University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Osmond Solus.
Now I am settled in my Force-full Sway;
Why then, I'll be Luxurious in my Love;
Take my full Gust, and setting Forms aside,
I'll bid the Slave, that fires my Blood, lie down.

Seems to be going off.
Enter Grimbald, who meets him.
Grim.
Not so fast, Master, Danger threatens thee:
There's a black Cloud, descending from above,
Full of Heavens Venom, bursting o'er thy Head.

Osmo.
Malicious Fiend, thou ly'st: For I am fenc'd
By Millions of thy Fellows, in my Grove:
I bad thee, when I freed thee from the Charm,
Run scouting through the Wood, from Tree to Tree,
And look if all my Devils were on Duty:
Hadst thou perform'd thy Charge, thou tardy Spright,
Thou wouldst have known no Danger threatn'd me.

Grim.
When did a Devil fail in Diligence?
Poor Mortal, thou thy self art overseen;
I have been there, and thence I bring this News.
Thy Fatal Foe, great Arthur, is at hand;
Merlin has ta'en his time while thou wert absent,
T'observe thy Characters, their Force, and Nature,
And Counterwork thy Spells.

Osmo.
The Devil take Merlin;
I'll cast 'em all anew, and instantly,
All of another Mould; be thou at hand.
Their Composition was, before, of Horror;
Now they shall be of Blandishment, and Love;
Seducing Hopes, soft Pity, tender Moans:
Art shall meet Art; and, when they think to win,
The Fools shall find their Labour to begin.

Exeunt Osm. and Grimb.
Enter Arthur, and Merlin at another Door.
Scene of the Wood continues.
Merl.
Thus far it is permitted me to go;
But all beyond this Spot, is fenc'd with Charms;
I may no more; but only with advice.

Arth.
My Sword shall do the rest.

Merl.
Remember well, that all is but Illusion;
Go on; good Stars attend thee.

Arth.
Doubt me not.

Merl.
Yet in prevention
Of what may come, I'll leave my Philidel
To watch thy Steps, and with him leave my Wand;
The touch of which, no Earthy Fiend can bear,
In whate'er Shape transform'd, but must lay down
His borrow'd Figure, and confess the Devil.
Once more Farewel, and prosper.
Exit Merlin.

Arth.
walking.
No Danger yet, I see no Walls of Fire,
No City of the Fiends, with Forms obscene,
To grin from far, on Flaming Battlements.
This is indeed the Grove I shou'd destroy;
But where's the Horrour? Sure the Prophet err'd.
Hark! Musick, and the warbling Notes of Birds;
Soft Musick.
Hell entertains me, like some welcom Guest.
More Wonders yet; yet all delightful too,
A Silver Current to forbid my passage,
And yet to invite me, stands a Golden Bridge:
Perhaps a Trap, for my Unwary Feet
To sink, and whelm me underneath the Waves;
With Fire or Water, let him wage his VVar,
Or all the Elements at once; I'll on.

As he is going to the Bridge, two Syrens arise from the Water; They shew themselves to the Waste, & sing.
1 Syren.
O pass not on, but stay,
And waste the Joyous Day
VVith us in gentle Play:
Unbend to Love, unbend thee:
O lay thy Sword aside,
And other Arms provide;
For other Wars attend thee,
And sweeter to be try'd.

Chor.
For other Wars, &c.

Both
sing.
Two Daughters of this Aged Stream are we;
And both our Sea-green Locks have comb'd for thee;
Come Bathe with us an Hour or two,
Come Naked in, for we are so;
What Danger from a Naked Foe?
Come Bathe with us come Bathe, and share,
VVhat Pleasures in the Floods appear;
We'll beat the Waters till they bound,
And Circle, round, around, around,
And Circle round, around.

Arth.
A Lazie Pleasure trickles through my Veins;
Here cou'd I stay, and well be Couzen'd here.
But Honour calls; Is Honour in such haste?
Can he not Bait at such a pleasing Inn?
No; for the more I look, the more I long;
Farewel, ye Fair Illusions, I must leave ye,
While I have Power to say, that I must leave ye.
Farewel, with half my Soul I stagger off;
How dear this flying Victory has cost,
When, if I stay to struggle, I am lost.

As he is going forward. Nymphs and Sylvans come out from behind the Trees. Base and two Trebles sing the following Song to a Minuet.
Dance with the Song, all with Branches in their Hands.
Song.
The Dance continues with the same Measure play'd alone.

Arth.
And what are these Fantastick Fairy Joys,
To Love like mine? False Joys, false Welcomes all.
Begone, ye Sylvan Trippers of the Green;
Fly after Night, and overtake the Moon.
Here the Dancers, (Singers, and Syrens vanish.
This goodly Tree seems Queen of all the Grove.
The Ringlets round her Trunk declare her guilty.
Of many Midnight-Sabbaths Revell'd here.
Her will I first attempt.
Arthur strikes at the Tree, and cuts it; Blood spouts out of it, a Groan follows, then a Shreik.
Good Heav'ns, what Monstrous Prodigies are these!
Blood follows from my blow; the wounded Rind
Spouts on my Sword, and Sanguine dyes the Plain.

He strikes again: A Voice of Emmeline from behind.
Em.
from behind.
Forbear, if thou hast Pity, ah, forbear!
These Groans proceed not from a Senceless Plant,
No Spouts of Blood run welling from a Tree.

Arth.
Speak what thou art; I charge thee speak thy Being;
Thou that hast made my curdl'd Blood run back,
My Heart heave up; my Hair to rise in Bristles,
And scarcely left a Voice to ask thy Name.

Emmeline breaks out of the Tree shewing her Arm Bloody.
Emm.
Whom thou hast hurt, Unkind and Cruel see;
Look on this Blood, 'tis fatal, still, to me
To bear thy Wounds, my Heart has felt 'em first.

Arth.
'Tis she; Amazement roots me to the Ground!

Emm.
By cruel Charms, dragg'd from my peaceful Bower,
Fierce Osmond closs'd me in this bleeding Bark;
And bid me stand expos'd to the bleak Winds,
And Winter Storms; and Heav'ns Inclemency,
Bound to the Fate of this Hell-haunted Grove;
So that whatever Sword, or sounding Axe,
Shall violate this Plant, must pierce my Flesh,
And when that falls, I dye.—

Arth.
If this be true,
O never, never, to be ended Charm,
At least by me; yet all may be Illusion.
Break up, ye thickning Foggs, and filmy Mists,
All that be-lye my Sight, and cheat my Sense.
For Reason still pronounces, 'tis not she,
And thus resolv'd—

Lifts up his Sword, as going to strike.
Emm.
Do, strike Barbarian, strike;
And strew my mangl'd Limbs, with every stroke
Wound me, and double Kill me, with Unkindness,
That by thy Hand I fell.

Arth.
What shall I do, ye Powers?

Emm.
Lay down thy Vengeful Sword; 'tis fatal here:
What need of Arms, where no Defence is made?
A Love-Sick Virgin panting with Desire,
No Conscious Eye t'intrude on our Delights:
For this thou hast the Syren's Songs despis'd;
For this, thy Faithful Passion I Reward;
Haste then, to take me longing to thy Arms.

Arth.
O Love! O Merlin! Whom should I believe?

Emm.
Believe thy Self, thy Youth, thy Love, and me;
They only, they, who please themselves are Wise:
Disarm thy Hand, that mine may meet it bare.

Arth.
By thy leave, Reason, here I throw thee off,
Thou load of Life: If thou wert made for Souls,
Then Souls shou'd have been made without their Bodies.
If, falling for the first Created Fair,
Was Adam's Fault, great Grandsire I forgive thee,
Eden was lost, as all thy Sons wou'd loose it.

Going towards Emmeline, and pulling off his Gauntlet.
Enter Philidel running.
Phil.
Hold, poor deluded Mortal, hold thy Hand;
Which if thou giv'st, is plighted to a Feind
For Proof, behold the Virtue of this Wand
Th'Infernal Paint shall vanish from her face.
And Hell shall stand Reveal'd.
Strikes Emmeline with a wand who straight descends: Philidel runs to the Descent, and pulls up Grimbald, and binds him.
Now see to whose Embraces thou wert falling.
Behold the Maiden Modesty of Grimbald,
The grossest, earthiest, ugliest Fiend in Hell.

Arth.
Horrour seizes me,
To think what Headlong Ruine I have tempted.

Phil.
Haste to thy Work; a Noble stroke or two
Ends all the Charms, and disenchants the Grove.
I'll hold thy Mistress bound.

Arth.
Then here's for Earnest;
Strikes twice or thrice, and the Tree falls, or sinks: A Peal of Thunder immediately follows, with dreadful Howlings.
'Tis finish'd, and the Dusk that yet remains,
Is but the Native Horrour of the Wood.
But I must lose no time; the Pass is free;
Th'unroosted Fiends have quitted this Abode;
On yon proud Towers, before the day be done,
My glittering Banners shall be wav'd against the setting Sun.
(Exit Arthur.

Phil.
Come on my surly Slave; come stalk along,
And stamp a mad-Mans pace, and drag thy Chain.

Grimb.
I'll Champ and Foam upon't, till the blue Venom
Work upward to thy Hands, and loose their hold.

Phil.
Know'st thou this powerful Wand; 'tis lifted up;
A second stroke wou'd send thee to the Centre,
Benum'd and Dead, as far as Souls can Die.

Grim.
I wou'd thou woud'st, to rid me of my Sense:
I shall be whoop'd through Hell at my return,
Inglorious from the Mischief I design'd.

Phil.
And therefore since thou loath'st Etherial Light,
The Morning Sun shall beat on thy black Brows;
The Breath thou draw'st shall be of upper Air,
Hostile to thee; and to thy Earthy make,
So light, so thin, that thou sha't Starve, for want
Of thy gross Food, till gasping thou shalt lie,
And blow it back, all Sooty to the Sky.

Exit Philidel, dragging Grimbald after him.