Boadicia :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.