University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE The Camp.
Enter Cristiern, Attendants, &c. Trollio meets him.
Troll.
All hail most mighty of the Thrones of Europe!
The Morn salutes thee with auspicious Brightness,
No Vapour frowns prophetic on her Brow,
But the clear Sun who travels with thy Arms
Still smiles, attendant on thy growing Greatness:
His Evening Eye shall see thee peaceful Lord
Of all the North, of utmost Scandinavia;
Whence thou may'st pour thy Conquests o'er the Earth,
'Till farthest India glows beneath thy Empire,
And Lybia knows no regal Name but yours.

Crist.
Yes, Trollio, I confess the Godlike Thirst,
Ambition, that wou'd drink a Sea of Glory.
But what from Dalecarlia?

Troll.
Late last Night,
I sent a trusty Slave to Peterson,
And hourly wait some Tidings.

Crist.
Think you?—Sure
The Wretches will not dare such quick Perdition.

Troll.
I think they will not—Tho' of old I know them
All born to Broils, the very Sons of Tumult;
Waste is their Wealth, and Mutiny their Birthright,
And this the yearly Fever of their Blood,
Their Holiday of War; a Day apart,
Torn out from Peace, and sacred to Rebellion.
Oft has their Battle hung upon the Brow
Of yon wild Steep, a living Cloud of Mischiefs,
Pregnant with Plagues, and empty'd on the Heads
Of many a Monarch.

Crist.
Monarchs they were not,
Pageants of Wax, the Mouldings of the Populace,
Tame paultry Idols, scepter'd up for Shew,
And garnish'd into Royalty—No Trollio
Kings should be felt if they wou'd find Obedience;
The Beast has Sense enough to know his Rider,
When the Knee trembles, and the Hand grows slack,
He casts for Liberty: but bends and turns
For him that leaps with Boldness on his Back,
And spurs him to the Bit.

SCENE II.

Enter a Gentleman Usher, and several Peasants, who kneel and bow at a Distance.
Crist.
What Slaves are those?

Gent.
My gracious Liege, your Subjects.

Crist.
Whence?

Gent.
Of Sweden.
From Angermannia, from Helsingia some,
Some from Gemtian, and Nerician Provinces.

Crist.
Their Business.

Gent.
They come to speak their Griefs.

Crist.
Their Griefs! their Insolence!
Is not the Camel mute beneath his Burden?
Were they not born to bear? Away!—hold! come,
What wou'd these Murmurers?

Gent.
Most royal Cristiern.
They say they have but one—one gracious King,
And yet are bow'd beneath a Host of Tyrants,
Task-Masters, Soldiers, Gatherers of Subsidies,
All Officers of Rapine, Rape, and Murder;
Will-doing Potentates, the Lords of Licence,
Who weigh their Sweat and Blood, and heavier Shame,
Ev'n as a Feather puff'd away in Sport,
The Pastime of a Gale.

Crist.
I'll hear no more.
I know ye, well I know ye, ye base Supplicants,
Fear is the only Worship of your Souls;
And ever where ye hate, ye yield Obeysance.
Wretches! Shall I go poring on the Earth,
Lest my imperial Foot should tread on Emmets?
Is it for you I must controul my Soldier,
And coop my Eagles from their Carrion? No—
Are ye not Commoners, vile Things in Nature,
Poor priceless Peasants? Slaves can know no Property:
Out of my Sight!

[Exeunt Peasants.

SCENE III.

Enter Arvida guarded, and a Gentleman.
Arv.
Now Fate I'm caught, and what remains is obvious.

Gent.
A Prisoner, good my Lord.

Crist.
When taken?

Gent.
Now, ev'n here, before your Tent;
I mark'd his careless Action, but his Eye
Of studied Observation—then his Port
And base Attire ill suiting—I enquir'd,
But found he was a Stranger.

Crist.
Ha! observe.
(Damn'd Affectation) what a sullen Scorn
Knits up his Brow, and frowns upon our Presence.
What—ay—thou wou'dst be thought a Mystery,
Some Greatness in Eclipse—Whence art thou, Slave?
Silent! Nay, then—Bring forth the Torture there—
A Smile! Damnation!—How the Wretch assumes
The Wreck of State, the suff'ring Soul of Majesty.
What have we no Pre-eminence, no Claim?
Dost thou not know thy Life is in our Pow'r?

Arv.
'Tis therefore I despise it.

Crist.
Matchless Insolence!
What art thou? Speak!

Arv.
Be sure no Friend to thee;
For I'm a Foe to Tyrants.

Crist.
Fiends and Fire!—
A Whirlwind tear thee most audacious Traitor.

Arv.
Do, rage and chafe, thy Wrath's beneath me, Cristiern.
How poor thy Pow'r, how empty is thy Happiness,
When such a Wretch, as I appear to be,
Can ride thy Temper, harrow up thy Form,
And stretch thy Soul upon the Rack of Passion.

Crist.
I'll know thee—I will know thee! Bear him hence!
Why, what are Kings, if Slaves can brave us thus?
Go, Trollio, hold him to the Rack—Tear, search him,
Prove him thro' ev'ry Poignance, sting him deep.

[Exit Trollio with Arvida guarded.

SCENE IV.

Enter a Messenger as in Haste.
Crist.
What wou'd'st thou, Fellow?

Mess.
O my sovereign Lord,
I am come fast and far, from Ev'n 'till Morn,
Five times I've cross'd the Shade of sleepless Night
Impatient of thy Presence.

Crist.
Whence?

Mess.
From Denmark.
Commended from the Consort of thy Throne
To Speed and Privacy.

Crist.
Your Words wou'd taste of Terror—Wretch, speak out,
Nor dare to tremble here—For didst thou bear
Thy Tidings from a thousand Leagues around,
Unmov'd, I move the Whole, the cent'ring Nave,
Where turns that mighty Circle—Speak thy Message.

Mess.
A secret Malady, my gracious Liege,
Some factious Vapour, risen from off the Skirts
Of Southmost Norway, has diffus'd its Bane,
And rages now within the Heart of Denmark.

Crist.
It must not, cannot, 'tis impossible!
What, my own Danes? Nay, then the World wants Weeding.
I will not bear it—Hell! I'd rather see,
This Earth a Desart, desolate and wild,
And like the Lion stalk my lonely Round,
Famish'd and roaring for my Prey—Call Trollio,
I'll have Men studied, deeply read in Mischiefs.

SCENE V.

Enter a Servant, who kneels and delivers a Letter.
Crist.
From whom?

Serv.
From Peterson.

Crist.
To Trollio—Right.
[Reads.
How's this?—Be gone—
Go all—without there—wait my Pleasure.
O Curse! How Hell has tim'd its Plagues!

SCENE VI.

Enter Trollio.
Crist.
Come near, my Trollio.
We've heard ill News from Denmark—that's a Trifle—
But here's to blast thy Eyes—Read—

Troll.
Ha! Gustavus!
So near us, and in Arms!

Crist.
What's to be done? Now, Trollio, now's the Time
To subtilize thy Soul, sound every Depth,
And waken all the wond'rous Statesman in thee.
For I must tell thee (spite of Pride and Royalty,
Of guarding Armies, and of circling Nations
That bend beneath my Nod) this curs'd Gustavus
Invades my shrinking Spirits, awes my Heart,
And sits upon my Slumbers—All in vain
Has he been daring, and have I been vigilant;
Spite of himself he still evades the Hunter,
And if there's Pow'r in Heav'n or Hell it guards him.
When was I vanquish'd, but when he oppos'd me?
When have I conquer'd, but when he was absent?
His Name's a Host, a Terror to my Legions.
And by my tripled Crown, I swear, Gustavus,
I'd rather meet all Europe for my Foe,
Than see thy Face in Arms!

Troll.
Be calm, my Liege;
And listen to a Secret big with Consequence,
That gives thee back the second Man on Earth
Whose Valour cou'd plant Fears around thy Throne:
Thy Pris'ner—

Crist.
What of him?

Troll.
The Prince Arvida.

Crist.
How!

Troll.
The same.

Crist.
My royal Fugitive?

Troll.
Most certain.

Crist.
Now then 'tis plain who sent him hither.

Troll.
Yes.
Pray give me Leave, my Lord—a Thought comes cross me—
If so he must be ours—
[Pauses.
Your Pardon for a Question—Has Arvida
E'er seen your beauteous Daughter, your Cristina?

Crist.
Never—yes—possibly he might, that Day
When the proud Pair, Gustavus and Arvida,
Thro' Copenhagen drew a Length of Chain,
And grac'd my Chariot Wheels—but why the Question?

Troll.
I'll tell you—while e'en now he stood before us
I mark'd his high Demeanour, and my Eye
Claim'd some Remembrance of him, tho' in Clouds
Doubtful and distant, but a nearer View
Renew'd the Characters effac'd by Absence.
Yet, lest he might presume upon a Friendship
Of ancient League between us, I dissembled,
Nor seem'd to know him—On he proudly strode,
As who should say, back Fortune, know thy Distance!
Thus steddily he pass'd, and mock'd his Fate.
When, lo! the Princess to her Morning Walk
Came forth attended—quick Amazement seiz'd
Arvida at the Sight; his Steps took Root,
A Tremor shook him; and his alt'ring Cheek
Now sudden flush'd, then fled its wonted Colour;
While with an eager and intemp'rate Look
He bent his Form, and hung upon her Beauties.

Crist.
Ha! Did our Daughter note him?

Troll.
No, my Lord;
She pass'd regardless—Strait his Pride fell from him,
And at her Name he started.
Then heav'd a Sigh, and cast a Look to Heav'n,
Of such a mute, yet eloquent Emotion,
As seem'd to say, now Fate thou hast prevail'd,
And found one Way to triumph o'er Arvida!

Crist.
But whither wou'd this lead?

Troll.
List, list, my Lord!
While thus his Soul's unseated, shook by Passion,
Cou'd we engage him to betray Gustavus—

Crist.
O empty Hope! Impossible, my Trollio,
Do I not know him, and the curs'd Gustavus?
Both fix'd in Resolution deep as Hell,
And proud as high Olympus!

Troll.
Ah, my Liege,
No mortal Footing treads so firm in Virtue,
As always to abide the slipp'ry Path,
Nor deviate with the Biass—Some have few,
But each Man has his Failing, some Defect
Wherein to slide Temptation—Leave him to me.

Crist.
I know thou hast a serpentizing Genius,
Can'st wind the subtlest Mazes of the Soul,
And trace her Wand'rings to the Source of Action.
If thou canst bend this proud one to our Purpose,
And make the Lion crouch, 'tis well—if not,
Away at once, and sweep him from Remembrance.

Troll.
Then I must promise deep.

Crist.
Ay, any thing; out-bid Ambition.

Troll.
Love?

Crist.
Ha! Yes—our Daughter too—if she can bribe him:
But then to win him to betray his Friend?

Troll.
O doubt it not, my Lord—for if he loves,
As sure he greatly does, I have a Stratagem
That holds the Certainty of Fate within it.
Love is a Passion whose Effects are various,
It ever brings some Change upon the Soul,
Some Virtue, or some Vice, 'till then unknown,
Degrades the Hero, and makes Cowards valiant.

Crist.
True, when it pours upon a youthful Temper,
Open and apt to take the Torrent in;
It owns no Limits, no Restraint it knows,
But sweeps all down tho' Heav'n and Hell oppose;
Ev'n Virtue rears in vain her sacred Mound,
Raz'd in its Rage, or in its Swellings drown'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Opens and discovers Arvida in Chains, Guards preparing Instruments of Death and Torture. He advances in Confusion.
Arv.
Off, off, vain Cumbrance, ye conflicting Thoughts!
Leave me to Heav'n. O Peace!—It will not be—
Just when I rose above Mortality,
To pour her wond'rous Weight of Charms upon me!
At such a Time, it was, it was too much!
To pluck the soaring Pinion of my Soul,
While Eagle-ey'd she held her Flight to Heav'n,
O'er Pain and Death triumphant! Help ye Saints,
Angelic Ministers descend, descend!
And lift me to myself; hold, bind my Heart
Firm and unshaken in th' approaching Ruin,
The Wreck of Earth-born Frailty! and O Heav'n!
For ev'ry Pang these tortur'd Limbs shall feel,
Descend in ten-fold Blessings on Gustavus!
Yes, bless him, bless him! Crown his Hours with Joy,
His Head with Glory, and his Arms with Conquest;
Set his firm Foot upon the Neck of Tyrants,
And be his Name the Balm of every Lip
That breathes thro' Sweden! Worthiest to be stil'd
Their Friend, their Chief, their Father, and their King!

SCENE VIII.

Enter Trollio.
Troll.
Unbind your Prisoner.

Arv.
How?

Troll.
You have your Liberty,
And may depart unquestion'd.

Arv.
Do not mock me.
It is not to be thought, while Pow'r remains,
That Cristiern wants a Reason to be cruel.
But let him know I wou'd not be oblig'd.
He who accepts the Favours of a Tyrant
Shares in his Guilt; they leave a Stain behind them.

Troll.
You wrong the native Temper of his Soul;
Cruel of Force, but never of Election:
Prudence compell'd him to a Shew of Tyranny;
Howe'er those Politicks are now no more,
And Mercy in her Turn shall shine on Sweden.

Arv.
Indeed! It were a strange, a bless'd Reverse,
Devoutly to be wish'd, but then the Cause,
The Cause, my Lord, must surely be uncommon.
May I presume?
Perhaps a Secret.

Troll.
No—or if it were,
The Boldness of thy Spirit claims Respect,
And shou'd be answer'd. Know, the only Man,
In whom our Monarch ever knew Repulse,
Is now our Friend; that Terror of the Field,
Th' invincible Gustavus.

Arv.
Ha! Friend to Cristiern? Guard thyself my Heart!
[Aside.
Nor seem to take Alarm—Why, good my Lord,
What Terror is there in a Wretch proscrib'd,
Naked of Means, and distant as Gustavus?

Troll.
There you mistake—Nor knew we till this Hour
The Danger was so near—From yonder Hill
He sends Proposals, back'd with all the Pow'rs
Of Dalecarlia, those licentious Resolutes,
Who, having nought to hazard in the Wreck,
Are ever foremost to foment a Storm.

Arv.
I were too bold to question on the Terms.

Troll.
No—trust me valiant Man, whoe'er thou art,
I wou'd do much to win a Worth like thine,
By any Act of Service, or of Confidence.
The Terms Gustavus claims, indeed, are haughty;
The Freedom of his Mother and his Sister,
His forfeit Province, Gothland, and the Isles
Submitted to his Sceptre—But the League,
The Bond of Amity, and lasting Friendship,
Is, that he claims Cristina for his Bride.
You start, and seem surpriz'd.

Arv.
A sudden Pain
Just struck athwart my Breast—But say, my Lord,
I thought you nam'd Cristina.

Troll.
Yes.

Arv.
O Torture!
[Aside.
What of her, my good Lord?

Troll.
I said, Gustavus claim'd her for his Bride.

Arv.
His Bride! his Wife!
You did not mean his Wife! Do Fiends feel this?
[Aside.
Down, Heart, nor tell thy Anguish! Pray excuse me,
Did you not say, the Princess was his Wife?
Whose Wife, my Lord?

Troll.
I did not say what was, but what must be.

Arv.
Touching Gustavus, was it not?

Troll.
The same.

Arv.
His Bride!

Troll.
I say his Bride, his Wife; his lov'd Cristina!
Cristina, fancied in the very Prime
And youthful Smile of Nature; form'd for Joys
Unknown to Mortals. You seem indispos'd.

Arv.
The Crime of Constitution—Oh Gustavus!
[Aside.
This is too much!—And think you then, my Lord—
What, will the royal Cristiern e'er consent
To match his Daughter with his deadliest Foe?

Troll.
What shou'd he do? War else must be eternal.
Besides, some Rumours from his Danish Realms
Make Peace essential here.

Arv.
Yes, Peace has Sweets,
That Hybla never knew; it sleeps on Down,
Cull'd gently from beneath the Cherub's Wing;
No Bed for Mortals—Man is Warfare—All
A Hurricane within; yet Friendship stoops,
And gilds the Gloom with Falshood—Smiles and Varnish!
For still the Storm grows high, and then no Shore!
No Rock to split on! 'Twere a kind Perdition
To sink ten thousand Fathom at a Plunge,
And fasten on Oblivion—there we hold
And all is—

[Faints.
Troll.
Help, bear him up. O Potency of Love!
That plucks this noble Fabrick from his Base.
Bend, bend him forward—He revives—How fare you?

Arv.
I know not—yet a Dagger were most friendly.
Return me, Trollio, O return me back
To Death, to Racks! Undone, undone Arvida!

Troll.
Is't possible, my Lord! the Prince Arvida!
My Friend!

[Embraces him.
Arv.
Confusion to the Name!

[Turns.
Troll.
Why this, good Heav'n? And wherefore thus disguis'd?

Arv.
Yes, that accomplish'd Traitor, that Gustavus;
While he sat planning private Scenes of Happiness,
O well dissembled! He, he sent me hither;
My friendly, unsuspecting Heart a Sacrifice,
To make Death sure, and rid him of a Rival.

Troll.
A Rival! Do you then love Cristiern's Daughter?

Arv.
Name her not, Trollio; since she can't be mine:
Gustavus! how, ah! how hast thou deceiv'd me!
Who could have look'd for Falshood from thy Brow?
Whose heav'nly Arch was as the Throne of Virtue,
Thy Eye appear'd a Sun to chear the World,
Thy Bosom Truth's fair Palace, and thy Arms,
Benevolent, the Harbour for Mankind.

Troll.
What's to be done? Believe me, valiant Prince,
I know not which most sways me to thy Int'rests,
My Love to thee, or Hatred to Gustavus.

Arv.
Wou'd you then save me? Think, contrive it quickly!
Lend me your Troops—by all the Pow'rs of Vengeance,
Myself will face this Terror of the North,
This Son of Fame—this—O Gustavus—What?
Where had I wander'd?—Stab my bleeding Country!
Save, shield me from that Thought.

Troll.
Retire, my Lord;
For see, the Princess comes.

Arv.
Where, Trollio, where?
Ha! Yes, she comes indeed! her Beauties drive
Time, Place, and Truth, and Circumstance before them!
Perdition pleases there—pull—tear me from her!
Yet must I gaze—but one—but one Look more,
And I were lost for ever.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Enter Cristina, Mariana, and Attendants.
Cristina.
Forbid it Shame! Forbid it Virgin Modesty!
No, no, my Friend, Gustavus ne'er shall know it.
O I am over-paid with conscious Pleasure;
The Sense but to have sav'd that wond'rous Man,
Is still a smiling Cherub in my Breast,
And whispers Peace within.

Mar.
'Tis strange a Man, of his high Note and Consequence,
Shou'd so evade the busy Search of Thousands;
That six long Months have shut him from Enquiry,
And not an Eye can trace him to his Covert.

Cristina.
Once 'twas not so, each Infant lisp'd, Gustavus!
It was the fav'rite Name of ev'ry Language,
His slightest Motions fill'd the World with Tidings;
Wak'd he, or slept, Fame watch'd th' important Hour,
And Nations told it round.

Mar.
I've heard, my Princess,
What Time Gustavus lay detain'd in Denmark,
Your royal Father sought the Hero's Friendship,
And offer'd ample Terms of Peace and Amity.

Cristina.
He did; he offer'd that, my Mariana,
For which contending Monarchs su'd in vain,
He offer'd me, his Darling, his Cristina;
But I was slighted, slighted by a Captive,
Tho' Kingdoms swell'd my Dower.

Mar.
Amazement fix me,
Rejected by Gustavus!

Cristina.
Yes, Mariana;—but rejected nobly.
Not Worlds cou'd win him to betray his Country!
Had he consented, I had then despis'd him.
What's all the gaudy Glitter of a Crown?
What, but the glaring Meteor of Ambition,
That leads a Wretch benighted in his Errors,
Points to the Gulph, and shines upon Destruction.

Mar.
You wrong your Charms, whose Pow'r might reconcile
Things opposite in Nature—Had he seen you!—

Cristina.
He has, my Mariana, he has seen me.
I'll tell thee—yet while inexpert of Years,
I heard of bloody Spoils, the Waste of War,
And dire conflicting Man; Gustavus' Name
Superior rose, still dreadful in the Tale:
Then first he seiz'd my Infancy of Soul,
As somewhat fabl'd of gigantic Fierceness,
Too huge for any Form; he scar'd my Sleep,
And fill'd my young Idea. Not the Boast
Of all his Virtues, Graces only known
To him, and heav'nly Natures! cou'd erase
The strong Impression; 'till that wond'rous Day
In which he met my Eyes. But O, O Heav'n!
O Love, and all ye cordial Pow'rs of Passion!
What then was my Amazement! he was chain'd,
Was chain'd, my Mariana! Like the Robes
Of Coronation, worn by youthful Kings,
He drew his Shackles. The Herculean Nerve
Braced his young Arm; and soften'd in his Cheek
Liv'd more than Woman's Sweetness! Then his Eye!
His Mein! his native Dignity! He look'd,
As tho' he led Captivity in Chains,
And all were Slaves around.

Mar.
Did he observe you?

Cristina.
He did: for as I trembl'd, look'd and sigh'd;
His Eyes met mine; he fix'd their Glories on me.
Confusion thrill'd me then, and secret Joy,
Fast throbbing, stole its Treasures from my Heart,
And mantling upward, turn'd my Face to Crimson.
I wish'd—but did not dare to look—he gaz'd;
When sudden, as by Force, he turn'd away,
And would no more behold me.

SCENE X.

Enter Laertes.
Laer.
Ah, bright imperial Maid! my royal Mistress!

Cristina.
What wou'dst thou say? Thy Looks speak Terror to me.

Laer.
O you are ruin'd, sacrific'd, undone!
I heard it all; your cruel, cruel Father
Has sold you, giv'n you up a Spoil to Treason,
The Purchase of the noblest Blood on Earth—
Gustavus!—

Cristina.
Eh! What of him? Where, where is he?

Laer.
In Dalecarlia, on some great Design,
Doom'd in an Hour to fall by faithless Hands:
His Friend, the brave, the false, deceiv'd Arvida,
Ev'n now prepares to lead a Band of Ruffians
Beneath the winding Covert of the Hill,
And seize Gustavus, obvious to the Snares
Of Friendship's fair Dissemblance. And your Father
Has vow'd your Beauties to Arvida's Arms,
The Purchase of his Falsehood.

Cristina.
Shield me Heav'n!
First Duty, break thy filial Bands in sunder,
And blot the Name of Parent from the World!
Is there no Lett, no Means of quick Prevention?

Laer.
Behold my Life still chain'd to thy Direction,
My Will shall have a Wing for ev'ry Word,
That breathes thy Mandate.

Cristina.
Will you, good Laertes?
Alas, I fear to overtask thy Friendship,
Say, will you save me then—O go, haste, fly!
Acquaint Gustavus—if, if he must fall,
Let Hosts that hem this single Lion in,
Let Nations hunt him down—let him fall nobly.

Laer.
I go, my Princess—Heav'n direct me to him!

[Exit.
Cristina.
I wou'd pray too, to save me from Pollution;
Detested Stain, the Touch of the Betrayer!
But mighty Love the partial Pray'r arrests,
And leaves me only anxious for Gustavus.
For him cold Fears my fainting Bosom chill,
His Cares distract me, and his Dangers kill;
Ye Pow'rs! if deaf to all the Vows I make,
Yet shield Gustavus, for Gustavus' Sake;
Protect his Virtues from a faithless Foe,
And save your only Image, left below.