University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE At Court, near the Council-Chamber.
Enter Sir J. Cæsar and Carew.
Sir J. Cæsar.
Sure as e'en now we pass'd the Council Door,
I saw Lord Gundamor; and if these Eyes
Discern'd aright, his Visage seem'd to bear
A Mixture of uncertain Cheerfulness,
Like Hope corrected by some cautious Fear:
I like it not—For tho' we cannot read
The Wiles of Statesmen in their publick Looks;
Yet, when alone, the Soul works undisguis'd,
And prints its Meaning on the outward Form

Car.
That Face ne'er boded Good to British Hearts;
For, trust me, as I hold my Country dear,
As I revere her Monarch's sacred Head;
Yea, as I wish Prosperity may crown
That Faith our Fathers witness'd in the Flames:
So much I fear that busie Statesman's Art
Is working up some cursed Scene of Woe,
To stain those dearest Names with foul Disgrace,
And fix a Mark of Hatred on their Friends.

J. C.
Curse on the Drole, and his intriguing Mirth,
His studied Jokes, and Insolence of Wit;
By this he winds the Women in his Toils,
Fashions the flatter'd Sex to all his Views,
Rouses the curious Devil in their Souls,
That knows no Rest, but Tortures without End,
Till it has wrung each Purpose of the State
From the fond Husband-Fool, who must betray
His King, his God—to set his Wife at Ease.
I tell thee, Friend, Dissimulation dwells,
As at her Home, in ev'ry Smile he wears:
That Face has laugh'd us into deeper Shame,
Than we can suffer from his Monarch's Frowns;
Tho' heighten'd with the Pride of new Armadas,
All Europe's Princes, and his Indian Gold.

Car.
That Gold, believe me, Sir, is well employ'd;
It works like Poison thro' our weaken'd State;
Infects our generous pure Forefathers Bloods,
And fits our Free-born Souls for Foreign Yokes.
How many noble Structures could I name,
What sumptuous Villas, labour'd up to Heav'n,
Enrich'd with figur'd Silks, and stiff with Gold?
But not one Tale in all the Pile to say,
These are the Monuments of perjur'd Faith,
The high-rais'd Spoils of mercenary Greatness.

J. C.
'Tis a sad Truth, and we must mourn it long,
Unless this cunning Minister of Hell,
This Gundamor, be soon remov'd from Court.
He, he betrays our Councils to our Foes,
And cheats us with the specious Name of Friendship.
Can we forget the valiant Raleigh's Fate,
Whose Spirit quicken'd our adventrous Youth,
To chace Ambition to her last-flown length,
And hunt her in a new untravell'd World?

Car.
He scorn'd the Wages of disloyal Crimes,
To rust in Peace, and stretch a lazy Hand
For sordid Bribes, but sought the Monarch's Gold,
In that remotest Climate where it grew.

J. C.
Yet when the ripen'd Project grew to bear,
That crooked Politician's fatal Skill
Found a Betrayer, and destroy'd his Hopes.

Car.
And still his cunning Arts detain him close,
Confin'd in loathsome and inglorious Bondage,
The bitter'st Anguish to a Soul like his.
Still is he branded with a Traitor's Name,
For some mysterious Maxim of the State.
This Day a flying Rumour reach'd my Ear,
That he must fall—But see, his surly Mate,
Old Howard, comes; sad Discontent
Lowrs on his Brow, and threatens in his Eye.

J. C.
The Man is brave, his Mistress is the Sea,
And on my Soul I think he likes her more,
Because her Qualities resemble his;
Whose Depth is fraught with rich and hidden Treasure,
While Storms and Tempests on the Surface blow.
Yet is he secretly inquisitive,
And while he hates it, much frequents the Court.
Let us observe him—

Enter Howard.
How.
Thus far I'm come,
On Satan's Ground, and yet no Fiend appears
To tempt me; sure all Hell's asleep to-night;
And yet I come at Gundamor's Request.
What can the subtle Spaniard want with me?
I am no Courtier, no fawning Dog of State,
To lick and kiss the Hand that buffets me:
Nor can I smile upon my Guest, and praise
His Stomach, when I know he feeds on Poison,
And Death disguis'd sits grinning at my Table.
Nay, what is worse, I cannot pimp, nor lye;
Why then at Court? or, why with Gundamor?
Hold—let me think—Ay,—in that tender Point:
On the dear Cement of united Hearts,
He strikes—He would—the Villain would—O Raleigh!

Car.
Observ'd you how the lab'ring Secret work'd,
How strong Suspicion fir'd the Train of Honour
To a new Brightness, and display'd his Soul
Godlike and Great, and worthy of his Friend!

How.
[turning]
By Hell, discover'd! O! these rotten Spies,
That have a Hole for ev'ry private Word,
And postern multiplying Vents for Mischief.
Henceforth may Dumbness seize upon my Tongue,
If I but whisper to a Wall at Court.

J. C.
We can forgive your Zeal, who know the Cause,
The Blindness of your Passion pleads Excuse
To Friends, and we, you know, are Raleigh's Friends.
We honour, love him, watch o'er, fear as much
For that dear, great, unhappy Man,
As generous Howard does.—

How.
—Ha! said you Fear—
Preach Fear to Earth-begotten Citizens,
When civil Uproar threatens a Reprizal
On the curs'd greedy Gatherings of Extortion:
Bid the projecting Politician fear,
When all his Springs are wound up to the Heighth,
And if one Motion fails, the whole Machine
Sinks, and destroys the Builder in its Ruins.
Talk Fear to Hypocrites, to Midnight Murderers,
To the rude Spoiler of defenceless Honour,
To Priests and Cowards—But name it not with Virtue:
Fear is the Tax that Conscience pays to Guilt.

Car.
And yet unspotted Innocence may fall
The Sacrifice of Cunning and Revenge:
Witness the fatal Tryal of our Friend.

J. C.
A Tryal founded on a Mystery,
A Plot begotten by the Sire of Lyes,
And nurs'd to full-grown Treason by the Care
Of fostring Lawyers, Rogues, than can extract
Fines out of Looks, and Death from double Meanings.

How.
I heard the deep-mouth'd Pack, they scented Blood
From the first starting, and pursu'd their View
With the Law-Music of long-winded Calumny.
Well I remember, one among the Tribe,
A reading Cut-throat, skill'd in Paralells
And dark Comparisons of wondrous likeness,
Who in a Speech of unchew'd Eloquence
Muster'd up all the Crimes since Noah's Days;
To put in ballance with this fancied Plot,
And made e'en Cataline a Saint to Raleigh.
The Sycophant so much o'er-play'd his Part,
I could have hugg'd him, kiss'd th'unskilful Lyes
Hot from his Venal Tongue.

Car.
He was the same,
Who, starting from the Question in Debate,
And, when corrected by a calm Rebuke,
Catch'd all the Scandal Malice could suggest,
Search'd to the Heart, and cramm'd plain Atheist down,
His brave Opponent's Throat

J. C.
Vain Insolence!
But 'tis the Curse, and Fashion of the Times:
When Prejudice and strong Aversions work,
All whose Opinions we dislike are Atheists;
Now 'tis a Term of Art, a Bug-bear Word,
The Villain's Engine and the Vulgars Terror.
The Man who thinks and judges for himself,
Unsway'd by aged Follies, rev'rend Errors,
Grown Holy by Traditionary Dulness
Of School Authority, He is an Atheist.
The Man who, hating idle Noise, preserves
A pure Religion seated in his Soul,
He is a silent, dumb, dissembling Atheist.

How.
I had forgot it—yes, the base-tongu' Gownman,
Did call him Atheist—So Men judge at hom
Who never trace'd a Providence at Sea;
And saw his Wonders in the mighty Deep.
The Atheist-Sailor were a monstrous thing,
More wonderful than all old Ocean breeds.
But I will witness for my Raleigh's Faith;
Yes, I have seen him when the Tempest rag'd,
When from the Precipice of Mountain Waves
All Hearts have trembled at the Gulph below,
He, with a steddy, supplicating Look,
Display'd his Trust in that tremendous Pow'r,
Who curbs the Billows, and cuts short the Wings
Of the rude Whirlwind in its midway Course,
And bids the Madness of the Waves to cease.
O! Fellow-Soldier, were that Folly thine,
Tho' thou wer't dearer than the Love of Honour
To this old Bosom, I would pluck thee hence,
Tho' my Heart crack'd—
And plot with Gundamor to work thy Fall.

Car.
'Tis brave and open, Sir; but Friendship now
Exacts a nobler Part, and bids us stand
The Safeguard of his injur'd Innocence.
For know, this Moment Britain's Council sit
The Judges of his Fate, and much I fear,
He bleeds a private Sacrifice of State.

How.
Rather may half the Tribe of Favourite Slaves,
Those New-born Insects of perverted Pow'r,
Perish and rot, like an untimely Birth;
They, and their Houses—No, it shall not be.

J. C.
Thou talk'st as if thy Hand could stop the Course
Of headlong Ruin; but yet calmly think,
What mighty Foes withstand thy gen'rous Views.
See Worster, Suffolk, subtle Salisbury,
Sworn and Confederate all to seal his Fate.
Weigh these, and Gundamor.

How.
For Salisbury,
Whose Pow'r and Malice run the longest length,
I'll raise a Bosom-Traytor in his House,
To check the Pride of that intriguing Statesmen.
Next let the cunning Spaniard well beware;
Whate'er he dreams, his Projects fail on me:
Yet I must hear him for my Raleigh's sake.

Car.
Sure there he stands—as parting from the Lords,
Bowing with humble Salutations low—
He whispers Salisbury; see, they squeeze,
And sign some Bloody Bargain with that Kiss.

How.
Blue Pestilence and Poison blast their Lips!
O! how I hate this Tribe of kissing Courtiers.
There is some Flavour in a Woman's Breath;
And Nature bids us meet it with a Gust.
But these new Kissers, with their Spanish Air,
Make Perjury conclude, where Lust begins.
But, Friends, retire, for he advances now;
Think of our Honesty, and hope Success.

Car.
Heav'n, who inspires it, prosper thy Intent.
We bend another way, resolv'd to search
Mysterious Cobham's Mind, and prove if yet
He mints new Treasons in his fertile Brain.

How.
Farewell; remember that the Brave Man's Friend
Acts in the Room of Providence it self,
And makes up the Deficiencies of Heav'n.

[Ex. J. C. and Car.

SCENE II.

Gundamor, Howard.
Gun.
I fear, good Captain, that my long Delay
Has made the Time wear tedious on your hands,
But you must charge it on this Midnight Council.
You English have a strange debating Vein,
And preface ev'ry trifle with a Speech;
Spin out the time with Reasons and Replies,
And yet are stubborn to your first Resolves.

How.
There are, I own, my Lord, peculiar Faults
To ev'ry Nation; that, perhaps, is ours.
I wish we had no more—my Country's Failing
I hate and pity, yet I love my Country.

Gun.
I know thou dost, and that sways much with me.
Trust me, I hold no Conference or League
But with the Vertuous Men who love their Country.
But Fits of undesigning Mirth break forth
With jovial Tempers, which their Friends forgive.

How.
I hope the wise Ambassador of Spain
Wakes not at this late Season of the Night,
For sportive Mirth, or starch'd Civilities.

Gun.
No, Howard—I have long observ'd thy Worth,
There's something pleasing in thy rugged Virtue,
Which makes me wish to call its Owner Friend:
Know then, to give an Earnest of my Heart,
Already I have mov'd the Gracious King—

How.
For what, my Lord?—

Gun.
To raise thee to Command,
Not serve and drudge beneath Inferior Merit.

How.
I thank my Lord; but 'tis of Fortune's Hand
What Rank I hold; my Service is my own,
And that, next Heav'n, my Sovereign shall command.

Gun.
O! that my Master, in his Empire's Bounds,
Wide as it lies from East to Western Sun,
Could boast a hundred Subjects like to thee!

How.
[Aside.]
I'd rather hear a Storm that threatens Shipwrack,
Than bear a single Breath of such vile Flatt'ry!
But how, my Lord, must I deserve the Grace
Your Favour promises?—

Gun.
With wondrous Ease:
You well remember when your Naval Pow'r
(Raleigh was then your Admiral) set forth
To seek Adventures in the New-found World.
You know your cunning Captain fool'd you on
With Golden Hopes, and sold your Blood and Lives,
To dress his Naked Vanity anew,
With false Discoveries, and pretended Conquests.

How.
[Aside.
Hold my Resentment for a Moment now.

Gun.
This Voyage I would have thee mark with care,
Minute down each Exploit from Coast to Coast,
Schemes, Councils, Actions and Events.
Give me this Paper—Thou art Admiral.

How.
Does Spain bestow the Dignities of England?

Gun.
Fear not, but trust thy Hopes to Gundamor.

How.
It cannot be; the Fortune of my Friends,
My Fame, a Soldier's Fame forbids me.

Gun.
For Raleigh, hold his Life at nothing,
His Death is sign'd, and only now deferr'd
Because the Queen is ill, the Pious Council
(Curse on their squeamish English Appetites)
At this sad Season can digest no Blood.

How.
[Aside.
This Secret may be useful to my Friend.

Gun.
Thy Friendship thus is cancell'd by the Grave.
Be wise, and bury thy false Honour there;
Then mount upon the Tomb, and reach the Prize
That bends to tempt thee—

How.
Curs'd Temptation!
Thus I reject thee with a Soldier's Scorn.
Now witness Heav'n, the Friendship that I bear
Depends not on the scanty line of Life,
But twists around all Relatives of Raleigh.
And I must tell thee, mighty as thou art,
Lord Gundamor, that I had rather kill
Ten Thousand Spaniards for a Soldier's Pay,
Than sell one Grain of Honour for an Empire.

[Exit.
Gundamor
solus.
Proud Virtuous Fool! the first whom I have known
Of all his Countrymen refuse a Bribe.
These are the Fruits of Raleigh's Discipline;
He fills them with the Pride of Roman Greatness,
The Love of Virtue, and Contempt of Danger,
And nurses future Terrors for our Spain.
But I have still more Engines at Command;
While Salisbury cries Justice to his Master,
Wade, under Colour of Officious Service,
Shall draw new Treasons from his Prisoner's Mouth:
He loves to talk—and that shall be his Snare.
Yes, spite of him, and all his Factious Brood,
The Kingdom's Honour, and the publick Good,
My Spanish Plots and Treasure shall succeed,
And make the Valiant Grey-hair'd Traytor bleed.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Lady Raleigh's House.
Enter Lady Raleigh.
Thrice have I try'd to fold my self in Sleep,
But Heav'n has set a Watch upon my Eyes,
And barrs the courted Guest from entring there.
It must import—for I have long observ'd,
When Death or Danger, with a hasty Wing,
Sped to this wretched House—it still was so.
O! my foreboding Heart! my Lord! my Raleigh!
Perhaps e'en now some cold unwholsome Damp
(The deadly Inmate of a Prison's Walls,)
Arrests the vital Current in its Course.
Or he, now conquer'd by protracted Wrongs—
Ungenerous Thought!—Forgive me, O my Raleigh;
For well I know thy Heart and Fear are Strangers;
Nor wouldst thou for the World contract the Shame
Of that base Cowardice, to die unsummon'd.
Enter Young Raleigh.
My Son, give Comfort to thy Mother's Heart,
For sure it wants it much.

Y. Ra.
What Cause of Grief
Can rack my Mother's Heart when I am nigh?
Or has her Son, unconscious of his Guilt,
Rais'd up this Storm of Sorrow? then direct,
Direct it all upon this hated Head.

L. Ra.
Thou art the Light of these declining Eyes,
My Age's Comfort, and thy House's Guardian.
But Oh! thou know'st, since first this plighted Hand
Was to thy Father's given, what Trains of Woe,
Scene after Scene, successively disastrous,
Have been the Objects of thy Mother's Eyes.
I will not say, when absent from my Bed,
How this fond aking Heart has bled for him;
How watch'd the thund'ring Mine at Mid-night Sieges,
Throbb'd in the War, and sicken'd in the Storm.
But oh! the last, the last decisive Stroke,
When, warm with Joy of Liberty regain'd,
He fled the dear Embraces of a Wife,
For fancied Conquests on the Indian Shore.

Y. Ra.
Thus to recall the Thoughts of past Distress,
Is adding double Weight to all your Woes.
Who wou'd wake sleeping Grief, or with new Stings
Arm the dead Scorpion, Care?

L. Ra.
I tell thee, Son,
Green are those Sorrows, and still flourish here.
Can I forget, that on that luckless Day,
All that was left us, the sad Remains
Of ruin'd Fortune, gather'd on a Heap,
Were sent a Venture to the Winds and Seas?
Nay, did not Fate encompass all his Friends
Within the Line of Raleigh's Miseries?

Y. Ra.
Madam, 'tis too unkind to wound me so,
And this Remembrance may be call'd Reproach;
By all the Ties of Filial Love, no more—

L. Ra.
Talk'st thou of Filial Love, in such a Strain
As speaks Command—Heav'ns! I had once a Son—
Yes, I will picture him, till thy glowing Cheek
Redden with Shame—These Eyes shall ne'er behold
A Form so delicate, all other Youths
Seem'd cold and lifeless Images to him.
A Soul so rich in Virtue, it chastis'd
Vice without Speech, and utter'd thro' his Eyes
Silent Persuasion; in the Field of War
Cautious as Age, and daring as Despair,
Yet humble as the Conquer'd when victorious.

Y. Ra.
I own my Brother's Praise, and would have try'd
To copy the fair Pattern of his Virtues.
But you—

L. Ra.
'Tis true; my Heart conceives thy Meaning;
I would not let thee try the Chance of War,
Nor trust ill Fortune, like a Prodigal,
With all my Store at once. I gave too much,
When I consented to thy Brother's Death.

Y. Ra.
You only gave his active Spirit room
To range at large, and emulate my Sire.
What tho' he fell? fell in his youthful Bloom?
Who measures Glory by the Length of Days?

L. Ra.
'Twas thus thy Father talk'd; vain empty Words,
Of Honour, Glory, and immortal Fame.
Can these recall the Spirit from its Place,
Or re-inspire the breathless Clay with Life?
What, tho' your Fame, with all its thousand Trumpets,
Sound o'er the Sepulchre, will that awake
The sleeping Dead, and give me back my Son?
No—no—

Enter Messenger with a Letter to Young Raleigh.
Y. Ra.
O for a Word of Comfort now!

L. Ra.
Who talks of Comfort to a Wretch like me?
This is the House of Sorrow, here it dwells,
And multiplies a Race of unblest Children.

Mes.
I know not what this Letter may contain,
My Master gave it with an earnest Look,
And said—the Business spoke its own Excuse.

[Exit.
[Y. Ra. reading the Letter.
L. Ra.
I read Disorder in thy Face: O speak,
Speak, my Son: Silence now is Cruelty,
And musters in my Thoughts a thousand Ills,
All killing as the worst can be, when known.

Y. Ra.
My Father—

L. Ra.
Is dead, you say—

Y. Ra.
No.

L. Ra.
Blest be the Tongue that spoke so sweet a Truth.

Y. Ra.
He lives, but holds his Life in such suspence,
He has no Surety for to-morrow's Sun.
Read there—

L. Ra.
reads.

Your Father's Death, by the Management of Gundamor
and Salisbury, is this Night determin'd. The
Execution is delay'd, for a Reason I hope will prevent
any—The only Expedient I can advise is,
to renew your Addresses to Salisbury's Daughter.

Your Friend Howard.

L. Ra.
O crooked Politician Salisbury!
These are the Triumphs of thy plotted Spleen:
Deep-thinking Traytor! how does thy false Heart,
Studious of Mischief, hunting base Revenge,
Enjoy the Widows Woes, and Orphans Tears!

Y. Ra.
And must I mix with his infectious Race,
And take the Daughter from the bloody Hand
Fresh with the Slaughter of a murder'd Father?
Are these the Cordials gen'rous Howard gives?

L. Ra.
Lost in the hasty Fore-sight of our Woes,
The sad Alternative escap'd my Thought.
Howard advises well; be thou, my Son,
The Fence betwixt our falling House, and Fate.
Repent the guilty Rashness of Neglect,
And court the slighted Maid with humble Vows.
Assist, contrive, invent, implore,
Do any thing to save thy Father's Life.

Y. Ra.
All Things that will not mis-become his Son,
And bring Dishonour on our House and Name.
No, since the Spring has run untainted yet,
From its first Flowing to its fullest Stream,
Let not Pollution stain it in the End.

L. Ra.
Go: It is no Disgrace to use the Means
That Providence points out for our Deliv'rance;
But to reject them, is to tempt the Blow
To fall with double Weight—Tho' Salisbury
Breaths Wrath, Revenge and Cruelty;
Yet is the fair Olympia good, and pitiful,
Kind as the Charities of dying Saints,
And tender as the Vows of parting Friends.
Haste, and forget that Salisbury's her Father.

Y. Ra.
Oh! that I could—

L. Ra.
Still, still inflexible:
Hard-hearted Boy—Thou art not sure the Son
Of Raleigh's Blood; this Bosom never bore
Thy helpless Infancy, nor press'd thy Cheeks
To these fond Lips, then look'd, and bless'd our Loves,
And prophesy'd a thousand Joys to come.
O! I can bear no more—rise up, my Soul,
In Bitterness of Sorrow—yet I cannot now,
While I behold that dear Resemblance here!
How his lov'd Father flatters in his Face.
Then I must try alone—Resolve, my Son,
Prevent the Vengeance of a Father's Blood,
And fear the Curses of a Mother's Wrath,
A Widow'd Mother—

[Exit.
Y. Ra.
Which way shall I turn?
If to Olympia, I must wrong my Fame,
And injure her; for tho' she could believe
I cannot love—to counterfeit is base,
And cruel too; dissembl'd Love is like
The Poison of Perfumes, a killing Sweetness:
But then, my Father—Oh! those cutting Words,
A Widow'd Mother, Widow'd by my Crime!
That, that will ring for ever in my Ears,
Rise up in Blushes on my guilty Cheek,
Knock at my Breast, and ask if I'm a Son.
Forgive me then, ye faithful Nymphs and Swains,
Teach me to look like you, to steal your Pains,
To make dissembl'd Tears successful start,
And dropping seem to cool the Love-sick Heart;
Then when you view me struggling in the Snare
Of lying Fears, sick Hopes, and false Despair,
For the sad Tryal let your Pity plead;
And Heav'n, who made the Cause, excuse the Deed.

[Exit.