Pyrrhus, King of Epirus a tragedy : acted at the New Theatre in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields by His Majesty's servants / written by Mr. Hopkins.

PYRRHUS King of EPIRUS .

PYRRHUS King of Epirus . A TRAGEDY , ACTED At the NEW THEATRE , in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields , By His MAJESTY'S Servants .

Written by Mr. HOPKINS .

Solum primos da versibus annos .

LONDON , Printed for Samuel Briscoe , in Covent-Garden ; Peter Buck , at the Sign of the Temple , and Daniel Dring , at the Harrow and Crown , in Fleet-street , 1695.

TO HIS ILLUSTRIOUS HIGHNESS THE Duke of GLOUCESTER . May it please Your HIGHNESS ,

THE HERO of this Tragedy , was one of the most Famous that ever any Age produc'd ; and his Story is humbly Dedicated to a Young PRINCE , who , so very early , promises Things as Great . All Noble Actions have been done , in imitation of Others that preceeded Them ; and often They that imitate , have outdone their Originals . Wonderful Things may be expected from Your Highness's Manhood , who in so Green an Age , has promis'd so much . The Eyes of EUROPE are on YOU ; the Hopes of Three Kingdoms live in YOU : And ,

That YOU may live to Out-do even All Men's Expectations ; live to be as Great as the HERO was , for whom I have presum'd to beg Your Highness's Patronage ; or , to go yet beyond Him ; That YOU may live to be as Great as Your Royal UNCLE , Shall ever be the Prayer of

Your HIGHNESS'S Most Devoted , Most Humble Servant , C. H.

PROLOGUE . By Mr. CONGREVE . OUR Age has much improv'd the Warriour's Art ; For Fighting , now , is thought the weakest Part ; And a good Head , more useful than a Heart . This Way of War , does our Example yield ; That Stage will win , which longest keeps the Field . We mean not Battel , when we bid Defiance ; But starving one another to Compliance . Our Troops encamp'd are by each other view'd , And those which first are Hungry , are subdu'd . And there , in truth , depends the Great Decision : They Conquer , who cut off the Foe's Provision . Let Fools , with Knocks and Bruises , keep a pother ; Our War and Trade is to out-Wit each other . But , hold : Will not the Politicians tell us , That both our Conduct , and our Forefight , fail us , To raise Recruits , and draw new Forces down , Thus in the dead Vacation of the ●own ? To muster up our Rhimes , without our Reason , And forrage for an Audience out of Season ? Our Author's Fears must this false Step excuse ; 't is the First Flight of a just-feather'd Muse : Th' Occasion ta'en , when Criticks are away ; Half Wits and Beaux , those rav'nous Birds of Prey . But , Heav'n be prais'd , far hence they vent their Wrath , Mauling in mild Lampoon th' intriguing Bath . Thus does our Author his First Flight commence ; Thus , against Friends at first , with Foils we fence : Thus prudent Gimcrack try'd if he were able ( Ere he 'd wet Foot ) to swim upon a Table . Then spare the Youth ; or if you 'll damn the PLAY , Let him but first have His ; then take Your Day .

Drammatis Persona . Pyrrhus , King of Epirus . Helenus , Son to Pyrrhus . Dion , His General . Antigonus , King of Macedon . Demetrius , Son to Antigonus . Aristeon , Son to the late Tyrant of Argos . Aemilius , A Roman . Martius , Another Roman .

WOMEN. Lanassa , Queen of Epire . Antigone , Daughter to the King of Macedon . Ptolemy , The dead Son of Pyrrhus .

Ghost of Alexander the Great .

PYRRHUS King of EPIRUS .

ACT I.

SCENE I. SCENE , The City of Argos besieged by King Pyrrhus ; the Camp of the Epirotes on the one side , and that of the Macedonians , who came to the Relief of it , on the other . Pyrrhus Solus . The Time Night . Thunder and Lightning . Pyrrh . IF Heaven is wont to mourn the Death of Princes , And Gods above are sensible of Grief For their Vicegerents here : If Nature sickens , And looks with sad Concern , when impious Fate Strikes at her Darling Sons ; if Groans of Ghosts , That leave their empty Tombs to stalk on Earth , And scream in open Air , are justly call'd The Voice of Fate , that of the King of Macedon , Or mine , is near at hand ; for all the Prodigies , And all the Horrors , that fore-run the Funerals Of dying Heroes have been seen to Night . Approach my General , why so slow a March ? Dion entring . Why dwells that mournful Cloud upon your Brows ? Why look you more opprest with Grief than Years , As all the Anger , and the Frowns of Heaven , And the loud Tumult of a troubled Sky , Could bend a Heart made firm with Age , like yours ? Dion . No , Royal Sir , not these outragious Tempests , Not massy Bolts teach'd by the brawny Cyclops , Hot from the flaming Forge , and driven by Jove Through the scorch'd Skies , can shock your Souldier's Soul : But oh ! imagine Prince what most would move you , Drive you to Rage , make you fall out with Fate , And rail at Heav'n . Pyrrh . Could any thing do this , It were the loss of Battle , a shameful Overthrow From an inglorious Enemy . Dion . You 've lost more . Much more than this . Pyrrh . There is but one that can be ; And if my Queen be safe , not slain , nor seized By those that forc'd Her from Her Throne in Epirus , I dare the utmost Malice of my Destiny . Dion . She 's safe , and coming on apace to seek you : Our outmost Scouts descry'd her glitt'ring Chariot , Drawn by white Steeds , that ran as swift as Wind ; And long before that rising Sun appear With his full Orb of Light above you Hill , You 'll see her in your Tent . Pyrrh . Then be it as it will . Thou might'st have told at first , and not have fear'd : It would not overwhelm me . Dion . To him that loves , the loss of his Belov'd Is Misery enough ; and to the Warriour , Who seeks in bloody Fields for Fame and Glory , An Overthrow is yet a greater Ill : But for a Father to lose a Princely Son ; And such a Son as Ptolemy , so like his Father , Outweighs all other Ills. Pyrrh . Alas , I thought not That Fate would wound me there . Dion . Would it had struck at any other Life , Any but yours ; my Breath I had resign'd With Joy , and laid my Bosom naked , for a Javelin . Now all the Soldiers hang their drooping Heads , Which late they bore aloft ; they break their Launces , And cry , No more to War , the Prince is gone That taught us how to conquer ; no more to Battles , Since He who won them for us is no more . Pyrrh . If they grieve thus , sure he was well belov'd , And died as did become him . Dion . He fell so brave , No History can produce the like Example , And no Tongue dare to say I 'll shew his Equal . Pyrrh . Stop not : Say on , my Soldier . Dion . Sir , I dare not : His Praises but renew the sad Remembrance , And I would spare your Sorrow . Pyrrh . No , go on , I bear it as I should do . Dion . When joyful Sparta saw your Tents took up . And all your Camp remov'd , she gave a Shout That eccho'd to the Skies ; fierce Ptolomy rag'd To hear their Boasts , and loyt'ring with some Troops Far separate from the Body of your Army , The Force of Lacedaemon sallied on him , And yet he scorn'd to shun the unequal Combat . 't was then that he employ'd his utmost Strength , Performing more than Man , none scap'd unhurt , From his strong Arm : His single Sword flew more , Than those of all the Combatants besides . What could he do , by Multitudes oppress'd ? At length he fell , high on a heap of Spartans , Whom himself kill'd , and smil'd , and look'd in Death , As who should say I conquered . Pyrrh . One thing more , And then eternal Peace be with Him . Tell me , Who got his Body ? Dion . His Soldiers all fought round it . When word was brought me of the fierce Engagement , I gather'd all the Forces next at hand , and flew to rescue him ; but all too late , I only could revenge him , which I did ; For thousand Spartan Ghosts took flight that day To wait on his . Pyrrh . Why yet 't is well . He was a Soldler , and he died as such , As such he shall he buried . See him brought hither , That we may pay him all the Rites he merits From a just King , and an indulgent Father : And since Revenge and Rage inflame my Breast , I vow to all the Earth , by all the Gods , By all the Furies that are kindled in me , To Night to lay him in his Tomb in Argos . Dion goes out , and returns with Soldiers bearing in the Prince . Dion . See here , my Lord , behold your hopes lie blasted , Your Darling gone , first of thy Royal Off-spring , And most resembling thee . Whom have we now , When all thy youthful Vigour shall be spent , Thy Arms grown tir'd with wielding of the Sword ? When old Age shall encroach , and seize thy Limbs , Compelling thee to sit at home in quiet ? Who then shall lead thy Armies to the Battel , And conquer in thy Cause ? Who then shall fight As thou hast done without the loss of Glory , That the deluded Foe shall find no difference 'Twixt him and Thee ? Who then shall bring fresh Laurels To crown the aged Temples of their King ? Pyrrh . Cease , good old Man , cease this unmanly Grief , Lest I mourn too ; ●l , who would brave the Fates , And rise beneath the weight of all their Bolts . Speak Comfort to me , urge me to Revenge , And drive me to the Field : And you , his Soldiers , Take up your Prince , and bear him to his Tent , Attend his mournful Hearse with weeping Eyes , Till the loud Trumpets send their Notes to Heaven , Till the Drums beat to Battel , and the big Voice Of Vengeance calls you forth ; then rush to Arms. Learn to forget your Griefs in heat of Combat : Remember not you saw your Leader dead ; But fight as if he conquer'd at your Head . Dion . Shall we go arm our selves , my Lord . Pyrrh . We will . The early Sun climbs o'er the Hills apace , His Beams are darted upward to the Heavens ; And the first God that wakes , puts forth his hand To draw aside the Curtains of the Skies , And let the day light out . How many Thousand That rise this dreadful Morn , all gay and healthful , Must e'er it yet be Noon lie down again , And rest for ever . Call the Athenian Min'strel , I want some Musick : Let me have that Song Sung at the Royal Banquet , made in Babylon The last great Feast of Alexander .

SONG . HArk ! the big Drums they beat to Battel , The Voice of War is loud as Thunder . Hark! How the Clashing Armours rattle , And lo ! the Squadrons marching yonder . Now , now they meet , the Word is given , The Shields are lifted , Swords are drawn ; The Shouts of Warriours rend the Heaven , And every Chief comes raging on . Hundreds fall , and Thousands yield , Blood and Slaughter fill the Plain ; And Fate Triumphant through the Field , Colossus-like , bestrides the Slain . The Business of the World dispatches , decided thus in some few hours , Death quickly ends the vanquish'd Wretches , And Laurel crowns the Conquerours .

Enter an Officer . Dion . Is the Queen coming ? And so near at hand ! By Mars she 's welcome , though the first of the Sex That e'er was so to me . My Lord , the Queen Is in the Camp , will you not go to meet her ? Pyrrh . How , my Queen ! Dion , see , she 's here already . Enter the Queen . Oh! I am the last in Love , as well as Honour . Welcome my Love , by th● dear Self , a Welcome , Great as the Man that loves like me , can give . No Mother , that has mourn'd her long lost Infant , Rejoices half so much to find her Darling , Or view the lovely Babe with half the Fondness I look on thee . Queen . Answer me , Gracious Heaven , What God has saved my Pyrrhus yet unhurt , Even in the Mouth of Slaughter ? What kind Deity , With a stretch'd Arm , held the broad Shield before him , Oppos'd to Destiny , Does he still live ? And do I live to clasp him ? Pyrrh . I live my Love , And sure I shall not dye now thou art come , My better half of Life . Queen . But yet I fear , Lest Heaven at last grown weary of its Favours , Should sullenly withdraw its bounteous hands : And Fortune that has wound so many Victories In one round and constant String , Should rashly in a Pett unravel all . Pyrrh . What greater Proof could I desire from Heaven Of its continu'd Goodness , than thus to send thee , The Omen of my Conquest ? Sure ill Fate Durst never yet assume a shape so lovely , Or put on Looks like thine . Queen . Alas , my Lord , Methoughts I met it with a dreadful Aspect . Late as I lay entranc'd , I saw you , Pyrrhus , Far different , far unlike what now you are . I thought I saw you stretch'd upon the Earth , All pale , and ghastly , and your gaping Wounds Still freshly bleeding : All the mangled Bodies Of your defeated Army , in heaps beside you . No more that awful Warriour , whose Name alone Has shook the vast Foundations of the Capitol . I saw you , oh my Pyrrhus , cold and dead , That lovely Face besmear'd with Blood , those Lips Fast clos'd for ever , had not power to answer To the loud moan I made you ; Oh! my Lord , How was I daunted at a sight so dismal ? I almost died to have dreamt it , and unable To bear the horrid Vision any longer , I burst the Chains of my distracted Sleep . Pyrrh . 't was but a Dream caus'd by your tender Fears . Queen . Yet by those Fears , And by the Love I bear you ( and oh ! if Heaven Loved half so well , it would be kind and constant ) My bleeding heart begs of you not to fight , But instantly to raise the fatal Siege ; For something tells me with a dreadful Whisper , Epirus ne'er shall see her Monarch more . Pyrrh . How art thou alter'd , Love , since first I knew thee ! Thy Spirit once was Masculine and Brave ; Thy self wer 't wont to help me to my Arms , And bid me hasten to the Glorious Field ; And when I talk'd of War , the Tale would please thee As much as that of Love , What now has chang'd thee ? Queen . I am not us'd to fear ; yet something bodes , I know not how , nor what ; I and I conjure you By all I have heard you swear , by all your Sighs , By all your Vows , deferr the great decision ; And if I ever had the Power to move you , O let me charm you now , or now or never . Pyrrh . Oh! hold my Love , cease the unkind request , I can deny you nothing ; yet I beg You would not ask me what I must not grant You shou'd consult my Honour more than thus ; When all my tow'ring Thoughts were fix'd on Glory ; When all the Languishings of Love were fled , And Mars alone had fill'd , and swell'd my Breast , Thus with thy Tears to cool my heated Soul , To turn me back from the bright track of War , And melt me down again to Woman's Fondness . Queen . Then let it melt this obstinate heard heart . Thus will I fold thee in my longing Arms , Embrace thee thus ; thus shalt thou listen to me : Thus , whilst I hang upon my Pyrrhus's neck , What loud Alarm of Drums , or what shrill Trumpet ? What dreadful roar of War shall charm him from me ? Pyrrh . Why dost thou press me thus ? Forbear to urge me , To drive me on , and force me to deny thee : Not fight Lanassa ! What Request but this Could I refuse thee ? This I cannot grant . Oh what , what would the murmuring Soldiers say , Already rang'd , preparing for the Fight , They wait my coming : Should I not haste to head them , How would they storm to see themselves abandon'd ? Queen . Enough , my Lord , I have heard enough , and am at last convinc'd My Tears are dry'd , and all my Prayers are ended . No more will I push back your Coming-Glory , Nor strive to crop your growing Wreaths of Lawrel : Go then , my Pyrrhus , go , and fight , and prosper , Lead your impatient Squadrons to the Field , Rear all your Standards , let your warlike Ensigns Loose all their golden Streamers to the Winds , Rush to the War , may Conquest crown your Arms , And your triumphant Garlands flourish ever . Pyrrh . It shall be Battel now , and , by you Heav'n , It seems auspicious , that my Love has said it . I thank thee for the Conquest ; and methinks Already I behold Antigonus vanquished . Oh! Hadst not thou , my better Self , been willing , Had you not spoke it , had your Assent been wanting , I had not fought with half my usual Bravery ; But now , Whole Pyrrhus pours upon the Foe , And fights with Forces not divided now . Queen . Yet grant me this , my Lord , my much lov'd , Pyrrhus , You must not , ought not to deny me this : Swear to me by your Honour , by your Arms , By all the Oaths a Soldier holds as Sacred ; Swear somewhat to enliven your fainting Queen , That when the dreadful Tug at last begins , When the last Trumpets urge you to the Battel , And Arms and Heads are lop'd , and shivering Launces , Sharp Spears , and all the Darts of Death fly round you , When all your drooping Soldiers fall in Heaps ; And the tall Youths that stood but now erect , Lye breathless on the Plain , swear then , my Love To guard your own dear Life as much as possible , To seek no Dangers Prudence bids you shun , And Glory will permit , and not rush wilful Into the Arms of Death . Grant me but this , And half my Fears are vanish'd . Pyrrh . No more , I grant you this , but ask no more . Retire , my Love , I hear the shouting Soldiers Cry for their Chief , and my old General yonder Is come to call me hence : I go to reap The Noble Harvest of a bloody Field , Whose Crop shall all be thine . Queen . Success attend thee , And all the mighty Gods of War and Love Take part with thee , guide , and direct thy Arms , And Heav'n restore thee to me . Pyrrh . One Embrace , Such as the Queen of Beauty gave to Mars , When he march'd forth to the Overthrow of Giants In the Phlegrean ; and doubt not , Love , I go to Conquest as assured as his , And will return more glorious to thy Arms , And bring new Trophies to thee . When after drawn in thy triumphant Carr , Thy self the beauteous Goddess of the War ; Whilst Kings shall walk in Fetters by thy side , And even the Conqueror's Self before thee bleed ; Whilst all my Wreaths thy lovely Temples bind , And all the Laurel-Crowns I won are thine , And all by Crowning thee become divine . From ev'ry part shall vanquish'd Princes come ; Thou shalt pronounce the Royal Captive's Doom , Each Vassal shall bow down his suppliant Knee , And all the Earth receive their Laws from thee . Leads her out , and returns . Enter Helenus . Hel . My Lord , the Enemy Have all their Forces ready , and their Trumpets Have sounded twice to Battel . Pyrrh . Did not ours sound As often , in answer to them ? Dion . They did : Our Men are all in order too as theirs , We only wait for the third Call from them ; Then sound on our side too , and march to meet them . Pyrrh . We 'll give them the third Call our selves , Trumpets sound . Not stay to take it from them . Sound all the Trumpets , So loud a Blast , that Heav'n and Earth may hear us . What Order is Antigonus's Army in ? Hel . Himself at the Head of his Auxiliaries , The Romans marching foremost . Pyrrh . Helenus , you have lost a Princely Brother , His Spirit be infused in thee , his Fires Added to thine , with all thy Force revenge him ; Fight in his Cause , as he has done in thine , And be a Ptolomy to me . Dion . Heaven make him like In all things , but his end . Pyrrh . Hark , we are answer'd . Trumpets sound . Now they begin to march . Dion . By Heav'n , in gallant Order , Rome's Legions , and the Macedonian Phalanx Are rang'd in Noble Discipline . Hel . Methinks we move like Clouds beneath the Sky , Driven by the breath of Winds our Fire's conceal'd Until we come so near to meet , and strike , And then the Lightning follows . Pyrrh . My Blood boils high , And all my Sinews stretch themselves for War : Draw all , and follow with your lifted Sword , Strike for the Revenge , let Ptolomy be the Word ; Send loud defiance forth from every Breath , And wound as sharply , and as sure as Death . Exeunt .

ACT II . Enter Antigonus , Demetrius , Aristeon , Martius . Antig . IS Pyrrhus then invincible , and does the Fortune Of Alexander wholly wait on him ? He marches as securely on to Battels , As others do to Triumphs , and he wins them , As sure as if he were a God , exalted Above the Chance of War . Dem . He is the Darling of it , The best-lov'd Son of Mars ; our Macedonians That once knew how to conquer , fly from him As Persians did from them . Mart . My two best Legions Are lost entirely , and the rest so shatter'd , They are not serviceable . Imperial Rome , In the wide Progress of her spreading Arms , Has never met such stops as now she finds , When e'r she encounters Epirus's King . Antig . All his Success is wonderful , himself Does things prodigious , and beyond belief : An Army led by such a King , so daring , That goes the foremost on , and fights the first , With his own Sword , opening the way to Victory , Must needs prevail . Arist . I sought him in the Battel , And found him to my Cost ; his second Blow Struck me to Earth , so weightily , that I fansy'd All Heav'n was fall'n upon me . Dem . I saw him then , When he rode swiftly through your Argive Troops , As fatal as the Lightning , and as fast , And distributing Deaths like Jove himself . Antig . Now we lie here besieg'd , shut up in Walls , And have not Forces left to take the Field , 't is doubtful if these Ramparts can withstand him , Till Succours shall arise . Arist . Argos to him Will be as Oxydrate to Alexander ; Yet Victor as he is , we will resist him , And put the War on the extremest Proof , When he dare try it . Dem . That will be to Night ; For I am told he swore to interr his Son In the Goddess Juno's Temple . Mart . No doubt he 'll act As boldly as he vows . Antig . 't is almost certain He will assault us here this very Night . The Trumpet that we sent him is return'd ; But Truce is only granted till the Night , And that speaks something . Dem . The Gates are open'd , And the glad Argives walk about in Fields , Where an hour since it had been Death to tread ; Already they begin to taste the breath Of the refreshing Peace . Mart . Soldiers on either side , That very lately fought with mortal hatred , Now join in friendly Meetings . Arist . Yonder I think , Two of a nobler Aspect than the rest , Seem to come strait to us ; I know their Arms , The same the Prince and General wore in Battel . Antig . When you are met , I charge you to be careful How you observe the Peace ; let nothing break it . No Words inrage you , and no Rage transport you To violate our Truce ; but when it ends , Appear your selves again , resume your Fury Fiercer than ever ; Summon all your Forces For one great blow to crown the dreadful Upshot . Prepare th'extremest Chance of War to try , Resolve to conquer , or resolve to die . Exit Antigonus . Enter Helenus , Dion . Dem . Much sweeter are the looks of gentle Peace Than those of horrid War . Hel . One of them Looks like some Beauty in her best attire , With all her richest Ornaments upon her ; The other like some rough and unhewn Warriour , Clad in hard Iron . Mart . Not long since it was dangerous for the best of us To meet so near : We now may join our hands , And clasp each others warlike Arms unhurt ; Which was not so this Morning . Dion . And will not be this Night . Arist . Short as you please , we are ready to receive you . Dem . Till then all Peace , hush'd as the Sea becalm'd ; For so should we look now : No angry Frown On our smooth Brows , no Fury in our Eyes , Nothing of Enemy in us . Hel . By Mars I am pleas'd That we meet thus . Arist . The Conquerors may be pleas'd , And proud on 't too , and chiefly such as take it A kind of Triumph to them . Dion . We take it not as such , Although we are the Conquerors . Arist . When you 've won all , you may . Hel . And all is Ours To very little . Dem . Less than that little we have , Has oftentimes been known to bring back all . Arist . Argos is ours , a formidable City , The Walls are large , and high , and Men within them That dare defend them . Hel . And there are those without As daring to assault them . Dion . And you have prov'd , They are not to be scorn'd ; this day is witness To the great Fall of Thirty thousand Soldiers Of Argos , Rome , and Macedon , and they lie yet Unburied in these Fields . Dem . Heav'n was against us : But the next time Fortune may smile on our side , And lop a greater number of your Armies Than we lost from ours . Dion . I were mad my self If I gave way to Mad-men . Hel . Old stubborn Man , as impotent as envious , Were not thy Vigour gone , thy Veins grown dry , And every drop of sprightly Blood exhausted , And can'st not meet my Arms with equal Forces , I would punish thee for this . Dion . Oh! that thou wer● not Son to God-like Pyrrhus , The Man I love of all the World the best , And even above it all , and next to Heav'n , This aged Arm , and withered as it is , Could I make crush the Man that dares to tempt it . Hel . Do you know me ? Dion . Aye , better than you do your self , And love you more . Hel . You seem not to do either . Remember I 'm Heir to the Epiran Crown : Long may my Father wear it ; but when he dies , If I survive , 't is mine , and thou esteem'd No other than a Traytor . Dion . Thou 'rt worse , A Traytor to thy Father , and thy King ; And Ruine to thy self . Hel . Yet let me pass . Dion . Your Actions have enraged me so of late , That what you do , does not concern me now . Go where you please ; for I will to the King , And tell him all . Hel . Tell what thy Malice can , Perverse old Dotard , past the Years of Manhood . Dion . Thy Father shall know what thou art . I 'll tell him How you first broke the Truce ; how in the Battel , When I had singled out the King of Macedon , And held my Sword advanc'd above his head Ready to strike , and put a happy end To the Long War , You rush'd betwixt , and stopp'd my falling Arm , And cry'd out , Spare the King . Hel . In that I did Nothing , but what was due to Royal Blood ; Kings are too sacred , and too dear to Heav'n To fall by impious hands . Dion . You lov'd the Daughter , And therefore sav'd the Father . Curs'd Love , The bane of gallant Deeds and gallant Men : Good Gods ! that any one so form'd for Greatness As this most excellent , but unhappy Prince , Design'd by Heav'n for all imperial Dignities , Cast in the noblest Mold , and stamp'd divine , No Fault through all his Frame , the best of Princes , And bravest Soldier , should be lost by Love . Remember but your Brother Ptolemy , Your Royal Father wish'd you were like him , And oh ! I beg of all the Gods you were . Would he do this , would he forsake his Honour , And leave a conqu'ring Army for a Woman ! O think what pains I took to instruct your Youth In the great Trade of War , and how I joy'd To see the noble Art improv'd in you ; Then call the old Man , Dotard , past his Manhood , Thank me in Terms like these . Hel . Forgive me , General , Shame and Distraction seize me both at once . I know not what to say ; alas , I know not What I resolv'd to do , you 've held a Mirror , And shewn me to my self , and I am soul As She I love is fair . Dion . Return with me Back to our Camp , and all again is well ; Where you shall meet in Triumph all the Chiefs Shining in Golden Arms , the Prancing Steeds Bearing with Pride their Riders on their Backs , And neighing to the sound of Warlike Trumpets , Whilst all the joyful Soldiers loudly answer In Songs of Io Paan . Hel . How little shall I share the general Joy , That have the Foe within me . Do but view me , And think that when a Conqueror grieves as I do , Even whilst his Arms are on him , and his Sword Still stain'd with Blood , nothing but Love cou'd cause it Dion . I see it plain you love her too , too well : But Glory us'd to be the charming Mistress , And most admir'd by Princes ; slight not that For any other Idol . Hel . Heav'n can witness , That tho' I love her more , far more than Life , Yet I love Honour better than them both . Dion . Why did you then go to throw that away , Even when you were not certain of the other , And rashly run to Dangers which had cost you Your Life and all ? Hel . O do not press me thus ; My guilty Soul wou'd lose the black Remembrance , But you take care to keep it still alive . Dion . No , it shall die for me ; and since I see you So sensible of Honour , so nice of that , In heighth of Love I will my self instruct you To farther your Designs . Hel . Oh tell me how , My good General , tell me , and your Prince Shall bless those aged lips that gave the Counsel . Dion . See her no more . Hel . Again you dash me Down from the top of my aspiring hopes Into the lowest Valley of Despair . Dion . Nay , hear me out ; not see her till the Night : To Night , when your great Father bids us arm , And march to mount yon Walls ; then you shall go The foremost on , to seize your lovely Prize , Revenge your Brother , and receive Antigone . Hel . Oh! you have fired me ; by the Gods , I wish The Night already come : Fall down thou Sun From Heav'ns high Battlements , to Seas beneath ; And the kind Heav'ns draw all your darkest Curtains Around your shining Orbs , and shut in day ; For I will do such most amazing Deeds , As are not fit for your bright eyes to view . Yon Argos shall be levell'd in the Dust , Flames in her Tow'rs , and Murder in her Streets , Death in all Forms , and horrid in them all ; Only my Love be free , in general Ruine , Whom I will bear safe through th'wondring Flames , Whilst the scorch'd Daemons of the Air shall beg For such a Champion to relieve themselves . Dion . Prince , I dare trust you farther yet than this ; I know you truly noble ; only swear , That if I let you go to her you love , As you may do disguis'd in time of Truce , Swear to return when the first Trumpets call , And the Alarm is heard ; not lose your Part In the great Action , swear by something sacred , And you have leave to go . Hel . By all that 's sacred , By her I love , I swear I will return , Though from the clasping Arms of her I love . Dion . Remember only this , and then farewel : Behold you Ramparts higher than the rest ; 't is there your Father storms , be sure be there . Hel . Doubt not I will , only till then adieu . I go with none but lambent Fires to love ; But will return with burning heat to Battel , And all my rising Spirits turn'd for Glory . Glory and Love usurp my ravish'd Soul , They have my heart , and they possess it whole . Exit . Dion . I let him go , and yet Heav'n knows how loth ; But had I not , his noble Heart had broke . He is brave , and worthy of his Royal Birth ; And were it not for Love , the most accomplish'd , And nearest to a God , of any Mortal , Penurious Heav'n , and ye so timorous Deities , That dare not suffer this one gallant Youth To be completely perfect , lest he draw Your Adoration from you ; no , you dare not Grant your Assent , that ought of Humane Race Shou'd ev'ry ways be happy ; then alas He were too like your selves ; What other blemish , But that of Love has tainted him ? Woman , Woman , Whence comes your Empire over us ? Whence the Power That chains us all your Slaves ? Sure we at first Were meant the Masters ; but by some strange turn , Some most prodigious Whirl of unfix'd Fate , The subtil Sex has chang'd the Laws of Heav'n . Heav'n , when it made them , meant them to obey , Design'd them Slaves , who now have learnt to sway : To them the Hero's of the Earth fall down , Pleas'd when they smile , but dying if they frown : To them we offer up our frequent Prayers ; They move above our Heads in higher Spheres , And the large Rule of all the World is theirs . Exit .

ACT III .

SCENE I. Enter Aristeon with Antigone . Arist . WHat Pleasure could a tender Soul like yours Receive from looking on the dismal Objects Those Fields afford ? Antig . That wretched one of Pity . Arist . Shou'd I have shar'd your Pity , lovely Princess , Had I lain there high on the fatal heap , Th' upmost of th' Dead ? Antig . No doubt you shou'd : I mourn for ev'ry gallant Man that falls , Serving his King and Country . Arist . How much more shou'd you mourn me ? I , who serve none but you ; I , who am subject to no King nor Country , Whom no Ambition , no Desire of Glory , Drives to the Field , no Lust of Sovereign Power , But only your Defence has drawn my Sword . Oh! give me now the Pity that I beg , Now while I live , to save me from the Death You say you 'd mourn . Antig . I do not see you need it : You have my Father's Thanks , the Army's Praise ; That might suffice a Soldier . Arist . Oh! Antigone , There is another Name would make me prouder , Than Soldier , Chief , or Conqueror . Antig . The last of those Might have been spar'd ; for you maintain it ill . Arist . No wonder that the Victory was not ours , Since you , nor wish it were , nor pray'd it should be , How should our Arms prevail ? Antig . How dare you to tax me With that Impiety ? I wish'd the War Were at an end ; I wish'd as did become me . Arist . Oh! Madam , if I durst explain your meaning , Which of the Armies was your chief Concern , And which you offer'd up your Prayers for most ? It should be that you wish the King of Epirus A Conqu'ror here in Argos , o'er your Father , Rather than that his Son , the lov'd Helenus , Shou'd fall on Argive Swords . Antig . Lest you interpret My Thoughts with so much boldness any longer , And to confound you more than doubt can do , Learn the most secret Wishes of my Soul ; I pray'd my Father might return in safety From all the Dangers of the bloody Field : Heav'n heard me ; and it sent th' Prince you nam'd , When he stood most in need of such an Aid , To save him from the then descending Sword . My Pray'rs were next for safety of th' prince , Who sav'd my Father : You might had the same For the same Action ; but your Arms were busy'd At too great distance to have brought relief . Arist . Curse on my Stars , that give my Rival all , All the Occasions to be brave and noble , And will allow me none . Antig . Acknowledge rather The Stars are equally the Friends of both : 't is only he takes care to seize on all , While you with heedless Eyes let all pass by . Arist Yet this same Prince , whose Cause you plead so well , Your Father does esteem his mortal Foe , And will pursue his hated Life as such . Antig . Now you 've charg'd him with that foul Ingratitude , As you did me before , with want of Piety : Be judge your self , whether the Prince of Epirus , Or you are most our Enemy . Arist . This Night will show 't . My Orders are to guard the Palace-Gates , Where you are lodg'd ; and be assur'd I 'll die In your Defence rather than yield you up ; And will your Prince's Proofs of Love be such ? When you shall see him breathing bold defiance , March his Epiran Army to your Doors , Slaught'ring your Subjects in your very sight , And scatter Fires about the flaming City , Nor spare the gilded Roofs that cover you . Ant. If I must lose my liberty at night To be your Prisoner , leave it me till then ; Yet thus much I may tell before I go , I 'll make my Duty , and my Love agree , As much at variance as they seem to be : All I shall pray for in the fatal Strife , Shall be my Father's and my Prince's Life : To you , immortal Gods , the rest I trust , You best know how to act , and will be just . Exit . Enter Helenus . Hel . Thus far I have pass'd unknown by all their Guards ; But Love , that adds more sharpness to the sight Has made the Prince of Argos find me out . I see he knows me , and it is as vain As base to fly . Arist . Ha! wou'd you shun me , Prince ? Think not , that this Disguise can keep you hid From piercing Eyes like mine . Hel . I wou'd not have it . Next to th'meeting those I came to seek , I 'm glad to meet with thee : Make no Enquiries ; For whatsoever was my Errand hither , This is my Business now . Draws . Arist . So forward , Sir ? You know not that you are within th'Walls , Where at my Call , my Slaves cou'd come , and crush you , Without my trouble to unsheath my Sword . Hel . I know it , and that drives me forward yet To end with thee , e'er thy base odds arrive , And push this Ghost before me down the Shades . Fight . Arist . ( Wounded ) The first , the second time disarm'd Gods : ye are kind , do but take Life and all , And then I 'll thank you . Hel . They have spar'd you that , And I restore you this . Arist . I scorn to take it ; I scorn to owe my Life , or Arms to thee . Hel . You shall not need , for I first ow'd you mine ; I do but pay the Debt . Arist . Instruct me , Sir , Hel . When you resolv'd to fight me hand to hand , And drew not in your Multitudes upon me , Then I was made your Debtor . Arist . What! then you thought your self secure from harm In single Combat with me , proud Triumpher ? Hel . No , but I knew you cou'd securely vanquish , By calling in your Guards . Arist . And cou'dst thou think So meanly of me , that I wou'd use their aid ? Hel . I still expected what thou did'st ; and what , Had I met thee within my Father's Camp , I too had done . Arist . Now I 'm lost indeed : Whilst I found Rage and Fury like my own , I cou'd storm on ; but Kindness melts me down . Give me thine hand , and tell me , gen'rous Prince ; Your noble Carriage forces me to ask you ; Say , is it possible we can be Friends ? Hel . Not whilst we love , and hardly whilst we live . Glory and Love makes us eternal Foes ; Which should we strive to meet , like raging Seas , Wou'd rush between our Fold , and throw us far asunder . Arist . What shall we do ? Hel . Why ? One of us must die To make the other happy . Arist . On those Terms then , I take my forfeit Sword : We 'll meet to Night , Resolve to end our difference in our Death ; And lest the Darkness shou'd not make distinctions , Antigone be th'Word , and this th'Place , Hel . That charming Name shall draw me to th'Combat , Ev'n from the Rere of all my hindmost Troops ; The very mention of it wings me to thee , Swift as it flies to me . Arist . You will not fail . Hel . I will not , tho' my Father shou'd deferr His purpos'd Storm ; tho' I were sure I mov'd To certain Ruine , and a thousand Prodigies Foretold my Fall , tho' all th'Skies forewarn'd me , Heav'n flam'd above , and the Earth yawn'd beneath , I 'll on to win my Love , or meet my Death . Arist . Stay , generous Prince , I owe a mighty Sum , And have a Soul that scorns to be ungrateful : Oh! what , what Reparation can I make ? Hel . That of your Sword to Night . Arist . That heaps on more , And plunges deeper in th'desperate Debt . I owe e'en that to you , nor can I turn The fatal Point against the Prince that gave it ; Yet there is a way , but a dear costly way , At a large over-rate , to pay back all . May I not guess your Business was to Argos To see the Princess ? Hel . I must confess it was . Arist . Down , swelling heart ; Oh! Heav'n , I wou'd do something , But that my struggling Soul rebells within me : It shall , it shall have vent ; Go see th● Princess , She only waits till she sees me withdrawn , To fly into your Arms ; but then remember Your gallant Usage is repay'd with Int'rest . And we may fight again with boundless hatred . I grudge the Ransome , that I give for Life ; But go , e'er I repent , and beg to die . Go now , the great , unwilling Grant is past ; And , oh ! believe I let you look your last . Exeunt . Re-enter Helenus with Antigone . Hel . Oh! my Antigone , after six Year's Absence ; A tedious Age in the Records of Time , But vastly longer in Accounts of Love . What shall I say , to tell thee that my Soul Is full with Joy , how shall I pour it forth In Th●nks to Heav'n , that in one happy Moment Has recompenc'd an Age of Torments past ? To see thee still the same , no Beauty faded : To see this matchless Truth , to see thee mine , Is all the Gods cou'd grant , or I cou'd ask . Antig . Nor are my Joys and Transports less than yours . I give an equal share of Thanks to Heav'n , And equal Love to thee ; but oh ! my Lord , I can't see you in an Enemy's Town , ( Such 〈◇〉 must think them , who are so to you ) W●●●out a great allay of Grief and Fear . Hel . The Gods have yet preserv'd us from our Youth ; Should we mistrust them now , by that we break The League our selves , and fall out first with Heaven . No , Love ; the Powers above are Just and Kind , And when they mould , such heavenly forms as yours , They grow our Rivals in their Beauteous work , And place the Carefull'st Genius for your guard . Ant. I fear not for my self , for you I fear , Exposed to all the horrid rage of War , In Bloody Fields , the Shaft that reaches you , Brings Death to both , for it would wound me too . Hel . Vanish such Thoughts , and let the little time That Heav'n allows , be wholly spent in Love : Speak then , but speak the tend'rest things you can , Such as did first express our Infant Passions , When I Return'd from our last Wars in Macedon , Laden with Spoils , and you my Richest Prize , Were made my Prisoner , in my Father's Court . Ant. Oh! would this War , had such an End as that , And I again your Captive . Hel . You had the Name , And oh ! the Name of Captive was too much , Too much for you to bear , but still , my Love , 't was I that drag'd the Chains , and drag them still . Ant. That happy time first Joyn'd our youthful hearts , And oh ! may none divide them . Hel . No time , Antigone , No date of Years shall make our Flames expire , But Every one that lengthens out our lives , Shall add unto our loves . Ant. Hear heav'n , and Judge us then , the happy'st Pair Your hands have made ; and oh ! if I prove false , False to the Prince to whom I give my Soul , And Life , and Love ; may that detested Name I scorn to mention , brand me whil'st I live . Hel . Oh! hear me too , and let our Vows ascend Together to your Skies , and some good God Enroll them there , if ever I forget thee , If I neglect to pay that awful Love , I only Swear to thee , or ever look With the least wishing glance , on other Beauties , May Fortune , in my Battles , Change like me ; May Fame fly from me , and I fly from Fame ; May all my Laurels wither on my brows , And Cowards snatch them thence . Ant. Methinks , at two such Passions Heav'n should smile , The Jocund Orbs roul on in better Order , The Earth be wrapt in quiet , War should Cease , And Golden Peace be Prosp'rous . Hel . Oh! go on , Speak yet a little more , a little longer , For by the Gods , that listen to our talk , 't is Heav'n to me to hear you , not the Tongues Of Deities plead so well , my Heart leaps up , And pants at all you utter , each pointed Syllable , From those dear lovely Lips , runs to my Soul , And Circles in my Blood . Ant. Remember , Love , What golden days we at Epirus past , When every Rouling day brought new Delights , Sometimes we trod the Mazes of the Woods , And sometimes stretch'd beneath a spreading Shade , We lay , and listen'd to each others talk Sometimes we heard the Huntsman's distant Voice , And in one Chariot both pursu'd the Chace ; And sometimes sailing in a gilded Barge , We saw the pleasing Wonders of the deep . Ambitious Waves , that strove to climb the Rocks That bound them in , and roar'd to be repuls'd , And Monsters mounted on the back of Waves , When with full Sails , returning to the Court , You 'd point me out , the then descending Sun , Scatt'ring his beams about him , as he sinks , And gilding Heav'n above , and Seas beneath With paint , no mortal Pencil can express , And still our Talk was Love . Hel . Remember too , how I alarm'd your Soul , When I began the harsh discourse of War ; The hazards that my Youth has yet escap'd , With all my earliest Combats in the Field , Here was my first appearance in my Arms , Here my first Actions , such my first Command , Here wounded , and dismounted from my Horse , My Father timely rescu'd me from Death , Then would you Clasp me in your fearful Arms , And start at every mention of my Danger , And beg , with trembling Lips , to end my Story . Ant. Stop , stop it now , for all my fears return , At the sad thought of what is yet to come , The gath'ring Clouds urge on approaching Night , Which falls with baleful influence o'er the Earth , It labours with the Birth its Womb contains , Which soon must be disclos'd : methinks I see it , Soldiers , and Chiefs , all mingled in the War , A Thousand Deaths among them , and you , my Prince , In the thick press , amidst a Thousand Dangers . Gods ! Gods ! preserve my too , too venturous Love . Hel . 't is done , they cannot hear you beg in vain , Thou shalt behold me come with Conquest back , Crowns in my gift , to place upon thy Head , And Kingdoms to dispose of at your Feet . Ant. I take the happy Omen from your self , Your sprightly looks , your dauntless mein , and gesture , Your Every Action speaks a sure Success , Yet , Oh! let me remember Duty still In all the hottest fury of the Fight , Even then , when merciless Death makes no distinctions , My Father , and my Brother , be your Care , As you are Heav'ns , and mine . Hel . They die that dare Once offer at their lives ; should Pyrrhus self Engage them in the Fight , I 'd stop his Sword , And seize his thund'ring Arm. Ant. Good Heav'n defend them , And Chiefly you , for oh ! thy Death , my Love . Hel . Again that fear ? Ant. Forgive me for 't is past , And yet it makes me weep , to think we 're mortal , That the Cold hand of Death , at last must come , That two , who love as we do , should be forc'd Ever to part , the Rent will be like that Of Soul and Body . Hel . Fate is yet far off , It seems aloof , as on some distant Coast , And all the Darts it hurls , are swallow'd up In the wide Seas that roul betwixt us , We may enjoy whole Ages in our Loves E're it can reach us here , but when at last , Our death , that necessary Ill , will happen , We 'll take our flight together . When thou by pleasant Journeys shalt arrive To those blest Seats , where all the happy live , Whilst all the shining Host of Heaven make room , Wait at their Azure gates , till thou shalt Come . Then shall some God , the Chiefest , most Divine , And most Imperial of the Heavenly Line , Receive thee in his Arms , and lead thee in , Whilst all the Joyful Powers , no longer poor , Smile at their Wealth , proud of their new got Store , And never were so vastly rich before . Exeunt .

ACT IV . Enter Pyrrhus and Dion . Thunder and Lightning . Pyrrh . THE Day is fled , and dismal Night descends , Casting her Sable Arms around the World , And folding all within her deadly Grasp , Ghosts are abroad , the Monuments are emptied , And Heroes , that have slept till now , have left Their quiet Tombs , and once more walk the Earth . Dion . All this is Strange , yet all is as it ought to be . Methinks , when two such Rival Armies meet , As Macedons , and ours , the high Concern Of Heav'n should be no less : methinks the Clouds Should melt and rain down Blood , and Gods should mourn In all the Pomp of Grief , their slaughter'd Sons . Pyrrh . And yet , my General all this rack of Heaven , Those burning Orbs , and the loud Peals of Thunder , Those starting Stars , and yonder falling Meteors , Are Common things to us , the usual huddle Of , Jarring Elements : but how , my General , How do the Souldiers bear them ? Dion . They rear themselves from Earth Streight as the Spears , and brave as you can wish ; All put their Gauntlets on , and grasp their Armour , All Eager for the Onset . Pyrrh . There 's Life in this . Go , and prepare them for the Noble grapple , And I will March them on . Exit Dion . Ye Gods ? I pay Just Reverence to your Altars ; I bow with awfull Worship to Your shrines , And more submission than my slaves show me , But when some Infant Power , some puny Deity , Some Ape of Jove , that 's fond of making mischief , Asserts your Empire , and your Rule of heav'n , And with weak hands tosses your fires about , Forgive me , if I cannot stoop to Fear , But , spite of Prodigies , pursue the War . The Ghost of Alexander the Great Rises before him all in Armour . Thunder and Lightning . Ghost . Well does this Noble Confidence become you , And Oh! it glads the Soul of the dead Alexander , To see you thus , behold you thus unmov'd , Even when the Powers above are at a loss Which way to turn themselves . Pyrrh . Ha! Alexander , Thou should'st be He , and yet how Chang'd , how alter'd From what thou wert alive ? Oh! for what Cause Hast thou forsook the Mansions where thy Spirit Had room to extend it self , and rove at large , While we walk here , Encomber'd with a Body , That holds our Souls from mounting to the Skyes , And barrs all ●onverse with our Kindred Gods ? Ghost . My Love and Care for thee , the bravest Prince , I Left to share my ●onquests on this Earth , Has drawn me hither , to impart the News Of warm Debates betwixt the Courts above , And those beneath , the Realms of Jove and Fate , To tell thee , tho thou yet draw'st vital Air , Canst from thy Tent behold the Marshal'd Squadrons , And lead the Warlike Phalanx to the Field , Mu● shortly leave all this , and be at last , Just such as I am . I never Entertain'd one thought of Falshood . Pyrrh . Then you refuse my Friendship . Aemyl . No I beg it , As I would beg Blessing from the Gods , If I could make you first the friend of Rome , Then you might make me yours ; till then in Vain Are all the Royal Offers that you made To heap Preferments on me in your Court , To give me the Command of all your Armies , The Gallantest indeed , I e'er beheld , Excepting Rome's . I heard you with the Attention Due to a King , but did no more than hear ; It went not to my Soul ; in vain you sent Those Presents of Inestimable Value , That yet remain untouch'd . I am but Poor , I have no Wealth , and yet I would have none , I would not be a Traytor to be Rich , Or infamously great . My only treasure Lies in my truth ; and if that once were lost , What has Aemylius left , to make him worthy To be a Son of Rome , or Friend of Pyrrhus ? Pyrrh . This matchless faith makes me but prize you more , Since your fidelity to Rome is such , Who acts as if she knew not how to value it What would it be to me , who know the worth Of Constancy like thine ? Aemyl . Suspect me rather If once I forfeited my faith to Rome , When any new Occasion should present , I might be false to you . I love you , Sir , As I love all brave men , and you of all The very bravest ; I have seen you fight , Where other Gallant Cheifs have stood at distance , As if there Business were to look on you ; And they had no employment in the Field . I have seen you break the battle of the Romans , And pierce resistless through those Marshal'd ranks , Where never any Enter'd , till your self ; Success still hung upon your Conqu'ring Sword , And Fate descended with it , where it fell . I have envy'd , and admir'd you , both at once , And as my Eyes still followed you in Fight , Fix'd on the Wondrous Actions you perform'd , I have often wish'd my self Epiran born , But oftner you a Roman . Blush not to hear these Praises from a mouth , That wou'd not give them if they were not due , For Flattery is a thing as base as Treason . Dion . Go on , most noble Roman , all is truth , And , by the Gods , I thank you that you speak it . He would not suffer me to praise him thus . Aem . 't was there , my Lord , there in the Bloody Field , Your God like Prowess won an Enemies Soul , That Treasures cannot tempt , nor Power betray , But open'd to receive the love of Vertue , And give it full Possession , I tell you nothing , But what I 'have dared to tell the Roman Senate , As they have sate assembled in the Capitol . I beg you , Royal Sir , to seek no more : Be satisfi'd , I have a Just Esteem , For such transcendent worth as dwells in you . Oh! seek not to Corrupt a poor old Man : My Honesty is all the Wealth I have , But that 's my own , not subject to the Chance That waits on other Fortunes ; that alone I can Call Mine ; that lies within my Power . Should all the Princes of the Earth conspire , I may , and will , preserve my Faith intire . Pyrrh . Say , have I many Enemies like you ? Aem . If all the World , Dread Sir , were such as I am , You would not have an Enemy ; if you mean , Whether the numerous Sons of Rome are such , They are , my Lord , braver by far than me , And all I hope as faithful . Pyrrh . Then their Conquest Will be an Enterprize beyond my Powers , Impossible for humane Arms to Atchieve . Aem . Believe me , it will be no bloodless Victory , When ever it is obtained . Pyrrh . Though it seems dangerous To Arm a foe , so terrible as you , Yet I' have a Present to bestow upon you , Which you may take without a Breach of Faith : Receive this Sword , it has been u'sd to Conquer , And I dare Promise , it will hold its Vertue In Roman hands . Aem . I take it on my Knees , As given by the dreadful God of War : Fear not , its Vertues shall be kept Entire , Unless it grows ungrateful to its Lord , And turns against the God like Prince that gave it , Where every Sword must fail . Pyrrh . Prepare a Convoy , To wait the good Aemylius to the Confines . See all the great Battalions rang'd in Order , To Shout his farewel , as he passes by . Once more , my gallant Warriour , to my Soul , Where thy Idea deeply is impress'd , Farewel with all the Friendship and Esteem , That mutually should dwell in Noble Minds , Thou wondrous Man , of wondrous Faith , farewell . Aem . Yet ere I go , hear me , Illustrious Prince , I give my thanks to you , my Prayers to Heaven , That you may still be prosperous your royal Carriage ; Has wrought this Just resentment in my Soul : Still may you Triumph , your Success be Ever Such as your matchless Worth may justly Claim , Distant your end of Life , no end of Fame : May you Reign long , for numerous Years to come , And your Arms flourish against all but Rome . Exit . Enter Lanassa . Lan . Oh! my lov'd Lord , Lanassa was afraid You 'd have been hurri'd to the dreadful Battle , Without the giving her one last Farewell . She heard the Trumpets call you , thought you listn'd To them alone , and no soft gentle Whisper Of Love could reach your Soul . She saw your Ranks Of Souldiers , glittering in their gilded Arms , Spite of the horrid Darkness , so she hastned Ere yet you march'd them to the Walls of Argos , Once more to gaze upon you , once more see you , Print on your Lips one last dear Kiss at parting , And if I then can speak it , bid Farewell . Pyrrh . Leave but your Fears behind , and then , my Love , We may despise whatever Fate can do ; And bear our parting brave , as Princes should , With all the Greatness of Heroick Minds ; Yet tenderly withall . Lan . Alas , my Pyrrhus , Deny me not the Privilege of my Sex ; Women , that always start and shrink at Dangers ; Women , whose Courage is not less than Mens , Only their Love is more : My Lord , I come not To beg you to defer the dreadful Battle ; For , though a Thousand ominous Signs forewarn me , The sudden Doom of Pyrrhus now is fix'd ; Yet his Resolves are firmer fix'd than Fates : I only come to offer up my Prayers In thy lov'd Presence , though I fear the Gods Will be as deaf to them as you have been . Pyrrh . Such were your Fears this Morning , Love ; and now , How vain and needless do they seem to have been ? Unhurt , unwounded from the Field I came , And bought a Conquest at an easie Rate ; Now I shall only march against a Foe Already half o'ercome . Lan . Supposing then Argos were yours , the Crown upon your Head , And you upon the Throne : Suppose the War Were finish'd as I wish , which I dare scarce Suppose it will be ; will your toils end there ? Or , what will next be done ? Pyrrh . The Romans yet Remain Unconquer'd , they again shall try My Forces in Arms , and my Victorious Squadrons , Fighting with better Fortune than at first , May hurl their soaring Eagles to the Earth . Lan . If Rome were won , and that triumphant City , That never yet obey'd a foreign Lord , Submitted to your Sway , their Senate broke , And you their Royal Master in their stead ; Where march you then ? Pyrrh . Sicily is at hand , And I may pour my Armies on their Coasts , Destroying all the Isle with Sword , and Fire Hotter than that of Aetna . Lan . Suppose that Sicily Shar'd the same Fate with Rome . Pyrrh . Then Sun-burnt Africk Shall groan beneath the weight of Castl'd Elephants , And its own Brood be turn'd against it self . Lan . Granting that you had Conquer'd Africk too , What Enterprize is next ? Pyrrh . The search of Glory and of Fame is endless ; New Countries will afford new Conquests still . Lan . If all were won , all the wide World were yours , What Fruit , my Pyrrhus , would you reap from all ? Pyrrh . When War is to be had no more , my Love , We will sit down upon the conquer'd Globe , Enjoy our selves in Peace , and laugh at Fate . Lan . And why , my Lord , why can't we do so now ? Cannot one Kingdom furnish full Enjoyment ? What has the World in store ? what Pomp , what Pleasures ? What can the lavish hands of Nature give , That Epirus has not yielded to her Lord ? But oh ! my Love , Kings are like other Misers , Greedy of more ; they use not what they have As Merchants , venturing on the faithless Seas For needless Wealth , are driv'n by sudden Storms On Banks of Sands , or dash'd against the Rocks , And all they have is sunk , and lost at once . Kings rush to Wars , more faithless than the Seas , Where more inconstant Fortune waits their Arms ; Where in a Minute one unhappy Blow Ruins the Progress of an Age before : Delay not your Enjoyment , till you 've all ; O! do it , while you 've any , while you may ; While yet the gath'ring Storm wants wings to reach you . Pyrrh . Did you Plead thus in any other Cause , You could not be deny'd ; but rigid Honour Has arm'd my Heart against the grant of this . Retire , my Love ; for loe , the Night grows darker , The Voice of Heav'n more loud , and the big Winds More forcibly have shook the nodding Tents ; The drouzy Souldier , waken'd by the Tempest , Starts from the Earth , and crys , away to Battle : Retire , my lov'd Lanassa . Lan . Oh! my Lord , When shall we meet again ? Pyrrh . Heav'n knows , my Love ; But I too know that we shall meet in Heav'n , Where everlasting Joys shall Crown our Loves , And never more be sunder'd . Lan . Oh! were that true , wretch that I am to doubt it ; For sure there is a Place reserv'd for thee ; A Throne prepar'd for Pyrrhus , my Love , my Lord : The noblest Demi-god of all the Skies , And foremost Heroe in the Host of Heav'n . Pyrrh . No more : one last Embrace , and now no more , For the Adieus of Lovers never end : I wish that we were gone our several ways , And yet I cannot be the first to go . Lan . Then how should I , a weak fond helpless Woman ! Oh! Stay , my Lord ; since we must part at last , Say but farewell , for your Lanassa cannot . Pyrrh . Farewell , with all the force of Love , farewell . Lan . Oh! Pyrrhus ! Pyrrhus ! whither go you now , To the dire War ? where partial Death resides ; Death , that was ever wont to lop the Noble And spare the Vulgar ; Oh! turn back a little ; Stay till I fall thus prostrate to the Earth , Torn by my Passion , till I beg the Gods In thy behalf : Oh! save him all ye Powers ; Make him the whole Concern of all your Skies ; Oh! let this humble Adoration move , Be good , ye gracious Gods , and save my Love . Preserve him Heav'n from all the Rage of War , Divert the threatning Point of every Spear , Shield him some God , and let no shaft come near .

ACT V.

SCENE I. Enter Dion and Aemylius . Dion . THese are our Limits , which I must not pass , For all beyond , the Argive Lands extend : I hear their Guards upon their march to meet you , And leave you to their Convoy . Aem . Thou good old General of a Godlike Prince , All health to him , and next to him , to thee . Dion . I grieve to part , since you must go to Argos , And I am loth to have you for a Foe : There will be Action there , and Roman hands Are never Idle at a time like that . Aem . Yet now I shall not draw my peaceful Sword ; For as I 'm sent Rome's Envoy , not her Souldier , I stand exempted from the Call of War . Dion . How will the joyful News transport the King , That though Aemylius would not side with him , He will not fight against him ! He shall be told , And his great Soul shall give a due Acknowledgment In sparing Romans for a Roman's sake . Aem . Gods ! why are Kings your Images beneath , The liveliest Portraitures of heavenly Powers , Created subject to Eternal Discord ? Why is War wag'd for ever on the Earth ? Why are not less malignant Planets plac'd To guide their Actions , to preserve their Peace , And influence their Lives to run on smoothly With the same Harmony that moves your Spheres ? Dion . Boundless Ambition , vast desire of Empire , And Fame for gallant Deeds perform'd in War , Still spur them forward through the dusty Field , While Reason all in vain would hold them back . Aem . Why should our hands rebel against our hearts ? I love a gallant Enemy in my Soul , And with regret encounter when I meet ; The Breasts where Vertue dwells are sacred Seats , Nor should they be prophan'd , no more than Shrines ; No Wounds should enter there ; but base Plebeians , Sordid , and void of Spirits as of Sense , True mortal Stuff , should gorge the maw of Death . Dion . O let me be secur'd of such a Friend , If my great Master has not all your Soul , Let the remaining part be given to me , And place a Loyal Subject next this Lord . Aem . Sure we are ally'd , our Age and Hearts alike , And thou wer 't meant a Roman , but thy Stars At thy Nativity mistook the Soil , And cast thee on a too too distant Clime Far from the Bounds of Rome . Dion . My Fate has placed me , Where , if I had not found a Lord , like Pyrrhus , I would have chose a Consul to command me , And offer'd him my Service . Aem . The sound of trampling Horse encreases still , Which speaks them near ; time steals away insensibly , And old Mens talk is tedious as their Years , Who after several Farewells , still talk on . Dion . But now the Night urges our last adieu , And wakeful Birds , impatient for the Morning , Already do begin to call it forth With Notes like Trumpets sounding a Retreat : Short is the Souldiers Ceremony , a Hand and Heart Is all we give at parting . Aem . And that is all That the most ardent Lovers have to give : Once more , all health to Pyrrhus , and to thee . Exit . Enter Helenus . Hel . Oh! how I grudge the hated Steps I take , To lead me farther off the dear Apartments That hold my Love ; how eager to return . I burn with Fires more scorching than before , And heightned Charms dilate the rising Flame ; Heav'n has took pains to work her to a Miracle : A wondrous Faith , joyn'd with a matchless Form . Dion . You are welcom , Prince : I thank you that you have deceiv'd my Fears , And by returning thus , outrun my Hopes . Hel . Oh Dion ! when will the War begin ? Dion . Still better ; in that strain you speak Success , A Praelude to a Paean ; soon , I hope , And soon the Conquest follow . Hel . You have seen me fighting . Dion . And doubt not but to see you so again , With the same fortune as you have fought before . Hel . I tell thee Friend , I will outdoe my self ; My rising Soul strains to a higher Pitch Than e'er it reach'd till now ; Revenge and Love , Fury and Jealousie , and thirst of Honour , All rage and roul within my troubled Mind , And work the Tempest high : Lead me , my General , lead me to the War ; And oh ! employ your interest with the King To hasten on the too too tedious hour . To me the flying Minutes seem but slow ; E'er this I would have been amidst the Foe , Forcing my dreadful Passage with my Sword , Possess'd of all that Conquest can afford : Through thickest Ranks , I would like Lightning break ; Love and Revenge make all resistance weak . Enter Pyrrhus and Souldiers . Pyrrh . See your dead Prince plac'd on the highest Elephant , That all the Army , at the dismal Object , May with more Fury kindle to Revenge . To them . Oh! Dion oh ! Helenus Son and General , Where have you loiter'd ? now our busie Fates Call for all Hands . Dion . Mine , Royal Sir , are ready ; And my Heart joins them , it strikes out with Vigour , And beats thick knocks against my aged Breast . Pyrrh . Helenus , lead the Van , Ten thousand Men , Are order'd to attend you to the On set : March to the Ramparts , South of Juno's Temple , And while our warlike Trumpets sound to Battle , And the great Squadrons mingle in the Wars ; Suspend , ye Gods , the Thunder of your Skies , Withold your Bolts , that play with idle Rage , And fall with harmless Flames on Mountains tops . Look on more dreadful Actions done beneath , See our Swords strike , with more dispatch , in death .

SONG . I Wretch'd in a Dark and Dismal Grove , A poor abandon'd , hopeless Maid , Thinking on her departed Love , Cry'd , whither does Ambition lead ? From the dear Joys that Love can yield , From the soft Circle of my Arms He rushes to the fatal Field : Mistaken Swain , have Danger's Charms ? Fond of a loud , yet empty Name , Notions of Honour you pursue ; And fansying Happiness in Fame , For a false Bliss forsake the true . Lovers , with Scorn , and Hatred curs'd , When all their Passion fail'd to move , Found out this Tyrant Honour first , In pure Revenge to ruine Love .

A Battle sounded . Enter Lanassa . Lan . I , now it is begun ; alas , my Pyrrhus ! How my Soul shakes within me when I think What Dangers thy dear Life is thus expos'd to ! Ah! whither does he run ? he rushes fearless On pointed Swords , the Arm of Death lifts at him ; But yet he shall not perish unattended . If Fate ordains our fall , we 'll fall together : Together walk through all the gloomy Arbours , The Grots , and Mansions of the Blessed dead ; Together stretch'd o'er the black Banks of Lethe , Look down upon the Stream that glides beneath us . Oh! Blissful prospect of a future state , Delightful Ecstasie in Thoughts of Death ! Methinks , through all the vast and verdant Meads No Rose lies blasted , and no Myrtle fades ; But ever bloom , where my lov'd Pyrrhus treads : Through all Elyzium , all the flow'ry Groves , Each ravish'd Ghost with wonder sees our Loves . Pleas'd with the View , they point us out , and cry , Loe ! Yonder , where the happy Lovers lie ! Urg'd by their transport to forsake their Bowers , They wait on us , and all the Train is ours . Exit . SCENE , Changes to the City of Argos , as Besieged . Enter Antigonus , Demetrius and Aristeon . Ant. Already Pyrrhus has begun the Storm ; His Elephants , like huge Machines of War , With their Broadsides lie pressing on our Walls ; And from the Castles planted on their Backs Pour forth an Army down upon the Town . Heard you that Shout ? Dem . We did ; it follow'd something Loud as it self , that sounded like the burst Of Brazen Gates . Enter Martius . Mart . All 's lost ; The Foes are enter'd ; The Torrent rouls this way . Ant. Undaunted yet ; With Bravery , that deserves a better Fortune , We 'll strive to change the partial face of War . Exeunt . Manet Aristeon . Arist . I hope 't is Epire's Prince has made his Entrance . If so , Antigone's Name will draw him here . Helenus from within . Antigone — Ant. Hark! 't is already answer'd . He caught it like the Echo , at distance , And closely follows its return himself . Enter Helenus . Hel . Now , now , the wish'd for time at last is come , While publick Interest draws the Swords of others , To end one private Quarrel by our selves . Arist . Let 's not spend a Minute in our talk ; The Hours are precious , and our Swords can plead Our Cause the best , and stop our Tongues for ever . Enter Antigone . Fight . Aristeon falls . Ant. Methoughts I heard you , Love ; but knew not well Whether it was the Voice of Fate , or you . Arist . Oh! 't was the Voice of Fate to me ; it spoke The loss of Life and Love ; yet in my Death I joy to see you with my closing Eyes , To take the farewell View before I go , And bear thy dear Idea to the Skies . There , as I glide along the Bowers of Heav'n , And view the celebrated Beauties there , But find none fair enough to move my wonder , No heavenly Excellence of force to Charm me , Ev'n there I 'll think once more upon Antigone . [ After a Pause . ] What not a word ? But do not , do not speak ; There is an Eloquence in silent pity Beyond Expression . Farewell thou dear , but cruel Fair , farewell . Oh! I had many wondrous Things to say , And wondrous Love should shine in all I said ; But that my fleeting Soul out-flies my words , And leaves my Speech unfinish'd . Too happy Prince , farewell . Black Mists have overcast my dying Eyes , I cannot now dispute the Beauteous Prize : All my last Hopes , I , with my Life , resign ; The Conquest , both in War and Love , is thine . Ant. Oh! Lead me Love ; where I may hide my self From Sights of Horrour that affright my Soul . To me , the War is dreadful as the Sea To unexperienc'd Mariners ; and I tremble At every blast that blows : Heav'n send the Calm . Hel . Thither , my Love , retire to yonder Tow'r ; These Souldiers be your Guard : Methinks my Father Upbraids me for my stay ; I 'll on to meet him , And help to Crown the Conquests of this Night . Ant. I go ; But I conjure you , Prince , to be More careful of your self , and less of me . Two Souldiers enter , and carry Arist . off . Exeunt severally . Trumpets and Kettle Drums . Enter Pyrrhus , Dion , and Souldiers . Pyrrh . Push on the Fight , and follow Fortune close , She flies before with all her Sails upon her ; And gath'ring in the fullest gusts of War , Will quickly reach the Port . The Scene Draws , and Discovers the Image of a Bull and Wolf Engraven in Copper , and placed at the Entrance of the Forum . Dion . Why stop you , Sir ? Pyrrh . Oh! Dion , shall I tell you ? I 'm afraid . Dion . Do not , Sir ; You would not be believ'd although you did . Pyrrh . Look on those Figures there . Dion . And what of them ? Pyrrh . I had a Message sent me from the Gods , To tell me , where I met two such as these , There Fate should meet with me . Dion . Who brought their Message ? Pyrrh . A God himself , one who was lately made ; And mingling in the Councils with the rest , Reveal'd this Part to me . Dion . And you believe him ? Pyrrh . 't were impious to do otherwise ; yet , my Friend , I cannot fear him yet . Dion . Then give me leave To fear for you ; Their-Warning has been Kind , And ought to be Obey'd . Pyrrh . Shall we then lose So fair a Prospect ? Dion . We may lose our selves By venturing to obtain a nearer View : We seem to lean over some hanging Clift , O'er-looking of the Wreck that Floats below . Should we stretch more , beyond the Verge , we fall Infinite Fathoms down , and sink for ever . Pyrrh . You have prevail'd , the Gods shall be obey'd ; It is no Cowardize to yield to Heav'n : Some other Night shall recompence for this Less full of Fate . Go order the Retreat ; I 'll be the last my self . Exit Dion . Enter Martius . Pyrrh . What art thou , That haunts me still in fight ? I've seen thee thrice Fixing thy glaring Eyes on me alone : And with a Pride that scorns a smaller Conquest , Aim only at my Life . Thy Arms are Roman ; If thou wouldst Kill me , do it with a Gallantry Worthy thy Place of Birth . Mart . I am a Roman ; I have sought thee in the thickest Ranks of Battle , And watch'd all Night to have thee my self ; But the throng'd press that still encountred you , ( For I saw not one who dar'd to meet you single ) Have held me off till now . Pyrrh . I cannot think Thou hast receiv'd a hire to give me Death . Mart . I have ; My Fame and Honour bribe me high , And thus I strive for purchase . Pyrrh . Thou hast it there Fight . Martius falls . At a dear rate ; Fate seems not near me yet , Spite of its menace ; the Retreat begins , And makes our distance greater . Exit . Shout from within . Enter Lanassa , Supported Bleeding . Lan . I heard the Argives shout the death of Pyrrhus , And rush'd into the War , where to my Wish I met my own . Oh! hold a little Fate ; Could I but see my Lord before I dy'd , Contentedly I am thine . Re-enter Pyrrhus , Dion , both Wounded and Supported by Helenus . Pyrrh . 't is done ; my Fate has caught me in my Flight . Art thou here Love ? and art thou wounded too ? Nay , then it takes me whole . Lan . It was well contriv'd , To Summon me that hour it call'd for you ; Else I had come unsent for . Pyrrh . So you do . That Death was none of thine , and Heav'n will wonder To see an unexpected guest arrive . Lan . Receive , my Love , my last and sad Adieu : The fleeting Souls of others , when they die , Are breath'd into the Air , and vanish there ; But I pour mine into thy lovely Lips , Its wish'd for Lodge : Thus dying both together , We seem as at the Altar once again , Renewing Vows of Everlasting love , And joyning hands and hearts before the Priest ; But now we Wed more firmly than at first : For Hymen's Office is perform'd by Death . Death surer than our Nuptials ties us fast , And these are Bonds that will for ever last . Dies . Pyrrh . And so they are , I shall not stay behind : And yet , ye Gods ! 't was strange , 't was wondrous strange A Life so made of Miracles as mine ; Preserv'd till now at the expence of Prodigies , Should end at last so meanly , by a Stone Hurl'd by a Woman's hand ; the very Thought Urges my Death the swifter . Dion . Heav'n ! what a suddain whirl of Fate was here ? Just as we had hunted Fortune to the toils , And almost had her sure ; then , then to let her Break the involving Net , and change the Chase , Pursuing those by whom she was pursu'd , Is such a Caprice that has no Excuse . Pyrrh . I had forgot , how goes the Battle on ? Hel . As Ships in stormy Seas , their Pilot's lost , Drive backward with the Tide . Pyrrh . But one thing more : Oh! Close those Bleeding Wounds that gape so wide ; Thrust off your Death awhile , and live my General ; Live to entreat the fortunate Antigonus To use Helenus well . Hel . There needs not that ; For I can put my self beyond his Power , And own no other Sire or King but you . Pyrrh . By Heav'n you should ; did not Fate differ here : Your Love still lives for you , mine dies with me ; You have a Bribe sufficient for your Life , And I have mine for Death : Farewell , my Son . My Eye-balls now begin to swim in Death , And my Queen dances in my dizzy Sight ; I 'll seize her thus , thus make her mine for ever . As Merchants , that remove to foreign Climes , Carry their Families with them , my Love , my Self , My good old General , to make up the Third : Three such as we , shall Charm the Eyes of Heaven ; And their Discourse shall be of nought but us . Their Tongues shall in our Praises be imploy'd , Our Loves and Wars the Theme of every God . Dies . Dion . Methinks old Men do linger in their Death As much as in their Lives ; my Blood moves slowly , And drop by drop falls from my withered Veins , Distilling like an Icicle , 'till at last , 't is quite dissolved . After this Loss , life could no Joys afford ; Death pleases best , that sends me to my Lord . Dies . Hel . Farewell , Illustrious Father , Vertuous Queen And good old Man , farewell ; while here I gaze , My struggling Soul is doubtful which to choose ; To live with her I love , or dye with you . But oh ! She comes , she comes to end the Strife , And Love for her makes me in love with Life . Trumpets and Kettle Drums . Enter Antigonus , Demetrius , Aemylius , Antigone . Aem . See what a stately Pomp of Death lies here , And where the Princely Mourner stands ; the sole Survivour of the royal Race of Pyrrhus , And almost of the War , Oh! grant , ye Gods , That every Son of Rome , that falls in Battle , May fall as brave as these . Dem . Death was this Night devouring as the Deluge , And all the World of Epiran seems swallow'd up ; And but one Person sav'd . Ant. I 'll add another Again to stock their Earth . Here , gallant Prince , Receive this Pledge of an eternal Friendship , Gives Antigone to Helenus . And let your Father's Kingdoms be her Dow'r . See the great Pyrrhus Royally interr'd , And lay his much lov'd Ptolomy by his Side . Short are the Glories that our Lives can boast , And our aspiring Thoughts in Death are lost .

FINIS .

EPILOGUE . IN Summer every living thing on Earth Seems new created , and receives new Birth . Beauties abroad their blooming Sweets display , Flowers open , Fruit-trees blossom , Beau's are gay , Summer 's a time for all things — but a Play . The Summer does the Labourers Harvest yield , Fleets put to Sea , and Armies take the Field . Bold was the Ship ( so we are told by Horace ) Which first launch'd out , and this his tale makes for us . For greater is the risk of Vent'rous Wit , Which rashly dares an untry'd Bark commit To the smooth Deep of a deceitful Pit . Yet you have been on these Occasions Kind , And our Young Authour hopes from you to find A flowing Tide , and favourable Wind . Let me Plead for him then ; Pray show him favour , For if we lose him now , he 's lost for ever . Should He fail quite in this ; I know his Nature , Too bashful to attempt to mend the Matter : Young Poets still their Modesty discover , But theirs , like ours , or yours , is quickly over . To the Pit . Let this , against your judgment stand the Test , Show Mercy now , and judge him in the rest .

Books Printed for Samuel Briscoe , Peter Buck , and Daniel Dring . MArriage-Hater Match'd . Richmond Heiress . Don Quixot ; First and Second Parts . Very Good Wife . Country Wife . Rehearsal . Old Batchellour . Incognita : Or , Love and Duty reconcil'd ; a Novel . Reflections upon Ancient and Modern Learning . By Mr. Wotton . Account of the Controversie between the Church of England and Dissenters , Octavo . Brutes turn'd Criticks , Twelves .

BOADICEA Queen of Britain .

A TRAGEDY , As it is Acted by His Majesty's Servants AT THE THEATRE in Lincolns-Inn-fields .

Written by Mr. Charles Hopkins .

LONDON , Printed for Jacob Tonson , near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleet-street . 1697.

TO Mr. Congreve . LET other Poets other Patrons Chuse , Get their best Price , and prostitute their Muse . With flattering hopes , and fruitless labour wait , And Court the slippery Friendship of the Great : Some trifling Present by my Lord is made , And then the Patron thinks the Poet paid . On you , my surer , nobler Hopes depend , For you are all I wish ; you are a Friend . From you , my Muse her Inspiration drew , All she performs , I Consecrate to you . You taught me first my Genius and my Power , Taught me to know my own , but gave me more , Others may sparingly their Wealth impart , But he gives Noblest , who bestows an Art. Nature , and you alone , can that confer , And I owe you , what you your self owe her . O! Congreve , could I write in Verse like thine , Then in each Page , in every Charming Line , Should Gratitude , and Sacred Friendship shine . Your Lines run all on easie , even Feet ; Clear is your Sense , and your Expression sweet . Rich is your Fancy , and your Numbers go Serene and smooth , as Crystal Waters flow . Smooth as a peaceful Sea , which never rolls , And soft , as kind , consenting Virgins Souls . Nor does your Verse alone our Passions move , Beyond the Poet , we the Person Love . In you , and almost only you ; we find Sublimity of Wit , and Candour of the Mind . Both have their Charms , and both give that delight , 't is pity that you should , or should not Write ; But your strong Genius Fortune's power defies , And in despight of Poetry , you rise . To you the Favour of the World is shown , Enough for any Merit , but your own . Your Fortune rises equal with your Fame , The Best of Poets , but above the Name . O! may you never miss deserv'd success , But raise your Fortunes 'till I wish them less . Here should I , not to tire your patience , end , But who can part so soon , with such a Friend You know my Soul , like yours ; without design , You know me yours , and I too know you mine . I owe you all I am , and needs must mourn , My want of Power to make you some return . Since you gave all , do not a part refuse , But take this slender Offering of the Muse . Friendship , from servile Interest free , secures My Love , sincerely , and entirely , yours , CHARLES HOPKINS .

PROLOGUE . Spoke by Mr. Betterton . DO you not wonder , Sirs , in these poor Days , Poets should hope for Profit from their Plays ? Dream of a full Third Day , nay , good sixth Night , ( Especially considering how they Write . ) But so it is ; and thus I go to show it , Wo to us Players , every one turns Poet . All Write alike , and therefore every Brother , Free from all Envy , stands by one another ; They live more peaceably than Bees , no doubt , Since not one drone of all is driven out . Our Author is so green , and young a thing , 't is hard if he can yet have lost his Sting ! Those Boxes ! He may beauteous Gardens call , Fair are the Flowers , and he sucks Sweets from all ; Nor is he less oblig'd to Masks and Beaus , Who pay for Plays ; even when they borrow Cloaths . On your united Favours he depends , And thinks you all his , and our House's Friends . Tho' you hate Blood-shed , out of pure good Nature , As Poets , Criticks , or as Fops hate Satyr . Be not to Day afraid to see as Bleed , But let for once , a Tragedy succeed .

EPILOGUE . Spoke by Mrs. Bowman . WHO of you all can guess a Poet's trouble , Which is in these Religious Days grown double ? Once only smutty Jes●s could please the Town , But now ( Heav'n h●lp our Trade , ) they 'll not go down . Our Liberties this h●rd restraint infringes ; For all our Authors are beside their Hinges . You Sparks , who k●ew the Story of this Play , Thought to have seen two Ravish'd Maids to day . But by our Bashful Youth one half is stifl'd , My Sister only ( ●o my sorrow ) rifl'd . Pray , tell me , G●ntlemen , and tell me true , Might not I wel● have claim'd that kindness too ? Maids may indeed in such a case Miscarry , But what are Rapes to us wise Folks that M●rry ? Thieves may bot easily into open Houses , And Force will still excuse us to our Spouses . Stay — on my Conscience now , our Author knew , The way to ple●se , was to save one for you . Pray , after s●ch an Obligation , speak ; Can you do ●oo much for the Poet's sake ? And yet he ●oubts the worst , and is asham'd Before-hand of the Fate of being damn'd ; Ease him , by your applause , of his suspicion , And thin● , one day it may be your Condition . For For●une is her self a very Woman , And H●man Chance to all alike is Common , Musks , Beaus , and Criticks , will be true to No Man .

Dramatis Personae . Mrs. Barry .

HerDaughters. Camilla , Mrs. Bracegirdle . Venutia , Mrs. Bowman .

ABritishPrince,GeneraloftheirArmies. Cassibelan , Mr. Betterton .

ROMANS . JointGenerals. Paulinus , M. Kyn●ston . Decius . Mr. Hudson .

FavouritetoPaulinus. Fabian , Mr. Freeman .

FavouritetoDecius. Caska , Mr. Sanford

BOADICEA Queen of Britain .

ACT I.

SCENE I. SCENE the City of Verulam , with the British Army Encamped under it , and the Romans at some distance . Enter Cassibelan , and Camilla . Cass . MOurn not , my Love , because the Roman Arms Have once more fill'd our Island with Alarms . By Heav'n , I rather thank their forward Care , Who with such readiness supply the War . Who let me every Day gain new Renown , To make the Beauty whom I love my own . Thou shalt the Center of my Wishes be , The Sum of my Desires is set in thee . Cam . Take all the Love a Lover e'er could claim , I own , my Charming Prince , an equal Flame . Let your Camilla all she feels confess , And glory that her Passion is not less . The tender'st Love of Woman-kind is due , When 't is solicited , dear Youth , by you . Cass . O Words ! to Charm an Angel from the Skyes , O lovely , loving Maid ! thou Heaven of Joys ! Let me run out , thus ravish'd , on the Foe , My Soul is rais'd , shall I not Conquer now ? Encourag'd thus , o'erthrow the Roman Bands , Love guides my heart , and that shall guide my hands . Cam . Still let me lock you in my longing Arms , Gaze on you still , for ev'n your Fury Charms . Well might this Rage the Roman Legions fright , But what disheartens them , gives me delight : Such Love as mine , might ev'n Love's Goddess yield , For so look'd Mars in the Phlegraean Field . Cass . Throw then thy snowy Arms about my Crest , And let me crush thy Beauties to my Breast : Thy Tenderness this Martial warmth inspires , Thy Softness kindles these transporting Fires . Thou first enflam'st me to the fiercest heat , And after Battel mak'st my Blood abate . Cam . Let others boast their Beauty , or their Youth , Or what is more , their Constancy , and Truth . Let Nature all her Richest Gifts bestow , And in full Tides let their smooth Fortunes flow ; Heav'n shower upon them Blessings from above , Teach them ( the greatest Blessing ) how to Love . All these are yours , yet there 's one Charm in store , Of wondrous Gallantry , which Merits more : In all your Words , your Actions , and your Meen , There 's something more than Human to be seen . That Godlike Something has peculiar Charms , And that endears you to Camilla's Arms. Cass . Heaven ! what a Spirit do thy Charms impart , Strength to my Arms , and Courage to my Heart . Thy Love is all my Spur , thy precious Smiles The purchase of my over-rated Toils : Let others Fight for Empire , or for Fame , And the vain hopes of an Immortal Name ; I would not to the Field of Battel move , For any Recompence that 's less than Love . Cam . What Woman might not such dear words subdue , To hear such Passion spoke by such as you ? But see , the Queen , with all the Court appears , Her Royal Look Majestick Sorrow wears , Her Eyes dart Fires , and scorn to melt in Tears . Enter Boadicea , Venutia . Boad . Rome is not yet the Mistress of our Isle , Still Fortune sheds on us an equal Smile , Nor shrink we underneath the Warlike Toil . Let Earth submit to her Tyranick Sway , No Britain born , can servilely obey . Their Swords at liberty our Souldier wields , Draws as strong Bows , and lifts as pondrous Shields , Disputes as desperately the Bloody Fields . Cass . The Lust of Power has set proud Rome on flame , And Universal Empire is her aim ; Her Warlike Eagles spread from Pole to Pole , Let Winds blow where they list , or Billows roll ; Thro' Woods and Wilds they force unbeaten ways , Then steer more desperate Courses o'er the Seas . New Legions now are Landed on our Shores , And with fresh Troops relieve their shatter'd Powers ; From Vanquish'd Gaul their Conquering Arms are led , And the Fam'd Decius Marches at their Head . Cam . Yet will those Conquerours act with prudent Care , And proffer Peace , e'er they proceed to War . Well do they know our Resolute Britain's Force , And think it best , to take the mildest Course . Reviewing what their Ancestors have done , They find they cannot boast of much they won . Here , the Great Julius met his first Defeat , Glad was that Godlike Victor to Retreat ; Compell'd to own , when he forsook our Shores , No force on Earth could equal Rome's , but ours . Boad . He the first Rudiments of Conquest lay'd , Then we were bravely fought with , now betray'd . He shew'd how far Ambitious Spirits dare , Bold were his Hopes , but his Pursuit was Fair . Now with mean Arts Rome props her falling Cause , Caesar degenerates from what Caesar was . Our dying Lord , ensnar'd by Nero's wiles , Won by false Friendship , and deceiv'd by smiles , Left him to be the Guard of us , and ours , Left him the Charge of all his Hostile Powers , His well-fill'd Armories , and Naval-Stores . To Rome's Rich Lot did all his Treasures fall , And faithless Rome has made a Prey of all . Cass . Is Britain of her former Fires bereft , Has she no Brave , no Gen'rous Spirits left ? I find our Vengeance strugling for a vent , Shall Rome provoke ? and shall not we resent ? Let her make all the World besides her own , Nature has made us for our selves alone . She fix'd our Isle , cast the wide Seas around , Made the strong Fence , and shall not hands be found In Britain , to maintain the British bound ? Boad . Prince , in your Valour I repose my Trust , Strong are our Armies , as our Cause is just . Alike in both , does your pleas'd Queen confide , And Righteous Gods will take the Righteous side . Then let the Romans like the Gyants rise , To fall , as they did , from revengeful Skyes . Cass . I hear their Trumpets sound the notes of Peace , Trumpets from within . As they draw near , the pleasing airs encrease . A Bloody Field was once my sole Delight , My Business , and my Pleasure was to Fight ; 'Till your dear Beauties melted down my Heart , And your kind Pity took your Beauties part . Then was your Conquest absolute and free , And now my Pleasure in the Peace shall be , That I have leave to Love , Live , Die with thee . Enter Decius , Caska , Attended . Dec. To you , Great Princess , from Imperial Rome , Sent on a peaceful Embassy I come . With you alone , will our Dread Empress Treat , And freely to your Choice she leaves your Fate . All Nations else without Dispute Obey , And Homage , as her vanquish'd Vassals , pay . But from his Love to your dead Consort due , Our Coesar condescends to Terms with you . Bo . Well , was his Love , and well his friendship shown , Making those Realms , he swore to guard , his own : But we ( if lawful Princes could ) rebell'd , And secret Fraud with open Force repell'd . Survey our Fields , your slaughter'd Legions count , Learn to what numbers all your dead amount . When her repeated Losses Rome shall know , She will no more contemn , but court her Foe . Dec. The World's dread Master , Rome's Imperial Lord , His Souldiers ravage in your Realms , deplor'd ; He knew not , while their Avarice urg'd them on To those injurious Wrongs , what Wrongs were done . Now Conscious of their guilt , I 'm sent to sue For Peace ; which never Roman us'd to do . See here , his awful , all-Commanding Hand , Shows a Scroal of Parchment , subscribed , Nero Caesar . Sign'd to whatever Reason can demand . Here Peace , or War , upon your Voice depends ; Think ; and declare us either Foes or Friends . Bo . Such have our Sufferings been , Rome's Treachery such , You cannot grant , nor we demand too much : But on these Terms , we chiefly shall insist , First , let your numerous Forces be dismist ; Your Garrisons from strong-Wall'd-Towns withdraw , No British Subject shall be kept in awe . We will have all Prerogatives restor'd , And Rome shall be our Ally , not our Lord . This yielded to , will make us some amends ; Now 't is in your decision , Foes or Friends ? Dec. All this does Rome's indulgent Emperour yield , Your Wish unbounded had an ample Field . Now , peaceably , let Rome's pleas'd Eagles fly , And sweep with noiseless Pinions through the Skye . Let Britain's waving Streamers all be furl'd , And Universal Rest brood o're the World . Let Winds forbear to rage , and Waves to roar , But curling Floods come dancing to the shore ; Let all be Peace ; for War is now no more . Bo . The sev'ring Clouds disclose a glorious Scene ; Bright Sun-shine smiles on Britain once again , And all the Heavens around us look serene . Let us retire a while , our Terms to sign , Where Caesar's Hand has led the way to mine . Then let all Britain at her Bliss rejoice , And you , brave Prince , my lov'd Camilla's choice , to Cassib . Have now your grateful Boadicea's Voice . From your blest Bed let long Succession spring , And every Royal Heir prove such a King . Cass . Now Hymen light thy Torch , and hold it high , And scatter Sparks of Love about the Sky . This day all fears of future Wars removes , And all the rolling days to come , are Loves . Exeunt . Re-enter Decius , Caska . Dec. O Caska ! She 's the same , the very same I saw before in Medway's silver Stream , And now the second sight revives my Flame . All-ravish't on the flow'ry Bank I stood , Viewing her Beauties through the liquid Flood : Which when the Chaste , and Charming Virgin knew , With trembling haste , all blushing , she withdrew , Shot thro' the stream , and vanish'd from my view . I might have known her then of Royal Race , For lovely Majesty and Heavenly grace , Shone bright in all the Features of her Face : But now , I know her better , to my Cost , And found again , I find her ever lost . What might not I have suffer'd by this Truce ? Or what will my fantastick Fates produce ? No Wars shall cease , no Souldier's Arm shall rest , If by this Peace my Rival should be blest , All Peace must fly from my distracted Breast . Cask . Is this the Woman then ? I 'm glad she 's known . Be rul'd by me , she shall be still your own . Now shall your lingring Fever be remov'd , And you be what you were before you lov'd . When I have helpt to ease you of your pain , I 'll turn your Soul , new form'd , for War again . Let not one rising doubt your Thoughts perplex , There are a thousand ways to win the Sex . Dec. She 's too , oh ! too far gone , too great a length , E're to be reach'd by Stratagem or Strength . Not all the dangers of the bloodiest Field , ( You know , my Friend ) can make my Courage yield ; Inur'd to Camps , in noise of Battels Nurst , Death in all Forms I 've seen , and brav'd the worst . Nought but her loss , my settled Soul could move , Nor can I stoop to any God but Love . Fixt like a Rock , amidst a rapid Flood , Beat on all sides by Waves , unshook I stood ; 'Till Love , did like resistless Lightning shoot , Run thro' and thro' , and rend me to the Root . Cask . Suppress your Jealousy , your Rage abate , Nothing is got by this immoderate Heat . To gain your point , wrong measures you pursue , Which smooth deep Policy alone can do : In these Concerns we must with caution move , Less Artifice belongs to War than Love . Dec. See me , my Friend , as calm as Lovers sighs , Silently listning for your kind Advice . My Life , my Love , depend upon your Breath , Plott with dispatch , for all delay is Death . Cask . Far off , indeed , your present Hopes appear , Cassibelan believes his Bliss is near . But he , shall like some foolish Stripling run , Who thinks on the next Hill to seize the Sun ; But when he climbs the Mountain he design'd , He sees his Errour ; and that Prince shall find , Who thinks himself so near , how far he 's left behind . Dec. Let them not meet , nearer than Pole to Pole ; Distract their Loves , as they distract my Soul . Consult with Gods or Fiends ; take any course , And try what may be done , by Fraud or Force . Rack your Invention for the speediest way , To drive their hopes ; far as you rolling Sea Divides their World from ours ; if e're they join , All Heav'n meets in their Souls , all Hell in mine . Cask . War must proceed , and Peace must be supprest , Or you be never of your Wish possest . The Peace confirm'd , your Rival's Joys ensue , His Nuptials then are solemniz'd , and you Shall have your Mistress Married in your view . But bloody Fields , and Battels loud alarms , Will still detain him from her longing Arms. Dec. Speak on a little longer , quickly speak , O! tell me , what Evasions can we make , Or what Pretensions have we now to break ? Cask . Since either side on every term agreed , No doubt the Peace will on their part proceed . Let us some new unthought of point suggest , Which will be certain to confound the rest : Demand your Mistress in your Colleague's Name , Absent , he cannot know he bears the blame , And that again will set us all on flame . Nay , to go farther yet ; declare you come With this Commission from the Court of Rome . Say the great Bravery by Paulinus shown , Now fully to Imperial Caesar known , Makes him , by favour to the Britains led , Propose a Consul to Camilla's Bed , That by their Nuptials either Empire ty'd Firmly , for ever may remain Ally'd . Dec. Enough , the Queen , and all the Council's come , I 'le throw the Dice , what ever be my doom . Thus far the War must favour my design To cross his Hopes , altho' it Crowns not mine . Enter Boadicea , Camilla , Venutia , Cassibelan . Bo . Britain and Rome are Friends from Pole to Pole , Winds waft the joyful News , and Waters roll . Let every Voice , where Seas and Shore extend , Aloud proclaim , that Rome is Britain's Friend . Let fearful Virgins sleep in quiet now , Let well-pleas'd Hinds with chearful labour Plow , And Peace be seen to sit on every Brow . Tides of full Joy swell high in every Breast , For the long harrass'd Earth is now at rest . Dec. Still , mighty Queen , does one great Point remain , And that not granted , all the rest are vain . To you , fair Princess , am I sent to move to Camilla . For my brave Colleague , in the Cause of Love . Long has Paulinus sigh'd his silent Vow , But never would he make it known till now . Caesar declares himself his Souldier's Friend , And on these terms decrees your Wars shall end : By this Alliance will your Realms become Link'd to the Interest of Imperial Rome ; So shall Hostility for ever cease , And Rome and Britain have eternal Peace . Cass . War ! rather let it be eternal War ; Let the whole World in endless Discord jar . Run out , my Souldiers , bid our Trumpets sound , Let in their Notes the Voice of Peace be drown'd : Bid every Britain hasten to his Arms , And rouze the nodding World with new Alarms . We 'll dare the worst , whatever Heav'n prepares , Be Death or Conquest either ours , or theirs . Bo . Fir'd with a just Resentment and disdain , Britain shall never hear of Peace again . Not tho' your Caesar could command our Fate , Shall Boadicea condescend to treat . Would but my Daughter once her self resign , Tho' to an Emperour of the Roman Line ! By Heav'n I 'd use her as my deadliest Foe , Scarce should I use a faithless Roman so . Cass . Tell the bold Rival of my sacred Flame , Tell him , Cassibelan shall sound his Name Thro' all the embattell'd Squadrons , if he dare Catch at the Sound , and meet his Rival there . Dec. Britain , assure your self you shall be met , Now silence yours , and hear a Roman Threat . Those Swords are drawn , whose cruel Edge shall spare No Sex or Age , in the reviving War , Those Souldiers are incens'd , whose desperate Bands Dare act whatever Rage , and Lust commands . They 'l set your Temples and their Gods on Fire , While Heav'n in vain sees the bold Flames aspire . Chaste Matrons , shall like common Strumpets burn , And Infants from the Breasts they suck , be torn . Your Virgins shall on Shrines their Rapes deplore , And pray to helpless Powers who suffer more . Too late you will repent this rash Retreat , Wish for these Articles again too late , When all your losty Towers shall shine in Flames , Death Riot in your Streets , your Silver Thames Roll down into your Seas a purple Flood , And all your Chalky Cliffs look red with Blood . Exeunt Decius , Caska . Cass . Thro' the wide World let War 's loud Voice be sent , Let the sad Earth her dying Sons lament , And Nature sicken for the dire Event . And you Imperial , but regardless Powers , Who unconcern'd sit smileing in your Bowers , Let from your Hands the strugling Lightning fly , And toss your flaming Bolts about the Skye . Let all your Thunder speak your loud Applause , And Heav'n , and Earth , join with us in our Cause . Bo . Beyond my Sex my towring Spirit dares , Which shrinks not at the shrillest sound of Wars . We stand on Terms as good as Rome's , and ours Equal at least , if not exceed their Powers . And Poets , who shall write in sacred Rhimes , Our Actions to be read by future times ; If they take care to learn what each has lost , Shall find that Rome has no great cause to boast . Exeunt . Manet Venutia sola . Ven . Both sides with equal hopes for Arms prepare , I 'm left alone , abandon'd to Despair . How hard , alas ! is my unhappy Fate , Compell'd to love whom all my Nation hate ? Duty , and Love , my doubtful Heart divide , Which , at a loss to choose , takes neither side . Britain must fall , if Conqu'ring Rome succeeds , If Britain prospers , my Paulinus bleeds : Why should I call him mine , who breaks the Vow He made me once , but makes my Sister now ? My other Griefs could , while he lov'd , be born , But now I sink with his unlook'd for scorn : For tho' he should persist to use me ill , I find it in my Fate to love him still .

ACT II . SCENE Changes to the Roman Camp . Enter Paulinus solus . Paul . SURE 't is the best Estate when Mortals prove None of the Sweet or Bitter Draughts of Love ; The Sweet can ravish the transported Soul , But still the bitter makes the larger Bowl . Let those that will in such a state remain , Share in no Pleasure , to partake no Pain ; But I , above that dull indifference rais'd , Would live in Pain to be but sometimes pleas'd : For in the Bliss that Beauty can bestow , One hour of Joy outweighs an Age of Woe . Enter Fabian . Fab . I left , my noble Lord , our Arms Engag'd , And now the bloodiest War again is wag'd : Never did Romans greater Bravery show , Nor ever were receiv'd so well as now . Here British Troops , there Roman Legions yield , And drive by turns each other thro' the Field . Here Fierce Cassibelan , there Decius storms , While Fate attends them both , in all its Forms ; Each Party Fights as certain of Success , Nor can their Losses make their Courage less . Enter Fabian , and runs betwixt them . Fab . Hold , I conjure you , hold , your Rage suspend , And save your Foe , if you would save your Friend . To Decius . Paulinus venturing for your sake too far , Shares the same Fortune with the Prince in War . Fate gives you this Occasion to Redeem Your gen'rous Colleague , by releasing him . Cass . Rather than so my Liberty regain , Contentedly I 'll drag the weightiest Chain . Tho' I should live in shameful Bonds confin'd , I will not go , and leave my Love behind . Terms such as these , what Lover would embrace ? To send his Rival to supply his place . So foolish an Exchange shall never be , Nor shall your Gen'ral be releas'd thro' me , If you would free him , set Camilla free . Dec. Her freedom is not in my power to grant , Concerns like those , will his Concurrence want . Tho' you may view him with a Rival's Eyes , Let not the smallest jealousie arise , His Virtue will secure the Charming Prize . Think on the way a Wise Man would pursue , The Romans want him , and the Britains you . Let each his former Station take , then treat Of Boadicea's , and her Daughter's Fate . Cass . Stay — Let me first the lovely Prisoners see , And know if they consent to set me free ; I 'll do what e'er the Captive Queen desires , And act as she Commands , and Love inspires . Ex Cassib . and Fabian . Dec. Here , Caska , let your Gen'ral's Sufferings end , Love shall be mine , since Fortune is my Friend . Go now , and send my Rival off — but stay , Form some Design to stop him in the way , I would not have Paulinus here to day . Thus does the Plunder of a prosp'rous Field , All I could ask propitious Fortune yield . Since then I won her , with extreamest toil , What hinders , but I now partake the Spoil ? By Heav'n , it shall be so , there lyes my Game , Yet will I softly first confess my Flame , With all the low submission Love can Claim ; If Prayer should prove an ineffectual Course , Rather than fail , I 'll seize on Heaven by force . With Manly Passion to possession move , And all the Joys in one blest minute prove , She would deny an Age of whining Love . Exit . Re-enter Cassibelan leading in Boadicea , Camilla , Venutia following . Cass . Not all the spiteful Fates have Power to do Could move me , were they kind , or just to you . I should not at my own mischance repine , If your Misfortunes had not doubled mine . O! could I ever think your sight would be A Torment , as it grows , alas ! to me , To Camilla , Now I have no way left to set you free . It calls the mounting blood into my face , And makes my troubled Spirits pant a-pace . Yet Heavn 's my Witness , when I saw you seiz'd , To what transporting Rage my Soul was rais'd ; Forward I rush'd with an impetuous Course , Provok'd to Deeds exceeding humane force . But our ill Fates my best Efforts withstood , For sure no Mortal opposition cou'd . Boad . All the Malignant Stars at last have shed Their venom down on my devoted head . Your vent'ring in the Fatal Field so far , Has put an end to our unhappy War . Did you but lead our yet remaining Powers , Had you your freedom , we might hope for ours , But Britain now , no gallant Chief can boast , In you , the Kingdom , and the Queen are lost . Cass . Fortune does here her utmost Malice show , I dare not now be free , I dare not go , And leave my lov'd Camilla with my Foe . If to my proffer'd Liberty I move , I send a Conquering Rival to my Love , Paulinus shares my Fate , shall I release , Or would you have the Roman fill my Place ? First let me in my Bonds resign my breath , And rather find my Liberty in Death . Cam . Doubt not , my Prince , my Constancy , and Truth , Once trust a Woman in her blooming youth . Have I not Sworn by all the Powers Divine , I never would to other Arms resign , Never be any Mortal Man's but thine ? Shall I repeat again the frequent Vow , You must , I know you do believe me now . Go then , my Love , no Conquering Rival fear , He shall not gain another Conquest here . Go Lead again impatient Britain's Powers , And having got your Freedom , hasten ours . Cass . Guide of my Actions , Monarch of my Heart , Who only from your self can make me part . No Jealousies of you disturb my rest , But doubt of Gods , and Fortune , rack my Breast . I doubt the Roman Virtue quite forgot , I doubt , ( Oh! my sick Soul ) what doubt I not ? A thousand dreadful shapes around me fall , Of thousand ills — and Lovers fear them all . Yet in despight of all my fears I 'll go , Since you , O! Soul of Love ! would have it so . I 'll pay a blind Obedience , and be free , And live , if possible , a while from thee . Cam . Heav'n knows , unwillingly I send you hence , But oh ! I cannot with our Fates dispence . The sad necessity your self may see , And you must part , my Prince , to rescue me . Such means for Bliss , to all Mankind are giv'n , Ordain'd to dye , e'er they arrive at Heav'n . My rising griefs work up to that excess , That Soul and Body severing , suffer less . But go , while I can bid you , for anon My hands will hold you , tho' I wish you gon . Go , and the Gods , in pity to our pain , Will surely let us meet in Bliss again . Cass . Oh! shut not up your Lips , nor lock your Tongue , My Soul for ever on their Sound had hung ; On your dear looks my famish'd Eyes would dwell , A thousand things my faultring words would tell , I 'd , talk and touch , and kiss , and then — oh ! then farewell ; Another , and another last Embrace , Embracing her . I 'le print them on your lovely Lips apace , And spread ten thousand thousand o're your Face ; Oh! turn not yet away , for now I go . When shall we meet again , ye Powers ! that know , Boad . going to lead her off . Oh! tell me , shall we meet , and when , and how ? My Thoughts , like Waves , roll o're each other fast , The first confus'dly swallow'd by the last : My throbbing Heart beats thick , and something bodes I know not how , nor what ; propitious Gods ! If ever pangs like mine were felt above , From my wrack'd Soul my mortal Fears remove , Ex. severally . Show your Compassion ; and preserve my Love . Manet Venutia . Ven . It cannot sure be true , it cannot be , Paulinus should so soon abandon me ; 'Till from himself I can his falsehood know , I will not , for my ease , conclude him so ; But then — Oh Heaven ! if he confesses — then What Woman will believe a Man again ? Our Sex is govern'd by severest Laws , Mutes only in our most important Cause : We walk like troubled Shades with silence Curst , And must not speak , 'till those we haunt , speak first Stronger than Men's are all our mad Desires , And yet we struggle to suppress our Fires ; In vain , alas ! we think to keep them pent , While every look and action give them vent : Our Passion breaks through all the thin disguise , Our panting Heart speaks what our Tongue denys , The Love that tears our Breasts , will tremble at our Ey●s . ●●●t . The SCENE draws , and discovers Camilla asleep ; she wakes , and comes forward . Cam . Where am I ! or , oh Heav'n ! where have I been ? And what distracting Visions have I seen ? Methoughts within some dark and dismal Grove , I lay lamenting my departed Love : Fierce Wolves howl'd loud , and Lyons roar'd a-round , And Tygers bounded o're the Neighbouring ground . The savage Satyrs from the Woods advanc'd , And all about in Antick Measures danc'd ; The sight of them my killing Fears increast , But Man came next more Savage than the rest ; He seiz'd , and clasp'd me close , and sternly , swore That I should ease , at last , the Pangs he bore ; He press'd and struggl'd hard , and I at length Must have surrendred to the Tyrant's strength ; When , in compassion to my fearful Pains , The God of sleep loos'd his perplexing Chains . Enter Decius . Dec. Stay , charming Princess , stay ; oh ! do not flee , Turn , lovely , barbarous Beauty , turn , and see The wondrous force and rage of Love in me ; 't is not a sudden Heat , or new-born Flame ; From your first sight , long since , my Passion came . In Medway's Flood , you kindled my desires , And shot into my Soul resistless Fires ; My Flames grow now too fierce , too wild to move In the known Tracks , or beaten Paths of Love . They scorn to go by just Degrees about , But break , at once , like hasty Lightning out . You look astonish't , and the strange surprize Rolls wildly in your lovely charming Eyes . You start , as from a Dream , and seem to take Time to consider if you 're yet awake , While your amazement will not let you speak . Cam . Well may amazement seize a Captive Maid , By cruel Stars to faithless Foes betray'd , Nor know I whither your Discourse can rend , You spoke before in favour of your Friend ; But know , that both so little I esteem , I scorn it equally from you or him . Grow as renown'd as Caesar in your Wars , Get your great Name enroll'd among the Stars , Ride on triumphant o're the Conquer'd Ball , Your being born a Roman ruins all . Dec. That more confirms your Power , and serves to show Love only could reduce a Roman Foe . To such a pitch my wing'd Affections soar , I love not now my Fame or Honour more ; Your Sighs within your swellng Bosom keep , Dry up your Tears , for here you must not weep . I 'le make your Liberty again your own , I 'll seat you on Imperial Britain's Throne , Whence all around , your Royal Eyes shall see No Slave so proud to serve , as I should be . Com . Tho' Liberty is all I wish or want , Of you , I will not ask , or take the grant : Know then , to show you your desires are vain , I loath your Person , and your Love disdain . Let Hounds and Fawns , let Wolves and Lambs be join'd ; Each Creature coupling with a different kind ; Then by the same blind Change of Nature led , Let Britains with the barbarous Romans wed . Dec. Take heed , injurious Fair , and blow not up My Flames , already grown too fierce to stop ; Rather with milder words my Pains asswage , Or Love rejected will convert to Rage : Now , by the Gods , I must , I will be blest , Those Beauties were ordain'd to be possest , holding her . And you , who broke it , shall restore my rest . Cam . Pollute me not with your detested touch , breaking from him . My Ears already have endur'd too much . Heaven will no farther let me be betray'd , But work some Miracle to save a Maid . I see dread Jove on high Olympus stand , And hear the Thunder grumbling in his Hand , Ready to hurle it on your impious Head , And if you dare to wrong me , dash you dead . Dec. Weak Fancies of some undigested Dream , Do what we will , the Gods are still the same ; Stretch'd at their Ease within their blissful Bowers , They mind their Pleasures , and disturb not ours ; But tho' they should on your behalf appear , They shall not force me from a Bliss so near , I love too well , too fiercely to forbear . Cam . Heav'n ! I must let my just Resentments fall , They but provoke him more , and ruin all . Aside . If you would have your Passion understood , To show your Love , act as a Lover shou'd . Possession is the least and poorest part , Not worth your taking 'till you win the Heart ; Then only is the Bliss entire and whole , When with the Body you enjoy the Soul . Long Services alone should that obtain , And not one hasty Love Confession , gain . With humble Looks , and awful Homage sue , With doubts , despairs , and deep distractions woo , Give me those proofs , and try what they may do . Dec. Believe I love , That I already have not snatch'd the Heav'n Within my reach , but waited 'till 't were given : You see me strangely chang'd from what I was , A change which none but you could ever cause . In all my former Wars when Towns were won , And prostrate Beauties crouded up my way , My boundless Rage forbore to rifle none , Seizing on whom I pleas'd as lawful Prey , Scorn'd when enjoy'd , and cheaply cast away . Ambition govern'd all my life before , None of these tender Sentiments I knew , 'Till first I saw you in a happy Hour ; When with my Eyes , fix'd upon yours , I drew The welcome Pain , and pleasing smart from you . Love started late , but fled with wondrous haste , Using his utmost speed to reach the Goal , On his stretch'd Wings he shot himself so fast , He sits enthron'd already in my Soul , Diffus'd as soon as enter'd , thro' the whole . Choose then , dear Charmer , choose the mildest Course , Kneeling . Yield quickly , yield those Joys , my Heavenly fair ; I cannot forfeit , and I would not force , Yield to this Love , to this submissive Prayer , And do not , do not drive me to despair . Thus let me take possession of your Charms , rising and holding her . Thus trembling with the Transport grasp my Bliss , Thus fold your Beauties in my ravish'd Arms ; Print on your balmy Lips this burning Kiss , Faint with an extasie of Joy like this . Cam . What shall I say to move the Tyrant's Soul ? Aside . [ to him ] O take the Kingdoms I was born to rule , Your Sway , let my revolted Subjects own , Seize on the Scepter , and ascend the Throne . Gladly I would the World's large Rule resign , And leave you all , leave but Honour mine . Dec. The World is not a Ransom for your Charms , Nor Men , nor Gods , shall snatch you from my Arms. Take Courage , Fair , dispel your Virgin Fears , And let my longing Lips drink up your Tears ; With transport to your Ravisht Lover move , Crown both our Joys , and give a loose to Love . Thus let me pour my sighs upon your Breast , And softly lull my Feverish Soul to rest . Thus let me run your Beauties o're and o're , Enjoying all , yet still desiring more . Embracing her . Cam . Change me to something , Heaven ! deform'd and foul , Blot from my Face the Charms that fir'd his Soul . Give me the Monstrous Gorgon's dreadful Head , That I may look this fouler Monster dead : Make me as loathsome , and as hideous be , As much abhor'd by him as he 's by me . Dec. O! still continue thus , relentless fair , Rack me with doubts , and drive me to despair ; Sure if you wound so deeply with your scorn , Your kindness cannot be by Mortal born : O! still refuse to meet my fierce desires , My own are hot enough , suppress your Fires ; And yet your lovely Cheeks begin to glow , And strugling warmth strikes out — why , let it now ? Your yielding Heart , would to my Wish incline , Methinks I feel it beat , and leap at mine . Your panting Breast sends up your sighs apace , And soft Consent sits blushing on your Face : Love Dawns , and his resistless Fires arise , And now they lighten fast from both our Eyes ; Ye Gods ! if one must perish in the Fire , Let Semele be safe and Jove expire . Cam . Oh! that my Eyes like Basilisks could roll , And dart their pointed glances thro' thy Soul . Still will you , Cruel Heaven ! your aid deny ? Is it so hard to give me leave to dye ? Gods ! if you ever are concern'd to know , The barbarous Crimes done hourly here below , Exert your selves , and show your Justice now . Without distinction , let your Vengeance strike , Confounding Guilt and Innocence alike ; Drive us on Precipices , Daggers , Flames , Dash'd against Rocks , or dround in rapid Streams , So either dies , 't is all your Suppliant claims . Dec. Death ! I shall trifle all the time away , Now my desires will brook no more delay . Who waits within ? Hence with this foolish Maid , Enter Sold . And see the Charge I gave you be obey'd . 't is your own fault , I take the roughest course . Kneel not , rejected Love knows no remore ; she kneels , and holds by him . Tear off her hold , and drag her hence by force . The Souldiers drag her along the Stage as she speaks . Cam . Oh! now , good Gods ! now let your succour come , Gape Earth , gape wide , and hide me in your Womb ; Fall Heav'n , and crush me with the pond'rous blow , O're my drown'd Coarse , let rolling Oceans flow . Forsake me Life , fly my detested Breath From my curs'd Lungs , give me some hold of Death . 't is done ; I thank you , Gods , my Fears are o're ; And Tyrant , I am now beyond your Power . Swoons , and is carried off in the Souldiers Arms. Dec. Away , she shall not long entrans'd remain , I 'll quickly bring her back to Life again . My Soul is straining to the full delight , Gods ! let me have this one , this charming Night ; Put but my Pleasures out of Fortune's power , Then come whatever can , I've had my Hour . Exit .

ACT III .

SCENE 1. Enter Decius , Camilla . Cam . LOOK down , relentless Heav'n ! look down , and see All that is greatly wretched , here in me . Winds cease to blow , and weeping Clouds to Rain , And ruffled Seas grow still and smooth again . Stars take their turns to glitter in the Skies , The Silver Moon , her Brothers place supplies , And the descending Sun again will rise . But an unhappy Virgin , once deflour'd , Can never have her rifl'd Wealth restor'd : No Remedy is known , no cure is found , When our wrong'd Honour has receiv'd a Wound : For ever lost , if once it suffers Wrack , Nor Men , nor Gods themselves , can give it back . Dec. Not wrack'd , but safe within the Port you ride , And harbour'd thus , may stem the strongest Tide . embracing her . By Heav'n , I love you better than before , The rich Enjoyment has enflam'd me more . Nothing my setled Passion can divert ; You Conquer'd , and you keep my Captiv'd Heart : Devoutly will I still my Bliss pursue , And fix that happiness I found in you . Cam . Oh! what a wretched Creature am I now ? And what a most Inhumane Villain thou ? Where are your Bolts ? ye Gods ! long suffering Heav'n ! Why are no Signs of your Resentment given ? If any longer Vengeance is delay'd , And you refuse to right an injur'd Maid , Lewd Poets shall no more be thought prophane , But all their Scandals will Belief obtain : How you your selves have often acted Rapes , Often deceiv'd the Nymphs in sundry Shapes ; Often debauch'd your Heav'n , and fill'd your Skies With Maiden shrieks , and rifl'd Virgins Cries . And now grown Conscious of your Crimes , your fear Keeps you from punishing this Monster here . Dec. In vain , you let your fruitless Passion rise , In vain , you hurl your Anger at the Skyes , Your unregarded Wrath moves no Replies . Turn hither , dear mistaken Charmer , turn , Behold , with what a constant Flame I burn , And 'till you are forsaken , cease to Mourn . In me repose your Cares , and do not grieve , For only I , who wrong'd you , can relieve ; Lull in my Arms , your anxious Thoughts to rest , And seek to lose them on your Lover's Breast . Cam . Love cannot in that barbarous Bosom dwell , The Brand that fir'd thee , had its Fires from Hell . Nor is there one of all the Fiends below , So Monstrous , or so much a Fiend as thou . How shall I fly from thy detested sight ? How , since thou mad'st me loath it , shun the Light ? I 'le take no Food , but stop my stifl'd Breath , And find at last , some Path that leads to Death , Then , when I reach the dreadful Thund'rer's Throne , I 'll make him hurl his sloathful Vengeance down . Dec. Thou shalt not yet go hence , tho' not the Fear Of either Earth , or Heav'n , detains thee here . I will not change my Bliss for theirs above , Yet theirs consists , like mine , in nought but Love . In making thee , their Art was at a stand , And if they would , they cannot mend their Hand . Cam . Talk this , but talk it to the troubled Sea , Or Winds that bear it on their Wings away . My Soul works high with Grief , as Waves with Wind , Shame and Confusion , Rage and Vengeance join'd , Roll like swol'n Seas in my Tempestuous Mind . Now Curse upon the Stars that rul'd my Birth , Curse on all impious Ravishers on Earth ; On all Injurious Power a double Curse , Men , as they grow the greater , grow the worse . Curse on my Fate that will not set me free , Curse on my self , for wasting words with thee . Dec. The more Men speak , the more their words are lost , When most they show their Love , they suffer most . Nature design'd your Sex to be controll'd , Proud to the fawning , cringing to the bold . And since so much my proffer'd Love you slight , You teach me now to use a Conqu'rour's right . Love shall no more the sole Dictator be , But you shall act whatever I decree , And only live and die , as pleases me . Cam . Why liv'd I not , ye Gods ! in such an Age , When Virtuous Maids endeavouring to escape , By their vain flight , the lustful Followers Rage , No longer able to out-run the Rape , Could , to preserve their Honour , lose their shape ? Fair Daphne thus by youthful Phoebus woo'd , Whom long she shun'd in an unequal Race , Finding her self at last too close pursu'd , Timely Transform'd , beguil'd the God's Embrace , Who clasp'd a Laurel in the Virgin's place . But since my harder Fortune could deny Such wondrous Succour to prevent my shame , Oh! yet relent , ye Gods ! and let me die , Here let my Sufferings end , 't is all I claim , Who cannot be more wretched than I am . Make me forget this my most mortal wrong , And that I ne're may wound you with my moan ; Rob me of Thought , deprive me of a Tongue , Change me to stupid Trees , or senseless Stone , Contrive my quiet to secure your own . Exit . Re-enter Caska . Cask . Love sits in Triumph on your ravish'd Brow , And Beauty waits on Fortune's Chariot now . In your glad Looks , immortal Pleasure 's seen , Dawns at your Eyes , and dances through your Meen . You took the surest , and the speediest Course , For Women only wish and wait for Force . They dare not of themselves resign the Field , But strorm'd , like Frontier Towns , rejoice to yield . Dec. Yes , 't is my Triumph now ; her rifl'd Charms . Are richer Spoils than e're I won in Arms : By all the Gods , she is beyond compare , Not of the Mould that other Women are . Joys after Joys in her possession roll , And Tides of springing Bliss beat fast upon the Soul . Heav'n seems to swim before the dazled sight , And Thought it self lies drown'd in deep delight . Cask . Since then you 've run the mighty Pleasure o're And she can give , and you desire no more ; Since she has nothing new to raise your Flame , But all her Beauties will be still the same , Call your forgotten Glory to your aid , Turn back to War , and send away the Maid . Dec. Go , bid some God , lull'd in delight , on high , Forego his Pleasures , and forsake his Skye ; Bid Jove , whom constant Cups of Nectar feast , Starve in full Banquets , and forbear to taste ; And if the immortal Powers their Heav'n resign , Bid me , by their Example , forfeit mine . Cask . Yet such a Feast , at last , may dangerous prove , And you grow surfeited with too much Love . You 've only tasted yet , the Sweets that swim , Round the deceitful Bowl's delicious brim ; But if you go too deep , and drink it up , Some Dreg at last , may poison all the Cup . Dec. If fearful Sea-men , when a prosp'rous gale , And slowing Tide invites them , will not sail ; If then , they dare not unknown Worlds explore , And run to distant Climes for Golden Ore , They ought to languish in their Wants on Shore . Cask . But if rash Mad-men , when a troubled Sky , And swelling Seas presage a Tempest nigh , When raging Winds work roaring Ocean's high ; If then they venture o're the tumbling Wave , And meet at last the Ruin which they brave ; On them , the Justice of the Gods is shown , The Fault is not their Fortune's , but their own . Dec. No more , since only she can make me blest , Of her I am , and will remain possest ; Let Gods repine , and Fortune do her worst , I will not be by ought , but Death , divorc't . From vengeful Foes I can my self defend , And have a Gift that will secure my Friend . Venutia to Paulinus I 'le resign , And by Consent preserve Camilla mine . Both march in Love and War , triumphant home , And force the vanquish'd Queen to Peace with Rome . He comes , and in his Looks his Joys appear , Wild with his haste , to meet his Princess here . Enter Paulinus . Paul . My Decius , my Deliv'rer , oh ! my Friend , Where shall my Praise and Thanks begin , or end ? My Joys would altogether silence break , But Men speak least , where they have most to speak . Our Eager Words stand strugling on the Tongue , And push each other backwards in the Throng . Where much is due , still mute returns are shown , And Words are needless where the Soul is known . Dec. If any debt but mutual Friendship's due , 't is I , and only I who owe it you : You set me in the midst of danger free , And lost your Liberty , relieving me . Now Fortune , to the full , has Cround our Toils , And all her Charming Face is drest in Smiles . Britain is made to feel the Roman Powers , And both her Beauteous Heiresses are ours . Paul . Something unknown , struck with a strange surprise , And , deaden'd at the News , my flowing Joys ; Doubt's hang upon me still , which won't remove , But doubts inseparably link'd to Love . Should my Venutia for her freedom pine , Can I have any Comfort left in mine ? While but the Name of Captive she retains , I seem to bend beneath the weight of Chains . Dec. Methinks you should not to your Prisoner sue , Make her by Manly Love submit to you . Confine the little God in Fetters now , And let , for once , insulting Beauty bow . Let o're the strugling fair the Net be thrown , And seize , and keep the lovely Prize your own . Paul . That little God laughs at our feeble Power , The more withstood , he wounds us still the more . Men must with humble adoration move , That only works upon the Powers above , And that alone secures success in Love . I know the generous Decius will incline His Heart to favour the desires of mine . Their freedom to the Charming Pris'ners grant , Which , 'till restor'd them , I my self must want . Dec. What , will you then draw back , when Fortune stands Stretching her Blessings out with both her Hands ? She is not often fond , and once refus'd , She will not be the second time abus'd . If presently not seiz'd , she does not stay , But flies , for ever , with disdain away . Snatch at her Favours while her Front 's in view , If past you once , you will in vain pursue : Those Minutes she vouchsafes to smile , improve ; She gave you Conquest , and she shows you Love . Paul . I 'le take the blest occasion , she shall see , Her kindness shall not be abus'd by me . I 'le go , and to my Love my homage pay , At her dear Feet her proffer'd Freedom lay , And show , that she still reigns , and I obey . Dec. You still are on your own destruction bent , But I must stop you in the steep descent . Our Wars are at a happy period now , And Britain must to Conqu'ring Caesar bow : By their Release , she would again revive , And their faint hopes would still be kept alive ; The War again begun , will never cease , And now at pleasure we may make our Peace , Nor will your Love a better Fortune know , While they regard you as their mortal Foe , And the proud Queen rejects and treats you so . Paul . Then I have try'd too far , too far , I fear , The Friendship , which I thought like mine sincere . Had I been put , by you , to such a Test , I should not have refus'd the small request . Dec. Stretch it to any proof excepting this , I cannot grant , nor you demand amiss ; In ought besides your boundless Interest use , This is the only thing I can refuse . Urge it no more , my Friend . Paul . Suppose it done , This very thing which you except alone , Suppose your Prisoner's freed . Dec. I 'le not suppose , What in a Friend so base , and Monstrous shows , And know it was not in the power of Foes . Paul . 't is not your Foe has done it , they are free , And your Consent unquestion'd , freed by me , This single Tryal will your Truth assure , And 't is not much for Friendship to endure . Dec. O Gods ! should any other Man but he , Unpunish'd , tempt me to the last degree ? Believe my Friendship now sincere and true , To show how much it makes me bear from you , One of the Sisters was my Mistress too . Paul . But not the same with mine ? Dec. No , not the same , But one I love with as entire a Flame . Together you , your own , and mine , betray , And drive what both desire , at once away . Paul . They are not gone , not yet , but hither bent , They come , at my desire , for your Consent . When you the Charming mournful Beauties see , And are the Lover you pretend to be , You will prevent my Wish , and ask Consent of me . Cask . Furies and Hell ! could ought that 's worse befall ? Now the storm rises that will wrack us all . How fatal may this Ominous meeting prove ? Aside . But , what could ever better come of Love ? Plague seize 'em , choak them Pestilential Air ; Hell swallow them , let them make mischief there . Had he took my Advice to l●t them go , All had been well ; let Heav'n look to it now . Dec. Run , stop them , Caska , — stop them quick — but stay , I 'le haste , and send them with dispatch away . Their Liberty you need no longer fear , Going out . They 're free to go , come any where — but here . Paul . Hold , neither of you stirs ; for I must see Venutia , e're my self will set her free . strugling with both . Dec. I 'le send your Mistress to you ; Love is grown So strong in me , so high the Flame is blown , It makes me fearful to behold my own . gets loose , and is going out . Paul . See! they are here already ; at the view Of mine , methinks that I grow fearful too , Whom Custom should embolden more than you . Enter Boadicea , Camilla , Venutia , Fabian . Bo . Have our remorseless Fates , in all their Store , More Mischiefs still ? or can we suffer more ? Why come we hither ? do your Hearts relent ? Or can a Roman of his Crimes Repent ? Rather , insultingly you go to tread On the sad Ruins which your selves have made . To spurn your wretched Prey , already torn , First show your Cruelty , and then your Scorn . Paul . Oh! stop not , why ? speak , why are we accus'd ? How have we guilty been , or you abus'd ? Your looks and words run through me , and I feel Something fore-boding some unheard of ill . Your Sighs have shook my Heart , the drops that roll Down your swollen Breast , distill upon my Soul . Oh! stop not ; once again unlock your Tongue , Produce the Villain , and proclaim your wrong . Why Reigns that Royal Sorrow on your Brow ? Why do those Tears so prodigally flow ? What is the cause of this so solemn Woe ? Bo . Are our Inhuman Wrongs unknown to you ? But sure they are , since you are injur'd too . We have no Wrongs , no Sufferings to deplore , But you , unhappy you , alone , have more ; Your sharing in our Woes , your Fame secures , For all our Miseries are doubly yours . Paul . Oh , all ye Gods ! rack me not thus with doubt , Let , quickly let the fatal Secret out . What impious Villain durst your Wrongs design ? And how ? Oh! tell me , are your Sufferings mine ? Speak but his Name , pronounce it in a word , And you shall be reveng'd with Fire and Sword . Bo . Hear then ; to raise your Fury far above All vulgar Rage ; hear of your Ravish'd Love . Already Fir'd ? Stay 'till my story end ; Stay 'till you know her Ravish'd by your Friend ; Pointing to Decius . There stands the Fiend , there let your Rage descend . Paul . My Mistress ? Drawing . Bo . Yes , your Mistress . Paul . And by this ? Ravish'd by this Friend here ? Bo . Yes , Roman , yes . Her whom he late demanded in thy Name , Her has he forc'd to quench his impious Flame , And drown'd her Honour in eternal Shame . Dec. You are not wrong'd , hold yet , and hear me speak , She raves , and I must clear her mad mistake . Caska enters with Souldiers , who thrust between them . Paul . Off , Slaves ; you 'l safer seize the Thund'rer's Hand , Advancing to discharge the flaming Brand . Dec. Go , somewhere else , your sawcy aid afford , Think you that I can fear a single Sword ? From you , because you were my Friend , I 'le bear This rude Assault ; dispel your jealous fear , And drive away your doubts , if you will hear . Paul . Doubts ? by the Gods despair , distraction , Death , Hell 's kindled in me , and my pois'nous Breath , Shall blast and send thee to the Shades beneath . Ven . Hold , my lov'd Roman , if I've yet a part , Thrusting between them . Or any power o're that disloyal Heart . Hold , I conjure you , my Paulinus , hold , And wait but 'till our Tragick Scene unfold . Paul . If you have any part ? why don't you see , That all this Rage and Vengeance is for thee ? Can you your self your barbarous Wrongs forgive ? Can you desire your Ravisher should live ? Ven . I suffer'd not the Rape , your much lov'd Life Was my sole fear in this unequal strife . Cam . But I — unhappy I — Confusion — Shame , Suppress my Words , and choak me at the Name . Swoons . Paul . Look to the Princess there ? Oh! barbarous Man , What can repair thy Crimes ? sure nothing can . What shall I call thee now ? Oh! what can be A Title base , or foul enough for thee ? Thou Fiend ! Ven . Thou Monster Cam . [ recovering ] Ravisher . Paul . Barbarian . Bo . Roman . Paul . Survey your Ravish'd Love , and ruin'd Friend , And think , Oh! think , where can our Miseries end ? Rome's glory now , no longer seems divine , And thou , to further this , this damn'd Design , Hast took no Name , oh ! Gods no Name — but mine . Oh! this abhorr'd , this execrable deed , Will make our wounded Fame for ever Bleed ; In all our Annals , thou shalt stand accurst , A second Tarquin , blacker than the first . Alive detested , unlamented dead , Mention'd with Curses , and with Horror read . Dec. I thank you ; once my soft'ning Soul begun To melt , and ready Tears prepar'd to run : But thy Reproaches fire me with Disdain . And Indignation sets me right again . Because I wrong'd thee First , I First forgive , And since thou wert my Friend , I let thee live . Let when you will the Captive Women go , I have no farther Business with them now . Again I 'll hunt them o'er the dusty Plain , And make them when I please my own again . Bo . Away , my wretched Daughters , let 's away My sickning Soul abhors a longer stay , Exit . cum suis . Where the curst Scene of all our Sorrows lay . Paul . Yet ' ere , you go , the doubtful War suspend , Let the dire Hate of Rome and Britain end . I 'll march the small Remainder of my Powers , And muster up my Troops to joyn with yours , Together , we may make the Villain bow , Who is too Strong , alas ! for Justice now . With force united , crush and dash him Dead , And shoot at once our Vengeance on his Head . Bo . After our Sufferings Peace ? No Roman , no ; 'Till Stars forbear to shine , and Seas to flow , 'Till Billows cease to toss , when Tempest blow . 'Till Fire , and Water , Heaven , and Hell unite , And Day is swallowed in Eternal Night ; Till all Things to their Dissolutions come ; Britain , shall know no Peace with barbarous Rome , Oh! see us Heav'n ! with mortal sufferings spent , ( Kneeling . ) And let at last , your angry Powers relent . Behold us Earth , and say you never bore , Three Wretches , so Forlorn and lost before . Sure , when our Story in an After-Age Is represented on the Tragick Stage , No Savage Eyes their struggling Tears shall keep ; But for our Woes the whole sad Audience weep . Exit . cum suis . Paul . Hither I came with a transported Heart , Now , with a Soul quite sunk with Grief , depart . My Woes fall thick , and my distracted Breast , With a sad Load of deadly Sorrow prest , Never , oh ! never must admit of Rest . My future Life , not the least Bliss shall boast , But mourn a luckless Love for ever lost . I thought to 've found her full of laughing Joys , A Thousand Cupids dancing in her Eyes ; But , oh ! ye Gods ! to my amazing Fears , I found those Eyes drown'd in a Flood of Tears ; I thought but now , my Love might best be shown , Making her Liberty again her own . But this unthought of Chance , this , Headlong Fall Has worse , far worse than ever , ruin'd all . Thus , the wrack'd Mariner a while will strive , With all his Skill in swimming to survive : In hopes , like mine , of better Fate in store , Who , when he just has reach'd the wish'd for Shore , Stretching his Arms to fasten on the Coast , Is by some suddain Wave , dash'd back and lost . Exit .

The End of the Third Act.

ACT IV . SCENE changes to the City of Verulam . Enter Cassibelan , solus . Cass . THE Morning flutters on the Mountain's Top , And Rising Faulcon-like , goes towering up . The smoaking Mists , and steaming Vapours , flie ; And Stars , in stronger Light , grow dim and die . Small Streaks at first , the blushing Skies betray , Then rushes on a-pace the springing Day . And yet it lends us but a glimm'ring Light , Nor willingly succeeds the dismal Night . When Ghosts in screaming Swarms were seen to fly , When Tempests toss'd the troubled Ocean high , And Peals of Thunder tore the flaming Sky , I dream'd ( the while I slept ) of Murders , Rapes , A Thousand Horrours , in a Thousand Shapes . I saw , methoughts , my Love with ruffled Hair , Her Robes all torn her , panting Bosom bare ; By Heav'n she comes , oh ! my prophetick Fears , O welcome to my Soul ; but why in Tears ? To Camilla entring . How came you hither ; Speak , and ease my Pain , No Matter how ; since you are here again . Cam . Clasp me not , Prince , with this so kind Embrace , Nor keep your Eyes fix'd on my shameful Face . Oh! give me not , this dear , fond welcome Home , Which you will grudge , when you know , how I come . Curse the vast Ransome I was forc'd to pay , And drive me from you with disdain away . Cass . I cannot grudge a Ransome you could give , One only ; which you would not lose to live . I cannot think that Treasure ever giv'n : I know thee true , I know thee , chast as Heav'n . Cam . Heav'n may be forc'd ; did not the Giants once Assault the Sky , and scale the Sacred Sconce ? Think where I 've been ; oh ! think , unhappy Prince , Since you return'd , think what I've suffer'd since . Betray'd to all the Wrongs a Maid can bear , Which you , unhappy , you who love me , share . Look on your self , poor Prince — but oh ! to see The greatest Wretch now living , look on me . To tell you more ; ev'n injur'd Virtue's loth , One Hellish Act , one Fiend has ruin'd both . Cass . The Thunder grumbl'd long , before it fell , But now it drives me to the lowest Hell . Tho' Death to Miseries like mine is due , Yet I will live , my Love , to comfort you ; Your Tears , within your swelling Eye-Lids keep ; You wreck my Soul the more , the more you weep . Oh! keep those Gales , those Gusts of Sighs supprest , Repose your Sorrows in your Lover's Breast , Lull in my Arms , your anxious Cares to rest . Cam . Thou dearest , best of Lovers , loveliest Youth , How shall I recompence thy matchless Truth ? I 've been abus'd even to the last degree , Thou too hast been abus'd ; — tho' not by me . Oh! should you think , that e'er my Soul agreed , Or e'er consented to the sinful Deed ; That , that alas ! would double all I bear , Drive me to Madness , plague me with despair , Plunge me in Hell , hotter than Fiends have there . Cass . By Heav'n I know you chaste , the Wrongs you bore , Serve only to endear you to me more . My Passion is the same ; the same my Heart , Of which you have not lost the smallest Part . Rather with quicker Beatings , feel it move , And struggle to you with redoubled Love . I love You , by the Gods , to that excess , Which even no Love-sick Poet can expess . Thou wert the dearest Health I had to boast , And Life , in losing thee , was almost lost . But since the Gods indulgently restore , And give thee back ; I can but prize thee more , And strive to keep thee better than before . Cam . Sure this unimitable Goodness can Spring only from a God ; oh more than Man ! Here , in this Kiss , my Prince , receive my Soul , That still was thine , that still is pure , and whole . Oh! hear me , hear me Gods ! if e'er I prove Ingrateful to this World of wondrous Love ; May I live ever branded with the Name , I dare not mention for the killing Shame . Cass . Gods ! 't is too much for Man , such Charms as thine , Have , as they merit , an effect Divine . While thro' thy Lips the murmuring Accents break , I listen with belief that Angels speak . Each Word with subtle Force a Passage gains , Runs thro' my Blood , and dances in my Veins . Speak , till I stop you with an eager Kiss , ( Embracing ) Your Tongue shou'd know no stop — but this — and this . Your Lips are still the same , my Heavenly Dear , I taste no Ravisher , no Roman here . Since thy transporting Sweets continue such , He got but little — Yet he got too much . I wou'd not lose one Look , one Touch of thee , Tho' still the Rapture was reserv'd for me . Cam . Revenge me , Prince , 't is all I live for now , Let sudden Vengeance strong Affection show . Gods ! give the Villain to me ; let him stand Within the reach of this remorseless Hand : I 'd set him on the Rack , and see him ply'd With Fire and Sword , long tortur'd ' ere he dy'd . His Soul and Body at a Tread I 'd crush , Spurn him , oh ! spurn him ; tear him , tear him thus . Spurns the Ground , and tears her Hair . Cass . Forbear , thou injur'd Innocence , forbear , And leave your Vengeance to your Lover's Care . If Heaven is not of all its Gods bereft , Or if in Men there 's any Valour left , I will revenge ; let , quickly let me know The Villain's Name ; 't is all I stay for now . What need I ask ? Paulinus ? Cam . No : 't was he Who pitying our Misfortunes , set us free . But Decius : — curse upon the Monster's Name , He wrought our Woes , and my eternal Shame . Cass . Enough : my violated Saint , adieu , I cannot loiter longer ev'n with you . Now from my Breast let all Remorse be fled , I 'll wade thro' Blood , and trampling o'er the dead , Return in Triumph with the Villain's Head . Going out . Cam . Hold yet — though you so nobly can forgive , Nay love me too ; yet ought not I to live ? I dare not trust my Fame to future Times So far as to survive the Monsters Crimes . See this — ye Gods ! had this been mine before I had not been alive that fatal Hour , Drawing a Dagger . But put my self above the Conqueror's Power . Remember me , my Love , and now adieu , And in my Death believe me chastly true . Nay , come not near me ; by my Wrongs I strike The sooner if you do . Cass . I 'll do the like : Drawing his Sword . By Heaven we 'll go together ; if you go , I 'll second : By th' Gods , prevent your Blow . Live , or I die . They throw down their Weapons , and run , and embrace . Cam . Hold , my dear Prince , to give , The greatest sign of Love ; I 'll live , I 'll live . The wondrous force of Woman's Passion see , Since I , in rigid Vertue 's spight , can be Content to live in Infamy with thee . Cass . Oh! Extasie of Love , oh ! Heaven of bliss , All this thou art ; and who wou'd part with this ? In thy sweet Lips my ravish'd Soul I 'll drown , Wash off the Roman taste , and leave my own . Cam . Take yet another Love ; and now away ; Our Vengeance will not let thee longer stay , But drives thee to begin the dreadful Day . Cass . ( Embracing ) Oh! thou hast fir'd me ; all my Blood boils high ; Thou temper'st me like Thunder in the Skie , Mak'st me too hot to hold , then let'st me flie . No longer , righteous Powers , your Aid refuse , Or give me , Gods ! the Bolts you will not use . Lend me , ye Furies , your Infernal Brands ; And wreath your Snakes round my revengeful Hands . In his curs'd Breast I 'll kindle all your Hell ; Revenge ! Revenge ! — Farewel , my Love , farewel . Exit . Camilla , sola . And canst thou weep , and let this Water fall ? For Miseries , like thine , must this be all ? No , let thy Griefs to raging Tempests rise , Burst thy swoll'n Breast with thy tumultuous Sighs , And roar for Vengeance to regardless Skies . Loose to the Winds toss thy dishevell'd Hair , Throws abroad her Hair , and tears open her Clothes . Tear off thy Robes , thy woful Bosom bare , Seem what thou art , Distraction and Despair . Now rear thy H●nd at Heaven , and curse thy Birth , Now grovel on the Ground , and grow to Earth . Here lie — and rage , and rave , and weep , and howl ; Throws her self down . Show ( if thou can'st ) the Torture of thy Soul . The Dagger ! — have I got thee once again ? This ( if I durst ) might case my mortal Pain . But so a double Vengeance wou'd ensue , For my Cassibelan will perish too . O! wou'd I cou'd run mad — my Brain turns fast — I feel it whirle — and shall run mad at last . Break my poor Heart , turn my distemper'd Brain , Start Eye-Balls from your Spheres — And never let me see the Light again . Enter Boadicea . Bo . Poor Girl ; what on the Ground ? Lie still , my Child ; Thy Looks , and all thy Words are justly wild . Lie still , and I will lie beside thee down , Contemplating on Earth , disdain a Crown . Alas ! the proudest of us is a piece Of this vile Dirt ; and where 's the pride of this ? Cam . True , Royal Mother , and unhappy I , Am viler than the Dust on which we lie . Here let me take the Measure for my Grave ; 't is all I hope that I shall shortly have . Bo Way to such Thoughts as these you shall not give : No Daughter , you shall be reveng'd , and live . Our Troops are by your furious Lover led , Who looks like Jove ( when thundering ) at their head . I came to find you , lest excess of Grief , Shou'd make you run to Death to meet Relief . I heard you moan ; one while your Voice was faint , And softly murmur'd out your sad Complaint : Then rising to a bold and angry Strain , You spoke , as might express extremest Pain . Like troubl'd Seas your noble Rage wrought high , And mounting menac'd the relentless Sky . Gods ! cruel Gods ! Oh tell me ! do you know These Suff'rings , do ye see this Pomp of Woe ? Sure if you did , your Light'ning wou'd be driv'n To show the Justice of Offended Heav'n . But ye are Gods ; and living at your Ease , You care not whether Earth has War or Peace . Cam . With all the Pains of Hell my Soul is torn , Opprest with Woes too mighty to be born , So high my Passion is , my Pangs so strong , That sure they cannot now continue long . The Tempest rages with so fierce a Blast , 't is grown too violent and hard to last . Bo . Oh! let me calm thy Sorrows with my Tears ; Speak , say thou wilt not die , and ease my Fears . On thy wrack'd Breast , my much-wrong'd Child , I 'll pour These gentle Drops , and this refreshing Show'r . Thus weeping o'er thee , with this falling Rain , Lull thy sad Griefs and lay the Storm again . Thus clasp thee to thy mournful Mother's Breast , And fold thee in these well-known Arms to rest . Cam . Fly ; lest ye be infected with my Woe ; For all that touches me , must needs be so . Both by the Gods and Fates I stand accurst ; It was my Wrongs that made you wretched first . My Loss has made you poor , my fatal Fall Pull'd universal Ruine on us all . Bo . Once more , my Child , raise your sad Spirits up ; Like Flow'rs , you are not faded , tho' you droop . Your Charms are still the same ; the blushing Rose Tho' shrunk with Wet , next Sun-shine will disclose Her op'ning Sweets , and smiling , show she grows . Your Beauty flourishes in perfect Bloom , And happy Days roll on in haste to come : Your Wrongs your gen'rous Prince's Flame improve , And his Compassion has encreas'd his Love . Relenting Heav'n decrees your Suff'rings o'er , Doubles your Blessings for th' Abuse you bore ; Shall one black Day dawn all the White in store . Enter Venutia Ven . The Priests are ready , and Arabian Gums Have scented all the Fane with rich Perfumes . By Sacred strokes the several Victims fell , And all the s●●e●●l Entrails bode● well . Your Anger in your Royal Looks I see , And am afraid you are enrag'd at me . Bo . Yes , Rebel Daughter , yes , at last I know Your impious Love for our inveterate Foe : But by my just resentments , e'er you joyn With any Monster of the Roman Line ; E'er Heaven or Earth shou'd see a Match like this , I 'll take your Life , did I not hope for his . Rise , my Camilla , rise ; the Druids wait , And now they open wide the Temple-gate . Scene draws , and discovers Temple Prayers , Tears , and Sacrifice shall Heaven atone , Importunately prostrate at their Throne , With holy Force we 'll pull their Vengeance down . The Scene draws , and discovers a Temple . The Queen with the two Princesses go and kneel at the Altar , while two Druids sing the following Song .

SONG . 1 Druid . PRepare our Altar , make it clean With Blood of Oxen newly slain . Burn our Incense , place it high , And let the grateful Perfumes flie In curling Smoak , and cloud the Skie . 2 Druid . Throw now the strugling Victim on , Press , press him hard , and keep him down : Pierce his Sides deep , and let them pour Into your Golden Bowls their Gore , 'Till they can shed● can bleed no more . 1 Druid . No● all kneel with me , kneel around , With Adoration kiss the Ground . Pray that the Gods at last wou'd bless Our British Armies with success , And all our cruel Wrongs redress . 2 Druid . See , see auspicious Flashes rise , Met with like Flashes from the Skies , ( It Lightens ) We offer'd in a lucky Hour , The thirsty Flames drink up the Gore , And now the Victim is no more . Chorus of both . Hark , hark , hark , hark , the Battle is begun , Now , now the Victors shout , the Fight is done , The Gods are pleas'd , and Conquest is our own . At the end of the Song an Eagle flies into the Temple , and flutters a while about the Flame of the Sacrifice ; at last falls in , and is burnt .

Bo . I thank you , Gods ! for this auspicious Sign ; So perish all our Foes : Oh! Powers Divine , If Royal Knees bow'd at your sacred Shrine . If a crown'd Head , wrack'd with unusual Cares Can move your Pity ; if a Monarch's Pray'rs Can pierce the Roof of Heaven , and reach your Ears ; If we are Types of you , not plac'd for Show , But truly your Vicegerents here below ; No longer see your selves , ye Sacred Powers , Abus'd in us ; your Strength despis'd in ours . Show that Revenge to Heaven alone belongs ; Do Justice to your selves , and right our Wrongs . Cam . If , dreadful Gods ! a ravish'd Virgin's Cries Have ever rais'd Compassion in your Skies ; If injur'd Honour , and unhappy Love , Are the concerns of any Power above ; Oh! now look down , behold a rifled Maid , Thus prostrate on your sacred Pavement laid , Thus groveling on the Ground , implore your Aid . See in my Tears my trembling Eye-Balls roll , And mark the sad Confusion of my Soul . See what a Wretch lies here , how full of Woe , My Miseries your Omniscience needs must know , And Justice punish him who made me so . Now shower your Vengeance on the Villain's Head , And with some dreadful Judgments dash him dead . Ven . If streaming Tears from Virgin's Eye-Lids rain'd Untouch'd by Villain's Hands , in Thought unstain'd ; If such can make your stubborn Pity bow , And melt you to Compassion , show it now . Trumpets sound . Enter Cassibelan and Soldiers ; Decius Prisoner . The Queen and her Daughters rise . Cass . 't is done ; Heaven has at last its Justice shown , And Victory and Vengeance are our own . Our Fortunes equal with our Wishes rise , And Blessings fall profusely from the Skies . Never cou'd Britain Nobler Conquest boast ; Pointing to Decius . But this , this Captive Monster swells it most . Ha! Gods what ails my Love ? haste , haste and save Camilla swoons . Her Life , or you take back whate'er you gave . Bo . Away , my Soldiers , flie , And quickly make our wretched Prisoners die . This Moment let a Thousand Slaves expire ; Tear them with Racks , ply them with Sword and Fire ; Send them to Fiends beneath , and let them tell , There comes a greater Fiend than all in Hell . How fares my lov'd Camilla ? Cass . Look , my Dear , See your Cassibelan secures you here . Wipe these faint Drops from your fair lovely Brow , Recal your fleeting Soul for Vengeance now . Look up ; the Triumphs of our Justice see ; Die not with him , but stay and live with me . The Scene draws , and discovers several Prisoners put to death by several sorts of Tortures . Behold , thou barbarous Wretch , those horrid Scenes , To Dec. View theirs , and dread thy own approaching Pains . The Torments they endur'd were small and poor To those which thou art destin'd to endure . Sharp were their Deaths , but short , and quickly past , Thine shall for Hours , and Days , and Ages last . Then shall ten thousand Curses send thy Soul , Where Fiends in boyling Lakes of Sulphur roll , And Furies in Eternal Tortures howl . Dec. Talk not ; but send me to the threatned Death , Life is not worth the waste of Roman Breath . Go , and prepare the Rack , the Sword , the Flame , With all the Cruelty Revenge can frame . Consult your bloodiest Ministers of Rage , And search the Records of the bloodiest Age . To make it crueller than Man can do , Consult exasperated Woman too . Such shall my Courage in my Suff'rings be , My Patience such , you shall astonish'd see How unconcern'd a Roman Soldier dares , Embrace his Fate whatever Form it wears . Is led off . Bo . Here let the Triumphs of our Isle begin , This happy Day makes me once more a Queen . Our Vengeance sure , and Victory compleat ; What greater Blessings cou'd we beg from Fate ? Now , on our Foes , just Heav'n begins to frown , Thy Wrongs , Camilla , bring their Vengeance down . For ever , shall the Day by them be curs'd When with rash Hands thy Chastity was forc'd . From us the Anger of the Gods is fled , Thou turn'st it all on their devoted Head . Now , let the Joys of of Britain know no bound , But all our Hills , and Shoars , and Seas resound , And Winds upon their Wings , waft the glad Tidings round . Io ! Britannia , be the general Cry , Io ! Britannia , eccho to the Sky . Exeunt . Manet Venutia sola . Ven . In what a maze of Fate , poor Mortals tread ? Blind Wretches , by as blind a Fortune led . What have we suffer'd from malignant Powers ? And how deplorable a State is ours ? Some dawn of Comfort shines thro' all this Ill , To find my Dear Paulinus faithful still , Much from his Colleague's Guilt , my Sister bore ; But had the Guilt been his ; I 'd suffer'd more . Exit . The End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V. SCENE changes to the Roman Camp . Enter Paulinus solus . Paul . WIth what a Load of Vengeance am I curst ! Yet Fortune seems not to have done her worst . Venutia's Safety shows some dawn of Joy , But still a dismal Cloud o'er-casts my Sky . Her Sister's Suff'rings cut off all Relief , Nor can she now in Honor ease my Grief . Damn'd Villain ! — but the God's thy Crimes pursue , Thy Death must expiate them — if Death can do . The rolling Stone , or whirling Wheel wou'd be A Punishment too small , and light for thee . The much-wrong'd Britain's just Revenge prepare , What art thou here ? exempted from thy Share ? Then Heav'n is just by halves . To Caska entring . Cask . Heav'n takes its due ; So let it , wou'd but you do Justice too . Think what vast Matters on your Arms depend , And give not Fate the leisure to descend , But succour , as you ought , your dying Friend . Paul . Death , and Damnation , be his sudden Doom , Fiends tear him ; Furies drag him to his Tomb . Of all Mankind wou'd you have me redeem The Monster ? me relieve a Wretch like him ? Who , in usurping my much injur'd Name , With all the basest Treach'ry Hell cou'd frame , Ruin'd my Love , and sully'd all my Fame . Cask . Mark who destroys your Fame , when you deny To fight ; and tamely let your Colleague die ; When you stand here , and see him meet his Doom ; How will you answer that , to ●ame , and Rome ? Paul . Is it for you to ask ? No Matter how , 't is Caesar only has the Right to know . Cask . Yet hear me ; since your Honour cannot move , think , and think quickly ; who destroys your Love . For know , when Decius shall resign his Breath , That Hour you rashly yield him up to Death ; Know that Cassibelan shall then be led The joyful Bridegroon to Venutia's Bed . Paul . Ha! What ? and when ? Cask . That Hour that Decius dies , Ruins all yours , and crowns the Prince's Joys . Paul . You rave ; meer Riddles , Riddles . Cask . Trust your Fate ; You 'll find a sad Repentance come too late . Paul . Where is Camilla then ? Cask . Why ? dead ; she play'd , The Roman , as became a ravish'd Maid . Her last Desires , forc'd the poor Prince to vow Love to her Sister , which he pays her now . The Queen , and Court , improve her dying Prayer , At once — the Funeral and the Nuptial Torch prepare , Lest Britain should be left without an Heir . Paul . Ha! sure it cannot be , it is not true ; All must be false that ever comes from you . This may be falser than thy self . Cask . It may , Believe it not , nor go to fight , but stay , And with his Life , throw your own Love away . Death to a Roman is not such a Curse , But still the loss of Love is Millions worse . Paul . What shall I think ? it may , or may not be ; But if it is ; Heav'ns ! What becomes of me ? Perhaps 't is his Device , some Fetch from Hell , But who will venture where he loves so well ? Cask . Nay , do not muse ; resolve on something strait , You have not time to dally with your Fate . The Day wears fast , the rolling Hours ride Post , And Opportunity will soon be lost . Paul . Or true , or false , no Devil can design , Contrive , or lay a Plot to match with thine . Nothing till now , could jealous Thoughts suggest , Which your curst Engines kindle in my Breast , And rolling Wild-Fire-like destroy my Rest . March once more to the Field , ye Pow'rs Divine ! To the Soldiers . How hard and intricate a Task is mine ? Compell'd at once by so perplex'd a Fate , To save the Maid I love , and Man I hate . Exit with Soldiers . Manet Caska solus . Cask . When Honour , Interest , Hell and Vengeance fail'd , A Woman ( as I knew she would ) prevail'd . It could have been by nought but Woman done . Woman , who first brought all these Mischiefs on . Now , let all Plagues on Love-sick Fools be thrown , If any Plague is greater than their own . None with their Follies would their Thoughts perplex , If all , like me , could understand the Sex . False is their Grief , dissembl'd is their Joy ; This Minute kind , and the next Moment coy . They slight , when woo'd ; yet ev'n , tho' slighted , wooe ; Fly when we follow , when we fly , pursue . Loose are their Thoughts , yet all their Words reserv'd ; By their own Pride , their own Desires are starv'd . Their Faces and their Son's were form'd to cheat ; Their Air , and Mien , and Actions are Deceit . Cast Pride and Baseness , Treachery and Shame Up in one Word , and Woman is the Name . Exit Caska . Scene changes to the City . An Alarm . Enter Boadicea . Camilla with Soldiers . Bo . Our Armies move like Clouds beneath the Skies , At whose first Clash th'imprison'd Light'ning flies . Our Fields are cover'd with the Roman Pow'rs , And Stones from batt'ring Engines storm our Tow'rs , Abroad , the British Youth in Battle falls ; At home , the thund'ring Rams o'erthrow the Walls . Sharp Javelins now come singing o'er the Plain , And mingling Troops the desp'rate Fight maintain . Fly , fly , my Soldiers , with a fresh Recruit , Where Britain faints beneath the fierce Dispute . To the Soldiers . Rush with Reserves to every stagg'ring Troop ; Drive with new force the broken Squadrons up . Sustain this single Day their dreadful Pow'r , And Rome shall never give us Battle more . Cam . Follow your God-like Leader to the Field , And throw your selves around him as a Shield . Let him not spur too fiercely thro' the War : Let not his Vengeance urge him on too far . Still where he strives to pierce , his Steps pursue , Watch all his Motions , keep him still in View , And fight for him as he has fought for you . With your own Lives his sacred Life redeem , Or you , and I , and all are lost in him Exeunt Soldiers . Bo . Once more , thus low , to you great Gods ! I bow . Oh! see our Wars at their sad Upshot now . kneeling . See all things here in wild Confusion hurl'd : See Britain grappling for her little World . Once more , relenting Heav'n ! look down in Smiles , And bless once more these late-lov'd happy Isles . Now guide our Arms , ye Gods ! direct our Sword ; This joyful Day let Britain be restor'd ; And save the Nation where you 're most ador'd . Exit . Cam . Thus low , low as the Ground that gave me Birth ( And oh , that I cou'd sink beneath the Earth : ) Kneeling . Thus low , I beg you , if the Fates design The Fall of Britain ; still , ye Pow'rs Divine ! Tho' you reject her Prayers , refuse not mine . I beg no Conquest in the Bloody Strife ; No Crown , no Kingdom , but my Prince's Life . Save him , oh save him , ' midst those loud Alarms ; Restore him living to these longing Arms : I 'll force him with me to some peaceful Shore Where he shall hear the Sound of Wars no more . Exit . The Alarm continues . Scene changes to a Prison . Enter Decius as from it . Dec. Hark! 't is the wish'd for Clash of Roman Swords , The Noise of War some Hopes of Life affords . I 'm glad once more to grasp thee ; and depend On thee ; 't is thou must be my chiefest Friend . To his Sword . I've knock'd my Fetters off , my Goaler slain , And am ( methinks ) all Roman once again . O! for some British Soldier now to slay , And in his Armour get unknown away . Ha! here comes one ; turn , and your life resign , You could not fall by nobler hands than mine . Enter Caska in British Armour . Kill'd as he enters . Cask . Oh! Decius , what , what has thy rashness done ? O! Death and Hell ! I find my Life is gone . Falls . What more cou'd my malignant Fortunes do , At once , with me , she sheds her Bane on you . Dec. O! curst , curst fatal Error , damn'd Decree Of spiteful Fates , to make you fall by me . Kneeling by him Curse on my haste in making sure a Foe ; Curse on my blindness that believ'd you so . If Heaven this one Advantage will resign , And spare your Life , I 'll gladly offer mine . Why was this most unhappy Armour born ? Why was this damn'd , this fatal Habit worn ? Speak , and some Comfort to your Decius give , Say , have you any hopes ? and can you live ? Cask . T is done , this hurry of a Life is past , And Death's cold Hand creeps o'er my Eye-Lids fast . Thus in a moment my Designs are crost , And all my brave ambitious Projects lost . Living I still deny'd ; but dying prove That more than Human Wisdom rules above . Dies . Dec. What can the Gods by this Mischance design ? Or is thy Death the sad Presage of mine ? Distractedly my Thoughts begin to roll , And something wondrous horrid , shocks my Soul . A guilty Conscience shoots its angry Sting ; A guilty Conscience ! is there such a thing ? Yes Heaven ! I feel my very Heart-strings bleed And wish undone that execrable Deed . From unhurt Skies our Crimes , like Darts rebound , And on the Wretch who shot them , turn the Wound . My Spirits faint , yet I will rouze them up , Death is the worst , Death cannot make me droop . Let them pursue Revenge with Fire and Blood , I 'll perish as a Roman Soldier shou'd . Enter Cassibelan . Ha! art thou here ? Of all Mankind I thought To shun thee . Cass . Thee of all Mankind I sought . The Gods and I have took the nicest time , For the severest Vengeance of thy Crime . Thy Tragedy might have been play'd before , But now so near relief , will spite thee more ; As shipwrack'd Men , who perish close at Shore . Dec. Secure within my self unmov'd I stand , And never yet cou'd fear a single Hand : And yet I wou'd this Fight with thee decline , Not for the safety of my Life , but thine . I wrong'd thee ; to requite it , let thee live ; That Satisfaction's all I have to give . For tho' my Death shou'd from our Strife ensue , The Romans wou'd revenge it soon on you . Cass . Come all the Roman Legions , and in spite Of their loud Threats , I 'll kill thee in their sight . And when they find that by my hand you fell Fight . Dec. falls . They 'll say you ought not to have dy'd so well . Dec. Curse on my feeble and enervate Arm , It cou'd not strike with strength enough to harm ; A sudden numbness on its Sinews seiz'd , And let my Rival wound me where he pleas'd . And yet with pleasure I resign my Breath , Since that has crown'd my Life which caus'd my Death . All her dear sweets were mine , the vast delight Seems still to dance before my swimming sight . I rifled all th'inestimable store , The longest Life could have bestow'd no more , And dying I rejoyce to leave you poor Dies . Cass . Oh! that thou shouldst so brave and nobly fall , Hadst thou a thousand Lives I 'd have them all , All for my vast revenge , alas ! too small . Thy blood had justly been on Scaffolds spilt , Thy End , as base , and barb'rous as thy Guilt . Honour forbids me to pursue my blow , And not in vain insult a breathless Foe . I le think no more — but hasten to the Fight , Find out my Love , and perish in her sight . Pour on her balmy Lips my parting Breath , Look her all o'er , and clasp her close in Death . Sigh out my Soul upon her panting Breast , And with a Passion not to be exprest , Sink at her Feet into Eternal rest . Exit . Trumpets . Enter Paulinus , Fabian , Soldiers . Paul . Make haste , my Friend , and let the Slaughter cease , Thro' all the Streets proclaim a general Peace . Now tell them all our dismal Wars shall end , And Britain still be valu'd as a Friend . Exit Fabian . Ha! what has Destiny had here to do ? What , Decius ? and his Favourite Caska too ? Has Justice reach'd you both ? Heaven heard my Vow , And in your Deaths compleats my Conquest now . This is the Palace sure , 't is time to move , To crown my Fortune , and secure my Love . The Queen with both her Daughters appear above ; the Queen with a Bowl in one Hand , and a Dagger in the other . Ha! there she stands ; Heaven ! what a dismal Scene ? What can this pomp of solemn Mourning mean ? What means that Dagger ? oh ! my bleeding Soul , What deadly Poison fills that Golden Bowl ? Hither , dread Queen , your mournful Aspect bend , And speak , oh ! speak , what Fate and you intend . Bo . In me the Roman Heroine shall be seen ; What Fate and I intend , becomes a Queen . Like Gods , I liv'd , while Gods would let me reign , Rob'd of my Realms , they leave me Life in vain . The Blood of Monarchs , circles in their Crown , Thrones buoy them up , and once dethron'd , they drown . Sinking I still may choose a nobler Doom , Than to be led a Royal Slave to Rome . When the most wretched can resolve to die , Most of their Misery's over ; here 's to try . Offers to drink . Paul . Hold , hold , dread Queen , and look with Pity down , Live , and I 'll beg you to receive your Crown , And gladly make your Realms again , your own . Farther than ever , I 'll extend your Sway , While Romans , shall like Native Slaves obey . Entire your vast Dominions I 'll restore , Exalt your Crown , far higher than before , While Caesars Friendship makes your Greatness more . Bo . Such Restauration is my single due , Can you restore my Daughter's Honour too ? Fate in that Case can no Relief afford , That Loss , alas ! can never be restor'd . Paul 't is done , look here , and see the Villain dead ; Vengeance at last , reach'd his devoted Head . Pointing to Decius . His flowing Blood washes away her Stain , And she , who still was Pure , looks White again . Cam . Tell me what most my bleeding heart would move , To think of Life ; can you restore my Love ? If he is in the fatal Battle slain , All Offers else to make me live are vain . Paul . Thrice furiously he charg'd the Troops I led , Thrice I retir'd , to shun him , from their Head . I knew the Woes you felt , the Wrongs you bore , And would not in his Loss encrease the Score . But gave my Soldiers in our hottest Strife Strict Orders to preserve your Prince's Life . Shout from within . Cam . What mean those Shouts ? Infection seize the Breath , And rot the Tongues that sound my Lover's Death . Drink Mother , and defie Barbarian Power , Rome has prevail'd , and Britain is no more ; Drink , for the Business of the War is done , Cassibelan , who led our Armies on , Cassibelan , my lov'd Cassibelan , is gone . Paul . stay I conjure you , I command you stay , I charge you , throw not thus your Lives away . Bo . In vain , mistaken Wretch ; you threat'ning stand , Command a Queen , with Death at her command ? Roman , I shall not yet my Power resign , Know , that I Reign , while this , or this is mine . This makes a vanquish'd Queen , amidst her Woes , Poison and Dagger . Laugh at the Spite of Fate , and Power of Foes . Drinks Paul . Run Soldiers , run , I 'll strive to save my own , Batter the Bulwarks with your Bodies down , He that preserves her , has the British Crown . Bo . Hold ; Boadicea all your Power defies , The Moment that you stir , Venutia dies . Sure I am more than Empress on a Throne , I rule your Fate together with my own . Now my Camilla pledge the Noble Draught , And drink as deep as ravish'd Virgins ought . Cam . Here 's to those happy Seats , those blissful Cells , Where Virtue undisturb'd in Safety dwells ; Where never Impious Ravisher has been , And never Barbarous Roman enter'd in . This Draught will make me swim in Bliss above , And send me where I soon shall meet my Love . Drinks . Bo . Now do you drink , and hast with us to Bliss , To Ven . Ha! do you start ? take either this , or this , Dagger or Poison . Drink with a chearful Look , and noble Mind , For by my Wrongs you shall not stay behind . Paul . Curse maze of Fate , what shall Paulinus do ? Make haste , forlorn , lost Wretch , and perish too . She dies alass ! if I but dare to stir , If not , she dies ; why , die thou then with her . Draws his Sword and claps it to his Breast . Love , in thy Death , let this thy Comfort be , I will not live one Moment after thee . Ven . That wou'd indeed dispel my Fear , and Pain , Were we but well assur'd to meet again , But sure we shall ; a Hundred Spirits tell , In Whispers that we shall ; till then farewel . Paul . Farewel . She is going to drink , and he to fall on his Sword as Cassibelan enters above , his Breast bloody . Cass . What 's here ? oh my prophetick Soul ! What have you done my Love ? give me the Bowl . Takes the Bowl from Venutia Poison must help , my Wounds are slight , and few , Not deep enough to send me hence with you . I ran on Swords , lay'd sev'ral Romans dead , Courted my Death , but Death tho' courted fled . But all their cruel Mercy was in vain , While in thy Death , oh ! Soul of Life , I 'm slai● . Drinks . Bo . Now 't is thy turn ; nor can'st thou now repine , Goes to stab Ven . Our fleeting Souls must needs encourage thine . Cass . The Poison sure usurps your Reason's place , Wou'd you extinguish all the Royal Race ? Were Britain of this Princely Fair bereft , Snatching the Dagger . What other Heiress have our Kingdoms left ? Roman , this Gift my Gratitude shall prove , To Paulinus . Since you wou'd give me Life , I 'll give you Love . They all descend , and appear on the Stage . Paulinus addresses himself first to Cass . then to Venutia . Paul . To you , most gen'rous Prince , my Thanks are due , And all the Rapture of my Soul to you . I have you now , Thanks to propitious Fate , My Joys are full , and Vict'ry is compleat . Thou Crown of all my Toils , I shou'd not boast The Conquest of the World , if thou we'rt lost . A mutual Love is in your Looks confest ; Soft Longings are in short-breath'd Sighs exprest , And murm'ring Words speak Virgin-Passion best . Cam . My only Love , in the black Vale of Death And gloomy Shades which we must pass beneath ; Where nought but Ghosts appear before our View , I shall draw Courage from the Sight of you . Cass . Thou Life in Death , if ought in Heav'n above Excels the Bliss and Extasie of Love , Let Gods possess it , undisturb'd and free , And leave me any where possess'd of thee . Cam . My Soul is sick , and all on Fire my Breath ; My dizzy Eyes begin to swim in Death . From thy dear Sight I must for ever fly ; But do not , do not leave me till I dy . Cass . Nor then , by Heav'n , if Poyson will not do , With Wounds on Wounds I will your Flight pursue , O'ertake you quick , and be the Guide to you . Bo . Death clasps me with a cold , but close Embrace And chill , but heavy Damps o'erspread my Face . My fleeting Soul 'twixt two Extremes is lost , Now scorch'd with Fire , and now benumm'd with Frost . Yet in the midst of all my mortal Pain , Tho' raging Madness strives to tear my Brain , Honour forbids a Monarch to complain . These petty Kingdoms let the Romans share , If Heav'n is just , I have an Empire there . Falls and dies . Cam . Poor Mother , art thou fall'n ? Farewel , farewel : So in the Fight my faithless Hero fell . Raving . For he , before he perish'd , grew unkind , And his poor Love no more possess'd his Mind . He call'd me false , and perjur'd , and forsworn , Call'd me a Name , oh Gods ! that can't be born : Did you not hear him , Heav'n ? Cass . Ye dreadful Pow'rs ! How dismal and how hard a Fate is ours ? Was there beyond her Death a greater Curse ? Why speaks she those mad Words that made me worse ? Look up , my dying Dear . Cam . Alas , my Love ! My fleeting Soul had almost reach'd the Seat Which Fate has destin'd for its last Retreat : But thou hast call'd me from the dark Descent , And I made haste ' ere yet thy Voice was spent ; While on thy Lips the fault'ring Accents hung , And the last Murmurs trembl'd on thy Tongue . Cass . Oh! be not so impatient to be gone ; Hold but a little while , I 'll lead thee on . My Soul , like Wrecks upon the swelling Main , Is now cast up , and now suck'd back again . Now from my Lips she takes a short Survey Of vast Eternity , repines to stay ; But flutters with desire to fly away . Cam . Ha! what is this , I feel , some Hand unknown Raving again , Has grip'd me fast , and strives to push me down . O! save me , gracious Gods ! a Rape , a Rape ! Is there no Way ? none left me to escape ? O! let some Miracle of Aid be giv'n ; Unhand me Decius — Villain — help me Heav'n ! Now , now the lustful Monster has me fast ; Heav'n , will you let his loath'd Embraces last ? Gods ! 't is a doing now , 't is done , 't is past . I 'll come when I can 'scape from him , I 'll come , To tell you all the monstrous Crimes of Rome ; And oh ! to an amazing fearful Summ . Their barb'rous Rapes , Adult'ries , Murders mount I bring you , Righteous Gods ! the dread Account . Dies , Cass . Where art thou now my Love ? and why become Kneeling by her , and leaning over her . Pale as a Ghost , and as a Statue dumb ? Oh!

TO Edward Coke , of Norfolk Esq. SIR ,

THe greatest , and indeed almost the only advantage , a Poet reaps from what He writes , is the opportunities he meets with of making himself known to the best , and greatest men of his Age . A Play is first made publick in the Theatre ; and when it comes to the Press , if any one has spoken kindly , and favourable of it , in the Representation , the Poet chooses him for his Patron ; He having before ( according to the Authors Construction ) chosen him for his Poet . The distance I am at from the City , and ev'n from the Kingdom too , will keep me Ignorant for some time , what success this Play ( which I Humbly offer to your Patronage ) may meet with . If the Town is pleas'd with it , I shall be pleas'd with my self for pleasing them ; if they condemn it , I shall be apt to conclude so many in the right , rather than my single self . You saw it in Manuscript , and I have this early and auspicious Advantage , that You approve of it . Boadicea pleas'd them , and I receiv'd a very great additional satisfaction , when I understood how particularly it pleas'd You . I will not go to compare that Play , and this together , nor follow the custom , of reckoning the last performance best ; and showing the greatest fondness of the Youngest Brat . The Rhime was the only thing that recommended that ; and for ought I know , the only thing too , that can recommend this . I could wish for something distinguishing in it , because it is sacred to you , and I should desire to be known to you at advantage . If the pains in writing will endear it to you , it cost me much more than the former . It has some sort of design besides ( such as it is ) but I was never very guilty of Plotting . I can hardly keep the Characters in my Play , from being as honest , and sincere , as I would be my self in a Dedication . A vicious Character disturbs me while I draw it , and it grates me to delineate a Villain . 't is certain no Poet can excite any Passion in another , if he does not feel it first in himself . Who then will choose to describe discontent , envy , or revenge , when they may have such fair Fields as Honour and Vertue , to range in ; all there is bright before them , and the Flight the Muse takes thence , is Heavenwards ? Such Characters , artfully , and justly drawn , will excite the good and great to be Patrons ; and such Patrons as You ( Sir ) will soon teach Poets to draw such Characters . You are endow'd with all the Blessings of Nature and Fortune , and you are as Liberal of the gifts of the latter to others , as she has been to You . So great is your Estate , it would be unwieldy to have it more ; and such good use is made of it , that envy does not wish it less . It is not consum'd in vain , and superfluous Equipage ; but laid out in maintaining the old , open English hospitality . Desert , in want , is supply'd ; and honesty in distress , is succour'd and sustain'd ; great without Titles , and good above greatness ; rich , rather to others than your self ; and seeming only as your own Steward . Your inclinations , and endeavours are the general good of mankind ; and none ever went from you dissatisfyed ; delighted in obliging others , and pleas'd to see them pleas'd with your Bounty . Wishing the welfare of all men , and speaking well of all men , is a sure way to meet with an universal return of good will and good wishes . He doubly enjoys his Fortune , who has it wish'd double , by all that know him .

Among the Prayers of others accept of the prasies of the Poet ; humbly and heartily , tho' feebly offer'd . I now begin to experience , how much the Mind may be influenc'd by the Body . My Muse is confind , at present , to a weak and sickly tenement ; and the Winter Season will go near to over-bear her , together with her houshold . There are Storms , and Tempests to beat her down , or Frosts to bind her up , and kill her ; and she has no Friend on her side but Youth to bear her thro' ; if that can sustain the attack , and hold out , till Spring comes to relieve me , one use I shall make of farther life , shall be to show how much , I am ,

SIR , Your most devoted , humble Servant CHARLES HOPKINS . Londonderry , Nov. 1st . 99.

PROLOGUE . LOng has our Author beat his addled Brains To purchase Fame , but can't find Ways , and Means . They talk of Fame , but 't is the thought of many , They ne'er regarded that , nor writ for any , But wholly plodded how to turn the Penny . That is the Plot , which every Poet lays ; Thither drives all their aim , and now a-days , Faith , 't is the only Plot you 'l find in Plays . Yet when poor Author is in greatest need , Seldom , ah ! seldom does his Plot succeed . His way would be in this unlucky Age , Not to write for , but write against the Stage . The monyed men would then his Cause defend : City Security's a special Friend . They 'd fit you out , for Ceylon , or Japan , Teach you to Trade , and set you up a man ; Make you grow Rich ; — that 's if a Poet can . What City-like Estates , might one procure at Those Golden Ports , or of Bengale , or Surat ? None of our Tribe , e'er made the Voyage yet , As none of theirs Trades with our House for wit . If they were Fools enough to make the barter , How well might they deserve to lose their Charter ? But Poets with the love of Courts are Curst , Which leave them Poets , as they found them first : Thought wholly for the smallest trust unfit , And reckon'd useless , for their very Wit : Whose only Wages is their homely board , What Shares , the Back-Stair Pages can afford , Or , when Fate smiles , a dinner with a Lord . The mask of madness has been often try'd , Deep Projects of desiging heads to hide , Who , as time serv'd , still threw their mask aside . Why is there of designing madness mention ? Poets have still run mad thro' no intention . 'Twixt Wake , and Sleep , they live supine in slumber , On all occasions , laid aside as Lumber ; No Money left , — but Lines exceeding number .

EPILOGUE . MOst Poets spread abroad an idle rumour , They never found an Audience in good humour . Our Poet , having tasted of your favour , Swears it is false , and does his best endeavour To keep you all his Friends ; — Amen — for ever . Tho' I have told him , with undaunted Spirit , It was your Goodness only , not his Merit ; He Vows he knows not , ( be the shame his own ) Worse Poets ; and a better natur'd Town ; Some Criticks there may be , but those are few , Not such Fine-well-drest Gentlemen , as You : To the side Boxes . In finding fault lies all their dear delight , And yet they read as little as they write . If e'er they write , they let no Creature know it , But keep the Poem , and conceal the Poet , To the Pit , and side Boxes . With as much pains as you would take to show it . O! that some Envoy in behalf of Wit , Would make a Truce with the tumultuous Pit : But want of Treasure is our Stages curse , And to Equip him , you must make the Purse . A Peace with Criticks , is our Houses Pray'r ; Our Daughters , and our Wives — Our maiden Actresses — if such there are , Implore it from those unbelievers there . Which if you should deny , we must no doubt , Or shut up Shop — Or shut our Journey-men , the Poets , out . How would it balk an Author's expectation , In these good times , to fail to please the Nation , Now that good Wine is come again in fashion ? Beau's , our best Friends , we fear , will run to France , And leave us fidling here , while there they dance . Some now will say with a contracted brow , So mad an ending to a mournful show — Yet you have laught at Tragedies e're now ; And faith I think , it were not much amiss , ( With our good Author's leave ) to laugh at this . Ev'n Nature is her self a constant jest , And the whole World , a Stage-Play at the best .

Dramatis Personae . Mr. Betterton . Mr. Verbruggen . Mr. Arnold .

WOMEN. Mrs. Barry . Mrs. Moore . Mrs. Bracegirdle . Mrs. Porter .

Soldiers , Men , and Women , Attendants .

SCENE Sicily .

Friendship Improv'd : OR , THE Female Warrier .

ACT I.

SCENE Syracuse . Enter Zoilus , Semanthe . Zo . THUS far the bounteous Gods have blest my Toyls , And crown'd my Labours with their constant Smiles . In rolling Tides my rising Fortunes flow , Bestowing all that Conquest can bestow . Rome fears our Arms , and lately felt our Pow'rs , Compell'd to fly from our Sicilian Shores . Their last Defeat secures me on the Throne , And makes this fair and fertile Isle my own . Sem . No more , my Lord , think of your Wars with Rome , Strive to secure your self from Foes at home . Your Subjects out of Fear , not Love , obey , Their down-cast Looks their Discontent betray , They wish a Change , and only wait a day . Too feeble to revolt , in Peace they dwell , Till gather'd Strength gives Courage to rebel . Zo . No , my Semanthe , Monarchy is gain'd With Pain and Toyl ; but is with Ease maintain'd . Our Empires are establish'd first by Force , Then quiet Government glides on of Course . War , when no more oppos'd by War , will cease , And sink , and soften , of it self , to Peace . Full twenty peaceful Years have crown'd our Isle , And Sicily has seen no Civil Broil . Kings , in the Name of King , their Safety bear , There 's something in the Sound that Subjects fear . Sem . Could you expect Protection from a Name , The slain Orontes might have hop'd the same . All Sicily his gentle Sway approv'd , As Prince , they fear'd him , and as Parent , lov'd . Till you were made by curst Ambition blind , And Lust of Pow'r debauch'd your gen'rous Mind . Thrones and Dominions glitter'd in your View , Then fell the good old King — And what I grieve for most , he fell by you . Zo . Thrones and Dominions still in Prospect rise , The Neighb'ring Realms allure my dazzl'd Eyes , Nor will this one of Sicily suffice . My Fleets and Armies shall inlarge my Sway , O're-run the Continent , and plow the Sea . Sardinia , Cyprus , Corsica , and Creet , Shall lay their conquer'd Scepters at my Feet . And fast as they their Royal Crowns resign , I 'll spare them from my Head to place on thine . Sem . Oh! Rather would you were some humble Swain , And I your homely Consort on the Plain . Where in a silent and serene Retreat , Our Herds might low , and Lambs around us bleat , And we lye safe from all the Storms of Fate . Forgive , my much lov'd Lord , my tender Fears , And oh ! Despise not these Prophetick Tears . Ah! when you must your Life and Empire yield , Betray'd at Home , or fighting in the Field , On whom for Succour shall your Children call , And whither shall I fly ; alas ! your Fall In one sad Ruine will involve us all . Zo . I still shall in my Darling Son survive , And seem in Warlike Locris still alive . His Arms your Lives and Fortunes will sustain , His Hands were made for Scepters — His Looks for Royalty , his Soul to reign . Sem . Oh! Never , never shall that Darling Son Possess the Realms his dreadful Father won . Poor Child ! thy sad , untimely Death I fear , And now my woeful Soul foretells it near . Fate keeps it yet within her teeming Womb , Till fully ripe , it shoots with Vengeance home . His Doom , alas ! is seal'd , 't is past , 't is gone , And you , ev'n you his Father urge it on . Remember , and you will not think I rave , The dreadful Answer which the Sybil gave , When you consulted the Cumaean Cave . Your Son , the Goddess cry'd — Unmarried , shall successful Fortune boast , But married , you , or he , or both , are lost . Zo . Can any Danger lurk around the Throne , Where Pow'r secur'd by Peace is all our own . If Heav'n will have his Life , we must resign , But still may save a Grandson of our Line . 't is now we must prevent the Spite of Fate , To make her harmless Malice come too late , He shall consummate with Orithia straight . At once with theirs shall Hymen's sacred Bands Joyn brave Maherball's and Cyllene's Hands . Our Subjects Acclamations ring aloud , And this Design has lull'd , and charm'd the Crowd . The sighing Virgin shall no longer stay , Nor shall he squander precious Time away , But be before-hand with his Fate to day . Sem . What Mischiefs would your fatal Rashness form ? You , who should strive to lay it , raise the Storm . That Hour you destine for his Nuptial Joys ; That Hour , that very Hour your Locris dyes . Locris , unhappy Locris , I deplore , And Zoilus his Race is now no more . Zo . Your Madness cease , and my Commands obey , In spight of Fate they shall be joyn'd to day . Women by Dreams to idle Fears are driv'n , And then believe the Warning sent from Heav'n . Expect from thence undoubted Aids to find , As busie Gods had nothing else to mind : They made them only at their idle Hours , To grant their Wants would beggar all their Powers . Exit . Sem . Here will our dismal Tragedies begin , Which these unhappy Nuptials usher in ; My pious Fraud must be at last reveal'd , For Locris now can lie no more conceal'd . Her Sex will be by her own self betray'd , And the deluded Bride embrace a Maid . Then , when my furious Lord shall come to know That she and I have dar'd to use him so . When he , defrauded of his Darling Son , Finds all his Hopes of Royal Offspring gone , And no Male Heir to settle on the Throne . He 'll keep his solemn , execrable Oath , And wreak his Vengeance with the Death of both . Oh! Locris ! born under unhappy Stars ; Why hast thou scap'd the Fury of the Wars ! Why thro' so many Dangers hast thou past , To come and perish in my Sight at last . Enter Locris . Lo . I met my Father follow'd by a Crowd , That sung ill-boding Songs of Triumph loud . With Joy he clasp'd me in the publick Way , And told me this must be my Nuptial Day : The Temple is prepar'd , the Bride is Drest In all the glorious Riches of the East . In vain she puts on all her useless Charms , There is no Bridegroom for her longing Arms. Fate makes her a Fantastick Fortune prove , And plagues a Virgin with a Virgins Love . Sem . Oh , Son ! — My Words will with my Wishes run , Oh! would to all the Gods you were a Son . Ah! Daughter , at thy very Birth betray'd , Destin'd to die , when thou art known a Maid . Thou yet hast been preserv'd , bred up to wield The Shining Sword , to lift the pondrous Shield , And act the fearless Hero in the Field . Heav'n has been kind , and help'd you in your part , And gave you , tho' a Maid , a Manly Heart : But how , alas ! ye Gods , instruct me how Shall we continue our Impostor now ? Tho' your deluded Sire should never know Your Sex ; we cannot cheat Orythia so . From her strict Search the Fraud we cannot hide , Nor e're appease the disappointed Bride . Lo . Oft have I seen you tremble to relate The strange fantastick Malice of my Fate ; Thro' what wild Maze I 've been already led , And what yet wilder I have left to tread . My careful Sire the longing Bride prepares , And I his Daughter must beget him Heirs . What will ye do with me , ye Powers Divine ! Say , is it not with Reason I repine , Since no Maid's Fate was e're perplex'd as mine . To shun my threatned Death conceal'd I lie ; But always fearing Death , do more than die . Sem . Heaven ! in these Realms let Desolation reign , Let Fire and Sword eternal War maintain , They cannot form a more distracting Scene . Now , treacherously thy Stars deceee thy Doom ; A Wife thy Bane , the Bridal Bed thy Tomb . Furies will hold the Torches round your Head , And Fate officiate there in Hymen's stead . For Joys unknown you shall resign your Life ; And she no Husband have , and you no Wife : The Bride her Disappointment will perplex ; But when your Father comes to know your Sex , When he shall find his mighty Projects crost , And his fair Prospect in your Manhood lost , Grief and Despight will work him to Despair , His barb'rous Hands will his own Bowels tear , No more a Father he , nor thou an Heir . Lo . Nor will our Subjects on our side engage , No pious Hand protect us from his Rage , With Joy they 'll see him of his Hopes bereft , Glad that the Tyrant has no Offspring left . During his Life , they must thro' Force obey , But when at last Fate snatches that away , His House no longer shall possess the Sway . To the right Heir we must the Crown resign , For ever torn from Zoilus his Line . Sem . Oh! Curse on all Ambition , Curse on Thrones , And Curse on those rash Hands that grasp at Crowns . The Storms that now so loud around us blow , Had not been heard , had we continu'd low . Jove's Massy Bolts the Mountain's Top assail , Vast Hills are drown'd in Snow , and dash'd by Hail , The Swain enjoys a sweet and sunny Vale . Would my dread Lord had n'ere aspir'd to reign , Would the Retreat we left were ours again . Where Life's unsully'd Sweets were all our own , And we liv'd best , because we liv'd unknown . Lo . Distracted Tyranny is such a Curse , Nought but my destin'd Nuptials could be worse . Married , we live in greater Plagues and Pain , Clog'd with more Cares than Monarchs when they reign . Enjoyment sweetens some few Hours of Life , But Hours of Pleasure to an Age of Strife , They too are lost , where Maids are Man and Wife . Like Danaus his Sons I mount the Bed , Tho' justlier slain by the deluded Maid . Sem . Hark , how they shout , hark , how the Trumpets sound , While vaulted Fanes , and ecchoing Hills rebound Trumpets sound . Gods ! How their Clamours make my Brain turn round . The King and Priests in long Procession go , Little , ah ! little , wretched Prince , you know That way will lead you to Eternal Woe . Hark , now again their ominous Voices rise , And now again are eccho'd from the Shies . Like Niobe , I 'll go , and make my Moan , And standing on some barren Cliff alone , Grow dry with Grief , and stiffen into Stone . Manet Locris . Lo . My Spirits pant apace , my throbbing Breath Comes short , my Eye-lids seem to swim in Death . Fear , tho' a Woman , I could never know , And yet there 's something makes me tremble now . In such sad Accents was my Story told , Her Eyes with such Prophetick Fury roll'd , Fate must this day some Tragedy design , And not to have it her's , I wish it mine . Ha! What is this I hear , some new Alarms . Drums and Trumpets . Whatever Fate decrees this Musick charms , For next to living is to dye in Arms. Enter Zoilus . Zo . Arm , Locris , arm , like a tempestuous Main , War in full Tides comes rolling on again . Their broad spread Sails the Roman Fleet displays , And their proud Eagles hover on our Seas . My false Sicilians with the Foe combine , All on a sudden in Rebellion joyn , And nothing now but Syracuse is mine . Dejected Hymen at the News withdrew , And murmur'd out in Sighs a sad Adieu . Mars , in his stead , comes formidably down , And aws our Island with his dreadful Frown , While his arm'd Legions compass all our Town . Lo . Here let us then , in this our last Retreat , Resist the Shock , and grapple with our Fate . True Courage in Distress is wont to soar , And we have been reduc'd as low before . To me those well-known Sounds of War are Charms , More than Love-murmurs in a Maiden's Arms. My daring Soul , the dusty Fields Delight , Beyond the Dalliance of a Bridal Night . This our last Stake against all theirs we lay , Throw boldly ; if we win the dreadful Day , Their Fortunes are for ever cast away . Zo . In the mean time shall faithful Archias fly , With all his Speed to Carthage for Supply . Not far from hence their Fleet at Anchor rides ; 't will reach us here in some revolving Tides : Till then , my Son , go seek your Tyrian Friend , On him and you my present Hopes depend . Let Blood and Battle wear their ugliest Form , By all the Gods we 'll face the gathering Storm . Enter Semanthe and Women . What! Art thou here ? Thou dire Presage ! Thou Wife ! Bane of brave Thoughts , Plague every way of Life . Thou com'st to steal away this Youth's Renown , And with thy Tears to melt his Manhood down : Like other Fools , thou wou'dst thy Offspring save , Still wish him living , tho' he lives a Slave . Sorceress , he shall to War ; Avaunt , begone ; Come , follow me to Arms , to Arms , my Son . Exit . Sem . So Tyrant , may'st thou still mistake my Sence ; I 'll send him thither , not detain him thence : Tho' in the Battle he may meet his Fate ; My Fears are easier than they were of late . There harmless Darts may sing around his Head , But had War stay'd , till he was forc'd to wed , He must have perish'd in the Bridal Bed . Now , by my dawning Hopes , no Servile Fear Dwells in my Soul , but all is calm and clear . Sound all the Trumpets there , beat all the Drums , Not only Locris , but Semanthe comes . I 'll grasp a Sword , and to the Battle fly , With Locris conquer , or with Locris dye . Follow her still , where Fame and Danger call , Share in her Triumph , or partake her Fall . Lo . My Fate has wrought me up , to let me go , With double Rage , and Vengeanee on the Foe . The vanquish'd Rebels shall be tam'd again , And Romans run before me thro' the Plain : In my vast Soul I feel Ambition rise , Within my Reach immortal Honour flies , And Greatness dawns about my ravish'd Eyes . Sem . Ten thousand Gods my darling Heroine Sheild , And all the Pow'rs of Heaven — Guard , and preserve thee in the Bloody Feild . Men ought not to condemn the marry'd Life , But leave that Task to the lost thing , a Wife . Our Husbands of themselves sufficient Curse , Load us with Children , that enslave us worse ; Our Fears for them create our constant Pain , And hourly rack the restless Mother's Brain . And yet our Love encreases with our Care , We doat upon them for the Pains we Bear . Heav'en ! if some suddain Vengeance you decree ; Oh! see me here your Mark , show'r all on me . Kneeling . Spare my poor Locris , when you hurl it down , And drive it on my destin'd Head alone . Rises and Exit . Enter Maherball . Ma. War smoaks , my Friend , along the dusty Plain , And Sicily is still the Noble Scene . From Rome's Imperial Fleet whole Legions pour , While ratling Drums like high-wrought Oceans roar . Around our Shores their Ecchoing Trumpets sound , Their prancing Coursers toss their Foam around , And beat with restless Hoofs the burthen'd Ground . Bellona woes us now with all her Charms , And calls her favorite Locris forth to Arms. The Clash and Din of War your Soul delight , And you love Glory gain'd in open Fight , More than the secret Pleasures of the Night . By Heav'n , I swear , when Hymen's sacred Tye Was broke abruptly off ; a suddain Joy Sprung in my Soul , and yet I knew not why . Lo . My Thoughts no other End but Fame pursue , To fight , to conquer , or to dye with you . Young as I am , I love a glorious Field , More than the Bliss my charming Bride could yeild . Thou art the Center where my Wishes joyn , My Fame , my Friendship , and my Soul is thine . Your very Sight transports me , for I see My Champion and my Genius move in thee . Ma. I love you with a Fondness far above All that was ever known in Woman's love . My Friend — Oh! whither would my Transport tend ? Can I say more than what I say ? my Friend ! Something there is beyond that very Name , Something that sets my Spirits in a Flame , I wish I were a Maid of Form divine , To make your Soul and Body ever mine . Rather I wish that you , dear Youth , could be That charming Maid to be belov'd by me . Friendship alone to wond'rous Heights may soar , The change of one of us would make it more . Lo . Those Metamorphoses , alas ! are past , Could Wishes do , mine should not be the last . But from our Theme our Thoughts are wander'd far , We talk of Love , when we were bent for War . And yet your Words such tender Passion move , That I could ever talk with you of Love . Ma. Had not your Arms establish'd your Renown , Were not your vast Exploits and Valour known , By those sweet Looks , that charming Face betray'd , My sight would all my other Sence invade , And make me think you , what I wish , a Maid . Oft have I entertain'd that pleasing Thought , Till my Mistake your manly Actions taught , And spight of them destroy'd the hopes I sought . Lo . Were I that Maid , already so intire My Love is grown , it never could aspire , To a more Sacred or Coelestial Fire . My Friendship has attain'd to that Excess , Fond as she is , my Sister loves you less . But hark , th' Embattel'd Foe prepar'd to fight , And see the Sun loth to behold the Sight , Sends out a faint and an imperfect Light . Both Armies March apace to stand , or fall ; And thund'ring Shouts are the fierce Soldiers Call . Trumpets and Drums summon their Chiefs away , Who want Maherball to begin the Day . Ma. Then farewell Love , leave all those empty Joys , To longing Maids , and to deluded Boys . Believe me , Youth , who know what Women are , The Sex was never worth a Soldier's Care . Hard to be won , inconstant when obtain'd , Like new forc'd Towns , lost with more Ease than gain'd . The foolish Bridegroom makes the Nuptial Feast , But he that gives the Banquet shares the least . Safe in that State , to worst Extreams they fall , They wed but one , their Wishes are for all . Exeunt .

ACT II .

Scene , A City Besieg'd . Enter Zoilus , Messenger ; Zoilus with a Letter in his hand . Zo . IS this the Account , and this the News you bring ? Has faithless Archias too betray'd his King ? Fate shews her barefac'd Malice here too much , For all are Traytors now ; dye thou as such . Kills him . Bury thy Tidings with thee in thy Death , Thou should'st have made a better use of Breath . Against all Heaven and Earth , and Hell I strive , Rebellion only sicken'd to revive , The lawful Prince , ye Gods ! is now alive . Where has he slept these twenty Winters past ? Thought dead by all , and yet he lives at last . Here , my false Slave would sooth me to resign , And in the Prince's Name , ye Powers Divine ! Presumes to pardon in an other Line ; He menaces , and counsels in the next , And here , and here 't is more and more perplext . Rot his curst Hand , avenging Thunder fall On all their Heads — And tear , and rend them , like this Paper , all . Enter Semanthe . Sem . What sudden Rage is this , what new Despair ? Why lyes , alas ! that murther'd Soldier there ? Look on his Fate , and learn to dread your own , For now long-suffering Heav'n begins to frown . A Thousand Meteors threaten from the Skies , On Earth a Thousand dreadful Phantoms rise . Nought of the whole Creation is at Peace , Earthquakes the Land , and Tempests toss the Seas . Broad Sheets of Flame from Aetna's Mouth are thrown , And Cataracts of Fire fall roaring down . Thro' smoaking Plains , they burn their rapid way , And mix their boyling Surges with the Sea . A Voice in open Air is heard to roar , Tyrants and Tyranny are now no more . Zo . Let it roar on , why tell you me of Storms , Of Flaming Mountains , and Aetherial Forms ? Nor troubl'd Ocean , nor tempestuous Air , Nor burst of Thunder should a Monarch fear . Were Heav'n and Earth in wild Confusion hurl'd , Should the rash Gods unhinge the rolling World , Undaunted would I tread the tott'ring Ball , Crush'd , but unconquer'd , in the dreadful Fall . Sem . Why then was all that desp'rate Fury , why By your own Hands did this Sicilian dye ? What makes your Blood afresh in Flushes rise , Why sparkles all that Vengeance in your Eyes ? Zo . He told me things , Semanthe , might have made Another Soul both anxious and afraid . He talk'd of Archias , to the Rebels fled , And young Araxes risen from the dead . This wrought my Rage , but wrought at once Disdain , In vain , young Prince , you come and arm in vain , While this is in my Hand , 't is I that reign . Sem . What dismal Scenes of Fate and Death are here ; How dreadful does that Hand , those Looks appear ? That fatal Sword shall find a purple Flood , And Sicily shall be the Scene of Blood . O whither shall I fly to shun the Sight ? Would I were wrapt in Everlasting Night . Would I were lock'd within my silent Tomb , Or thrown in Aetna's suffocating Womb , Unknowing of the Woes — That threaten from behind , and crowd to come . Zo . Fly where thou wilt , fly to Araxes — do , Act like a Wife , do thou betray me too . Fly from me with thy Train of servile Fears , Thy Conscience , thy Eternal Tongue and Tears . From my domestick Torment set me free , And send ev'n Death it self instead of thee . Sem . Thus then commanded from thy Sight I go , And leave thee to thy self , thy greatest Foe . Yet not to Rebels , nor to Rome I fly , But to those sacred Pow'rs which you defie , And at their Shrines I 'll study how to dye . My Pray'rs shall hourly be to Heaven addrest , Heav'n , still our last try'd Friend , but still our best . For all my Crimes I have but once been curst , Then , then , thou Tyrant , when we marry'd first . Exit . Zo . From thence I date my Woes , of that repent , There , Mis'ries never lessen , but augment . In vain with life-long Trouble we contend , Where Women are concern'd , it cannot end . On them we lavish our unhappy Life , The Mistress plagues us first , and then the Wife . Exit . Enter Locris alone . Lo . What an odd Fortune must I hourly prove , A Woman still prest with a Woman's Love ; Narcissus like , the Love-sick Nymph betray'd , Pursues , and woes her own deceitful Shade ; She Follows that in following of a Maid . She haunts me like a Ghost where-e'r I see , As I Maherball chace , she chaces me . She courts me for the Bliss I cannot grant , Seeks what I seek , and covets what I want . Her Disappointment on her Wedding-day Do's all th' impatient , longing Bride betray , Torn with Desire , and raging at Delay . Enter Orythia . Ory . Is this , is this , ye Gods ! my promis'd Bliss , And am I drest in Nuptial Robes for this ? Those Trumpets call you hence , my Warlike Dear , From these fond Arms , too weak to hold you here . To Wounds , to Battle , and to Death you flee , And for the Breath of Fame abandon me . Speak every Voice of War , strike ev'ry Drum , If I have any Charms , he shall not come . Thus while I clasp you in so close a Fold , You shall not let Bellona break my hold . Lo . Think not I go for want of Love away , But Honour calls me , and I must obey . Her rigid Laws now force me from your Arms , And summon me to War with fresh Alarms . New Glory in the dusty Field I 'll meet , And lay new Trophies at your lovely Feet . At my return you shall new Triumphs see , New pompous Arches shall erected be , All dedicated to my Love and thee . Ory . But what if you should in the Battle fall , What then becomes of me , of Love and all ? The Clash of Arms , the Cries of Men begin ; Now draws the Scene of Death — And on all hands rush desp'rate Actors in . I see the bloody Bus'ness from afar , I see you madly spur amidst the War . Now Death appears in all its hideous Forms , And lops off lofty Heads , and lifted Arms. Sharp Spears and shivering Launces fly around , Wounds wait on Blows , and Fate on every Wound , Men's Blood and Horse's Foam besmear the Ground . Here the tall Youth lye breathless on the Plain , There fights my Locris , and bestrides the slain . Yonder agast our routed Army flies , There , weltri●g in his Blood , your Father lyes , And there o'rewhelm'd with Numbers , Locris dyes . Lo . Stop those tempestuous Sighs , those silver Tears , And banish from your Breast your groundless Fears . Heav'n has not been at this Expence and Cost , To save till now and let me now be lost ! The same kind Genius all my Steps attends , H●●v'n is the same , and the same Gods our Friends . An● what will most your anxious Cares remove , T●●ame my Passion is , the same my Love . Ory . Faintly methinks that Passion you express , Ev'n when you ought to show it to Excess . Lovers , when parting , should confess their Pains , And to Despair and Anguish loose the Reins . Improve their Time , and all their Flames exert , And swell their Eyes with Tears , with Sighs their Heart . But unconcern'd you seem , and look unmov'd , You look , alas ! as if you never lov'd . In your calm Cheeks no strugling Blushes rise , No Love , no Passion lightens at your Eyes . No mantling Blood runs flushing thro' your Face , No murm'ring Whispers warm your cold Embrace . Nor do you with a Lover's Awe approach , Nor heave , nor pant , nor tremble at my Touch . No wish'd for Signs of fierce Desire I see , You do not , no , you do not love like me . Lo . What shall I say to make you think me true , By Heav'n , I never lov'd a Maid like you . You reign sole Mistress of my faithful Heart , No other Fair can claim the smallest Part . Go then , my Love , with this Assurance go ; Leave me to meet , and overcome the Foe . Their Drums and Trumpets dare us to the Fight , And high-way'd Swords to bloody Fields invite . The furious King chafes for his loyt'ring Son , While Shouts of rang'd Battalions urge him on , All like grip'd Thunder strugling to be gone . Go , my Orythia , and no longer pine , But one short Hour , I shall again be thine . Go somewhere , whence you may my Actions view , And bless the Sword and Arm that strike for you . Ory . Save him , kind Heav'n ! some God his Guardian be , Take care , dear Youth ! in your own self , of me . Give me another , and another Sight Of that dear Face in which my Eyes delight , ' Ere thou art lost in Everlasting Night . Let me embrace thee thus , thus fold thee fast , Take this last Kiss , and now another last . With Fear and Hope I stand by turns possest , That tears and rends , this lulls and sooths my Breast , And flatters my tumultuous Soul to Rest . My various Thoughts a Thousand Phantoms frame , One while the conqu'ring Foes your Fall proclaim , Then shifting Fancy shews propitious Scenes , And I'o , Locris , ecchoes through the Plains , I'o , my Locris conquers , lives and reigns . Exit . Locris alone . Lo . Was ever Passion wrought to this Excess , And yet , ye conscious Gods ! mine is not less . Her's will be cur'd as soon as I am known , But how ? kind Heav'n ! how shall I cure my own . I love a Man , from whom I hide my Fires , And with my Sex conceal my fond Desires . A Man , a Stranger , whom no Kindred claim , Of Parentage obscure , tho' known to Fame . Yet in his Eyes such Sparks of greatness rowl , So charming is his Mien , so vast his Soul . Such Glories in his awful Aspect shine , He cannot come from an ignoble Line . He wants a Crown , but shall Maherball want , When that , in time , will be in me to grant ? He best can Guard it with his conquering Sword , And he shall be mine , and my Empire's Lord . going . Enter Cyllene . Cyl . Turn , Brother , lost Cyllene begs you turn , For she will hold you , till you hear her mourn : You were the first occasion of my Pain , And you must help me to my Peace again . Why did you bring that Stranger to our Court ? Why have the Gods ordain'd me for his Sport ? He knows in what a raging Flame I burn , He knows my Love , but makes me no Return . Your Breath , your Praise first kindled up my Fire , Speak to him then , tell all my fierce Desire : So wild my Passion is , my Pain is such ; Tell all that Poets feign , you cannot tell too much . Lo . What can the Gods at last by this design ? Theirs is the Sport , the Plague , and Pain is mine . Methinks , in some enchanted Round we move , Lost , and bewilder'd in the Maze of Love . She begs me here to make her Passion known To the dear Youth from whom I hide my own . Your Story Sister , will become you best , To her . Love still should be , by those in Love , confest . Of all Mankind I shall not do you right , Nor represent your Longings at their height . I could not for my self Orythia wooe , But left that part for Zoilus to do ; How can you think I should prevail for you ? Cyl . Already have I told him all I bore , And now if possible , I 'll tell him more : I 'll feize him as he mounts his foaming Horse , And with these Hands stop his impetuous Course . Spight of the Voice of War I will be heard , And e're he goes , he must my Voice regard ; Nor shall he from my close Embrace be free , Nor move to Conquest , till he yields to me . Lo . Hark , I am summon'd by the embattled Foe , But take this friendly Council e're I go . Men slight the Love-sick Fool that tells her Pain , As much as Women slight the whining Swain : If you design to fix them , use them ill , Still would you have them follow , fly them still . No favour grant , comply with no request , Still put them off , if you would still be prest . What beauty Conquer'd , let your Pride maintain , To raise Desire , receive them with disdain , Bid them begone , to make them come again . Let not their sighs or Tears your pity move , Be sure you you let them not betray your Love : Your Charm is at an end , when that is found , And they for ever fly the Fairy Ground . Exit . Manet Cyllena . Cyl . Too well , alas ! the Truth of this I see ; But who can be so wise , and love like me ! Already has my Tongue my Pain confest , And what I once have told — Can never more lye buried in my Breast . I've reach'd the middle Sea to shun a Wreck ; 't is better vent'ring thro' , than sayling back . I cannot hazard more ; 't is then decreed , Spight of my first Repulse , I will proceed . Heaven ! now he comes ; and at his awful Sight , My raging Flames still reach a greater Height ; Apace my Breath now sallies , now returns , Apace my Spirits pant , my Bosom burns , My Pride apace before my Passion flies , Wishes in Sighs , and Flames in Blushes rise , Love dawns , and darts its Rays around my dazzl'd Eyes . Enter Maherball , giving Orders to his Soldiers as he enters , which assoon as receiv'd , they retire . Ma. You to the Walls , the Ram's Assault repair , You , to your Tow'r , and take your station there . The Roman Army shews a noble Form , And marches boldly to begin the Storm . Stones , huge as Rocks , from batt'ring Engines fly , First seem to strike , then tumble from the Sky , And Men , as Thunder-struck , drop down and dye . Why , Madam , do you stand unguarded here , Where Destiny crouds on , and come so near . Why thus expos'd before your Palace-gate ? Why , bare of Shelter will you brave your Fate ? When Groans around of either Sex are heard , And Death's rude Hand gives Beauty no Regard . Cyll . Why should Maherball ask , who knows her Flame ? Knows too the Reason why Cyllene came . I came the passing Pomp of War to view , To bid my Father , and my Friends adieu , I came to see , and take my Leave of you . Love drew me forth , which makes a Woman dare , As much as Heroes in their hottest War . No greater Harms have I to fear , who feel Worse Wounds than e're were giv'n — By poyson'd Arrows , or by pointed Steel . Think that I feel more than I can express , And save a Virgin's Shame — And save her Words , which make her Passion less . Ma. What shall I think ; or why should you reveal Wounds which Maherball has not Power to heal ? Love only is imaginary Pain — Reason and Thought will make you well again . From an ungrateful Man recall your Heart , And let your conscious Beauty take your Part . Tho' in the Pride and Bloom of Nature born , A Thousand Heavenly Charms your Face adorn , And you look lovely , as the blushing Morn . No Looks can pierce my Breast , no Charms can move , You cannot conquer , for I cannot love . Cyll . Why are you then of that Coelestial Frame , Which sets all wondring Woman-kind on Flame . Why are your Looks and Actions so Divine , Why to your Charms must I my Soul resign , And you remain unmov'd , untouch'd by mine . Why from your Eyes should Beams of Beauty flow , To scorch my Breast , while yours is cold as Snow ? Why should you not the Love you raise return , Why should you freeze , while you make others burn ? Ma. Blame not me , fair Cyllene , but my Fate , That form'd me free from Passions , Love or Hate . No warm Desires ruffle my peaceful Blood , Which flows as smoothly as a Summer's Flood , Nor can I work a Tempest , if I wou'd . Nothing but War can move me with Delight , A dusty Field , and well disputed Fight Raises my ravish'd Spirits to their Height . Hark , when I hear such charming Notes as those , Trumpets . Shrill Trumpets , ratling Drums , and shouting Foes , My Heart leaps up with Joy , my Blood around Circles , with shrilling Pleasure at the Sound , And I bound lightly o're the unbeaten Ground . Cyll . Stay but a while , till yonder Squadrons move , I 'll hold you fast with all the Force of Love . They march not yet , you shall , you shall be gone , E're the first Brunt of Battle calls you on . Nay , I 'll go with you too , your Steps attend , Or in my stead at least my Wishes send . Vows after Vows for your Deliverance make , And bribe all Heaven for my Maherball's sake . These Eyes shall watch you still amdst the Foe , This Heart shall follow you where're you go , And when they strike at you — I 'll stretch these Arms abroad to catch the Blow . Ma. My Soul was form'd fierce , and averse to Love , And yet bear Witness , all you Pow'rs above , How much these soft Endearments melt and move . You 've made my haughty , strugling Temper fall , Lower than ever any other shall . Here stop your Conquest , where it first began , For you have conquer'd all that Woman can . Would you could drive your Passion to an end , Or would you were a Man to make a Friend . Cyll . Would I were Locris , would I could pursue , The Chace of Glory to the Goal with you . Would that these Hands the Massy Spear could wield , Would that these Legs could bear me to the Field . Would I could dart the Javelin from afar , And spur my thund'ring Courser thro' the War . Oh! would I were some wond'rous Man to do What'ere Man did , or more than Man for you . Your Harms and Hazards in your stead I 'de meet , Dye with your Wounds contented at your Feet . Ma. Then should we never part , but side by side , Thro' broken Ranks in batter'd Armour ride . Urge on our foaming Horses o're the slain , And pant with noble Toyl along the Plain . Our chief Concern should for each other be , I guarding you , and you defending me . Shielding from either's Head the falling Blow , So should we live , — Locris and I live so . But since the Gods have giv'n you other Charms , Not meant for rugged War , or rough Alarms , But melting Love in some young Monarch's Arms. No longer at indulgent Heav'n repine , Nor strive against the Bliss your Stars design , Which destine you for worthier Arms than mine . Cyll . Our Sex should never be the first to wooe , The Case is diff'rent here 'twixt me and you . Has not my Father promis'd you my Bed ? And ought not I to love the Man I wed ? Ma. To me the Gods that Priv'ledge have deny'd , Nor dare I , till they bid , receive a Bride . Suspect not this a slight of proffer'd Love , But secret Pleasure of the Powr's above . Cyll . In vain is all those trifling Pow'rs Decree , If I must ever be depriv'd of thee . Down then the strugling Woman in my Breast , I 'll forfeit Modesty to purchase Rest . My Passions drive me like the raging Wind , And Love and Pride raise Tempests in my Mind . Honour , Discretion , Reason , Sense unite , Disdain , and kindling Shame , and burning Spight Mix all at once in the tumultuous Fight . All lab'ring to prevail , oppress my Life , And undecided leave the doubtful Strife . Swoons . Ma. Rise , wretched Princess ! while I yet have Breath , To bid you rise ; for I shall blush to Death . Rise , I conjure you , e're I 'm forc'd to part , Ha! By the Gods , she 's colder than my Heart . Who waits , Orythia , Julia , here , take Care Of this too passionate , unhappy Fair . Enter Julia . See , she revives , I dare not longer stay , But for our mutual Ease must haste away . And now , the Trumpets sound their last Allarms , Drums , And now , the ready Soldier starts to Arms. Trumpets . Hark , how the Gates on brazen Hinges jar , While eager Troops bolt forward from afar , O'rerun the Plain , and plunge amidst the War . Exit . Cyllene recovering and rising . What ? Is he fled , but whither shall I flee ? Oh! 't is no Matter what becomes of me . Was I so mean to condescend to sue ? And could a Woman , could a Princess wooe ? What Passion mixt with what Despight I feel ? Was I so slavish , tell me , did I kneel ? O it was time to swoon , to burn , to bleed , To grow distracted after such a Deed . 'Twixt Love and Shame no Peace will e're be had , Till Life is worn away , — Or till my rolling Brain at last runs mad .

ACT III .

Scene , The City : An Alarm . Enter Soldiers driving in Archias , Maherball following . Ma. OFF , ye vile Slaves , from this ignoble strife , Dare such as you attempt a Gen'ral's Life . Sold . Ex. Yield Archias ; 't is in vain to fight or fly , Yield to your Friend who would not see you dye . What hast thou , good old Souldier , blindly done ? Why forc'd the Fate , which now thou canst not shun ? How has thy Loyalty been thus misled , Why hast thou pull'd this Ruine on thy head ? Arch. Rather , what hast thou done , and why , why draws The brave Maherball in so bad a Cause ? I taught thy Infant-fingers first to fight , But never to maintain a Tyrant's Right . No other Father but my self you know , And will you fight against that Father now ? On your own Head a double Guilt you bring , Warring against a Father and a King . Ma. 't is true , my other Parents are unknown , You have a Parent been ; but not my own . The King I serve first rais'd me up to Power , I owe you much , but owe my Soveraign more . Nor would I for his Crown his Cause decline , But Zoilus shall reign , while this is mine . Sword . Arch. Rash Youth still hurry headlong on their Fate , Still go too far , and still repent too late . You tread as on some Wave-beat Mountain's Neck , Ready to fall , and I would save your Wreck . But vain Young Men still laugh , when old advise , Think us the Fools , themselves alone the wise . Ma. Accuse me not of that ; your Words , you know , Have been as Oracles to me till now : No more for my far distant Dangers moan , Mind not my Safety , but consult your own . Arch. Would that were all ; blest should this old Man be , Were there not greater Ills in store for thee . You do not know your self , these Hands did rear , Your Childhood , brought you up to what you are . Due Filial Rev'rence to my Age you bore , You call'd me Father , for you knew no more . Would I had never known — Ma. Nay , speak — Go on , Speak to me as a Father , call me Son . Unload you self of half your anxious Grief , And by dividing Woes , receive Relief . Arch. My Care at first preserv'd your Infant Breath , And since diverted oft your threaten'd Death . Thou hast not sure forgot what Charge I gave , And what Precautions I prescrib'd to save Your much lov'd Life from the relentless Grave . Ma. I know you 've often warn'd me not to Wed , But shun , like Destiny , the nuptial Bed ; Bid me beware the Syren Woman's Charms , But cheifly fly the fair Cyllene's Arms. Arch. Fly from her Father too , there shun your Doom , Shun him , and shun a thousand Ills to come . That way the Malice of your Stars defeat , The Secret is not ripe for telling yet . O I could mention things would make you start ; Parch up your vital Blood , and tear your Heart . But 't is not yet a time for me to dare To trust your Youth to its own self so far . Why should I mention Ills I cannot cure , And your Humanity would not endure ? Ma. No , I will have them from the lowest Hell , For I dare hear what ev'n the Fiends dare tell . Not the wild Rage of a rebellious Town , Not a wrong'd Tyrant's unrelenting Frown ; Not Hills of Sand blown 'ore the Lybian Plain , Nor Tempests tossing the Sicilian Main , Not tott'ring Earth from its Foundations driv'n , Nor headlong fall of the fix'd Stars of Heav'n , Not Balls of Thunder , flaming as they roll , Nor Lightning flashing fast from Poke to Pole Can shock a well resolv'd , Heroick Soul . Arch. The pointed Hour was not arriv'd before , And now 't is past , and can be found no more . The Tyrant comes with an impetuous pace , Rage in his Motion , Vengeance in his Face : If to prolong my Life my Wish incline , 't is but to tell thee how to lengthen thine . Ma. I 'll stand 'twixt Thee and Death , my Power is great ; And I 'll employ it to prolong thy date : Thus be my Natural Affection shown , Be thou my Father till I know my own . Drums , Trumpets ; Enter Zoilus victorious , Locris , Soldiers . Zo . Fortune and Fate are mine , my Arms are crown'd Where er'e my Streamers wave , or Trumpets sound : No more rebellious Troops their Standards rear , No more the Roman Eagles tow'r in Air : Let to the Gods our publick Thanks be giv'n , And Incense smoak thro' all the Round of Heav'n . By Heav'n ; my Rebels now shall feel my Rage , But cheifly this , had he old Nestor's Age . Speak , Venerable Traytor — tell me — say , Where has Araxes been this dreadful day ? I made his Name thro' every Squadron ring , I challeng'd him to meet and fight a King . Speak ! Did he perish in the first Alarms ? Or does he live , and durst not meet my Arms ? Arch. Long may he live ; and all his Foes survive ; I left him last unwounded , and alive . Not but he fought , thro' the whole Battle ran , Mov'd like a God , performing more than Man . Your bravest Men of War declin'd the Strife , And no Sicilian durst attempt his Life . Zo . Dar'st thou speak this , old Detard — Arch. King , I dare — I 'm now so old Life was not worth my care , Whether I perish'd in the fierce Dispute , Fell by your rage , or dropt like ripen'd fruit . Zo . Yet I 'll be calm , for I have power at last , To punish , after all my Questions past : Where is your Prince ? all that you know reveal , Tell your whole Plot , not the least part conceal ; The Secret of your sudden Flight unfold , 't is a King asks ; a King that will be told . Arch. Let me be dumb for ever ; let the Tomb Gape wide , swallow me quick , and keep me dumb . Lest Whips , Racks , Dungeons , Tortures should prevail , And broke with Torments feeble Nature fail . Zo . Away with him to Racks , and let him feel The burning Pinchers and the bearded Steel . While in a lingring Agony he lyes , Long wishing for his Death before he dyes . Ma. Pronounce not , Royal Sir , so rash a Doom , There 's no recalling Secrets from the Tomb . His would be buried with him , if he fell , And you would put him past the Pow'r to tell . You know him obstinate , perverse , and old , Mild ways must win him , leave him me to mould . When Kings of Rebels , and Rebellions hear , Showing their Fury , they betray their Fear . For your own Safety then , defer his Fate , 't is rumour'd he can save , or sink the State ; Wise Princes will prolong a Traytor's Breath , For their own Use , and then pronounce his Death . Zo . Then be it as you will , my faithful Friend , My Crown your Arms , and your Advice defend . But bear him to the Dungeon , there secure Arch. is led off . His Legs , Hands , Arms , fast fetter'd to the Floor . How shall I recompense what thou hast done , This day wears fast , and the Sun's Course is run , Next day shall see you equal with my Son . When Locris , and Orythia's Hands shall joyn , I 'll give my lov'd Cyllene's into thine . Let victory be now the gen'ral Cry , Beat Drums , sound Trumpets , let your Banners fly , And with expanded Streamers sweep the Sky . Sound while your Emp'rour is triumphant led , Sound while his Son ascends the Genial Bed . Ex. cum Sold . Manet Maherball , Locris . Ma. Revive , ye dying sounds of distant War , Roll with recover'd fury from afar . Strike louder than before the thund'ring Drum , More Romans , more Sicilian Rebels come . In Fields the Godlike Heroe gains his Fame , While neighb'ring Nations tremble at his Name . No Feild is now for any Martial Deed , But drowsy Peace , and droning Wives succeed . Lo . What can the Fates design , my noble Friend , And where will all these threatning Mischeifs end ? My desp'rate Father knows when e'er I Wed , Unerring Oracles have doom'd me Dead . Yet his Commands are for my Nuptials given , In spight of Oracles , In spight of every Ordinance of Heaven . Ma. The same was told me by my Father's Ghost , That when I marry'd , I was surely lost . Thrice his shrill Voice denounc'd my doom aloud , And thrice he call'd me Son , and thrice I bow'd . Tho' void of Fear , to Wars , and Dangers bred , Yet such a Message from the mighty Dead Deters me from the Fair Cyllene's Bed . Lo . Saw you the Shape the Ghost assum'd before ; What aspect , and what form , or port he bore ? Mark'd you the Features — Ma. That , alas ! I can Give no account of ; Pale he look'd , and Wan , The Shade retaining little of the Man . Lo . None but Cyllene ? did the rev'rend Shade Name none besides , except no other Maid ? Ma. None else — Lo . 't was strange . Ma. And strangely has it wrought , And still revolves within my labouring Thought ; I 'll to the King , and beg him to suspend Our threatned Nuptials , till the War shall end . Ev'n that may gain us time , and we may find Some way unthought of yet to change his Mind . If granted not , I 'll leave him to his Crown , And fly to foreign Camps to win Renown . He tyrannizes most o're human Life , Who would , against our Will , impose a Wife . Exit . Manet Locris . Lo . Thou shal't not noble Youth , go hence alone , I 'll share thy Exile , till thou shar'st my Throne . I 'll follow thee , thou Charmer of my Soul , Where ever Tempests beat , or Billows roll . Thro' foaming Seas , and scorching Sands I 'll flee , And leave my Parents , and my Crown for thee . Enter Semanthe . Sem . And art thou found again , but do I boast Of finding thee , who must so soon be lost ? Fate , like the Sword , hangs threat'ning o're our Head , Held only by a single , slender Thread , Which , when that breaks , will fall , and strike us dead . The furious King with his drawn Sword I see , Now he kills Locris , now he murthers me . Now down the Shore he drags us side by side , And throws our mangled Bodies to the Tide . Lo . Would I had never been , to cause your pain , But yet be calm , take courage once again . The Gods that have by their almighty Aid , Amidst fierce Wars preserv'd a feeble Maid , Will not permit me now to be betray'd . Sem . Why was Bellona's work so quickly done ? Why are the Trumpets Clangors hush'd so soon ? Rush to new Wars , new shouting Squadrons Head , Or fight — or fly — Do any thing to shun the Nuptial Bed . How gladly could I here my Life resign ? But oh ! Your Miseries would not end with mine . Gods ! 't is too much to bear ; Slaves bound in Chains , Broke upon Wheels , and rack'd with mortal Pains , Feel not my Woes , but with more ease expire , Let me go mad , or give me back my Peace . O cruel Husband ! O unnatural Sire ! O wretched Child ! O most unhappy Race ! O miserable me ! Falls . Lo . Rise , and I 'll fall , I 'll perish for us both , I 'll bear it all . Fate cannot such a just Request deny , For you who gave me Life I ought to dye . Sem . Thou : thou hast been midst desp'rate Dangers taught , From Infancy , to value Death at naught . But I , my Child , in these declining years , Bend with my feeble Age , and feebler Fears . Lo . Then let my Youth your feeble Age sustain , Trust to my strength , you shall not trust in vain . Around my Trunk , like fearful Ivy twine ; Yours be the Safety , as the Duty's mine . The Gods will then prevent the threatned Stroke ; Their Thunder dares not rend their Sacred Oak , Sem . There are no pitying Gods ; or , if there are , Nor you , nor I have ever been their Care . I 'll act a Bacchanal , and scour the Plain , Feign madness — that , alas ! I need not feign . O're Hills and Dales with desp'rate Fury fly , Make distant Woods restore my frantick Cry , Meet from wild Beasts a less unnatural Doom , Or in the Forest dig our quiet Tomb . Lo . So frantickly , alas ! you look , and speak , I feel my stubborn Heart begin to break : Custom has given me Courage , which secures My Soul from Fears , yet still I fear for yours . Sem . Then I 'll be silent , thou no more shall 't know , Alas ! I've let thee know too much of Woe . But henceforth to my self my griefs shall be , Whate'er I feel , I 'll hide it all from thee . Lo . Rather speak on , speak on , and let us share Suffrings alike — am I too weak to bear ? Silence , alas ! would be too sure a Sign Of desp'rate Grief ; one part at least be mine . Yet do not , do not give it such a Scope , Trust on the Gods ; there still is room for hope . Sem . Who talks of hope , what flatt'ring Tongue presumes To bid me hope ? Can that be found in Tombs ? Let Hope from this unhappy Climate fly , For who can hope , that sees my Locris dye ? No more the voice of Comfort let me hear , Speak not — Or if you speak , speak nothing but Despair . Look yonder , where the Winds and Waves engage , Hark , how they roar , behold them how they rage ! Survey this troubled Earth , that thundring Sky , What cause have they to storm , what not have I ? Stand off , and give me leisure to complain , And think — O no , — no , never think again : Stand off , and give me way , 't is mine to rave , Driv'n by each Wind , and dash'd by every Wave ; What art can succour us , what pow'r can save ? Exit , supported by Locris . Enter Cyllene . Cyl . I heard Despair pronounc'd , and fain would see That wretched Creature who dspairs like me . Whoe'er thou art , worse Ills thou can'st not prove , For my Despair is the Despair of Love . O Fool , abandon'd Fool ! to stoop so low , So to pursue the Man who slights you so . Sure it is thus by some Divine Decree , Speak Heaven — why ask I you who mind not me , I 'll answer to my self — Fate's hand is in it , or it could not be . Enter Maherball Ma. Where 's Locris ? ha — aside . Cyl . Now hold my beating Heart : What makes thee blush , what caus'd that guilty Start ? Am I so monstrous ? can my Gorgon sight Put so renown'd a Champion in a Fright ? Since our near Nuptials are the Stars Design , Thou should'st have nam'd no other Name than mine . Ma. What am I doom'd to bear ? Cyl . What have you born ? 't is I , fond fool bear all ; your Salvage Scorn : Or worse then Scorn ; Indifference ! cruel Fate ! Let him but shew me either Love or Hate . Is that so hard to grant ? Ma. For Heavens sake , cease , And give your self , and give Maherball Peace . You wrong me , and in your impetuous Rage Blame me for Pains , which I must ne'er asswage . Cyl . You wrong me more , you wrong my Father's Crown , Who nobly rais'd thee from a Wretch unknown . Brave , gen'rous Proofs of Gratitude you bring , But still 't is thus with a too gracious King : Should he now know how you disdain my Bed , Instead of giving me , he 'd take your Head . Ma. The King thinks better since . Cyl . 't is thou hast taught ; 't is thou , ingrateful , hast inspir'd the Thought : Brave as thou art , thou may'st be yet afraid Of the Revenge of a rejected Maid . Fly to some dismal Cave , or dreadful Den ; Herd with your Fellow-Brutes , and not with Men . Go , stupid Wretch ! whom Beauty cannot move , Thou art not bless'd with Soul enough to love . Ma. Humbly I take my leave . Cyl . Hold yet , and stay ; O Heav'n ! What have I done ? What can I say ? Hell ! how he catch'd the word to haste away ! I call'd thee back but to pronounce thy Fate , To show my Rage can like my Wrongs be great . When Love is fled , Revenge supplies his room ; Dread then a certain and a sudden Doom . Know , from this time , ingrateful Wretch ! I tear Thy Image from my Heart — Or if that will not be , I 'll stab thee there . Ex. severally .

ACT IV . Enter Locris , follow'd by Orythia . Ory . DO I again my Love in Safety see ? Welcome from War , and welcome home to me . Now beats my Heart no longer : Did I say No longer ? No , till the next dreadful Day . For tho' Defiance is at distance breath'd , Yet still the bloody Sword remains unsheath'd . Lo . Therefore , while yet you hostile Legions move , It is not time to talk , or think of Love . Prevailing Foes may our Delights destroy , And sunder Lovers in the midst of Joy . When Victory is made compleat and sure , Then Love be crown'd when Conquest is secure . Ory . O make not such a faint and weak Excuse , A flat Denial were a less Abuse : I know my Failing is I want a Crown , Which was my Father's once , tho' now your own . His Loving Subjects uncompell'd obey'd ; In Quiet he the glittering Scepter sway'd . How little should all human Goods be priz'd , He 's dead , and I , unhappier I , despiz'd . Lo . Least you should think me guilty of Disdain , Know , that I too was never born to Reign . You cannot yet the Gods Designs discern , Which only I have been allow'd to learn . Ory . You talk in Clouds , speak Locris , ah ! speak plain , What do the Gods , or what do's Locris mean ? You think that I for base Ambition wooe , But my Ambition centers all in you . My Father's death for you I can forgive , And for you only I desire to live . Some recompense is to my Sufferings due , Who suffers for you , and forgives you too . Lo . I merit no Maid's Love to this excess , Nor can repay you , were your Passion less . I mourn like you , your good old Father's fate , Would mine had by some other means been great . I have no Love to give ; but could resign The Crown with ease , and once more make it thine . Ory . Look down , Orontes , from thy Native Sky , And see thy lost , despairing Daughter dye . Yes , Locris , yes , to death , to death I go , Yet dying , bless that hand which gave the blow . Daggers and Wounds before my Eyes I see , Fire , Poison , Sword — But still I will divert them all from thee . O Brother ! when Sicilian Squadrons yield , Spare Locris , spare him in the bloody field . O Father ! plead with all the Powers above , Not to revenge thee on the Man I Love . Exit . Locris alone . Lo . Unhappy Maid , thy Fortune I deplore , Tho' mine ought justly to be pitty'd more . Your Woes will end , nor can you long lament , But I must dread a sad , and dire Event . Yet shall this Thought instruct me how to bear , Fearing , is worse ; than Suffering , what we fear . Enter Maherbal . Ma. Your Father is resolv'd , I met him late , With Looks that threatn'd nothing less than Fate . At my Approach his Rage began to rise , And Vengeance lighten'd from his glaring Eyes . As I past by , I bow'd , no Word he said , But frown'd , as if he could have look'd me dead . When I spoke to him first , his fierce Reply Was , that we might not Wed , but then must dye . Lo . Dye I 'm resolv'd ; why , it were death to Wed ; Alike with Death I Love Orythia's Bed . Let him be both a King and Father still , No King , no God can force their Creature's Will . From our Creation that is left us free , And I will use it , as it ought to be . Ma. More than what yet is said , he menac'd too , Ev'n tho' his only Son , he menac'd you . Rage choak'd his words at last , and then a Gloom Silently warn'd me to depart the Room . Your Sister just retir'd , as I came in , Thence Springs his Passion , there our woes begin . Orythia's with him now , but all in Tears , And not with such a Look as Vengeance wears . His Eyes pursu'd me as to you I came , And mark'd my Steps that he might take the same . Enter Zoilus leading in Orythia weeping . To what a glorious purpose have I Reign'd , To see my Kindred , and my Blood disdain'd ? You shall , you shall my just Resentments know ; Yes , Son ; yes , Traytor ; not my General now . Ma. How ! Traytor ? Zo . Dare you then the Name deny , When a King speaks , dare you , his Slave , reply ? Go poor Unknown , abandon'd , and forlorn , Go , if thou canst , where thou at first wer 't Born . Thy wretched life , out of revenge I grant , And banish thee to live in scorn , and want . Ma. Cease threatning him , that is not to be brav'd , Born with a Soul which scorns to be enslav'd . I was not born thy Subject — Lo . O be gone — Pull not inevitable ruine on . I 'll follow you — aside . Ma. No let them fly , who fear The frown of ought on Earth ; I 'll tarry here . Is this my recompence for all I 've done , For all thy Glory in my Battles won ? I gave no Crown , created thee no Prince , But still this Sword sustain'd your Empire since . By my past Services too great I grow , And therefore Dungeons must reward them now . Zo . I wou'd have made you greater , you refu●d , A King's Allyance , and his Love abus'd . Nay , answer not , that aggravates th' offence , Hence from my sight , or I shall spurn you h●nce . Ma. Speak not , and look not , and adva●ce not so , Make not the smallest offer of a blow . Zo . Then from this Hand and Sword y●ur fate receive A Death too glorious for so vile a Slav . Lo . Spare , spare my Father . Ma. disarms him without drawing . Ory . Spare the King . Ma. I know What I should do ; where 's Pow●● , where 's Empire now ? All in this Hand — Why mou●t I not the Throne ? What hinders me from maki●● all my own ? But thus this Traytor gives ●ou back your Sword , And still confesses you his ●overaign Lord . Zo . This Artifice shan● serve ; my Guards — who wait ? Guards surround and seize him . Go , bear this Rebel T●aytor to his Fate . Loaden with Chains in Dungeons let him lye , Till I contrive , and doom him how to dye . Ma. Now is the Lyon taken in the Toyl , And yet the timerous Hunters dare not smile . But with a Dread their captive Foe survey , And tho' secure , stand trembling o're their Prey . Zo . Go then , and bind the Lyon in the Den , And see if he can make us tremble then . Loc . O Sacred Sir , O Father ! Zo . Ha! Have done , Plead for thy self , not him , rebllious Son . Go , see my Will perform'd — Ma. is led off . Ex. Zo . Ory . Manet Locris . Oh! then adeiu To all that 's great on Earth , dear Youth in you . The lovely Cause for ever must remove , But I for ever feel the Rage of Love . Yet if his Death is not the fixt Decree Of all the Fa●es , still some Relief may be , Some means fo●nd out to save and rescue thee . Enter Cyllene . Cyll . Where have ●hey sent him , whither is he hurl'd ? Driv'n to the Dungeo● driv'n from the World . Tell , Brother , tell me , ●hither is he led ; O speak , in Chains , in B●●ishment , or Dead ? Lo . Kind Heav'n ! she co●es to my own Heart's content , aside . Whate're he suffers , thou , ●●nst thou relent ? Dost thou bemoan him , thou whose fatal Breath Denounc'd his Doom , and sen●enc'd him to Death . Cyll . Death , didst thou say ? h●s Death ? if he must fall , Finall Destruction seize on us and a●● . The mad Effects of Women's Passion ●ee , How they can Love and Hate at once ●n me . Lo . If you would save him , stay to ●ourn no more , Mankind may perish in a Day , an Hour . Our Fathers Signet lyes in your Comman● He Signs his Warrants with Cyllene's Hand . Cyl . Here , take the Signet then , and set him free ; Flee as a Brother , as a Lover flee . To your own Conduct I the rest resign , Tell him the Act was either — yours , — or mine . Exit . Lo . Thy blindness in thy Love my hopes secures , I 'll flee , but not to make the Glory yours . If such a little Fraud should seem unjust , To gain their Love , who would not break their Trust ? Exit . Scene Changes to a Dungeon ; Maherball , Archias in Chains . Arch. With what a sad Confusion in my Face Do I behold thee in this Patal Place ? You were the only one I wish'd to see , But not to see you thus , thus chain'd like me . At the first Glimpse , the first surprizing View , I hop'd it was Delusion all , not you . Ma. All is Delusion in this Mortal Life , Ev'n our own Sense is with it self at Strife . Toss'd here , and there , by the Decrees of Heav'n , Our selves not knowing why , or whither driv'n . There 's this advantage still , I now may know My Parents ; what will that avail me now ? Arch. Only heap Woes on Woes , bring no Releif , But fresh Additions to your former Grief . Did I but see you circled with a Crown , Or at an Army's Head to seize your own . Then it were time to tell , till then to keep The Secret in , and let your Father sleep . Ma. Did you name Crowns , or am I grown your Scorn ? Yet something tells me I was Princely born . Oh! Speak , say in what part of all the Earth My Parents had their Crown , and I my Birth ? Arch. Seek , seek to know no more , for Heav'n's sake , cease , Keep ( while you have ) the least Remains of Peace . Ma. Tell me the worst , tell , where he liv'd , and dy'd , Where reign'd he , and a thousand things beside . Would I were free to roam , to search , enquire Maherball's Kingdoms , and Maherball's Sire . To the last Limits of the World I 'd fly , Till Strangers tell what unkind you deny . Speak , or you love me not . — Arch. I love too well , — Ye Conscious Gods too much I love to tell . Ma. Longer I find it is in vain to wait , Nor will I tarry for a Traytor's Fate . My death I can accomplish with my Chains , And dash the Prison Walls with bloody Stains . Arch. Hold , sacred Sir , and you , alas ! shall know ; Yes , you shall learn it to your Mortal Woe , And have that fatal Comfort , e'er your go . Oh! for this knowledge , Prince , you need not roam , 't is to be learnt , 't is to be had at home . Let me take Respit , let me take my Breath , And pause a while , before I give you Death . Ma. Be quick , and let thy Ton●ue be loose and free , Thy Words may choak thy self , but kill not me . Arch. You told me once you saw your Father's Shade , But know not who he was — Alas ! you knew him not alive or dead . Dare you the bounds which I prescribe maintain , And see that awful Spirit once again ? Ma. See him , speak to him , ask him how , and who Perform'd the dreadful Deed ; I dare pursue Their Lives to death ; their spotted Souls to Hell , There torture those by whom my Father fell . Archias unrolling the King's Picture , Orontes King of Sicily , writ in large Letters under it . Arch. Letters , and Seals , and Rings might be of use , But I can more substantial Proofs produce . This I preserv'd intire from Vulgar Rage , From Fire , and Water , and devouring Age . 't was taken after Death . Ma. Oh! Heav'n ! was this My Father's Semblance ? Was this Picture his ? Now by my Wrongs the very same I saw , It strikes me with a strange , unusual Awe . Tell me , most Sacred Shade , am I thy Son ? Speak to me — but , alas ! thy Speech is gone : Those Wounds say something , for Revenge they gape , No , the curst Author of them shall not scape . Tell me — this cannot tell . to Arch. Arch. 't is vain to know , He wears a Crown , who gave the fatal Blow . Vast are his Troops , and num'rous Guards surround His Throne , and keep aloof the threatned Wound . Ma. And I am bound , ye Gods ! and I am bound , Or what if Millions did his Throne surround ? Who was that King ? Arch. He who has now the Sway , And governs Sicily this present Day . Ma. Oh Heav'n ! — Heav'n there had nought to do . O Hell ! Speak thou no more , the rest let Furies tell . Was it by his curst Hands my Father Fell ? That King ? whom I but now so blindly spar'd , Whom I disarm'd in view of all his Guard ? Who to provoke my Fury , call'd me Slave , And sent me hither for the Life I gave . How did I scape when young ? — Arch. I sav'd you , Prince , Till now , curst now ; I have secur'd you since . Ma. Would I had perish'd then , or rather now , Would I might live to strike one glorious Blow . Revenge , Revenge ; alas ! it will not be ; Revenge has Bolts , which weigh her down like me . Dash then thy galling Fetters on the Ground , Thy Mother-Earth with thy sharp Irons wound . Spurn with thy Shackles her unhappy Womb , Tear up her Entrails , till thou findst a Tomb ; Rattle your Chains at you relentless Sky , Curse thy malignant Stars , run mad , and die . Arch. Raise from the Ground , dread Sir , your Sacred Head , Earth is not fitting for Prince's Bed . Dare Fate , like Heroes born of Royal Blood , Fall as Maherball and Araxes should . Ma. 't is for Revenge I grovel here , and groan ; I mourn my Father's Fate , and not my own . Mourn , that I cannot hurl this Murth'rer down To Sulph'rous Lakes , ten thousand Fathom down . Arch. Yet still be calm , and let not Fortune boast ; Your Godlike Temper , when she frown'd , was lost . Ma. There is a time , when Nature seems at Peace , And all the Jars in the Creation cease . When Winds and Waves are hush'd , and heard no more , And those forbear to rage , and these to roar . There is a time , when Clowds disperse and fly , No more engendring Thunder in the Sky . A time when Wars no more the World molest ; All with a deep , sweet Calm supinely blest ; But we are never with our selves at rest . This is the State ev'n of the happiest Men ; Then , cruel Gods ! Oh! what must mine be then ? Arch. Hark , the Doors open , and the Traytor 's come . Heav'n ! can you suffer so unjust a Doom ? Yet , let the Fates decree what-e'er they will , Conceal Araxes , be Maherball still . Ma. Yet will I not die tame , but perish warm ; My Hands , instead of Swords , my Bolts shall arm : And tho' I fall in an ignoble Throng , I will make sure to have one Slave along . Enter Locris and Governour of the Prison . Lo . Be quicker ; burst asunder all the Doors , This Signet here all I command secures . In what a Posture does my Hero stand ? How better would a Sword become his Hand ? Quick , knock his Shackles off , and then retreat , And , on your Life , where I appointed wait . Gov . knocks off his Bolts , and Exit . Ma. Sure , 't is enchantment all , this Story told , Would make it look like a Romance of old . Lost in amazement , and confusion too , I know not how to give what thanks are due : My want of Power to pay my Debt I mourn , But when 't is mine , I 'll make a full return . Lo . Stay not to thank me , but make hast , and fly : Fly , till Night comes , to some close Thicket nigh . Why are you so dismay'd ? so pale ? so dumb ? Look so upon me ? come , I 'll guide you , come . Hast , if you wish your self , or me to live ; If we are caught , the King will ne're forgive . Ma. Hold yet , for here your Favours must not end , I cannot move till you release my Friend . I owe him for a Life , nor shall he be Left in those Fetters there , while I am Free . Lo . Help to unbind him then ; now all away ; Fate hovers o'er , and has us , if we stay : He thinks that Fortune leads him ; but I prove aside . That I am led , and only led by Love . Exeunt . The End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCENE a Grove . Enter Cyllene alone . DEscending Night the neighb'ring Valleys fills , And presses on the brows of bending Hills . Our Fear around us with the darkness flows , And Mankind flies to Shelter and repose . Love Conquers fear , with a regardless Eye , I view the Gloomy Shades , and pass them by . Thro' dismal Caverns unconcern'd I rove , And tread with Dauntless steps the Desart Grove ; Driv'n by Despair , and goaded on by Love . All sleepy nature is to Silence bent , But my Tumultuous Sorrows will have vent . Winds , on your Wings my Mournful accents bear , Sound , Echo , thro' the Woods , Despair , Despair . Bring my Maherbal to me ; hark , around Sad Echoes answer from the hallow Ground , He will not come where I am to be found . Fan me , cool Gales ; Lull me , sweet Aires to Rest , Flow o'er me some kind Stream , And quench this Burning Fever in my Breast . Snatch me , some Whirlwind , on a sudden up , And bear me to the bleakest Mountains top . Let Rain , and Hail , and headlong Winter fall : Gods ! show'r down all your Floods , I want them all . The Wind around in grateful murmurs Blows , Goes into the Grove . The Rain beats fast , and yet my Fever grows , I 'll on , and lose at once , my Self , and Woes . Enter Locris alone . Loc . What Wonders have I heard , ye Pow'rs Divine ! Is he I Love Araxes ? — Ah! since he is , he never can be mine . Now , shall we Fall by his prevailing Pow'rs , Or he ( as hard a Fate ) must Die by ours . By me our Houses mortal Foe was Freed , By me , who cannot yet repent the Deed . Wistly he Look'd , and full of Lab'ring Thought , Loth to receive the Liberty I brought . Great Spirits , still with Blushes , take a grant , Disdaining chiefly , what they chiefly want . His Struggling yet was more ; he Scornd to owe Ought to his Rival , whom he thought his Foe ; But Locris is not known while he thinks so . Maherbal , no ; I all to thee Resign ; My Crown , my Empire , and my Heart are Thine . I 'll on , and find thee , if thou can'st be found , Make , till thou hear'st , the circling Woods resound . Speak , conscious Forests , Speak some vocal Tree , Some Sylvan tell , where can Maherbal be ? A thousand Thoughts within my Breast revolve ; Something I 'll do , but cannot yet resolve . Break thro' these Shades , Maherbal , and appear : Maherbal , Answer , if you live , and hear . Ma. Who 's there ? who calls ? rising from the root of a mossy Tree . Lo . One who was forc'd to rove , And search thee long in vain , thro' all the Grove . Why gaze you thus , with such A wild affright ? Why glare your Eyes amidst the gloomy night ? Whence all those signs of Mingled rage and woe , Why that Stern look , and that contracted Brow ? Ma. Leave me , I charge you , leave me here to die , By our past Friendship , I conjure you , fly . Lo . What said you ? did you speak of Friendship past ? Could not repeated Favours make it last ? Ma. Seek not to tear a Secret from my Breast , Which known , will rob you of Eternal Rest . Ask not the reason , but with Speed retire , Least I should set thee with the World on fire . Lo . Let guilty Men seek Safety by retreat , Those that are Innocent may brave their Fate . I saw you mourn , and came to claim my part , And share whatever should oppress your Heart . Ma. Thou art my chief Oppression ; now be gon , Ere thou , like mine , pull'st thy own ruine on . Thine is the Guilt , curse on thy Traitor's Face , For thou hast struck me in the tendrest place . Lo . Would Heav'n I had , all would be then Secure , Aside Nor He , nor I our present Pangs endure . Know , that I Scorn a title so Unjust , to him . Who never in the least betray'd my Trust . Where , how , and when was I so ? Ma. Perjur'd Friend ; Away , betimes , here let thy Questions end . Know thou hast wrong'd my Honour , now deplore We once were Friends , but must be so no more . Lo . To raise thy Honour has been all my Aim , More than my own , to spread abroad thy Fame , Give thee , ingrateful ! an Immortal name . Once more I charge you , as you were a Friend , Declare your Wrongs , what'er event attend . Speak , under shelter of the Secret Night , If you are wrong'd , my Sword shall do you right . Ma. [ Drawing ] Thou 'st found a way , I take thee at thy word , Nought else could have prevail'd — Nought but the Manly offer of thy Sword . Now if thou dar'st , a strict attention give , In me behold the lost Araxes live . My Father fell by thine , he Seiz'd his Throne . Can after that , his Son and I be one ? Now Draw , the Night clears up , the Silver Moon Shines bright , our business will be ended soon . Heaven seems at last to favour my design , Revenge and Empire shall at once be mine . Lo . Hold , I 'm no Son to Zoilus — Ma. Ha! take care , Play not with me , fond , Foolish Youth , beware . Lo . Think me his Son , yet am I free from Guilt , Clear of all Blood by Fraud , or Fury Spilt . In my behalf this may Securely plead , I was not Born some Years , when he was Dead . Ma. Let that Speak for you then , and now be gone , Leave me to take Revenge on him alone . Let so much be to our past Friendship due , At once to Pity , and to Pardon you . Lo . Pardon your self , if you , in Justice , can , For your Ingratitude , perfidious Man ! Did not I save your Life , last dreadful Feild ? Throwing before your Breast by batter'd Shield ? Leaving my Bosom naked to the Foe , Did not your now scorn'd Friend preserve you so ? Ma. Are not you well rewarded with a Crown ? A recompence for greater Actions done . Say , have not I more oft preserv'd your Life ? And Sheilded you in a more dang'rous strife ? Some pow'r you give , some strifling Posts resign ; You pay me part of what should all be Mine . Not high enough to Guard my self by Force , But high enough to make my Downfal worse . A gracious look , and flatt'ring Smile they show , Who would make Surest when they strike the blow . Snakes may securely lurk beneath the flow'rs , But when they find their Foes within their pow'rs , Springing , they spurn their coverts from the ground , Leap at their Prey , with hisses as they bound . Lo . Can in that Breast such idle fancies grow ? We still were Friends , and we may still be so . Ma. A Crown divides us — Lo . Here our diff'rence ends , Divide the Crown ; that should not sep'rate Friends . Ma. Crowns will admit no Rivals , I 'll resign Not the least Jewel that enriches mine : But I may lose it by my Foolish stay , I talk , and trifle , all my time away . Lo . Now by my fame in Arms , you shall not go , Duty commands detain my Father's foe . If nothing can a bar sufficient be , To stop your passage , you shall pass thro' me . Ma. Go , stop the raging Fire , or rolling Sea , Stop tumbling Torrents in their headlong way . Stop Light'ning as it flashes thro' the Skies , And stop Jove's massy Thunder , as it flies . When such Stupendous things as those are done , Then think of hind'ring me from going on . Lo . Poor man with Frenzy , and Ambition lost , I pity , and despise so vain a boast . Were thy redoubted Sword the Thund'rer's brand , Know , I could wrest it from thy trembling Hand . Ma. Tempt not my rising Fury to destroy , My very Arms would blush to kill a Boy . Be gone , and force me not against my will , Be gone , while I can keep my Temper still . Or let me go — Lo . Stay , that the Boy may try Whom Fate decrees to Conquer , whom to Die . Beware , and do not slight my tender Age , I dare your Valour , and defy your Rage . Manhood that thinks , is apt to harbour Fears , Courage is oftner found in Younger years . Ma. Hold yet my hands , you lately set me Free , And gratitude forbids me Fight with Thee . Lo . Lay all those Trivial poor excuses by , Know , 't was Cyllene Set you Free , not I. Ma. Farewel Compassion , then farewel remorse , Pity is fled , and Rage will have its course . Both Drawing . Now dread the Vengeance rumbling o'er thy head , Ready with bursting Clowds to dash thee dead . Lo . Ready for Fury which I cannot fear , Here 's my bare Breast , now if thou dar'st , strike here . Ma. O all ye Gods ! what Wonders do I See! She loosens her robe a little , her Helmet drops off , and her Hair appears . What had I like to have done ? — How am I Sav'd in not Destroying thee . All that within my boundless wish could fall , Was this — O bounteous Powers ! and have I all ? Thus low , thou dear Triumphant Fair , I bow , I own to Heaven , and Earth , I 'm vanquish'd now . Thus let me from your Lips my Sentence meet , Or Seal my Pardon e're I leave your Feet . Lo . Rise , and no longer on the ground recline , Rise to these Arms , this Heart for ever thine . I wrought your rage , high as I could to see That if ( when known ) I might forgiven be , And then concluded you could Love like me . Ma. If transport leaves me strength enough I 'll rise To thee the Fountain , and the flood of Joys . Divinely Charming , and Divinely good , Thou wert not guilty of my Father's blood . O! for thy sake I could , I doubt , forgive His woeful Fate , and let thy Father live . But if the Gods his Punishment design , Grant he may fall by other Hands than mine . Lo . Our Fates to thee , as to a God we trust , Mild amidst Wrongs , more Merciful than Just , My being known , this my Assurance moves , Maherbal was my Friend , Araxes loves . Maherbal holding , and Gazing on her . O stand a little off , and let me gaze , For all my Sense is swallow'd in a maze . Art thou a Woman then ? O blest surprize ! O dawn of op'ning Heav'n ! O Heav'n of Joys ! Woman ! the Tongue to show her tuneful skill , Must utter nought but Woman — Woman still . Invoking you , our tow'ring Souls we raise , You work our Passions , but transcend our Praise . The Gods for your Creation we adore ; But still we Worship you their Creatures more . At Shrines we seemingly present our Pray'rs , Yours are our off'rings , Heav'n ! our hearts are theirs . From them the Soldier all his Courage draws , Sure of Success , where Woman is the cause . When Ravish'd Poets write , or Prophets dream , Woman is still the dear Transporting theam . Their blood if fir'd their Fancies are Divine , They feel a Fury , and a Flame like mine . Lo . Here all the Warfare of my life is o'er , And I must play the Man's great part no more . Farewel my golden Crest , and glitt'ring Sword , Go , seek my much lov'd Arms , some other Lord . Farewel the Silver Trumpets Charming strains , Farewel the Drums that Thunder o'er the Plains . Farewel the Troops that threaten from afar , Farewel the waving Streamers of the War . Farewel the bloody Spears , and batter'd Shields , Ye long disputed Fights , and dusty Fields , Farewel the Fame that dear bought Conquest yields . Farewel the Tempest-beaten Troops that dwell Whole winters in your stormy Camps — Farewel . Ma. Hear me , My Locris , take my Farewel too , Ye sevenfold Sheilds , and shiv'ring Spears adieu , Farewel to War — to all the World — but you . I 'll clasp you close , and fold you ever thus , I 'll crush you to my Heart — And none shall ever Love and Live like us . Why were you thus Disguis'd ? O tell me how — But hold — 't is not an hour for Questions now . We 'll wast no time that 's lent us to improve ; Our Life is all too little for our Love . I 'm lost betwixt my wonder and delight , Let 's hasten , and Secure the Charming night , When the mute Soul flows out in every kiss , And every nerve swells with excess of bliss . Exeunt . Cyllene comes from the side of the Stage where She stood during the last three Speeches . Cyll . Death ! Hell ! and Furies ! What is this I hear ? Now all their close Designs , and Plots are clear . I 've been Abus'd , and now too plainly See Out of his Love to her he Slighted me . Now , wrong'd Cyllene , now thou may'st Command A Vengeance worthy of a Woman's hand . O were my Father here to know the Son After his Death design'd to mount his Throne , No bounds would his Revenge , and Rage confine , His would ( if possible ) be great as mine . Fly all respect of Nature and her Laws , 't is Nature bids Revenge in such a Cause . Mother , and Sister shall my Victims fall , And universal Ruine swallow all . Enter Zoilus attended with Torches and Soldiers . Zo . Where from my self shall I a shelter find ? Guilt tosses like a Storm my troubled mind ? With growing Fears , and gnawing Conscience lost , Each step I take , methinks I meet a Ghost . My Gen'ral and unnatural Son are fled , Ev'n my own Wife forsakes , and loaths my Bed . Raving with Prophecy , repent , repent She cries , or the Just Gods will ne'er relent . Could Penitence , indulgent Heav'n , atone So cheap , Araxes will not sell his throne . Ha! who is there , Cyllene , O my child , Why look you thus ? thus like your Father wild ? I hop'd for comfort from you , but I find , That is grown strange to me , and all my kind . Cyll . Ruine surrounds us , Death and Hell 's at hand , Ready for plunging on the brinks we stand , While Furies to our Faces shake the brand . Think on your Locris , your pretended Son , 't is he that pulls your headlong Ruine on . He , and your curst ingrateful Gen'ral joyn , Their Hellish aim is at your Life and mine . Zo . Ha! what pretended Son ? be brief , and plain , Unless your stronger Fears have turn'd your Brain . Cyll . Your Locris is a Woman : Start at this ? Once more , if I am one , I swear she is . He who so Bravely , and so Boldly Fought , Ev'n now confess'd the Woman ; let this thought Make it seem possible , 't was Love that taught ; Love taught her how to weild the Sword and Spear , Love of Maherbal banish'd all her fear . Zo . Impossible , you trifle . Cyll . Do I wake ? Do I see thee , my Father ? do I speak ? Zo . Cease your mad Questions , and your madder Tale , I saw it newly Born , and saw it Male . Cyll . Might not some Male a while supply her place , That 's a stale cheat , oft known in such a case . Once the false Infant is expos'd to view , They strait return him ; and take back the true . Zo . By Heav'n , thou rack'st my very brain , — forbear , Too plain , old Credulous Fool , their Plots appear . Be all my kindred , all but thou , accurst , Hell seize on all , but on Semanthe first . Fly , bid my Souldiers arm , all mount the Guard , Hast , and let every Avenue be barr'd . Would I could once that Hellish Traytress see , What Hell could furnish , should her Portion be , To Punish her , as she has punish'd me . Exit . Cyllene alone . Cyll . Now leap my ravish'd Heart , now mount my Soul , And each extended Arm grasp either Pole . Reach yonder Starry roof , and Chrystal Spheres , And shew the Gods a Genius great as theirs . Then downwards drive , search the deep Plots of Hell , And learn if Women , or if Feinds excel . Make Fate with industry thy task pursue , For thou hast set it work enough to do . If half tir'd Furies at their toyl repine , Give them new Fury ; Woman , give them thine . Exit . Enter Semanthe . Sem . How shall I hide me from my Tyrant's sight , How shun the woes which threaten me this Night ? All things so full of Fate and Death appear , As sadly tell me that my own is near . Whole Nature is in Pangs , and Groans around , Winds toss the Waters , Thunder tears the Ground , Earth feels , and shakes and staggers at the Wound . Thrice our dead Parents call'd us from the Tomb , Come Zoilus they cry'd , Semanthe come . Hark , 't is my Husband's voice ; the shrieking Ghost Sounds not so Fatal ; now , 't is now I 'm lost . Fly to the Temple , have recourse to Pray'r , Alas ! thou wilt not find Protection there . Without regard to any power Divine , He 'll Stab thee Kneeling , tho' before the Shrine . Scene opens she goes in . Re-Entur Zoilus with Torches . Zo . Hither I come again some ease to find , Lay , where I rais'd the tempest in my mind . All things are calm but I , no Foe appears , From my own Breast spring my own mortal Fears . Would I knew how , or what the Fates decreed , Or when , or where they destine me to bleed . Conscious , and certain of the worst to come , Secure of Death , I could out brave my doom . Lead to the Temple , either Gods or Fiends , Or Heaven or Hell shall tell what Fate intends . If they refuse to speak , when I invoke , I 'll kindle to a Flame the curling Smoak , Their Idols shall be burnt , their Altars broke . The Scene of the Grove draws , and discovers the Temple , which they that bear the Torches open , Semanthe kneeling at the Altar . Sem . Save me ye Gods ! Zo . Not all that rule the Sky Shall save you , by my just Revenge you die . I 'll spare you yet a while , where 's Locris gone ? Where is that Daughter ? that Impostor Son ? You let Maherbal Scape — Sem . 't is False — Zo . 't is True , As you are False , nothing is False , but you . Bane of thy Husband's and thy Soveraign's Life , Speak , Traytress , Viper , Monster , Woman , Wife ! Sem . Alas ! I know not . Zo . You know nothing ; no ; Nor when , nor whither they design'd to go . Unknown to you , I am by you Betray'd , You did not know that Locris was a Maid . All this I've learnt , give me to know the rest , Or Racks and Wheels shall tear it from your Breast . Sem . What would you more , you your curst orders gave To kill a child Heaven destin'd me to Save . Unnatural you caus'd that my Pious Cheat , Come when it will , I glory in my Fate . Zo . Die , damn'd deceiver Die — stand off ye Slaves Stabs her . If you tread here , you tread upon your Graves . Still Obstinate as False , is this a time ? And will you not in Death confess your crime . Die in the true perverseness of your Sex , In Life and Death delighting to Perplex . Stabs again . Sem . Spare yet the short remainder of my Life , For Locris is — Zo . What is She ? Speak — Sem . A Wife . Wife to Araxes , your Maherbal's Wife . Zo . What ? Wife to both ? go on speak yet again , Speak thou — my Wife , till you distract my Brain . Wilt thou not make me Mad — Sem . No more , adieu — Kind Heaven forgive us both , but chiefly you . Dies Zo . What , Speechless ? Dead ? hold yet , you must not go , For I have many other things to know . She 's gone , no strugling warmth , no kindly spark Of Life remains — And I like her must wander in the Dark . Hark , the Loud Trumpets , hark , the thundring Drum , The Romans , and the Conqu'ring Rebels come . Sure I have only Dreamt I was a King , Would it were all a Dream — but Oh! the sting Of Conscience gives at last the secret Wound , But here 's to lull it fast , to Sleep so sound , As never more to Dream — Falls on his Sword . Enter Cyllene . Cyll . Ha! what has Fate done here ? my Mother Dead ? My Father Dying , and my Sister fled ? Who should have liv'd , by death's curst error fell , They live , who should have dyed — Mistaken mischief ! mangled work of Hell ! How could all this be done , whose hands concern'd In the dire Fact ? That yet is to be learn'd . O raise thee up a little from the ground , Tell thy Cyllene in her Sorrows drown'd , to Zoilus . Tell , sacred Sir , who gave the Fatal wound . Zo . Who durst , but I my self ? — make no reply , I 've many things to ask before I die . What is become of Locris , is she Seiz'd ? Tell me she is that I may perish pleas'd . Where is Maherbal , where Araxes ? where The Roman Army ? further Questions spare , And Answer e're my Soul dissolves in Air . Cyll . Romans and Rebels ravage all the Town , Araxes marches on to Snatch the Crown . Archias Proclaims him at his Army's head , And the War done , he and your Locris wed . Zo . Where is Maherbal then , sits he unmov'd ? And lets another take the Maid he lov'd ? Cyll . Maherbal is Araxes — Zo . Spiteful Pow'rs ! Hell , and Confusion ! What a Fate is ours . You rave , and so do I , and all Mankind , We who boast Reason , more than Brutes are blind . Wretches like us by Heav'n decree accurst , For ruine destin'd , still run mad at first . Fate's malice I despise , her rage I slight , In a few moments in her own despight , With me it shall be Rest , and endless Night . Snatch not my Sword , Cyllene — yet you may , I have a surer , and a speedier way . Help me a while to stand erect , and straight , She helps him up . That I may fall with greater force and weight , At once ; and all together strike the ground , tears open his wounds & dies . While the Soul rushes from the gaping wound . Cyll . Farewel , great Soul ; and now farewel all Fear , I am thy Off-spring , and thy Spirit's heir . Let my Malignant Stars their utmost do , I slight them , while I can escape like you . But hark , the Conqu'ring Troops in Triumph move , My rival Sister , and my Tyrant love . Hell ! must I stifle my Revenge and hate ? And herd with Vassals at the Temple Gate ? Till the proud Victors shall pronounce our Fate . But 't is resolv'd , there shall Cyllene stand , Off'ring Petitions with a trembling hand . Suppliant , concealing this envenom'd dart , Drawing a Dagger . Till shooting from their feet , I reach their Heart . Drums , Trumpets . Enter Araxes , Locris , Archias Victorious . Archias leading Orythia . Araxes at the door of the Temple . Arax . From further slaughters let our Soldiers cease , Let War lie buried in profoundest Peace . Let us our Fury , and Revenge suspend , From this blest hour , Blood stanch , and Murther end . Cyll . ( kneeling ) Yet , e're you enter these Divine aboades , The sacred Mansions of forgiving Gods , Stay , lovely , cruel Conqueror , turn , and stay , Hear a despis'd , unhappy Princess pray . Araxes raising her . Arax . O rise , you need not make your wishes known , Life , Liberty , Dominion are your own . Cyll . Could you but guess , you would recal the grant , 't is thus I satisfy what e're I want . [ Offers at Locris , but prevented , turns the wound on her self . ] Arax . Seize her , disarm her . Cyll . Behold it here , lodg'd in my bloody Breast , Tho' first intended for my Sister's Guest . This Blow will all my pain and shame remove , For failing Vengeance , and rejected Love . Gods ! tho' on him your Blessings you conferr , Be Just by halves — heap Plagues — heap Hell on her . Soon may she Die — shall that poor Curse suffice ? — Long may she Live , long slighted , e're she dies . May she most Vertuous be , most chastly good , But he believe her most abandon'd lewd ! Then may this Flourishing , yet happy she Die thus Desdain'd , thus in Dispair like me . Dies . Arax . What sad extreams make most of Women's Fate , Raging with love , relentless in their hate : Successive passions in their turns prevail , Less fair their Person's , than their tempers frail . Lo . Oh! All ye Just , but too , too rigid Pow'rs ! Let Fate no further reach to us or ours . Tho' still such Judgments such a life attend , Yet our allyance bids me mourn her end . Arax . Enter the sacred Temple , now to bind Our selves by Vows , to be but less confin'd , To mingle Souls , when once our hands are Joyn'd . You too , my Sister shortly must provide To bless young Archias in a wish'd for Bride . His Father here first wrought this turn of Fate , And I will make him , as he made me Great . On that brave Youth you must your Love bestow , For you can Rival me no longer now . Burn all our incense , all our Gods invoke , Let the thick fumes their Silver tunnels choak , And clowd the blushing Bride with Curling smoak . The Temple opens , and discovers Zoilus and Semanthe lying on two Mourning Couches , Mourners attending , and Lamps burning about them . Arax . What 's this ? to what a Pomp of Death I come ? Speak you , or are you , like those Bodies , dumb ? Who did all this ? I charge you , hast , and tell , How Zoilus , and how Semanthe fell ? Lo . Father , and Mother too — art thou too dead ? Then all is past , and I who came to wed , Must make the Grave , as it is thine , my Bed . Swoons . Arax . Hold her , support her , hast , and gently bow Her body — leave her — She recovers now . Lo . Are these my promis'd Nuptials ? must I go Thus to be Wedded midst this World of woe ? If under such a weight condemn'd to live , Still I must beg a little time to grieve . Arax . You shall not grieve alone , my Charming Fair , Give me your Sorrows , or at least my share ; Too soon your Sex is with your woes opprest , Which would sit better in a manly Breast . That Mournful aspect half my hopes destroys , Those Sighs amidst my Triumphs sink my Joys . In you my Soul would have her full desire , Did not those Tragick sights your Tears require , And prove that pleasure never comes entire .

FINIS .