University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Enter Philidel.
Phil.
Alas, for pity, of this bloody Field!
Piteous it needs must be, when I, a Spirit,
Can have so soft a sense of Humane Woes!
Ah! for so many Souls, as but this Morn'
Were cloath'd with Flesh, and warm'd with Vital Blood,
But naked now, or shirted but with Air.

[Merlin, with Spirits, descends to Philidel, on a Chariot drawn by Dragons.
Mer.
What art thou, Spirit, of what Name and Order?
(For I have view'd thee in my Magick Glass,)
Making thy moan, among the Midnight Wolves,
That Bay the silent Moon: Speak, I Conjure thee.
'Tis Merlin bids thee, at whose awful Wand,
The pale Ghost quivers, and the grim Fiend gasps.

Phil.
An Airy Shape, the tender'st of my kind,
The last seduc'd, and least deform'd of Hell;
Half white, and shuffl'd in the Crowd, I fell;
Desirous to repent, and loth to sin,
Awkward in Mischief, piteous of Mankind,
My Name is Philidel, my Lot in Air,
Where next beneath the Moon, and nearest Heav'n,
I soar; and have a Glimpse to be receiv'd,
For which the swarthy Dæmons envy me.

Mer.
Thy Business here?

Phil.
To shun the Saxon Wizards dire Commands,
Osmond, the awful'st Name next thine below,
'Cause I refus'd to hurl a Noysom Fog
On Christen'd Heads, the Hue and Cry of Hell
Is rais'd against me, for a Fugitive Spright.

Mer.
Osmond shall know, a greater Power protects thee;
But follow thou the Whispers of thy Soul,
That draw thee nearer Heav'n.
And, as thy place is nearest to the Sky,
The Rays will reach thee first, and bleach thy Soot.

Phil.
In hope of that, I spread my Azure Wings,
And wishing still, for yet I dare not pray,
I bask in Day-light, and behold with Joy
My Scum work outward, and my Rust wear off.

Mer.
Why, 'tis my hopeful Devil; now mark me, Philidel,
I will employ thee, for thy future Good:
Thou know'st, in spite of Valiant Oswald's Arms,
Or Osmond's Powerful Spells, the Field is ours.—

Phil.
Oh Master! hasten
Thy Dread Commands; for Grimbald is at Hand;
Osmond's fierce Fiend, I snuff his Earthy Scent:
The Conquering Britons, he misleads to Rivers,
Or dreadful Downfalls of unheeded Rocks;
Where many fall, that ne'er shall rise again.

Mer.
Be that thy care, to stand by falls of Brooks,
And trembling Bogs, that bear a Green-Sword show.
Warn off the bold Pursuers from the Chace:
No more, they come, and we divide the Task.
But lest fierce Grimbald's pond'rous Bulk oppress
Thy tender flitting Air, I'll leave my Band
Of Spirits with United Strength to Aid thee,
And Force with Force repel.

Exit Merlin on his Chariot. Merlin's Spirits stay with Philidel.
Enter Grimbald in the Habit of a Shepherd, follow'd by King Arthur, Conon, Aurelius, Albanact and Soldiers, who wander at a distance in the Scenes.
Grim.
Here, this way, Britons, follow Oswald's flight;
This Evening as I whistl'd out my Dog,
To drive my straggling Flock, and pitch'd my Fold,
I saw him dropping Sweat, o'er labour'd, stiff,
Make faintly as he could, to yonder Dell.
Tread in my Steps; long Neighbourhood by Day
Has made these Fields familiar in the Night.

Arth.
I thank thee, Shepherd;
Expect Reward, lead on, we follow thee.

Phil.
sings.
Hither this way, this way bend,
Trust not that Malicious Fiend:
Those are false deluding Lights,
Wafted far and near by Sprights.
Trust 'em not, for they'll deceive ye;
And in Bogs and Marshes leave ye.

Chor. of Phil. Spirits.
Hither this way, this way bend.

Chor. of Grimb. Spirits.
This way, this way bend.

Phil.
sings.
If you step, no Danger thinking,
Down you fall, a Furlong sinking:
'Tis a Fiend who has annoy'd ye;
Name but Heav'n, and he'll avoid ye.

Chor. of Phil. Spirits.
Hither this way, this way bend.

Chor. of Grimb. Spirits.
This way, this way bend.

Philidels Spirits.
Trust not that Malicious Fiend.

Grimbalds Spirits.
Trust me, I am no Malicious Fiend.

Philidels Spirits.
Hither this way, &c.

Con.
Some wicked Phantom, Foe to Human kind,
Misguides our Steps.

Alba.
I'll follow him no farther.

Grimbald
speaks.
By Hell she sings 'em back, in my despight.
I had a Voice in Heav'n, ere Sulph'rous Steams
Had damp'd it to a hoarseness; but I'll try.
He sings.

Aur.
'Tis true, he says; the Footsteps yet are fresh
Upon the Sod, no falling Dew-Drops have
Disturb'd the Print.

[All are going to follow Grimbald.
Philidel
sings.
Hither this way.

Chor. of Phil. Spirits.
Hither this way, this way bend.

Chor. of Grimb. Spirits.
This way, this way bend.

Philidels Spirits.
Trust not that Malicious Fiend.

Grimb. Spirits.
Trust me, I am no Malicious Fiend.

Philidels Spirits.
Hither this way, &c.

They all incline to Philidel.
Grim.
speaks.
Curse on her Voice, I must my Prey forego;
Thou, Philidel, shalt answer this, below.

[Grimbald sinks with a Flash.
Arth.
At last the Cheat is plain;
The Cloven-footed Fiend is Vanish'd from us;
Good Angels be our Guides, and bring us back.

Phil.
singing.
Come follow, follow, follow me.

Chor.
Come follow, &c.
And me. And me. And me. And me.

Vers. 2 Voc.
And Green-Sword all your way shall be.

Chor.
Come follow, &c.

Vers.
No Goblin or Elf shall dare to offend ye.

Chor.
No, no, no, &c.
No Goblin or Elf shall dare to offend ye.

Vers. 3 Voc.
VVe Brethren of Air,
You Hero's will bear,
To the Kind and the Fair that attend ye.

Chor.
VVe Brethren, &c.

Philidel and the Spirits go off singing, with King Arthur and the rest in the middle of them.
Enter Emmeline led by Matilda. Pavilion Scene.
Fm.
No News of my Dear Love, or of my Father?

Mat.
None. Madam, since the gaining of the Battel;
Great Arthur is a Royal Conqueror now,
And well deserves your Love.

Em.
But now I fear
He'll be too great, to love poor silly me.
If he be dead, or never come agen,
I mean to die: But there's a greater doubt,
Since I ne'er saw him here,
How shall I meet him in another World?

Mat.
I have heard something, how two Bodies meet,
But how Souls joyn, I know not.

Em.
I shou'd find him,
For surely I have seen him in my Sleep,
And then, methought, he put his Mouth to mine,
And eat a thousand Kisses on my Lips;
Sure by his Kissing I cou'd find him out
Among a thousand Angels in the Sky.

Mat.
But what a kind of Man do you suppose him?

Em.
He must be made of the most precious things:
And I believe his Mouth, and Eyes, and Cheeks,
And Nose, and all his Face, are made of Gold.

Mat.
Heav'n bless us, Madam, what a Face you make him
If it be yellow, he must have the Jaundies,
And that's a bad Disease.

Em.
Why then do Lovers give a thing so bad
As Gold, to Women, whom so well they love?

Mat.
Because that bad thing, Gold, buys all good things.

Em.
Yet I must know him better: Of all Colours,
Tell me which is the purest, and the softest.

Mat.
They say 'tis Black.

Em.
Why then, since Gold is hard, and yet is precious,
His Face must all be made of soft, black Gold.

Mat.
But, Madam—

Em.
No more; I have learn'd enough for once.

Mat.
Here are a Crew of Kentish Lads and Lasses.
Wou'd entertain ye, till your Lord's return,
With Songs and Dances, to divert your Cares.

Em.
O bring 'em in,
For tho' I cannot see the Songs, I love 'em;
And Love, they tell me, is a Dance of Hearts.

Here the Men offer their Flutes to the Women, which they refuse.
2 Shepherdess.

Here the Women give the Men Contracts, which they accept.
Chor. of all.
Come, Shepherds, lead up, a lively Measure;
The Cares of VVedlock, are Cares of Pleasure:
But whether Marriage bring Joy, or Sorrow,
Make sure of this Day, and hang to Morrow.

The Dance after the Song, and Exeunt Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Enter on the other side of the Stage, Oswald and Guillamar.
Osw.
The Night has wilder'd us; and we are faln
Among their foremost Tents.

Guill.
Ha! What are these!
They seem of more than Vulgar Quality.

Em.
What Sounds are those? They cannot far be distant:
Where are we now, Matilda?

Mat.
Just before your Tent:
Fear not, they must be Friends, and they approach.

Em.
My Arthur, speak, my Love; Are you return'd
To bless your Emmeline?

Oswa.
to Guilla.
I know that Face:
'Tis my Ungrateful Fair, who, scorning mine,
Accepts my Rivals Love: Heav'n, thou'rt bounteous,
Thou ow'st me nothing now.

Mat.
Fear grows upon me:
Speak what you are; speak, or I call for help.

Oswa.
We are your Guards.

Mat.
Ah me! We are betray'd; 'tis Oswald's Voice.

Em.
Let 'em not see our Voices, and then they cannot find us.

Osw.
Passions in Men Oppress'd, are doubly strong.
I take her from King Arthur; there's Revenge:
If she can love, she buoys my sinking Fortunes:
Good Reasons both: I'll on.—Fear nothing, Ladies,
You shall be safe.

Oswald and Guillamar seize Emmeline and Matilda.
Em. & Matil.
Help, help; a Rape, a Rape!

Oswa.
By Heav'n ye injure me, thô Force is us'd,
Your Honour shall be sacred.

Em.
Help, help, Oh Britons, help!

Oswa.
Your Britons cannot help you:
This Arm, through all their Troops, shall force my way;
Yet neither quit my Honour, nor my Prey.

Exeunt, the Women still crying.
An Alarm within: Some Soldiers running over the Stage: Follow, follow, follow.
Enter Albanact Captain of the Guurds, with Soldiers.
Alb.
Which way went th'Alarm?

1 Sol.
Here, towards the Castle.

Alb.
Pox o'this Victory; the whole Camp's debauch'd:
All Drunk or Whoring: This way, follow, follow.

Exeunt.
The Alarm renews: Clashing of Swords within for awhile.
Re-enter Albanact, Officer and Soldiers.
Officer.
How sits the Conquest on great Arthur's Brow?

Alba.
As when the Lover, with the King is mixt,
He puts the gain of Britain in a Scale,
Which weighing with the loss of Emmeline,
He thinks he's scarce a Saver.

Trumpet within.
Officer.
Hark! a Trumpet!
It sounds a Parley.

Alba.
'Tis from Oswald then,
An Eccho to King Arthur's Friendly Summons,
Sent since he heard the Rape of Emmeline,
To ask an Interview.

Trumpet answering on the other side.
Officer.
But hark! already
Our Trumpet makes reply; and see both present.

Enter Arthur on one side attended, Oswald on the other with Attendants, and Guillamar. They meet and salute.
Arthur.
Brave Oswald! We have met on Friendlier Terms,
Companions of a War, with Common Interest
Against the Bordering Picts: But Times are chang'd.

Oswa.
And I am sorry that those Times are chang'd:
For else we now might meet, on Terms as Friendly.

Arth.
If so we meet not now, the fault's your own;
For you have wrong'd me much.

Oswa.
Oh you wou'd tell me,
I call'd more Saxons in, t'enlarge my Bounds:
If those be Wrongs, the War has well redress'd ye.

Arth.
Mistake me not, I count not War a Wrong:
War is the Trade of Kings, that fight for Empire;
And better be a Lyon, than a Sheep.

Oswa.
In what, then, have I wrong'd ye?

Arth.
In my Love.

Oswa.
Even Love's an Empire too; The Noble Soul,
Like Kings, is Covetous of single Sway.

Arth.
I blame ye not, for loving Emmeline:
But since the Soul is free, and Love is choice,
You shou'd have made a Conquest of her Mind,
And not have forc'd her Person by a Rape.

Oswa.
Whether by Force, or Stratagem, we gain;
Still Gaining is our End, in War or Love.
Her Mind's the Jewel, in her Body lock'd;
If I would gain the Gem, and want the Key,
It follows I must seize the Cabinet:
But to secure your fear, her Honour is untouch'd.

Arth.
Was Honour ever safe in Brutal Hands?
So safe are Lambs within the Lyons Paw;
Ungrip'd and plaid with, till fierce Hunger calls,
Then Nature shews it self; the close-hid Nails
Are stretch'd, and open'd, to the panting Prey.
But if indeed, you are so Cold a Lover—

Oswa.
Not Cold, but Honourable.

Arth.
Then Restore her.
That done, I shall believe you Honourable.

Oswa.
Think'st thou I will forego a Victor's Right?

Arth.
Say rather, of an Impious Ravisher.
That Castle, were it wall'd with Adamant,
Can hide thy Head, but till to Morrow's Dawn.

Oswa.
And ere to Morrow, I may be a God,
If Emmeline be kind: But kind or cruel,
I tell thee, Arthur, but to see this Day,
That Heavenly Face, tho' not to have her mine,
I would give up a hundred Years of Life,
And bid Fate cut to Morrow.

Arth.
It soon will come, and thou repent too late;
Which to prevent, I'll bribe thee to be honest.
Thy Noble Head, accustom'd to a Crown,
Shall wear it still: Nor shall thy Hand forget
The Sceptre's use: From Medway's pleasing Stream,
To Severn's Roar, be thine.
In short, Restore my Love, and share my Kingdom.

Oswa.
Not, tho' you spread my Sway from Thames to Tyber;
Such Gifts might bribe a King, but not a Lover.

Arth.
Then prithee give me back my Kingly Word,
Pass'd for thy safe return; and let this Hour,
In single Combat, Hand to Hand, decide
The Fate of Empire, and of Emmeline.

Oswa.
Not, that I fear, do I decline this Combat;
And not decline it neither, but defer:
When Emmeline has been my Prize as long
As she was thine, I dare thee to the Duel.

Arth.
I nam'd your utmost Term of Life; To Morrow.

Oswa.
You are not Fate.

Arth.
But Fate is in this Arm.
You might have made a Merit of your Theft.

Oswa.
Ha! Theft! Your Guards can tell, I stole her not.

Arth.
Had I been present—

Oswa.
Had you been present, she had been mine more Nobly.

Arth.
There lies your way.

Oswa.
My way lies where I please.
Expect (for Oswald's Magick cannot fail)
A long To Morrow, ere your Arms prevail:
Or if I fall, make Room ye blest above,
For one who was undone, and dy'd for Love.

Exit Oswald and his Party.
Arth.
There may be one black Minute ere To Morrow:
For who can tell, what Pow'r, and Lust, and Charms,
May do this Night? To Arms, with speed, to Arms.

Exit.