University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE the first.

Flaminius and Ænobarbus.
Flaminius.
Our lovely guide attends us. Thy impatience
Hath call'd me loit'rer.

Ænobarbus.
Thou mayst loiter still.
Thou canst not hasten, nor retard our fate,
Which is irrevocably fix'd.

Flaminius.
What say'st thou?

Ænobarbus.
I say, prepare to die. If Boadicia
Return once more, our destiny is fix'd.
Whate'er her merciless revenge may purpose,
Elate with conquest, or incens'd by loss,
If on the rack to strain our bursting sinews,
If from the bleeding trunks to lop our limbs,
Or with slow fires protract the hours of pain,
We must abide it all. Collect thy spirit,
And, like a Roman, dauntless wait thy doom.

Flaminius.
I hear thee, but thy meaning—

Ænobarbus.
Hear again.
Before the tent some paces as I stood,
And joyful saw the Trinobantian guard,
Of us neglectful, from this quarter drawn
To view th'impending battle; on a sudden
A curs'd Icenian cast his jealous eye
Athwart my steps, then call'd a num'rous band,
Who prowl around us, as a destin'd prey.

Flaminius.
Malicious fortune!

Ænobarbus.
Now that seest my meaning.

Flaminius.
Our flight were vain, while these observe us.

Ænobarbus.
True.
What has thy tame submission now avail'd,
Thy abject supplication to barbarians?
Hadst thou with courage met thy fate at first,
We had been dead, ere now.

Flaminius.
To view the sun
Thro' his gay progress from the morn, till even,
Possess my friends, my parents, and my love
Within the circle of my native walls
Were joys, I deem'd well worthy of my care;
But since that care is fruitless, I can leave
This light, my friends, my parents, love, and country,
As little daunted at my fate, as thou,
Tho' not so unconcern'd.

Ænobarbus.
O Mars and Vesta!
Is it a vision, which you raise before me
To charm my eyes? Behold a scene, Flaminius,
To cheer a Roman in the gasp of death.
The Britons are defeated; look, Flaminius;
Back from the vale in wild tumultuous flight
Behold their numbers sweeping tow'rd the hill;
Already some are swarming up its side
To reach their camp for shelter; pale dismay
With hostile rage pursue their broken rear,
While massacre, unchidden, cloys his famine,
And quaffs the blood of nations. O in vain
Dost thou oppose thy bosom to the tide
Of war, and brandish that recover'd standard;
Vain is thy animating voice to those,
Whom fear makes deaf; O Dumnorix, thy toils
Are fruitless, Britain in the scale of fate
Yields to the weight of Rome. Now, life, farewell:
Shine on, bright Phœbus, those, who rest behind
To share thy splendours, while I sink in darkness,
Are far beneath my envy; I resign
These eyes with pleasure to eternal shades,
They now have seen enough.

Flaminius.
Whence this despair?
A blind confusion fills the spacious camp.
Already consternation hath dispers'd
Our guard. Ev'n Dumnorix retires—He comes;
Avoid him—Trust me, I am well instructed,
And will conduct thee to a safe retreat

SCENE the second.

Dumnorix
with a standard.
Thou hard-kept remnant of our shatter'd fortune,
Stand there before the partial eye of heav'n,
Which has preferr'd the Romans' splendid altars,
To the plain virtue of a British heart.
Presumptuous frenzy! Why is heav'n reproach'd?
O Boadicia, thou perfidious mischief!

SCENE the third.

Dumnorix and Venusia.
Venusia.
Now let my duty o'er my fear prevail,
Fill my whole breast with tenderness, and heal
With sweetest comfort thy distress.

Dumnorix.
My wife!
Thou most unlike to you degen'rate woman,
Her country's bane!

Venusia.
I tremble at thy words.

Dumnorix.
Be not dismay'd; the camp is still our own.
Night is impending, and the Romans halt.

Venusia.
But what of Boadicia?

Dumnorix.
Hear and mourn.
The Trinobantians scarce had fill'd the vale,
When from a narrow pass between the woods
Forth burst the Romans, wedg'd in deep array.
I found our struggle vain, and sent for aid
To Boadicia; she with scorn reply'd,
I did not want th'assistance of a woman;
Nor left her station, till my broken ranks
Were driv'n among th'Icenians: in a moment
All was confusion, slaughter and defeat.

SCENE the fourth.

Dumnorix, Venusia, and Boadicia
Dumnorix.
Gods! art thou safe?

Venusia.
Oh! most unhappy sister!
When last we parted, cruel were thy words,
A sure presage of endless grief to me;
Yet my desponding spirit ne'er foreboded,
That thou couldst deviate from a prosp'rous course,
When ev'ry gale conspir'd to swell thy glory.

Boadicia.
Throw not on me the crime of envious fortune.

Dumnorix.
Dost thou blame fortune, traitress?

Boadicia.
Then the blame
Take on thy single head.

Dumnorix.
Avoid any sight.

Boadicia.
Thou ledst the van.

Dumnorix.
Avaunt.

Boadicia.
Thou fledst the first,
Now findst too late th'importance of a woman.

Dumnorix.
Too true I find a woman curs'd with pow'r
To blast a nation's welfare. Heavenly rulers!
How have the Britons merited this shame?
Have we with fell ambition, like the Romans,
Unpeopled realms, and made the world a desart?
Have we your works defac'd; or how deserv'd
So large a measure of your bitt'rest wrath,
That you should cloath this spirit of a wolf
In human form, and blend her lot with ours?

Boadicia.
Beset with perils, as I am, pursu'd
By rout and havoc to th'encirc'ling toyl;
Untam'd by this reverse, my lofty soul,
Upbraiding still thy arrogance, demands,
Who spar'd the captive Romans? Who provok'd
My just resentment? Who, in pow'r, in name
And dignity inferior, but elate
With blind presumption, and by envy stung,
Dar'd to dispute with me supreme command,
Then pale and trembling turn'd his back on danger?

Venusia.
O once united by the friendliest ties,
And leaders both of nations, shall this land
Still view its bulwarks, tott'ring with disunion,
Enhance the public and their own misfortunes?
Thou, my complacent lord, wert wont to smooth
That manly front at pity's just complaint;
And, thou entrusted with a people's welfare,
A queen and warrior, let disdain no more
Live in the midst of danger—see Venusia
Upon her knees—

Dumnorix.
Shall thy perfections kneel
To this—

Venusia.
Oh! stop, nor give resentment utt'rance.
In such a cause the proudest knee might sue
To less, than Boadicia—Turn not from me
[To Boadicia
Look on a prostrate sister! Think, thou hear'st
Our children's plaintive notes enforce my pray'r,
And Albion's genius mix his solemn moan;
That lamentations through thy ears resound
From all the wives and mothers of those thousands,
Whose limbs lie stretch'd on yonder fields of death;
Those wretched wives and mothers, oh! reflect,
But for the fatal discord of this day
With other looks, with other cries and gestures,
With diff'rent transports, and with diff'rent tears
Might have receiv'd their sons and husbands home,
Than they will now survey their pale remains,
Which there lye mangled by the Roman sword
To feed the raven's hunger—yet relent!
Yet let restoring union close our wounds,
And to repair this ruin be thy praise!

Dumnorix.
Rise, rise. Thy mildness, whose persuasive charm
No cruelty, but hers, could hear unmov'd,
In vain would render placable and wise
That malice, inhumanity and frenzy,
Which have already wasted such a store
Of glory and success.

Boadicia.
Oh!

Dumnorix.
Dost thou groan?

Boadicia.
No, no, I do not feel a moment's pain.

Dumnorix.
Thy words are false. Thy heart o'erflows with anguish.

Boadicia.
No, I despise both thee and fortune still.

Dumnorix.
By heav'n, I know distraction rends thy soul,
And to its view presents th'approaching scene
Of shame and torture, when th'indignant Romans
Exact a tenfold vengeance for their suff'rings;
And when thou passest through their streets in chains,
The just derision of insulting foes,
A frantic woman, who resign'd her hopes,
And to indulge an empty pride betray'd
Her children, friends and country; then recal,
What once was Boadicia, fall'n how low
From all her honours, by her folly fall'n
From pow'r, from empire, victory and glory
To vilest bonds, and ignominious stripes.

Boadicia.
May curses blast thee, worse, than I can utter,
And keener pangs, than whips, or shackles feize thee!

Venusia.
Oh! sister, how unseemly is this rage.
Whom dost thou load with these ungen'rous curses?
Thy faithful friend, thy counsellour and brother,
Whom thou hast injur'd, injur'd past the pow'r
Of reparation. Dost thou call for whips
To print those venerable limbs with shame,
For bonds to humble that majestic head,
Which foes themselves must honour? yet, if chains
Must be our fate, what cruel hand hath forg'd them,
But thine alone? thy hand hath heap'd destruction
On him, thy once rever'd ally, on me,
On my poor children, guiltless of offence,
And on thy own, who claim'd protection from thee;
Yet thou obdurate, to thy rage a prey,
Dost chide remorse and pity from thy breast.

Dumnorix
to Boadicia.
Source of thy own afflictions! to behold thee
Distracted thus, thus fall'n and lost, to see
Thus strongly painted on thy lab'ring features
The pangs, thou feel'st within, awakes compassion.

Boadicia.
Ha! no—divine Andate shall uphold me
Above thy pity. Think'st thou, Boadicia
Is thus deserted by her patron goddess,
Thus void of all resources? think so still,
And be deceiv'd. Ev'n now I feel her aid;
[aside.
I feel her here; the warlike queen inspires
My pregnant soul; the mighty plan is forming;
It grows, it labours in my ardent bosom;
It springs to life, and calls for instant action;
Lead on, exert thee, goddess, till the furies,
Which heretofore have thunder'd at thy heels,
Start at the new-born horrours of this night.

SCENE the fifth.

Dumnorix and Venusia.
Venusia.
Oh! Dumnorix, how virtue hath recoil'd
Upon itself! my interposing pity,
Thy manly firmness in a gen'rous act
Gave these disasters being.

Dumnorix.
I forbid thee
To blame thy virtues, which the gods approve,
And I revere. Now leave me to concert
With our surviving chiefs the means of safety.

Venusia.
Oh! that, like me, compliant, at thy word
Peace a benign companion would attend,
And moderate thy cares, while I depart.

SCENE the sixth.

Dumnorix.
Have I been guilty? answer me, my heart,
Who now wouldst burst my agonizing breast,
Hath Dumnorix been guilty? willt thou, Britain,
To me impute the horrours of this day?
Perhaps a Roman's policy had yielded,
And to a colleague's cruelty and pride
Had sacrific'd humanity and justice;
I did not so, and Albion is destroy'd.
Yet, O be witness, all ye gen'rous spirits,
So lately breathing in those heaps of death,
That in this day's extremity and peril
Your Dumnorix was mindful of his charge;
My shiver'd javelin, my divided shield,
And blunted sword, be witness for your master,
You were not idle in that dreadful hour:
Nor ev'n amid the carnage pil'd around me,
Will I relinquish my pursuit of hope—
Hope may forsake me—For myself I fear not—
But my Venusia—Ha! prepare, my soul—
There is thy struggle, on her tender mind
To graft thy firmness, which can welcome death,
And hold it gain, when liberty is lost.