University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

The Fields before York.
A Danish March and Music.
Ivar, Hubba, and Soldiers, enter with the Great Raven-Standard of Denmark.
Hub.
How fair to sight, how chearing to the sense,
These fields throw fragrance to the vernal breeze,
And greet our soldiers with a sweet salute!

Ivar.
It is a tempting invitation, Hubba—
This favourite isle, this daughter of the gods,
Retires with conscious beauty from the world;
Like sea-born Venus, rises from the waves,
And chastly courts the soldier's arm to clasp her.

Hub.
Ivar, thus far, the voice of honour calls;
And friendship answers to the glorious summons,
To pluck oppression from the seat of power,
And substitute the injured: 'tis an office,
Worthy the delegates of Heaven.

Ivar.
True, brother.
Nor do I grudge Northumbria to her Westmorland,
Our brave, unhappy friend—But then, my Hubba,
In Britain's heavenly sphere, there are more stars
Than gem the crown that Westmorland must wear;
Nor can we want a cause, while great ambition,
That made a god of Grecian Philip's son,
Inspires with equal ardour.

Hub.
O, beware!—
If these your counsels, let your breast conceal them,
Nor trust them to the ear of Westmorland.
I know how dear he holds his country's health;
Nor would I wish his valour for our foe.
Think how his arm might sway the scale of Britain!
A name is light, yet his outweighs a legion.
There's not a Dane throughout your numerous hosts,
But looks to him, as to the god of battles;
And wears some favour, letter'd with his name,
To charm misfortune from them.

Soldier enters in haste.
Ivar.
How now? thy looks speak haste—
What tidings, soldier?

Sold.
O, my sovereign lord!
'Tis rumour'd, that our leader, in the night,
Adventuring near the city, was beset,
And, all unseconded, is either slain,
Or captive now in York.

Ivar.
The sword of Denmark
Shall richly pay his ransom—
Now loose the war, impetuous as a flood,
And thou hot sun be quench'd, and set in blood.

(Sound Trumpets)
[Exeunt.