University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

SCENE An Apartment in the Tower.
Sir Walter Raleigh,
solus.
Not yet the Shadows of retreating Night
Disperse, nor dawns the Day-spring from on high;
And yet I thank thee, Heav'n, I bless thy Pow'r,
That has unseal'd my Eyes, and wak'd my Soul
To Life, to Action, and to think on thee.
There is no Instant in the Tide of Time,
But Man may seize, and fill the vacant Space
With useful Searches of improving Thought.
The Light attracts him with ten thousand Views,
Offering her Objects to the Sense unsought,
That ask, and court, and press him to be known.
Then soon as Night succeeds, the darken'd Air
Warns him to sweet Retreat, and silent Musings,
That trace the past Ideas thro' the Brain,
Now mix, and now divide the various Heap,
Then form a-new the separated Kinds,
Trying all ways to feed the greedy Soul.
Thus even here I'm happy, thus disjoin'd
From Pomps and Thrones from Camps and noisy War,
The boasted Scenes and Glory of my Youth.
Well—they are past; this Prison now is all,
And this I will enjoy—there's something here,
I never tasted in the Courts of Kings.

Enter Wade.
Wade.
Health to my noble Guest, for such a Name
Alone becomes the valiant Raleigh's Worth:
The plainer Name of Prisoner should be chang'd,
When he who wears it, merits not the Shame.

Sir W. Ra.
How sayst thou? Flattery in a Prison too!
Why then I may be Envy's Object still:
But hear me, where has thy unlucky Tongue
Learnt this vile Lesson, this unmanly Art?
Hast been at Court, and seen a fawning Lord
Watching the Motion of a Favourite's Eye,
With such an earnest Care as holy Men
Express in Picture to some darling Saint?

Wade.
[Aside.
The best Denial is to flatter on.
Thou knowest me not; my honest Heart
Disdains to give, as much as thine to take,
Such servile Incense, as unjust Applause:
But when I see the Man, whose long-try'd Faith,
Whose Virtue, Courage, and superior Merit,
Have rais'd his Country's Glory to the Sky;
This Man in spite of Fortune I will praise,
Yes, I will bless him, tho' a Monarch frown,
Adore him in the Minute of Disgrace,
And think his Wrongs his Country's just Reproach.

Sir W. Ra.
Take heed of this; thy too officious Zeal,
Or thy Integrity, may cost thee dear.
I find that I mistook, and now confess
Thou art indeed unread in Politicks;
And much a Stranger to the Arts of Courts.
But know, that Virtue may be Criminal:
And he who dares to doubt so fair a Truth,
Sets himself up obnoxious to that Pow'r
Which makes it so. Again, I say, take heed.

Wade.
Ill have I learnt the Lessons of the Wise,
If this false Science must debauch my Mind;
If all the fair Impressions on my Soul,
By moral Sages taught, must be eras'd,
And damn'd Hypocrisy usurp the Place.

Sir W. Ra.
Thou must unlearn the Maxims of thy Youth,
They are no Guides in this corrupted Age.
Go, blot these idle Fancies from thy Brain;
If e'er thou hop'st to merit a Reward,
Or rise above the Level of the Crowd.
But if thou canst possess thy Soul in Peace,
And, bearing Wrongs, complain to Heav'n alone,
A Cloyster may become thee, not the World.

Wade.
'Tis true, the Court, the City, and the Camp
Smell rank of Vice; Buffoons, and Parasites
Make Virtue sick, shaming the modest Ear
To Deafness: Ev'ry good Man's Fame
Is wounded, while destroying Calumny
Feeds, and looks fair, upon the Prey of Honour.
How often have I heard their saucy Tongues
Arraign thee in their Mirth, and call thee Traitor?

Sir W. Ra.
O Reputation! dearer far than Life,
Thou precious Balsam, lovely, sweet of Smell,
Whose Cordial Drops once spilt by some rash Hand,
Not all thy Owner's Care, nor the repenting Toil
Of the rude Spiller, ever can collect
To its first Purity and native Sweetness.

Wade.
Oh, the Corruption reaches higher still,
For now the very Pulpits learn to flatter;
The grave Divines but look asquint to Heav'n,
Then level all their Rhetorick at the King;
While he—

Sir W. Ra.
Restrain thy mad licentious Tongue.
Wouldst thou traduce thy Sov'reign in thy Folly;
And think my Ears can suffer the Reproach?
Rash Man—I see the Purpose of thy Heart,
And read Betrayer thro' the thin Disguise.
Thus Gundamor and Cecil fight their Foes.
Heav'ns! that the trifling Life of one poor Man
Should be the Cause of so much Guilt in others!
Let them plot on—I have a Part within,
Their Malice cannot reach—Yes, yes, my Soul,
Thou shalt be feasted with a rich Repast;
The grave Historian, and the moral Sage,
The searching Minds that scorn to be confin'd
On this dim Spot, but travel to the Seats
Of nobler Beings, and more finish'd Worlds,
All call and wait on thee. The Muses Song
Breaths near, to temper the Fatigue of Thought.
Hail blest Companions of my lonely Hours!
Better converse whole Ages with the Dead,
Pore on a broken Marble, to retrieve
A single Letter of a brave Man's Name,
Who dy'd at Marathon, or Agencourt;
Than spend one Moment with Deceit and Vice.

[Exit.
Wade.
Curse on his Artifice! when I had rais'd
His heavy Phlegm, and warm'd it into Motion,
When Treason trembl'd on my longing Lips,
And my Soul listen'd for an eager Answer,
Then to start back, and leave me in the Maze
Of my own Folly—O, but I will try
New Stratagems. Before it was Reward,
Now 'tis Revenge, that pushes me to Guilt.

[Exit.