University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Enter Trollio and Guards, Swords drawn.
Troll.
Haste, O King!
The Foe has hem'd us round; O haste to save
Thyself and us!

Crist.
Thy Sword.

[Takes a Sword from one of the Guards.
Troll.
What means my—

Crist.
Villain!
Well thought, by Hell! Ha! Yes,—thou art our Minister,
The rev'rend Monitor of Vice—the Soil,
Baneful and rank with ev'ry Principle,
Whence grow the Crimes of Kings. First perish thou!
[Stabs him.
Who taught the Throne of Pow'r to fix on Fear,
And raise its Safety, from the publick Ruin;
Fall thou into the Gulph thyself hast fix'd
Between the Prince and People; cutting off
Communion from the Ear of Royalty,
And Mercy from Complaint—away, away,
Thy Death, old Man, be on thy Monarch's Head;
On thine, the Blood of all thy Countrymen,
Who fell beneath thy Counsels.

[Exeunt.
Trollio attempts to rise and then speaks.
Troll.
Thou bloody Tyrant! late, too late I find,
Nor Faith, nor Gratitude, nor friendly Trust,
No Force of Obligations can subsist
Between the Guilty—O, let none aspire
To be a King's Convenience! Has he Virtues,
Those are his own; his Vices are his Minister's.
Who dares to step 'twixt Envy and the Throne,
Alike to feel the Caprice of his Prince,
As publick Detestation.—Ha! I'm going
But whither? No one near! to feel! to catch!
The World but for an Instant! for one Ray
To guide my Soul! Her Way grows wond'rous dark,
And down, down, down!

[Dies.