[]
THE BRITON.
A TRAGEDY.
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[]
THE BRITON. A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in Drury-lane BY His MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.
By Mr. PHILIPS.
LONDON: Printed for B. LINTOT between the Temp [...] Gates in Fleet-ſtreet. MDCCXXII.
To the Right Honourable the COUNTESS COWPER.
[]WHILE my Lord Cowper's Thoughts are intent, (as they have been, many Years) on [] the Good of his Countrey; I know Your Ladyſhip de⯑lights in Reading; as often as the Care of Your Family, and the Ceremonies of Life, allow You Leiſure for an A⯑muſement, too Elegant to become Faſhionable. The Two young Ladies, likewiſe, emu⯑lating the Accompliſhments of their Mother, are ſenſible of the Advantages, ariſing from [] the early Uſe of Books; which give ſuch a Bloom to the Mind, as the Prime of Beauty diſcloſes in the Fea⯑tures. Had I, therefore, been able to make this Tragedy (which, I humbly requeſt, may appear under Your Lady⯑ſhip's Protection) as Com⯑pleat, as it is Innocent; It might have proved a laſting Teſtimony of my ſincereſt Ac⯑knowledgments [] for ſuch Ob⯑ligations, as I can never forget, nor diſown.
I have had the Honour, though I live concealed in the utmoſt Privacy of Life, long to enjoy Your Lady⯑ſhip's Favour. If You are pleaſed to pardon this pub⯑lick Declaration of my Grati⯑tude; what has been the ſe⯑cret Boaſt of my Heart, will, [] henceforward, turn to my greateſt Reputation.
I am, With the greateſt Reſpect, MADAM, Your LADYSHIP'S moſt Obliged, moſt Humble, and moſt Obedient Servant, Ambr. Philips.
PROLOGUE.
[]Spoken by Mr. WILKS.
VErtues, and Vices, are to Realms confin'd:
And, Climates give a Tincture to the Mind.
Still This, or That, Peculiar Inclination
Remains, Unalter'd;—and denotes a Nation.
Thus Rivers flow; thus Mountains, ever, ſtand;
The Marks, through every Age, of every Land.
Britons, you'll ſee, when Vanoc comes before yee,
The Love of Freedom is your ancient Glory.
The Romans, firſt, this Native Vertue broke;
Made us Polite;—and bow'd us to the Yoke.
The Saxons, then, Unpoliſh'd,—greatly Rude,
Strangers to Luxury,—and Servitude,
Reviv'd the Britiſh Manlineſs of Soul,
That ſpurns at Tyranny, nor brookes Controul.
In Time, another Set of Romans came;
And brought worſe Slavery:—Though they chang'd the Name:
Tamed us with Luxuries of a different Kind;
And made plain Truth diſtaſteful to the Mind.
By Naſſaw's Aid, at laſt, we drive Them, hence;
And, once again, return to common Senſe.
[] In Britain, ever may It keep Poſſeſſion!
Eſtabliſh'd, by the Proteſtant Succeſſion.
Bleſt in a Prince, whoſe high-traced Lineage ſprings
From the famed Race of our Old Saxon Kings;
Our Zeal for Liberty we, ſafely, own:—
He makes it the firm Baſis of his Throne.
Remember, then, the Dangers, you have paſt:—
And, let your Earlieſt Virtue—be your Laſt.
EPILOGUE.
[]Spoken by Mrs. YOUNGER.
WHAT Tragick Buſtle in this Britiſh Play!—
But,—I am told, 'tis writ the ancient Way.
Nay;—That it is not Modern, is plain Fact:—
There's not one Simile,—to cloſe an Act.
But, let me ſee:—What other Art is wanting?—
In Tragedy, there ought to be ſome Ranting:
Something, ſo Exquiſite;—ſo very Good;—
It cannot, poſſibly, be underſtood!
But, Gwendolen's hard Fate I cenſure, moſt.—
The blooming Princeſs,—Fair,—as any Toaſt;
Captive to Valens; Yvor's promis'd Bride;
Between Two, baſhful Knights,—a Virgin died.
Three Hours, unbleſt,—with an Italian, paſs'd!
No warbling Lover could have been more chaſte.—
[] Our keener Sportſmen would have ſeiz'd the Quarry:—
But, thus it is,—when Men deſign—to marry.
Still harder Fate!—If Druid-Songs be true,
She muſt,—for ever!—Her firſt Flame renew.
Such monſt'rous Conſtancy let Heathen Schools
Injoin:—We, Chriſtian Maids, are no ſuch Fools.
One Month,—at moſt,—we can a Husband bear:—
There's not Two Honey-Moons, in any Year.
Then; what a Brute is Vanoc!—What a Pother!—
How could ſhe help it, if—ſhe lov'd another?
Poor Cartiſmand!—There's not a Man,—now living,
But would have ſeem'd, at leaſt, far more forgiving.
What?—Not connive at One?—or Two?—or Three?—
Well!—Britain never, till of late, was Free!
How would his Britiſh Blood be ſet a madding,
Had he, in Maſquerades beheld her, gadding!
But, why does Vellocad not, once, appear?
He was a pretty Fellow!—you may ſwear!
And, what though Vanoc ſays, He could not fight?
Is that the Way to do a Lady, Right?
[] Since thoſe rude Times, Husbands are more diſcreet;
And know their Cue, to wink at—what is meet.
Then, take us as we are.—'Tis no great Matter:—
For Women will be frail, while Men can flatter.
The Perſons of the Play.
[]MEN.
- Didius, the Roman General, Mr. Thurmond.
- Valens, a Roman Tribune, Mr. Mills.
- Vanoc, Prince of the Cornavians, Husband to Cartiſmand, Mr. Booth.
- Yvor, Prince of the Silurians, be⯑trothed to Gwendolen, Mr. Wilks.
- Idwall, an Officer under Cartiſmand, Mr. W. Mills.
- Alan, chief Officer under Yvor, Mr. Williams.
- Ebranc, an old Officer, under Vanoc, Mr. Bowman.
- A Meſſenger, Mr. Roberts.
WOMEN.
- Cartiſmand, Queen of the Brigantians, Mrs. Porter.
- Gwendolen, Daughter to Vanoc, by his firſt Wife, Mrs. Booth.
Guards, Attendants, &c.
SCENE part in the Roman Camp, part in Vanoc's Palace.
ERRATA.
PAge 12. line 4. for By read My. p. 40. l. 2. for Defenſe, read Defence p. 48. l. 13. for But, read Bia.
[]THE BRITON.
ACT I. SCENE I.
SCENE, the Pavilion of the General, in the Roman Camp.
Valens and Didius.
VALENS.
HOW, Didius, ſhall a Roman, ſore repuls'd,
Greet your Arrival to this di⯑ſtant Iſle?
How bid you Welcome to theſe ſhatter'd Legions?
Did.
Scarce had I ſcaped the Perils of the Deep,
Thrown, by a Tempeſt, on the Rocky Coaſt;
Ere the unwelcome News of your Defeat
Had reach'd my Ears.—But, Valens, bear a Heart!
Remember ſtill, the Roman Vertue ſcorns
A cheap Renown; a Triumph, without Toil.
Val.
[2]Such eaſy Purchaſe, here, you ſhall not find.
The brave Oſtorius, our late General,
In War experienced; to Fatigues inur'd;
Impair'd by Wounds, and the ſlow waſte of Years;
Deſpairing to ſubdue theſe hardy Britons,
Died with his Laurels blaſted on his Brow.
Did.
No ſooner was his Death to Rome convey'd,
Than I petition'd to command in Britain.
Claudius approv'd my Zeal; and bade me ſpeed
To tame Barbarians, and aſſert his Empire.
Val.
May Jove, the Guardian of the Capitol,
He, the great Stayer of our Troops in Rout,
Fulfill your Hopes, and animate the Cohorts!
Did.
At Rome, indeed, the Britons are allow'd
To dare in War;—perhaps, even more than Romans:
And Caradoc, their captive Chief, was prais'd,
As a rough Warriour, of undaunted Boldneſs.
Val.
Oh, Didius, had you prov'd their martial Rage;
The deſperate Fury of their wild Aſſault!—
Not Scythians, not fierce Dacians, onward ruſh
With half the Speed:—Nor, half ſo ſwift retreat.
In Chariots, fang'd with Scythes, they ſcour the Field;
Drive through our wedged Batalions with a Whirl;
And ſtrew a dreadful Harveſt on the Plain.
Did.
But, Conduct overcomes the forward Foe:
And Fabius, under Diſappointments patient,
Taught Romans, firſt, to conquer by Delay.
Now, to the Buſineſs, Valens:—Since, from you,
As foremoſt Tribune of the Soldiers here,
Do I, your General, expect my Knowledge.
Inſtruct me; whence this Uproar, through the Land:
And, wherefore Vanoc, the ſworn Friend to Rome,
(For, ſo our Emperour eſteem'd this Prince)
Why he ſhould ſpurn againſt our Rule; and ſtir
The Tributary Provinces to War.
Val.
You muſt have heard of Cartiſmand.—
Did.
You mean,
The wealthy Queen;—our powerful Allie,
Who gave up Caradoc?
Val.
[3]A Female Warriour:
Queen of the Brigantians.—Her did Vanoc,
Prince of the Cornavians, wed—A Contract,
More in Ambition founded, than in Love.
While this Alliance held, we ſtood ſecure.
But, Cartiſmand, miſs-led by fond Deſire,
Provokes a Husband, jealous of his Honour.
Unable, longer, to conceal her Flame,
And fearing Vengeance, gathering to a Storm;
She crowns her Lover: Takes him to her Bed,
By ſolemn Nuptials: And, defying Vanoc,
Attempts, by War, to vindicate her Choice.
Did.
But, how are We concern'd in this Debate?
This private Jar?
Val.
I haſten to the Point.
One Battle—(Yes;—a Skirmiſh, more, there was)
With adverſe Fortune fought, by Cartiſmand;
Her Subjects, moſt, revolt:—Diſtreſs'd; purſued;
She begs Protection from the Roman Arms:
And vows perpetual Homage, for the Service.
Oſtorius interpoſed—No Terms of Peace
Would ſatisfy the Conquerour.—Then we,
To balance Vanoc's Power, receive the Queen;
And aid her to ſuſtain unequal War.
Did.
And can we not intreat this angry Prince?
Val.
Oh, that you might!—yet, old Oſtorius fail'd.
Did.
By Promiſes, ſuſpend his Rage, a while?
Val.
What Offers would he not reject, from Romans!
Did you but know him;—(I have known him long)
You would not wiſh to count this Man a Foe!—
In Friendſhip, and in Hatred, obſtinate;
Provok'd with Eaſe; as hard to reconcile:
In Juſtice rigid; in Reſentment warm;
Punctual, alike, to puniſh, or reward:
A wilful, haſty;—But, a gallant Briton!
Did.
Such Hannibal appear'd:—Yet Hannibal
Was overthrown:—Impatient Hannibal!
But, Tribune, who approaches our Pavilion?—
[4] Behold, a Glare of Light ſhines through the Dusk.
This way it moves.
Val.
The Britiſh Queen.—
Did.
Our Part
It was, in Courteſy to be the foremoſt.
The beſt Amends will be, that I receive
This Interview in private.—Valens; anon
We muſt have farther Talk.
SCENE II.
Didius, Cartiſmand.
Did.
Madam, I bluſh,
That you ſhould, thus, anticipate my Purpoſe.
Cart.
Alas, a Woman, overborn by Wrongs,
A Queen, reduced to ſupplicate Relief,
Lays all the Pride of Majeſty aſide;
Humbles her Thoughts; and ſtoops to her Condition.
Did.
But Greatneſs, in Diſtreſs, claims moſt Reſpect;
An awful Pity, in a Roman Breaſt.
Cart.
If royal Lineage; if diſtinguiſh'd Blood,
Down from an ancient Race of potent Kings;
Now treaſur'd in my Veins:—Now boiling high
With Injuries;—with Outrages!—that burn,
That ſet the very ſuffering Soul on Fire!—
Oh, General!—Excuſe this Burſt of Tears.
Did.
Princeſs, aſſwage this Vehemence of Anguiſh—
I come, ambitious to ſupport your Cauſe.
Cart.
My Cauſe!—It is the Cauſe of Rome!—ſhould
That unforgiving Vanoc! once prevail;
[Vanoc,
The Roman Name is loſt.—This bold Attempt
Shakes the Foundations of your Maſter's Empire.
If Britons, with Impunity, rebell;
Will other Nations not renounce his Sway?
What Leagues will not be form'd!—If his Allies
Are known to ſuffer;—(as it will be known)—
His moſt avow'd Allies!—What ſuppliant Prince
Shall ſue to Claudius for a vain Protection?
Who dread his Enmity?
Did.
[5]Diſmiſs your Fears.
Rome will uphold her Friends.—In ſuch a Cauſe,
She neither counts her Blood, or Treaſure, laviſh'd.
Not to recal in other Lands Exploits,
That ſignalize our Faith:—Your Anceſtor
(I think, his Name was Mandubrace) who fled
To Gaul, imploring Aid from Caeſar,
Was to his Realm, by Caeſar's Arms, reſtor'd;
When, laſt, he enterpriz'd on this new World.
Cart.
Still may you prove the Terror of your Foes;
The Bulwark of your firm Allies: And, ſtill▪
Teach Traitors to repent of faithleſs Leagues.
My Faith you cannot doubt:—Witneſs Caradoc.—
Oh that, like him, proud Vanoc were my Spoil!
To give to Claudius, yet, one Triumph more.
A Tributary Crown with him I love,
With Vellocad, who beſt deſerves my Love,
Is all I ask, to recompence my Faith.
He is my Lord:—The choſen of my Heart!
The Man, who ſympathiz'd in all my Sufferings;
The Man, who brav'd the Tyrant's jealous Rage;
Who eas'd me of a Yoke, too rude to bear!—
With him I vow'd to live;—with him to die.
This, Didius, is the whole of my Ambition.
Did.
Your Injuries had you, a while, diſſembled,—
Cart.
That is an Art, we Britons are to learn.
Divided from thoſe Climes where Art prevails;
Undiſciplin'd by Precepts of the Wiſe;
Our inborn Paſſions will not brook Controul.
We follow Nature, in her ſtrong Deſires;
Our Joys, our Griefs, our Pleaſures, and our Pains,
Alike ſincere, admit of no Diſguiſe.
Our Words declare, our very Looks betray,
The Feelings of the Soul; the Workings of the Heart:
Still happy, or ſtill wretched, in Exceſs.
Did.
We Romans ſhould prefer the Golden Mean:
And chooſe to ſteer, through Life, with gentle Gales.
Cart.
[6]We, too, would chooſe; did Nature give us Choice!—
But, Sir, I ſhould inform you; now our Hopes,
From their low Ebb, begin to riſe.—Your Preſence
(Not granted, yet, untimely) will inſpire
New Courage; and retrieve what Valens loſt.
Already do the Soldiers, in your Name,
From Tent to Tent, each animate his Fellow;
And promiſe Vengeance to the hoary Shade
Of brave Oſtorius.
Did.
Juſt to his Renown,
The Senate had decreed (not ſo, the Gods!)
To cheer his Age; to ſooth his long Fatigues,
And cloſe his reſtleſs Warfare, in a Triumph.
Cart.
His Memory now, committed to your Care,
Be greatly Pious to the Worthy dead!—
Nor ſhall you want Aſſiſtance.
Did.
Generous Queen;
His Aſhes be my Truſt. In a ſtrange Land
His Manes ſhall not wander, unappeas'd.
Cart.
Too long, already, Vengeance is delay'd.—
Oh, give the Spirit of Oſtorius Reſt!—
The Spoils of Vanoc, he demands,—from you:—
Vanoc, alone, can furniſh out his Trophy!
Vanoc, whoſe Breach of Faith, and foul Rebellion,
Oppreſt the Aged with a Weight of Sorrow.
Did.
So, all yee Powers, propitious prove to me,
As I avenge this much diſhonour'd Shade!
Cart.
Soon ſhall you ſtand acquitted of your Vow.
This Night;—This inſtant Hour, my Vellocad
(To whom your Emperour's Glory is moſt dear)
Comes with Auxiliaries:—Hence, far Northward:
A ſwarm of Caledonians; huge-limb'd Warriours;
Who wield, with ſinewy Arm, a deadly Sword,
And fight, ſecure, behind the ſeven-fold Target.
Did.
But, how may Vellocad conceal their March?
Or, need we ſend out Forces to protect them?
Cart.
[7]This woody Foreſt, that divides the Camps,
A Length of Shelter, covers their Approach.
Mean time, the vain Uſurper, in my Palace,
Prepares his Daughter's Nuptials: nor ſuſpects
Theſe diſtant Aids.—But, Didius, we ſhall call
The Bridegroom forth,—before the appointed Hour!
Did.
And pacify the ſlaughter'd Sons of Rome!
Cart.
And blot the Name of Vanoc out of Life!
His Brother died my Priſoner!—Nor ſhall Himſelf,
Nor ſhall his Gwendolen,—his Daughter dear!
Survive, to lengthen out his hated Race,
And nurſe a Brood of Traitors in my Realms.
But ſee where Idwall ſpeeds:—A truſty Soldier;
A loyal Subject;—not unknown to Valens▪
SCENE III.
Didius, Cartiſmand, Idwall.
Id.
Madam, the bidden Gueſts are come.—They wait
Impatient to ſalute their General.
Cart.
Your Captains, Sir.—Within my humble Tent
They wait.—The good Oſtorius often deigned
To grace my ſlender Table with his Preſence.
There ſhall you find your Friends; with trueſt Wel⯑come
To ſuch coarſe Fare, as this rude Land affords.
Did.
Still, Princeſs, you out-go my Courteſy.
Cart.
Ere half the Night ſhall waſte, my abſent Lord Will bid you Welcome.
Did.
I ſhould ſpeak to Valens.
Cart.
Idwall; do you expect him, here.—He, too,
Muſt be our Gueſt.—Intreat him not to fail.
Did.
By the Reſult of what your Queen imparts,
I ſhall have Orders for him;—of Importance.
Let him not fail me, Idwall.
Cart.
Let him bring▪
The Map, Oſtorius traced.—It ſhews his Marches;
[8] His ſeveral Camps; and Poſture of the Iſland.
Did.
A Care well worthy of a Roman Soldier.—
Now, Madam, I attend you.
Cart.
This Way, Sir.
Behold, the Moon ſhines on the pearly Dews;
And, through the Night, directs the advancing Troops.
SCENE IV.
Idwall.
Prompted at once by Vengeance and by Love,
What will not Woman dare?—O Cartiſmand!
Adventurous Princeſs!—Boldneſs be thy Praiſe;
Thy Refuge, now: Thy Title to the Crown!—
No cool Advice; no Caution will avail:
Raſhneſs is Prudence in a deſperate Cauſe!—
The Sword, alone, can juſtify thy Paſſion.
If, in good Plight, theſe Northern Kerns arrive,
Then, Vellocad, does Fortune promiſe fair;
And give at leaſt, one trying Battle more.
This is the utmoſt Effort of thy Queen;
Her laſt ſurviving Hope—If we ſucceed!—
And yet; while this high-mettled Vanoc lives,
The Romans never ſhall have Peace in Britain;
Nor Cartiſmand be reſcued from Alarms.
SCENE. V.
Idwall, Valens.
Id.
Valens, you come in Time.
Val.
In ſearch of you,
Have I employ'd my Abſence.
Id.
The General
Is the Queen's Gueſt:—Nor are you un-invited.
I was enjoin'd to wait, and bring you to them.
They want—a Map—
Val.
The Draught Oſtorius made?
Id.
The ſame.
Val.
[9]This very Parchment Roll:—Whereby
I meant to point the Countrey out.
Id.
You hear,
The Caledonian Succours are at Hand?
Val.
Within ſome Furlongs of the Foreſt's Shelter.
Id.
Your new Commander need not pine for Action.
Before to Morrow's Sun ſhall gain the Pitch
Of Noon, we may controul the Pride of Vanoc;
Reſtore the Queen; retrieve your late Defeat;
And turn their purpos'd Revels into Mourning.
Then, Valens, ſhall fair Gwendolen be thine;
Thy Captive Prize; the Servant of thy Will:
And ſatisfy the Longings of thy Soul!
Val.
Thou, Idwall, doſt not know, how Valens loves:
Nor feel the Power of ſuch excelling Beauty!—
I would not triumph over Gwendolen:
Nor make her mine, againſt her free Conſent.
There was a Time, before her injur'd Sire
Declar'd perpetual Enmity to Rome;
A Time there was!—when Valens lov'd in Hope.
But, tho' my Hopes are fled,—my Love remains.
No, Idwall; no!—The Princeſs muſt be happy:
Or, I be doubly wretched, in her Sufferings.
Id.
But I would urge, the Miſchiefs, to enſue,
Should this Alliance be confirm'd by Marriage.
Conſider, Valens,—
Val.
I foreſee the Ruin.
I know, that Yvor, the Silurian Prince,
Who weds,—who merits,—But, I merit too!—
If Services, if Faith, if Love can merit:—
A Love ſo pure! Debas'd by no Alloy:
A Paſſion, that purſues no other Bliſs,
Save the Felicity of Her, I love—
Only, I wiſh, fair Gwendolen might find
(Oh Heavens!) that fond Felicity in me!
She is my Claim.—Her Father's Promiſes
Have made her mine: Nor have I forfeited,
Nor will I ever forfeit Gwendolen.
[10] A Friend accounted long, I felt her Charms,
When Yvor was a Stranger to her Thoughts:
When Vanoc had not, yet, eſpous'd your Queen;
And ſhe, then Heireſs to no large Dominion,
Might not diſdain to wed a Roman Tribune.
Id.
Still, I remind you of the growing Power,
That threatens us; that threatens you, in Yvor.
Val.
I know, he rules an untam'd, Mountain Race;
A Nation walled, on every Side, with Rocks:
A fiery People; deſperate Foes to Rome;
Whom Dangers only kindle into Rage.
I know this ſtrict Alliance, ſought by Vanoc,
Unites three bordering Nations in his Cauſe.
Id.
The Brigants, the Cornavians, the Silurians!
Nor will the Trinobants, your old Allies,
Your Tributaries, be enabled, long,
To ſtand againſt this formidable Union.
Vain is your Triumph over Caradoc;
If this Cornavian, a more vengeful Foe,
Surpaſſes him in Power, as much as Will.
Val.
Now, Didius governs here, to him belongs
The Conduct of the War.—Let him command,
And I obey.—This, Idwall, is my Duty.
And yet, I grieve at this untoward Quarrel:
For Rome, and for my ſelf, I grieve:—And wiſh,
We had, at leaſt, a fairer Shew of Juſtice.
Id.
An idle Wiſh! Princes and States, you know,
Approve their Actions by Succeſs.—Nor you,
Nor we have other Hope.—The Conteſt, Valens,
Is now, not who ſhall reign; but, who ſhall live:
And whether (if the Queen be overthrown)
The Romans ſhall be mark'd for Slaves in Britain;
Or periſh, by the Druids Hands, in Flames,
And give their Entrails to the ſearching Knife.
A Meſſage, from the Queen.
SCENE VI.
[11]Idwall, Valens, a Meſſenger.
Id.
We come, Centurion.—
Val.
He bears ſome earneſt Purpoſe in his Looks.
Meſſ.
The Queen is apprehenſive for the Succours.
A Scout informs her, that the Enemy
Prepare an Ambuſh.—A Body, far advanced,
Marches, in Silence, cloſe behind the Wood.—
He takes them for Silurians;—Yvor's Men.
Id.
We come, this Inſtant.
SCENE VII.
Idwall, Valens.
Id.
This reſtleſs Vigilance,
This active Soul of Vanoc, will undo us!
Val.
Come, Idwall!—Now my Heart revives▪ And, I
Take Courage from Deſpair.—If Yvor leads
This Enterprize; Then, Didius, ſend Me forth,
To meet my Rival.—Ere the Dawn appears,
Or He, or I may fall.
Id.
Now is your Time,
To ſave the Romans, and to win the Fair.
Should you ſucceed!—Tho' Gwendolen, a while,
May grieve:—Yet Womens Grief is tranſient;
And they ſoon learn to love the Fortunate.
Val.
O Venus, Parent of the Roman Line;
Delight of Gods; the Luxury of Men!
Attend my Vow.—As in the Cyprian Iſle,
In Britain will I make thy Worſhip known.
Accept my Piety to raiſe thy Shrine;—
And, in return, let Gwendolen be mine!
End of the firſt Act.
ACT II. SCENE I.
[12]SCENE, A Hall in the Palace of Vanoc.
Vanoc alone.
ABove the Mountain Tops, the ruddy Sun
Breaks through the Miſts; and dims the Moon.—
Ere now,
Has Yvor try'd theſe Northern Blades.—And yet,
By buſy Thought is doubtful of the Event.
His Life would be too dear a Price for Conqueſt:
Since my lov'd Daughter, Darling of my Soul!
Will claim that Life.—Oh, Gwendolen, my Child;
My only Comfort; thy fond Mother's Pledge;
For Thee, for Yvor, is thy Father anxious!
Ye Guardian Powers!—And, chiefly, O Adraſte;
Virgin Goddeſs!—Thou Renown of Britain;
With Spear and Helmet, terrible in War!
Grant me this Victory:—And, here, I vow,
Before the Day, ſcarce yet begun, ſhall cloſe,
To floud thy Temple-Court with Roman Blood.
What haſty Steps?—
SCENE II.
Vanoc, Alan.
Van.
Alan, where is your Prince?
Alan.
He lives!—
Van.
The Caledonians?—Say, Silurian.
Alan.
May every Day, to Vanoc, prove like this!
Van.
Are they defeated, then?
Alan.
[13]He bade me fly,
To bear the Victory:—While I (ſaid he)
Purſue the Rout; the Gleanings of the Battle.
Van.
Thanks to our Gods!—But, how?—Inform me, Alan.
Alan.
The Noon of Night was paſt, before we reach'd
Our Place of Ambuſh.—Where the Foreſt ends,
We range, in Covert.—When, anon, the Foe
Came, dreadleſs, o'er the level Swart, that lies
Between the Wood and the ſwift-ſtreaming Ouſe.
The Signal given, we ruſh, in three Diviſions;
Lancing a Storm of Spears:—The Van, the Rear,
Attack; while Yvor rages on the Center.
Our Onſet fierce; the Conflict was not long,
Ere the diſorder'd Hoaſt gave Ground.—Onward
We preſs; and urge them to the Margin of the Flood.
This Peril forced them to reſiſt, a while:—
Still, on we preſs; and, here, renew the Carnage,
So great! that, in the Stream, the Moon ſhew'd Purple.
Some drown; more periſh by the Sword. The reſt,
A flying Remnant, Yvor will account for.
Van.
Now, vile Adultereſs!—Now, ye baſe Up⯑holders,
Hard'ned Approvers, of a Woman's Shame!—
Where, now, your impious Hopes?—What Refuge, now,
From our juſt Vengeance?—From the Wrath of Heaven?
Have I not ſworn Deſtruction on your Heads?
And ſhould my Heart relent;—no;—if I do;
Then Vanoc is the Abettor of your Crimes!—
Alan;—thy Maſter is a worthy Prince!—
He hates theſe Romans.—An intire Defeat;
You ſay?—A Slaughter?—
Should this Didius dare;
This new Commander; ſent to awe our People;
Once dare to draw a Sword for Cartiſmand,
And interfere in my domeſtick Wrongs;
Or, put a Stop to Juſtice,—but a Moment:—
Nay; if he give not up my Infamy,—
[14] My whole Reproach, to ſpeedy Puniſhment;
To Death!—Her, and the Traytour Vellocad:—
Nor will I bate a ſingle Life;—not a Soul,
Obnoxious to the Forfeit of their Treaſon!—
But; my Daughter:—I blame not her Impatience.
SCENE III.
Vanoc, Alan, Gwendolen.
Van.
Come my dear Child, my Gwendolen; and ſhare
Thy Father's Joys!—Yvor returns victorious!
Gwen.
Then, am I over-paid, for every Care,
For every Fear, that kept my Heart awake.
Van.
Nay, and thou ſhalt have large Amends! I promiſe:—
Amends, for every ſilent, bitter Tear,
Wrung from thy gentle Nature, much abus'd.
Think'ſt thou, that I forget the waſpiſh Moods
Of that imperious Step-Dame, to my Child?—
An unchaſte, barren Wife!—Who never felt
A Parent's Yearnings.—Had thy Mother liv'd!—
How often do I weep, beholding thee!—
In Thee ſhe lives.—But, thou waſt not of Years
To wear the dear Remembrance, I muſt cheriſh.
How will it pleaſe the watchful, lovely Shade,
That keeps my Couch, and bleſſes all my Dreams,
To ſee my Juſtice on the ſhameleſs Creature;
And find Thee flouriſh under Yvor's Care!
Gwen.
Since you are pleas'd to authorize my Love,
I need not bluſh to own it, Sir; nor doubt
The Truth of Him, who merits your Eſteem.
Van.
He loves thee, Gwendolen:—My word, he does.
He has not learnt Deceit; the Roman Breeding!
To ſpeak kind Words to every handſome Face,
And ſnare the Innocent.—But, I waſte Time.—
Alan will entertain thee with his Valour;
While I prepare Diſpatches, to convey
Our new Succeſs, Southward, through all the States:
That every Tributary Town may arm,
And drive, with one Conſent, theſe Inmates, hence.
SCENE IV.
[15]Gwendolen, Alan.
Gwen.
Good Alan, give me Eaſe?—Thou art no Stran⯑ger;
Thou know'ſt my Paſſion.—Is thy Maſter ſafe?
Alan.
All Danger had he vanquiſh'd; When I came,
By his Command, to let you know, he liv'd.
Gwen.
And yet, ere now, ſome random Death;—
Who knows!—
Why came he not himſelf?
Alan.
He loves to fight
His Battles out:—The firſt to draw, the laſt
To ſheath his Sword.
Gwen.
Now, fie upon this Manhood!—
Is he not hurt?
Alan.
A little out of Breath,
Perhaps.—
Gwen.
Wounded, I mean.—Come, do not trifle.
Alan.
His Helmet, I confeſs, is ſorely dented:—
Gwen.
Ah, me!—
Alan.
But, Madam; not a Limb, a Finger,
Has ſuffer'd in the Fray.—I left him, whole;
Driving the ſcatter'd Rout:—Northward, they fled.
Gwen.
Would it were done!—Indeed, I cannot bear
To love at ſuch Expence.—He muſt be chid.—
Return, Brave Prince!—Thy Chariot-Wheels are ſwift:
Oh, wherefore do they tarry?—Alan, ſend;
Diſpatch,—Nay, go thy ſelf.—It is an Age,
Since thou haſt ſeen,—may I not ſay,—my Husband!—
Be gone!—
Alan.
A little Patience; and, he comes.
Gwen.
In other Things, I can, I will have Patience.
Alan, be gone!—I want, ſtill, freſh Aſſurance;
Each Moment, I want Tidings of his Health.
Alan.
Hark!—Madam, he comes!—
Gwen.
Perhaps;—Oh Heaven!—
And yet,—It is;—It muſt be Yvor.
Alan.
[16]Yes!—
It is the Prince!—Now, in the Palace-Court,
The Chariot ſounds:—I know his high Career!
Gwen.
Oh ſtep;—Look out;—See, Alan!—
Alan.
Here, he comes!—
Gwen.
The Prince?—Oh, where?—It is the Prince, indeed!
SCENE V.
Gwendolen, Alan, Yvor.
Yvor.
My Gwendolen! My Idol!—O, my Life!—
Gwen.
My Prince!—
Yvor.
On Wheels of Speed I drove, to find
My Love! The Treaſure of my Soul!—Look up!—
What?—Speechleſs! And, in Tears!—Speak,—
Gwen.
Oh, my Joy!—
Yvor.
Such Welcome give me, ever!
Gwen.
Such receive!—
A Joy, I cannot; nay, I would not hide!
Yvor.
Tranſporting Language!—Oh, my Rap⯑ture! —How
Shall Yvor, bleſt above Mankind, repay
This Tenderneſs; this undiſguis'd Affection!
Alan.
Had you, Sir, been, another Minute, abſent;
I queſtion, if the Princeſs had forgiven—
Gwen.
Yes, Alan!—I remember not my Fears.
Yvor.
Go to the Camp, good Alan: See, my Men
Be well refreſh'd.—Indeed, they fought it bravely!
Gallant Lads!—And, Alan;—Let the Booty
Be ſhar'd, to every Man, with equal Hand.—
And,—ſay to Ebranc; I deſire to ſee him.
The King muſt know the Merits of his Age.
Alan.
O, Fortunate Silurians!—Happy Prince!
SCENE VI.
[17]Gwendolen, Yvor.
Yvor.
Now my fair Gwendolen;—
Gwen.
My plighted Lord!
Yvor.
The Buſtle of the Day is at an end.
My Eyes, my Thoughts, are wholly bent on thee.
Gwen.
I pray you, fight no more.—Indeed, you ſhall not.
Yvor.
For thee, my Bliſs, and for thine injur'd Sire,
And for my Countrey, do I draw my Sword.
But, ſo doeſt thou prevail within my Heart,
That I am liſtleſs grown to Feats of War.—
Thou mak'ſt me fearful, in the Heat of Battle!
Gwen.
You purchaſe all your Glory with my Quiet.
Think, while you ſtand, diſtinguiſh'd, in the Field;
The Wounds, the Deaths, the Dangers, the Fatigues,
Are mine, alone!—And Gwendolen muſt grieve,
Or Yvor cannot triumph.
Yvor.
Thou ſhalt not grieve.—
We ſhall have Peace:—We ſhall have laſting Joys!
The Bards ſhall ſing adventurous Deeds, no more;
But tune their Harps to Love:—to Gwendolen;
Faireſt Lilly; my Delight; my Glory!—
I could, my ſelf, tranſported with the Theme,
Joyn in the Song; and deſcant on thy Charms!
Gwen.
That I am yours, my Prince, in Faith, in Duty;
Yours, by my Choice, and by my Father's Will;
That I am wholly yours, in every Thought,
In every Word, and Deed; and yours, for Life;
This, my Loved Yvor, is my vertuous Pride;
My Merit; my Diſtinction among Women!
Yvor.
This Day the Druids joyn our Hands:— our Souls,
In mutual Raptures, are for ever joyn'd.
Paſſing from Life to Life, we riſe in Bliſs!—
Age after Age, till Time ſhall be no more,
[18] The whole Succeſſion of the Sun and Moon;
A long, long Period (ſo our Sages teach)
Have we to count; renewing, ſtill, our Love:
When, our whole meaſur'd Courſe of Vertue finiſh'd,
We reign, immortal, with the Heavenly Powers.
Gwen.
Delightful Proſpect; bounteous Recompence!—
No Piety, no Vertue, ſhall my Soul
Leave uneſſay'd; leſt, by my raſh Neglect,
Some Failure of my Will, I forfeit Yvor.
Yvor.
Oh my ſweet Gwendolen; my gentle Spouſe;
My Pledge of Happineſs; my whole Reward:—
What Language ſhall I find!—But, Language can⯑not:—
Judge, by thy ſelf, the Fondneſs of my Heart!
Gwen.
I judge it equal to my own!—
Yvor.
If, what
Is boundleſs, can be equal'd!—Oh my Queen!—
Sure, thou waſt born the Sovereign of my Soul!—
Sovereign of every Power, that Yvor claims.
My People ſhall be thine: Thy Will obey;
Thy gentle Will; and wait upon thy Smiles.
Thou haſt not ſeen (my Love) thy Rule; thy Dow'ry;
My Native Land: Where Romans never enter'd.
A Countrey, bounded by the ſwelling Severn;
That, often riſing into ſuddain Rage,
Takes in an hundred Torrents to her Stream:
By Nature fenced; the Refuge of the Britons.
There ſhall thine Eye behold ſtupendous Hills,
Green with high Groves, that wave within the Clouds;
And guſhing Waters, foaming down the Rocks;
And limpid Brooks, that winde through fruitfull Vallies,
Deep-ſhelter'd from the Winds, that blaſt the Plains.
Gwen.
Or there, my Prince, or here, or any where,
Shall I be happy, ſtill poſſeſſing you.
Yvor.
There ſhall our youthful Progeny rejoice;
And try their Limbs along the Mountain Brow;
And firm their Steps againſt the craggy Steep;
And prove their early Proweſs on the Wolves:
[19] That, ripe in Hardineſs, they may oppoſe
Theſe Strangers, who encroach upon our Rights;
And emulate thy Father's great Atchievements.
Gwen.
Behold, he comes.—
Yvor.
The Bulwark of the Britons!
Gwen.
The moſt indulgent Father:—
Yvor.
Beſt of Friends.
SCENE VII.
Gwendolen, Yvor, Vanoc.
Van.
Welcome, young Warriour; welcome to my Arms!—
Receive a Soldier's Thanks, a Soldier's Praiſe,
In this Embrace.—Let Romans deal in Words;
Be Eloquent, and Baſe!—Thou haſt my Heart,
With what I hold moſt dear;—my loving Child;
My gentle Daughter.
Yvor.
Laviſh Recompence;
Reward, beyond the Service of my Life!
To which I plead no Merit, ſave my Love,
And filial Duty.—When I fail, in either,—
Van.
Yvor, I know thy Worth.—I anſwer for thee.
My Daughter has an honeſt Man, and brave!
A Prince, ſurpaſſing far yon Emperour;
Who fights by Deputy:—A Pageant King!—
But, here, he ſhall not rule.—Thy Victory
Shall rouze the Provinces, that ſtill regret
Their raviſh'd Liberties.—We have diſpatch'd
Swift Heralds, through the diſcontented States,
Far as the Weſtern Point, within the Sea.
Britons, united, may defy the World!
The Romans would have War: and War they have:
And, they ſhall have their Fill.—While this right Hand
Can poiſe a Spear, or ſway a Sword; will I
Infeſt, lay waſte, root out theſe Colonies;
Till we have clear'd this Iſle of Roman Gueſts.
Yvor.
Nor ſhall the Roman, feeble-ſounding, Lyre
[20] Intice the flatter'd Ear to looſer Loves:
But, the full Tone of the melodious Harp
Aſſiſt our Native Bards to carol, loud,
Such Vertues, as are baniſh'd out of Rome.
Van.
My haughty Dame, whom we have almoſt humbled,
Was raviſh'd with thoſe Strangers; wanton Minſtrels.
Each Evening was this Hall profan'd with Warblings;
Wont, heretofore, to eccho with the Praiſe
Of juſt and wiſe, of great and warlike, Worthies.
Yvor.
You, only, can reſtore thoſe vertuous Times.
Van.
From the main Land, why are we ſet apart;
Seated amidſt the Waves; high-fenced by Cliffs;
And bleſt with a delightful, fertile Soil?
But that, indulgent Nature meant the Britons,
A choſen People; a diſtinguiſh'd Race;
A Nation, independent of the World:
Whoſe Weal, whoſe Wiſdom, it will ever be,
Neither to conquer, nor to ſuffer Conqueſt.—
Nor will we ſuffer it.
Yvor.
Noble Reſolve!—
And Britain ſhall extol her great-Deliverer.
Gwen.
Theſe deſperate Toils renew my Fears.
What Comfort can I taſte; while two ſuch Lives,
Shall lie expos'd?—Heaven give us Peace!—
Vanoc.
There ſpoke,
Thy Mother's tender Meekneſs.—Such her Voice;
Such her ſurpaſſing Form:—Sweet-ſounding Accent;
O, ever-pleaſing Features! How unlike
That Male Adultereſs;—Blemiſh of her Sex!
Curſed Ambition; that miſs-led my Soul
To wed the Miſchief!—But, I will repay
The Merits of her Guilt; and clear my Fame.
The World ſhall own, and ſhe ſhall feel, me juſt;
Severely punctual!—Doeſt thou weep, my Child?—
Thus, ever, when I buckle on my Helmet,
Thy Fears afflict thee:—Yet I ſtill return
To diſappoint thy Fears.—Be comforted:—
[21] We will not raſhly play our Lives away;
But purchaſe unmoleſted Peace; for thee,
And for thy Children's Children.—Yvor, ſpeak:
Do thou, my Son, perſwade her not to grieve.
Yvor.
Thou haſt no Cauſe, my Gwendolen, to fear.
This Enemy, that skulks behind the Wood,
Encompaſs'd with their Mounds, has little Power,
And, yet leſs Courage, to annoy us more.
Behold thy Father's Realms; ſee my Dominion:
Our Sons ſhall riſe, the Sovereigns of the whole!
Gwen.
O, grant me humble Quiet, ſweet Content,
Ye Powers!—Ambition has no Charms, for me.
But, if it be my Royal Father's Will,
And your Deſire; my Heart ſhall not repine
At gilded Cares:—I will delight in Empire;
And count Ambition in the Rank of Vertues.
Yvor.
How Gentleneſs improves the Charms of Beauty!
Van.
It is true Womanhood: A Wife's beſt Dowry.
Yvor.
Here comes a Soldier, Sir, deſerves your No⯑tice.—
Come forward, Ebranc.
SCENE VIII.
Gwendolen, Yvor, Vanoc, Ebranc.
Ebranc.
I was ſent by Alan.
I fear, I have preſum'd, Sir,—
Yvor.
Old, and Modeſt!
Let me, Sir, place this Man within your Eye.
Age has not chill'd his Blood, nor ſlack'd his Nerves.
When, from his Dint, the Foe ſtill backward ſhrunk;
Wading within the Ouſe, he dealt his Blows,
And ſent them, rolling, to the Tiding Humber.
Van.
I know his Merit.—Under Caradoc
He ſerv'd.—Ebranc, we will be mindful of thee.
Thy Modeſty ſhall do thee no Diſſervice:—
It is a Virtue, of the Growth of Britain.—
Boaſters, and Sycophants, come from abroad.
[22] There ſtands the Prince:—I dare to vouch, he fought
His Share:—And yet, his Lips betray
No Circumſtance.—Ebranc; did he not fight?
Ebranc.
Were he not preſent, Sir, I could—
Van.
Oh, Prince;—
That reddening Cheek forbids me to enquire.
A Roman Chief can write his own Exploits;
And ſwell his Actions, by the Pomp of Words.
Caeſar has done it:—Shame upon the Boaſter!—
He, that enſlav'd his Fellow Citizens.
Yvor.
The Band, by Ebranc led, of ſtout Cornavians,
And my own Men, did, both, perform their Duty.
Indeed, it happen'd, in the Chance of Action,
That Vellocad was ſlain, by me.
Gwen.
O, Fortunate!
Van.
No, Gwendolen!—The Traytour ſhould have liv'd!
Not, but that Yvor does deſerve my Thanks.
He aim'd it well: And I commend his Valour.
But, ſtill, the Traytour ſhould have liv'd!
Yvor.
Surpriz'd
Into a Rage, I pierc'd—
Van.
I know, thy honeſt Soul
Was earneſt to avenge me.—But, he died
A Soldier's Death!—It will be ſaid, he fought!—
But, he could never fight!—A Woman's Minion▪
Oh, I had hoarded up ſuch Store of Vengeance!
For Her, for Him, that, lengthening out their Woes,
I might, on Both, enjoy my whole Revenge!—
Let not his Carcaſs, Ebranc, have a Burial:
Caſt it to Dogs.—Torment his very Ghoſt!—
That I could bring the Caitiff back, to Life!
To a quick Senſe of Torture!—But, the Gods,
The righteous, ever-living, Powers avenge me!—
They puniſh home!—They can prolong his Doom;
And through a thouſand Lives purſue the Offender.
Yvor.
Your Indignation is moſt juſt.
Van.
[23]It riſes
Poorly:—Short of my Wrongs!—Herein, my Wrath
Can not exceed!—'Tis, all, but Moderation.
Forbearing, as my Dove-like Daughter is;
She could not brook ſuch Uſage.—What? My Servant!
Bred, from a Child, to tremble at my Frown:
My Slave, who bore my Harneſs to the Field,
And ſtood aloof, the Witneſs of my Toils;
Thus to preſume!—Thus to abuſe my Favour!
But, to the Romans do we owe his Daring:
And we can, now, diſcharge the heavy Debt!—
I will not Sleep, till that Account be clear'd.
Gwen.
The Romans, Sir, have prov'd your Indignation.
Be, then, appeas'd: Nor, urge the Foe too far.
Let not your Anger,—juſt indeed, as great,—
Yet, let it not be call'd a deſperate Rage.
Van.
Moſt deſperate to my Foes!—It, ever, was.—
I will approve my ſelf ſincere, throughout;
In Enmity unwearied as in Friendſhip.—
Thou haſt been treated moſt deſpightfully!
And, for thy Father's ſake.
Gwen.
I have forgiven
The Malice of the Queen: Do you forgive.
Van.
I will, when I have puniſh'd.
Gwen.
You have puniſh'd.
The Forfeit of a Crown; the Senſe of Shame;
Her conſcious Guilt; is ample Puniſhment.
Let me intreat, let me aſſwage your Anger.
Van.
Be not diſquieted.—Our Foes are baffled:
Yvor has fruſtrated their laſt Reſource.
This Day ſhall put an End to all thy Fears.
Yvor.
The leaſt Alarm, a counterfeit Aſſault,
Will fright them from their Camp.—There is no Danger.
Gwen.
I hope,—I will believe,—I will petition,
Devoutly will I pray, there be no Danger!—
[24] And Thee, Adraſte, Virgin of my Worſhip;
Chaſte Goddeſs, to whom Victory belongs;
To whom I pledg'd a Vow, for Yvor's Safety;
Thee will I thank, this Morning, in thy Temple:
And, every Morning of my Life, ſhalt thou
Receive my grateful Vows:—For, thou haſt granted
Victory to Yvor!—
Van.
Thy Piety
Aſſures us of Succeſs;—
Yvor.
And, every Bleſſing!
Gwen.
When I return;—
Yvor.
Till then, am I impatient.
Gwen.
My Father's Heart, perhaps, may be inclin'd To Peace.
Van.
Be not diſmay'd, my Darling.—Ebranc;
Do you attend the Princeſs, with a Guard.
Not that, we fear; though deep within the Foreſt,
Darken'd with ſpreading Oaks, the Temple ſtands.
But, the quail'd Foe ſcarce think themſelves ſecure,
Though hemm'd with Rampiers; weak Defence of Daſtards!
Yvor.
A ſhort, a fond adieu; my Fair Delight!
Gwen.
I will not make my Abſence long; like You.
Yvor.
Kindeſt Reproach!
Gwen.
Indeed I mean it kind.
Yvor.
It is moſt kind!
Van.
Heaven ſpeed thy Vows, my Child!
SCENE IX.
Yvor, Vanoc.
Van.
How ſay you, Prince?—Can you, one Battle-more,
Support; a double Toil; before you Sleep?—
And take theſe Romans at a Diſadvantage?
Yvor.
I can:—I like it!
Van.
So ſhall we compleat
The Labour of the Day; and ratify
Our paſt Succeſſes.
Yvor.
[25]And, thus, ſend their new
Lieutenant back, as ſpeedy as he came.
Van.
Let us, then, to the Camp:—The Time is precious.
Yvor.
Your Captains, Sir, are ſoon prepar'd for Action.
Van.
We need not laviſh Hours in wordy Periods;
As do the Romans, ere they dare to fight.—
Point out the Foe;—
Yvor.
Fall on, brave Britons!—
Van.
Ay!—
Such is the manly Eloquence, We uſe.
When we have made our Reſolutions known,
We will return; and cheer up Gwendolen:—
Then to the Foe!—
Yvor.
And ſtrike a Terrour, heightened by Surpriſe!
Van.
Thy wakeful Spirit does endear thee to me:
To morrow, ſhalt thou have more pleaſing Cares.
Remember, Yvor, that a Soldier's Task
Admits no Reſt, while aught remains, unfiniſh'd.
The fiery Eye of War is vigilant;
And marks the Sloathful out, and the Unwary.
Catch every ſwift Occaſion, as it flies:
On one Succeſs, ſtill, let another riſe;
On that, another, yet: Till all be done,
Till no more Battles can be loſt, or won.
End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I.
[26]The SCENE continues.
Yvor alone.
STern, but indulgent, is the Soul of Vanoc;
Full of paternal Care.—Leſt Gwendolen
Should give her Heart to Fears; go Prince, he ſaid:
When ſhe returns, let us not, Both, be abſent.
Tender, complying, timid;—Such Her Nature:
Sweet, placid, Virgin-like Affections, all!
Soft, as the Breath of Spring, that fannes the Trees;
Nor ſhakes the ſlighteſt Bloſſom to the Ground.
The Chieftains, call'd to Council, are agreed;
Applaud the King; and burn to be engaged.
This, faireſt Princeſs, is a Day of War:
The next, and next to that, and every Day,
While we have Days to count, belongs to Us;
To Thee, my Gwendolen, and to thy Yvor!
I, now, begin to think, thy Abſence tedious.
Come, to ſuch Welcome, as thou gav'ſt to Me!
SCENE II.
Yvor, Alan.
Yvor.
Before we talk of Buſineſs; if thou lov'ſt me,
Haſte, Alan, to the Temple:—Say, that Yvor—
Alan.
[27]Alas! The Princeſs—
Yvor.
How!
Alan.
She is a Captive:—
Born off:—A Priſoner, in the Roman Camp.
Yvor.
A Priſoner; ſay you?—But it cannot be.—
A Captive?—Speak:—Whence, this Intelligence?
Some idle Rumour!—Ebranc was her Guard.
Do not dally with my Fondneſs.
Alan.
Ebranc did all, that Man could do, to ſave her.
A Band of Romans, Part (it is ſuppos'd)
Of the main Body ſent, too late, to ſuccour
The Caledonian Troops; as back they came,
Skirting within the Wood, eſpied the Princeſs,
Then returning; and bore away their Prize.
The truſty Ebranc fell, in her Defence.
A Soldier, ſcaping; has inform'd the King.
Yvor.
It is enough!
Alan.
Why do you droop? Why, ſpeechleſs? Why, my Prince,
That ſadden'd Brow; that ſettled Look of Woe?
You muſt not nouriſh, thus, a ſilent Sorrow.—
Never, have I beheld you thus, before!—
This is too much! Oh, ſpeak!—and be reliev'd.—
That Groan exceeds your Silence!
Yvor.
I am wretched.
Alan.
Why will you boad ſuch Ills? Why, quit your Hopes,
To nurſe Deſpair? And, on the firſt Alarm,
Abandon Reaſon?
Yvor.
Thou haſt quite unman'd me!—
But, Yvor has no farther Uſe for Reaſon:
I give it up; reſign each Faculty:
The Power of Recollection is my Torment.
Alas, what Reliſh can I have for Life?
What Vertue, what Ambition, can awake
My Soul to Action?—I renounce, I curſe,
My Victory; my Bane: Pernicious Conqueſt!
[28] Now, let the Romans take what I poſſeſs:—
The Iſland let them take!—A little Cave
Suffices me, to grieve!—A while, to grieve;
And, then, to die forgotten!—Or if mention'd,
Known, only, for my moſt diſaſterous Love!
Alan.
Your Words afflict me:—Talk not thus, my Prince.
Yvor.
O I muſt talk!—Do not forbid, but hear, me:—
And, I muſt talk of Gwendolen,—And Yvor!
Names, never to be ſpoken of, aſunder.
The Heart of Man can not conceive the Love,
I bore to Gwendolen!—I did not know,
Not half, the exceſſive Meaſure of my Fondneſs.
She was,—Alas, what was ſhe not, to Me,
When ſhe was mine!—In Her did I rejoyce;
For Her I liv'd; for Her, alone, I fought.
Alan.
Fight for her, ſtill; and win her from the Romans.
Yvor.
To Death will I purſue the Raviſhers:
Inflict worſe Vengeance, than the Scourge of War;
And torture Them,—as they now torture Me!
Though Vanoc ſhould relent, I never can:
His Injuries are light, compar'd to mine!
My People, ſure, will never tamely bear
To ſee their Prince, a Wretch!—Though I ſhould fall,
They will avenge me.—Thou, Alan, wilt avenge me.
Alan.
Now, are you Man, again!—I did forbear
To ſtop your Flow of Grief:—But, will aſſiſt
Your Rage.
Yvor.
I feel my Reſolution riſe.
My Strength returns: It ſprings!—Through every Nerve,
My Spirits ſwell!—Single, methinks, I drive
The Foe!—
Alan.
They ſhall not, long, detain the Princeſs.
Yvor.
Say that again, my Friend! Accompliſh that;
[29] And I am bleſt!—Give me back Gwendolen,
And, in the meaneſt Cottage, I am happy.—
Her Soul is rais'd above the Pride of Life!
But, thou would'ſt fain beguile my Care: and fain
Would I deceive my ſelf.—Too flattering Hope!—
I never ſhall behold the Princeſs more.
Didius will know the Value of his Prize.
He will, himſelf, be ſmitten with ſuch Beauty:
Or if, to Rome, he ſend the lovely Captive;
What coſtlier Preſent can he make to Claudius?
His wide-ſpread Empire, the whole World, contains
Nothing, ſo rare!—She is ſurpaſſing Fair!—
The Eye, that does behold; the Ear, that hears her,
The Eye, the Ear, the Soul throughout, is raviſh'd!
No, Alan; I ſhall never ſee her more.—
Alan.
Theſe are the Fears of Love.
Yvor.
They are ſuch Fears,
As give my Heart no Reſpite from Deſpair.
I am not wont to be alarm'd.—What, then,
Muſt Gwendolen have ſuffer'd, from her Fears,
When I was abſent, in the midſt of Dangers!
Alan.
In either Sex, true Love is truly anxious.
Yvor.
In all my Heart, I do not find one Hope▪
That is not kill'd with Fear.
Alan.
But, ſee the King:—
His Spirit never faints.
Yvor.
He is no Lover.
SCENE III.
Yvor, Alan, Vanoc.
Yvor.
O Sir;—my Father!—But, no more, a Father!—
You gave your Daughter to me:—I have loſt her.
She is no longer mine;—No longer yours.
Our only Joy, our Hope, our Care, our Comfort,
Is raviſh'd from us!—How can we live without her?
Van.
[30]The Foe is weak: Our Cauſe is juſt.— What more
Can we deſire; or, can the Gods beſtow?
Have they not given us Earneſt of Succeſs?
Be not diſconſolate, my Son.
Yvor.
That Name,
That Bleſſing, Sir, belongs to me, no more!
Van.
This momentary Parting, when we meet,—
Yvor.
When we do meet!—Oh, when!—
Van.
As ſoon, we ſhall;
Will turn to double Gladneſs.
Yvor.
O, it is
A painful,—doubtful,—endleſs, Length of Time!
Wretch, that I am!—Unthinking in my Love;
Not to foreſee the Danger!—Oh, my Folly!
Unhallow'd, blaſted, be the Oaks, that ſhade
The Temple!—O, Adraſte! Give me back
My Gwendolen; or, take thy Victory!
Moſt fatal Boon; the Source of my Misfortunes!
Van.
Be not impatient, Prince.
Yvor.
Oh, Sir; my ſelf,
I ſhould have gone, her Guard!—I ſhould have died!
Van.
Old Ebranc fought it ſtoutly, to the laſt!—
He fold their Captive, dear. An hundred Lives,
And more, ſhe coſt.—And, yet, each Life, they have,
Will we demand:—They are my Daughter's Ranſom.
Yvor.
Their Empire were too poor a Price!
Van.
From hence,
We will remove it.—Alan; I am griev'd,
That Ebranc liv'd not, to enjoy our Favour.
But the Command, he held, we give his Son.
Of this, do you inform him.
SCENE IV.
Yvor, Vanoc.
Van.
Yvor; Thy Love
I muſt commend:—But, Love with Fortitude.
[31] This Vertue is the Stay, the Fence of all;
A Wall of Braſs, againſt the Aſſaults of Fortune.
Not, that I count this Diſappointment great.
Where'er my Daughter be, ſhe ſtill is thine:
Nor, will we live a Day, an Hour, without her.
Yvor.
Prove me with Dangers of the felleſt Kind,
So, I may reſt aſſur'd of Gwendolen;
Through raging Billows, through deſtroying Flames,
I could attempt my Way to come at Her;
Or, hew my Paſſage through an armed Hoſt,
Van.
Thou ſhalt not find me tardy to her Reſcue.
The News, in Council told; all cry, To Arms!
Lead on!—We will redeem the Princeſs!
Yvor.
She is, indeed, the Favourite of the People:
When ſhe appears, ſhe glads the Eyes of all!
Van.
She is their Hope:—That Hope you, Prince, confirm.
From your auſpicious Loves, do they expect
Their Safety, in a Line of Britiſh Kings;
Who, when we have deſtroy'd theſe bold Intruders,
Shall rule in Peace, diſdaining foreign Cuſtoms.
Yvor.
Your Words have rais'd me from Deſpair.
Van.
In Life,
There will be Diſappointments. But the Brave,
The few, who faint not, when ſeverely tried,
Learn, by oppoſing, to ſurmount Diſaſters.
Yvor.
So, Fortune, prove my Friend, as I ſhall dare
For Gwendolen, and for the Wrongs of Vanoc.
Van.
Through ſhouting Crouds, I ſee you Both return,
A happy Pair; the Tranſport of the People.
The Blow we now prepare to ſtrike, at once
Ends all our Cares.—My Powers are arm'd. See, yours.
Be well appointed.—And give ſtrict Command,
That all be done, without the Noiſe of War.
Yvor.
[32]I am inſtructed.
Van.
Ere you can return,
Our Chariots ſhall be ready, to ſet forward.
SCENE V.
Vanoc.
Not that I do not feel my Child's Affliction;
And feel it, with a Mother's Tenderneſs:
But, Yvor, ſuch is thy Anxiety,
That in Compaſſion, I diſſemble mine.—
The Day is far advanced.—Who waits?—What, ho! My Grooms.—
Amidſt thy Sufferings, yet a little Patience;
And, Gwendolen, we come to thy Relief.
Mean while, the Love of Valens is thy Safety.
My Chariot ſtraight; another, for the Prince.
Store them with Spears; wedge on the keeneſt Scythes:
And give us Steeds, that ſnort againſt the Foe,
That paw the Ranks, and ruſh upon the Javelin;
Bearing their Creſts aloft, amidſt the Battle.
SCENE VI.
Vanoc, Alan.
Van.
Thy Buſineſs, Alan?
Alan.
A Roman, Sir,—the Tribune Va⯑lens—
Van.
What, of him?
Alan.
Attended by a Party of our Men,
Deſires Admittance.
Van.
Admittance;—to a Roman!—
No, Alan!—Keep our Palace ſhut.—No Roman
Enters here: were it their Emperour.
Alan.
He waits,—
Van.
[33]There let him wait, then.—Bid him to be gone!—
We need no Treating, now!
Alan.
It ſhall be done.
Van.
Yet, hold.—Come back.—Yes, A⯑lan; We will hear him;
That he may know, how much our Soul contemns
All Offers, from theſe Maſters of the World.
Conduct him in.—And, Alan; ſince, in Thee,
Thy Prince confides; do Thou remain a Witneſs
Of his Words.—Go.—
SCENE VII.
Vanoc.
Van.
Now for a glozing Speech;
Fair Proteſtations; ſpecious Marks of Friendſhip.
The mean Submiſſions of ignoble Minds,
Who riſe and ſink, as Fortune ſmiles, or frowns.
SCENE VIII.
Vanoc, Alan, Valens.
Vanoc.
Now Tribune:—
Val.
Health to Vanoc.
Van.
Speak your Buſineſs.
Val.
I come not as an Herald, but a Friend:
And I rejoice, that Didius choſe out me,
To greet a Prince, in my Eſteem, the foremoſt.
Van.
So much for Words.—Now, to your Purpoſe, Tribune.
Val.
Sent by our new Lieutenant, who in Rome,
And ſince from me, has heard of your Renown;
I come to offer Peace: To reconcile
Paſt Enmities; to ſtrike perpetual Leagues
With Vanoc: Whom our Emperor invites
[34] To Terms of Friendſhip; ſtricteſt Bonds of Union.
Van.
We muſt not hold a Friendſhip with the Ro⯑mans.
Val.
Why muſt you not?
Van.
Vertue forbids it.
Val.
Once,
You thought, our Friendſhip was your greateſt Glory.
Van.
I thought you honeſt.—I have been de⯑ceiv'd.—
Would you deceive me twice? No, Tribune; no!
You ſought for War:—Maintain it as you may.
Val.
Believe me, Prince; your Vehemence of Spi⯑rit,
Prone ever to Extremes, betrays your Judgment.
Would you once cooly reaſon on our Conduct,—
Van.
Oh, I have ſcann'd it thorough!—Night and Day
I think it over: And I think it baſe;
Moſt infamous!—Let who will judge;—but Romans!
Did not my Wife, did not my menial Servant,
Seducing each the other, both conſpire
Againſt my Crown, againſt my Fame, againſt my Life?
Did they not levy War, and wage Rebellion?
And when I would aſſert my Right and Power,
As King and Huſband; when I would chaſtiſe
Two moſt abandon'd Wretches: Who, but Romans,
Oppos'd my Juſtice, and maintain'd their Crimes?
Do I not reaſon cooly on your Conduct?—
You have the Art, to gloſs the fouleſt Cauſe:
I ſhew it undiſguis'd.—For Cartiſmand,
The Romans ſtood: The Britons, and the Gods,
Declar'd for Vanoc.—Do I argue fairly?
Val.
At firſt, the Romans did not interpoſe;
But griev'd to ſee their beſt Allies at Variance.
Indeed, when you turn'd Juſtice into Rigor,
And even that Rigor was purſued with Fury;
[35] We undertook to mediate for the Queen;
And hoped to moderate—
Van.
To moderate!—
What would you moderate? My Indignation?
The juſt Reſentment of a vertuous Mind?
To mediate for the Queen!—You undertook!—
Wherein concern'd it You? But as you love
To exerciſe your Inſolence!—Are you
To arbitrate my Wrongs?—Muſt I aſk leave;
Muſt I be taught, to govern o'er my Houſhold?
Am I, then, void of Reaſon, and of Juſtice?
When, in my Family, Offences riſe;
Shall Strangers, ſaucy Intermeddlers, ſay,
Thus far, and thus, are you allow'd to puniſh?
When I ſubmit to ſuch Indignities;
When I am tamed to that Degree of Slavery:—
Make me a Citizen, a Senator of Rome;
To watch, to live upon the Smiles of Claudius:
To give my Wife, my Children, to his Pleaſures;
And ſell my Countrey with my Voice for Bread.
Val.
Prince, you inſult, upon this Day's Succeſs.
You may provoke too far.—But I am cool.—
I give your Anger ſcope.
Van.
Who ſhall confine it?—
The Romans!—Let them rule their Slaves.— I bluſh,
That dazzled in my Youth with Oſtentation,
The Trappings of the Men ſeduced my Vertue.
Val.
Bluſh rather, that you are a Slave to Paſſion;
Subſervient to the Wildneſs of your Will;
Which, like a Whirlwind, tears up all your Vertues;
And gives you not the Leiſure to conſider.
Did not the Romans civilize you?
Van.
No!—
They brought new Cuſtoms, and new Vices over;
Taught us more Arts, than honeſt Men require;
And gave us Wants, that Nature never gave.
Val.
We found you naked:—
Van.
[36]And you found us free!—
Now, on my Soul, the Mountain Stag, that ſprings
From Height to Height, and bounds along the Plains,
Nor has a Maſter to reſtrain his Courſe;
That Mountain Stag would Vanoc rather be,
Than be a Slave!—Much leſs, the Slave of Slaves!
Val.
Would you be temperate once, and hear me out!—
Van.
Speak Things▪ that honeſt Men may hear with Temper!
Speak the plain Truth; and varniſh not your Crimes!
Say, that you once were vertuous:—Long ago!
A frugal, hardy People;—like the Britons:
Before you grew thus elegant in Vice,
And gave your Luxuries the Name of Vertues.
The Civilizers!—The Diſturbers, ſay;—
The Robbers, the Corrupters of Mankind!
Proud Vagabonds! who make the World your Home;
And lord it, where you have no Right.
Val.
You wrong
Your Friends, your Benefactors, your Inſtructors!
Since you will have the Truth, I ſpeak it out.
Who, but the Romans, faſhion'd your rude Natures?
Smooth'd your rough Tempers? Changed you into Men,
From wild Barbarians, Savages in Woods?
Van.
You changed us into Beaſts, moſt ſervile Beaſts!
To bear your Impoſitions; your Dominion:
Taught us, indeed, to cloath, to dwell in Houſes,
To feaſt, to ſleep on Down, to be profuſe:
A fine Exchange for Liberty!—What Vertue
Have you taught?
Val.
Humanity.
Van.
Oh, Patience!—
Val.
Can you diſown a Truth, confeſs'd by All?
A Praiſe, a Glory, known in barbarous Climes?
Far as our Legions march, they carry Knowledge;
The Arts, the Laws, the Diſcipline of Life.
[37] Our Conqueſts are Indulgencies; and We,
Not Maſters, but Protectours of Mankind.
Van.
Prevaricating, falſe,—moſt courteous Ty⯑rants;—
Romans!—Rare Patterns of Humanity!
Came you, then, here, thus far, through Waves, to conquer,
To waſte, to plunder; out of mere Compaſſion?
Is it Humanity that prompts you on
To ravage the whole Earth: To burn, deſtroy?
To raiſe the Cries of Widows, and of Orphans?
To lead in Bonds, the generous, free-born Princes,
Who ſpurn, who fight againſt your Tyranny?
Happy for us,—and happy for you, Spoilers,
Had your Humanity ne'er reach'd our World!—
It is a Vertue,—(ſo it ſeems you call it)
A Roman Vertue! that has coſt you dear:—
And dearer ſhall it coſt, if Vanoc lives.—
Or if we die, we ſhall leave thoſe behind us,
Who know the Worth of Britiſh Liberty.
Val.
I mean not to reproach your Anceſtors;
Untaught, uncultivated, as they were:
Inhoſpitable, full of Ferocity;
Lions in Spirit; cruel beyond Men:
Your Altars reeking oft with human Blood.
Nor will I urge you farther on our Merits.
I come inſtructed, Sir, to offer Peace:
The Peace, that Didius offers, Valens ſues for.
Propoſe your Terms; and you will find me forward
To win the General to a Compliance;
And to deſerve, once more, the Name of Friend.
Van.
Deliver up the Queen; ſend back my Daugh⯑ter:
This done; we may be brought to treat of Peace.
Val.
Therein the Dignity, the Faith of Claudius,
Would highly ſuffer.
Van.
Is, then, the Dignity,
The Faith of Claudius, founded on Injuſtice?
[38] Is it his Glory to protect a Traitereſs;
A baſe, a profligate adulterous Woman?
Fit Emperour, indeed, to govern Romans!—
But, Valens, let me tell you, the free Britons
Would not endure his Sway.—They muſt have Ju⯑ſtice;
And from their Prince, do they require it moſt!—
Nay, they demand it.—
Were I a Villager, the meaneſt Freeman
In all your State; and Claudius ſhould preſume,—
Or any Caeſar,—to abuſe his Power,
And authorize enormous Crimes; I would not,—
No!—were his Anger Death,—I could not bear it!
But would oppoſe him, to my ſtretch of Power.
Val.
In blaming us; in making your Demands,
You do not recollect the Services,
The Debt, we owe to Cartiſmand.
Van.
The Services; the Debt!—Notorious Deed!—
Her earlieſt Infamy; your worſt Diſgrace!
Not recollect! O Caradoc!—Thy Proweſs,
Not thy Credulity, be my Example!
Not know your Shame!—Yes, every Briton knows it.
You triumph'd by a Woman's Perfidy!
Oſtorius bought the Foe, he could not conquer;
Who, elſe, had conquer'd him, and freed this Iſland.
Val.
Impetuous Briton! Partial in your Rage!
Van.
The Fate of Caradoc, and Shame of Cartiſmand,
Will ever be remembred through the Land.
Did ſhe not promiſe Aids? Invite him to her?
Receive him with adulterated Smiles?
Then bind the brave, believing Man in Chains;
And barter with you for the Boaſt of Britain?
Yet this, your Emperour vainly call'd a Triumph:
And made a Spectacle of Vertue, thus betray'd!
Val.
You need not thus, employ your Eloquence:
We know it all.
Van.
[39]Yet let me recollect.
Through the wide crowded Streets of Rome, behold
The Warriour walk, Majeſtick in his Bonds!—
In the full Senate, now, he ſtands undaunted;
An aged, awful, a triumphant Captive!
His Looks, his Words, appall the robed Aſſembly;
And ſhake vain-glorious Claudius on his Throne.
Val.
Claudius took off his Chains.—Remember that!
Van.
Then did your Nobles ſee a Man; a Briton!
The Admiration; the Terrour of the Romans.
This is the mighty Debt you owe that Woman.
Val.
Yet, after this, you married Cartiſmand!
Van.
I was ambitious.—That I learn'd from You.
That I did wed with Treachery, and was a Friend
To Romans, is the whole Reproach of Vanoc.
But they and ſhe, combin'd, have clear'd my Honour!
And, when I ſtain it, by forgiving Either;
Let my own Subjects brand me for a Coward.
Val.
Talk not of Honour, Prince!—An empty Sound;
The Vaunting of a Briton in his Choler!—
To me, at leaſt, you ſhould have ſpar'd the Boaſt.
You can renounce your Word, we know, at Pleaſure;
Forget paſt Services, worn Marks of Kindneſs:
Then quarrel with your Friends, to free the Debt;
And ſacrifice all Faith to your Reſentments.
Van.
This Accuſation I can hear unmov'd:
It ſullies not my Soul, nor taints my Fame.
It is a Slander; I expect no better.
Val
Do I calumniate then?—Ungrateful Vanoc!—
Perfidious Prince!—Is it a Calumny
To ſay, that Gwendolen, betroth'd to Yvor,
Was, by her Father, firſt aſſur'd to Valens?
By ſolemn Promiſes you made her mine;
And I, by faithful Services deſerv'd her.
What have I done, to merit this Injuſtice?
Van.
Then Valens was our Friend.
Val.
[40]I never was
Your Foe.—Urge not that weak Defenſe.—You know,
How much my Heart approv'd your Cauſe in ſecret;
How I remonſtrated againſt the War;
How I abhorr'd the Conduct of the Queen!
What did I not for you?—Through my Perſuaſion,
How often did Oſtorius proffer Peace?
Van.
When I had worſted him, and kept the Field;
Which ſtill I keep, Thanks to the valiant Yvor.
Val.
I once did think the Word of Vanoc ſacred.—
You may confirm it ſtill.
Van.
Where it is due,
It ſhall not fail.—You never were my Foe:—
Thoſe are your Words.—Yet when Oſtorius died,
And the Command devolv'd on you alone;
You fought for Cartiſmand.—My Daughter!—No!—
Were it to ſave her Life, ſhe ſhould not wed
A Roman.
Val.
Then hear me,—proud Cornavian!—
Unthinking Prince; I take you at your Word:
Nor ſhall you forfeit it a ſecond Time.
She ſhall not wed; ſhe ſhall not be a Wife:
But ſhe ſhall be a Slave;—And to a Roman!
The wretched Mother ſhall ſhe be of Slaves;
And live to curſe her Offspring, and her Father!
I will not aſk your Leave, to uſe my Captive,
As I pleaſe:—She is my Right, my Property.
We thank you, that there needs no farther Courtſhip.
I can command her; and ſhe muſt comply.
Fortune is juſt:—What you refuſe, ſhe gives;
And Vanoc ſuffers, for his Breach of Promiſe.
Van.
Hence Menacer!—Nor tempt me into Rage.—
This Roof protects thy Raſhneſs.—But be gone!—
I cannot anſwer for mine Indignation.
If thou ſhould'ſt dare to violate my Child;
Or but pollute her Cheek, with one rude Kiſs:
What heavy Vengeance ſhall I not require!—
[41] Nor Man, nor Woman, nor the new born Infant,
Nor any Thing, that's Roman, will I ſpare;
But in the Bitterneſs of Wrath deſtroy.
And for thy Iewd, ill-manner'd Threats, remem⯑ber,
That I, henceforward, do abjure all Peace:
Nor ſhall you buy my Friendſhip with your Empire.
Away!—Alan, conduct the Tribune forth:—
And let him paſs unqueſtion'd.
SCENE IX.
Alan, Valens.
Valens,
Soldier, come.
The King is much incens'd.—Alas! he knows not
How far a Lover's Tongue belies his Heart!—
Mine are fond Menaces; the Throws of Love.
O Gwendolen, amidſt thy Charms ſecure,
Still doſt thou reign, whatever I endure.
Thy Beauty and thy Innocence, combin'd,
At once inflame, and overawe, the Mind.
The End of the Third ACT.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
[42]SCENE, The Pavilion of the General, in the Roman Camp.
Didius.
THIS beauteous Captive is our Pledge of Peace.
If Valens rightly judges of the Father;
His fond Affection may o'er-rule his Rage.
SCENE II.
Didius, Cartiſmand.
Cart.
Where is my Foe? This Stranger; this Be⯑trayer?—
Stand off.—I will have Entrance.—Have I found you?
Deceitful Roman!—
Didius, Madam!—
Cart.
Did you, then, think
To perpetrate this Fraud; and I not know it?
Is not the Death of Vellocad enough;
Sufficient Woe to combat in one Day?
But you, to finiſh my Diſtreſs, muſt give
Me, widow'd, to the Rage of that Uſurper?
Is this your boaſted Faith to your Allies?
Did.
[43]I ſtand confounded!
Cart.
Muſt I explain your Guilt?
Go, baſe Diſſembler; cool in ſtudied Wiles!
Practis'd in Arts, that we diſdain.—
Do you not treat with Vanoc, now? And treat
To my Undoing?
Did.
Unjuſt Suſpicion!
Cart.
Is not your Tribune gone; diſpatch'd in Secret?
A private Herald, to my deadlieſt Foe?
Why was not I conſulted?—Know you not,
That Vanoc is implacable to me?
However you agree; I will not ſtoop
To Terms from him!—But, there can be no Terms
The Romans may have Peace; but not with Both.
Did.
Till I am better known, I can excuſe
This Jealouſy.
Cart.
Is it not manifeſt?
I know the Price, you pay for Vanoc's Friendſhip:
It will not be refus'd.—Do, General; do!
Give up the Queen, who gave up Caradoc;
And, expiate my Folly, by your Falſhood.
But, Didius, I will diſappoint your Malice:
You ſhall not ſend me living to the Tyrant.
And, e'er I die, I may commit a Deed,
A Vengeance of ſuch Note, on my Betrayers;
That even Vanoc ſhall applaud my Daring.
Did.
Accuſe me not, if I forbore to add
Unneceſſary Cares to your Affliction:
If I was tender of the Doubts and Fears,
Which, in a Female Breaſt, are too prevailing.
Cart.
Miſtaken Man; preſume not on my Sex!
Am I unfit to ſhare in all your Counſels?
Or, Is this Treaty no Concern of mine?
What? Do you take me for a Roman Matron;
Bred tamely to the Spindle and the Loom?
Are theſe the Buſineſs of a Britiſh Queen?
A Woman, train'd to Arms; to Empire born;
Redoubted, far!—Oſtorius knew me better.—
[44] I am not us'd to ſuch unworthy Treatment!
Did.
Once hear me: Then, upbraid me, as I merit.
Cart.
What more could I have done to ſerve theſe Romans?
But, let it paſs!—Adverſity is friendleſs.—
It wrings my Soul.—Deſerted at my Need!—
And yet I ſtood their Friend, when they were helpleſs!—
Ungrateful Men!—A Nation of Deceivers!—
O, it is plain!—Claudius himſelf deceives me!—
It was contriv'd!—You came inſtructed hither,
To make a Sacrifice of Cartiſmand:
Elſe, had you brought Supplies from Gaul.—You knew
Our weak Condition, and the Strength of Vanoc.
If I am thus betray'd, what Leagues can bind you?
Did.
How, Princeſs, ſhall I anſwer to this Rage?
Or, muſt I give it way; as to a Torrent,
When ſudden Rains aſſiſt its Fury?
Cart.
Oh,
For Words, that carry Death!—Mine have no Force;
Not Power to ſtir the Guilty.
Did.
Forbear a while.
Let Valens come: and judge, from his Report,
The Extravagance of your Conjectures.
Cart.
No!
That you confide in Valens, is my Ruin.
I know his Treachery, and the Reward.—
Did.
See where he comes.—But hear him out with Temper.
SCENE III.
Didius, Cartiſmand, Valens.
Did.
Here, Valens, in the Preſence of the Queen,
Declare the Purport of your Interview;
Your whole Diſcourſe with Vanoc.
Cart.
Tribune, ſpeak.
Val.
His haughty Soul rejects our proffer'd Friend⯑ſhip;
[45] Denounces War; and bids us bold Defiance.
Cart.
Thanks to his Pride, that fruſtrates your In⯑tentions.
Did.
But, made he no Propoſals?
Cart.
What Propoſals!—
Would you, then, poorly ſupplicate—
Did.
Not ſo.—
Valens, Proceed.
Val.
Deliver up the Queen,
He ſaid;—
Did.
The Queen!—
Val.
Send back my Daughter: This
Perform'd, We may be brought to treat of Peace.
Did.
Moſt inſolent Demand!
Cart.
You know not Vanoc.
No leſs did I expect from his Preſumption.
Hence, all my Jealouſy.
Did.
Have worthier Thoughts
Of us.
Cart.
Forgive a Woman's buſy Fears.—I know
The Pride, the Rage, the Rancor of his Soul!
He will not be appeas'd, but with my Blood.
Did.
Give up the Queen!—Inſulting Briton; No!
The farther we extend our Power, the more
Is Rome oblig'd to cheriſh her Allies.
This Maxim, the Palladium of the State,
This Vertue, only, can ſecure our Greatneſs.
We ſhall not deprecate the Rage of Vanoc,
Nor dread his Enmity.—And, be aſſur'd,
The Roman State will ſend new Legions over,
Employ her utmoſt Power to ſave her Friends,
And quell the ſtubborn, refractory Foe.
Cart.
Subdue, deſtroy, avenge me of, this Man;
Avenge your ſelf, maintain your Emperor's Glory▪
And take my Diadem: I give it freely.
Let him be wretched firſt; and, let him know,
That I am Author of his Miſery:
It matters not, what Torments I endure.
Did.
[46]We muſt proceed with Caution; gaining Time.
Val.
It were a Raſhneſs, now, to riſque a Battel.
Cart.
Didius, to you I leave the War.—But, treat no more.
For, he has vow'd Deſtruction to the Romans.
Did.
He ſhall not give the Law: Nor you complain
Of Roman Faith.—
Cart.
Nor you of Cartiſmand.
Now, raſh Cornavian, learn to dread a Woman.
Henceforth, my Vengeance ſhall be vigilant;
Nor, ſhall my Heart recoil at any Deed,
That may afflict thy Soul—Now I return,
With Comfort, to my drooping, faithful Soldiers.
SCENE IV.
Didius, Valens.
Did.
What a tempeſtuous Spirit!—
Val.
Turbulent,
As Hyperborean Seas!
Did.
I ſummon'd all
The Force of Reaſon to my Aid; and yet,
With Pain could I ſupport her jealous Outrage.
Val.
Such is the Nature of theſe Iſlanders.
But when, through Time, they ſhall be civiliz'd,
This native Fierceneſs (like Falernian Wine,
Mellow with Age) will ripen into Vertue.
Did.
Valens, this Briton over-rates his Power:
Though we are not to think too lightly of him:
The meaneſt Foe, contemn'd, may overcome.
Val.
Three Victories, obtain'd without Repulſe,
Have ſwell'd his Hopes into a Confidence.
Mean time, his ardent Spirit does not cool;
And, Caeſar like, he ſleeps not on his Conqueſts.
Did.
This Night I purpoſe to remove our Camp;
Retreating ſtill, as he purſues: Till we
Can turn upon him, with ſuperiour Powers.
Val.
[47]Thus fluſh'd, he thinks his captive Daughter ſafe;
And that he may reclaim her at his Pleaſure.
Did.
She is exceeding beautiful: A Prize,
That, in my younger Years, I ſhould have valued,
Beyond a Triumph o'er an Eaſtern King.
Val.
A matchleſs Beauty!—Even here, in Britain,
Where Women moſt excell in Bloom and Feature,
She is allow'd the faireſt of her Sex.
Then ſhe is vertuous, Sir, as ſhe is fair!
All Gentleneſs, and harmleſs as the Turtle.
Did.
She ſhall be kindly entertain'd. To you
I recommend that Care. Soften her Fears:
Make her Confinement eaſy: Let her have
Attendance, ſuiting to her Rank.—See Valens,
Where ſhe comes.—I leave you: And, while You
Impart her Father's Reſolutions, will diſpatch
A Meſſenger to Gaul, for ſpeedy Succours.
SCENE V.
Valens.
Val.
O Didius, were I to reveal my Paſſion,
But half my Love; thou might'ſt ſuſpect my Vertue!
SCENE VI.
Valens, Gwendolen.
Gwend.
Valens, excuſe the Impatience of a Heart
Perplex'd with Doubts.—I long'd for your Return.—
Did you ſucceed?—What Comfort do you bring
To my Diſtreſs?—Or, Am I quite forlorn?
Val.
Why, faireſt Princeſs, this dejected Mien;
Theſe anxious Thoughts?—Give up your Cares to me.
Where Valens is, you cannot be forlorn.
Gwend.
O ſay; inform me!—Is my Father yet
Inclin'd to Peace?—What Anſwer did he give?
Val.
[48]What you will grieve to hear.
Gwend.
Alas, My Fears!
Val.
More obſtinate than ever, more enrag'd,
He has renounced all Friendſhip with the Romans.
Gwend.
O, my hard Fate!—
Val.
Let me forbid thoſe Tears.
Gwend.
Yet, I did hope, my hapleſs ſad Condition
Might have prevail'd d o'er all his Injuries.—
But, they are grievous Wrongs!—And call for Ven⯑geance:—
If there are Wrongs, that cannot be forgiven.
Val.
I curſe the guilty Cauſe of his Reſentment.
Gwend.
Yet ſhe offends; and I am puniſh'd.—
Val.
No:
It muſt not be.—But every Fear adieu:
And think, that you are now the Care of Valens.
Whatever be the Iſſue of this War;
No Danger, no Diſquiet, ſhall appproach you.
Mean time, no Captive, but a welcome Gueſt,
Here ſhall you reign admir'd; the Queen of Beauty:
Here ſhall you live, as in your Father's Palace;
Nor dread the Frowns of that imperious Woman.
Gwend.
Alas, what have you ſaid!—Here ſhall I live!—
Oh, Valens; this is no abiding Place.
Already have I liv'd a weary Time;
And lengthen'd every Minute with my Sighs.
Val.
What then have I endured!—Revolving Moons;
Divided from your Preſence; from my Bliſs.
And, do you wiſh already to be gone!
And, can you not allow me one ſhort Day,
One Hour to renew my ardent Vows,
And breathe my tender Sighs once more, before you?
Thoſe Sighs, that nightly fill my ſilent Tent,
And keep me waking on my lonely Couch.
Conſider; Gwendolen, my laſting Paſſion;
A Paſſion, that, through Time, takes deeper Root;
A Love, that, ſpight of Abſence, hourly grows;
[49] In ſpight even of Deſpair:—Yet, will I not
Deſpair; ſince Fortune favours thus my Hopes.
Gwend.
Good Valens, ſay no more.—Oh, ſend me hence!
Home to my Father, ſend me.—
Val.
And to Yvor.—
No, Princeſs;—when I do, I muſt not love you.
In vain you aſk, what I can never grant.
Gwend.
Will Valens make me wretched?—
Val.
Cruel Fair!—
Guend.
How have I been deceiv'd!—I thought to find
A Friend in you.—How often have you ſworn,
That you would ſuffer all Extremes, e'er I
Should feel a Miſery; a tranſient Pain?
And do You ſtudy to prolong my Woe;
A Woe, too heavy to ſupport, and live!
Val.
Your Happineſs ſhall be my tendereſt Care.
Gwend.
Reſtore me, then;—
Val.
It is not in my Power.—
Gwend.
To Yvor, to my ſelf, reſtore me;—
Val.
To my Rival!—
Guend.
And I ſhall live to praiſe, to bleſs your Friendſhip,
And cheriſh your Remembrance, in my grateful Heart.
Val.
Diſtracting Thought!—My Hope, and my Deſpair!—
What to reſolve!—But, how can I reſolve?
Or, how ſuſtain this Conflict in my Soul?—
And, muſt I yield?—And, muſt you be obey'd?—
Gwend.
O, generous Roman!—
Val.
But it will not be!—
No, Gwendolen; I cannot let you go.
It would convince you, that I never lov'd.
Gwend.
Then let me die, and finiſh my Affliction,
When it ſhall be too late, your Cruelty
Will turn to Lamentation, o'er a Princeſs,
Who, but for Valens, might have liv'd, moſt happy,
Bleſt, above Womankind!—
Val.
What can I do!—
[50] I would,—and I would not detain you.—Go.—
But not with my Conſent!—But, whither go you?—
Not to Vanoc.—O, that belov'd Silurian!—
To him I will not,—Oh, I cannot ſend you.
Gwend.
From him I cannot live.—Good, gentle Valens;—
The Prince, my Father,—every gallant Briton,—
Nay, every Roman,—all, but Cartiſmand,
Will praiſe the Greatneſs of your Reſolution.
The generous Deed would overcome my Father;
And bring you Peace.
Val.
Firſt let me die in War;
E'er I conſent to forfeit all my Hopes!—
And yet, whate'er I do, my Hopes are blaſted.
That this fierce Combat in my Heart were over!—
Which way ſhall I decide the cruel Conteſt?
Perplexing Strife!—Some God determine for me!
Aſſiſt me, Princeſs;—Save me from Diſtraction.—
I would reſtore your Quiet,—And my own.
Deal gently with your Slave:—Allow me Time;
Some Days, to recollect my ſcatter'd Reaſon,
And wean my deareſt, my moſt hopeleſs, Love!
Gwend.
O, Yvor!—Can I multiply thy Sufferings?
Or, give away one Moment of thy Quiet?
Val.
Ungrateful Maid!—E'er he beheld your Charms,
I lov'd through Years!—And am I thus deſpis'd?—
Not grant a Day!—Not ſooth my Pains a Moment!—
I ſee my eaſy Nature is abus'd.
Gwend.
Witneſs, theſe Tears,—
Val.
They are not ſhed for Me.
What Right has Yvor, more than Valens?—Mine
Is an elder Claim:—Sooner will I die,
Than give it up.—Vanoc, you know,
Approv'd my Love.—Confiding in his Word,
Day after Day, I cheriſh'd my fond Hopes;
Indulg'd my thriving Paſſion, till it grew
Too ſtrong to be controll'd.—And, ſhall I now
[51] Decree my own ſad Doom? And, ſhall I now
Renounce my juſt Pretenſions; and aſſiſt
Your Father to accompliſh his Injuſtice?
Gwend.
Alas; am I to blame?—I never lov'd,
I never gave you hope.
Val.
Through Length of Time,
Through Conſtancy, that triumphs over Time,
You might have lov'd.—But, Princeſs, place your Love
On whom you pleaſe; you ſhall not wed another.
Gwend.
Oh, can you tear me from my plighted Lord!
Sever Two Hearts, that never lov'd before;
That cannot love again:—For ever joyn'd!
Had, once, my Virgin Love been plac'd on You,
It had prov'd laſting, as it is to Yvor.
Val.
Enough!—It is too much!—Inſulting Captive!—
Your open Scorn, unmerited Diſdain,
Makes me moſt deſperate; and turns my Love,
My ſlighted Goodneſs, into Indignation.—
Gwend.
You are my Friend; you, only, my Pro⯑tectour.—
Why ſhould you thus alarm a helpleſs Virgin?
A Princeſs, who relies upon your Goodneſs?
Val.
We know the Rights of War.—
Gwend.
Oh, kill me not.
I am unfortunate;—But, not unkind.
Val.
Moſt cruel!—Not to let me hope a while!—
But, I will make You deſperate as my Self.
Gwend.
Is my Sincerity a Crime?—Alas, what Hope
Have I to give?—What ſhew of Love?—Indeed,—
Val.
I ſhall not aſk it more.—Your Tears are vain,
As was my Love.—
Gwend.
Let me conjure you, Valens,—
Val.
You ſee, I now can ſmile at your Diſpleaſure▪
Can pain You in my Turn; and make You feel
The Torments of a diſappointed Love.
Gwend.
Inhuman Tribune!—
Val.
Nay, to Cartiſmand
Will I reſign you.
Gwend.
[52]Then am I loſt indeed!—
Val.
For ever loſt to Y [...]or.
When next we meet; you may perhaps repent
Of your. Diſdain.
Gwend.
Oh, leave me not, in Anger!—
Have you no Pity, then?
Val.
I learn from You.—
Guards, to her Tent, conduct the Princeſs.
Gwend.
Stay:—
Oh, Stay!—
SCENE VII.
Gwendolen.
Hard-hearted Man!—He will not hear me.
Nowk, Yvor; now, are we compleatly wretched!—
That vengeful Woman!—Oh, my gathering Terrours!—
How to ſupport my Anguiſh, unaſſiſted!
Unbefriended!—deſtitute of Comfort!—
But, though my Fears, like riſing Floods, prevail,
And my weak Heart, on every Side, aſſail;
Through all Diſtreſſes, Yvor, will I prove
Still true to Thee; unſhaken in my Love.
End of the Fourth ACT.
ACT V. SCENE I.
[53]The SCENE continues.
Valens, Idwall.
Valens.
WHOM ſeek you, Idwall? The General?
Id.
You, Valens;—
And, to diſcloſe a Secret, may deſerve
Your kindeſt Thanks.
Val.
I doubt not of your Friendſhip:
But, what freſh Inſtance of it?
Id.
In your Love,
Your deareſt Intereſt, am I come to ſerve you.
Val.
Alas, my Friend!—Would it might be!—But, ſay:
How can'ſt thou ſerve me, in my Love?
Id.
Know then;
The Queen, enraged at the Demand of Vanoc,
Reſolves to claim your Captive from you:—
Val.
How!
Id.
The Princeſs, for her Priſoner!—This obtain'd;
I fear the Event.
Val.
It ſtrikes my Soul with Horrour!
Id.
She is too young, too good, too innocent,
To ſuffer: And Cartiſmand too far provok'd,—
To treat her kindly.
Val.
Oh, the very Fright,
Were Gwendolen to know it, would be fatal,
Thou doſt deſerve my beſt of Thanks.
Id.
No more.
Val.
I will preſerve her: With my Life, will I
[54] Preſerve the charming Maid!—Though ſtill, I live
Depriv'd of Hope; abandon'd to Deſpair!
Id.
For Her, Compaſſion pleads, as ſtrong as Love.
Val.
Thou art a worthy Soldier.
Id.
But, the Queen
May come:—I muſt be gone.
Val.
Adieu.
SCENE II.
Valens.
Alas;
Where, now, are my Reſolves!—Do what I can,
My Tenderneſs prevails.—O, Gwendolen;
How exquiſite art thou!—Perfection all!—
Nor can I blame thy Love.—Too happy Yvor!
How could I ſend her hence, oppreſs'd with Sorrow?—
Severeſt Proof of Fondneſs!—To her Tent,
This Inſtant will I haſten: Aſk Forgiveneſs;
Aſſwage her Grief, and diſſipate her Fears.
SCENE III.
Valens, Cartiſmand.
Cart.
Let me not, Valens, hinder your Occaſions.—
My Buſineſs is to Didius.
Val.
In his Abſence
May Valens be intruſted?
Cart.
My Requeſt,
Though ſmall in Conſequence, were bettertold
To Him.—Yet, you may hear it.—But I fear,
Your Heart may miſinterpret my Intentions.
Val.
Then, Madam, were it kind to diſabuſe me.
Cart.
Yet, why do I ſuppoſe, you ſhould not wiſh,
The Princeſs were committed to my Care?—
Didius, I know, will not refuſe it.
Val.
[55]Madam,
The General may think, his Captive as ſecure,
If ſhe continues under his Protection.
Cart.
But, ſhe is here, a Stranger; among Men;
Companionleſs; and full of Virgin Fears.
My Tent would be her Home.—I only aſk,
What Decency requires.—It is my Duty.
Val.
What Decency requires, ſhall not be wanting.
Her Women, her Attendants, ſhall have free Acceſs.
Cart.
I ſhould promote Your Love; watch every Seaſon;
And teach her to forget all Thoughts of Yvor.
Val.
I read your Purpoſe, through the thin Diſguize.
Is Cartiſmand no better known?
Cart.
How, Tribune!—
Does your malicious Thought pervert my Meaning?
Val.
Do I not know your Hatred to the Princeſs?—
The pitying Gods preſerve her from Your Mercy!
Cart.
Preſumptuous Man; thus to arraign my Good⯑neſs!
Val.
Was I not Witneſs to your cruel Uſage?
When with ſubmiſſive Gentleneſs, ſhe bore
(Beneath her Father's Eye) your bitter Scorn;
Stifled her Griefs; hid all your blame in Smiles;
And interceded for the Wrongs ſhe ſuffer'd.
And would you, now, reſume your Tyranny;
Redouble every Anguiſh in her Soul;
And, through the harmleſs Daughter, wound the Fa⯑ther?
Cart.
Peace, Traytor; peace!—The General ſhall know
Thy ſecret Dealings; thy diſhoneſt Love.
Thou would'ſt for Gwendolen betray thy Countrey.
Thou haſt, this very Day, combin'd with Vanoc:
Haſt ſold us: I perceive it.—But thy Life
Shall anſwer for the Treaſon!—
Val.
Your Diſpleaſure,
Your Suſpicions concern me not.—To you
[56] I might appeal, to every Roman here,
To every Briton, to acquit my Faith,
My Loyalty; unblemiſh'd by my Love.
I own, it was with Pain, I could prefer
[...] Duty to my Paſſion; to ſuch Charms!—
[...], in my early Youth, have I been taught,
The Love, a brave Man to his Countrey owes,
Should triumph over every ſond Endearment.
Cart.
Reſign the Princeſs then:—And ſtand ac⯑quitted.
Yours is a thin Diſguize; a Boaſt of Vertue;
While in your Love, you meditate our Ruin.—
But why, regardleſs of my Dignity,
Do I waſte Words? When Didius can command;
Can check your Inſolence.—
Val.
You are a Queen
Of high Deſcent: High ſeated, once, in Power;
And join'd in Wedlock, to a noble Prince.
That you are, now, abandon'd by your Subjects,
The People's Scorn; is not through our Demerits.
Cart.
Speak on! And give full Proof, perfidious Wretch,
Of thy Adherence to the Foes of Claudius.
Declare thy ſmother'd Treaſon.
Val.
Yes; my Heart
Did ever diſapprove your raſh Attempt,—
That you had never reign'd, or reign'd more ver⯑tuous!—
What have I loſt; what ſuffer'd by your Crime!
Accuſe My Love!—Accuſe your own Diſhonour,
The Cauſe of all this War: A War to us,
Innlorious.—What could Vanoc leſs? Or, how
Can He forgive?—My ſharp Deſpair
Will have its Vent.—Was not your V [...]ll [...]ead,
Your Paramour, your Infamy,—my Curſe!—
That Man of Dreſs, the Servant of your Lord?
A Prince of ſuch rare Qualities! So eminent!—
A juſter Prince there lives not!—Nor more injur'd▪
Cart.
Audacious Roman!—Thy unruly Tongue
[57] Be thy Accuſer.—It is evident,
What made you fly; to whom you left the Field;
To whom you gave a Victory, ſo cheap!
Val.
Opprobrious Woman!—What is your Reproach?
Your Praiſe▪ alas! was never my Ambition.
Even all your Merit, howe'er confeſs'd by Claudius,
Turns to Diſgrace on You.—One Prince betray'd;
And one diſhonour'd: Both of high Renown;
Unmatch'd in Britiſh Story; have been the Sport
Of Cartiſmand, grown wanton in her Power.
Cart.
Have done!—No farther urge me, on thy Life!—
O I could rend my Heart!—Do any Thing!—
So low am I declin'd; a Tribune's Scorn!
The Mock of Underlings!—My ſhameful Tears!—
But I will have the Priſoner; yes, I will!—
Or, woe upon you all!—
SCENE IV.
Valens, Cartiſmand, Didius,
Cart.
Come General; Come:—
Avenge an injur'd Woman!—Right a Queen!
Did.
What new Diſturbance, Madam?—More Suſpicions!
Cart.
Abuſive Treaſon utter'd! Spoke aloud!—
Your Tribune, there, betrays us Both!—
Val.
Injurious Rage!—
Cart.
He leagues with Vanoc: Sells us for his Daugh⯑ter.
Did.
Valens, explain this Tumult of the Queen.
Cart.
To him do you appeal?—
Did.
Inform me, Tribune.
Val.
She comes, Sir, to demand your Captive from you.
Cart.
My Subject, Didius:—Is ſhe not?
Did.
My Hoſtage, Cartiſmand.
Val.
[58]Her Life would not be ſafe, could She obtain her.
Did.
Madam, if this diſturbs you; cool, at leiſure.
I am to anſwer for the Princeſs.—
Cart.
Oh,
My Diſtraction!—Are You ſmitten too?—
A Blight upon her Charms!—Now I perceive,
(Too late, alas!) I live amongſt my Foes;
Or, with Allies, too powerful to be juſt.—
I am controll'd! A Bond-ſlave!—Periſh firſt!—
Such Treatment, from the Men, I ſav'd!—Endure it?—No!—
Rather will I ſubmit to Vanoc's Vengeance;
And make my Ruin fatal to the Romans!
SCENE V.
Valens, Didius.
Did.
Centurion, there!—Haſte to the Captive Princeſs.—
Attend her hither.—Go,—return,—with Speed.
Valens, We have no Time for Counſel.—
Val.
Sir!—
Did.
Vanoc, and Yvor, with united Powers,
Bear (like a Tide) upon our Camp.
Val.
I fear'd
Some Enterprize: Though, not ſo ſudden.—See,
The Princeſs.
SCENE VI.
Valens, Didius, Gwendolen.
Gwend.
O General! O Valens!—
What means this haſty Meſſage to me?—Say,—
Am I deliver'd, then, to Cartiſmand?
Did.
In this Pavilion, Madam, guarded from Her,
Shall you remain; ſecure in my Protection.
[59] Scarce have I Time to ſay; your Father, now,
Attempts our Mounds.—
Gwend.
O Heaven!
Val.
Be not alarm'd.—
The General is tender of your Safety.
Did.
Keep a ſtrict Watch, Centurion. On your Life,
Forbid all Entrance here; till we return.—
Princeſs, compoſe your Fears.—Come, Tribune; to our Poſts.
Val.
It grieves me, Gwendolen, to leave you thus;
Though here I leave you, unexpos'd to Danger.!
Forgive me, Princeſs:—Pity my Offence.
When I return, whatever Pangs I ſuffer,
You ſhall be happy.—Even Yvor ſhall confeſs,
Your Eyes ne'er kindled up a brighter Flame.
SCENE VII.
Gwendolen.
Unhappy, that I am.—My Cares now take
A different Caſt; and fright me with new Terrors.—
O Yvor!—O, my Father!—Who can tell,
If ever we ſhall meet, in Life?—When You are ſlain;
In vain, am I preſerv'd from Cartiſmand.—
You are not Proof againſt the Javelin's Point:
Nor I, againſt the Fears,—perhaps the Woes,—
The killing Woes of this uncertain Hour.—
Oh, 'tis begun!—The Roman Trumpet ſounds!—
Again, the Signal ecchoes!—Louder ſtill!—
My beating Heart!—Now it boads Wounds and Death.—
Let me be gone!—Oh, why am I confin'd?—
And, yet amidſt the Battel, what can I!—
Can theſe defenſeleſs Tears!—The diſtant Din
I hear confus'd!—That I cou'd be inform'd!—
But, oh, forbear!—I dread, alas, to know my Fate.—
What wafting Noiſe?—The Britiſh ſhouts!—Again!—
The Shouts of Victory!—Tranſporting Tumult!—
[60] 'Tis not Deluſion?—Yet; Another Peal!—
Auſpicious Token!—My Deliverance comes!
And thou, Adraſté, doſt regard my Vows!—
What Claſh of Weapons?—O defend them now!—
It is the Prince;—it is the King:—Or Both.—
Give way;—reſiſt not, Romans!—Let me meet—
SCENE VIII.
Gwendolen, Cartiſmand.
Cart.
Yes; we are met!—And, in Deſpight of Valens,
Gwend.
Heaven ſhield me!—
Cart.
No Delay.—You muſt with me.
Gwend.
Oh, whither muſt I?
Cart.
Hence.—Our Hoſtage now!—
My Men ſhall guard you,:—better than the Romans.—
Vance is Maſter of the Camp.—
Gwend.
One Moment hear me!—
Cart.
We muſt away.—And now, thy boaſted Sire.
Shall, ſoon, reſign my Crown; or, thou ſhalt die.
Gwend.
I never did offend
Cart.
My Chariot waits.—
Gwend.
Hark!—
Cart.
My Deſtruction!—Vanoc comes upon me!—
Gwend.
Moſt timely Reſcue!—
Cart.
Death to Thee!—
Gwend.
O ſpare▪
My Life!—
Cart.
I will ſequre my Vengeance!—
Gwend.
Mercy!—
Help;—ſpeedy Help!—
Cart.
Thus, Vanoc, to Thy Heart,
I drive the Poignard.—Thus, I brave thy Fury!
Gwend.
Oh,—it is done!—
SCENE IX.
[61]Gwendolen, Cartiſmand, Yvor.
Yvor.
Once more, my Gwendolen,
Receive me!—Take me to thy Arms!—Tu⯑multuous Joy!—
We, never more, will part!—The King is ſafe:—
And thou, my Fair, art Yvor's Bride, again!
Gwend.
O, Yvor; O!—ſupport me.—I grow faint.—
Yvor.
Diſtracting Sight!—Blood, on thy Boſom!—
Gwend.
Inward,
I bleed.—
Yvor.
Where?—When?—How?—
Gwend.
See, the murdering Queen!—
Yvor.
O, my diſorder'd Senſes?—Can it be!—
Gwend.
E'er you could force your Entrance,—
Yvor.
Accurſed Woman!—Bane of Innocence!—
Cart.
Remember Vellocad!—
Yvor.
Moſt cruel Savage!—
But;—Vanoc ſhall award thy Doom.—My Gwen⯑dolen!—
How fares my Love!—My deareſt Life!—
Gwend.
The Sight
Of You delights,—and pains, my wounded Heart.—
Fain would I live!—
Yvor.
Thou ſhalt live.—
Gwend.
I cannot bear
To think of—parting from you.
Yvor.
Name it not!—
Gwend.
Relentleſs Fate! I feel the Stroke of Death!—
Yvor.
Oh, thy Cheek turns pale!—
Gwend.
We are to live again.—Continue mine.—
Through every Life we paſs,—let me be Yours.
Yvor.
[62]O, ever!—Ever mine!—
Gwend.
Sweet,—pleaſing Hope!—
No Jealouſy did ever interrupt our Love:—
Nor ſhall it yield to Death!—
Yvor.
My Agony!—
Thy Eye-Beams fade!—Oh, Gwendolen!—
Gwend.
My Prince!—
Yvor.
Revive!—What Hope?—I cannot live with⯑out thee!
Gwend.
Live, for our Father's Sake:—And, do not grieve,—
Too much.—One Look!—O Yvor!—My Deſire!—
My firſt,—my lateſt Love!—a while—farewel.
Yvor.
Deſpair and Death!—Quite Speechleſs!—O, Diſtraction!—
Here will I fix:—Thus o'er thy dear Remains,
For ever weep;—and waſte out Life, in wailing.
SCENE X.
Cartiſmand, Yvor, Vanoc.
Van.
O, where! Where is my Child? My Gwendolen?—
The Purchaſe of our Victory!—O, Horrour!—
Cart.
Bend thy ſtern Brow on Me!—I did the Deed!
Van.
Perdition on thee!—But, I ſtay my Hand!—
Speak, Yvor!—Oh, my Daughter!—Dead!—
Breathleſs, and pale!—O, moſt accompliſh'd Miſchief!—
SCENE XI.
[63]Cartiſmand, Ivor, Vanoc, Alan.
Van.
Come, Alan; come.—See, there!—See my Diſtreſs!
Thy Maſter's Woe!—Behold the bloody Tygreſs!—
Cart.
Rave on!—My Vengeance is compleat!—
Live wretched!
Reign on, in Sorrow!—
Van.
O, thy Miſery
Will I prolong; and vary it through Life!—
Cart.
Hadſt thou been more forgiving;—I had been
Leſs cruel.—
Van.
Wickedneſs! Barbarian! Monſter!—
What had She done, alas?—Sweet Innocence!—
She would have interceded for thy Crimes.
Cart.
Too well I knew the Purpoſe of thy Soul!—
Didſt thou believe I would ſubmit?—Reſign my Crown?—
Or, that Thou, only, hadſt the Power to puniſh?
Van.
Yet, I will puniſh;—meditate ſtrange Tor⯑ments!—
Then, give thee to the Juſtice of the Gods.
Cart.
Thus, Vanoc, do I mock thy treaſur'd Rage.—
My Heart ſprings forward, to the Dagger's Point.
Van.
Quick!—Wreſt it from her!—Drag her hence to Chains.
Cart.
There needs no ſecond Stroke.—
Adieu, raſh Man!—My Woes are at an End:—
Thine but begun;—and laſting, as thy Life!—
SCENE XII.
Yvor, Vanoc, Alan.
Van.
Laſting, indeed! That thou hadſt been leſs Guilty!—
[64] My Shame not publick!—And more juſt the Ro⯑mans!—
That my Reſentment might have been appeas'd!—
O, Yvor, Prince!—Sad Partner in my Woe!—
Alan.
Auſpicious Morning!—Fatal Cloſe of Day!
Van.
Turn here thy ſtreaming Eyes; O, Yvor, turn;
And mingle Tears with mine!—
Yvor.
Moſt irkſome Life!—But, what is Life to Me?—
My Sword ſhall end my Cares,—
Van.
Forbear, my Son!—
Already my Affliction is too heavy.
Yvor.
Not die?
Van.
Leave that falſe Vertue to the Romans.—
Our Injuries, my Daughter's Fate, our Countrey's Cauſe,
Bid us to live.—We muſt not throw off Life;—
But lay it down; when Heaven appoints us Reſt.
Juſt Gods!—If my Reſentments be too ſtrong;
Or, over-rigid to compenſate Wrong:—
Severely you my raſh Offence chaſtiſe;—
Bereft, in Gwendolen, of All, I prize!
End of the Fifth ACT.
FINIS.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4351 The Briton A tragedy As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane by His Majesty s servants By Mr Philips. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5A0E-1