 | Boadicia |  |
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ACT IV.
SCENE the First.
Dumnorix.Till good Tenantius, and the rest return,
I have been led by solitary care
To yon dark branches, spreading o'er the brook,
Which murmurs through the camp; this mighty camp,
Where once two hundred thousand sons of war
With restless dins awak'd the midnight hour.
Now horrid stillness in the vacant tents
Sits undisturb'd; and these incessant rills,
Whose pebbled channel breaks their shallow stream,
Fill with their melancholly sound my ears,
As if I wander'd, like a lonely hind,
O'er some dead fallow far from all resort:
Unless that ever and anon a groan
Bursts from a soldier, pillow'd on his shield
In torment, or expiring with his wounds,
And turns my fix'd attention into horrour.
Venusia comes—The hideous scene around me
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Yet how to name thee, death, without thy terrours!
SCENE the second.
Dumnorix and Venusia.Venusia.
Thou didst enjoin my absence. I departed.
With ill-tim'd care if now returning—
Dumnorix.
No.
Venusia.
Alas! deep-plung'd in sadness still I find thee.
Dumnorix.
Dost thou? come nearer. Thou hast seen this day,
How thy perfidious, thy invet'rate sister
Hath stain'd my glory, and my fortune baffled;
Thou hast received me vanquish'd, who before
Was us'd to greet thee with the sound of conquest.
Now tell me truly; am I still the same
In my Venusia's eyes.
Venusia.
What means my lord;
Dumnorix.
Am I still lov'd and honour'd, as before?
Venusia.
Canst thou suspect, that fortune rules my love?
Thy pow'r and honours may be snatch'd away,
Thy wide possessions pass to other lords,
And, frowning heav'n resume whate'er it gave,
All but my love, which ne'er shall know decay,
But ev'n in ruin shall augment its fondness.
Dumnorix.
Then will my dictates be regarded still.
Venusia.
Impart this moment thy rever'd commands,
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To ease thy troubles, I will bless the gods,
And unrepining to our fate submit.
Dumnorix.
Think not, my own calamities distress me;
I can encounter fortune's keenest malice:
But oh! for thee, Venusia—
Venusia.
Do not fear.
While in these faithful arms I hold my lord,
I never shall complain. Let ev'ry ill,
Let ruin and captivity oe'rtake me,
With thee I will be happy.
Dumnorix.
Ha! Venusia!
Could thou and I find happiness together,
Depriv'd of freedom? Dost thou mark?
Venusia.
I do.
Dumnorix.
Thou art most fair; but could thy lovely face
Make slavery look comely? Could the touch
Of that soft hand convey delight to mine
With servile fetters on?
Venusia.
Why dost thou gaze
So stedfastly upon me?
Dumnorix.
I would have thee
Reflect once more upon the loss of freedom.
Venusia.
It is the heaviest sure of human woes.
Dumnorix.
Learn one thing more, and though relentless heav'n
Its care withdraws from this ill-destin'd isle,
Thou in the fall of nations shallt be safe.
Oh! heed Venusia! never did thy welfare
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Else from the public danger would I spare
These precious moments to assist thy virtue.
Venusia.
Thou mak'st me all attention.
Dumnorix.
Reach thy hand.
Now while I hold thee, do I bless Andate,
That this free hand, protected by my sword,
Hath not yet known the shameful doom of bondage.
Venusia.
Nor shall I know it; thy unshaken valour
Will be my safeguard still.
Dumnorix.
If fate confounds
My utmost efforts, can I then protect thee?
Venusia.
Why dost thou lead me to despair? Why fill
My breast with terrours? Never did I see thee,
Till this sad hour, thus hopeless and dejected.
Oh! how shall I, a woman weak and fearful,
Sustain my portion of the gen'ral woe;
If thou, in perils exercis'd and war,
Dost to ill fortune bow thy gallant spirit?
Dumnorix.
Think not, Venusia, I abandon hope.
No, on the verge of ruin will I stand,
And dauntless combat with our evil fate;
Nor, till its rancour bear me to the bottom,
My soul shall ever entertain despair:
But as the wisest, and the best resolv'd
Cannot controll the doubtful chance of war,
I would prepare thee for the worst event.
Venusia.
Fly, where thou willt, my faithful steps shall follow.
I can pursue thy course with naked feet,
Though roaming o'er the rough and pointed crags,
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By thy dear hand supported, would I pass
Through the cold snow, which hides the mountain's brow,
And o'er the frozen surface of the vale.
Dumnorix.
Thou best of women, I believe thou wouldst,
Believe, thy constant heart would teach those limbs,
Thus soft and gentle, to support all hardship,
And hold with me society in toil.
But should we want the wretched pow'r to fly,
What then?
Venusia.
What then?
Dumnorix.
The Romans may surround us.
Venusia.
How wouldst thou act in such a dreadful season?
Dumnorix.
Ne'er shall the hands of Dumnorix endure
The shame of fetters; ne'er shall Rome behold
This breast, which honourable war hath seam'd,
Pant with the load of bondage: gen'rous wounds,
Ye deep engraven characters of glory,
Ye faithful monitors of Albion's cause,
Oft, when your midnight anguish hath rebuk'd
Oblivious slumber from my watchful pillow,
And in her danger kept my virtue waking:
You, when that office can avail no more,
Will look more graceful on my death-cold bosom,
Than to be shewn before the scoffing Romans,
Should they behold that Dumnorix in shackles,
Whom once they dreaded on the field of war.
Venusia.
Assist me heav'n!
Dumnorix.
Speak out. I watch to hear thee.
My pow'rs are all suspended with attention.
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What shall I do?
Dumnorix.
Explain thy thoughts.
Venusia.
I cannot.
Dumnorix.
Why canst thou not? Remember, who thou art,
And who thy husband is.
Venusia.
The first of men,
Join'd to the least deserving of her sex.
Dumnorix.
View thy own heart; be conscious of thy merit;
And in its strength confiding, be secure,
That thou art worthy of the greatest man,
And not unequal to the noblest task.
Venusia.
O I will struggle to assist that claim!
Yet dearest lord, extend thy whole indulgence,
Nor undeserving of thy love esteem me,
While trembling thus.
Dumnorix.
I know thy native softness.
Yet wherefore dost thou tremble? Speak, my love.
Venusia.
O I have not thy courage, not been us'd,
Like thee, to meet the dreadful shape of death;
I never felt the anguish of a wound;
Thy arm hath still kept danger at a distance:
If now it threatens, and my heart no more
Must treat with safety, it is new to me.
Dumnorix.
It is, my love. My tenderness implies
No expectation, that thy gentle mind
Should be at once familiariz'd with fate.
Not insurmountable I hold our danger.
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That thou mayst bear, unterrify'd, the lot,
Which best shall suit thy dignity and name,
Demands thy care: take counsel of thy virtue.
Venusia.
I will.
Dumnorix.
And arm thy breast with resolution.
Venusia.
Indeed I will, and ask the gracious gods
To fill my heart with constancy and spirit,
And shew me worthy of a man, like thee.
Perhaps their succour, thy rever'd injunction,
And high example, may controll my terrours;
But oh! what pow'r shall sooth another care,
Than life more precious, and a keener pang,
Than death's severest agony, relieve;
The sad remembrance of my helpless infants,
Our love's dear pledges, who before me rise
In orphan woe, defenceless and forsaken,
And all my borrow'd fortitude dissolve,
Dumnorix.
Thou perfect pattern of maternal fondness,
And conjugal compliance, rest assur'd,
That care was never absent from my soul.
Confide in me thy children shall be safe.
Venusia.
How safe?
Dumnorix.
Shall live in safety. Thou shallt know.
Mean time retire. Our anxious chiefs, return'd,
Wait my commands, and midnight is advancing,
SCENE the third.
Dumnorix.She goes—her love and duty will surmount
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Clos'd by a night of horrour, which reduces
This poor—dear woman, yet in blooming years,
Bless'd in her husband, in her offspring bless'd,
Perhaps to cut her stem of being short
With her own tender hand—If ever tears
Might sort with valour, nor debase a soldier,
It would be now—Ha! whither do I plunge?
SCENE the Fourth.
Dumnorix, Ebrancus, Tenantius and Trinobantians.Dumnorix.
Well, my brave friends, what tidings?
Ebrancus.
Through thy quarter
With weary steps, and mourning, have we travers'd
A silent desart of unpeopled tents
Quite to the distant station of th'Icenians.
Their chiefs we found in council round their queen;
The multitude was arming: twenty thousand
Were yet remaining, and unhurt by war,
Unlike our Trinobantians, who, unaided,
The fatal onset bore. Those huge battalions,
Which Rome so dreaded, are alas! no more.
Dumnorix.
Be not dejected. Far the greater part,
Are fled for shelter to their native roofs,
And will rejoin us, when with force repair'd
We may dispute our island still with Rome.
But have you gain'd access to Boadicia?
Ebrancus.
We have.
Dumnorix.
What said she?
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She approv'd thy counsel
Dumnorix.
You told her then my purpose to retreat
Through yonder forest.
Ebrancus.
To herself alone
We told it.
Dumnorix.
I commend you. You have sav'd us
A conference, both needless and unpleasing.
Ebrancus.
She further bade us note, how all th'Icenians
Were then in arms, and ready to advance.
Dumnorix.
Return, and tell her, (let thy phrase, Ebrancus,
Be soft and humble) e're two hours be wasted,
We must begin our march. Do you explore
[To the other Trinobantians.
The secret passage, and with winged haste
Bring back your tidings. Thou, Tenantius, wait.
SCENE the fifth.
Dumnorix and Tenantius.Dumnorix.
To thee my inmost bosom I must open,
And to thy friendship trust my tend'rest cares.
Thou must pursue thy journey (heed me well)
Quite through the forest—Dost thou know the pass?
Tenantius.
Yes, where those gushing waters leave the grove
To seek the valley, deeper in the shade
From the same fountain flows a smaller brook
Whose secret channel through the thicket winds
And will conduct me farther down the vale—
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Which once attain'd, proceed and gain my dwelling.
Give me thy honest hand.—Come nearer, soldier,
Thy faithful bosom would I clasp to mine—
Perhaps thy general and thou may never
Embrace again.
Tenantius.
What means my fearless chief?
Why hast thou call'd this unaccustom'd moisture
Into thy soldier's eyes?
Dumnorix.
Thou dost not weep,
My gallant vet'ran—I have been to blame.
A tenderness, resulting from a care,
Which struggles here, subdu'd me for a moment.
This shall be soon discharg'd, and all be well.
I have two boys—If after all my efforts
(I speak not prompted by despair, but caution)
Rome should prevail against me, and our hopes
Abortive fall, thou take these helpless infants;
With thee transport them to our northern frontier,
And hide them deep in Caledonian woods.
There in their growing years excite and cherish
The dear remembrance of their native fields;
That to redeem them from th'Italian spoiler,
If e'er some kind occasion should invite,
Forth from their covert they may spring undaunted.
Ne'er let the race of Dumnorix divert
One thought from Albion to their own repose.
Remind them often of their father's toils,
Whom thou leav'st grappling to the last with fortune.
And if beneath this island's mould'ring state
I to avoid disgraceful chains must sink,
Fain would my spirit in the hope depart,
That on the ruins, which surround my fall,
A new born structure may hereafter stand,
Rais'd by my virtue, living in my sons.
End of the fourth Act.
| Boadicia | |