University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI

Leonatus enters.
Leon.
Hold—stop your horrid rites!—Refrain your hands,
Ye bloody servants of a barbarous godhead—
Behold, I give those valiant Romans freedom!
Come, bring your fire and steel, your racks, and engines—
On me, alone, be emptied all your stores,
All your artillery of death—I claim,
And scorn your utmost efforts.

Priest.
Ay, this, indeed,
This is a victim which the gods might take,
In lieu of twenty thousand, and be gainers!—
Art thou come, noble youth, to stay the shedding
Of human blood in Britain?—

Leon.
Therefore come.

Priest.
A voluntary victim?—

Leon.
Free as air,—
Not so invulnerable.

Priest.
Yet retire.
Fearful is death—

Leon.
To those who wish it not.

Priest.
Aye, but the pangs—

Leon.
I have, already, felt
More than you can inflict.

Priest.
And hast thou, then,
No nature in thee?—no compunction for
Thy friends, thy kin—perhaps, a raving father,
Or mother woe-begone?—less pity than
Thine executioner, whose eye, their loss
Compels to weep compassion.

Leon.
I claim the sentence of your Oracle—
I have no words to waste.

Priest.
Unfeeling boy!—
Thy will, then, be accomplish'd.—Bind him, virgins,
And dress him for his death!


While some of the Priestesses bind and adorn Leonatus, others join the Priests in the following verses, part in recitative, and part in song.

[Leonatus is laid on the Altar.
A Priest stands over Leonatus with a poniard, while another gives the bowl to Adelaide.
Priest.
My hand denies its office—Here, Bonduca,
Take thou the bowl of death—

Bond.
We are ready—When you like,
Give the solemn mandate—

Leon.
Strike!—

Thunder and Lightning. The Stage is darkened, and the sacred Fire extinguished.
Priest.
Hold your rash hand!—the powers are in displeasure—
The Heavens are moved—the holy fire extinguish'd!
Unbind your victim—this is not the one
Our goddess will accept.—He looks dissatisfied—
Withdraw, and leave him to my further question.
[Exeunt Priests, &c.
I do adjure thee, by the power thou worshipp'st,
Art thou of earth, or Heaven, or whence?—Inform me.

Leon.
I know not.

Priest.
No?

Leon.
Not whence—but, what I am,
I know—in nature's work, of no account,
And hateful to myself!

Priest.
Whoe'er thou art,
To have thee, thus, alive, and safe, I joy,
As though thou wer't new come into the world,
My only, and first born. Thy parents—say—

Leon.
I never knew them—

Priest.
O, my foreboding bosom!—No, that were
To be too blest!—With whom brought up?—O, answer—
Quick, I adjure thee—

Leon.
With King Cymbeline,
A beggar'd foundling!

Priest.
And thy name, thy name is—

Leon.
Leonatus.—

Priest.
Mighty goddess!—Yes—thou art—thou art
My son—my Leonatus—O, my child,
Child of the tears of twenty mourning years!
Till late, I knew not that I had a son—
The fairest, bravest theme of every tongue—
The hero of our age!—My Leonatus,
My son, my son, my son!

[Embraces.
Leon.
Great nature, powerful goddess—for a moment,
I yield me to thy feelings—thus, while, thus,
I bow beneath the feet of her, who gives me,
First, to pronounce the sacred name of mother!—
[Kneels.
O, mother fair!
Thou art the parent of the wretched'st offspring,
That ever stain'd mortality with guilt,
And made perdition sure!

Priest.
Fall blessings on thee,
Till Heaven can heap no more—
And blessed thou shalt be.

Leon.
No—never, never—
I have murder'd bliss, have quench'd the light of Britain!—
O, Imogen, my love, my life, my wife,
My Imogen—O Imogen!

Priest.
But was she not unchaste?

Leon.
Pure as the fleece of Heaven, ere yet it falls,
And neighbours to corruption.

Priest.
Peace—and thou shalt behold her—
[Waves her wand.
Beauty, brighter than the morn,
Queen of all that's Britain-born,
Daughter fair, and daughter dear,
Peerless Imogen, appear!