University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter Olympia and Florella.
Olym.
Indulgent Heav'n has answer'd all my Pray'rs,
In Raleigh's Freedom; now the promis'd Vows
Of the dear Youth their own Completion bring.
O Love! what Miracles by thee are wrought;
How dost thou mix thy Causes, in one Day
Crowding the Woes and Happiness of Years!
All Passions that divide the Humane Breast,
Sink it in Sorrow, or exalt with Joy,
Hope, Anguish, Transport, Anger, Fear,
All have reign'd here within that scanty Space.
Let this suffice, imperious Deity
Be all my future View one bright Serene,
One lengthen'd Sunshine of unspotted Bliss,
Where Fear no Damps, where Sorrow casts no Shade.

Flor.
Bless 'em, ye Pow'rs, who guard the Virtuous Flames,
With gentle Concord and harmonious Love.
Spring new Delights with ever-flowing Sweets,
And, gather'd, grow with multiply'd Encrease.

Olym.
Kind, kind Florella,—but why stay we here,
Wasting the precious Hours in empty Wishes;
Wishes, the last remotest Line of Love?
Those are faint Blessings, swallow'd up and lost
In the wide Bosom of approaching Joys.
Come, let us seek the Presence of the Youth,
There count our Wonders and renew our Faith.
Tell how, as sinking Resolution fail'd,
The Father's o'er the Statesman's Heart prevail'd;
The Tale will please him from the Teller more,
And Love for Love return'd, shall quit the Score.

[Exeunt.
Enter Howard, and Sir Julius Cæsar.
J. C.
By Heav'n, 'tis wonderful! the Cordial Drops
No sooner reach'd the nobler Seats of Life
But the chill Blood renew'd its Purple Way,
The Pulse beat Vigour, and the waken'd Sense
Look'd forth, and darted Lustre from her Eye.

How.
I met the joyful News, it swell'd my Heart
To such uncommon Rapture, that I fear'd
Excess of Pleasure would undo it self.
Then thrice I drew the Goblet to my Lips,
And thrice I dry'd it to my Raleigh's Health.
Now, now, if any Sight could check my Haste
To meet my Friend's Embrace, 'twere Gundamor.

J. C.
See there your Wish—

How.
How crest-fall'n they look,
Like baffl'd Dæmons, when some friendly Spirit
Allays the Tempest that their Malice rais'd,
And wafts the threatned Vessel safe to Land.
It were a Loss my Soul cou'd not forgive,
If I forbore the Triumph of my Joy.

J. C.
'Tis better lost than made; a silent Scorn
Works artfully unseen, provoking none.

How.
Did they act so with me? was it a Mark
Of inward Spleen, to be confin'd, expos'd,
Worried, and baited, by their Blood-hound Guard?
Come Cæsar then, be wise another Day;
A chearful Madness best agrees with this.

[Exeunt.
Enter Salisbury, and Gundamor.
Sal.
Shining again at Court, my mortal Foe!
Whose Life, but Yesterday, I held so lost,
As if unworthy of Oppression's Heel
To sink it lower—he makes haste to Glory,
Like Light he shoots, that the Beholder's Eye
Scarce marks the rapid Stages of his Progress;
And while he says, From yonder Point it flew,
The Light is past him—

Gun.
Curse on the Description!
I saw him circl'd by a servile Crowd,
The Minions all ambitious of his View:
Whilst he as stifly disregardless stood,
As Greatness were his old, familiar Friend,
Tho' he and Infamy shook Hands this Morning.

Sal.
Ay, that he calls his best Philosophy;
That inward Pride that to it self pays Homage.
Believe me, no poor Madman, in his Cell,
Whom his own giddy Fancy makes a King,
So much admires the Phantoms of his Brain
As these Philosophers of Raleigh's Sect.
See how they cringe, and bow, and flatter there.
By Heaven I cannot bear it.

[Ex.
Gun.
'Tis he: My Nerves take Warning at his sight;
I feel him by Antipathy of Hate,
And all my Master's Empire shakes in me.
Help me, Dissimulation, smooth my Brow,
And teach my Tongue to differ from my Heart.
Enter Raleigh, attended.
Pardon, good Raleigh, these enfeebl'd Limbs
That drew their willing Master slowly on,
To welcome thee to Liberty and Joy.
Infirmities attend us all, and Age,
Old Age, oft makes us seem unmannerly,
When our Affections burn as high as Youth.

Sir W. Ra.
Your good Affections are well known, my Lord,
As is your Wisdom, and your Court-Address.

Gun.
Surely old Gundamor has liv'd too long,
If he must grow suspected by his Friends.
Trust me, I labour'd thy Release so long,
Rung thy dear Name so often in his Ears,
That thy good Master call'd me English-Man.

Sir W. Ra.
Did he? Why then he honour'd you indeed.

Gun.
Since then all Feuds are buried and forgot,
Tell me, good Raleigh, why thy generous Breast
Nurs'd such a fatal Hatred to our Spain?

Sir W. Ra.
To say I hate it, that belies my Heart,
And wrongs my native Land, whom Heav'n design'd,
By her Plantation in the watry Deep,
To mix with every Nation of the Earth.

Gun.
Then must you fear it, since you wrong'd us so.

Sir W. Ra.
Heav'n! that the Fears of all my Country-Men
Were such as mine, who know thy Master's Power
Too well to fear it; and regard my Fame
Too much, to wrong a Peasant of his Right!

Gun.
Whence then these Plunders on our Indian Shore?

Sir W. Ra.
The Peace extended not beyond the Line.
Nor launch'd we privately, with sordid Views:
The World beheld us, and approv'd our Deeds
As fair and equal in bright Honour's Eye,
And squaring with the common Rights of Men.
But would'st thou reckon well the Tale of Wrongs,
Look backward, and behold an Age's Toil,
Unnumber'd Armies, and confederate Fleets,
Half the leagu'd World, conspiring England's Fall.
I saw their Pride, and, thank all-gracious Heav'n,
Had no ignoble share in their Defeat;
When thy proud Master humbl'd all his Sails,
Implor'd the Water, Tempests, and the Rocks,
To hide his Shame, and save him from the Hand
Of Britons fighting in their Country's Cause.

Gun.
You rage, Sir Walter.

Sir W. Ra.
'Tis an honest Rage.

Gun.
Those Days are past; I praise 'em not, nor blame:
You then were quick and active in Exploits;
But you are slacken'd since; Your English March
Beats mighty slowly now.

Sir W. Ra.
Slow as it beats,
It once has beat thro' France, and may thro' Spain.

Gun.
You threaten, Sir; while I would speak of Things,
And know by Virtue of what Right you claim
Part of our Indian World, the Gift of Heav'n.

Sir W. Ra.
That Heav'n you mean, which gave you England too.
But had your Purple-mitred Tyrant Power
To give the Portions of the Earth away,
The largest, fairest Lot would be his Own.
He, in his Bounty, gave you India's Mines:
But could he give it for a Spoil and Prey?
Give Streams to thicken with the Native's Blood,
And Groves to labour with the Planter's Weight?
O Priest-begotten Tyranny! what Waste
Thy cruel Hands make in this fair Creation!
Treating Heav'n's Image in thy Fellow-Creature
Worse than the Savage Beast and grazing Herd.

Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
They have been warm—How my Tongue hates
[Aside.
The cursed Burthen it must now deliver.
My Message is to you, Sir Walter—The good Queen,
In just Return for Life and Health restor'd,
Bids you demand your self your own Reward;
Place, Title, Dignity, or Wealth.

Gun.
O she's a gracious Mistress!—But these Ears
Shall not be grated with his bold Request.

[Exit.
Sir W. Ra.
Bless her, thou mighty Being, ever raise,
As thou hast me, some Instrument of thine
To guard and save her in the Hour of Grief!

Sal.
I wait your Answer.

Sir W. Ra.
Thus then, my noble Lord:
My Sense is dull to all the Baits of Pleasure,
To gathering Riches, and the Pride of Titles;
Yet one Infirmity of honest Minds
Cleaves to my Heart; and tho' my Conscience speaks
My Innocence within, my wounded Fame,
In publick wounded, asks a publick Cure.

Sal.
Propose the Method.

Sir W. Ra.
Cobham still lives.
He once accus'd me: Let him now make good,
In Presence of some honourable Lords,
His former Charge, or else retract the Wrong.
This let him do, and sign it with his Name.

Sal.
A small Request, and will be granted soon.

Sir W. Ra.
My Fame thus safe, I fly from Care and Strife,
And gently tread the downward Path of Life.
No more expose my self to Fortune's Sport,
The Noise of War, or Whispers of a Court:
In letter'd Solitude unenvied reign:
Admire the Hills, but live upon the Plain.

[Exeunt.