University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Conon, Aurelius, Albanact.
Con.
Then this is the deciding Day, to fix
Great Britain's Scepter in great Arthur's Hand.

Aur.
Or put it in the bold Invaders gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different Fates,
Are weighing now within the Scales of Heaven.

Con.
In Ten set Battles have we driven back
These Heathen Saxons, and regain'd our Earth.
As Earth recovers from an Ebbing Tide,
Her half-drown'd Face, and lifts it o'er the Waves.
From Severn's Banks, even to this Barren-Down,
Our foremost Men have prest their fainty Rear,
And not one Saxon Face has been beheld;
But all their Backs, and Shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest Wounds: Now here, indeed,
Because they have no further Ground, they stand.

Aur.
Well have we chose a Happy day for Fight;
For every Man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.

Alb.
But why this day more lucky than the rest?

Con.
Because this day
Is Sacred to the Patron of our Isle;
A Christian; and a Souldiers Annual Feast.

Alb.
Oh, now I understand you, This is St. George of Cappadocia's Day.
Well, It may be so, but Faith I was Ignorant; we Soldiers
Seldom examine the Rubrick; and now and then a Saint may
Happen to slip by us; But if he be a Gentleman Saint, he will
Forgive us.

Con.
Oswald, undoubtedly will Fight it bravely.

Aur.
And it behoves him well, 'tis his last Stake.
[To Alb.
But what manner of Man is this Oswald? Have ye ever seen him?

Al.
Ne'er but once; & that was to my Cost too; I follow'd him too close,
And to say Truth, somwhat Uncivilly, upon a Rout;
But he turn'd upon me, as quick and as round, as a chaff'd Boar;
And gave me two Licks across the Face, to put me
In mind of my Christianity.

Con.
I know him well; he's free and open Hearted.

Aur.
His Countries Character: That Speaks a German.

Con.

Revengeful, rugged, violently brave; and once resolv'd
is never to be mov'd.

Alb.
Yes, he's a valiant Dog, Pox on him.

Con.
This was the Character he then maintain'd,
When in my Court, he sought my Daughters Love:
My Fair, Blind, Emmeline.

Alb.
I cannot blame him for Courting the Heiress of Cornwall:
All Heiresses are Beautiful; and as Blind as she is, he would have had
No Blind Bargain of her.

Aur.
For that Defeat in Love, he rais'd this War.
For Royal Arthur Reign'd within her Heart,
Ere Oswald mov'd his Sute.

Con.
Ay, now Aurelius, you have Nam'd a Man;
One, whom besides the Homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's Duke, to his Imperial Crown,
I wou'd have chosen out, from all Mankind,
To be my Soveraign Lord.

Aur.
His Worth divides him from the crowd of Kings;
So Born, without Desert to be so Born;
Men, set aloft, to be the Scourge of Heaven;
And with long Arms, to lash the Under-World.

Con.
Arthur is all that's Excellent in Oswald;
And void of all his Faults: In Battle brave;
But still Serene in all the Stormy War,
Like Heaven above the Clouds; and after Fight,
As Merciful and Kind, to vanquisht Foes,
As a Forgiving God; but see, he's here,
And Praise is Dumb before him.

Enter King Arthur, Reading a Letter, with Attendants.
Arthur
Reading.
Go on, Auspicious Prince, the Stars are kind:
Unfold thy Banners to the willing Wind;
While I, with Aiery Legions, help thy Arms;
Confronting Art with Art, and Charms with Charms.
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt th'event,
[To Con.
With Heav'n and you to Friends; Oh Noble Conon,
You taught my tender Hands the Trade of War;
And now again you Helm your hoary Head,
And under double weight of Age and Arms,
Assert your Countries Freedom, and my Crown.

Con.
No more, my Son.

Arth.
Most happy in that Name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's Vows refus'd,
You made my plighted Bride:
Your Charming Daughter, who like Love, Born Blind,
Un-aiming hits, with surest Archery,
And Innocently kills.

Con.
Remember, Son,
You are a General, other Wars require you.
For see the Saxon Gross begins to move.

Arth.
Their Infantry Embattel'd, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space:
Cover'd by their advancing Cavalry.
By Heav'n, 'tis Beauteous Horrour:
The Noble Oswald has provok'd my Envy.
Enter Emmeline, led by Matilda.
Ha! Now my Beauteous Emmeline appears
Anew, but Oh, a softer Flame, inspires me:
Even Rage and Vengeance, slumber at her sight.

Con.
Haste your Farewel; I'll chear my Troops, and wait ye.
[Exit Conon.

Em.
Oh Father, Father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your Voice.

Arth.
No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight;
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair Eyes,
Which cannot view the Conquest they have made.
Oh Star-like Night, dark only to thy self,
But full of Glory, as those Lamps of Heav'n
That see not, when they shine.

Em.
What is this Heav'n, and Stars, and Night, and Day,
To which you thus compare my Eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my Father clasps my Hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkl'd;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts, and tickles at my Heart.

Arth.
Oh Artless Love! where the Soul moves the Tongue,
And only Nature speaks what Nature thinks!
Had she but Eyes!

Em.
Just now you said I had:
I see 'em, I have two.

Arth.
But neither see.

Em.
I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your Eyes do more?

Arth.
They view your Beauties.

Em.
Do not I see? You have a Face, like mine,
Two Hands, and two round, pretty, rising Breasts,
That heave like mine.

Arth.
But you describe a Woman.
Nor is it sight, but touching with your Hands.

Em.
Then 'tis my Hand that sees, and that's all one:
For is not seeing, touching with your Eyes?

Arth.
No, for I see at distance, where I touch not.

Em.
If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my Naked Legs and Feet
Quite through my Cloaths; pray do not see so well.

Arth.
Fear not, sweet Innocence;
I view the lovely Features of your Face;
Your Lips Carnation, your dark shaded Eye-brows,
Black Eyes, And Snow white Forehead; all the Colours
That make your Beauty, and produce my Love.

Em.
Nay, then, you do not love on equal terms:
I love you dearly, without all these helps:
I cannot see your Lips Carnation,
Your shaded Eye-brows, nor your Milk-white Eyes.

Arth.
You still mistake.

Em.
Indeed I thought you had a Nose and Eyes,
And such a Face as mine; have not Men Faces?

Arth.
Oh, none like yours, so excellently fair.

Em.
Then wou'd I had no Face; for I wou'd be
Just such a one as you.

Arth.
Alas, 'tis vain to instruct your Innocence,
You have no Notion of Light or Colours.

Emmel.
Why, is not that a Trumpet?

(Trumpet sound within.
Arth.
Yes.

Em.
I knew it.
And I can tell you how the sound on't looks.
It looks as if it had an angry fighting Face.

Arth.
'Tis now indeed a sharp unpleasant sound,
Because it calls me hence, from her I love,
To meet Ten thousand Foes.

Em.
How does so many Men ee'r come to meet?
This Devil Trumpet vexes 'em, and then
They feel about, for one anothers Faces;
And so they meet, and kill.

Arth.
I'll tell ye all, when we have gain'd the Field;
One kiss of your fair Hand, the pledge of Conquest,
And so a short farewel.

Kisses her Hand, and Exit with Aurel. Alb. and Attendants.
Em.
My Heart, and Vows, go with him to the Fight:
May every Foe, be that, which they call blind,
And none of all their Swords have Eyes to find him.
But lead me nearer to the Trumpet's Face;
For that brave Sound upholds my fainting Heart;
And while I hear, methinks I fight my part.

(Exit. led by Matilda.
Enter Oswald and Osmond.
The Scene represents a place of Heathen worship; The three Saxon Gods, Woden, Thor, and Freya placed on Pedestals. An Altar.
Osmo.
'Tis time to hasten our mysterious Rites;
Because your Army waits you.

Oswald making three Bows before the three Images.
Oswa.
Thor, Freya, Woden, all ye Saxon Powers,
Hear and revenge my Father Hengist's death.

Osmo.
Father of Gods and Men, great Woden, hear.
Mount thy hot Courser, drive amidst thy Foes;
Lift high thy thund'ring Arm, let every blow
Dash out a mis-believing Briton's Brains.

Oswa.
Father of Gods and Men, great Woden hear;
Give Conquest to thy Saxon Race, and me.

Osmo.
Thor, Freya, Woden, hear, and spell your Saxons,
With Sacred Runick Rhimes, from Death in Battle.
Edge their bright Swords, and blunt the Britons Darts.
No more, Great Prince, for see my trusty Fiend,
Who all the Night has wing'd the dusky Air.
Grimbald, a fierce earthy Spirit arises.
What news, my Grimbald?

Grim.
I have plaid my part;
For I have Steel'd the Fools that are to dye;
Six Fools, so prodigal of Life and Soul,
That, for their Country, they devote their Lives
A Sacrifice to Mother Earth, and Woden.

Osmo.
'Tis well; But are we sure of Victory?

Grim.
Why ask'st thou me?
Inspect their Intrails, draw from thence thy Guess:
Bloud we must have, without it we are dumb.

Osmo.
Say, Where's thy fellow-servant, Philidel?
Why comes not he?

Grim.
For, he's a puleing Sprite.
Why didst thou chuse a tender airy Form,
Unequal to the mighty work of Mischief;
His Make is flitting, soft, and yielding Atomes:
He trembles at the yawning gulph of Hell,
Nor dares approach the Flame, lest he shou'd singe
His gaudy silken Wings.
He sighs when he should plunge a Soul in Sulphur,
As with Compassion, touch'd of foolish man.

Osm.
What a half Devil's he?
His Errand was, to draw the Low-land damps,
And Noisom vapours, from the foggy Fens:
Then, breath the baleful stench, with all his force,
Full on the faces of our Christned Foes.

Grim.
Accordingly he drein'd those Marshy-grounds;
And bagg'd 'em in a blue pestiferous Cloud;
Which when he shou'd have blown, the frighted Elf
Espy'd the Red Cross Banners of their Host;
And said he durst not add to his damnation.

Osm.
I'le punish him at leisure;
Call in the Victims to propitiate Hell.

Grim.
That's my kind Master, I shall break fast on 'em.

Grimbald goes to the Door, and Re-enters with 6 Saxons in White, with Swords in their hands. They range themselves 3 and 3 in opposition to each other.
The rest of the Stage is fill'd with Priests and Singers.

Woden, first to thee
A Milk white Steed, in Battle won,
We have Sacrific'd.

Chor.
VVe have Sacrific'd.

Vers.
Let our next Oblation be,
To Thor, thy thundring Son,
Of such another.

Chor.
We have Sacrific'd.

Vers.
A third; (of Friezeland breed was he,)
To Woden's Wife, and to Thor's Mother:
And now we have atton'd all three
We have Sacrific'd.

Chor.
VVe have Sacrific'd.

2 Voc.
The VVhite Horse Neigh'd aloud.
To VVoden thanks we render.
To VVoden, we have vow'd.

Chor.
To VVoden, our Defender.

The four last Lines in CHORUS.
Vers.
The Lot is Cast, and Tanfan pleas'd:

Chor.
Of Mortal Cares you shall be eas'd,
Brave Souls to be renown'd in Story.
Honour prizing,
Death despising,
Fame acquiring
By Expiring,
Dye, and reap the fruit of Glory.
Brave Souls to be renown'd in Story.

Vers.
2. I call ye all,
To VVoden's Hall;
Your Temples round
VVith Ivy bound,
In Goblets Crown'd,
And plenteous Bowls of burnish'd Gold;
VVhere you shall Laugh,
And dance and quaff,
The Juice, that makes the Britons bold.

The six Saxons are led off by the Priests, in Order to be Sacrific'd.
Ows.
Ambitious Fools we are,
And yet Ambition is a Godlike Fault:
Or rather, 'tis no Fault in Souls Born great,
Who dare extend their Glory by their Deeds.
Now Britany prepare to change thy State,
And from this Day begin thy Saxon date.

[Exeunt Omnes.
A Battle supposed to be given behind the Scenes, with Drums, Trumpets, and Military Shouts and Excursions: After which, the Britons, expressing their Joy for the Victory, sing this Song of Triumph.