University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE before the Camp.
Enter Cristiern, Trollio, and Attendants.
Crist.
Your Observation's just, I see it, Trollio:
Men are Machines, with all their boasted Freedom,
Their Movements turn upon some fav'rite Passion;
Let Art but find the latent Foible out,
We touch the Spring, and wind them at our Pleasure.

Troll.
Let Heav'n spy out for Virtue, and then starve it:
But Vice and Frailty are the Statesman's Quarry,
The Objects of our Search, and of our Science;
Mark'd by our Smiles, and cherish'd by our Bounty.
'Tis hence, you lord it o'er your servile Senates;
How low the Slaves will stoop to gorge their Lusts
When aptly baited: Ev'n the Tongues of Patriots,
(Those Sons of Clamour) oft relax the Nerve
Within the Warmth of Favour.

Crist.
How else should Kings subsist? For what is Pow'r,
But the nice Conduct of another's Weakness?
That Thing call'd Virtue is the Bane of Government,
A Libel on the State, that asks Suppression;
It has a hateful and unbending Quality;
It serves no End, still restive to the Rein,
And to the Spur unspeedy: They who boast it
Are Traitors, Rivals of their King, my Trollio,
And, wanting other Subjects, greatly dare
To lord it o'er themselves. Such is Gustavus,
If yet he be—
And such Arvida was; tho' now, I trust,
He is too far advanc'd in our Designs
To think of a Retreat.

Troll.
Impossible!
Already has he leap'd the guilty Mound
That might appal his Virtue; for the World
He dare not now look back; where Shame pursues,
And cuts off all Retreat.

SCENE II.

Enter Gentleman Usher and Peterson, who kneels.
Gent.
My Liege, Lord Peterson.

Crist.
Rise to our Trust, most worthy Peterson;
Rise to our Friendship: By my Head, I swear,
Bar but our Trollio here, there's not a Swede,
Who holds thy valued Level in our Heart!
For thou'rt unshaken, tho' thy Nation swerve;
Faithful among the faithless.

Peter.
What I am
Let this inform your Majesty.

[Gives a Pacquet.
Troll.
A Pacquet!
Whence had you that, my Friend?

Peter.
Even from the Hands
Of the once great Gustavus.

Crist.
Then you have seen him. Tell me, tell me, Peterson,
What said he? Eh! How look'd the mighty Rebel?
His Means, his Scope, the Pride of his Presumption,
Give me the whole!

Peter.
Last Night, my gracious Lord,
While yet I held your Messenger in Conference;
Arriv'd, who brought a Letter from Gustavus,
Wherein, digesting many flagrant Terms
Of mutinous Import against the State
Of your high Dignity; by Morning Light
He pray'd me to attend him; boasting much
Of plenteous Hopes, and Means of boldest Enterprize.
Of this I gave you Notice; and 'ere Dawn
Set out for fresh Intelligence—I came;
I saw him shrunk, that Glory of the North,
Soil'd with the Vileness of a Slave's Attire;
Where in the Depth and Darkness of the Mines,
For six long Months he hath not seen the Sun;
Colleagu'd with circling Horrors; hourly Toil
Hath been his Watch, and Penury his Earning;
But like the Lion, newly broke from Bonds,
The mingling Passions from his Eyes dart Glory;
Pride lifts his Stature, and his opening Front
Still looks Dominion.

Crist.
Who were his Adherents?

Peter.
The Traitor Anderson, and a few Friends,
To whom, 'ere I set out, he stood reveal'd.
And when I seem'd to question on his Pow'rs
Of Rivalship, the Props whereon he meant
To lift Contention to the princely Front
Of such high Opposition; he reply'd,
His Powers were near your Person.

Crist.
How! what's here?
[Looks on the Pacquet.
To Laurens, Aland, Haquin, and Roderic,
Confusion! Treason's in our Camp! Who's there?

Gent.
My Liege!

Crist.
Bear this to Norbi—Bid him seize
[Gives a Signet.
The Swedish Captains.

Troll.
Might I but presume—

Crist.
I will not be controul'd—bid him seize all,
Soldiers and Chiefs! By Hell, there's not a Swede,
But lurks an Instrument to prompt Rebellion,
And Plots upon my Life! Look there, 'tis evident:
[Gives Trollio a Letter.
They are all leagu'd, confed'rate with Gustavus,
Th' Abettors of his Treason.

Troll.
It shou'd seem so:
And yet it shou'd not—Tell me, Peterson,
Art thou assur'd thy Credit with Gustavus
Will answer to a Trust like this?—Ha! Say.

Peter.
Yes, well assur'd: My Zeal appear'd too warm
To give the least cold Colour for Suspicion.

Troll.
I fear, my Friend, I fear he has o'er-reach'd you.
Divide and conquer, is the Sum of Politics.
Beyond the dreaded Circle of his Sword,
Gustavus triumphs in an ample Genius;
He walks at large, sees clear and wide around him;
Calm in the Storm and Turbulence of Action;
He ponders on the last Event of Things,
And makes each Cause subservient to the Consequence.

Crist.
You over-rate his Craft; they're false, my Trollio,
False ev'ry Swede of them; I read their Souls.

SCENE III.

Enter Cristina and Mariana.
Cristina.
I heard it was your royal Pleasure, Sir,
I shou'd attend your Highness.

Crist.
Yes, Cristina,
But Business interferes.

SCENE IV.

Enter an Officer.
Off.
My sovereign Liege!
Wide o'er the Western Shelving of yon Hill,
We think, tho' indistinctly, we can spy,
Like Men in Motion must'ring on the Heath;
And there is one who saith he can discern,
A few of martial Gesture, and bright Arms,
Who this Way bend their Action.

Crist.
Friends, perhaps,
For Foes it were too daring—Haste thee, Trollio,
Detach a Thousand of our Danish Horse
To rule their Motions—We will out ourself,
And hold our Pow'rs in Readiness—Lead on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Enter Cristina and Mariana.
Mar.
Ha! did you mark, my Princess, did you mark?
Shou'd some Reverse, some wond'rous Whirl of Fate
Once more return Gustavus to the Battle,
New nerve his Arm, and wreathe his Brow with Conquest;
Say, wou'd you not repent that e'er you sav'd
This dreadful Man, the Foe of your great Race;
Who pours impetuous in his Country's Cause
To spoil you of a Kingdom?

Cristina.
No, my Friend.
Had I to Death, or Bondage, sold my Sire,
Or had Gustavus on our native Realms
Made hostile Inroad; then, my Mariana!
Had I then sav'd him from the Stroke of Justice,
I shou'd not cease my Suit to Heav'n for Pardon.
But if, tho' in a Foe, to reverence Virtue,
Withstand Oppression, rescue injur'd Innocence,
Step boldly in betwixt my Sire and Guilt,
And save my King, my Father from Dishonour;
If this be Sin, I have shook Hands with Penitence.
First, perish Crowns, Dominion, all the Shine
And Transience of this World, 'ere Guilt shall serve
To buy the vain Incumbrance.

Mar.
Do not think
I meant, my Princess, to arraign your Virtues,
Howe'er I seem'd to question on the Consequence.

Cristina.
The Consequence of Virtue must be good:
It must. Tho' it shou'd prove my Father's Lot,
In being rescu'd from one Act of Guilt,
To lose the whole of all his wide Dominions,
He were a Gainer—Blasted be that Royalty,
Which Murder must make sure, and Crimes inglorious!
The Bulk of Kingdoms, nay, the World is light,
When Guilt weighs opposite—O wou'd to Heav'n,
The Loss of Empire wou'd restore his Innocence,
Restore the Fortunes, and the precious Lives
Of Thousands fal'n the Victims of Ambition!

SCENE VI.

Enter Laertes.
[Cristina.]
Ha! Laertes! most welcome! well—and have you? Say, Laertes.

Laer.
O Royal Maid!—

Cristina.
Thy Looks are doubtful—Speak,—
Why art thou silent—Does he live?

Laer.
He does.
But Death 'ere Night must fill a long Account;
The Camp, the Country's in Confusion: War,
And Changes ride upon the Hour that hastes
To intercept my Tongue—I else cou'd tell
Of Virtues hitherto beyond my Ken;
Courage, to which the Lion stoops his Crest,
Yet grafted upon Qualities as soft
As a rock'd Infant's Meekness; such as tempts
Against my Faith, my Country, and Allegiance,
To wish thee Speed, Gustavus.

Cristina.
Then you found him.

Laer.
I did: and warn'd him, but in vain; for Death
To him appear'd more grateful than to find
His Friend's Dishonour.

Cristina.
Give me the Manner—quick—soft, good Laertes!

SCENE VII.

Enter Cristiern, Trollio, Peterson, Danes, &c.
Crist.
Damn'd! double Traitor! O curs'd, false Arvida!
Guard well the Swedish Pris'ners, bind them hard—
Stand to your Arms—Bring forth the Captives there!

SCENE VIII.

Enter Agusta and Gustava guarded.
Troll.
My Liege—

Crist.
Away! I'll hear no more of Politics;
Fortune! we will not trust the Changeling more;
But wear her girt upon our armed Loins,
Or pointed in our Grasp.

SCENE IX.

Enter an Officer.
Off.
The Foe's at hand.
With gallant Shew your thousand Danes rode forth,
But shall return no more!—I mark'd the Action,
A Band of desp'rate Resolutes rush'd on 'em,
Scarce numb'ring to a Tenth, and in mid Way
They clos'd; the Shock was dreadful, nor your Danes
Cou'd bear the madding Charge; a while they stood,
Then shrunk, and broke, and turn'd—When, lo, behind,
Fast wheeling from the Right and Left there pour'd,
Who intercepted their Return, and caught
Within the Toil they perish'd.

Crist.
'Tis Gustavus!
No Mortal else, not Ammon's boasted Son,
Not Cæsar wou'd have dar'd it. Tell me, say,
What Numbers in the Whole may they amount to?

Off.
About Five Thousand.

Crist.
And no more?

Off.
No more,
That yet appear.

Crist.
We count six times their Sum.—
Haste, Soldier, take a Trumpet, tell Gustavus
We have of Terms to offer, and wou'd treat
Touching his Mother's Ransom; say, her Death,
Suspended by our Grace, but waits his Answer.
[Exit Officer.
Madam, It shou'd well suit with your Authority,
[To Agusta.
To check this Frenzy in your Son—look to it,
Or by the Saints this Hour's your last of Life!

Agu.
Come, my Gustava, come, my little Captive,
We shall be free; our Tyrant is grown kind;
And for these Chains that bind thy pretty Arms,
The golden Cherubim shall lend thee Wings,
And thou shalt mount amid the smiling Choir
Of little Heav'nly Songsters, like thyself,
All robed in Innocence.

Gustava.
Will you go, Mother?

Agu.
So help me, Mercy! Yes, I'll go, my Child;
And I will give thee to thy Father's Fondness,
And to the Arms of all thy royal Race
In Heav'n; who sit on Thrones, with Loves, and Joys,
And Pleasures smiling round.

Crist.
Is this my Answer?
Come forth, ye Ministers of Death, come forth,

SCENE IX.

Enter Ruffians, who seize Agusta and Gustava.
Pluck them asunder! We shall prove you, Lady!
'Tis my damn'd Lot, thus ever to be cross'd
With rank blown Pride, and Insolence eternal.

Gustava.
O Mother, take me, take me from these Men,
They fright me with their Looks.

Agusta.
Alas, my Child, I cannot take thee from them.

Gustava.
O, they will hurt me: can't you take me, Mother?

Agusta.
They can't, they cannot hurt you, my Gustava.
Fear not, my little one, your Name shou'd be
A Charm o'er Cowardice, for you are call'd
After your valiant Brother; he'll disown you,
He will not love you, if you fear, Gustava.

Cristina.
Ah! I can hold no longer. Royal Sir,
Thus on my Knees, and lower, lower still—

Crist.
My Child! What mean you?

Cristina.
O my gracious Father!
Kill, kill me rather—let me perish first;
But do not stain the Sanctity of Kings
With the sweet Blood of helpless Innocence;
Do not, my Father! Spare the little Orphans,
And let the Lambs go free!

Agusta.
Ha! who art thou?
That look'st so like the 'Habitants of Heav'n,
Like Mercy sent upon the Morning's Blush,
To glad the Heart, and cheer a gloomy World
With Light 'till now unknown?

Crist.
Away, they come.
I'll hear no more of your ill-tim'd Petitions.

Cristina.
O yet for Pity!

Crist.
I will none on't, leave me.
Pity! it is the infant Fool of Nature:
Tear off her Hold, and bear her to her Tent.

[Ex. Cristina, Mar. Laer. and Attendants.

SCENE X.

Enter an Officer.
Off.
My Liege, Gustavus, tho' with much Reluctance,
Consents to one Hour's Truce. His Soldiers rest
Upon their Arms, and follow'd by a few,
He comes to know your Terms.

Crist.
I see, fall back—
Stand firm—Be ready Slaves, and on the Word
Plunge deep your Daggers in their Bosoms.

[Points to Agusta.

SCENE XI.

Enter Gust. Arv. Ander. Arn. Siv. &c.

Hold!

Gust.
Ha! 'tis, it is my Mother!

Crist.
Tell me, Gustavus, tell me why is this?
That, as a Stream diverted from the Banks
Of smooth Obedience, thou hast drawn those Men
Upon a dry unchannel'd Enterprize,
To turn their Inundation?—Are the Lives
Of my misguided People held so light,
That thus thou'dst push them on the keen Rebuke
Of guarded Majesty; where Justice waits,
All awful, and resistless, to assert
Th' impervious Rights, the Sanctitude of Kings,
And blast Rebellion?

Gust.
Justice! Sanctitude!
And Rights! O Patience! Rights! What Rights, thou Tyrant?
Yes, if Perdition be the Rule of Power;
If Wrongs give Right; O then, Supreme in Mischief!
Thou wert the Lord, the Monarch of the World!
Too narrow for thy Claim. But if thou think'st
That Crowns are vilely propertied, like Coin,
To be the Means, the Specialty of Lust,
And sensual Attribution—If thou think'st,
That Empire is of titled Birth, or Blood;
That Nature in the proud Behalf of one
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly Race,
And bow her gen'ral Issue to the Yoke
Of private Domination—then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy King—Howe'er be told,
Not Claim Hereditary, not the Trust
Of frank Election;
Not ev'n the high anointing Hand of Heav'n
Can authorize Oppression; give a Law
For lawless Pow'r; wed Faith to Violation;
On Reason build Misrule, or justly bind
Allegiance to Injustice—Tyranny
Absolves all Faith; and who invades our Rights,
Howe'er his own commence, can never be
But an Usurper—But for thee, for thee
There is no Name!—thou hast abjur'd Mankind;
Dash'd Safety from thy bleak unsocial Side,
And wag'd wild War with universal Nature!

Crist.
Licentious Traitor! thou canst talk it largely;
Who made thee Umpire of the Rights of Kings,
And Pow'r, prime Attribute? As on thy Tongue
The Poise of Battle lay, and Arms, of Force,
To throw Defiance in the Front of Duty.
Look round, unruly Boy, thy Battle comes
Like raw, disjointed Mustring; feeble Wrath!
A War of Waters borne against the Rock
Of our firm Continent, to fume, and chafe,
And shiver in the Toil.

Gust.
Mistaken Man!
I come impower'd, and strengthen'd in thy Weakness.
For tho' the Structure of a Tyrant's Throne
Rise on the Necks of half the suff'ring World;
Fear trembles in the Cement: Prayers and Tears,
And secret Curses sap its mould'ring Base,
And steal the Pillars of Allegiance from it;
Then, let a single Arm but dare the Sway,
Headlong it turns, and drives upon Destruction.

Troll.
Profane, and alien to the Love of Heav'n!
Art thou still harden'd to the Wrath divine
That hangs o'er thy Rebellion?—Know'st thou not
Thou art at Enmity with Grace? Cast out,
Made an Anathema, a Curse enroll'd
Among the faithful, thou and thy Adherents
Shorn from our holy Church, and offer'd up
As sacred to Damnation?

Gust.
Yes, I know,
When such as thou with sacrilegious Hand
Seize on the Apostolic Key of Heav'n,
It then becomes a Tool for crafty Knaves
To shut out Virtue, and unfold those Gates,
That Heav'n itself had barr'd against the Lusts
Of Avarice and Ambition—soft, and sweet,
As Looks of Charity, or Voice of Lambs
That bleat upon the Morning, are the Words
Of Christian Meekness! Mission all divine!
The Law of Love sole Mandate—but your Gall,
Ye Swedish Prelacy! Your Gall hath turn'd
The Words of sweet, but indigested Peace,
To Wrath and Bitterness—Ye hallowed Men!
In whom Vice sanctifies, whose Precepts teach
Zeal without Truth, Religion without Virtue,
Who ne'er preach Heav'n but with a downward Eye
That turns your Souls to Dross; who shouting loose
The Dogs of Hell upon us. Thefts, and Rapes,
Sack'd Towns, and midnight Howlings thro' the Realm
Receive your Sanction—O 'tis glorious Mischief!
When Vice turns holy, puts Religion on,
Assumes the Robe pontifical, the Eye
Of saintly Elevation, blesseth Sin,
And makes the Seal of sweet offended Heav'n
A Sign of Blood, a Label for Decrees,
That Hell wou'd shrink to own.—

Crist.
No more of this.
Gustavus, wou'd'st thou yet return to Grace,
And hold thy Motions in the Sphere of Duty,
Acceptance might be found.

Gust.
Imperial Spoiler!
Give me my Father, give me back my Kindred,
Give me the Fathers of ten thousand Orphans,
Give me the Sons in whom thy ruthless Sword
Has left our Widows childless: Mine they were,
Both mine, and ev'ry Swede's, whose Patriot Breast
Bleeds in his Country's Woundings! O thou can'st not,
Thou hast out-sinn'd all Reck'ning! Give me then
My all that's left, my gentle Mother there,
And spare yon little Trembler!

Crist.
Yes, on Terms
Of Compact, and Submission.

Gust.
Ha! with thee?
Compact with thee! and mean'st thou for my Country?
For Sweden! No—so hold my Heart but firm,
Altho' it wring for't; tho' Blood drop for Tears,
And at the Sight my straining Eyes start forth—
They both shall perish first.

Crist.
Slaves, do your Office.

Gust.
Hold yet,—Thou can'st not be so damn'd? My Mother!
I dare not ask thy Blessing—Where's Arvida?
Where art thou? Come, my Friend, thou'st known Temptation—
And therefore best can'st pity, or support me.

Arv.
Alas! I shall but serve to weigh thee downward,
To pull thee from the dazzling, sightless Height,
At which thy Virtue soars. For, O Gustavus,
My Soul is dark, disconsolate and dark;
Sick to the World, and hateful to myself,
I have no Country now; I've nought but thee,
And shou'd yield up the Int'rest of Mankind,
Where thine's in Question.

Agusta.
See, my Son relents;
Behold, O King! yet spare us but a Moment;
His little Sister shall embrace his Knees,
And these fond Arms, around his duteous Neck,
Shall join to bend him to us.

Crist.
Cou'd I trust ye—

Arv.
I'll be your Hostage.

Crist.
Granted.

Gust.
Hold, my Friend.

[Here Arvida breaks from Gustavus, and passes to Cristiern's Party, while Agusta and Gustava go over to Gustavus.
Agusta.
Is it then giv'n, yet giv'n me, 'ere I die
To see thy Face, Gustavus? thus to gaze,
To touch, to fold thee thus!—My Son, my Son!
And have I liv'd to this? It is enough.
All arm'd, and in thy Country's precious Cause
Terribly beauteous, to behold thee thus!
Why, 'twas my only, hourly Suit to Heav'n,
And now 'tis granted. O my glorious Child,
Bless'd were the Throes I felt for thee, Gustavus!
For from the Breast, from out your swathing Bands
You stepp'd the Child of Honour.

Gust.
O my Mother!

Agusta.
Why stands that Water trembling in thy Eye,
Why heaves thy Bosom? Turn not thus away,
'Tis the last Time that we must meet, my Child,
And I will have thee whole. Why, why, Gustavus,
Why is this Form of Heaviness? For me
I trust it is not meant; you cannot think
So poorly of me: I grow old, my Son,
And to the utmost Period of Mortality,
I ne'er shou'd find a Death's Hour like to this,
Whereby to do thee Honour.

Gust.
Roman Patriots!
Ye Decii self-devoted to your Country!
You gave no Mothers up! Will Annals yield
No Precedent for this, no elder Boast
Whereby to match my Trial?

Agusta.
No, Gustavus;
For Heav'n still squares our Trial to our Strength,
And thine is of the foremost—Noble Youth!
Ev'n I, thy Parent, with a conscious Pride,
Have often bow'd to thy superior Virtues.
O, there is but one Bitterness in Death,
One only Sting—

Gust.
Speak, speak!

Agusta.
'Tis felt for thee.
Too well I know thy Gentleness of Soul,
Melting as Babes; ev'n now the Pressure's on thee,
And bends thy Loveliness to Earth—O, Child!
The dear but sad Foretaste of thy Affliction
Already kills thy Mother—But behold,
Behold thy valiant Followers, who to thee,
And to the Faith of thy protecting Arm
Have giv'n ten thousand Mothers, Daughters too;
Who in thy Virtue yet may learn to bear
Millions of free-born Sons to bless thy Name,
And pray for their Deliverer—O farewel!
This, and but this, the very last, Adieu!
Heav'n sit victorious on thy Arm, my Son!
And give thee to thy Merits!

Crist.
Ah, thou Trait'ress!

Gustava.
O Brother, a'n't you stronger than that Man?
Don't let him take my Mother.

Agusta.
See, Gustavus,
My little Captive waits for one Embrace.

Gust.
Come to my Arms, thou Lamb-like Sacrifice;
O that they were of Force to fold thee ever,
To let thee to my Heart! there lock thee close,
And circle thee with Life! But 'twill not be!

Gustava.
I'll stay with you, my Brother.

Gust.
Killing Innocence!
That I was born to see this Hour!
The Pains of Hell are on me!—Take her Mother!

Gustava.
I will not part with you, indeed, I will not!

Gust.
Take her—Distraction! Haste, my dearest Mother:
Oh—else I shall run mad—quite mad and save ye.

Arv.
Hold, Madam;—Hear me, thou most dear Gustavus!
Thus low I bend my Pray'r, reject me not:
If once, if ever thou didst love Arvida,
O leave me here to answer to the Wrath
Of this fell Tyrant. Save thy honour'd Mother,
And that sweet Lamb from Slaughter!

Gust.
Cruel Friendship!

Crist.
And by my Life I'd take thee at thy Word,
Thou doubly damn'd! but that I know 'twou'd please thee.

Agusta.
No, gen'rous Prince, thy Blood shall never be
The Price of our Dishonour. Come, my Child;
Weep not, sweet Babe, there shall no Harm come nigh thee.

Crist.
'Tis well, proud Dame; you are return'd I see—
Each to his Charge—Here break we off, Gustavus;
For to the very Teeth of thy Rebellion
We dash Defiance back.

Gust.
Alas, my Mother!
Grief choaks up Utt'rance, else I have to say
What never Tongue unfolded—Yet return,
Come back, and I will give up all to save thee;
For on the Cov'ring of thy sacred Head
My Heart drops Blood. Thou Fountain of my Life!
Dearer than Mercy is to kneeling Penitence,
My early Blessing, first and latest Joy;
Return, return, and save thy lost Gustavus!

Crist.
No more, thou Trifler!

Agusta.
O farewel for ever!

[Exeunt Cristiern and his Party. Gustavus and his Party remain.
Gust.
Then she is gone—Arvida! Anderson!
For ever gone—Arnoldus, Friends, where are ye?
Help here, heave, heave this Mountain from me—O—
Heav'n keep my Senses!—So—We will to Battle;
But let no Banners wave—Be still thou Trump!
And ev'ry martial Sound that gives the War
To Pomp or Levity; for Vengeance now
Is clad with heavy Arms, sedately stern,
Resolv'd, but silent as the slaughter'd Heaps
O'er which my Soul is brooding.

Arn.
O Gustavus!
Is there a Swede of us, whose Sword and Soul
Grapples not to thee, as to all they hold
Of earthly Estimation? Said I more,
It were but half my Thought.

And.
On thee we gaze,
As one unknown 'till this important Hour;
Pre-eminent of Men!

Siv.
Accurs'd be he,
Who, in thy Leading, will not fight, and strive,
And bleed, and gasp with Pleasure!

And.
We are thine;
All, all, both we and ours; whom thou this Day
Hast dearly purchas'd.

Arn.
Tho', to yield us up,
Had scarce been less than Virtue.

Gust.
O my Friends!
I see, 'tis not for Man to boast his Strength
Before the Trial comes—This very Hour,
Had I a thousand Parents, all seem'd light
When weigh'd against my Country; and but now,
One Mother seem'd of Weight to poize the World;
Tho' conscious Truth and Reason were against her.
For, O, howe'er the partial Passions sway,
High Heav'n assigns but one unbiass'd Way;
Direct thro' ev'ry Opposition leads,
Where Shelves decline, and many a Steep impedes.
Here hold we on—tho' thwarting Fiends alarm,
Here hold we on—tho' devious Syrens charm;
In Heav'n's disposing Pow'r Events unite,
Nor aught can happen Wrong to him who acts aright.