University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE in the Tower.
Enter Howard and Wade.
How.
Not see him!—By the Ghosts of all our Friends,
Who dy'd for Glory on Guiana's Shore,
I must, I will embrace the Man I love.

Wade.
Thy self a Pris'ner, and thy Friend a Slave,
Worse than a shackel'd Slave, a Wretch condemn'd!
Are these Encouragements for mighty Words,
Or windy Speeches of imperious Will?

How.
But I will talk, thou idle Tool of State;
Have we traced Nature to her utmost Line,
And join'd new Nations to the Queen of Isles,
To be thus caged, and bark'd at by a Dog?

Wade.
Yes, you have fill'd your Hands with foreign Spoils;
And if you fought, you have your own Reward.

How.
Ill-judging Instrument of lawful Pow'r!
Thou canst command when Danger is not near,
And walk the tame and lazy Round of Peace.
But dar'st thou search thy Foe, or free thy Friend,
Thro' Blood and Horror in the Sweet of War;
Wouldst thou not wish for these protecting Gates,
Long for the lowest Cell in all this Shop
Of Darkness, to conceal thy coward Paleness?

Wade.
What e'er you think your selves, your mighty Deeds,
Proud Voyager, are not approv'd at Home.

How.
Thus it has ever been: when gen'rous Breasts.
Swell with an Enterprize of high Exploits,
Some homebred Faction hinders the Success.
Then Envy rouses Rumour from her Cave,
Who, thro' the loud-tongu'd Pipe of false Report,
Spreads Damps and Weakness o'er the Minds of Men,
'Till publick Good is lost in private Fears:
Else, great Eliza! strange remoter Lands,
Than that distinguish'd by thy Virgin Name,
Had wore the Title of the Maiden Queen.

Wade.
A Seaman's Vanity, and Chymist's Hopes,
Are likely Means to make a Nation great!

How.
A Sword! a Sword! some Instrument of Death,
To curb his Tongue, and sweeten just Revenge!
Desert me, Heav'n! in ev'ry other Cause,
Unbrace my Sinews in the Field of Death,
Wither my Strength, and let my Faulchion fall
Guiltless of Blood upon my sinking Foe!
But now supply me, when my Friend is wrong'd.

Wade.
My quick Return shall answer your Request.

[Exit.
How.
Will he!—and can a Villain be so brave?
He may.—For often Vice, provok'd to Shame,
Borrows the Colour of a virtuous Deed.
Thus Libertines are chaste, and Misers good,
A Coward valiant, and a Priest sincere.
Now if he come on any Terms like these,
I thank thee, Gundamor, for all my Wrongs.

Enter Wade with Guards.
Wade.
There, seize the Pris'ner, lead him to his Place,
Where he may vent his Spleen, and Rage alone,
Till the loud Eccho of his own rash Tongue
Shame him to Madness.

How.
Insulting Coward!
Damn'd Hypocrite! is this the promis'd Sword?
Or hast thou yet one low Evasion left,
(For Fear and Baseness never want such Arms)
To salve thy Honour, and retract thy Words?
Do, dear Dissembler, damn thy self at once;
Deny thy Promise.—

Wade.
I care not what I said,
Nor can remember it.

How.
'Tis well for thee.
Thou hast the safest Refuge for thy Guilt,
The stupid Calm of unrepenting Sin:
But Memory would awake the sleepy Storm,
And lose thee in a Hurricane of Thought.
But hear me, Keeper; if this Arm of mine
Be free to wield its well-accustom'd Sword,
And thou, or any of thy Race, survive
That Day of Freedom, they shall wish and pray
That Howard could forget, as well as thee.

Wade.
Away, away; the present Hour is mine,
And I'll trust Fortune with my future Fears.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Gundamor, Salisbury.
Gund.
My Lord, my Lord, the Traitor Raleigh lives,
Lives after certain Promises of Death,
To shame my Master, and abuse my Trust.

Sal.
My Lord Ambassador, your Wisdom knows
That in the fairest Line of Politics,
Some Incident may turn the flowing Points
Awhile, to deviate from the purpos'd End;
But that remov'd, the most discerning Eye
Scarce sees the Stop, none judges of the Cause.
So is it now with us in our Design,
The circumstance of Things, not we, are chang'd.
Beside, the Means are ever in our Hands,
And his Confinement barrs all distant Fears.

Gun.
And yet th'imprison'd Bird, once flesh'd with Prey,
Changes not Nature by his close Restraint,
His Plumage grows, and he may wing abroad,
As once before, at that fair Quarry, Spain.

Sal.
Worn and consum'd with studious Sloth and Age,
What can he meditate, or what perform,
To touch the Pow'r of thy Imperial Lord?

Gun.
And yet I'd give a Province for his Head.

Sal.
I know not how he grows so terrible
To Foreign Lands, and so despis'd at home.

Gun.
Because they know him better, who have felt
The Terror of his Councils, and his Arms.
The Striker oft forgets the Blow he gave,
But the Wound rankles in the Suff'rer's Blood,
And quickens ev'ry sense to just Revenge.
The Wealth of Nations lost, or taught to flow
In different Channels from its native Source,
Whole Countries plunder'd, and Armadas sunk,
Leave deep Impressions on a Spaniard's Mind.
Indeed it moves old Gundamor, to hear
My Friend, my good Friend Cecil, plead for him.

Sal.
May my Tongue lose her Faculty of Speech,
Cleave to the Roof, and stiffen in my Throat,
Sooner than utter one unwary Sound
For that vile Traitor's Life! But good my Lord,
There is a time when Princes must be deaf
To ev'ry Call but One—

Gun.
I find it so.
This Deafness now is grown a catching Sickness,
It reaches Spain; my Master too is deaf;
And tho' the loudest Minister at Court
Should cry an English Marriage in his Ear,
He cannot hear one Word.

Sal.
Dear Gundamor,
I hope you speak in Mirth.

Gun.
'Tis sacred Truth,
Howe'er unfashion'd in the Dress of Words;
The Treaty ends, if he but live one Day.

Sal.
Then he must fall; and for that happy end,
Thus fashion we the Subject of our wishes.
The first Alarm be yours, in Terms as high,
As strong, as positive as Spain can speak.
Then I, with seeming Discontent of Mind,
Mix'd with the Praises of his Worth and Virtues,
Will at the last reluctantly submit
A private Injury to the publick Good:
For that's the surest Mask for Statesmens Wrongs.

Gun.
Now thou art honest Salisbury again,
And I could hug thee to this ancient Bosom,
'Till part of thy quick Spirit were transfus'd,
To warm and actuate the Soul of Gundamor.
But no relenting, noble Lord, no Stay:
The Life and Soul of Business is Dispatch.

Sal.
It shall be finish'd—

Gun.
Give me then your Hand.
[Puts a Ring on his Finger.
This be the Token of our plighted Loves,
The Seal of Raleigh's Fate—You will remember.
I'll to your Master, and begin the Work.

Sal.
You would no more?

Gun.
Only remember me—

[Pointing to his Finger.
[Exit.
Enter Wade, hastily.
Sal.
So, good Lieutenant; why this hasty Pace,
And look of Care?—

Wade.
My Lord, the big-mouth'd Captain,
Whom you this Day committed to my Charge,
Wants to see Raleigh; hence he threatens, raves,
And curses more than Sailors in a Storm.
I fear some bloody Business may ensue,
If we detain him longer from his Friend.

Sal.
Why let him see him, stare away his Senses,
If so he pleases, at his Brother-Savage.
But Cecil swears he visits him no more.

Wade.
Ha! no more!—

Sal.
Nay, wonder not Lieutenant.
The Warrant shall be sign'd for Blood to Day.
Attend me; in the way we may discourse
The circumstance of Things, of Time, and Place.

Wade.
Never more gladly—O, might I survey
Old Howard dye too on this happy Day,
Then I wou'd bid my troubl'd Spirit rest,
And in a double Death be doubly blest.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Lady Raleigh's Apartment.
Enter Lady Raleigh and Young Raleigh.
L. Ra.
With doubtful Fearfulness, and anxious Hope,
I fain would ask, what yet I dread to know:
Like one condemn'd, whose Fate is cast on Chance,
Blindfold he throws the Lott, and dares not look,
Tho' longing, on the turn of Life or Death.
Yet softly, to our Woes—Is Olympia kind?

Y. Ra.
That Heav'nly Bosom is the Seat of Kindness,
There soft Indulgence and Forgiveness dwell,
And Blessings multiply with constant Growth.

L. Ra.
Such Thanks as Slaves redeem'd from Bondage give,
Such Vows as Love recover'd from Despair
Breaths forth in ecstasy of rapt'rous Joy,
Receive from these warm Lips, O Lovely Maid!
I am that Slave, from Chains by thee redeem'd;
That Love, by thee recover'd from Despair.
My Son, why dwells that Sadness on thy Brow;
Why joins not thy exulting Voice with mine,
In Blessings on the dear Deliverer's Head?

Y. Ra.
O, I could bless her at the dawn of Light,
And with the Morning Fragrance mix her Name,
Invoke her in the thirsty Noon-Day heat,
And cheer the sober Evening with her Praise.
But I am sick and lost; cold chilling Damps,
And raging Flames, alternate Tyrants, sway
This wretched Breast: I Love, and fear to Love.

L. Ra.
O happy Change! I dar'd not hope so much.

Y. Ra.
With all his Strength and Resolution arm'd,
See what a weak defenceless thing is Man,
When Love and Virtue, in a Woman's Form
United, bid the Boaster to the Field.
One glance of Pity, one half-dropping Tear,
Disarms his Anger, melts his stubborn Scorn,
And turns the Tyrant to a Coward Boy.
But if she talks, and vows, and promises,
Hypocrisie it self grows sick of feigning,
Flings off the cumbrous Cloak of Form and Shew,
And opens all the Heart for mighty Love:
Such is the Snare, in which, by your Request,
Your Son is lost.

L. Ra.
Is not thy Father sav'd?

Y. Ra.
Yes, yes; I fear Olympia has prevail'd.

L. Ra.
Is then the great Event but doubtful still?
And wilt thou damp it with thy impious Wish?
Is the soft Advocate of Life and Peace
Pleading my Raleigh's Cause for me, for thee,
Ungrateful Boy, and this the sweet Return?
You Fear she has prevail'd; and if you fear,
You wish it not; there is no middle Line,
To part thy impious Fear, and bloody Wish.

Y. Ra.
Alas! you know not what I fear or wish:
May Heav'n correct me in its day of Wrath!
If that unhallow'd Thought has stain'd my Heart.
To wish it, were to shock creating Nature,
And bid her say—this Monster is not mine.

L. Ra.
What fear'st thou then? Speak, for thy Mother hears
All thy Complainings through Compassion's Ear.

Y. Ra.
Had you but seen the sad Olympia's Eyes,
Heard in what Accents she bemoan'd our Woes,
And with what eagerness of daring Love
She vow'd Redress, you could not surely ask
The Reason of my Fears; since if by Her he lives,
My Father may grow cruel in his turn,
And shock the quiet of my Soul for ever.

L. Ra.
Vex not thy Bosom with so vain a Care.
Consider, he who knows the rate of Life,
Knows how to value the bestowing Hand.

Y. Ra.
A Bounty undesir'd contracts no Debt,
And his great Soul may think it a Disgrace.

L. Ra.
Love, strong in Wish, is weak in Reason, still
Forming a thousand Ills which ne'er shall be:
And, like a Coward, kills it self to-day,
With fancied Grief, for fear it die to morrow.
Reflect on me, am I so worthless grown,
Or so divided from a Wife's Esteem,
As to want Pow'r to reconcile his Heart?
Will he look cold, or turn away his Ear,
When I, whom his sad Fortune sunk in Sorrow,
Sue for the Pledge of our unspotted Loves?
Or if my Voice is weak, let Howard try,
And justifie the Deed himself advis'd.

Y. Ra.
The Storm is o'er, and all is calm again.

L. Ra.
Then, while I thank the Gracious Pow'r on high,
Pursue the Prospect of thy growing Hopes,
Repeat thy Looks, thy Wishes, and thy Vows:
For constant Kindness is the surest Charm,
And Danger dares not stir, when Love is warm.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

In the Tower.
Enter Sir Walter Raleigh, and Howard.
Sir W. Ra.
Welcome, my Friend, thou bravely honest Man,
In ev'ry turn of Fortune still the same!

How.
Indeed I have been so—

Sir W. Ra.
Why, art thou chang'd?

How.
No; but it grieves me to my inmost Soul,
To think there lives such Baseness unchastiz'd,
That could conceive me—

Sir W. Ra.
What?

How.
A Villain!
A Villain to my Friend; to thee, my Raleigh!

Sir W. Ra.
Vice in a flat'ring Mirrour views Mankind,
Judging of others from its own Similitude
The Good are few, and known to fewer still:
And Rogues believe us not, Temptation-proof
Till they have try'd us—

How.
But canst thou yet suppose
England's Imperial Flag, the Naval Sign,
To which all Nations of the World pay Homage,
The proffer'd Price of Treach'ry to my Friend?
Proffer'd by that vile Statesman Gundamor
I need not tell thee how I scorn'd the Bribe,
For which this Prison, and thy Presence, are,
I thank him, Favours, which he meant Affronts.

Sir W. Ra.
Thank Heav'n, that in the Nakedness of Woe,
Has left me still one gen'rous virtuous Friend,
A Comfort haughty Cecil cannot know.
Blush not, good Howard, if I swear I think
That thou and Honour were Twin-Brothers born,
And when thou diest, that must sicken too—
How many, who prophane that sacred Name
With outward Show, and Countenance of Worth,
Would sell their Birth-right, sacrifice their Faith,
Bring Wives and Daughters to Pollution's Bed,
For half the Price thy Honesty despis'd!

How.
What I have done, thy own Example taught.
You knew the strong Conspiracy at home,
Resolv'd to pluck declining Fortune down.
Yet we, to keep your promis'd Faith, return'd,
To meet Oppression, and embrace ill Fate.

Sir W. Ra.
The Gage of Honour was in England thrown,
And had we stretch'd beyond the crooked Year
And Solar way, yet at our Country's Call,
We must have plung'd thro' Darkness and Despair,
To vindicate the Pledge we left behind.

How.
Why are we punish'd then, or why reproach'd?
Or whence does Gundamor's presaging Voice
Pronounce thy Doom, and mark the bloody Day,
Soon as the Queen recovers, or expires?

Sir W. Ra.
Let it come when it will, I stand prepar'd.
The little Intervals of Time, and Form
May make it more expected, not more fear'd.

How.
Yet Reason, Sense, and Nature's eldest Law,
Join'd with the Charities of Social Love,
The tender Names of Daughter, Son, and Wife,
All warn us to decline approaching Death.

Sir W. Ra.
Think not I hold that vain Philosophy
Of proud Indifference, that pretends to look
On Pain and Pleasure with an equal Eye.
To Be, is better far than Not to Be,
Else Nature cheated us in our Formation.
And when we are, the sweet Delusion wears
Such various Charms and Prospects of Delight,
That what we could not Will, we make our Choice,
Desirous to prolong the Life she gave.
Mad-men, and Fools may hurry o'er the Scene,
The wise Man walks an easy, sober Pace;
And tho' he sees one Precipice for all,
Declines the fatal Brink, oft looking back
On what he leaves, and thinking where he falls.

How.
From thy own Words convinc'd, look back again.
One Bar already lies in Cecil's way,
Which yet must be a Secret in my Breast
Till ripe enough for thee—You'll trust it there?

Sir W. Ra.
Trust thee! Thou richest Mine of Faith and Truth,
Trust thee with ev'ry Thought my Soul conceives:
You said that Gundamor had mark'd the Time.
I know the cunning Politician well,
His dark Designs, and Subtilty of Thought;
Yet there the Spaniard has o'er-shot his Mark,
And in his fond Extravagance of Wit,
Perhaps undone the Knot he has been winding.

How.
How! Speak, Raleigh.

Sir W. Ra.
I wish thy Freedom now,
Then I should hope my Sovereign Queen might know
The Midnight Toils and Travels of this Brain,
That oft has robb'd the flow'ry Plant of Life,
And gave its Colour to the fading Cheek.
Health lurks in Mines, distils from spicy Trees,
Flows in the Waves, and glitters on the Rock:
Why then, since Nature spreads her Stores to all,
May we not make some secret Share our own?

How.
This Minute Liberty is worth a Crime,
I will be free—

Sir W. Ra.
Forbear; the Keeper comes—

How.
Curse on his now unseasonable Visit.

Enter Wade.
Wade.
Sir Walter, tho' your Heart suspects my Love,
You know the Duty of my Charge and Trust.
This brings me, an unwilling Messenger,
(Heav'n knows!) to tell you, you must die to Day.

Sir W. Ra.
To Day!—then I shall live more free to Night.

How.
Confusion! now I dare not tell the Snare
I laid for Salisbury, by his Gallant Son.
[Aside.
Ill-boding Raven, croaking Bird of Prey,
Are the Notes spent, are all the Dirges sung?
Dost not thou Scent my Blood and Carnage too?

Wade.
I have no more to say—

Sir W. Ra.
Howard, be calm,
Lose not thy Virtue for his Master's Faults:
Must thou grow mad on ev'ry moody Day,
That Gundamor works Cecil's Soul to Mischief?

How.
My Tongue is mute,—but O my Heart Bleeds inward!

Sir W. Ra.
O, Death! I've sought thee in the listed Feild,
'Midst shouting Squadrons, and embattell'd Hosts
Pursu'd thee in the Noon-day Sweat of War,
And listen'd for thee on the Midnight Watch.
In frozen Regions, and in Sun-burnt Climes;
In Winds, in Tempests, and in troubl'd Seas,
In ev'ry Element I sought—But thou
Hast shunn'd the Searcher in each dangerous Path,
Spar'd him in Seas, in Battles, and in Storms,
To seize the weary Wanderer at his Rest,
And sink him in the Coward Arms of Peace.
Who, Providence, shall mark thy secret Ways,
Measure thy Wisdom, or dispute thy Pow'r?

Wade.
I hope, Sir Walter—

How.
Peace, saucy Babler.

Sir W. Ra.
Hear him; his Look a careful Kindness bears.
Speak soon, for I have things of high import,
That ask for Solitude, and private Thought.

Wade.
As you have liv'd renown'd, so die renown'd,
And after Death be still distinguish'd more.
Your Grave secreted from the Vulgar Urns,
Your Ashes honour'd, that succeeding Times
May mark the Place with Reverence.

Sir W. Ra.
Idle Care,
Posthumous Vanity of foolish Man!
Can Pomp and Pride make difference in our Dust?
Go, cast a curious Look on Helen's Tomb;
Do Roses flourish there, or Myrtles bloom?
The mighty Alexander's Grave survey;
See, is there ought uncommon in the Clay?
Shines the Earth brighter round it, to declare
The Glorious Robber of the World there lyes?—
What, Egypt, do thy Pyramids comprize?
What Greatness in the high-rais'd Folly lies?
The Line of Ninus this poor Comfort brings,
We sell their Dust, and traffick for their Kings.

[Exeunt.