 | Boadicia
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SCENE the First.
Venusia.
A hollow sound of tumult strikes my ear;
Perhaps the howl of some night-roaming wolves,
Who, wak'd by hunger, from their gloomy haunts
Are trooping forth to make their fell repast
On my fresh-bleeding countrymen, whose limbs
O'erspread the valley. Shall I mourn your fall,
Lost friends, who, couch'd in death, forget your cares,
I, who may shortly join your ghastly band,
Unless that forest yield its friendly aid?
O hope, sweat flatt'rer, whose delusive touch
Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort,
Relieves the load of poverty, sustains
The captive, bending with the weight of bonds,
And smooths the pillow of disease and pain,
Send back th'exploring messenger with joy,
And let me hail thee from that friendly grove.
| Boadicia
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