefactor, and preserver—
Stand from before this tempest, while it passes.

SCENE the second.

Boadicia, Icenians, Ænobarbus and Flaminius at a distance.
Boadicia.
Oh! I could drive this jav'lin thro' my heart
To ease its tortures. Disobey'd! Controll'd!
Ev'n in my army's sight! Malignant pow'rs,
If such there be, who o'er revenge preside,
Who steel the breast with ever-during hate,
And aid black rancour in its purpos'd mischief,
Be present now, and guide my indignation!
[pauses
The Trinobantians are advanc'd before me,
Let them sustain the onset; let the Romans
On Dumnorix with ev'ry cohort press,
Till he entreat for Boadicia's aid:
Then shall my eager eyes enjoy his ruin;
And when th'insulting boaster is o'erthrown,
His bands dispers'd, or gasping in the dust,
Then will I rush exulting in my car,
Like fierce Andatè, on the weary'd foe
Lead rout and slaughter, thro' a tide of gore
Impel my clotted wheels, redeem the day,
And from the mouth of danger snatching conquest,
Crown my revenge with glory.

SCENE the third.

Boadicia, Icenians, Ænobarbus and Flaminius at a distance, and Venusia.
Venusia.
Stand apart
At my request, Icenians, O unbend,
[To Boad.
That louring brow, and hear a suppliant sister!
So prone to errour is our mortal frame,
Time could not step without a trace of horrour,
If wary nature on the human heart
Amid its wild variety of passions
Had not impress'd a soft and yielding sense,
That when offences give resentment birth,
The kindly dews of penitence may raise
The seeds of mutual mercy and forgiveness.

Boadicia.
Weak wretch, and yet whose impotence aspires
To mix in warlike councils, and determine
The fate of captives, won in fields of death,
Thou wouldst do better to reserve thy tears;
Thou shall't have cause for penitential torrents.

Venusia.
They will not wait a second birth of woe;
At thy severity they burst already.
Why turns on me that formidable aspect,
Wont with commanding sternness to behold
Its foes abash'd, and victory its vassal?
Yet how much brighter is the wreath of glory,
When interwove with clemency and justice.
Thou go'st to battle, there obtain renown;
But learn compassion from my tears, nor think,
Benignity enfeebles, or dishonours
The most exalted valour.

Boadicia.
Shall the tears
Of abject importunity detain me,
While vengeance, striding from his grizly den,
With fell impatience grinds his iron teeth,
And waits my nod to satisfy his hunger.
Hence to th'employment of thy feeble distaff.

Venusia.
Not skill'd, like thee, in war's ennobling toils,
Inferiour praise, and humbler tasks I court,
And own my safety in thy loftier virtues;
Yet not like thee, with unforgiving wrath
Could I resign a sister to her grief
At this tremendous hour, so near deciding
The fate of both. One gentle word bestow,
And I will leave thee with obedient haste;
Nay I will seek the altars, and request,
That in the future triumphs of this day
Heav'n may refuse to Dumnorix a share,
And give thee all.

Boadicia.
Does Dumnorix consent
To sacrifice the Romans? art thou mute?
Still does he brave me? but your favour'd captives
Shall not escape. They soon shall join the victims,
Which this unconquer'd jav'lin shall reserve
To solemnize the fall of Rome's dominion.
Then to my glory Dumnorix shall bend.
In sight of Britain shall his baffled pride
The pomp of public sacrifice behold,
Behold and pine. You take a band of soldiers;
[To an Icenian.
Watch well around the Trinobantian tents,
And guard these Romans, as your lives. I tell thee,
[To Venus.
Their gore shall yet besmear Andate's altar.

Venusia.
In silent awe I heard thy first resentment,
Yet hop'd the well known accents of affection,
In kindness whisper'd to thy secret ear,
Might to thy breast recal its exil'd pity,
That gentle inmate of a woman's heart.

Boadicia.
Durst thou, presumptuous, entertain a thought
To give this bosom, nerv'd with manly strength,
The weak sensations of a female spirit?

Venusia.
When I remind thy elevated soul,
That we by mutual interests are but one,
And by th'indissoluble ties of birth,
Are those sensations weak, which nature prompts?
With justice strenthen'd, can her pow'rful voice
Find no persuasion.—

Boadicia.
None. Provoke no more
With plaintive murmurs my indignant ear.
Thou, and thy husband, authors of my shame
Before th'assembled chiefs, may rest assur'd,
No prayers shall soften, no attonement bribe,
And no submission shall appease the wrong.
May desolation trample on my dwelling
A second time, rapacious force again,
And insult revel through my inmost chambers,
If I forgive you. Thou hast food for anguish;
Go, and indulge its appetite at leisure.

Venusia.
Yes, I will hasten to the holy shrine,
There wring my hands, and melt in copious sorrow
Not for my injur'd self, but thee remorseless,
To mourn thy faded honours, which, deform'd
By harsh injustice to thy blameless friends,
Ne'er will revive in beauty. Not success,
Not trophies rising round thee; not the throng
Of circling captives, and their conquer'd standards,
Nor glorious dust of victory can hide
From just reproach thy unrelenting scorn,
While none deplore thee, but the wrong'd Venusia.

SCENE the fourth.

Boadicia, Icenians, Ænobarbus and Flaminius at a distance.
Boadicia.
Stern pow'r of war, my patroness and guide,
To thee each captive Roman I devote.
Come then, vindictive goddess in thy terrours;
O'erwhelm with wrath his sacrilegious head,
Who would defraud thy altars: O confound
His ranks, his steeds, his chariots, and thy favour
To me, thy martial votaress, confine,
In sex, like thee, and glowing with thy fires.

SCENE the fifth.

Ænobarbus and Flaminius.
Ænobarbus.
Do thou come forward now, and say, what terrours
Has thy dejected soul been brooding o'er?
Yon furious dame, who fill'd thee so with dread,
Is marching onward. Raise thy head, and look.
See, where ev'n now with sullen pride she mounts
Her martial seat; yet wondrous slow, by heav'n,
Her car descends, nor soon will reach the vale.
Thou lookst desponding. Art thou still dismay'd?
Thinkst thou, yon dreadful woman will return?
From us she moves, though slowly; then take comfort.

Flaminius.
Far other cares, than terrour, fill my breast.

Ænobarbus.
What means this languor? Wherefore heaves that sigh?

Flaminius.
O Ænobarbus, willt thou bear my weakness;
I see the moment of deliv'rance near,
Yet pine with grief.

Ænobarbus.
Whate'er the folly be,
With which thy bosom teems, the gods confound it.

Flaminius.
To see the dearest object of my soul,
Just see her after such a tedious absence,
Then vanish from her sight perhaps for ever,
When these reflections rise, the sweet exchange
From bonds to freedom, which to her I owe,
Is mix'd with bitterness, and joy subsides.

Ænobarbus.
Why didst thou leave the fair Italian fields,
Thou silken slave of Venus? what could move
Thee to explore these boist'rous northern climes,
And change yon radiant sky for Britain's clouds?
What dost thou here, effeminate? by heav'n
Thou shouldst have loiter'd in Campania's villas
And in thy garden nurs'd with careful hands
The gaudy-vested progeny of Flora;
Or indolently pac'd the pebbled shore,
And ey'd the beating of the Tuscan wave
To waste thy irksome leisure. Will't thou tell me,
What thou dost here in Britain? dost thou come
To sigh and pine? could Italy afford
No food for these weak passions? must thou traverse
Such tracts of land, and visit this cold region
To love and languish? answer me, what motive
First brought thee hither? but forbear to urge,
It was in quest of honour; for the god
Of war disclaims thee.

Flaminius.
Well, suppose, I answer,
That friendship drew me from the golden Tiber,
With thee to combat this inclement sky,
Will it offend thee?

Ænobarbus.
No, I am thy friend,
And I will make a Roman of thee still;
But let me see no languishing dejection
More on thy brow, nor hear unmanly sighs.
Gods! can'st thou dream of love? When yonder see,
The Roman legions, all array'd for battle,
Are now descending; see their dreaded eagles,
Their dazzling helmets, and their crimson plumes:
A grove of jav'lins glitters down the steep;
They point their terrours on th'astonish'd foe;
Soon will they charge the Britons in the vale,
And with th'auspicious glories of this day
Enrich the annals of imperial Rome.
O curst captivity! with double weight
I feel thee now! malicious fate! to suffer
A Roman thus to stand confin'd in bondage,
And see the triumphs, which he cannot share.
By heav'n, Flaminius, I will never bear it.
Where is thy Briton? Will she lead us hence?
Else, by the god of war, unarm'd I rush
To join the glorious scene, which opens there.

Flaminius.
I see her coming, and will fly to meet her.

Ænobarbus.
Our time is short, remember; do not dally.

SCENE the sixth.

Ænobarbus.
I have a thought, lyes rip'ning in my breast,
And teems with future glory, if the fight
Prove undecisive, and these tents subsist.
Soon will I bid thee, hostile camp, farewell.
Thou saw'st me come in thraldom; I depart
A fugitive: if ever I return,
Thou shallt receive me in another guise;
Then shallt thou feel me; when my shining helm
Shall strike cold terrour through thy boldest guards,
And from its lofty crest destruction shake.