PYRRHUS King of EPIRUS.   

PYRRHUS King of Epirus. A TRAGEDY, ACTED At the NEW THEATRE, in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields , By His MAJESTY'S Servants.  
Written by Mr. HOPKINS.  Solum primos da versibus annos. 
LONDON, Printed for Samuel Briscoe, in Covent-Garden; Peter Buck, at the Sign of the Temple, and Daniel Dring, at the Harrow and Crown, in Fleet-street, 1695.   

TO HIS ILLUSTRIOUS HIGHNESS THE Duke of GLOUCESTER.  
May it please Your HIGHNESS,  
THE HERO of this Tragedy, was one of the most Famous that ever any Age produced; and his Story is humbly Dedicated to a Young PRINCE, who, so very early, promises Things as Great. All Noble Actions have been done, in imitation of Others that preceded Them; and often They that imitate, have outdone their Originals. Wonderful Things may be expected from Your Highness's Manhood, who in so Green an Age, has promised so much. The Eyes of EUROPE are on YOU; the Hopes of Three Kingdoms live in YOU: And,  
That YOU may live to Out-do even All Men's Expectations; live to be as Great as the HERO was, for whom I have presumed to beg Your Highness's Patronage; or, to go yet beyond Him; That YOU may live to be as Great as Your Royal UNCLE, Shall ever be the Prayer of  
Your HIGHNESS'S Most Devoted, Most Humble Servant, C. H.   

PROLOGUE.  By Mr. CONGREVE. 

OUR Age has much improved the Warriour's Art;  
For Fighting, now, is thought the weakest Part;  
And a good Head, more useful than a Heart.  
This Way of War, does our Example yield;  
That Stage will win, which longest keeps the Field.  
We mean not battle, when we bid Defiance;  
But starving one another to Compliance.  
Our Troops encamped are by each other viewed,  
And those which first are Hungry, are subdued.  
And there, in truth, depends the Great Decision:  
They Conquer, who cut off the Foe's Provision.  
Let Fools, with Knocks and Bruises, keep a pother;  
Our War and Trade is to out-Wit each other.  
But, hold: Will not the Politicians tell us,  
That both our Conduct, and our Forefight, fail us,  
To raise Recruits, and draw new Forces down,  
Thus in the dead Vacation of the ●own?  
To muster up our rhymes, without our Reason,  
And forage for an Audience out of Season?  
Our Author's Fears must this false Step excuse;  
'tis the First Flight of a just-feather'd Muse:  
Th' Occasion ta'en, when critics are away;  
Half Wits and Beaux, those ravenous Birds of Prey.  
But, heaven be praised, far hence they vent their Wrath,  
Mauling in mildred Lampoon th' intriguing Bath.  
Thus does our Author his First Flight commence;  
Thus, against Friends at first, with Foils we fence:  
Thus prudent Gimcrack tried if he were able  
( Ere he'd wet Foot) to swim upon a Table.   

Then spare the Youth; or if you'll damn the PLAY,  
Let him but first have His; then take Your Day.    

Drammatis Persona.  Pyrrhus, King of Epirus. Helenus, Son to Pyrrhus. Dion, His General. Antigonus, King of Macedon. Demetrius, Son to Antigonus. Aristeon, Son to the late Tyrant of Argos. Aemilius, A Roman. Martius, Another Roman. 
WOMEN.  Lanassa, Queen of Epire. Antigone, Daughter to the King of Macedon. Ptolemy, The dead Son of Pyrrhus. 
Ghost of Alexander the Great.   

PYRRHUS King of EPIRUS.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  SCENE, The City of Argos besieged by King Pyrrhus; the Camp of the Epirotes on the one side, and that of the Macedonians, who came to the Relief of it, on the other. Pyrrhus Solus. The Time Night. Thunder and Lightning. Pyrrh. 
IF Heaven is wont to mourn the Death of Princes,  
And Gods above are sensible of Grief  
For their Vicegerents here: If Nature sickens,  
And looks with sad Concern, when impious Fate  
Strikes at her Darling Sons; if Groans of Ghosts,  
That leave their empty Tombs to stalk on Earth,  
And scream in open Air, are justly called  
The Voice of Fate, that of the King of Macedon,  
Or mine, is near at hand; for all the Prodigies,  
And all the Horrors, that fore-run the Funerals  
Of dying Heroes have been seen to Night.  
Approach my General, why so slow a March? Dion entering.  
Why dwells that mournful Cloud upon your Brows?  
Why look you more oppressed with Grief than Years,  
As all the Anger, and the Frowns of Heaven,  
And the loud Tumult of a troubled Sky,  
Could bend a Heart made firm with Age, like yours?  Dion. 
No, Royal Sir, not these outrageous Tempests,  
Not massy Bolts teach'd by the brawny Cyclops,  
Hot from the flaming Forge, and driven by Jove  
Through the scorched Skies, can shock your soldiers Soul:  
But oh! imagine Prince what most would move you,  
Drive you to Rage, make you fall out with Fate,  
And rail at heaven.  Pyrrh. 
Could any thing do this,  
It were the loss of Battle, a shameful Overthrow  
From an inglorious Enemy.  Dion. 
You've lost more.  
Much more than this.  Pyrrh. 
There is but one that can be;  
And if my Queen be safe, not slain, nor seized  
By those that forced Her from Her Throne in Epirus,  
I dare the utmost Malice of my Destiny.  Dion. 
She's safe, and coming on apace to seek you:  
Our outmost Scouts descried her glittering Chariot,  
Drawn by white Steeds, that ran as swift as Wind;  
And long before that rising Sun appear  
With his full Orb of Light above you Hill,  
You'll see her in your Tent.  Pyrrh. 
Then be it as it will.  
Thou mightst have  told at first, and not have feared:  
It would not overwhelm me.  Dion. 
To him that loves, the loss of his beloved  
Is Misery enough; and to the warrior,  
Who seeks in bloody Fields for famed and Glory,  
An Overthrow is yet a greater Ill:  
But for a Father to lose a Princely Son;  
And such a Son as Ptolemy, so like his Father,  
Outweighs all other Ills.  Pyrrh. 
Alas, I thought not  
That Fate would wound me there.  Dion. 
Would it had struck at any other Life,  
Any but yours; my Breath I had resigned  
With Joy, and laid my Bosom naked, for a Javelin.  
Now all the Soldiers hang their drooping Heads,  
Which late they bore aloft; they break their lances,  
And cry, No more to War, the Prince is gone  
That taught us how to conquer; no more to Battles,  
Since He who won them for us is no more.  Pyrrh. 
If they grieve thus, sure he was well beloved,  
And died as did become him.  Dion. 
He fell so brave,  
No History can produce the like Example,  
And no Tongue dare to say I'll show his Equal.  Pyrrh. 
Stop not: Say on, my Soldier.  Dion. 
Sir, I dare not:  
His Praises but renew the sad Remembrance,  
And I would spare your Sorrow.  Pyrrh. 
No, go on,  
I bear it as I should do.  Dion. 
When joyful Sparta saw your Tents took up.  
And all your Camp removed, she gave a Shout  
That echoed to the Skies; fierce ptolemy raged  
To hear their Boasts, and loyt'ring with some Troops  
Far separate from the Body of your Army,  
The Force of Lacedaemon sallied on him,  
And yet he scorned to shun the unequal Combat.  
'twas then that he employed his utmost Strength,  
Performing more than Man, none scaped unhurt,  
From his strong Arm: His single Sword flew more,  
Than those of all the Combatants besides.  
What could he do, by Multitudes oppressed?  
At length he fell, high on a heap of Spartans,  
Whom himself killed, and smiled, and looked in Death,  
As who should say I conquered.  Pyrrh. 
One thing more,  
And then eternal Peace be with Him. Tell me,  
Who got his Body?  Dion. 
His Soldiers all fought round it.  
When word was brought me of the fierce Engagement,  
I gathered all the Forces next at hand,  
and flew to rescue him; but all too late,  
I only could revenge him, which I did;  
For thousand Spartan Ghosts took flight that day  
To wait on his.  Pyrrh. 
Why yet 'tis well.  
He was a Soldler, and he died as such,  
As such he shall he butted. See him brought hither,  
That we may pay him all the Rites he merits  
From a just King, and an indulgent Father:  
And since Revenge and Rage inflame my Breast,  
I vow to all the Earth, by all the Gods,  
By all the Furies that are kindled in me,  
To Night to lay him in his Tomb in Argos.  Dion goes out, and returns with Soldiers bearing in the Prince. Dion. 
See here, my Lord, behold your hopes lye blasted,  
Your Darling gone, first of thy Royal Off-spring,  
And most resembling thee. Whom have we now,  
When all thy youthful Vigour shall be spent,  
Thy Arms grown tired with wielding of the Sword?  
When old Age shall encroach, and seize thy Limbs,  
Compelling thee to sit at home in quiet?  
Who then shall led thy Armies to the battle,  
And conquer in thy Cause? Who then shall fight  
As thou hast done without the loss of Glory,  
That the deluded Foe shall find no difference  
'Twixt him and Thee? Who then shall bring fresh Laurels  
To crown the aged Temples of their King?  Pyrrh. 

Cease, good old Man, cease this unmanly Grief,  
Lest I mourn too; ●l, who would brave the Fates,  
And rise beneath the weight of all their Bolts.  
Speak Comfort to me, urge me to Revenge,  
And drive me to the Field: And you, his Soldiers,  
Take up your Prince, and bear him to his Tent,  
Attend his mournful Hearse with weeping Eyes,  
Till the loud Trumpets sand their Notes to Heaven,  
Till the Drums beat to battle, and the big Voice  
Of Vengeance calls you forth; then rush to Arms.  
Learn to forget your Griefs in heat of Combat:   

Remember not you saw your Leader dead;  
But fight as if he conquered at your Head.   Dion. 
Shall we go arm ourselves, my Lord.  Pyrrh. 
We will.  
The early Sun climbs over the Hills apace,  
His Beams are darted upward to the Heavens;  
And the first God that wakes, puts forth his hand  
To draw aside the Curtains of the Skies,  
And let the day light out. How many Thousand  
That rise this dreadful Morn, all gay and healthful,  
Must e'er it yet be Noon lye down again,  
And rest for ever. Call the Athenian Min'strel,  
I want some music: Let me have that Song  
Sung at the Royal Banquet, made in Babylon  
The last great Feast of Alexander.  

SONG.  

HArk! the big Drums they beat to battle,  
The Voice of War is loud as Thunder.  
Hark! How the Clashing Armours rattle,  
And lo! the Squadrons marching yonder.   

Now, now they meet, the Word is given,  
The Shields are lifted, Swords are drawn;  
The Shouts of warriors rend the Heaven,  
And every Chief comes raging on.   

Hundreds fall, and Thousands yield,  
Blood and Slaughter fill the Plain;  
And Fate Triumphant through the Field,  
Colossus-like, bestrides the Slain.   

The Business of the World dispatches,  
decided thus in some few hours,  
Death quickly ends the vanquished Wretches,  
And Laurel crowns the conquerors.    Enter an Officer. Dion. 
Is the Queen coming? And so near at hand!  
By Mars she's welcome, though the first of the Sex  
That e'er was so to me. My Lord, the Queen  
Is in the Camp, will you not go to meet her?  Pyrrh. 
How, my Queen! Dion, see, she's here already.  Enter the Queen. 
Oh! I am the last in Love, as well as Honour.  
Welcome my Love, by th● dear Self, a Welcome,  
Great as the Man that loves like me, can give.  
No Mother, that has mourned her long lost Infant,  
Rejoices half so much to find her Darling,  
Or view the lovely Babe with half the Fondness  
I look on thee.  Queen. 
Answer me, Gracious Heaven,  
What God has saved my Pyrrhus yet unhurt,  
Even in the Mouth of Slaughter? What kind Deity,  
With a stretched Arm, held the broad Shield before him,  
opposed to Destiny, Does he still live?  
And do I live to clasp him?  Pyrrh. 
I live my Love,  
And sure I shall not die now thou art come,  
My better half of Life.  Queen. 
But yet I fear,  
Lest Heaven at last grown weary of its Favours,  
Should sullenly withdraw its bounteous hands:  
And Fortune that has wound so many Victories  
In one round and constant String,  
Should rashly in a pet unravel all.  Pyrrh. 
What greater Proof could I desire from Heaven  
Of its continued Goodness, than thus to sand thee,  
The Omen of my Conquest? Sure ill Fate  
Durst never yet assume a shape so lovely,  
Or put on Looks like thine.  Queen. 
Alas, my Lord,  
Methoughts I met it with a dreadful Aspect.  
Late as I lay entranc'd, I saw you, Pyrrhus,  
Far different, far unlike what now you are.  
I thought I saw you stretched upon the Earth,  
All pale, and ghastly, and your gaping Wounds  
Still freshly bleeding: All the mangled Bodies  
Of your defeated Army, in heaps beside you.  
No more that aweful warrior, whose Name alone  
Has shook the vast Foundations of the Capitol.  
I saw you, oh my Pyrrhus, could and dead,  
That lovely Face besmeared with Blood, those Lips  
Fast closed for ever, had not power to answer  
To the loud moan I made you; Oh! my Lord,  
How was I daunted at a sight so dismal?  
I almost died to have dreamed it, and unable  
To bear the horrid Vision any longer,  
I burst the Chains of my distracted Sleep.  Pyrrh. 
'twas but a Dream caused by your tender Fears.  Queen. 
Yet by those Fears,  
And by the Love I bear you( and oh! if Heaven  
Loved half so well, it would be kind and constant)  
My bleeding heart begs of you not to fight,  
But instantly to raise the fatal Siege;  
For something tells me with a dreadful Whisper,  
Epirus never shall see her Monarch more.  Pyrrh. 
How art thou altered, Love, since first I knew thee!  
Thy Spirit once was Masculine and Brave;  
thyself were't wont to help me to my Arms,  
And bid me hasten to the Glorious Field;  
And when I talked of War, the Tale would please thee  
As much as that of Love, What now has changed thee?  Queen. 
I am not used to fear; yet something bodes,  
I know not how, nor what; I and I conjure you  
By all I have heard you swear, by all your Sighs,  
By all your Vows, defer the great decision;  
And if I ever had the Power to move you,  
O let me charm you now, or now or never.  Pyrrh. 
Oh! hold my Love, cease the unkind request,  
I can deny you nothing; yet I beg  
You would not ask me what I must not grant  
You should consult my Honour more than thus;  
When all my towering Thoughts were fixed on Glory;  
When all the Languishings of Love were fled,  
And Mars alone had filled, and swelled my Breast,  
Thus with thy Tears to cool my heated Soul,  
To turn me back from the bright tract of War,  
And melt me down again to Woman's Fondness.  Queen. 
Then let it melt this obstinate heard heart.  
Thus will I fold thee in my longing Arms,  
Embrace thee thus; thus shalt thou listen to me:  
Thus, whilst I hang upon my Pyrrhus's neck,  
What loud Alarm of Drums, or what shrill Trumpet?  
What dreadful roar of War shall charm him from me?  Pyrrh. 
Why dost thou press me thus? Forbear to urge me,  
To drive me on, and force me to deny thee:  
Not fight Lanassa! What Request but this  
Could I refuse thee? This I cannot grant.  
Oh what, what would the murmuring Soldiers say,  
Already ranged, preparing for the Fight,  
They wait my coming: Should I not hast to head them,  
How would they storm to see themselves abandoned?  Queen. 
Enough, my Lord,  
I have heard enough, and am at last convinced  
My Tears are dried, and all my Prayers are ended.  
No more will I push back your Coming-Glory,  
Nor strive to crop your growing Wreaths of laurel:  
Go then, my Pyrrhus, go, and fight, and prosper,  
led your impatient Squadrons to the Field,  
Rear all your Standards, let your warlike Ensigns  
Loose all their golden Streamers to the Winds,  
Rush to the War, may Conquest crown your Arms,  
And your triumphant Garlands flourish ever.  Pyrrh. 
It shall be battle now, and, by you heaven,  
It seems auspicious, that my Love has said it.  
I thank thee for the Conquest; and methinks  
Already I behold Antigonus vanquished.  
Oh! Hadst not thou, my better Self, been willing,  
Had you not spoken it, had your Assent been wanting,  
I had not fought with half my usual Bravery;  
But now, Whole Pyrrhus pours upon the Foe,  
And fights with Forces not divided now.  Queen. 
Yet grant me this, my Lord, my much loved, Pyrrhus,  
You must not, ought not to deny me this:  
Swear to me by your Honour, by your Arms,  
By all the Oaths a Soldier holds as Sacred;  
Swear somewhat to enliven your fainting Queen,  
That when the dreadful Tug at last begins,  
When the last Trumpets urge you to the battle,  
And Arms and Heads are loped, and shivering lances,  
Sharp Spears, and all the Darts of Death fly round you,  
When all your drooping Soldiers fall in Heaps;  
And the tall Youths that stood but now erect,  
lie breathless on the Plain, swear then, my Love  
To guard your own dear Life as much as possible,  
To seek no Dangers Prudence bids you shun,  
And Glory will permit, and not rush wilful  
Into the Arms of Death. Grant me but this,  
And half my Fears are vanished.  Pyrrh. 
No more, I grant you this, but ask no more.  
Retire, my Love, I hear the shouting Soldiers  
Cry for their Chief, and my old General yonder  
Is come to call me hence: I go to reap  
The Noble Harvest of a bloody Field,  
Whose Crop shall all be thine.  Queen. 
Success attend thee,  
And all the mighty Gods of War and Love  
Take part with thee, guide, and direct thy Arms,  
And heaven restore thee to me.  Pyrrh. 

One Embrace,  
Such as the Queen of Beauty gave to Mars,  
When he marched forth to the Overthrow of Giants  
In the Phlegrean; and doubt not, Love,  
I go to Conquest as assured as his,  
And will return more glorious to thy Arms,  
And bring new Trophies to thee.   

When after drawn in thy triumphant Carr,  
thyself the beauteous Goddess of the War;  
Whilst Kings shall walk in Fetters by thy side,  
And even the Conqueror's Self before thee bleed;  
Whilst all my Wreaths thy lovely Temples bind,  
And all the Laurel-Crowns I won are thine,  
And all by Crowning thee become divine.  
From every part shall vanquished Princes come;  
Thou shalt pronounce the Royal Captive's Doom,  
Each Vassal shall bow down his suppliant Knee,  
And all the Earth receive their Laws from thee.   Leads her out, and returns. Enter Helenus. Hel. 
My Lord, the Enemy  
Have all their Forces ready, and their Trumpets  
Have sounded twice to battle.  Pyrrh. 
Did not ours sound  
As often, in answer to them?  Dion. 
They did:  
Our Men are all in order too as theirs,  
We only wait for the third Call from them;  
Then sound on our side too, and march to meet them.  Pyrrh. 
We'll give them the third Call ourselves, Trumpets sound.  
Not stay to take it from them. Sound all the Trumpets,  
So loud a Blast, that heaven and Earth may hear us.  
What Order is Antigonus's Army in?  Hel. 
Himself at the Head of his Auxiliaries,  
The Romans marching foremost.  Pyrrh. 
Helenus, you have lost a Princely Brother,  
His Spirit be infused in thee, his Fires  
Added to thine, with all thy Force revenge him;  
Fight in his Cause, as he has done in thine,  
And be a ptolemy to me.  Dion. 
Heaven make him like  
In all things, but his end.  Pyrrh. 
Hark, we are answered. Trumpets sound.  
Now they begin to march.  Dion. 
By heaven, in gallant Order,  
Rome's Legions, and the Macedonian Phalanx  
Are ranged in Noble Discipline.  Hel. 
Methinks we move like Clouds beneath the Sky,  
Driven by the breath of Winds our Fire's concealed  
Until we come so near to meet, and strike,  
And then the Lightning follows.  Pyrrh. 

My Blood boils high,  
And all my Sinews stretch themselves for War:   

Draw all, and follow with your lifted Sword,  
Strike for the Revenge, let ptolemy be the Word;  
sand loud defiance forth from every Breath,  
And wound as sharply, and as sure as Death. Exeunt.     

ACT II.  Enter Antigonus, Demetrius, Aristeon, Martius. Antig. 
IS Pyrrhus then invincible, and does the Fortune  
Of Alexander wholly wait on him?  
He marches as securely on to Battels,  
As others do to Triumphs, and he wins them,  
As sure as if he were a God, exalted  
Above the Chance of War.  Dem. 
He is the Darling of it,  
The best-lov'd Son of Mars; our Macedonians  
That once knew how to conquer, fly from him  
As Persians did from them.  Mart. 
My two best Legions  
Are lost entirely, and the rest so shattered,  
They are not serviceable. Imperial Rome,  
In the wide Progress of her spreading Arms,  
Has never met such stops as now she finds,  
When e'r she encounters Epirus's King.  Antig. 
All his Success is wonderful, himself  
Does things prodigious, and beyond belief:  
An Army lead by such a King, so daring,  
That goes the foremost on, and fights the first,  
With his own Sword, opening the way to Victory,  
Must needs prevail.  Arist. 
I sought him in the battle,  
And found him to my Cost; his second Blow  
Struck me to Earth, so weightily, that I fansy'd  
All heaven was fallen upon me.  Dem. 
I saw him then,  
When he road swiftly through your Argive Troops,  
As fatal as the Lightning, and as fast,  
And distributing Deaths like Jove himself.  Antig. 
Now we lye here besieged, shut up in Walls,  
And have not Forces left to take the Field,  
'tis doubtful if these Ramparts can withstand him,  
Till Succours shall arise.  Arist. 
Argos to him  
Will be as Oxydrate to Alexander;  
Yet Victor as he is, we will resist him,  
And put the War on the extremest Proof,  
When he dare try it.  Dem. 
That will be to Night;  
For I am  told he swore to inter his Son  
In the Goddess Juno's Temple.  Mart. 
No doubt he'll act  
As boldly as he vows.  Antig. 
'tis almost certain  
He will assault us here this very Night.  
The Trumpet that we sent him is return'd;  
But Truce is only granted till the Night,  
And that speaks something.  Dem. 
The Gates are opened,  
And the glad Argives walk about in Fields,  
Where an hour since it had been Death to tread;  
Already they begin to taste the breath  
Of the refreshing Peace.  Mart. 
Soldiers on either side,  
That very lately fought with mortal hatred,  
Now join in friendly Meetings.  Arist. 
Yonder I think,  
Two of a nobler Aspect than the rest,  
Seem to come straight to us; I know their Arms,  
The same the Prince and General wore in battle.  Antig. 

When you are met, I charge you to be careful  
How you observe the Peace; let nothing break it.  
No Words enrage you, and no Rage transport you  
To violate our Truce; but when it ends,  
Appear yourselves again, resume your Fury  
Fiercer than ever; Summon all your Forces  
For one great blow to crown the dreadful Upshot.   

Prepare th'extremest Chance of War to try,  
Resolve to conquer, or resolve to die. Exit Antigonus.   Enter Helenus, Dion. Dem. 
Much sweeter are the looks of gentle Peace  
Than those of horrid War.  Hel. 
One of them  
Looks like some Beauty in her best attire,  
With all her richest Ornaments upon her;  
The other like some rough and unhewn warrior,  
Clad in hard Iron.  Mart. 
Not long since it was dangerous for the best of us  
To meet so near: We now may join our hands,  
And clasp each others warlike Arms unhurt;  
Which was not so this Morning.  Dion. 
And will not be this Night.  Arist. 
Short as you please, we are ready to receive you.  Dem. 
Till then all Peace, hushed as the Sea becalmed;  
For so should we look now: No angry Frown  
On our smooth Brows, no Fury in our Eyes,  
Nothing of Enemy in us.  Hel. 
By Mars I am pleased  
That we meet thus.  Arist. 
The Conquerors may be pleased,  
And proud on't too, and chiefly such as take it  
A kind of Triumph to them.  Dion. 
We take it not as such,  
Although we are the Conquerors.  Arist. 
When you've won all, you may.  Hel. 
And all is Ours  
To very little.  Dem. 
Less than that little we have,  
Has oftentimes been known to bring back all.  Arist. 
Argos is ours, a formidable City,  
The Walls are large, and high, and Men within them  
That dare defend them.  Hel. 
And there are those without  
As daring to assault them.  Dion. 
And you have proved,  
They are not to be scorned; this day is witness  
To the great Fall of Thirty thousand Soldiers  
Of Argos, Rome, and Macedon, and they lye yet  
Unburied in these Fields.  Dem. 
heaven was against us:  
But the next time Fortune may smile on our side,  
And lop a greater number of your Armies  
Than we lost from ours.  Dion. 
I were mad myself  
If I gave way to Mad-men.  Hel. 
Old stubborn Man, as impotent as envious,  
Were not thy Vigour gone, thy Veins grown dry,  
And every drop of sprightly Blood exhausted,  
And canst not meet my Arms with equal Forces,  
I would punish thee for this.  Dion. 
Oh! that thou wer● not Son to God-like Pyrrhus,  
The Man I love of all the World the best,  
And even above it all, and next to heaven,  
This aged Arm, and withered as it is,  
Could I make crush the Man that dares to tempt it.  Hel. 
Do you know me?  Dion. 
ay, better than you do yourself,  
And love you more.  Hel. 
You seem not to do either.  
Remember I 'm Heir to the Epiran Crown:  
Long may my Father wear it; but when he dies,  
If I survive, 'tis mine, and thou esteemed  
No other than a traitor.  Dion. 
Thou'rt worse,  
A traitor to thy Father, and thy King;  
And ruin to thyself.  Hel. 
Yet let me pass.  Dion. 
Your Actions have enraged me so of late,  
That what you do, does not concern me now.  
Go where you please; for I will to the King,  
And tell him all.  Hel. 
Tell what thy Malice can,  
Perverse old Dotard, past the Years of Manhood.  Dion. 
Thy Father shall know what thou art. I'll tell him  
How you first broken the Truce; how in the battle,  
When I had singled out the King of Macedon,  
And held my Sword advanced above his head  
Ready to strike, and put a happy end  
To the Long War,  
You rushed betwixt, and stopped my falling Arm,  
And cried out, Spare the King.  Hel. 
In that I did  
Nothing, but what was due to Royal Blood;  
Kings are too sacred, and too dear to heaven  
To fall by impious hands.  Dion. 
You loved the Daughter,  
And therefore saved the Father. cursed Love,  
The bane of gallant Deeds and gallant Men:  
Good Gods! that any one so formed for Greatness  
As this most excellent, but unhappy Prince,  
designed by heaven for all imperial Dignities,  
Cast in the noblest mould, and stamped divine,  
No Fault through all his Frame, the best of Princes,  
And bravest Soldier, should be lost by Love.  
Remember but your Brother Ptolemy,  
Your Royal Father wished you were like him,  
And oh! I beg of all the Gods you were.  
Would he do this, would he forsake his Honour,  
And leave a conquering Army for a Woman!  
O think what pains I took to instruct your Youth  
In the great Trade of War, and how I joyed  
To see the noble Art improved in you;  
Then call the old Man, Dotard, past his Manhood,  
Thank me in Terms like these.  Hel. 
Forgive me, General,  
shane and Distraction seize me both at once.  
I know not what to say; alas, I know not  
What I resolved to do, you've held a Mirror,  
And shown me to myself, and I am soul  
As She I love is fair.  Dion. 
Return with me  
Back to our Camp, and all again is well;  
Where you shall meet in Triumph all the Chiefs  
Shining in Golden Arms, the Prancing Steeds  
Bearing with Pride their Riders on their Backs,  
And neighing to the sound of Warlike Trumpets,  
Whilst all the joyful Soldiers loudly answer  
In Songs of jo Paan.  Hel. 
How little shall I share the general Joy,  
That have the Foe within me. Do but view me,  
And think that when a Conqueror grieves as I do,  
Even whilst his Arms are on him, and his Sword  
Still stained with Blood, nothing but Love could cause it  Dion. 
I see it plain you love her too, too well:  
But Glory used to be the charming Mistress,  
And most admired by Princes; slight not that  
For any other Idol.  Hel. 
heaven can witness,  
That tho' I love her more, far more than Life,  
Yet I love Honour better than them both.  Dion. 
Why did you then go to throw that away,  
Even when you were not certain of the other,  
And rashly run to Dangers which had cost you  
Your Life and all?  Hel. 
O do not press me thus;  
My guilty Soul would lose the black Remembrance,  
But you take care to keep it still alive.  Dion. 
No, it shall die for me; and since I see you  
So sensible of Honour, so nice of that,  
In height of Love I will myself instruct you  
To farther your Designs.  Hel. 
Oh tell me how,  
My good General, tell me, and your Prince  
Shall bless those aged lips that gave the Counsel.  Dion. 
See her no more.  Hel. 
Again you dash me  
Down from the top of my aspiring hopes  
Into the lowest Valley of Despair.  Dion. 
Nay, hear me out; not see her till the Night:  
To Night, when your great Father bids us arm,  
And march to mount yond Walls; then you shall go  
The foremost on, to seize your lovely prise,  
Revenge your Brother, and receive Antigone.  Hel. 
Oh! you have fired me; by the Gods, I wish  
The Night already come: Fall down thou Sun  
From Heav'ns high Battlements, to Seas beneath;  
And the kind Heav'ns draw all your darkest Curtains  
Around your shining Orbs, and shut in day;  
For I will do such most amazing Deeds,  
As are not fit for your bright eyes to view.  
yond Argos shall be levelled in the Dust,  
Flames in her towers, and Murder in her Streets,  
Death in all Forms, and horrid in them all;  
Only my Love be free, in general ruin,  
Whom I will bear safe through th'wondring Flames,  
Whilst the scorched Daemons of the Air shall beg  
For such a Champion to relieve themselves.  Dion. 
Prince, I dare trust you farther yet than this;  
I know you truly noble; only swear,  
That if I let you go to her you love,  
As you may do disguised in time of Truce,  
Swear to return when the first Trumpets call,  
And the Alarm is heard; not lose your Part  
In the great Action, swear by something sacred,  
And you have leave to go.  Hel. 
By all that's sacred,  
By her I love, I swear I will return,  
Though from the clasping Arms of her I love.  Dion. 
Remember only this, and then farewell:  
Behold you Ramparts higher than the rest;  
'tis there your Father storms, be sure be there.  Hel. 

Doubt not I will, only till then adieu.  
I go with none but lambent Fires to love;  
But will return with burning heat to battle,  
And all my rising Spirits turned for Glory.   

Glory and Love usurp my ravished Soul,  
They have my heart, and they possess it whole. Exit.   Dion. 
I let him go, and yet heaven knows how loth;  
But had I not, his noble Heart had broken.  
He is brave, and worthy of his Royal Birth;  
And were it not for Love, the most accomplished,  
And nearest to a God, of any Mortal,  
Penurious heaven, and ye so timorous Deities,  
That dare not suffer this one gallant Youth  
To be completely perfect, lest he draw  
Your Adoration from you; no, you dare not  
Grant your Assent, that ought of human Race  
should every ways be happy; then alas  
He were too like yourselves; What other blemish,  
But that of Love has tainted him? Woman, Woman,  
Whence comes your Empire over us? Whence the Power  
That chains us all your Slaves? Sure we at first  
Were meant the Masters; but by some strange turn,  
Some most prodigious Whirl of unfix'd Fate,  
The subtle Sex has changed the Laws of heaven.  
heaven, when it made them, meant them to obey,  
designed them Slaves, who now have learnt to sway:  
To them the Hero's of the Earth fall down,  
pleased when they smile, but dying if they frown:  
To them we offer up our frequent Prayers;  
They move above our Heads in higher Spheres,  
And the large Rule of all the World is theirs. Exit.   

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  Enter Aristeon with Antigone. Arist. 
WHat Pleasure could a tender Soul like yours  
Receive from looking on the dismal Objects  
Those Fields afford?  Antig. 
That wretched one of Pity.  Arist. 
should I have shared your Pity, lovely Princess,  
Had I lain there high on the fatal heap,  
Th' upmost of th' Dead?  Antig. 
No doubt you should:  
I mourn for every gallant Man that falls,  
Serving his King and Country.  Arist. 
How much more should you mourn me?  
I, who serve none but you;  
I, who am subject to no King nor Country,  
Whom no Ambition, no Desire of Glory,  
Drives to the Field, no Lust of Sovereign Power,  
But only your Defence has drawn my Sword.  
Oh! give me now the Pity that I beg,  
Now while I live, to save me from the Death  
You say you'd mourn.  Antig. 
I do not see you need it:  
You have my Father's Thanks, the Army's Praise;  
That might suffice a Soldier.  Arist. 
Oh! Antigone,  
There is another Name would make me prouder,  
Than Soldier, Chief, or Conqueror.  Antig. 
The last of those  
Might have been spared; for you maintain it ill.  Arist. 
No wonder that the Victory was not ours,  
Since you, nor wish it were, nor prayed it should be,  
How should our Arms prevail?  Antig. 
How dare you to tax me  
With that Impiety? I wished the War  
Were at an end; I wished as did become me.  Arist. 
Oh! Madam, if I durst explain your meaning,  
Which of the Armies was your chief Concern,  
And which you offered up your Prayers for most?  
It should be that you wish the King of Epirus  
A Conqu'ror here in Argos, over your Father,  
Rather than that his Son, the loved Helenus,  
should fall on Argive Swords.  Antig. 
Lest you interpret  
My Thoughts with so much boldness any longer,  
And to confounded you more than doubt can do,  
Learn the most secret Wishes of my Soul;  
I prayed my Father might return in safety  
From all the Dangers of the bloody Field:  
heaven heard me; and it sent th' Prince you named,  
When he stood most in need of such an Aid,  
To save him from the then descending Sword.  
My prayers were next for safety of th'prince,  
Who saved my Father: You might had the same  
For the same Action; but your Arms were busy'd  
At too great distance to have brought relief.  Arist. 
Curse on my Stars, that give my Rival all,  
All the Occasions to be brave and noble,  
And will allow me none.  Antig. 
aclowledge rather  
The Stars are equally the Friends of both:  
'tis only he takes care to seize on all,  
While you with heedless Eyes let all pass by.  Arist 
Yet this same Prince, whose Cause you pled so well,  
Your Father does esteem his mortal Foe,  
And will pursue his hated Life as such.  Antig. 
Now you've charged him with that foul Ingratitude,  
As you did me before, with want of Piety:  
Be judge yourself, whether the Prince of Epirus,  
Or you are most our Enemy.  Arist. 
This Night will show't.  
My Orders are to guard the Palace-Gates,  
Where you are lodged; and be assured I'll die  
In your Defence rather than yield you up;  
And will your princes Proofs of Love be such?  
When you shall see him breathing bold defiance,  
March his Epiran Army to your Doors,  
Slaught'ring your Subjects in your very sight,  
And scatter Fires about the flaming City,  
Nor spare the gilded Roofs that cover you.  Ant. 
If I must lose my liberty at night  
To be your Prisoner, leave it me till then;  
Yet thus much I may tell before I go,  
I'll make my Duty, and my Love agree,  
As much at variance as they seem to be:  
All I shall pray for in the fatal Strife,  
Shall be my Father's and my princes Life:  
To you, immortal Gods, the rest I trust,  
You best know how to act, and will be just. Exit.  Enter Helenus. Hel. 
Thus far I have passed unknown by all their Guards;  
But Love, that adds more sharpness to the sight  
Has made the Prince of Argos find me out.  
I see he knows me, and it is as vain  
As base to fly.  Arist. 
Ha! would you shun me, Prince?  
Think not, that this Disguise can keep you hide  
From piercing Eyes like mine.  Hel. 
I would not have it.  
Next to th'meeting those I came to seek,  
I'm glad to meet with thee: Make no inquiries;  
For whatsoever was my Errand hither,  
This is my Business now. Draws.  Arist. 
So forward, Sir?  
You know not that you are within th'Walls,  
Where at my Call, my Slaves could come, and crush you,  
Without my trouble to unsheathe my Sword.  Hel. 
I know it, and that drives me forward yet  
To end with thee, e'er thy base odds arrive,  
And push this Ghost before me down the Shades. Fight.  Arist. 
( Wounded) The first, the second time disarmed  
Gods: ye are kind, do but take Life and all,  
And then I'll thank you.  Hel. 
They have spared you that,  
And I restore you this.  Arist. 
I scorn to take it;  
I scorn to owe my Life, or Arms to thee.  Hel. 
You shall not need, for I first owed you mine;  
I do but pay the Debt.  Arist. 
Instruct me, Sir,  Hel. 
When you resolved to fight me hand to hand,  
And drew not in your Multitudes upon me,  
Then I was made your Debtor.  Arist. 
What! then you thought yourself secure from harm  
In single Combat with me, proud Triumpher?  Hel. 
No, but I knew you could securely vanquish,  
By calling in your Guards.  Arist. 
And couldst thou think  
So meanly of me, that I would use their aid?  Hel. 
I still expected what thou didst; and what,  
Had I met thee within my Father's Camp,  
I too had done.  Arist. 
Now I'm lost indeed:  
Whilst I found Rage and Fury like my own,  
I could storm on; but Kindness melts me down.  
Give me thine hand, and tell me, generous Prince;  
Your noble Carriage forces me to ask you;  
Say, is it possible we can be Friends?  Hel. 
Not whilst we love, and hardly whilst we live.  
Glory and Love makes us eternal Foes;  
Which should we strive to meet, like raging Seas,  
would rush between our Fold, and throw us far asunder.  Arist. 
What shall we do?  Hel. 
Why? One of us must die  
To make the other happy.  Arist. 
On those Terms then,  
I take my forfeit Sword: We'll meet to Night,  
Resolve to end our difference in our Death;  
And lest the Darkness should not make distinctions,  
Antigone be th'Word, and this th'Place,  Hel. 
That charming Name shall draw me to th'Combat,  
even from the rear of all my hindmost Troops;  
The very mention of it wings me to thee,  
Swift as it flies to me.  Arist. 
You will not fail.  Hel. 
I will not, tho' my Father should defer  
His purposed Storm; tho' I were sure I moved  
To certain ruin, and a thousand Prodigies  
Foretold my Fall, tho' all th'Skies forewarned me,  
heaven flamed above, and the Earth yawn'd beneath,  
I'll on to win my Love, or meet my Death.  Arist. 
Stay, generous Prince, I owe a mighty Sum,  
And have a Soul that scorns to be ungrateful:  
Oh! what, what Reparation can I make?  Hel. 
That of your Sword to Night.  Arist. 
That heaps on more,  
And plunges deeper in th'desperate Debt.  
I owe even that to you, nor can I turn  
The fatal Point against the Prince that gave it;  
Yet there is a way, but a dear costly way,  
At a large over-rate, to pay back all.  
May I not guess your Business was to Argos  
To see the Princess?  Hel. 
I must confess it was.  Arist. 

Down, swelling heart; Oh! heaven, I would do something,  
But that my struggling Soul rebells within me:  
It shall, it shall have vent; Go see th● Princess,  
She only waits till she sees me withdrawn,  
To fly into your Arms; but then remember  
Your gallant Usage is repaid with interest.  
And we may fight again with boundless hatred.  
I grudge the ransom, that I give for Life;  
But go, e'er I repent, and beg to die.   

Go now, the great, unwilling Grant is past;  
And, oh! believe I let you look your last. Exeunt.   Re-enter Helenus with Antigone. Hel. 
Oh! my Antigone, after six Year's Absence;  
A tedious Age in the Records of Time,  
But vastly longer in Accounts of Love.  
What shall I say, to tell thee that my Soul  
Is full with Joy, how shall I pour it forth  
In Th●nks to heaven, that in one happy Moment  
Has recompensed an Age of Torments past?  
To see thee still the same, no Beauty faded:  
To see this matchless Truth, to see thee mine,  
Is all the Gods could grant, or I could ask.  Antig. 
Nor are my Joys and Transports less than yours.  
I give an equal share of Thanks to heaven,  
And equal Love to thee; but oh! my Lord,  
I can't see you in an Enemy's Town,  
( Such 〈◇〉 must think them, who are so to you)  
W●●●out a great alloy of Grief and Fear.  Hel. 
The Gods have yet preserved us from our Youth;  
Should we mistrust them now, by that we break  
The League ourselves, and fall out first with Heaven.  
No, Love; the Powers above are Just and Kind,  
And when they mould, such heavenly forms as yours,  
They grow our Rivals in their Beauteous work,  
And place the Carefull'st Genius for your guard.  Ant. 
I fear not for myself, for you I fear,  
Exposed to all the horrid rage of War,  
In Bloody Fields, the Shaft that reaches you,  
Brings Death to both, for it would wound me too.  Hel. 
Vanish such Thoughts, and let the little time  
That heaven allows, be wholly spent in Love:  
Speak then, but speak the tend'rest things you can,  
Such as did first express our Infant Passions,  
When I Return'd from our last Wars in Macedon,  
Laden with Spoils, and you my Richest prise,  
Were made my Prisoner, in my Father's Court.  Ant. 
Oh! would this War, had such an End as that,  
And I again your Captive.  Hel. 
You had the Name,  
And oh! the Name of Captive was too much,  
Too much for you to bear, but still, my Love,  
'twas I that dragged the Chains, and drag them still.  Ant. 
That happy time first joined our youthful hearts,  
And oh! may none divide them.  Hel. 
No time, Antigone,  
No date of Years shall make our Flames expire,  
But Every one that lengthens out our lives,  
Shall add unto our loves.  Ant. 
Hear heaven, and Judge us then, the happy'st Pair  
Your hands have made; and oh! if I prove false,  
False to the Prince to whom I give my Soul,  
And Life, and Love; may that detested Name  
I scorn to mention, brand me whilst I live.  Hel. 
Oh! hear me too, and let our Vows ascend  
Together to your Skies, and some good God  
enrol them there, if ever I forget thee,  
If I neglect to pay that aweful Love,  
I only Swear to thee, or ever look  
With the least wishing glance, on other Beauties,  
May Fortune, in my Battles, Change like me;  
May famed fly from me, and I fly from famed;  
May all my Laurels whither on my brows,  
And Cowards snatch them thence.  Ant. 
Methinks, at two such Passions heaven should smile,  
The Jocund Orbs roll on in better Order,  
The Earth be wrapped in quiet, War should Cease,  
And Golden Peace be prosperous.  Hel. 
Oh! go on,  
Speak yet a little more, a little longer,  
For by the Gods, that listen to our talk,  
'tis heaven to me to hear you, not the Tongues  
Of Deities pled so well, my Heart leaps up,  
And pants at all you utter, each pointed Syllable,  
From those dear lovely Lips, runs to my Soul,  
And Circles in my Blood.  Ant. 
Remember, Love,  
What golden days we at Epirus past,  
When every rolling day brought new Delights,  
Sometimes we trod the Mazes of the Woods,  
And sometimes stretched beneath a spreading Shade,  
We lay, and listened to each others talk  
Sometimes we heard the Huntsman's distant Voice,  
And in one Chariot both pursued the chase;  
And sometimes sailing in a gilded Barge,  
We saw the pleasing Wonders of the deep.  
Ambitious Waves, that striven to climb the Rocks  
That bound them in, and roared to be repulsed,  
And Monsters mounted on the back of Waves,  
When with full Sails, returning to the Court,  
You'd point me out, the then descending Sun,  
Scatt'ring his beams about him, as he sinks,  
And gilding heaven above, and Seas beneath  
With paint, no mortal Pencil can express,  
And still our Talk was Love.  Hel. 
Remember too, how I alarmed your Soul,  
When I began the harsh discourse of War;  
The hazards that my Youth has yet escaped,  
With all my earliest Combats in the Field,  
Here was my first appearance in my Arms,  
Here my first Actions, such my first Command,  
Here wounded, and dismounted from my Horse,  
My Father timely rescued me from Death,  
Then would you Clasp me in your fearful Arms,  
And start at every mention of my Danger,  
And beg, with trembling Lips, to end my Story.  Ant. 
Stop, stop it now, for all my fears return,  
At the sad thought of what is yet to come,  
The gathering Clouds urge on approaching Night,  
Which falls with baleful influence over the Earth,  
It labours with the Birth its Womb contains,  
Which soon must be disclosed: methinks I see it,  
Soldiers, and Chiefs, all mingled in the War,  
A Thousand Deaths among them, and you, my Prince,  
In the thick press, amid a Thousand Dangers.  
Gods! Gods! preserve my too, too venturous Love.  Hel. 
'tis done, they cannot hear you beg in vain,  
Thou shalt behold me come with Conquest back,  
Crowns in my gift, to place upon thy Head,  
And Kingdoms to dispose of at your Feet.  Ant. 
I take the happy Omen from yourself,  
Your sprightly looks, your dauntless mein, and gesture,  
Your Every Action speaks a sure Success,  
Yet, Oh! let me remember Duty still  
In all the hottest fury of the Fight,  
Even then, when merciless Death makes no distinctions,  
My Father, and my Brother, be your Care,  
As you are Heav'ns, and mine.  Hel. 
They die that dare  
Once offer at their lives; should Pyrrhus self  
Engage them in the Fight, I'd stop his Sword,  
And seize his thundering Arm.  Ant. 
Good heaven defend them,  
And Chiefly you, for oh! thy Death, my Love.  Hel. 
Again that fear?  Ant. 
Forgive me for 'tis past,  
And yet it makes me weep, to think we're mortal,  
That the could hand of Death, at last must come,  
That two, who love as we do, should be forced  
Ever to part, the Rent will be like that  
Of Soul and Body.  Hel. 

Fate is yet far off,  
It seems aloof, as on some distant cost,  
And all the Darts it hurls, are swallowed up  
In the wide Seas that roll betwixt us,  
We may enjoy whole Ages in our Loves  
E're it can reach us here, but when at last,  
Our death, that necessary Ill, will happen,  
We'll take our flight together.   

When thou by pleasant Journeys shalt arrive  
To those blessed Seats, where all the happy live,  
Whilst all the shining Host of Heaven make room,  
Wait at their Azure gates, till thou shalt Come.  
Then shall some God, the Chiefest, most Divine,  
And most Imperial of the Heavenly Line,  
Receive thee in his Arms, and led thee in,  
Whilst all the Joyful Powers, no longer poor,  
Smile at their Wealth, proud of their new got Store,  
And never were so vastly rich before.   Exeunt.   

ACT IV.  Enter Pyrrhus and Dion. Thunder and Lightning. Pyrrh. 
THE Day is fled, and dismal Night descends,  
Casting her Sable Arms around the World,  
And folding all within her deadly Grasp,  
Ghosts are abroad, the Monuments are emptied,  
And Heroes, that have slept till now, have left  
Their quiet Tombs, and once more walk the Earth.  Dion. 
All this is Strange, yet all is as it ought to be.  
Methinks, when two such Rival Armies meet,  
As Macedons, and ours, the high Concern  
Of heaven should be no less: methinks the Clouds  
Should melt and rain down Blood, and Gods should mourn  
In all the Pomp of Grief, their slaughtered Sons.  Pyrrh. 
And yet, my General all this rack of Heaven,  
Those burning Orbs, and the loud Peals of Thunder,  
Those starting Stars, and yonder falling Meteors,  
Are Common things to us, the usual huddle  
Of, Jarring Elements: but how, my General,  
How do the Souldiers bear them?  Dion. 
They rear themselves from Earth  
Streight as the Spears, and brave as you can wish;  
All put their Gauntlets on, and grasp their armor,  
All Eager for the Onset.  Pyrrh. 

There's Life in this.  
Go, and prepare them for the Noble grapple,  
And I will March them on. Exit Dion.  
Ye Gods? I pay Just Reverence to your Altars;  
I bow with awful Worship to Your shrines,  
And more submission than my slaves show me,  
But when some Infant Power, some puny Deity,  
Some Ape of Jove, that's fond of making mischief,  
Asserts your Empire, and your Rule of heaven,  
And with weak hands tosses your fires about,   

Forgive me, if I cannot stoop to Fear,  
But, spite of Prodigies, pursue the War.   The Ghost of Alexander the Great Rises before him all in armor. Thunder and Lightning. Ghost. 
Well does this Noble Confidence become you,  
And Oh! it glads the Soul of the dead Alexander,  
To see you thus, behold you thus unmoved,  
Even when the Powers above are at a loss  
Which way to turn themselves.  Pyrrh. 
Ha! Alexander,  
Thou shouldst be He, and yet how changed, how altered  
From what thou wert alive? Oh! for what Cause  
Hast thou forsook the Mansions where thy Spirit  
Had room to extend itself, and rove at large,  
While we walk here, Encomber'd with a Body,  
That holds our Souls from mounting to the skies,  
And bars all ●onverse with our Kindred Gods?  Ghost. 
My Love and Care for thee, the bravest Prince,  
I Left to share my ●onquests on this Earth,  
Has drawn me hither, to impart the News  
Of warm Debates betwixt the Courts above,  
And those beneath, the Realms of Jove and Fate,  
To tell thee, tho thou yet drawest vital Air,  
Canst from thy Tent behold the marshaled Squadrons,  
And led the Warlike Phalanx to the Field,  
Mu● shortly leave all this, and be at last,  
Just such as I am.  
I never entertained one thought of falsehood.  Pyrrh. 
Then you refuse my Friendship.  Aemyl. 
No I beg it,  
As I would beg Blessing from the Gods,  
If I could make you first the friend of Rome,  
Then you might make me yours; till then in Vain  
Are all the Royal Offers that you made  
To heap Preferments on me in your Court,  
To give me the Command of all your Armies,  
The Gallantest indeed, I e'er beholded,  
Excepting Rome's. I heard you with the Attention  
Due to a King, but did no more than hear;  
It went not to my Soul; in vain you sent  
Those Presents of Inestimable Value,  
That yet remain untouched. I am but Poor,  
I have no Wealth, and yet I would have none,  
I would not be a traitor to be Rich,  
Or infamously great. My only treasure  
Lies in my truth; and if that once were lost,  
What has Aemylius left, to make him worthy  
To be a Son of Rome, or Friend of Pyrrhus?  Pyrrh. 
This matchless faith makes me but prise you more,  
Since your fidelity to Rome is such,  
Who acts as if she knew not how to value it  
What would it be to me, who know the worth  
Of Constancy like thine?  Aemyl. 
Suspect me rather  
If once I forfeited my faith to Rome,  
When any new Occasion should present,  
I might be false to you. I love you, Sir,  
As I love all brave men, and you of all  
The very bravest; I have seen you fight,  
Where other Gallant Cheifs have stood at distance,  
As if there Business were to look on you;  
And they had no employment in the Field.  
I have seen you break the battle of the Romans,  
And pierce resistless through those marshaled ranks,  
Where never any entered, till yourself;  
Success still hung upon your conquering Sword,  
And Fate descended with it, where it fell.  
I have envied, and admired you, both at once,  
And as my Eyes still followed you in Fight,  
fixed on the Wondrous Actions you performed,  
I have often wished myself Epiran born,  
But oftener you a Roman.  
blushy not to hear these Praises from a mouth,  
That would not give them if they were not due,  
For Flattery is a thing as base as Treason.  Dion. 
Go on, most noble Roman, all is truth,  
And, by the Gods, I thank you that you speak it.  
He would not suffer me to praise him thus.  Aem. 

'twas there, my Lord, there in the Bloody Field,  
Your God like Prowess won an Enemies Soul,  
That Treasures cannot tempt, nor Power betray,  
But opened to receive the love of virtue,  
And give it full Possession, I tell you nothing,  
But what I'have dared to tell the Roman Senate,  
As they have sate assembled in the Capitol.  
I beg you, Royal Sir, to seek no more:  
Be satisfied, I have a Just Esteem,  
For such transcendent worth as dwells in you.  
Oh! seek not to Corrupt a poor old Man:  
My Honesty is all the Wealth I have,  
But that's my own, not subject to the Chance  
That waits on other Fortunes; that alone  
I can Call Mine; that lies within my Power.   

Should all the Princes of the Earth conspire,  
I may, and will, preserve my Faith entire.   Pyrrh. 
Say, have I many Enemies like you?  Aem. 
If all the World, Dread Sir, were such as I am,  
You would not have an Enemy; if you mean,  
Whether the numerous Sons of Rome are such,  
They are, my Lord, braver by far than me,  
And all I hope as faithful.  Pyrrh. 
Then their Conquest  
Will be an enterprise beyond my Powers,  
Impossible for human Arms to achieve.  Aem. 
Believe me, it will be no bloodless Victory,  
When ever it is obtained.  Pyrrh. 
Though it seems dangerous  
To Arm a foe, so terrible as you,  
Yet I' have a Present to bestow upon you,  
Which you may take without a Breach of Faith:  
Receive this Sword, it has been u'sd to Conquer,  
And I dare Promise, it will hold its virtue  
In Roman hands.  Aem. 
I take it on my Knees,  
As given by the dreadful God of War:  
Fear not, its virtues shall be kept Entire,  
Unless it grows ungrateful to its Lord,  
And turns against the God like Prince that gave it,  
Where every Sword must fail.  Pyrrh. 
Prepare a Convoy,  
To wait the good Aemylius to the Confines.  
See all the great Battalions ranged in Order,  
To Shout his farewell, as he passes by.  
Once more, my gallant warrior, to my Soul,  
Where thy Idea deeply is impressed,  
farewell with all the Friendship and Esteem,  
That mutually should dwell in Noble Minds,  
Thou wondrous Man, of wondrous Faith, farewell.  Aem. 

Yet ere I go, hear me, Illustrious Prince,  
I give my thanks to you, my Prayers to Heaven,  
That you may still be prosperous your royal Carriage;  
Has wrought this Just resentment in my Soul:  
Still may you Triumph, your Success be Ever   

Such as your matchless Worth may justly Claim,  
Distant your end of Life, no end of famed:  
May you Reign long, for numerous Years to come,  
And your Arms flourish against all but Rome. Exit.   Enter Lanassa. Lan. 
Oh! my loved Lord, Lanassa was afraid  
You'd have been hurried to the dreadful Battle,  
Without the giving her one last Farewell.  
She heard the Trumpets call you, thought you listened  
To them alone, and no soft gentle Whisper  
Of Love could reach your Soul. She saw your Ranks  
Of Souldiers, glittering in their gilded Arms,  
Spite of the horrid Darkness, so she hastened  
Ere yet you marched them to the Walls of Argos,  
Once more to gaze upon you, once more see you,  
Print on your Lips one last dear Kiss at parting,  
And if I then can speak it, bid Farewell.  Pyrrh. 
Leave but your Fears behind, and then, my Love,  
We may despise whatever Fate can do;  
And bear our parting brave, as Princes should,  
With all the Greatness of heroic Minds;  
Yet tenderly withall.  Lan. 
Alas, my Pyrrhus,  
Deny me not the Privilege of my Sex;  
Women, that always start and shrink at Dangers;  
Women, whose Courage is not less than Mens,  
Only their Love is more: My Lord, I come not  
To beg you to defer the dreadful Battle;  
For, though a Thousand ominous Signs forewarn me,  
The sudden Doom of Pyrrhus now is fixed;  
Yet his Resolves are firmer fixed than Fates:  
I only come to offer up my Prayers  
In thy loved Presence, though I fear the Gods  
Will be as deaf to them as you have been.  Pyrrh. 
Such were your Fears this Morning, Love; and now,  
How vain and needless do they seem to have been?  
Unhurt, unwounded from the Field I came,  
And bought a Conquest at an easy Rate;  
Now I shall only march against a Foe  
Already half o'ercome.  Lan. 
Supposing then  
Argos were yours, the Crown upon your Head,  
And you upon the Throne: Suppose the War  
Were finished as I wish, which I dare scarce  
Suppose it will be; will your toils end there?  
Or, what will next be done?  Pyrrh. 
The Romans yet  
Remain unconquered, they again shall try  
My Forces in Arms, and my Victorious Squadrons,  
Fighting with better Fortune than at first,  
May hurl their soaring Eagles to the Earth.  Lan. 
If Rome were won, and that triumphant City,  
That never yet obeyed a foreign Lord,  
Submitted to your Sway, their Senate broken,  
And you their Royal Master in their stead;  
Where march you then?  Pyrrh. 
Sicily is at hand,  
And I may pour my Armies on their Coasts,  
Destroying all the Isle with Sword, and Fire  
Hotter than that of Aetna.  Lan. 
Suppose that Sicily  
shared the same Fate with Rome.  Pyrrh. 
Then Sun-burnt afric  
Shall groan beneath the weight of Castl'd Elephants,  
And its own Brood be turned against itself.  Lan. 
Granting that you had conquered afric too,  
What enterprise is next?  Pyrrh. 
The search of Glory and of famed is endless;  
New Countries will afford new Conquests still.  Lan. 
If all were won, all the wide World were yours,  
What Fruit, my Pyrrhus, would you reap from all?  Pyrrh. 
When War is to be had no more, my Love,  
We will sit down upon the conquered Globe,  
Enjoy ourselves in Peace, and laugh at Fate.  Lan. 
And why, my Lord, why can't we do so now?  
Cannot one Kingdom furnish full Enjoyment?  
What has the World in store? what Pomp, what Pleasures?  
What can the lavish hands of Nature give,  
That Epirus has not yielded to her Lord?  
But oh! my Love, Kings are like other Misers,  
Greedy of more; they use not what they have  
As Merchants, venturing on the faithless Seas  
For needless Wealth, are driven by sudden Storms  
On Banks of Sands, or dashed against the Rocks,  
And all they have is sunk, and lost at once.  
Kings rush to Wars, more faithless than the Seas,  
Where more inconstant Fortune waits their Arms;  
Where in a Minute one unhappy Blow  
Ruins the Progress of an Age before:  
Delay not your Enjoyment, till you've all;  
O! do it, while you've any, while you may;  
While yet the gathering Storm wants wings to reach you.  Pyrrh. 
Did you pled thus in any other Cause,  
You could not be denied; but rigid Honour  
Has armed my Heart against the grant of this.  
Retire, my Love; for lo, the Night grows darker,  
The Voice of heaven more loud, and the big Winds  
More forcibly have shook the nodding Tents;  
The drouzy soldier, wakened by the Tempest,  
Starts from the Earth, and crys, away to Battle:  
Retire, my loved Lanassa.  Lan. 
Oh! my Lord,  
When shall we meet again?  Pyrrh. 
heaven knows, my Love;  
But I too know that we shall meet in heaven,  
Where everlasting Joys shall Crown our Loves,  
And never more be sunder'd.  Lan. 
Oh! were that true, wretch that I am to doubt it;  
For sure there is a Place reserved for thee;  
A Throne prepared for Pyrrhus, my Love, my Lord:  
The noblest Demi-god of all the Skies,  
And foremost hero in the Host of heaven.  Pyrrh. 
No more: one last Embrace, and now no more,  
For the Adieus of Lovers never end:  
I wish that we were gone our several ways,  
And yet I cannot be the first to go.  Lan. 
Then how should I, a weak fond helpless Woman!  
Oh! Stay, my Lord; since we must part at last,  
Say but farewell, for your Lanassa cannot.  Pyrrh. 
Farewell, with all the force of Love, farewell.  Lan. 

Oh! Pyrrhus! Pyrrhus! whither go you now,  
To the dire War? where partial Death resides;  
Death, that was ever wont to lop the Noble  
And spare the Vulgar; Oh! turn back a little;  
Stay till I fall thus prostrate to the Earth,  
Torn by my Passion, till I beg the Gods  
In thy behalf: Oh! save him all ye Powers;  
Make him the whole Concern of all your Skies;  
Oh! let this humble Adoration move,  
Be good, ye gracious Gods, and save my Love.   

Preserve him heaven from all the Rage of War,  
Divert the threatening Point of every Spear,  
Shield him some God, and let no shaft come near.    

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  Enter Dion and Aemylius. Dion. 
THese are our Limits, which I must not pass,  
For all beyond, the Argive Lands extend:  
I hear their Guards upon their march to meet you,  
And leave you to their Convoy.  Aem. 
Thou good old General of a Godlike Prince,  
All health to him, and next to him, to thee.  Dion. 
I grieve to part, since you must go to Argos,  
And I am loth to have you for a Foe:  
There will be Action there, and Roman hands  
Are never Idle at a time like that.  Aem. 
Yet now I shall not draw my peaceful Sword;  
For as I'm sent Rome's Envoy, not her soldier,  
I stand exempted from the Call of War.  Dion. 
How will the joyful News transport the King,  
That though Aemylius would not side with him,  
He will not fight against him! He shall be  told,  
And his great Soul shall give a due acknowledgement  
In sparing Romans for a Roman's sake.  Aem. 
Gods! why are Kings your Images beneath,  
The liveliest Portraitures of heavenly Powers,  
Created subject to Eternal Discord?  
Why is War waged for ever on the Earth?  
Why are not less malignant Planets placed  
To guide their Actions, to preserve their Peace,  
And influence their Lives to run on smoothly  
With the same Harmony that moves your Spheres?  Dion. 
Boundless Ambition, vast desire of Empire,  
And famed for gallant Deeds performed in War,  
Still spur them forward through the dusty Field,  
While Reason all in vain would hold them back.  Aem. 
Why should our hands rebel against our hearts?  
I love a gallant Enemy in my Soul,  
And with regret encounter when I meet;  
The Breasts where virtue dwells are sacred Seats,  
Nor should they be profaned, no more than Shrines;  
No Wounds should enter there; but base Plebeians,  
Sordid, and voided of Spirits as of Sense,  
True mortal Stuff, should gorge the maw of Death.  Dion. 
O let me be secured of such a Friend,  
If my great Master has not all your Soul,  
Let the remaining part be given to me,  
And place a Loyal Subject next this Lord.  Aem. 
Sure we are allied, our Age and Hearts alike,  
And thou were't meant a Roman, but thy Stars  
At thy Nativity mistook the Soil,  
And cast thee on a too too distant climb  
Far from the Bounds of Rome.  Dion. 
My Fate has placed me,  
Where, if I had not found a Lord, like Pyrrhus,  
I would have choose a Consul to command me,  
And offered him my Service.  Aem. 
The sound of trampling Horse increases still,  
Which speaks them near; time steals away insensibly,  
And old Mens talk is tedious as their Years,  
Who after several Farewells, still talk on.  Dion. 
But now the Night urges our last adieu,  
And wakeful Birds, impatient for the Morning,  
Already do begin to call it forth  
With Notes like Trumpets sounding a Retreat:  
Short is the Souldiers Ceremony, a Hand and Heart  
Is all we give at parting.  Aem. 
And that is all  
That the most ardent Lovers have to give:  
Once more, all health to Pyrrhus, and to thee. Exit.  Enter Helenus. Hel. 
Oh! how I grudge the hated Steps I take,  
To led me farther off the dear Apartments  
That hold my Love; how eager to return.  
I burn with Fires more scorching than before,  
And heightened Charms dilate the rising flamme;  
heaven has took pains to work her to a Miracle:  
A wondrous Faith, joined with a matchless Form.  Dion. 
You are welcome, Prince:  
I thank you that you have deceived my Fears,  
And by returning thus, outrun my Hopes.  Hel. 
Oh Dion! when will the War begin?  Dion. 
Still better; in that strain you speak Success,  
A Praelude to a Paean; soon, I hope,  
And soon the Conquest follow.  Hel. 
You have seen me fighting.  Dion. 
And doubt not but to see you so again,  
With the same fortune as you have fought before.  Hel. 

I tell thee Friend, I will outdoe myself;  
My rising Soul strains to a higher Pitch  
Than e'er it reached till now; Revenge and Love,  
Fury and jealousy, and thirst of Honour,  
All rage and roll within my troubled Mind,  
And work the Tempest high:  
led me, my General, led me to the War;  
And oh! employ your interest with the King  
To hasten on the too too tedious hour.   

To me the flying Minutes seem but slow;  
E'er this I would have been amid the Foe,  
Forcing my dreadful Passage with my Sword,  
possessed of all that Conquest can afford:  
Through thickest Ranks, I would like Lightning break;  
Love and Revenge make all resistance weak.   Enter Pyrrhus and Souldiers. Pyrrh. 
See your dead Prince placed on the highest Elephant,  
That all the Army, at the dismal Object,  
May with more Fury kindle to Revenge.  
To them. Oh! Dion oh! Helenus Son and General,  
Where have you loiter'd? now our busy Fates  
Call for all Hands.  Dion. 
Mine, Royal Sir, are ready;  
And my Heart joins them, it strikes out with Vigour,  
And beats thick knocks against my aged Breast.  Pyrrh. 

Helenus, led the Van, Ten thousand Men,  
Are ordered to attend you to the On set:  
March to the Ramparts, South of Juno's Temple,  
And while our warlike Trumpets sound to Battle,  
And the great Squadrons mingle in the Wars;  
Suspend, ye Gods, the Thunder of your Skies,  
withhold your Bolts, that play with idle Rage,  
And fall with harmless Flames on Mountains tops.   

Look on more dreadful Actions done beneath,  
See our Swords strike, with more dispatch, in death.   

SONG.  

I Wretch'd in a Dark and Dismal Grove,  
A poor abandoned, hopeless Maid,  
Thinking on her departed Love,  
cried, whither does Ambition led?   

From the dear Joys that Love can yield,  
From the soft circled of my Arms  
He rushes to the fatal Field:  
Mistaken Swain, have Danger's Charms?   

Fond of a loud, yet empty Name,  
Notions of Honour you pursue;  
And fancying Happiness in famed,  
For a false Bliss forsake the true.   

Lovers, with Scorn, and Hatred cursed,  
When all their Passion failed to move,  
Found out this Tyrant Honour first,  
In pure Revenge to ruin Love.    A Battle sounded. Enter Lanassa. Lan. 

I, now it is begun; alas, my Pyrrhus!  
How my Soul shakes within me when I think  
What Dangers thy dear Life is thus exposed to!  
Ah! whither does he run? he rushes fearless  
On pointed Swords, the Arm of Death lifts at him;  
But yet he shall not perish unattended.  
If Fate ordains our fall, we'll fall together:  
Together walk through all the gloomy Arbours,  
The Grots, and Mansions of the Blessed dead;  
Together stretched over the black Banks of Lethe,  
Look down upon the Stream that glides beneath us.  
Oh! Blissful prospect of a future state,  
Delightful ecstasy in Thoughts of Death!   

Methinks, through all the vast and verdant Meads  
No Rose lies blasted, and no Myrtle fades;  
But ever bloom, where my loved Pyrrhus treads:  
Through all elysium, all the flowery Groves,  
Each ravished Ghost with wonder sees our Loves.  
pleased with the View, they point us out, and cry,  
lo! Yonder, where the happy Lovers lye!  
urged by their transport to forsake their Bowers,  
They wait on us, and all the Train is ours. Exit.   SCENE, Changes to the City of Argos, as Besieged. Enter Antigonus, Demetrius and Aristeon. Ant. 
Already Pyrrhus has begun the Storm;  
His Elephants, like huge Machines of War,  
With their Broadsides lye pressing on our Walls;  
And from the Castles planted on their Backs  
Pour forth an Army down upon the Town.  
Heard you that Shout?  Dem. 
We did; it followed something  
Loud as itself, that sounded like the burst  
Of Brazen Gates.  Enter Martius. Mart. 
All's lost; The Foes are entered;  
The Torrent rolls this way.  Ant. 
Undaunted yet;  
With Bravery, that deserves a better Fortune,  
We'll strive to change the partial face of War. Exeunt.  Manet Aristeon. Arist. 
I hope 'tis Epire's Prince has made his Entrance.  
If so, Antigone's Name will draw him here.  
Helenus from within. Antigone—  Ant. 
Hark! 'tis already answered.  
He caught it like the Echo, at distance,  
And closely follows its return himself.  Enter Helenus. Hel. 
Now, now, the wished for time at last is come,  
While public Interest draws the Swords of others,  
To end one private Quarrel by ourselves.  Arist. 
Let's not spend a Minute in our talk;  
The Hours are precious, and our Swords can pled  
Our Cause the best, and stop our Tongues for ever.  Enter Antigone. Fight. Aristeon falls. Ant. 
Methoughts I heard you, Love; but knew not well  
Whether it was the Voice of Fate, or you.  Arist. 

Oh! 'twas the Voice of Fate to me; it spoken  
The loss of Life and Love; yet in my Death  
I joy to see you with my closing Eyes,  
To take the farewell View before I go,  
And bear thy dear Idea to the Skies.  
There, as I glide along the Bowers of heaven,  
And view the celebrated Beauties there,  
But find none fair enough to move my wonder,  
No heavenly Excellence of force to Charm me,  
even there I'll think once more upon Antigone.  
[ After a Pause.] What not a word? But do not, do not speak;  
There is an Eloquence in silent pity  
Beyond Expression.  
Farewell thou dear, but cruel Fair, farewell.  
Oh! I had many wondrous Things to say,  
And wondrous Love should shine in all I said;  
But that my fleeting Soul out-flies my words,  
And leaves my Speech unfinished.  
Too happy Prince, farewell.   

Black Mists have overcast my dying Eyes,  
I cannot now dispute the Beauteous prise:  
All my last Hopes, I, with my Life, resign;  
The Conquest, both in War and Love, is thine.   Ant. 
Oh! led me Love; where I may hid myself  
From Sights of horror that affright my Soul.  
To me, the War is dreadful as the Sea  
To unexperienced Mariners; and I tremble  
At every blast that blows: heaven sand the Calm.  Hel. 
Thither, my Love, retire to yonder tower;  
These Souldiers be your Guard: Methinks my Father  
Upbraids me for my stay; I'll on to meet him,  
And help to Crown the Conquests of this Night.  Ant. 
I go; But I conjure you, Prince, to be  
More careful of yourself, and less of me.  Two Souldiers enter, and carry Arist. off. Exeunt severally. Trumpets and Kettle Drums. Enter Pyrrhus, Dion, and Souldiers. Pyrrh. 
Push on the Fight, and follow Fortune close,  
She flies before with all her Sails upon her;  
And gathering in the fullest gusts of War,  
Will quickly reach the Port.  The Scene Draws, and Discovers the Image of a Bull and Wolf Engraven in Copper, and placed at the Entrance of the Forum. Dion. 
Why stop you, Sir?  Pyrrh. 
Oh! Dion, shall I tell you? I 'm afraid.  Dion. 
Do not, Sir;  
You would not be believed although you did.  Pyrrh. 
Look on those Figures there.  Dion. 
And what of them?  Pyrrh. 
I had a Message sent me from the Gods,  
To tell me, where I met two such as these,  
There Fate should meet with me.  Dion. 
Who brought their Message?  Pyrrh. 
A God himself, one who was lately made;  
And mingling in the Councils with the rest,  
revealed this Part to me.  Dion. 
And you believe him?  Pyrrh. 
'twere impious to do otherwise; yet, my Friend,  
I cannot fear him yet.  Dion. 
Then give me leave  
To fear for you; Their-Warning has been Kind,  
And ought to be obeyed.  Pyrrh. 
Shall we then lose  
So fair a Prospect?  Dion. 
We may lose ourselves  
By venturing to obtain a nearer View:  
We seem to lean over some hanging cleft,  
O'er-looking of the Wreck that Floats below.  
Should we stretch more, beyond the Verge, we fall  
Infinite Fathoms down, and sink for ever.  Pyrrh. 
You have prevailed, the Gods shall be obeyed;  
It is no cowardice to yield to heaven:  
Some other Night shall recompense for this  
Less full of Fate. Go order the Retreat;  
I'll be the last myself.  Exit Dion. Enter Martius. Pyrrh. 
What art thou,  
That haunts me still in fight? I've seen thee thrice  
Fixing thy glaring Eyes on me alone:  
And with a Pride that scorns a smaller Conquest,  
Aim only at my Life. Thy Arms are Roman;  
If thou wouldst Kill me, do it with a Gallantry  
Worthy thy Place of Birth.  Mart. 
I am a Roman;  
I have sought thee in the thickest Ranks of Battle,  
And watched all Night to have thee myself;  
But the thronged press that still encountered you,  
( For I saw not one who dared to meet you single)  
Have held me off till now.  Pyrrh. 
I cannot think  
Thou hast received a hire to give me Death.  Mart. 
I have; My famed and Honour bribe me high,  
And thus I strive for purchase.  Pyrrh. 
Thou hast it there Fight. Martius falls.  
At a dear rate; Fate seems not near me yet,  
Spite of its menace; the Retreat begins,  
And makes our distance greater. Exit.  Shout from within. Enter Lanassa, Supported Bleeding. Lan. 
I heard the Argives shout the death of Pyrrhus,  
And rushed into the War, where to my Wish  
I met my own. Oh! hold a little Fate;  
Could I but see my Lord before I died,  
Contentedly I am thine.  Re-enter Pyrrhus, Dion, both Wounded and Supported by Helenus. Pyrrh. 
'tis done; my Fate has caught me in my Flight.  
Art thou here Love? and art thou wounded too?  
Nay, then it takes me whole.  Lan. 
It was well contrived,  
To Summon me that hour it called for you;  
Else I had come unsent for.  Pyrrh. 
So you do.  
That Death was none of thine, and heaven will wonder  
To see an unexpected guest arrive.  Lan. 
Receive, my Love, my last and sad Adieu:  
The fleeting Souls of others, when they die,  
Are breathed into the Air, and vanish there;  
But I pour mine into thy lovely Lips,  
Its wished for Lodge: Thus dying both together,  
We seem as at the Altar once again,  
Renewing Vows of Everlasting love,  
And joining hands and hearts before the Priest;  
But now we Wed more firmly than at first:  
For Hymen's Office is performed by Death.  
Death surer than our Nuptials ties us fast,  
And these are Bonds that will for ever last. Dies.  Pyrrh. 
And so they are, I shall not stay behind:  
And yet, ye Gods! 'twas strange, 'twas wondrous strange  
A Life so made of Miracles as mine;  
preserved till now at the expense of Prodigies,  
Should end at last so meanly, by a ston  
hurled by a Woman's hand; the very Thought  
Urges my Death the swifter.  Dion. 
heaven! what a sudden whirl of Fate was here?  
Just as we had hunted Fortune to the toils,  
And almost had her sure; then, then to let her  
Break the involving Net, and change the Chase,  
Pursuing those by whom she was pursued,  
Is such a Caprice that has no Excuse.  Pyrrh. 
I had forgot, how goes the Battle on?  Hel. 
As Ships in stormy Seas, their Pilot's lost,  
Drive backward with the Tide.  Pyrrh. 
But one thing more:  
Oh! Close those Bleeding Wounds that gape so wide;  
Thrust off your Death while, and live my General;  
Live to entreat the fortunate Antigonus  
To use Helenus well.  Hel. 
There needs not that;  
For I can put myself beyond his Power,  
And own no other Sire or King but you.  Pyrrh. 
By heaven you should; did not Fate differ here:  
Your Love still lives for you, mine dies with me;  
You have a Bribe sufficient for your Life,  
And I have mine for Death: Farewell, my Son.  
My Eye-balls now begin to swim in Death,  
And my Queen dances in my dizzy Sight;  
I'll seize her thus, thus make her mine for ever.  
As Merchants, that remove to foreign climbs,  
Carry their Families with them, my Love, myself,  
My good old General, to make up the Third:  
Three such as we, shall Charm the Eyes of Heaven;  
And their Discourse shall be of nought but us.  
Their Tongues shall in our Praises be employed,  
Our Loves and Wars the Theme of every God. Dies.  Dion. 

Methinks old Men do linger in their Death  
As much as in their Lives; my Blood moves slowly,  
And drop by drop falls from my withered Veins,  
Distilling like an Icicle, till at last,  
'tis quiter dissolved.   

After this Loss, life could no Joys afford;  
Death pleases best, that sends me to my Lord. Dies.   Hel. 
Farewell, Illustrious Father, virtuous Queen  
And good old Man, farewell; while here I gaze,  
My struggling Soul is doubtful which to choose;  
To live with her I love, or die with you.  
But oh! She comes, she comes to end the Strife,  
And Love for her makes me in love with Life.  Trumpets and Kettle Drums. Enter Antigonus, Demetrius, Aemylius, Antigone. Aem. 
See what a stately Pomp of Death lies here,  
And where the Princely Mourner stands; the sole  
Survivour of the royal Race of Pyrrhus,  
And almost of the War, Oh! grant, ye Gods,  
That every Son of Rome, that falls in Battle,  
May fall as brave as these.  Dem. 
Death was this Night devouring as the Deluge,  
And all the World of Epiran seems swallowed up;  
And but one Person saved.  Ant. 

I'll add another  
Again to stock their Earth. Here, gallant Prince,  
Receive this Pledge of an eternal Friendship, Gives Antigone to Helenus.  
And let your Father's Kingdoms be her Dow'r.  
See the great Pyrrhus Royally interred,  
And lay his much loved ptolemy by his Side.   

Short are the Glories that our Lives can boast,  
And our aspiring Thoughts in Death are lost.     
FINIS.   

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

Books Printed for Samuel Briscoe, Peter Buck, and Daniel Dring.  

MArriage-Hater matched.  
Richmond Heiress.  
Don Quixot; First and Second Parts.  
Very Good Wife.  
Country Wife.  
Rehearsal.  
Old Batchellour.  
Incognita: Or, Love and Duty reconciled; a Novel.  
Reflections upon Ancient and Modern Learning. By Mr. Wotton.  
Account of the controversy between the Church of England and Dissenters, Octavo.  
Brutes turned critics, Twelves.    

BOADICEA Queen of Britain.  
A TRAGEDY, As it is Acted by His Majesty's Servants AT THE THEATRE in Lincolns-Inn-fields.  
Written by Mr. Charles Hopkins.  
LONDON, Printed for Jacob Tonson, near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleet-street. 1697.   

TO Mr. Congreve.  

LET other Poets other Patrons choose,  
Get their best Price, and prostitute their Muse.  
With flattering hopes, and fruitless labour wait,  
And Court the slippery Friendship of the Great:  
Some trifling Present by my Lord is made,  
And then the Patron thinks the Poet paid.  
On you, my surer, nobler Hopes depend,  
For you are all I wish; you are a Friend.  
From you, my Muse her Inspiration drew,  
All she performs, I Consecrate to you.  
You taught me first my Genius and my Power,  
Taught me to know my own, but gave me more,  
Others may sparing their Wealth impart,  
But he gives Noblest, who bestows an Art.  
Nature, and you alone, can that confer,  
And I owe you, what you yourself owe her.  
O! Congreve, could I writ in Verse like thine,  
Then in each page., in every Charming Line,  
Should Gratitude, and Sacred Friendship shine.  
Your Lines run all on easy, even Feet;  
Clear is your Sense, and your Expression sweet.  
Rich is your Fancy, and your Numbers go  
Serene and smooth, as Crystal Waters flow.  
Smooth as a peaceful Sea, which never rolls,  
And soft, as kind, consenting Virgins Souls.  
Nor does your Verse alone our Passions move,  
Beyond the Poet, we the Person Love.  
In you, and almost only you; we find  
Sublimity of Wit, and Candour of the Mind.  
Both have their Charms, and both give that delight,  
'tis pity that you should, or should not writ;  
But your strong Genius Fortune's power defies,  
And in despite of Poetry, you rise.  
To you the Favour of the World is shown,  
Enough for any Merit, but your own.  
Your Fortune rises equal with your famed,  
The Best of Poets, but above the Name.  
O! may you never miss deserved success,  
But raise your Fortunes till I wish them less.   

Here should I, not to tyre your patience, end,  
But who can part so soon, with such a Friend  
You know my Soul, like yours; without design,  
You know me yours, and I too know you mine.  
I owe you all I am, and needs must mourn,  
My want of Power to make you some return.  
Since you gave all, do not a part refuse,  
But take this slender Offering of the Muse.  
Friendship, from servile Interest free, secures  
My Love, sincerely, and entirely, yours,   
CHARLES HOPKINS.   

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

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

Dramatis Personae.  Mrs. Barry. 
Her Daughters.  Camilla, Mrs. Bracegirdle. Venutia, Mrs. Bowman. 
A British Prince, General of their Armies.  Cassibelan, Mr. Betterton. 

ROMANS.  
Joint Generals.  Paulinus, M. Kyn●ston. Decius. Mr. Hudson. 
Favourite to Paulinus.  Fabian, Mr. Freeman. 
Favourite to Decius.  Caska, Mr. Sanford   

BOADICEA Queen of Britain.  

ACT I.  

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

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

ACT III.  

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

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

SONG.  1 Druid. 
PRepare our Altar, make it clean  
With Blood of Oxen newly slain.  
Burn our Incense, place it high,  
And let the grateful Perfumes fly  
In curling smoke, and cloud the sky.  2 Druid. 
Throw now the struggling Victim on,  
Press, press him hard, and keep him down:  
Pierce his Sides deep, and let them pour  
Into your Golden Bowls their Gore,  
till they can shed● can bleed no more.  1 Druid. 
No● all kneel with me, kneel around,  
With Adoration kiss the Ground.  
Pray that the Gods at last would bless  
Our British Armies with success,  
And all our cruel Wrongs redress.  2 Druid. 
See, see auspicious Flashes rise,  
Met with like Flashes from the Skies, ( It Lightens)  
We offered in a lucky Hour,  
The thirsty Flames drink up the Gore,  
And now the Victim is no more.  Chorus of both. 
Hark, hark, hark, hark, the Battle is begun,  
Now, now the Victors shout, the Fight is done,  
The Gods are pleased, and Conquest is our own.  At the end of the Song an Eagle flies into the Temple, and flutters a while about the flamme of the Sacrifice; at last falls in, and is burnt.  Bo. 
I thank you, Gods! for this auspicious Sign;  
So perish all our Foes: Oh! Powers Divine,  
If Royal Knees bowed at your sacred Shrine.  
If a crowned Head, wracked with unusual Cares  
Can move your Pity; if a Monarch's prayers  
Can pierce the Roof of Heaven, and reach your Ears;  
If we are Types of you, not placed for Show,  
But truly your Vicegerents here below;  
No longer see yourselves, ye Sacred Powers,  
abused in us; your Strength despised in ours.  
Show that Revenge to Heaven alone belongs;  
Do Justice to yourselves, and right our Wrongs.  Cam. 
If, dreadful Gods! a ravished Virgin's Cries  
Have ever raised Compassion in your Skies;  
If injured Honour, and unhappy Love,  
Are the concerns of any Power above;  
Oh! now look down, behold a rifled Maid,  
Thus prostrate on your sacred Pavement laid,  
Thus grovelling on the Ground, implore your Aid.  
See in my Tears my trembling Eye-Balls roll,  
And mark the sad Confusion of my Soul.  
See what a Wretch lies here, how full of Woe,  
My Miseries your Omniscience needs must know,  
And Justice punish him who made me so.  
Now shower your Vengeance on the Villain's Head,  
And with some dreadful Judgments dash him dead.  Ven. 
If streaming Tears from Virgin's Eye-Lids rained  
untouched by Villain's Hands, in Thought unstained;  
If such can make your stubborn Pity bow,  
And melt you to Compassion, show it now.  Trumpets sound. Enter Cassibelan and Soldiers; Decius Prisoner. The Queen and her Daughters rise. Cass. 
'tis done; Heaven has at last its Justice shown,  
And Victory and Vengeance are our own.  
Our Fortunes equal with our Wishes rise,  
And Blessings fall profusely from the Skies.  
Never could Britain Nobler Conquest boast; Pointing to Decius.  
But this, this Captive Monster swells it most.  
Ha! Gods what ails my Love? hast, hast and save Camilla swoons.  
Her Life, or you take back whate'er you gave.  Bo. 
Away, my Soldiers, fly,  
And quickly make our wretched Prisoners die.  
This Moment let a Thousand Slaves expire;  
Tear them with Racks, ply them with Sword and Fire;  
sand them to Fiends beneath, and let them tell,  
There comes a greater Fiend than all in Hell.  
How fares my loved Camilla?  Cass. 
Look, my Dear,  
See your Cassibelan secures you here.  
Wipe these faint Drops from your fair lovely Brow,  
recall your fleeting Soul for Vengeance now.  
Look up; the Triumphs of our Justice see;  
Die not with him, but stay and live with me.  The Scene draws, and discovers several Prisoners put to death by several sorts of Tortures. 
Behold, thou barbarous Wretch, those horrid Scenes, To Dec.  
View theirs, and dread thy own approaching Pains.  
The Torments they endured were small and poor  
To those which thou art destined to endure.  
Sharp were their Deaths, but short, and quickly past,  
Thine shall for Hours, and Days, and Ages last.  
Then shall ten thousand Curses sand thy Soul,  
Where Fiends in boiling Lakes of Sulphur roll,  
And Furies in Eternal Tortures howl.  Dec. 
Talk not; but sand me to the threatened Death,  
Life is not worth the waste of Roman Breath.  
Go, and prepare the Rack, the Sword, the flamme,  
With all the Cruelty Revenge can frame.  
Consult your bloodiest Ministers of Rage,  
And search the Records of the bloodiest Age.  
To make it crueller than Man can do,  
Consult exasperated Woman too.  
Such shall my Courage in my sufferings be,  
My Patience such, you shall astonished see  
How unconcerned a Roman Soldier dares,  
Embrace his Fate whatever Form it wears. Is lead off.  Bo. 
Here let the Triumphs of our Isle begin,  
This happy Day makes me once more a Queen.  
Our Vengeance sure, and Victory complete;  
What greater Blessings could we beg from Fate?  
Now, on our Foes, just heaven begins to frown,  
Thy Wrongs, Camilla, bring their Vengeance down.  
For ever, shall the Day by them be cursed  
When with rash Hands thy Chastity was forced.  
From us the Anger of the Gods is fled,  
Thou turnest it all on their devoted Head.  
Now, let the Joys of of Britain know no bound,  
But all our Hills, and shores, and Seas resound,  
And Winds upon their Wings, waft the glad Tidings round.  
jo! Britannia, be the general Cry,  
jo! Britannia, echo to the Sky. Exeunt.  Manet Venutia sola. Ven. 
In what a maze of Fate, poor Mortals tread?  
Blind Wretches, by as blind a Fortune lead.  
What have we suffered from malignant Powers?  
And how deplorable a State is ours?  
Some down of Comfort shines thro' all this Ill,  
To find my Dear Paulinus faithful still,  
Much from his Colleague's Guilt, my Sister bore;  
But had the Guilt been his; I'd suffered more. Exit.  
The End of the Fourth Act.   

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

TO Edward cook, of Norfolk Esq.  
SIR,  
THe greatest, and indeed almost the only advantage, a Poet reaps from what He writes, is the opportunities he meets with of making himself known to the best, and greatest men of his Age. A Play is first made public in the Theatre; and when it comes to the Press, if any one has spoken kindly, and favourable of it, in the Representation, the Poet chooses him for his Patron; He having before( according to the Authors Construction) chosen him for his Poet. The distance I am at from the City, and even from the Kingdom too, will keep me Ignorant for some time, what success this Play( which I Humbly offer to your Patronage) may meet with. If the Town is pleased with it, I shall be pleased with myself for pleasing them; if they condemn it, I shall be apt to conclude so many in the right, rather than my single self. You saw it in Manuscript, and I have this early and auspicious Advantage, that You approve of it. Boadicea pleased them, and I received a very great additional satisfaction, when I understood how particularly it pleased You. I will not go to compare that Play, and this together, nor follow the custom, of reckoning the last performance best; and showing the greatest fondness of the Youngest Brat. The rhyme was the only thing that recommended that; and for ought I know, the only thing too, that can recommend this. I could wish for something distinguishing in it, because it is sacred to you, and I should desire to be known to you at advantage. If the pains in writing will endear it to you, it cost me much more than the former. It has some sort of design besides( such as it is) but I was never very guilty of Plotting. I can hardly keep the Characters in my Play, from being as honest, and sincere, as I would be myself in a Dedication. A vicious Character disturbs me while I draw it, and it grates me to delineate a Villain. 'tis certain no Poet can excite any Passion in another, if he does not feel it first in himself. Who then will choose to describe discontent, envy, or revenge, when they may have such fair Fields as Honour and virtue, to range in; all there is bright before them, and the Flight the Muse takes thence, is Heavenwards? Such Characters, artfully, and justly drawn, will excite the good and great to be Patrons; and such Patrons as You( Sir) will soon teach Poets to draw such Characters. You are endowed with all the Blessings of Nature and Fortune, and you are as Liberal of the gifts of the latter to others, as she has been to You. So great is your Estate, it would be unwieldy to have it more; and such good use is made of it, that envy does not wish it less. It is not consumed in vain, and superfluous Equipage; but laid out in maintaining the old, open English hospitality. Desert, in want, is supplied; and honesty in distress, is succoured and sustained; great without Titles, and good above greatness; rich, rather to others than yourself; and seeming only as your own Steward. Your inclinations, and endeavours are the general good of mankind; and none ever went from you dissatisfyed; delighted in obliging others, and pleased to see them pleased with your Bounty. Wishing the welfare of all men, and speaking well of all men, is a sure way to meet with an universal return of good will and good wishes. He doubly enjoys his Fortune, who has it wished double, by all that know him.  
Among the Prayers of others accept of the prasies of the Poet; humbly and hearty, tho' feebly offered. I now begin to experience, how much the Mind may be influenced by the Body. My Muse is confined, at present, to a weak and sickly tenement; and the Winter Season will go near to overhear her, together with her household. There are Storms, and Tempests to beat her down, or Frosts to bind her up, and kill her; and she has no Friend on her side but Youth to bear her thro'; if that can sustain the attack, and hold out, till Spring comes to relieve me, one use I shall make of farther life, shall be to show how much, I am,  
SIR, Your most devoted, humble Servant CHARLES HOPKINS. Londonderry, Nov. 1st. 99.   

PROLOGUE.  
LOng has our Author beat his addled Brains  
To purchase famed, but can't find Ways, and Means.  
They talk of famed, but 'tis the thought of many,  
They never regarded that, nor writ for any,  
But wholly plodded how to turn the Penny.  
That is the Plot, which every Poet lays;  
Thither drives all their aim, and now adays,  
Faith, 'tis the only Plot you'l find in Plays.  
Yet when poor Author is in greatest need,  
Seldom, ah! seldom does his Plot succeed.  
His way would be in this unlucky Age,  
Not to writ for, but writ against the Stage.  
The moneyed men would then his Cause defend:  
City Security's a special Friend.  
They'd fit you out, for Ceylon, or Japan,  
Teach you to Trade, and set you up a man;  
Make you grow Rich;— that's if a Poet can.  
What City-like Estates, might one procure at  
Those Golden Ports, or of Bengale, or Surat?  
None of our Tribe, e'er made the Voyage yet,  
As none of theirs Trades with our House for wit.  
If they were Fools enough to make the barter,  
How well might they deserve to lose their Charter?  
But Poets with the love of Courts are cursed,  
Which leave them Poets, as they found them first:  
Thought wholly for the smallest trust unfit,  
And reckoned useless, for their very Wit:  
Whose only Wages is their homely board,  
What Shares, the Back-Stair Pages can afford,  
Or, when Fate smiles, a dinner with a Lord.  
The mask of madness has been often tried,  
Deep Projects of desiging heads to hid,  
Who, as time served, still threw their mask aside.  
Why is there of designing madness mention?  
Poets have still run mad thro' no intention.  
'Twixt Wake, and Sleep, they live supine in slumber,  
On all occasions, laid aside as Lumber;  
No Money left,— but Lines exceeding number.   

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

Dramatis Personae.  Mr. Betterton. Mr. Verbruggen. Mr. Arnold. 
WOMEN.  Mrs. Barry. Mrs. Moore. Mrs. Bracegirdle. Mrs. Porter. 
Soldiers, Men, and Women, Attendants.  
SCENE Sicily.   

Friendship improved: OR, THE Female warrior.  

ACT I.  

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

ACT II.  

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

ACT III.  

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

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

ACT V.  

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