 | Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country |  |
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.
25
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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
| Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country | |