University of Virginia Library

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.