 | Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country |  |
SCENE IV.
Enter Cristiern flying without his Helmet, in Disorder, his Sword broke, and his Garments bloody; he throws away his Sword, and speaks.Crist.
Give us new Arms of Proof—fresh Horses—quick!
A Watch without there—Set a Standard up
To guide our scatter'd Powers! Haste, my Friends, haste!
We must be gone—O for some cooling Stream
To slake a Monarch's Thirst!
Laer.
A Post, my Liege,
A second Post from Denmark says—
Crist.
All's lost.
Is it not so? Be gone! Perdition choak thee—
Give me a Moment's Solitude—Thought, Thought,
Where wou'dst thou lead?
Cristina.
He sees me not—Alas, alas, my Father!
O, what a War there lives within his Eye!
Where Greatness struggles to survive itself.
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Wou'd bring Peace to him—Don't you know me, Sir?
My Father, look upon me, look, my Father!
Why strains your Lip, and why that doubtful Eye
Thro' Fury melting o'er me? Turn, ah, turn!
I cannot bear its Softness—How? nay, then,
There is a falling Dagger in that Tear,
To kill thy Child, to murder thy Cristina.
Crist.
Then thou'rt Cristina?
Cristina,
Yes.
Crist.
My Child!
Cristina.
I am.
Crist.
Curse me! then, curse me! Join with Heav'n and Earth
And Hell to curse!
Cristina.
Alas! on me, my Father,
Thy Curses be on me, but on thy Head
Fall Blessings from that Heav'n which has this Day
Preserv'd thy Life in Battle.
Crist.
What have I
To do with Heav'n? Damnation! What am I?
All frail and transient as my laps'd Dominions!
E'en now the solid Earth prepares to slide
From underneath me. Nature's Pow'r cries out,
Leave him thou Universe!—No—Hold me Heav'n!
Hold me thou Heav'n! whom I've forsaken—hold
Thy Creature, tho' accurs'd!
Cristina.
Patience and Peace
Possess thy Mind! Not all thy Pride of Empire
E'er gave such bless'd Sensation, as one Hour
Of Penitence, tho' painful—Let us hence—
Far from the Blood and Bustle of Ambition.
Be it my Task to watch thy rising Wish,
To smooth thy Brow, find Comfort for thy Cares,
And for thy Will, Obedience; still to cheer
The Day with Smiles, and lay the nightly Down
Beneath thy Slumbers.
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O thou all that's left me!
Ev'n in the Riot, in the Rage of Fight,
Thy guardian Virtues watch'd around my Head,
When else no Arm could aid—for thro' my Ranks,
My circling Troops, the fell Gustavus rush'd;
Vengeance! He cry'd, and with one eager Hand
Grip'd fast my Diadem—his other Arm,
High rear'd the deathful Steel—suspended yet;
For in his Eye, and thro' his varying Face,
Conflicting Passions fought—he look'd—he stood
In Wrath reluctant—Then, with gentler Voice;
Cristina thou hast conquer'd! Go, he cry'd,
I yield thee to her Virtues.
| Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country | |