A NEW OPERA; CALLED, Brutus of Alba: OR, Augusta's Triumph. As it is ACTED At the THEATRE, in Dorset-Garden, By His Majesty's Servants. LONDON: Printed by W. Onley, for Sam. Briscoe, at the Corner of Charles-street, near Russel-street, Covent-garden. MDCXCVII. Having received very large Encouragement already, from several Persons of Honour and Quality, there will speedily be Published, A Second Volume of Familiar Letters, written by the late Lord Rochester, the Duke of Buckingham, and Sir George Etherege. If any Gentlemen are willing to Oblige the Public with any Letters of those Honourable Persons, they are desired to send them to Sam. Briscoe, in Covent-Garden, who will Print them in the next Volume. Dramatis Persona. Brutus Locrine Arsaracus Coreb Hersius Spungias La Friske WOMEN. Amarante Ragusa SINGERS. Augusta Thamesis Apollo Juno Hermes Iris Pluto Allecto Minos Proteus Fame Neptune Bacchus Cupid Mars Nestor Triton's Angelo Seraphino Airy Spirits TO Sam. Briscoe, Bookseller. Mr. BRISCOE, Sure none can prove a Warmer Patron to a Book, than the Bookseller for whom 'tis Printed; nor can any one have a juster Title to the Dedication of a Play, than he who uses to pay so largely most Dedicators. You promised to stand Godfather to this Offspring of a Nameless Parent; and, as 'tis like to make some Figure in the World; we hope it will soon Recompense your Liberality to those who usher it into it: For, while other Patrons often purchase nothing but empty Air, and are swelled with it, to the Decay of their more solid Parts; but you are for more substantial Gain, and get Money for Paper, while they get nothing but Paper for Money. Most Readers rather judge of the Worth of a Book, by the Name of the Bookseller that Prints it, than by that of the Great Man to whom 'tis Inscribed; and this must needs be thought the better, as being not only Printed for you, but Dedicated to you, who are famed for Printing few Things but what are Useful and Entertaining, and who hate a dull Scribbler, as much as he hates a severe Critic; or we, both Scribles and Critics, a thin Pit, or a long Vacation. And, indeed, this Opera will require no less powerful an Interest, than yours Mr. Briscoe: For you know, that many Books are only thought bad, through the Prejudice of most Readers against their Nameless Writers, as if those Works were not worth owning; and many are thought good only for the sake of the Author's Fame. ' Thus, let the best Master of Poetry, but publish a Poem without owning it, great numbers of Faults will be found, which otherwise would perhaps pass as Beauties. Now your Recommendation-Name, Mr. Briscoe, will infallibly supply the Want of the Authors; and thus his Modesty will only prove like those Shades that add strength to Pictures, and set the Beauties in a truer Light. For who can be supposed to understand Plays better than you, whose Business they have been so long, and who wholly Converse with the Ingenious and Bookish-Part of the World? Who but knows, what a kind Influence depends on you, from the Superior Orbs of Wit, with which you are so often in Conjunction? And 'tis but just it should be so; for while most Libraries are made up of the Outcasts of Booksellers Shops, yours, Mr. Briscoe, cheered by the Beams darted from the Neighbouring Spheres, is like a flourishing Garden, where every Day springs new Variety of the choicest Productions of Nature improved by Art; and thence the whole Lettered World receives constant Supplies of the Useful and the Pleasing, without which it can no more subsist, than without the daily Concourse of Providence. There we borrowed this Simile, Mr. Briscoe, which, by the way, confirms our Assertion; and there many others borrow, who do not so much care to acknowledge it: There from the Grave Politician, to the frothy Sonneter, from the Courtly Critic on clothes, to the implacable Critic on Sense; from the All-Contemning Lord of Rhyme, to the All-admiring Country Wit, Allwits, and Wou'd-be-Wits, are seen; too happy many of 'em, in finding something too Read in the Morning, that may enable 'em to Chat over their Tea in the Evening, without being reduced to pass six long Hours in a Balcony, in making Criticisms upon the Mobb. But we forgot that you and we are Men of Business; nor need we say any more to Recommend this Piece to you, and the Town, to whose Generous Indulgence we leave it; heartily wishing, you may sell off as many Impressions of it, as we wish ourselves Benefactors on Wednesday, and Saturday next, the Visiting Days of, Monday, Octob. 16, 1699. Your Friends and Servants, GEORGE POWELL, JOHN VERBRUGGEN. BRUTUS of ALBA: OR, AUGUSTA's TRIUMPH. ACT I. SCENE I. The SCENE is, The River of Thames, the Prospect reaches as far as can be seen from the Bridge, in a clear Day: On one side of the Stage, lies Augusta, attended by Cities; on the other, Thamesis, attended by Rivers; Angelo hovering in the Air. After a Symphony of Music, Angelo speaks. Angel. WAke, wake Augusta! Thamesis awake! Leave of your mourning for your absent Lord: From the bright Court of Love, I'm hither sent, To cheer your Drooping Spirits, and inform you, The Guardian of this once Unhappy Island, Returns with Safety from his gallic Foes. Tham. Oh thou Bright Vision! Thus we kneel before thee; Thus pay our Thanks to those Almighty Powers, That have Preserved the Great, the Godlike Brutus. Aug. O send our Albion, send him quickly to us: Guard him, good Heaven, Preserve him from his Foes; For when he falls, Augusta is no more. Aug. Once more I charge you, to dismiss your Fears, For Heaven has made him its peculiar Care. Seraphino Descends. See here the Guardian Heaven has appointed Still to Attend, and to Preserve his Person. Hermes Descends in his Chariot, drawn by Ravens. Her. And Hermes too appears, to cheer your Sorrows. Hermes Sings. Thou Glorious Fabric stand, for ever stand, Well worthy thou to Entertain The God of Traffic, and of Gain, To draw the Concourse of the Land, And Wealth of all the Main. Augusta Sings. O Hermes, pity take Of her, who Europe's Pride was seen, And this fair Isle's Imperial Queen. Albion's Darling Bride adorned, Till my Absent Lord I mourned. And whilst my Turtle-moans I make, Oh Hermes, pity take. Thamesis Sings. And I the Noble Flood, who pour My Plenteous Urn on her Rich Shoar, No more the Prince of Fields, I Reign, Nor she the Queen of Albion's Fame. Aug. Oh Hermes, pity take. Tha. Oh Hermes, pity take. Cho. To thee for pity now we call, O! Godlike Hermes; pity all. Mer. Cease, fair Augusta, cease thy Sorrow, And tho' to Day thou mournest, thou'lt smile to Morrow. Thy Morning Prayer, and Evening Dreams, Thy Albion with his smiling Beams, Returns so Glorious, Bright and Gay, He Rivals the Great God of Day. Chorus. Our Albion with his smiling Beams, Hermes. While gallic Foes which Envy see Your Monarch's happy Victory. Augusta, ought not to Despair, For Albion's Heavens peculiar Care. Mercury 〈◊〉 Tha. Since our Albion is returning All our blazing Bonfires Burning, join each Loyal Heart and Hand, Each Attending All Knees Bending Triton's Sounding Shores Rebounding, Send my jolly Neptune's Sons to Land. A Dance of Nerieds Augustus, Thamesis, and their Attendance all Sink. Aug. Now, Seraphina, to perform your Charge, Locrindus Son to this Victorious King, Is on his march, and will be here this Night. The false Arsaracus that was left in Charge Of this blessed Island, and fair Amarante Who is by Contract joined to the Young Prince, Tries by all Arts he can, to gain her Love: The Cursed Magician Coreb does attend him, And Calls the Powers of Hell to his Assistance; Therefore you must be Watchful, Seraphino. Ser. Fear not my Angel lo but see he comes, His working Brain, I know Presages Mischief, But he shall find that all the Power of Hell Will prove too Poor and Weak, to Combat Heaven. They both Aescnd. The Scene continueth. Enter Arsaracus Solus. Ars. Why am I thus perplexed? She's in my Power; But Oh! What Power can stand against her Beauty? Am I to blame to Court the smiles of her, Who Captivates the Heart of Royal Brutus That mighty Conqueror submits to her. He that is Born the certain Scourge of Gaul: He that with Conquest still comes Ushered Home, Our Second Mars yields to this Lovely Venus. Enter the Amarante Reading. Behold she comes; Oh! would our Artists draw A Scene of Heaven; there is the lovely Pattern▪ Am. Surprised by him alone, Oh! my just Fears. Arsa. Why do ye sly me then, my beauteous Charge? Am. Why do ye Haunt me thus, Deceitful Guardian? Arsa. Can you Condemn the wretch who ventures Life To obtain Food, when Famine has oppressed him; When the poor Slave tuggs at the Labouring Oar, His Body Gashed with Stripes, and Parched by th' Sun; His Eyelids shrouding in their drowsy Balls, His Joints quite Numbed, and yet Compelled to Toil; Is he to blame to beg of Heaven for Ease? Amar. They that Request of Heaven what is unjust should Not alone denial meet, but Punishment, When our Great Master left his drooping Kingdom, Left the soft Joys of Peace for dangerous War, When he had Conquered his resistless Love And left me to the Prince his Royal Son; He then, my Lord, bequeathed me to the Care; And sure he thought your Virtue was so firm, You would not Ruin, what you should Protect. Arsa. If Kneeling thus with humble Adoration, Begging of you my only Heaven, for Mercy; If Sighs and gushing Tears, and broken Slumbers With all the Racks of a despairing Lover. If these speak Ruin, sure they speak to me. Amar. What would you have me do? Arsa. Give me your Love. Amar. I cannot. Arsa. Why? Amar. It is the Princes Right. The Prince, the Noble Prince, the Prince that raised you; Royal Locrine, that bestowed all Favours That you could Ask, or he had power to give. Arsa. What Titles, Power, or Wealth can he bestow, To equal the bright Jewel he takes from me Empires and Worlds, would be too mean a prize To Purchase the vast Treasure of your Love. Amar. Empires and Worlds, can never change my Heart▪ Oh! No 'tis sixt, 'tis rooted to my Lord's. Here on my Knees, to Heaven and you I swear, If you persist on this ungrateful Subject, The King and Prince shall know how faithfully You have Discharged the Trust they laid upon you. Arsa. Yet stay and hear me. Offers to God. Amar. No, I never will, Till you have found some other Theme to talk of. Arsa. Farewell then, scornful Beauty; now by Love! Exit. That Love which thou so Ill repay'st; I'll have thee At last, thy Body shall be mine; thy Mind, Dispose on as thou wilt, 'tis Proud and Vain. Enter Coreb. O Coreb! Cor. How now my Lord, still plagued with hopeless Love, Still in pursuit of one, who flies with scorn, Still asking Heaven, for what it will not grant. Why do ye not Command your Faithful Coreb That has the power, as well as will, to serve you: My Art has yet never been known to fail; Pluto, Allecto, all have owned my Charms: The Infernal Court has waited my Command, And shall again, to serve Arsaracus. Arsa. O Coreb! could I purchase Amarante But for a Night, for that one happy Night, I'd be content to bear Eternal Pain; All Pains, all Torments, but the Wracks of Love. Cor. Be Cool, my Lord, and take Advice from me, The King has o'er the Gauls a Victory gained, Locrine too, his Son has won much Honour. Who privately this Night comes to the Court; The King is likewise Landed, and will be At London in two Days, and on the third, The Marriage 'twixt Amarante and the Prince, Will be with splendour Solemnised. Arsa. Their Marriage! Is this the Comfort, that you made me hope; O you have struck a Fire into my Veins, That must be quenched with Blood. Cor. ay, now you've hit it. 'Tis Blood, and Royal-blood, must work your Cure; You shall not find me poor in my Assistance, For I will give you Beauty, and a Crown; A Crown, my brave Arsaracus, think on that, Open thy Heart, and let Ambition in, That glorious Ornament, to Valiant Soul. Arsa. A Crown, and her I Love; Oh! thou hast roused me, But say, my better Self, say thou great Artist; Thou that hast Hell at thy command; say, how, How shall I grasp the substance of those shadows That Dance about in glittering Forms before me. Cor. Be still and silent; silent as the Grave, And what so e'er you see or hear, be constant; Now you shall find, whatever 'tis I promise, The whole Infernal Court shall ratify. You great Commanders of the Stygian Lake, To whose known Power your Votary thus bows. Honour his Art, (and grace it with your Presence,) Whose Soul and Body is at your dispose. The Scene Changes to a Poetical Hell; there is a Figure of the Prometheus Chained to a Rock, the Vulture knowing his Liver; Sisyphus rolling the Stone beyond abundance of Figures in various Torments; then a great Arch of Fire, behind this a Pyramid of Flames in perpetual Agitation; behind this glowing Fire which Terminates the Prospect; then rises the Court of Pluto, with him the Furies and Allecto. Pluto Sings. FRom Hills of Ice, and Heaps of rolling Snow, From Lakes of Fire, that neither Ebb nor Flow; From Sulphurous Flames, and from Pestiferous Mists, From Terrors Infinite, where howling Guests, Almost Affect there Torturers with their Cries, Where Souls for ever Burn, and never Die; Where Misery is always but begun, And only Wretched certainties are known, Come we to know, what Coreb would Demand. Coreb. Great Prince, whose Faithful Subject I have been, I do not now demand, but do implore, That you would grant your Aid to this young Lord; Love and Ambition both possess his breast, Valiant he is, and has a daring Soul Fit to command the Empire of the World. Pluto. What would you have me do? Cor. Most mighty Prince, I have with strictest Care assisted him; But all my Magic Powers too weak alone; For by my Art I find some Heavenly Being, Some Guardian Angels has the Charge of Brutus, That still prevents his and Augusta's Ruin, Therefore once more, I do implore your Aid, PLUTO Sings. OF all my whole Infernal Brood, I'll give you one well Nursed in Blood; The Eldest Child of black Perdition, One that is fit to serve Ambition. Allecto. See Noble Prince, how ready he stands With Bloodshed Eyes, and Crimson Hands! Minos. He the glorious Work will do, For Mischiefs his Delight, The Bloody Business then pursue; And shroud his Glories in Eternal Night. He was for mighty Mischief made. Mischief is his Darling Trade. Fury. Great Prince, I am at hand, To Obey thy great Command, And Fear not me, For you shall see His great Renown I'll soon pull down, From its towering Eagles Flight, That soared high as the Poles, To Creak with the Bat And Hoot, Hoot, Hoot, with the Owls. Chorus. Then you Furies advance, Lead, lead up a Dance, All shall be well And we'll frolic in Hell For our Enemy now we are humbling, Make his Subject's Rebel We shall soon fill up Hell, And rejoice, while the Wretches are Tumbling. Advance of Envy. Cor. Now brave Arsaracus, is there now a prospect That your vast wishes are to be obtained. Arsa. I am a Man, a Man not used to fear. But at this fight each Artery is numbed, My Blood is chilled, and has not power to flow: Say, I should now desist, and go no farther; Then may his Magic be employed on me, To make me worse than Damned; to make me see Despair in all its Forms, to make me Mad, And feel Hell here, and a worse Hell hereafter. Cor. What is't, my Lord, you pause on. Arsa. Oh, I'll tell thee, The Image of those miserable Wretches In all their different, yet Eternal Tortures Has quite Un maned me, blown out all that Fire, Love and Ambition, kindled in my Breast. Cor. You would desist then. Arsa. Yes, I would ' my Coreb. Coreb. And quit the glorious Game, you'd so long Hunted. Arsa. Ha. Cor. See the bright Amarante made your Rival's Her Beauteous Treasures Rifled by another, Close locked within Locrinus' longing Arms, Feasting on Pleasures, while you feed on Pains; And when he knows, as he will surely know Your Treacherous Design to undermine him; Oh what a grateful fight it must be to you, To see your Honours all at once, stripped off; And he that might have been a Monarch here, Thrust out a poor Discarded Wanderer. Arsa. No more, O Coreb! Thou hast fixed me now Firm as a Rock to our great resolution; Methinks I see myself already Crowned, The trembling Fair, brought blushing to the Temple; The Priest prepared for the wished Ceremony; The Night come on, the Bridal Bed Adorned, While I Transported with her powerful Charms, Do to the height of all my bliss make haste. And for that happy Hour, Forgive whose Ages of my Torments past. Exit. Coreb. Go on, deluded Wretch, thou shalt not cool Nor our great Master's Empire want for Subjects, While Coreb rules on Earth. Since Coreb, by Heaven's wrath is dashed to Hell; Since all my hopes of future bliss are gone, I'll make more Fools into destruction run, For 'tis some pleasure not to fall alone. ACT II. SCENE I. The Scene is a very pleasant Garden; in the midst of the great Walk is a Fountain, and on each side the Stage large Figures, standing in Shells, at the farther end is filled with Cascades. Enter Amarante and Ragusa. Amar. WHere is the pretty Talking Boy, Ragusa. I entertained this Morning? Rag. He followed you into the Garden Madam. Amar. And have you seen him Clothed? Rag. As you commanded. I think you've well bestowed your Charity. Amar. 'Twas pity he should have remained a Beggar; Each word he speaks, methinks gives Harmony, Pray call him hither, for I love to see him. Enter Seraphino, like a Page. Rag. He's coming this way, Madam. Amar. Come hither, Seraphino. Sera. Most honoured Lady, I attend your pleasure Amar. Thy voice sends forth such Music, that I never Was Ravished with a more Celestial Sound, Were every Servant in the World like thee, So full of Goodness, Angels would come down To dwell with us; in this short day thou'st given me, More pleasure than my Life produced before; But it grows late, I'd have thee go to rest, I fear thy Youth cannot dispense with watching. Sera. O my dear Lady; I could weary Stars; And force the wake full Moon to lose her Eyes, To watch and wait by you, I'm blessed, when with you, Therefore my most loved Lady, do not bid Your Boy that loves you to depart from you, For than you'll break his heart. Amar. Be nigh me still then, In Golden Letters I'll set down this day Which gave thee to me; little did I think To meet such Worlds of comfort in a Child, When I beheld my little Beggar boy Craving an Alms, which I with Joy bestowed! I did believe thou'sd prove my chief delight. Sera. I shall be proud if my poor weak endeavours Can please so good a Mistress. Amar. I have offered Handfuls of Gold but to behold thy Parents, I prithee, my dearboy, let me but see 'em, Come, be not ashamed. Sera. I am not. I did never Know who my Mother was, but by yond Palace Tilled with Celestial Courtiers, I dare assure you My Father is in Heaven, and, Noble Mistress, If your Bright hour Glass do spend its sand No worse than it does now, upon my life You and I both shall meet my Father there, And he shall bid us welcome. Amar. Pretty Child, how Charming is his Language. Enter Spungius and Hercius. Now, Sirs, have you disposed my Charity as I ordered. Spun. Disposed it, yes Madam, we have disposed it; For my part, Madam, I'm amazed at your Ladyship's Bounty, here have you out of your own Pocket To day, relieved at least half a dozen Prisoners, And this you think is Charity, when to my knowledge Half of 'em eat well from the Basket before, And now they're out they can't tell where to get a dinner. Her. Ay ay, Madam, my Fellow Spungius says True, here do you Fast, and Pray, and give to The Poor to save their Souls, while they are Cursing, Swearing, Eating and Drinking, to Preserve their Bodies. Ama. How dare you call my Charity in question? Sera, My fellow servants, I would have you all Pity the Poor, think of the many Blessings That wait upon the Charitable hand, The riches that you will enjoy hereafter. For a small mite bestowed upon the needy. Amar. ‛ This well said, Seraphim, and be sure You follow his good counsel. Har, Hark'e Brother Spungius, who is this whipster? Spun. Peace, peace, 'tis my Lady's Page, she found Him mumping at the Temple door this Morning, And out of his patches of Canvas and Buckham, She has put him into Silks and Satin. Her. Ay ay, Brother, she's a Charitable Woman, rest her Soul, She took us from the Gallows as I take it, and instead of a Brace of Halters about our necks, bestowed a brace of Gold Liveries upon our Backs. Spun. We must have a great care Hercius how we talk, For that's a Devilish religious young spark, He has entertained my Lady all this morning With nothing but discourses of Elysium. Her. Elysium, Prithee what's that? Spun. Nay, Faith I can't tell, he says he'll give us An account of it one time or other. Amar. Come, Dear Augusta, the Air methinks grows cold, Let's in. Rag. Walk this way, Madam, for if I mistake not, I see my Lord Arsaracus coming yonder. His looks are full of Joy, I hope, Ragusa, He brings some News of my dear Lord's return. Ragu. Pray Heaven he may, for I am still in fear His slighted love at last may turn to hate. Enter Arsaracus. Arsa. Madam, I beg you'd pardon this intrusion, But I have news will give you double Joy. The dazzling Virtues that every your mind. Has turned the Love which was by you despised To true repentance, for my great presumption. joanna. O, could I but believe your words were real, Could I but think you had Mastered your wild passion, I should with Joy, not Anger, look upon you. Rich. Then on my Knees, behold me a true Convert, My straggling thoughts of honour all called back, My Duty and Allegiance fizt so firm, That Heaven itself applauds, and Hell cant change it. Sera. Heaven knows thy heart, but Hell commands thy actions. Rich. Now, Madam, since I have with humblest duty Expressed my sorrow for my bold presumption, I hope you will recall your wonted goodness. And though I have erred, make not my error known To my much iujured Prince, and Royal Friend, Who is Arrived, and with impatience Lost, Directs his steps this way. joanna. Ha! What said you? Is my dear Lord in safety then returned? Oh! for thy News be all thy faults forgotten; For what thou hast said, brings to my heart more Joy Then thy ten welcome Love, before brought horror. Rich. The Shouts and Trumpets do proclaim him near; May you be still a blessed and happy pair While life does last, and Hell make haste to part you. Aside. Trumpets sound, Enter Locrine attended. Locri. Enough good Heaven, You've recompensed my pains. The Toils, the Hardships and the many dangers I have passed through▪ you now have well rewarded. So when the Soul is from the body fled, Driven by Convulsive torments from its mansion, Is of a sudden snatched to endless bliss, And all the wounds that it received on Earth, Healed at last by the sweet balm of Heaven. Amar. Oh! My dear Prince, my ever honoured Lord, Your sight brings joys to great to be expressed. Now Farewell all my fears, all my disquiets. You like the Sun have chased those Clouds away, That hung between my happiness and me. Locri. Durst any saucy fear invade thy breast, A Mansion fit for Angels to inhabit. O let no Cares ever approach my fair one, The burden of thy sorrows lay on me. And all the blessings of the World be thine. Arsar. Ten Thousand welcomes to my much loved Lord, And may success still wait upon his Arms, May he continue still the pride of Europe, And Love and Conquest Crown his Youthful brows. Locri. Arsaracus, my best and truest Friend, Thou faithful Guardian of this most loved Treasure. Were I the Monarch of this Glorious Island, Nay, were the Universe at my dispose I could not in that vast extent of Riches Find out a Recompense for all thy care. Ars. I am, my Lord, sufficiently rewarded, The Joy of seeing you so safe returned Brings double blessings to your faithful Servant. Sera. Dissembling Hypocrite. Aside. Ama. My dearest Lord, the night comes fast upon us, And the bleak Air compels us to withdraw. Loc. We will, my fairest; let me have one look more, Here could I grow, gaze upon thee ever, For all the Beauties of thy Sex are in thee. Devouring Cankers gnaw upon her Beauty, Till she's despised, and scorned, as I am by her. Aside Locri. Before the Sun has finished twice his course I shall have full possession of my wishes. The King my love, the King my Royal Father Has given his Consent to make me happy, And Crown my Joys with thy desired embraces. Oh, the distracting hours that are to come, Till Hymen's Torch light to our Nuptial bed. Impatience makes me angry with the Sun, Who has so little care of longing Lovers, As not to change his constant lazy course; Were he a pitying God, he'd Lash his Steeds, And drive his fiery Chariot with such haste, That the Circumference of the mighty Globe In one short hour should be encompassed round. Amar. Oh that your love would keep thus firm for ever. Forgive me, my dear Lord, forgive my fears, I do not doubt your Faith, but my own Merits. Locri. Thou Shalt not doubt, I'm suce thou needest not doubt, For the Poles are not firmer fixed than I am; Heaven, though it cast our Bodies in two moulds, Gave but one Soul, which cannot be divided. We, my joanna, the decrees of Fate Shall first be blotted from their Sacred Rolls. Bright Phebas round the World refuse to move, And cease to Shine, e'er I can cease to Love. Ex Manet Rich. Arsa. The Curse of Jealousy infect your minds, But wherefore does the knawing Worm despair, Possess me now, now when my hopes stnnd fair To ruin him, both in his Love and Fortune, Coreb. Enter Coreb. Cor. My Lord. Arsa. My ever faithful Friend Now is the time, now if thou wouldst assist me Lend me thy speedy Counsel what to do Cor. My Lord, I have followed hitherto your fortunes, And cannot rest till I have shown myself What I profess, your true and faithful Servant. I see the Prince's Love is desperate, but withal, I see a way to quench his violent flame, As thus; We must infect his mind with Jealousy. Arsa. That be your task; the rest let me perform. Rich. What dost thou mean? Which way can he be jealous That has the heart of one chaste as Diana. Cor. The Young Lord Soizinus is an instrument the fittest we can work on. I will find A means to bribe her Servant, i'th' mean time Do you endeavour to Possess the Prince, And nothing shall be wanting to your wishes. Rich. I will consider on't. Cor. It does not need. Why are you melancholy, come, my Lord, Sir down, I will divert your restless mind; Where are my Damon's, let me have Music there. Still him if possible in spite of Love, And let him nod into forgetfulness. (He waves his wand, and behind the Fountain rises a Triton and a Sea Nymph, who sing a Dialogue. A Dialogue between a Triton and a naiad. Triton. OH! Turn and be kind, my dear Nymph of the Flood I burn in cold Water, Love's fire's in my blood. At the bate of your Face some but nimble and look, But I gaped like a Gudgeon, and swallowed the hook; I was jolly and Fat as a Porpus before, But now no Red Herring's more shotten and poor; Yet while I pursue you, you coldly cry pish, Then Flounce, and away swim as mine as a Fish. Nymph. 'Tis hard to swim against the stream, Yet we must fly, tho' we esteem, For, Triton, when a Nymphs your own You wind your shelf, and then you're gone To shun that ill, from you I'll keep, And hide my blushes in the deep. Triton. Hold, hold, I'm a Pirate, and make you my Prize, Charmed with those green Tresses, bright Scales, and blue Eyes, Yet trust me, I'm constant, and hot as the Sun, Each night to thy Bosom to cool me I'll run. Nymph. In the Evening hot, but cold next dawn, You go, and leave us swelled with spawn, To keep you long none can prevail, Your Slippery Eels held by the tail. To shun that fate from you I'll keep, And hide my Blushes in the Deep. Triton. On a Bed of green Oose, Let me show you a prize, A Branch of rough Coral, and Pearls of huge size, Go with me my dear, and this Coyness give over, They're yours as a pledge of the warmth of your Lover. CHORUS. Nymph. Oh do not leave struggling, I'll never give over. Triton. Nay prithee leave struggling, I'll never give over. (Carries her away and plunges with her. After the Dialogue rises eight Statues who leap of their Pedestals and Dance, after the Dance they sink with the Fountain. Rich. I thank thee, honest Coreb, for thy care, How pass the hours. Cor. My Lord, 'tis almost Midnight, Rich. This is a time of rest for all but me, Now the Day-labouring Souls are all refreshed, Pride, Pomp and Luxury are all withdrawn, And Vanity a full cesation makes. Lewdness itself at this time Lazy grows, And the tired senses dose upon their pleasures; The Atheist now grows palled in wickedness, And Slumbers o'er the scandal of his Spleen. Even Murder's hushed, Adultery secure The Veil of Heaven to the utmost verge is stretched, And the high noon of Darkness lulls the World. O Love! When art thou hushed, or when art hid, Arts utmost subtlety is lost on thee, And spite of all discretion, in thy Eyes Ten Thousand Tell-tales bark in thy hot beams, But I'll no more indulge the vanity of this proud fair, she shall be mine or die. If I find she's not for me decreed, I'll Court Revenge, and smile to see her bleed. ACT III. The SCENE is, A very Pleasant Grove, and Stately Garden, belonging to the Palace; the Great Walk is bounded on either side with Figures of Gold; and in large Vases of Gold, are Orange, Lemon, and other Trees. Enter Hersius and Spungius. Her. TUrn Religious! I would I had his Conscience in a Cloven Stick, that made me first think of Religion. Spun. It was that Ape in White, that Boy Seraphino, made us turn Religious. Her. Ay, a dissembling little Hypocrite, he told us the finest Tales of Paradise, and what fine Lives we should lead when we came there, that, egad, 'twould have made a Turk turned Toper, to have heard him; and now all our promised Pleasures are turned to Tears and Grimmaces. Spun. And Sighing and Sobbing. Her. And Knocking your Breast, and Thumping your hard Heart, to know whether Goodman Frailty be within, or no: If these be the Pleasures of Religion, egad, I'll be Hanged before I'll follow 'em; I have led such a Life of Sorrow, Brother, since yesterday, that a Dog is not able to endure the Fasting and Praying I have undergone. Spun. I wonder, Brother Hersius, what the Pleasures of Elysium are? Her. Why, I fancied you must know that in every Corner there, I should have found a Young Handsome Wench ready to have devoured me; but there's no such Pleasure in Religion as I can find. Spun. And I fancied we should have had all the brave Drinks and Eatables, as Nectar and Ambrosia, as the Poet calls it, and such like. Her. Nectar and Ambrosia, prithee, Brother Spungius, what's that? Spun, Why 'tis a liquour the God's drink when they mean to make Merry; and when their Hands are in▪ they make no more of Dusting of a Tub of Nectar, than we do of a Tub of Greek Wine: But when shall I come to those Delicious Pleasures? If I could but tell that I should be satisfied. Her. Ay, marry, I believe the best of 'em all would be glad to be secured that; in the mean time they are glad to be secured with fat Livings, whose Trade it is to tell us of Elysium; for I observe, they are much more afraid of Dying, than we Whorers and Drinkers, Brother Spungius. Spun. But hark ye Hersius; Why do they impose such Duties and Penalties upon us? Her. That is to make us Obedient, and them Rich; that what Pleasures they doubt of in th' other World, they may take in this before they go 〈◊〉. Spun. I wonder whether or no, Bacchus be Religious? For if he be not Elysium, we shall have but a dry time on't. Her. Barobus; yes, yes, Baccusus is head Butler there: But see who comes here, Brother Spungius. Spung. It is the Lord Arsaraous's Secretary; a rare Fellow they say, Hercius. Enter Coreb. Cor. Well met; my honest Friends. Spung. We thank you, Sir. Cor. What; are you in Consultations about your new Resolutions of leading your Lives Religious and Soberty. Her. Soberly; yes, we have lived, indeed, very Soberly since Yesterday. Spung. Ay truly, Sir, and very Chastely too; we have abstained both from the Grape and the Flesh. Cor. Why who would live in Service of a Lady, that will debar them of their Choicest Pleasures? What Diversion do you find in Praying? What good do you get by wearing out your Feet to run on Scurvy Errands to the Poor, and to bear Money to a sort of Rogues, and Lousy Prisoners. Spun. Pox on 'em, I never prospered since I did it. Cor. You are rightly served, before that Lady had to do with you, womans, Wine and Money, flowed in abundance to you, Did it not? Her. O those Days, those Days! Cor. Come, beat not your Breasts, nor tear your Hair in Madness: Be ruled by me, those Days shall come again; and better, mark me, better. Spong. As I take it, Sir, you belong to his Grace Arsaracus? Cor. Yes, yes, in show, his Servant; but hark hither; take heed no Body listens. Her. Not a Mouse stirs. Cor. I am a Prince disguised. Spun. Disguised how Drunk? Cor. Why faith, my Boys, I'll Drink too, and be Drunk: I am a Prince, and any Man by me, (let him but keep my Rules) shall soon be Rich, exceeding Rich, most infinitely Rich; if you'll serve me, ye shan't be starved from Pleasures, as other▪ poor Rogues are, but take your fill. Her. Serve you, egad I'd serve you before any Prince under the Zodiac. Spung. Ay, by jove, or above it either. Cor. and you will quit your Mistress? Her. Quit her, hang her; a Man, cannot thrive worse, if he served the Devil. Cor. How! the Devil? I'll tell ye what now of the Devil; he's no such horrid Creature, Clovenfooted, Black Saweereyed his Nostrils breathing Fire; as these Lying Religious Fools would make you believe. Spun. No! Cor. No, no, he's more Loving to Man, than Man to Man is. Her. Alack, good Gentleman, how is he wronged? Spun. Would we two could come acquainted with him. Cor. You shall; he's a wondrous Good Fellow, Loves a Cup of Wine, a Whore, or any thing. Her. Does he love a Whore, say you? Cor. Oh mightily! Her. 'Gad I'll help him to one then; she is not very handsome, but she's well enough; she offered herself to the Playhouses, and they refused her; and if once the Players refuse her, I'm sure she's fit for no Body but the Devil. Cor. Well said my Lad; 'tis ten to one in a short time I bring him to the Tavern to you. Spun. 'Gad I'll bespeak the best Room in the House for him: But pray, Sir, Does the Devil pay Two Shillings a Flask for his Wine? Cor. Oh always. Spun. Then I find he has some Relation to us Britan's, he'd never suffer himself to be made such a Bubble else: But pray, does the Devil love Dancing, Sir? Cor. O yes, extremely! Love's Dances; but of a different sort to what you have here: I'll show you, to divert you, the Fashion of his Country. Spun. O Lord, Sir, you'll oblige us woundily. Coreb waves his Wand, and a Misty Cloud rises out of the Earth; as it ascends, a great Windmill is discovered, out of which comes Millers, and Country Women, who Dance▪ After their Dance, the Windmill is changed into a Witch, out of which come several Devils, who Dance with the Witch, and then sink. Cor. Now what think ye? Her. Think? Why I think I shall never be at quiet till I'm with the Devil. Cor. If you knew him so well as I do, you'd be more impatient: Why there's nothing you can ask him for, but immediately it's brought ye: Ask for a handsome Whore, you have her presently. Spun. And will the Devil keep the Door, Sir. Cor. No, no, that's below his Dignity; but he has those ready at hand that will. Spun. But pray, Sir, when shall we enter into Service, for I'm impatient? Cor. To morrow Morning; but one Piece of Service you must do me first. Her. Any thing: Pray be pleased to Command us; I'll not scruple any thing that may be serviceable to you, upon my Word. Spun. Nor I, tho' 'twere to hang my Mother, and Ravish her afterwards. Pray, Sir, what is't. Cor. 'Tis this: the Prince, and the young Lord Sozimon, this Day Feast with your Lady; I'd have you put this into her Drink: and you, be mindful to Spice the Lord Sozimon's Bowl with this; and when your Feastings over, let me privately into your Lady's Chamber. Her. Into her Chamber! Ay, Sir, into her Bed, if your Worship pleases. Cor. Well said: Do this, and you shall both be happy. Spun. Never fear us, Sir; I gad, I'll Pepper my Lady's Bowl, I'll warrant you. Her. And I, my Lords, as I hope to be acquainted with the Devil. Exit. Her and Spun. Cor. Poor helpless Fools; How greedily for Gold Would these vain Wretches, sacrifice their God. Now, proud Augusta, is thy Ruin near: Nor will I let my Art be bassled longer; But I must watch a Time, when Seraphino Is absent from the Mighty Charge he holds, See where Augusta comes, with Thamesis. Now were a Time to check her Towering Pride, And lay her Lofty Palaces in Dust. Angelo seen in the Air with Hermes. I'll do't: But ha! my Ancient Enemy Is still at hand, to vanquish my Designs: But tho' I now am of Revenge debarred, If Hell have Power, thou shalt not long escape me. Exit. Ang. 'Tis false, malicious Fiend: No, poor Augusta, Thou art the Care of Heaven, by whose Command, Hermes, and I, do hover still about thee. Iris, by juno, is already sent To Guard thy Most-loved Monarch safe to Land, And bless his Country with his Wished for Presence. Mercury sings. SEE the opening Clouds divide asunder, And see, see, yonder, The Angry Wife of Jove, descending from Above, More loud than all Jove's Thunder. Juno descends on her Peacock. As it comes near the Stage, the Clouds opon and discover the Tail of the Peacock, which is so wide, it almost covers the Stage. Juno comes forward, and sings. Juno. No, Hermes, no, all Quarrels cease, In Heaven, as well as Earth, 'tis Peace, Jove by the Stygian Lake has sworn, His wandering Love shall Rove no more. Thamesis sings. Great Queen, who shinest with those bright Beams, Whose Glory gilds my Streams, See what Bending Knees we pay Thee, Thus Adore Thee, thus Obey Thee. Augustina sings. Bright Queen of Hymen's hallowed Fires, The Sovereign of all chaste Desires, That with true joy the Genial Bed inspires; See what Bending Knees we Pay Thee, Thus Adore Thee, thus Obey Thee. Chorus. Great Queen, etc. Iris descends on a Rainbow, and comes forward. Juno. Say Iris say, from the Battavian Strand, What News hast thou brought o'er? Hast thou Obeyed my Great Command, And brought Great Albion safe to Shore. Iris. Neptune, his Brother, Lord o'th' Ocean, And his Sea-Nymphs whole Devotion; Venus in her Sholl attends him, Her Fair Hand, and Smiles, she lends him, Thousand Prayers to waft him o'er, And carefully has brought him safe to Shore. See, see, the Crowds, and joys all round, Welcome Thunders all before, Till the Gods join in the Chorus, Welcome, Heaven and Earth resound. Mercury. If Mortals Laugh and Sing, 'Tis time we Gods take Wing, To mount and send her down, The Guardian of his Crown; Astrea who from Earth was driven, Till Albion called her back from Heaven. Chorus. Then all prepare to Sing his Fame, Sing all, Sing all, Great Albion's Name: For 'twas by Mighty jove Decreed, This Island should by him be freed. While this Chorus is Singing, Juno, Iris, and Mercury ascend. After the Music, Augusta speaks. Aug. Come, Thamesis, prepare to meet our Lord, Let him glide gently on these Silver Streams, While I with all my stately Towers prepare To welcome him from his long Toils of War. Exit. Enter Arsaracus, and Locrine. Ars. Hear me but out, my Lord. Loc. Forbear to tempt me With the least sound against her Constant Virtue; I should as soon believe the Queen of Night Would mount the Fiery Chariot of the Day, And to that God resign her Chastity, As my dear Aramante injure me. Ars. My Lord, I bear the same Belief with you; But when I hear so many busy Tongues With Private, Public Whisper, proclaiming The Great Dishonour of my Much-loved Prince, My Duty and Allegiance both start up, And bid me show myself your Real Friend. Loc. Why? dost thou think she's false? Ars. Not I, by Heaven: But the poor Lady, armed with Innocence, May pour forth Favours to Unthinking Men, Whose Vanity may make her Virtuous Freedom Seem to the World, a Blemish of her Mind. Loc. By Heaven, and thou sayst right; our Foolish Youth Cannot be Judges of a Real Virtue; Their Folly is the only Glass they look in, And what to Noble Minds should Beauteous seem, To them appears Deformed. Arsaracus, I thank thee; And tho' I know her Soul is clear as Day, Yet in her Conduct she may chance to err. Ars. 'Tis true, my Lord, clear Souls, still take most Freedom. Loc. I'll instantly Attend upon my Love, And with my strictest Care contrive a way To stop the Censure of Unknowing Fools, Whose Judgement Indiscretion overrules. Exit. Ars. Now Coreb, now, if thou but keep thy Promise, How many Wrecks will tear his hated Soul? But should his swelling Rage burst forth on her, And Passion thrust him on her Innocent Life, Than what I have with Care strove to obtain, Must be fast locked in the Cold Arms of Death: I cannot bear the thought on't. O my Coreb, If thou hast News of Joy, declare it quickly. Enter Coreb. Cor. 'Tis done, 'tis done, my Lord▪ I left the Prince Tearing the Ground like an entangled lion. Ars. Hast thou succeeded then? Cor. Beyond my Hopes. Soon as the Potion had its wished Effects, Amarante did retire into her Chamber, Where on her Couch she laid herself to rest, The young Lord Sozismond, whom I had before Drawn from the Company, on pretence of Business, Sat himself down, and in a little time The drowsy God of Sleep o'repowered him; In which, I, by the Assistance of two Knaves That I had bought by Gold and Promises, I laid him gently by the Countess' side; And in that Posture has the Prince surprised 'em. Ars. And what's become of Sozismond? Cor. I heard the Prince Give Order to the Guards for his Confinement; And had not they stepped in, he had murdered him. But see, he comes, my Lord, we had best retire. Ars. Yes, I will go, and hug myself, to think How easy 'tis to make a Great Man wretched. Exit. Enter Locvinus, followed by Amarante. Amar. Yet stay and hear me, Oh, my honoured Lord: Thus, on my Knees, I beg you'd give me Hearing. Loc. How canst thou dare to be within my Presence? Or think of living, after thou hast wronged me? Amar. When I do wrong you, may I cease to live. Loc. Nay, prithee, add not to thy impious Crime, And varnish o'er thy Whoredom with a Lie: Had I but only heard, not seen thy Falsehood, I could not have believed, tho' Heaven had spoke it: But to behold ye clung like ' twisted Adders, Tired and dozed o'er your vicious Sin, Let me not think on't: Get thee from my Sight; Madness is busy Working in my Brain, And all my Thoughts are bent on Blood and Murder. Amar. Let it be so; I'm prepared for Death: And tho' I'm sure 'twas the cursed Power of Magic That cast this Darkening Mist over my Fame, Yet I will kneel, and grow beneath your Feet, Till I have made you sensible you wrong me. Loc. I beg thou wouldst not tempt my Justice long, For I do love thee, tho' I know thee false: And, O, bear Witness, you Immortal Powers, I throw thee from my Sight with greater Pain Than our first Parents left their Paradise: For tho' thy Cankered Soul is Spotted o'er, Thy Face is still enriched with all its Beauties. Amar. What shall I say, or how shall I convince you? Loc. There's not a Possibility in Nature; And all the Pleasure thou canst give me now, Is to retire, and never see me more! Amar. Since it will please my Lord, I will be gone; But when I'm dead, as I shall quickly be, For long I cannot bear this Separation, May Heaven, that sees how I'm with Wrongs oppressed, Make my Truth known, and I shall be at rest. Exit. Loc. You swelling Mountains, that o're-view the Earth, Fall now, make me eternally unseen; Philosophy, contract thy Meek Sage Brow, Let Patience be no more thy Saint, as soon Give Medicines to the Dead, bid Statues walk, And Angry Winds sleep Quiet in the North; As soon bid empty Lions play with Kids, And bid the shaggy Scythian Mourn and Weep As Virgins do when they Inter their Loves; The blind and shuffled Elements, that first In Chaos strove, were not so opposite As this Religious Frost is to my Heat. Patience, thou art more fond than Teeming Wives, Tamer than Sleep. Divinity, which calls Our Anger, Sin, and Courage, Pride, has sent This silly Cherubin to Earth, this Patience The Coward's Sword, that only does Disarm Dull Sleep, that neither can, nor would do harm. Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. Continued. Enter Hertius, and Spungius Galy, dressed with fine clothes, and a French Page. Her. COme on Brother Spungius, good Times are come again: See what we have got by being in the Fashion, And kicking that troublesome Companion, Religion, Out of our Consciences. Spung. Ay, ay, Brother Hertius, happy is he, I say, that can get into the Service of the Devil. Page. Page. Monsieur. Hert. What Answer did the Lady make to my Letter. Page. A Garzoone, me was never so much put to't before, Jerne, me have Pimp, for all de Noblemen of France, and receive much Lar-Ion; but by Gar, me have met wid nothing for my Good Inclination of Pimping for you, but Kicks, Buffets, a Broken Pate, Morbleu. Spung. Why, Sirrah, Sirrah, do ye intent to Serve in the Honourable Post of Page, to our Worships, and Grumble at a Broken Pate. Page. No, Garzoone, me should no have Grumble, if you had de Lady; but by Gar, she speak no much Love of him, she put up my toder Matters Money in her Pocket. And then, Jerne, she bid her Footman kick me down Stan's. Her. Well, well, I'll deal well enough with her. Page. It had been well vor Monsieur a moy, if her Footman had dealt well a by me. Spun. Peace, Sirrah, here's the Devil's Privy Counsellor, we must have a great Care of Grumbling in his Company. Enter Coreb. Cor. Well, my good Boys, How de you find yourselves, since your new Service Her. Why, as the Devil would have it, we are mighty well Contented. Spun. We are only afraid, we shan't have the Power to deserve these Mighty Favours, the Right Worshipful Mr. Lucifer is pleased to Confer upon us. Cor. Fear not, 'tis in your Power to serve him now: Who is that with you? Her. That, Sir, 'tis our Page: We are resolved to live as great as we can, that the Devil mayn't lose any Credit by us. Cor. Well said, I'm come to Dine with you. Spun. 'Faith, Sir, you shall be very welcome. Cor. Nay, you ought to bid me welcome, since I bring my Fare with me. Spun. In your Pocket, Sir? Cor. That you shall see: Waves his Wand, and a Banquet rises, they sit down, and two Scaramouch Men, and two Scaramouch Women Enter and Dance: Then two Harlaquin Men and Women. After the Dance, Coreb speaks. Cor. You see how very kind I have been to you; which Kindness I'll continue, if you're Faithful. Spun. Faithful; Pray, Sir, don't be so unkind, as to doubt us? Command us to Hang ourselves; and to show how Zealous we are, we won't stay for Ropes, but do it in our own Garters. Cor. Then hear me, Friends: The Prince this Morning goes to meet the King: Now I would have you two, with others that I have employed already, to intercept him; and when you behold the Lord Arsaracas, in private Conference with him, strike this into his Heart. Gives a Dagger. Her. We'll do't. Spun. Fear not, we'll open his Belly, and Hang him in his own Guts. Cor. Come on then, be but firm, and you shall prosper. Her. Never doubt us, Sir: Come, Page, Alon. Exeunt. The SCENE changes to the Cliff of Dover, Augusta, Thamesis, and their Followers rise out of the Sea and Sing. CHORUS. HAil Royal Albion! Hail to thee! Sent from the Gods, to set us free From Bondage, and from Slavery. Thamesis. Hark, I am called; old Father Ocean Calls my Tide; Come away. On the Mounting Billows dancing, See the Royal Bark advancing; The Waves, the Wind and Sea, Are all at Albion's dear Devotion. 1st Triton. See the Merry Boatswain too, Has called his jolley Crew, Chorus. Come, come, come, etc. A Dance of six Watermen. Neptune. See, see, the Sea God's trim thy Sails, Every Nymph in all her Pride. 1st Triton. Wafted by the Calmer Gales, O'er thy own Main Triumphant Ride. Augusta. Each Neried does her Locks adorn, And every Triion minds his Horn: The Lovely Mermaid too, behold How she Combs her flowing Gold: Without a Snare, or Charm, she sings, Welcome to the best of Kings. Chorus. Welcome, etc. Apollo descends in his Chariot. Apollo. Albion all Hail! Thou Sacred Head! Heaven's Darling Care, no Danger dread: For Walls of Fate, thy Life Enclose, The Plots of thy Malicious Foes, Abhorred above, Exposed below, Their own dull Light shall show Treason, which her Infernal Train Work in her Hellish Mines in vain. Chorus. Albion, all Hail, etc. Apollo. My Oracles declare, When he has done His finished Work of Fate, And broke the Universal Yoke, A Smiling Race of Years, his Reign shall Crown. A Song in Three Parts. AT Albion's Return, this Happy Isle, Dries up her Widow's Tears; And with a Smile, Plumes like a Bride, With joy and Pride. The Meadows smile, the Groves and Flowers are Gay, All Nature cheers up at this Great and Glorious Day. Cho. At Albion's Return, etc. Enter King Locrine, and two Lords. King. How different is the Clime, to what I left it? My Kingdom sure, is by Enchantment Governed? Music attends us both by Sea and Land: Echoes of Joy still hover round about us; But for what Cause, Heaven only can be Judge. 1 st Lord. It shows that Heaven rejoices at your Safety. King. I hope I have with strictest Care performed The Charge, which Heaven, and you, have laid upon me; But blame me not, if I appear Concerned At the Unusual and Surprising Accidents. 2 d Lord. I must confess, my Liege, 'tis most amazing. Enter a Messenger. King. Thou seemest in haste; Quickly declare thy Message. Mess. My Liege, the Prince your Son with a small Guard Was hasting to your Majesty, While Treacherous Arsaracus who bore him Company. Did with a band of Ruffians fall upon 'em; But a strong Party of your Guards approaching, The Villains fled, but were soon overtaken, And Arsaracus with the rest are bringing hither. King. Is't possible? Could Arsaracus play the Villain? And to my Son, a Prince that made his Fortunes, From a mean State raised him to Power and Greatness! Where is there Truth or Honour to be found, If those whom we have fostered in our Bosoms Should like ungrateful Snakes sting to our Hearts? Enter Locrine, Arsaracus, Hersius, Spungius, etc. Prisoners. The Prince Kneels. Locr. Angels be Guardians to my Royal Father; And Heaven with Blessings Crown his Virtuous Reign. May Treason be a Stranger to his Realms, And all the Plots of his Malicious Foes Fall doably on the Cursed Contrivers Heads. King. Thank thee, my Son; Rise; let me look a little, To see where Villain's writ upon that Man: Not in his Face that bears a show of Honesty; His Person too cast in a Noble Form, No 'tis within, and his Ignoble Soul All over does the stamp of Villain bear. Locr. Sir, on my Knees I beg you'd calm your Anger, For he has made me ample satisfaction. And by his free Confession cleared the Fame Of my adored, my best loved Amarante. King. Could any Villain dare to blast her Virtue? Locr. The Story, Royal Sirs too long to tell. But give me leave Sir, to perform my Promise, Which was to spare his Life; and on my Knees I beg that you will grant it. King. I will my Son. But never more appear within my Kingdom: Go, wander thro' the World, like the first Murderer; Thou needst no Mark, thy Crimes will speak themselves. Arsar. I go, and Noble Prince, the Life you give, I'll wear in hopes that it may do you Service. My banishment, I do Embrace with Joy, and I have now no farther use for Life, But to repent I ever wronged such Virtue. Exit. Locr. Now Villain, what canst thou say? Dor. Why, I am sorry I have ta'en such pains to do so little mischief. King. Drag him to the Gibbet. Cor. I defy ye, Laugh at ye. And when you see me next take care of me. Sinks. King. Amazing. Span. What is he gone and left us. Why Bro. Hersius, we shall never be able to find the way to the Devil without him. Locr. Now, what can you expect? ungrateful Villains! Hers. Why we expect to be hanged, and I dare Swear you won't let us go without our Expectations, King. To Prison with 'em. Leave 'em to the Law; They are not worth our Anger: Come my Son, I thought by mildness to have ruled my Subjects, But I perceive they'll rouse the sleeping Sword, And force Revenge from their Offended Lord. The End of the fourth Act. ACT V. SCENE, the Thames▪ As the King enters, the Cave of Proteus rises, which consists of Twelve Arches of the Tuscan Order: The Frontispiece is adorned with a Tritan, a Neired, and several Sea-monsters, enriched with Mother-Pearl, Coral, and Sea-shells. At the farther end Proteus appears, with his Followers, who come forward and sing. A SONG Proteus. ALbion, beloved of Earth and Heaven, Bid rough War and Battle cease; Return with Fame when thou hast driven The hunted Tyrant down, and given Europe a Universal Peace. Chor. Albion beloved, etc. Proteus. Albion! Albion! Heaven attends him; Heaven its Guardian-Angels lends him: Nor wonder Heaven's best smile defends him, When for Heaven his Sword he draws, His Standard's Heaven, and Heaven's his Cause. King. You great all-knowing Powers, that rule the World, Who still to sure Success have guided me; Thus on my Knees I pay, with humble Duty, Submissive Thanks for all these wondrous Blessings. And you my faithful Subjects still shall find, Your Liberties and Laws I will maintain; And not with Terror, but with Mercy reign. Exit. SCENE changes to a stately Palace, composed of wreathed Columns of the Corinthian Order; the Wreathe are adorned with Roses, and the Columns have several little Cupids flying about 'em▪ and a single Cupid standing upon every Capitol. At a good distance are seen three Arches, which divide the first Court from the other part of the Building. The Arches are beautified with Festoons; all the Cupids, Capitol, and Enrichments are of Gold. Enter Locrine and Amarante. Locr. Canst thou, my Fair One, be so charitable, So kind, so full of Goodness to forgive me? Canst thou into thy Bosom take the Wretch, Whose base Injustice banished thee his Sight? Ama. My Lord! I do with greater Joy receive ye, Than I with Grief did leave ye. Oh, my Lord! Did you but know the racking Pains I've suffered For every moment you were absent from me, Had I been guilty, you'd have pitied me. Locr. My best beloved, I have sympathised with thee: Nor can I speak the Torments I've endured. Prometheus' Vulture gnawing at his Heart Was a Delight to that which fed on me. But laying thus my Head upon thy Bosom, I find a sovereign Balm for all my Sorrows. Enter King attended. King. Rise, rise, you greatest Blessings of my Age; You great and virtuous Patterns of all Goodness. Ama. Welcome, my Royal Lord, Ten thousand Welcomes. Your drooping Kingdom now will raise her Head, And gaze with Joy upon her great Deliverer. King. Come hither Son, and from my Hand receive The greatest Gift that I have Power to give. May you be happy both, and Hymen wait, With all the Marriage-Joys, about your Bed. Roth Eternal Blessings Crown your Royal Head. Soft MUSIC. Seraphino descends. King. Ha! Behold my Son, The Heavenly power, that unseen was with us, Now shows its dazzling Form, and wondrous Beauty. Ama. Thou Glorious Minister of those Powers we serve: For thou art more than Mortal; Is't for us That thou hast left thy Heavenly Habitation? And vouchsat'st, though Glorified, to take my Servants habit, For put off thy Divinity. So looked My lovely Seraphino. Seraph. Know I am the same, And still the Servant to your Piety: Your Zealous Prayers and Pious Deeds first won me, To Guide your Steps. I tried your Charity, When in a Beggar's shape you took me up And clothed my naked Limbs; and after fed me. O let the world by your example learn To look upon the poor with gentle Eyes: I never left you yet, nor will I now; But will be still a Guard to you and Albion, Blessings shall wait on him, where e'er he goes; And Great Augusta Triumph o'er her Foes. MUSIC. A very large Machine descends, the Figure of it is Oval, the Clouds Gold, with Figures of Cherubims flying about. In this Machine sits Apollo, Cupid, Mars, Vulcan, Juno, Venus, etc. Apollo sings. Apollo. From the Imperial Court of Jove, From the great Divan above, I come to bid the Conquering Albion reign, Sovereign Lord of Land and Main: Albion, nursed in Honour's School, Shall with Heroic Virtues rule. A Symphany: After that, a Dialogue. Cupid Sings. Cupid. The God of Love, with all his Train, Shall wait great Albion o'er the Main; My Mother Venus shall attend him▪ And great Mars in War befriend him: Mars, Venus, and Cupid shall all be at hand To wait your great Hero's Command. Vulcan. Why how ' now Youngster! now I find It is by your kind Aid My Virtuous Wife to Mars is joined, And I a Godlike Cuckold made. O Cupid! Cupid. O Vulcan! Vulcan. Is this like a Son, To see your poor Daddy abused? Cupid. And was't like a wise God to marry with one That to Cuckolding was so much used? Vulcan. Come, come, young God, since it is so, I'll break your Arrows and your Bow. Cupid. No, pray now, Father, spare 'em, and I'll take care to be Vulcan. As great a Knave to others as thou'st been to me. Mars. Cease Vulcan, cease, or straight prepare To feel the angry God of War: Thy Son 'gainst all thy Force I will maintain, And soon will, Vulcan. Cuckold me again. Then repine not you Mortals, but lead merry Lives; For a God can be Bullyed you see: Then lose not your Blood in defence of your Wives; But he Cuckolds, tame Cuckolds, like me. Mars, Venus, Vulc. Cupid. Then repine not, you Mortals, but lead merry lives; For a God can be Bullyed you see: Then lose not your Blood in defence of your Wives; For a Cuckold great Vulcan must be. A SONG. I 'TIS vain to tell me I am deceived; For Celia seems so kind, 'Twere Sin she should not be believed, Since I no Cheat can find. If Flattery with Falsehood lie In her soft Youth concealed, A thousand times I'd rather die, Than have the Truth revealed. II. Let busy Fools in Libels rail, Their Malice I'll outbrave; O●r me no Scandal shall prevail, So she the Appearance save: For if I think I have her Heart, My own for hers is due; Let her but act the tender part, I'll think the joy is true. Apollo. See where Triumphant Fame prepares to sing The Glories of your King. A Symphany. As Apollo's Heaven ascends, the Temple of Fame rises from underneath the Stage, in which is Fame, and his Followers: Fame comes forward, with his Followers, and sings: Fame. You Nymphs that attend the Sovereign Barge, Guard, guard your Royal Charge; And let your loyal Hands the Bark support, With all the Glory of your Watery Court. Chor. Then let your Royal, etc. Fame. Pleasure and joy shall waft him o'er, And Triumph echo round from Shore to Shore. Grand Chor. Pleasure and joy, etc. A Dialogue between an Old Man and a Young Girl. O. Man. WHy dost thou fly me, pretty Maid? Tho' old, I feel Love's Fires, Which can't be quenched without thy Aid. Then prithee, Fair One, be not cold; For tho', 'tis true, I'm very old, I still have young Desires. Girl. Nay, prithee dear Nestor, cease, cease this Discourse For I have often been told, That for a young Virgin there is nothing worse, Than to Bed with a Man that is old. O. Man. You much mistake, my pretty Fair, For Old Men always constant are. Girl. I do not doubt your Constancy, For Age, of course, must constant be: Your Youthful Vigour being gone, You scarce can think of more than One. O. Man. Is there nothing then can gain ye? Girl. Yes, yes, there is. O. Man. Here's Gold; will that obtain ye? Girl. O sie, pish, pish. O. Man. See, here is store of Gold. Girl. O fie, fie, fie! you're Old. O. Man. No matter, Child, here's Gold. She takes it. Girl. Well, I'll take it for once, but I must have more, For this is too little to win me. O. Man. Nay, rather than so, thou shalt have all my store, And if that fail, the Devil is in thee. Girl. I thank you, and now I must go. O. Man. And I will go with thee. Girl. O no, no, no, no. O. Man. Why sure, Child, you won't serve me so. Girl. Indeed, but I must. O. Man. Then give me my Gold. Girl. No; I never make Presents to Men that are Old. She runs off, and he after her. Fame. Now Fame's loudest Trumpet sound; Albion from Pole to Pole rebound: Let all, let all his Titles rattle, Founder of Peace, and God of Battle. King. Let's haste to pay, or Sacrifice to Heaven, And then to War I will again return: Our Foes, I hear, already take the Field, Therefore, my Son, to you I leave the Charge Of this my Kingdom, with full Power to act As you shall best think fit. Locr. Which Power, my Lord, I hope I shall discharge with Care and Justice. Now Amarante, now the time is come That I so long have with Impatience wished for. Yet, tho' I'm blessed with Love, I still shall mourn, And find no Joy till your most-wished Return. FINIS. BOOKS Printed for, and Sold by S. Briscoe, in Covent-Garden: 1. THE Histories and Novels of the late Ingenious Mrs. Behn, viz. Oroonoko, Agnes de Castro, Fair Jolt, Lover's Watch, and Lucky Mistake; with several Love-Letters of hers never before printed, and Memoirs on her Life, by a Lady of her acquaintance, and exact Effigies of her engraven on Copper, 8vo: 2. Familiar Letters written by Mr. Dryden, Mr. Wycherly, Mr. Congreve, Mr. M— and Mr. Dennis; with select Letters of Mons. Voiture; translated by Mr. Dryden and Mr. Dennis, and large Additions to this second Edition, now to be speedily published. 3. Letters written by the Right Honourable the late Earl of Rochester, Mr. T. Otway, Madam Phillips, and T. Brown, 8o. 4. There is in the Press likewise a Second Volume, composed of several of the most eminent past and present Wits, viz. Rochester, etc. PLAYS printed for S. Briscoe. 1. Love's last-Shift, or the Fool in fashion; a Comedy, by Mr. Cibber, Servant to His Majesty. 2. Love for Money, or the Boarding-School; a Comedy, by Mr. Durfey. 3. Fatal Mistake, or the Plot spoiled; by I. Haines. 4. The very good Wife, a Comedy, by an unknown Hand. 5. The Wives Excuse, or Cuckolds make 'emselves; by Mr. T. Southern. 6. The True Widow, a Comedy, by Mr. Shadwell. 7. The Marriage-hater matched; by Mr. Durfey. 8. The Country Wife; by Mr. Wycherly. 9 Tie Richmond Heiress, or Woman once in the right; by Mr. Durfey. 10. Rule a Wife and have a Wife; by Beaumond and Fletcher, 40. with Amendments.