The Briton: A tragedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane by His Majesty's servants. By Mr. Philips.

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- BOOKS Printed for Bernard Lintot.

- [titlepage]

- To the Right Honourable the COUNTESS COWPER.

- PROLOGUE.

- EPILOGUE.

- The Persons of the Play.

- ERRATA.

- 1

- ACT I. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE. V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- 2

- ACT II. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- SCENE IX.

- 3

- ACT III. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- SCENE IX.

- 4

- ACT IV. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- 5

- ACT V. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- SCENE IX.

- SCENE X.

- SCENE XI.

- SCENE XII.

THE BRITON.

FINIS.

THE BRITON.

A TRAGEDY.

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THE BRITON. A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in Drury-lane BY His MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.

By Mr. PHILIPS.

LONDON: Printed for B. LINTOT between the Temp•• Gates in Fleet-street. MDCCXXII.

To the Right Honourable the COUNTESS COWPER.

WHILE my Lord Cowper's Thoughts are intent, (as they have been, many Years) on the Good of his Countrey; I know Your Ladyship delights in Reading; as often as the Care of Your Family, and the Ceremonies of Life, allow You Leisure for an Amusement, too Elegant to become Fashionable. The Two young Ladies, likewise, emulating the Accomplishments of their Mother, are sensible of the Advantages, arising from the early Use of Books; which give such a Bloom to the Mind, as the Prime of Beauty discloses in the Features. Had I, therefore, been able to make this Tragedy (which, I humbly request, may appear under Your Ladyship's Protection) as Compleat, as it is Innocent; It might have proved a lasting Testimony of my sincerest Acknowledgments for such Obligations, as I can never forget, nor disown.

I have had the Honour, though I live concealed in the utmost Privacy of Life, long to enjoy Your Ladyship's Favour. If You are pleased to pardon this publick Declaration of my Gratitude; what has been the secret Boast of my Heart, will, henceforward, turn to my greatest Reputation.

I am, With the greatest Respect, MADAM, Your LADYSHIP'S most Obliged, most Humble, and most Obedient Servant, Ambr. Philips.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. WILKS.

VErtues, and Vices, are to Realms confin'd:

And, Climates give a Tincture to the Mind.

Still This, or That, Peculiar Inclination

Remains, Unalter'd;—and denotes a Nation.

Thus Rivers flow; thus Mountains, ever, stand;

The Marks, through every Age, of every Land.

Britons, you'll see, when Vanoc comes before yee,

The Love of Freedom is your ancient Glory.

The Romans, first, this Native Vertue broke;

Made us Polite;—and bow'd us to the Yoke.

The Saxons, then, Unpolish'd,—greatly Rude,

Strangers to Luxury,—and Servitude,

Reviv'd the British Manliness of Soul,

That spurns at Tyranny, nor brookes Controul.

In Time, another Set of Romans came;

And brought worse Slavery:—Though they chang'd the Name:

Tamed us with Luxuries of a different Kind;

And made plain Truth distasteful to the Mind.

By Nassaw's Aid, at last, we drive Them, hence;

And, once again, return to common Sense.

In Britain, ever may It keep Possession!

Establish'd, by the Protestant Succession.

Blest in a Prince, whose high-traced Lineage springs

From the famed Race of our Old Saxon Kings;

Our Zeal for Liberty we, safely, own:—

He makes it the firm Basis of his Throne.

Remember, then, the Dangers, you have past:—

And, let your Earliest Virtue—be your Last.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. YOUNGER.

WHAT Tragick Bustle in this British Play!—

But,—I am told, 'tis writ the ancient Way.

Nay;—That it is not Modern, is plain Fact:—

There's not one Simile,—to close an Act.

But, let me see:—What other Art is wanting?—

In Tragedy, there ought to be some Ranting:

Something, so Exquisite;—so very Good;—

It cannot, possibly, be understood!

But, Gwendolen's hard Fate I censure, most.—

The blooming Princess,—Fair,—as any Toast;

Captive to Valens; Yvor's promis'd Bride;

Between Two, bashful Knights,—a Virgin died.

Three Hours, unblest,—with an Italian, pass'd!

No warbling Lover could have been more chaste.—

Our keener Sportsmen would have seiz'd the Quarry:—

But, thus it is,—when Men design—to marry.

Still harder Fate!—If Druid-Songs be true,

She must,—for ever!—Her first Flame renew.

Such monst'rous Constancy let Heathen Schools

Injoin:—We, Christian Maids, are no such Fools.

One Month,—at most,—we can a Husband bear:—

There's not Two Honey-Moons, in any Year.

Then; what a Brute is Vanoc!—What a Pother!—

How could she help it, if—she lov'd another?

Poor Cartismand!—There's not a Man,—now living,

But would have seem'd, at least, far more forgiving.

What?—Not connive at One?—or Two?—or Three?—

Well!—Britain never, till of late, was Free!

How would his British Blood be set a madding,

Had he, in Masquerades beheld her, gadding!

But, why does Vellocad not, once, appear?

He was a pretty Fellow!—you may swear!

And, what though Vanoc says, He could not fight?

Is that the Way to do a Lady, Right?

Since those rude Times, Husbands are more discreet;

And know their Cue, to wink at—what is meet.

Then, take us as we are.—'Tis no great Matter:—

For Women will be frail, while Men can flatter.

The Persons of the Play.

MEN.

- Didius, the Roman General, Mr. Thurmond.

- Valens, a Roman Tribune, Mr. Mills.

- Vanoc, Prince of the Cornavians, Husband to Cartismand, Mr. Booth.

- Yvor, Prince of the Silurians, betrothed to Gwendolen, Mr. Wilks.

- Idwall, an Officer under Cartismand, Mr. W. Mills.

- Alan, chief Officer under Yvor, Mr. Williams.

- Ebranc, an old Officer, under Vanoc, Mr. Bowman.

- A Messenger, Mr. Roberts.

WOMEN.

- Cartismand, Queen of the Brigantians, Mrs. Porter.

- Gwendolen, Daughter to Vanoc, by his first Wife, Mrs. Booth.

Guards, Attendants, &c.

SCENE part in the Roman Camp, part in Vanoc's Palace.

ERRATA.

PAge 12. line 4. for By read My. p. 40. l. 2. for Defense, read Defence p. 48. l. 13. for But, read Bia.

ACT I. SCENE I.

SCENE, the Pavilion of the General, in the Roman Camp.

Valens and Didius.

VALENS.

HOW, Didius, shall a Roman, sore repuls'd,

Greet your Arrival to this distant Isle?

How bid you Welcome to these shatter'd Legions?

Did.

Scarce had I scaped the Perils of the Deep,

Thrown, by a Tempest, on the Rocky Coast;

Ere the unwelcome News of your Defeat

Had reach'd my Ears.—But, Valens, bear a Heart!

Remember still, the Roman Vertue scorns

A cheap Renown; a Triumph, without Toil.

Val.

Such easy Purchase, here, you shall not find.

The brave Ostorius, our late General,

In War experienced; to Fatigues inur'd;

Impair'd by Wounds, and the slow waste of Years;

Despairing to subdue these hardy Britons,

Died with his Laurels blasted on his Brow.

Did.

No sooner was his Death to Rome convey'd,

Than I petition'd to command in Britain.

Claudius approv'd my Zeal; and bade me speed

To tame Barbarians, and assert his Empire.

Val.

May Jove, the Guardian of the Capitol,

He, the great Stayer of our Troops in Rout,

Fulfill your Hopes, and animate the Cohorts!

Did.

At Rome, indeed, the Britons are allow'd

To dare in War;—perhaps, even more than Romans:

And Caradoc, their captive Chief, was prais'd,

As a rough Warriour, of undaunted Boldness.

Val.

Oh, Didius, had you prov'd their martial Rage;

The desperate Fury of their wild Assault!—

Not Scythians, not fierce Dacians, onward rush

With half the Speed:—Nor, half so swift retreat.

In Chariots, fang'd with Scythes, they scour the Field;

Drive through our wedged Batalions with a Whirl;

And strew a dreadful Harvest on the Plain.

Did.

But, Conduct overcomes the forward Foe:

And Fabius, under Disappointments patient,

Taught Romans, first, to conquer by Delay.

Now, to the Business, Valens:—Since, from you,

As foremost Tribune of the Soldiers here,

Do I, your General, expect my Knowledge.

Instruct me; whence this Uproar, through the Land:

And, wherefore Vanoc, the sworn Friend to Rome,

(For, so our Emperour esteem'd this Prince)

Why he should spurn against our Rule; and stir

The Tributary Provinces to War.

Val.

You must have heard of Cartismand.—

Did.

You mean,

The wealthy Queen;—our powerful Allie,

Who gave up Caradoc?

Val.

A Female Warriour:

Queen of the Brigantians.—Her did Vanoc,

Prince of the Cornavians, wed—A Contract,

More in Ambition founded, than in Love.

While this Alliance held, we stood secure.

But, Cartismand, miss-led by fond Desire,

Provokes a Husband, jealous of his Honour.

Unable, longer, to conceal her Flame,

And fearing Vengeance, gathering to a Storm;

She crowns her Lover: Takes him to her Bed,

By solemn Nuptials: And, defying Vanoc,

Attempts, by War, to vindicate her Choice.

Did.

But, how are We concern'd in this Debate?

This private Jar?

Val.

I hasten to the Point.

One Battle—(Yes;—a Skirmish, more, there was)

With adverse Fortune fought, by Cartismand;

Her Subjects, most, revolt:—Distress'd; pursued;

She begs Protection from the Roman Arms:

And vows perpetual Homage, for the Service.

Ostorius interposed—No Terms of Peace

Would satisfy the Conquerour.—Then we,

To balance Vanoc's Power, receive the Queen;

And aid her to sustain unequal War.

Did.

And can we not intreat this angry Prince?

Val.

Oh, that you might!—yet, old Ostorius fail'd.

Did.

By Promises, suspend his Rage, a while?

Val.

What Offers would he not reject, from Romans!

Did you but know him;—(I have known him long)

You would not wish to count this Man a Foe!—

In Friendship, and in Hatred, obstinate;

Provok'd with Ease; as hard to reconcile:

In Justice rigid; in Resentment warm;

Punctual, alike, to punish, or reward:

A wilful, hasty;—But, a gallant Briton!

Did.

Such Hannibal appear'd:—Yet Hannibal

Was overthrown:—Impatient Hannibal!

But, Tribune, who approaches our Pavilion?—

Behold, a Glare of Light shines through the Dusk.

This way it moves.

Val.

The British Queen.—

Did.

Our Part

It was, in Courtesy to be the foremost.

The best Amends will be, that I receive

This Interview in private.—Valens; anon

We must have farther Talk.

SCENE II.

Didius, Cartismand.

Did.

Madam, I blush,

That you should, thus, anticipate my Purpose.

Cart.

Alas, a Woman, overborn by Wrongs,

A Queen, reduced to supplicate Relief,

Lays all the Pride of Majesty aside;

Humbles her Thoughts; and stoops to her Condition.

Did.

But Greatness, in Distress, claims most Respect;

An awful Pity, in a Roman Breast.

Cart.

If royal Lineage; if distinguish'd Blood,

Down from an ancient Race of potent Kings;

Now treasur'd in my Veins:—Now boiling high

With Injuries;—with Outrages!—that burn,

That set the very suffering Soul on Fire!—

Oh, General!—Excuse this Burst of Tears.

Did.

Princess, asswage this Vehemence of Anguish—

I come, ambitious to support your Cause.

Cart.

My Cause!—It is the Cause of Rome!—should

That unforgiving Vanoc! once prevail;

[Vanoc,

The Roman Name is lost.—This bold Attempt

Shakes the Foundations of your Master's Empire.

If Britons, with Impunity, rebell;

Will other Nations not renounce his Sway?

What Leagues will not be form'd!—If his Allies

Are known to suffer;—(as it will be known)—

His most avow'd Allies!—What suppliant Prince

Shall sue to Claudius for a vain Protection?

Who dread his Enmity?

Did.

Dismiss your Fears.

Rome will uphold her Friends.—In such a Cause,

She neither counts her Blood, or Treasure, lavish'd.

Not to recal in other Lands Exploits,

That signalize our Faith:—Your Ancestor

(I think, his Name was Mandubrace) who fled

To Gaul, imploring Aid from Caesar,

Was to his Realm, by Caesar's Arms, restor'd;

When, last, he enterpriz'd on this new World.

Cart.

Still may you prove the Terror of your Foes;

The Bulwark of your firm Allies: And, still▪

Teach Traitors to repent of faithless Leagues.

My Faith you cannot doubt:—Witness Caradoc.—

Oh that, like him, proud Vanoc were my Spoil!

To give to Claudius, yet, one Triumph more.

A Tributary Crown with him I love,

With Vellocad, who best deserves my Love,

Is all I ask, to recompence my Faith.

He is my Lord:—The chosen of my Heart!

The Man, who sympathiz'd in all my Sufferings;

The Man, who brav'd the Tyrant's jealous Rage;

Who eas'd me of a Yoke, too rude to bear!—

With him I vow'd to live;—with him to die.

This, Didius, is the whole of my Ambition.

Did.

Your Injuries had you, a while, dissembled,—

Cart.

That is an Art, we Britons are to learn.

Divided from those Climes where Art prevails;

Undisciplin'd by Precepts of the Wise;

Our inborn Passions will not brook Controul.

We follow Nature, in her strong Desires;

Our Joys, our Griefs, our Pleasures, and our Pains,

Alike sincere, admit of no Disguise.

Our Words declare, our very Looks betray,

The Feelings of the Soul; the Workings of the Heart:

Still happy, or still wretched, in Excess.

Did.

We Romans should prefer the Golden Mean:

And choose to steer, through Life, with gentle Gales.

Cart.

We, too, would choose; did Nature give us Choice!—

But, Sir, I should inform you; now our Hopes,

From their low Ebb, begin to rise.—Your Presence

(Not granted, yet, untimely) will inspire

New Courage; and retrieve what Valens lost.

Already do the Soldiers, in your Name,

From Tent to Tent, each animate his Fellow;

And promise Vengeance to the hoary Shade

Of brave Ostorius.

Did.

Just to his Renown,

The Senate had decreed (not so, the Gods!)

To cheer his Age; to sooth his long Fatigues,

And close his restless Warfare, in a Triumph.

Cart.

His Memory now, committed to your Care,

Be greatly Pious to the Worthy dead!—

Nor shall you want Assistance.

Did.

Generous Queen;

His Ashes be my Trust. In a strange Land

His Manes shall not wander, unappeas'd.

Cart.

Too long, already, Vengeance is delay'd.—

Oh, give the Spirit of Ostorius Rest!—

The Spoils of Vanoc, he demands,—from you:—

Vanoc, alone, can furnish out his Trophy!

Vanoc, whose Breach of Faith, and foul Rebellion,

Opprest the Aged with a Weight of Sorrow.

Did.

So, all yee Powers, propitious prove to me,

As I avenge this much dishonour'd Shade!

Cart.

Soon shall you stand acquitted of your Vow.

This Night;—This instant Hour, my Vellocad

(To whom your Emperour's Glory is most dear)

Comes with Auxiliaries:—Hence, far Northward:

A swarm of Caledonians; huge-limb'd Warriours;

Who wield, with sinewy Arm, a deadly Sword,

And fight, secure, behind the seven-fold Target.

Did.

But, how may Vellocad conceal their March?

Or, need we send out Forces to protect them?

Cart.

This woody Forest, that divides the Camps,

A Length of Shelter, covers their Approach.

Mean time, the vain Usurper, in my Palace,

Prepares his Daughter's Nuptials: nor suspects

These distant Aids.—But, Didius, we shall call

The Bridegroom forth,—before the appointed Hour!

Did.

And pacify the slaughter'd Sons of Rome!

Cart.

And blot the Name of Vanoc out of Life!

His Brother died my Prisoner!—Nor shall Himself,

Nor shall his Gwendolen,—his Daughter dear!

Survive, to lengthen out his hated Race,

And nurse a Brood of Traitors in my Realms.

But see where Idwall speeds:—A trusty Soldier;

A loyal Subject;—not unknown to Valens▪

SCENE III.

Didius, Cartismand, Idwall.

Id.

Madam, the bidden Guests are come.—They wait

Impatient to salute their General.

Cart.

Your Captains, Sir.—Within my humble Tent

They wait.—The good Ostorius often deigned

To grace my slender Table with his Presence.

There shall you find your Friends; with truest Welcome

To such coarse Fare, as this rude Land affords.

Did.

Still, Princess, you out-go my Courtesy.

Cart.

Ere half the Night shall waste, my absent Lord Will bid you Welcome.

Did.

I should speak to Valens.

Cart.

Idwall; do you expect him, here.—He, too,

Must be our Guest.—Intreat him not to fail.

Did.

By the Result of what your Queen imparts,

I shall have Orders for him;—of Importance.

Let him not fail me, Idwall.

Cart.

Let him bring▪

The Map, Ostorius traced.—It shews his Marches;

His several Camps; and Posture of the Island.

Did.

A Care well worthy of a Roman Soldier.—

Now, Madam, I attend you.

Cart.

This Way, Sir.

Behold, the Moon shines on the pearly Dews;

And, through the Night, directs the advancing Troops.

SCENE IV.

Idwall.

Prompted at once by Vengeance and by Love,

What will not Woman dare?—O Cartismand!

Adventurous Princess!—Boldness be thy Praise;

Thy Refuge, now: Thy Title to the Crown!—

No cool Advice; no Caution will avail:

Rashness is Prudence in a desperate Cause!—

The Sword, alone, can justify thy Passion.

If, in good Plight, these Northern Kerns arrive,

Then, Vellocad, does Fortune promise fair;

And give at least, one trying Battle more.

This is the utmost Effort of thy Queen;

Her last surviving Hope—If we succeed!—

And yet; while this high-mettled Vanoc lives,

The Romans never shall have Peace in Britain;

Nor Cartismand be rescued from Alarms.

SCENE. V.

Idwall, Valens.

Id.

Valens, you come in Time.

Val.

In search of you,

Have I employ'd my Absence.

Id.

The General

Is the Queen's Guest:—Nor are you un-invited.

I was enjoin'd to wait, and bring you to them.

They want—a Map—

Val.

The Draught Ostorius made?

Id.

The same.

Val.

This very Parchment Roll:—Whereby

I meant to point the Countrey out.

Id.

You hear,

The Caledonian Succours are at Hand?

Val.

Within some Furlongs of the Forest's Shelter.

Id.

Your new Commander need not pine for Action.

Before to Morrow's Sun shall gain the Pitch

Of Noon, we may controul the Pride of Vanoc;

Restore the Queen; retrieve your late Defeat;

And turn their purpos'd Revels into Mourning.

Then, Valens, shall fair Gwendolen be thine;

Thy Captive Prize; the Servant of thy Will:

And satisfy the Longings of thy Soul!

Val.

Thou, Idwall, dost not know, how Valens loves:

Nor feel the Power of such excelling Beauty!—

I would not triumph over Gwendolen:

Nor make her mine, against her free Consent.

There was a Time, before her injur'd Sire

Declar'd perpetual Enmity to Rome;

A Time there was!—when Valens lov'd in Hope.

But, tho' my Hopes are fled,—my Love remains.

No, Idwall; no!—The Princess must be happy:

Or, I be doubly wretched, in her Sufferings.

Id.

But I would urge, the Mischiefs, to ensue,

Should this Alliance be confirm'd by Marriage.

Consider, Valens,—

Val.

I foresee the Ruin.

I know, that Yvor, the Silurian Prince,

Who weds,—who merits,—But, I merit too!—

If Services, if Faith, if Love can merit:—

A Love so pure! Debas'd by no Alloy:

A Passion, that pursues no other Bliss,

Save the Felicity of Her, I love—

Only, I wish, fair Gwendolen might find

(Oh Heavens!) that fond Felicity in me!

She is my Claim.—Her Father's Promises

Have made her mine: Nor have I forfeited,

Nor will I ever forfeit Gwendolen.

A Friend accounted long, I felt her Charms,

When Yvor was a Stranger to her Thoughts:

When Vanoc had not, yet, espous'd your Queen;

And she, then Heiress to no large Dominion,

Might not disdain to wed a Roman Tribune.

Id.

Still, I remind you of the growing Power,

That threatens us; that threatens you, in Yvor.

Val.

I know, he rules an untam'd, Mountain Race;

A Nation walled, on every Side, with Rocks:

A fiery People; desperate Foes to Rome;

Whom Dangers only kindle into Rage.

I know this strict Alliance, sought by Vanoc,

Unites three bordering Nations in his Cause.

Id.

The Brigants, the Cornavians, the Silurians!

Nor will the Trinobants, your old Allies,

Your Tributaries, be enabled, long,

To stand against this formidable Union.

Vain is your Triumph over Caradoc;

If this Cornavian, a more vengeful Foe,

Surpasses him in Power, as much as Will.

Val.

Now, Didius governs here, to him belongs

The Conduct of the War.—Let him command,

And I obey.—This, Idwall, is my Duty.

And yet, I grieve at this untoward Quarrel:

For Rome, and for my self, I grieve:—And wish,

We had, at least, a fairer Shew of Justice.

Id.

An idle Wish! Princes and States, you know,

Approve their Actions by Success.—Nor you,

Nor we have other Hope.—The Contest, Valens,

Is now, not who shall reign; but, who shall live:

And whether (if the Queen be overthrown)

The Romans shall be mark'd for Slaves in Britain;

Or perish, by the Druids Hands, in Flames,

And give their Entrails to the searching Knife.

A Message, from the Queen.

SCENE VI.

Idwall, Valens, a Messenger.

Id.

We come, Centurion.—

Val.

He bears some earnest Purpose in his Looks.

Mess.

The Queen is apprehensive for the Succours.

A Scout informs her, that the Enemy

Prepare an Ambush.—A Body, far advanced,

Marches, in Silence, close behind the Wood.—

He takes them for Silurians;—Yvor's Men.

Id.

We come, this Instant.

SCENE VII.

Idwall, Valens.

Id.

This restless Vigilance,

This active Soul of Vanoc, will undo us!

Val.

Come, Idwall!—Now my Heart revives▪ And, I

Take Courage from Despair.—If Yvor leads

This Enterprize; Then, Didius, send Me forth,

To meet my Rival.—Ere the Dawn appears,

Or He, or I may fall.

Id.

Now is your Time,

To save the Romans, and to win the Fair.

Should you succeed!—Tho' Gwendolen, a while,

May grieve:—Yet Womens Grief is transient;

And they soon learn to love the Fortunate.

Val.

O Venus, Parent of the Roman Line;

Delight of Gods; the Luxury of Men!

Attend my Vow.—As in the Cyprian Isle,

In Britain will I make thy Worship known.

Accept my Piety to raise thy Shrine;—

And, in return, let Gwendolen be mine!

End of the first Act.

ACT II. SCENE I.

SCENE, A Hall in the Palace of Vanoc.

Vanoc alone.

ABove the Mountain Tops, the ruddy Sun

Breaks through the Mists; and dims the Moon.—

Ere now,

Has Yvor try'd these Northern Blades.—And yet,

By busy Thought is doubtful of the Event.

His Life would be too dear a Price for Conquest:

Since my lov'd Daughter, Darling of my Soul!

Will claim that Life.—Oh, Gwendolen, my Child;

My only Comfort; thy fond Mother's Pledge;

For Thee, for Yvor, is thy Father anxious!

Ye Guardian Powers!—And, chiefly, O Adraste;

Virgin Goddess!—Thou Renown of Britain;

With Spear and Helmet, terrible in War!

Grant me this Victory:—And, here, I vow,

Before the Day, scarce yet begun, shall close,

To floud thy Temple-Court with Roman Blood.

What hasty Steps?—

SCENE II.

Vanoc, Alan.

Van.

Alan, where is your Prince?

Alan.

He lives!—

Van.

The Caledonians?—Say, Silurian.

Alan.

May every Day, to Vanoc, prove like this!

Van.

Are they defeated, then?

Alan.

He bade me fly,

To bear the Victory:—While I (said he)

Pursue the Rout; the Gleanings of the Battle.

Van.

Thanks to our Gods!—But, how?—Inform me, Alan.

Alan.

The Noon of Night was past, before we reach'd

Our Place of Ambush.—Where the Forest ends,

We range, in Covert.—When, anon, the Foe

Came, dreadless, o'er the level Swart, that lies

Between the Wood and the swift-streaming Ouse.

The Signal given, we rush, in three Divisions;

Lancing a Storm of Spears:—The Van, the Rear,

Attack; while Yvor rages on the Center.

Our Onset fierce; the Conflict was not long,

Ere the disorder'd Hoast gave Ground.—Onward

We press; and urge them to the Margin of the Flood.

This Peril forced them to resist, a while:—

Still, on we press; and, here, renew the Carnage,

So great! that, in the Stream, the Moon shew'd Purple.

Some drown; more perish by the Sword. The rest,

A flying Remnant, Yvor will account for.

Van.

Now, vile Adulteress!—Now, ye base Upholders,

Hard'ned Approvers, of a Woman's Shame!—

Where, now, your impious Hopes?—What Refuge, now,

From our just Vengeance?—From the Wrath of Heaven?

Have I not sworn Destruction on your Heads?

And should my Heart relent;—no;—if I do;

Then Vanoc is the Abettor of your Crimes!—

Alan;—thy Master is a worthy Prince!—

He hates these Romans.—An intire Defeat;

You say?—A Slaughter?—

Should this Didius dare;

This new Commander; sent to awe our People;

Once dare to draw a Sword for Cartismand,

And interfere in my domestick Wrongs;

Or, put a Stop to Justice,—but a Moment:—

Nay; if he give not up my Infamy,—

My whole Reproach, to speedy Punishment;

To Death!—Her, and the Traytour Vellocad:—

Nor will I bate a single Life;—not a Soul,

Obnoxious to the Forfeit of their Treason!—

But; my Daughter:—I blame not her Impatience.

SCENE III.

Vanoc, Alan, Gwendolen.

Van.

Come my dear Child, my Gwendolen; and share

Thy Father's Joys!—Yvor returns victorious!

Gwen.

Then, am I over-paid, for every Care,

For every Fear, that kept my Heart awake.

Van.

Nay, and thou shalt have large Amends! I promise:—

Amends, for every silent, bitter Tear,

Wrung from thy gentle Nature, much abus'd.

Think'st thou, that I forget the waspish Moods

Of that imperious Step-Dame, to my Child?—

An unchaste, barren Wife!—Who never felt

A Parent's Yearnings.—Had thy Mother liv'd!—

How often do I weep, beholding thee!—

In Thee she lives.—But, thou wast not of Years

To wear the dear Remembrance, I must cherish.

How will it please the watchful, lovely Shade,

That keeps my Couch, and blesses all my Dreams,

To see my Justice on the shameless Creature;

And find Thee flourish under Yvor's Care!

Gwen.

Since you are pleas'd to authorize my Love,

I need not blush to own it, Sir; nor doubt

The Truth of Him, who merits your Esteem.

Van.

He loves thee, Gwendolen:—My word, he does.

He has not learnt Deceit; the Roman Breeding!

To speak kind Words to every handsome Face,

And snare the Innocent.—But, I waste Time.—

Alan will entertain thee with his Valour;

While I prepare Dispatches, to convey

Our new Success, Southward, through all the States:

That every Tributary Town may arm,

And drive, with one Consent, these Inmates, hence.

SCENE IV.

Gwendolen, Alan.

Gwen.

Good Alan, give me Ease?—Thou art no Stranger;

Thou know'st my Passion.—Is thy Master safe?

Alan.

All Danger had he vanquish'd; When I came,

By his Command, to let you know, he liv'd.

Gwen.

And yet, ere now, some random Death;—

Who knows!—

Why came he not himself?

Alan.

He loves to fight

His Battles out:—The first to draw, the last

To sheath his Sword.

Gwen.

Now, fie upon this Manhood!—

Is he not hurt?

Alan.

A little out of Breath,

Perhaps.—

Gwen.

Wounded, I mean.—Come, do not trifle.

Alan.

His Helmet, I confess, is sorely dented:—

Gwen.

Ah, me!—

Alan.

But, Madam; not a Limb, a Finger,

Has suffer'd in the Fray.—I left him, whole;

Driving the scatter'd Rout:—Northward, they fled.

Gwen.

Would it were done!—Indeed, I cannot bear

To love at such Expence.—He must be chid.—

Return, Brave Prince!—Thy Chariot-Wheels are swift:

Oh, wherefore do they tarry?—Alan, send;

Dispatch,—Nay, go thy self.—It is an Age,

Since thou hast seen,—may I not say,—my Husband!—

Be gone!—

Alan.

A little Patience; and, he comes.

Gwen.

In other Things, I can, I will have Patience.

Alan, be gone!—I want, still, fresh Assurance;

Each Moment, I want Tidings of his Health.

Alan.

Hark!—Madam, he comes!—

Gwen.

Perhaps;—Oh Heaven!—

And yet,—It is;—It must be Yvor.

Alan.

Yes!—

It is the Prince!—Now, in the Palace-Court,

The Chariot sounds:—I know his high Career!

Gwen.

Oh step;—Look out;—See, Alan!—

Alan.

Here, he comes!—

Gwen.

The Prince?—Oh, where?—It is the Prince, indeed!

SCENE V.

Gwendolen, Alan, Yvor.

Yvor.

My Gwendolen! My Idol!—O, my Life!—

Gwen.

My Prince!—

Yvor.

On Wheels of Speed I drove, to find

My Love! The Treasure of my Soul!—Look up!—

What?—Speechless! And, in Tears!—Speak,—

Gwen.

Oh, my Joy!—

Yvor.

Such Welcome give me, ever!

Gwen.

Such receive!—

A Joy, I cannot; nay, I would not hide!

Yvor.

Transporting Language!—Oh, my Rapture! —How

Shall Yvor, blest above Mankind, repay

This Tenderness; this undisguis'd Affection!

Alan.

Had you, Sir, been, another Minute, absent;

I question, if the Princess had forgiven—

Gwen.

Yes, Alan!—I remember not my Fears.

Yvor.

Go to the Camp, good Alan: See, my Men

Be well refresh'd.—Indeed, they fought it bravely!

Gallant Lads!—And, Alan;—Let the Booty

Be shar'd, to every Man, with equal Hand.—

And,—say to Ebranc; I desire to see him.

The King must know the Merits of his Age.

Alan.

O, Fortunate Silurians!—Happy Prince!

SCENE VI.

Gwendolen, Yvor.

Yvor.

Now my fair Gwendolen;—

Gwen.

My plighted Lord!

Yvor.

The Bustle of the Day is at an end.

My Eyes, my Thoughts, are wholly bent on thee.

Gwen.

I pray you, fight no more.—Indeed, you shall not.

Yvor.

For thee, my Bliss, and for thine injur'd Sire,

And for my Countrey, do I draw my Sword.

But, so doest thou prevail within my Heart,

That I am listless grown to Feats of War.—

Thou mak'st me fearful, in the Heat of Battle!

Gwen.

You purchase all your Glory with my Quiet.

Think, while you stand, distinguish'd, in the Field;

The Wounds, the Deaths, the Dangers, the Fatigues,

Are mine, alone!—And Gwendolen must grieve,

Or Yvor cannot triumph.

Yvor.

Thou shalt not grieve.—

We shall have Peace:—We shall have lasting Joys!

The Bards shall sing adventurous Deeds, no more;

But tune their Harps to Love:—to Gwendolen;

Fairest Lilly; my Delight; my Glory!—

I could, my self, transported with the Theme,

Joyn in the Song; and descant on thy Charms!

Gwen.

That I am yours, my Prince, in Faith, in Duty;

Yours, by my Choice, and by my Father's Will;

That I am wholly yours, in every Thought,

In every Word, and Deed; and yours, for Life;

This, my Loved Yvor, is my vertuous Pride;

My Merit; my Distinction among Women!

Yvor.

This Day the Druids joyn our Hands:— our Souls,

In mutual Raptures, are for ever joyn'd.

Passing from Life to Life, we rise in Bliss!—

Age after Age, till Time shall be no more,

The whole Succession of the Sun and Moon;

A long, long Period (so our Sages teach)

Have we to count; renewing, still, our Love:

When, our whole measur'd Course of Vertue finish'd,

We reign, immortal, with the Heavenly Powers.

Gwen.

Delightful Prospect; bounteous Recompence!—

No Piety, no Vertue, shall my Soul

Leave unessay'd; lest, by my rash Neglect,

Some Failure of my Will, I forfeit Yvor.

Yvor.

Oh my sweet Gwendolen; my gentle Spouse;

My Pledge of Happiness; my whole Reward:—

What Language shall I find!—But, Language cannot:—

Judge, by thy self, the Fondness of my Heart!

Gwen.

I judge it equal to my own!—

Yvor.

If, what

Is boundless, can be equal'd!—Oh my Queen!—

Sure, thou wast born the Sovereign of my Soul!—

Sovereign of every Power, that Yvor claims.

My People shall be thine: Thy Will obey;

Thy gentle Will; and wait upon thy Smiles.

Thou hast not seen (my Love) thy Rule; thy Dow'ry;

My Native Land: Where Romans never enter'd.

A Countrey, bounded by the swelling Severn;

That, often rising into suddain Rage,

Takes in an hundred Torrents to her Stream:

By Nature fenced; the Refuge of the Britons.

There shall thine Eye behold stupendous Hills,

Green with high Groves, that wave within the Clouds;

And gushing Waters, foaming down the Rocks;

And limpid Brooks, that winde through fruitfull Vallies,

Deep-shelter'd from the Winds, that blast the Plains.

Gwen.

Or there, my Prince, or here, or any where,

Shall I be happy, still possessing you.

Yvor.

There shall our youthful Progeny rejoice;

And try their Limbs along the Mountain Brow;

And firm their Steps against the craggy Steep;

And prove their early Prowess on the Wolves:

That, ripe in Hardiness, they may oppose

These Strangers, who encroach upon our Rights;

And emulate thy Father's great Atchievements.

Gwen.

Behold, he comes.—

Yvor.

The Bulwark of the Britons!

Gwen.

The most indulgent Father:—

Yvor.

Best of Friends.

SCENE VII.

Gwendolen, Yvor, Vanoc.

Van.

Welcome, young Warriour; welcome to my Arms!—

Receive a Soldier's Thanks, a Soldier's Praise,

In this Embrace.—Let Romans deal in Words;

Be Eloquent, and Base!—Thou hast my Heart,

With what I hold most dear;—my loving Child;

My gentle Daughter.

Yvor.

Lavish Recompence;

Reward, beyond the Service of my Life!

To which I plead no Merit, save my Love,

And filial Duty.—When I fail, in either,—

Van.

Yvor, I know thy Worth.—I answer for thee.

My Daughter has an honest Man, and brave!

A Prince, surpassing far yon Emperour;

Who fights by Deputy:—A Pageant King!—

But, here, he shall not rule.—Thy Victory

Shall rouze the Provinces, that still regret

Their ravish'd Liberties.—We have dispatch'd

Swift Heralds, through the discontented States,

Far as the Western Point, within the Sea.

Britons, united, may defy the World!

The Romans would have War: and War they have:

And, they shall have their Fill.—While this right Hand

Can poise a Spear, or sway a Sword; will I

Infest, lay waste, root out these Colonies;

Till we have clear'd this Isle of Roman Guests.

Yvor.

Nor shall the Roman, feeble-sounding, Lyre

Intice the flatter'd Ear to looser Loves:

But, the full Tone of the melodious Harp

Assist our Native Bards to carol, loud,

Such Vertues, as are banish'd out of Rome.

Van.

My haughty Dame, whom we have almost humbled,

Was ravish'd with those Strangers; wanton Minstrels.

Each Evening was this Hall profan'd with Warblings;

Wont, heretofore, to eccho with the Praise

Of just and wise, of great and warlike, Worthies.

Yvor.

You, only, can restore those vertuous Times.

Van.

From the main Land, why are we set apart;

Seated amidst the Waves; high-fenced by Cliffs;

And blest with a delightful, fertile Soil?

But that, indulgent Nature meant the Britons,

A chosen People; a distinguish'd Race;

A Nation, independent of the World:

Whose Weal, whose Wisdom, it will ever be,

Neither to conquer, nor to suffer Conquest.—

Nor will we suffer it.

Yvor.

Noble Resolve!—

And Britain shall extol her great-Deliverer.

Gwen.

These desperate Toils renew my Fears.

What Comfort can I taste; while two such Lives,

Shall lie expos'd?—Heaven give us Peace!—

Vanoc.

There spoke,

Thy Mother's tender Meekness.—Such her Voice;

Such her surpassing Form:—Sweet-sounding Accent;

O, ever-pleasing Features! How unlike

That Male Adulteress;—Blemish of her Sex!

Cursed Ambition; that miss-led my Soul

To wed the Mischief!—But, I will repay

The Merits of her Guilt; and clear my Fame.

The World shall own, and she shall feel, me just;

Severely punctual!—Doest thou weep, my Child?—

Thus, ever, when I buckle on my Helmet,

Thy Fears afflict thee:—Yet I still return

To disappoint thy Fears.—Be comforted:—

We will not rashly play our Lives away;

But purchase unmolested Peace; for thee,

And for thy Children's Children.—Yvor, speak:

Do thou, my Son, perswade her not to grieve.

Yvor.

Thou hast no Cause, my Gwendolen, to fear.

This Enemy, that skulks behind the Wood,

Encompass'd with their Mounds, has little Power,

And, yet less Courage, to annoy us more.

Behold thy Father's Realms; see my Dominion:

Our Sons shall rise, the Sovereigns of the whole!

Gwen.

O, grant me humble Quiet, sweet Content,

Ye Powers!—Ambition has no Charms, for me.

But, if it be my Royal Father's Will,

And your Desire; my Heart shall not repine

At gilded Cares:—I will delight in Empire;

And count Ambition in the Rank of Vertues.

Yvor.

How Gentleness improves the Charms of Beauty!

Van.

It is true Womanhood: A Wife's best Dowry.

Yvor.

Here comes a Soldier, Sir, deserves your Notice.—

Come forward, Ebranc.

SCENE VIII.

Gwendolen, Yvor, Vanoc, Ebranc.

Ebranc.

I was sent by Alan.

I fear, I have presum'd, Sir,—

Yvor.

Old, and Modest!

Let me, Sir, place this Man within your Eye.

Age has not chill'd his Blood, nor slack'd his Nerves.

When, from his Dint, the Foe still backward shrunk;

Wading within the Ouse, he dealt his Blows,

And sent them, rolling, to the Tiding Humber.

Van.

I know his Merit.—Under Caradoc

He serv'd.—Ebranc, we will be mindful of thee.

Thy Modesty shall do thee no Disservice:—

It is a Virtue, of the Growth of Britain.—

Boasters, and Sycophants, come from abroad.

There stands the Prince:—I dare to vouch, he fought

His Share:—And yet, his Lips betray

No Circumstance.—Ebranc; did he not fight?

Ebranc.

Were he not present, Sir, I could—

Van.

Oh, Prince;—

That reddening Cheek forbids me to enquire.

A Roman Chief can write his own Exploits;

And swell his Actions, by the Pomp of Words.

Caesar has done it:—Shame upon the Boaster!—

He, that enslav'd his Fellow Citizens.

Yvor.

The Band, by Ebranc led, of stout Cornavians,

And my own Men, did, both, perform their Duty.

Indeed, it happen'd, in the Chance of Action,

That Vellocad was slain, by me.

Gwen.

O, Fortunate!

Van.

No, Gwendolen!—The Traytour should have liv'd!

Not, but that Yvor does deserve my Thanks.

He aim'd it well: And I commend his Valour.

But, still, the Traytour should have liv'd!

Yvor.

Surpriz'd

Into a Rage, I pierc'd—

Van.

I know, thy honest Soul

Was earnest to avenge me.—But, he died

A Soldier's Death!—It will be said, he fought!—

But, he could never fight!—A Woman's Minion▪

Oh, I had hoarded up such Store of Vengeance!

For Her, for Him, that, lengthening out their Woes,

I might, on Both, enjoy my whole Revenge!—

Let not his Carcass, Ebranc, have a Burial:

Cast it to Dogs.—Torment his very Ghost!—

That I could bring the Caitiff back, to Life!

To a quick Sense of Torture!—But, the Gods,

The righteous, ever-living, Powers avenge me!—

They punish home!—They can prolong his Doom;

And through a thousand Lives pursue the Offender.

Yvor.

Your Indignation is most just.

Van.

It rises

Poorly:—Short of my Wrongs!—Herein, my Wrath

Can not exceed!—'Tis, all, but Moderation.

Forbearing, as my Dove-like Daughter is;

She could not brook such Usage.—What? My Servant!

Bred, from a Child, to tremble at my Frown:

My Slave, who bore my Harness to the Field,

And stood aloof, the Witness of my Toils;

Thus to presume!—Thus to abuse my Favour!

But, to the Romans do we owe his Daring:

And we can, now, discharge the heavy Debt!—

I will not Sleep, till that Account be clear'd.

Gwen.

The Romans, Sir, have prov'd your Indignation.

Be, then, appeas'd: Nor, urge the Foe too far.

Let not your Anger,—just indeed, as great,—

Yet, let it not be call'd a desperate Rage.

Van.

Most desperate to my Foes!—It, ever, was.—

I will approve my self sincere, throughout;

In Enmity unwearied as in Friendship.—

Thou hast been treated most despightfully!

And, for thy Father's sake.

Gwen.

I have forgiven

The Malice of the Queen: Do you forgive.

Van.

I will, when I have punish'd.

Gwen.

You have punish'd.

The Forfeit of a Crown; the Sense of Shame;

Her conscious Guilt; is ample Punishment.

Let me intreat, let me asswage your Anger.

Van.

Be not disquieted.—Our Foes are baffled:

Yvor has frustrated their last Resource.

This Day shall put an End to all thy Fears.

Yvor.

The least Alarm, a counterfeit Assault,

Will fright them from their Camp.—There is no Danger.

Gwen.

I hope,—I will believe,—I will petition,

Devoutly will I pray, there be no Danger!—

And Thee, Adraste, Virgin of my Worship;

Chaste Goddess, to whom Victory belongs;

To whom I pledg'd a Vow, for Yvor's Safety;

Thee will I thank, this Morning, in thy Temple:

And, every Morning of my Life, shalt thou

Receive my grateful Vows:—For, thou hast granted

Victory to Yvor!—

Van.

Thy Piety

Assures us of Success;—

Yvor.

And, every Blessing!

Gwen.

When I return;—

Yvor.

Till then, am I impatient.

Gwen.

My Father's Heart, perhaps, may be inclin'd To Peace.

Van.

Be not dismay'd, my Darling.—Ebranc;

Do you attend the Princess, with a Guard.

Not that, we fear; though deep within the Forest,

Darken'd with spreading Oaks, the Temple stands.

But, the quail'd Foe scarce think themselves secure,

Though hemm'd with Rampiers; weak Defence of Dastards!

Yvor.

A short, a fond adieu; my Fair Delight!

Gwen.

I will not make my Absence long; like You.

Yvor.

Kindest Reproach!

Gwen.

Indeed I mean it kind.

Yvor.

It is most kind!

Van.

Heaven speed thy Vows, my Child!

SCENE IX.

Yvor, Vanoc.

Van.

How say you, Prince?—Can you, one Battle-more,

Support; a double Toil; before you Sleep?—

And take these Romans at a Disadvantage?

Yvor.

I can:—I like it!

Van.

So shall we compleat

The Labour of the Day; and ratify

Our past Successes.

Yvor.

And, thus, send their new

Lieutenant back, as speedy as he came.

Van.

Let us, then, to the Camp:—The Time is precious.

Yvor.

Your Captains, Sir, are soon prepar'd for Action.

Van.

We need not lavish Hours in wordy Periods;

As do the Romans, ere they dare to fight.—

Point out the Foe;—

Yvor.

Fall on, brave Britons!—

Van.

Ay!—

Such is the manly Eloquence, We use.

When we have made our Resolutions known,

We will return; and cheer up Gwendolen:—

Then to the Foe!—

Yvor.

And strike a Terrour, heightened by Surprise!

Van.

Thy wakeful Spirit does endear thee to me:

To morrow, shalt thou have more pleasing Cares.

Remember, Yvor, that a Soldier's Task

Admits no Rest, while aught remains, unfinish'd.

The fiery Eye of War is vigilant;

And marks the Sloathful out, and the Unwary.

Catch every swift Occasion, as it flies:

On one Success, still, let another rise;

On that, another, yet: Till all be done,

Till no more Battles can be lost, or won.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III. SCENE I.

The SCENE continues.

Yvor alone.

STern, but indulgent, is the Soul of Vanoc;

Full of paternal Care.—Lest Gwendolen

Should give her Heart to Fears; go Prince, he said:

When she returns, let us not, Both, be absent.

Tender, complying, timid;—Such Her Nature:

Sweet, placid, Virgin-like Affections, all!

Soft, as the Breath of Spring, that fannes the Trees;

Nor shakes the slightest Blossom to the Ground.

The Chieftains, call'd to Council, are agreed;

Applaud the King; and burn to be engaged.

This, fairest Princess, is a Day of War:

The next, and next to that, and every Day,

While we have Days to count, belongs to Us;

To Thee, my Gwendolen, and to thy Yvor!

I, now, begin to think, thy Absence tedious.

Come, to such Welcome, as thou gav'st to Me!

SCENE II.

Yvor, Alan.

Yvor.

Before we talk of Business; if thou lov'st me,

Haste, Alan, to the Temple:—Say, that Yvor—

Alan.

Alas! The Princess—

Yvor.

How!

Alan.

She is a Captive:—

Born off:—A Prisoner, in the Roman Camp.

Yvor.

A Prisoner; say you?—But it cannot be.—

A Captive?—Speak:—Whence, this Intelligence?

Some idle Rumour!—Ebranc was her Guard.

Do not dally with my Fondness.

Alan.

Ebranc did all, that Man could do, to save her.

A Band of Romans, Part (it is suppos'd)

Of the main Body sent, too late, to succour

The Caledonian Troops; as back they came,

Skirting within the Wood, espied the Princess,

Then returning; and bore away their Prize.

The trusty Ebranc fell, in her Defence.

A Soldier, scaping; has inform'd the King.

Yvor.

It is enough!

Alan.

Why do you droop? Why, speechless? Why, my Prince,

That sadden'd Brow; that settled Look of Woe?

You must not nourish, thus, a silent Sorrow.—

Never, have I beheld you thus, before!—

This is too much! Oh, speak!—and be reliev'd.—

That Groan exceeds your Silence!

Yvor.

I am wretched.

Alan.

Why will you boad such Ills? Why, quit your Hopes,

To nurse Despair? And, on the first Alarm,

Abandon Reason?

Yvor.

Thou hast quite unman'd me!—

But, Yvor has no farther Use for Reason:

I give it up; resign each Faculty:

The Power of Recollection is my Torment.

Alas, what Relish can I have for Life?

What Vertue, what Ambition, can awake

My Soul to Action?—I renounce, I curse,

My Victory; my Bane: Pernicious Conquest!

Now, let the Romans take what I possess:—

The Island let them take!—A little Cave

Suffices me, to grieve!—A while, to grieve;

And, then, to die forgotten!—Or if mention'd,

Known, only, for my most disasterous Love!

Alan.

Your Words afflict me:—Talk not thus, my Prince.

Yvor.

O I must talk!—Do not forbid, but hear, me:—

And, I must talk of Gwendolen,—And Yvor!

Names, never to be spoken of, asunder.

The Heart of Man can not conceive the Love,

I bore to Gwendolen!—I did not know,

Not half, the excessive Measure of my Fondness.

She was,—Alas, what was she not, to Me,

When she was mine!—In Her did I rejoyce;

For Her I liv'd; for Her, alone, I fought.

Alan.

Fight for her, still; and win her from the Romans.

Yvor.

To Death will I pursue the Ravishers:

Inflict worse Vengeance, than the Scourge of War;

And torture Them,—as they now torture Me!

Though Vanoc should relent, I never can:

His Injuries are light, compar'd to mine!

My People, sure, will never tamely bear

To see their Prince, a Wretch!—Though I should fall,

They will avenge me.—Thou, Alan, wilt avenge me.

Alan.

Now, are you Man, again!—I did forbear

To stop your Flow of Grief:—But, will assist

Your Rage.

Yvor.

I feel my Resolution rise.

My Strength returns: It springs!—Through every Nerve,

My Spirits swell!—Single, methinks, I drive

The Foe!—

Alan.

They shall not, long, detain the Princess.

Yvor.

Say that again, my Friend! Accomplish that;

And I am blest!—Give me back Gwendolen,

And, in the meanest Cottage, I am happy.—

Her Soul is rais'd above the Pride of Life!

But, thou would'st fain beguile my Care: and fain

Would I deceive my self.—Too flattering Hope!—

I never shall behold the Princess more.

Didius will know the Value of his Prize.

He will, himself, be smitten with such Beauty:

Or if, to Rome, he send the lovely Captive;

What costlier Present can he make to Claudius?

His wide-spread Empire, the whole World, contains

Nothing, so rare!—She is surpassing Fair!—

The Eye, that does behold; the Ear, that hears her,

The Eye, the Ear, the Soul throughout, is ravish'd!

No, Alan; I shall never see her more.—

Alan.

These are the Fears of Love.

Yvor.

They are such Fears,

As give my Heart no Respite from Despair.

I am not wont to be alarm'd.—What, then,

Must Gwendolen have suffer'd, from her Fears,

When I was absent, in the midst of Dangers!

Alan.

In either Sex, true Love is truly anxious.

Yvor.

In all my Heart, I do not find one Hope▪

That is not kill'd with Fear.

Alan.

But, see the King:—

His Spirit never faints.

Yvor.

He is no Lover.

SCENE III.

Yvor, Alan, Vanoc.

Yvor.

O Sir;—my Father!—But, no more, a Father!—

You gave your Daughter to me:—I have lost her.

She is no longer mine;—No longer yours.

Our only Joy, our Hope, our Care, our Comfort,

Is ravish'd from us!—How can we live without her?

Van.

The Foe is weak: Our Cause is just.— What more

Can we desire; or, can the Gods bestow?

Have they not given us Earnest of Success?

Be not disconsolate, my Son.

Yvor.

That Name,

That Blessing, Sir, belongs to me, no more!

Van.

This momentary Parting, when we meet,—

Yvor.

When we do meet!—Oh, when!—

Van.

As soon, we shall;

Will turn to double Gladness.

Yvor.

O, it is

A painful,—doubtful,—endless, Length of Time!

Wretch, that I am!—Unthinking in my Love;

Not to foresee the Danger!—Oh, my Folly!

Unhallow'd, blasted, be the Oaks, that shade

The Temple!—O, Adraste! Give me back

My Gwendolen; or, take thy Victory!

Most fatal Boon; the Source of my Misfortunes!

Van.

Be not impatient, Prince.

Yvor.

Oh, Sir; my self,

I should have gone, her Guard!—I should have died!

Van.

Old Ebranc fought it stoutly, to the last!—

He fold their Captive, dear. An hundred Lives,

And more, she cost.—And, yet, each Life, they have,

Will we demand:—They are my Daughter's Ransom.

Yvor.

Their Empire were too poor a Price!

Van.

From hence,

We will remove it.—Alan; I am griev'd,

That Ebranc liv'd not, to enjoy our Favour.

But the Command, he held, we give his Son.

Of this, do you inform him.

SCENE IV.

Yvor, Vanoc.

Van.

Yvor; Thy Love

I must commend:—But, Love with Fortitude.

This Vertue is the Stay, the Fence of all;

A Wall of Brass, against the Assaults of Fortune.

Not, that I count this Disappointment great.

Where'er my Daughter be, she still is thine:

Nor, will we live a Day, an Hour, without her.

Yvor.

Prove me with Dangers of the fellest Kind,

So, I may rest assur'd of Gwendolen;

Through raging Billows, through destroying Flames,

I could attempt my Way to come at Her;

Or, hew my Passage through an armed Host,

Van.

Thou shalt not find me tardy to her Rescue.

The News, in Council told; all cry, To Arms!

Lead on!—We will redeem the Princess!

Yvor.

She is, indeed, the Favourite of the People:

When she appears, she glads the Eyes of all!

Van.

She is their Hope:—That Hope you, Prince, confirm.

From your auspicious Loves, do they expect

Their Safety, in a Line of British Kings;

Who, when we have destroy'd these bold Intruders,

Shall rule in Peace, disdaining foreign Customs.

Yvor.

Your Words have rais'd me from Despair.

Van.

In Life,

There will be Disappointments. But the Brave,

The few, who faint not, when severely tried,

Learn, by opposing, to surmount Disasters.

Yvor.

So, Fortune, prove my Friend, as I shall dare

For Gwendolen, and for the Wrongs of Vanoc.

Van.

Through shouting Crouds, I see you Both return,

A happy Pair; the Transport of the People.

The Blow we now prepare to strike, at once

Ends all our Cares.—My Powers are arm'd. See, yours.

Be well appointed.—And give strict Command,

That all be done, without the Noise of War.

Yvor.

I am instructed.

Van.

Ere you can return,

Our Chariots shall be ready, to set forward.

SCENE V.

Vanoc.

Not that I do not feel my Child's Affliction;

And feel it, with a Mother's Tenderness:

But, Yvor, such is thy Anxiety,

That in Compassion, I dissemble mine.—

The Day is far advanced.—Who waits?—What, ho! My Grooms.—

Amidst thy Sufferings, yet a little Patience;

And, Gwendolen, we come to thy Relief.

Mean while, the Love of Valens is thy Safety.

My Chariot straight; another, for the Prince.

Store them with Spears; wedge on the keenest Scythes:

And give us Steeds, that snort against the Foe,

That paw the Ranks, and rush upon the Javelin;

Bearing their Crests aloft, amidst the Battle.

SCENE VI.

Vanoc, Alan.

Van.

Thy Business, Alan?

Alan.

A Roman, Sir,—the Tribune Valens—

Van.

What, of him?

Alan.

Attended by a Party of our Men,

Desires Admittance.

Van.

Admittance;—to a Roman!—

No, Alan!—Keep our Palace shut.—No Roman

Enters here: were it their Emperour.

Alan.

He waits,—

Van.

There let him wait, then.—Bid him to be gone!—

We need no Treating, now!

Alan.

It shall be done.

Van.

Yet, hold.—Come back.—Yes, Alan; We will hear him;

That he may know, how much our Soul contemns

All Offers, from these Masters of the World.

Conduct him in.—And, Alan; since, in Thee,

Thy Prince confides; do Thou remain a Witness

Of his Words.—Go.—

SCENE VII.

Vanoc.

Van.

Now for a glozing Speech;

Fair Protestations; specious Marks of Friendship.

The mean Submissions of ignoble Minds,

Who rise and sink, as Fortune smiles, or frowns.

SCENE VIII.

Vanoc, Alan, Valens.

Vanoc.

Now Tribune:—

Val.

Health to Vanoc.

Van.

Speak your Business.

Val.

I come not as an Herald, but a Friend:

And I rejoice, that Didius chose out me,

To greet a Prince, in my Esteem, the foremost.

Van.

So much for Words.—Now, to your Purpose, Tribune.

Val.

Sent by our new Lieutenant, who in Rome,

And since from me, has heard of your Renown;

I come to offer Peace: To reconcile

Past Enmities; to strike perpetual Leagues

With Vanoc: Whom our Emperor invites

To Terms of Friendship; strictest Bonds of Union.

Van.

We must not hold a Friendship with the Romans.

Val.

Why must you not?

Van.

Vertue forbids it.

Val.

Once,

You thought, our Friendship was your greatest Glory.

Van.

I thought you honest.—I have been deceiv'd.—

Would you deceive me twice? No, Tribune; no!

You sought for War:—Maintain it as you may.

Val.

Believe me, Prince; your Vehemence of Spirit,

Prone ever to Extremes, betrays your Judgment.

Would you once cooly reason on our Conduct,—

Van.

Oh, I have scann'd it thorough!—Night and Day

I think it over: And I think it base;

Most infamous!—Let who will judge;—but Romans!

Did not my Wife, did not my menial Servant,

Seducing each the other, both conspire

Against my Crown, against my Fame, against my Life?

Did they not levy War, and wage Rebellion?

And when I would assert my Right and Power,

As King and Husband; when I would chastise

Two most abandon'd Wretches: Who, but Romans,

Oppos'd my Justice, and maintain'd their Crimes?

Do I not reason cooly on your Conduct?—

You have the Art, to gloss the foulest Cause:

I shew it undisguis'd.—For Cartismand,

The Romans stood: The Britons, and the Gods,

Declar'd for Vanoc.—Do I argue fairly?

Val.

At first, the Romans did not interpose;

But griev'd to see their best Allies at Variance.

Indeed, when you turn'd Justice into Rigor,

And even that Rigor was pursued with Fury;

We undertook to mediate for the Queen;

And hoped to moderate—

Van.

To moderate!—

What would you moderate? My Indignation?

The just Resentment of a vertuous Mind?

To mediate for the Queen!—You undertook!—

Wherein concern'd it You? But as you love

To exercise your Insolence!—Are you

To arbitrate my Wrongs?—Must I ask leave;

Must I be taught, to govern o'er my Houshold?

Am I, then, void of Reason, and of Justice?

When, in my Family, Offences rise;

Shall Strangers, saucy Intermeddlers, say,

Thus far, and thus, are you allow'd to punish?

When I submit to such Indignities;

When I am tamed to that Degree of Slavery:—

Make me a Citizen, a Senator of Rome;

To watch, to live upon the Smiles of Claudius:

To give my Wife, my Children, to his Pleasures;

And sell my Countrey with my Voice for Bread.

Val.

Prince, you insult, upon this Day's Success.

You may provoke too far.—But I am cool.—

I give your Anger scope.

Van.

Who shall confine it?—

The Romans!—Let them rule their Slaves.— I blush,

That dazzled in my Youth with Ostentation,

The Trappings of the Men seduced my Vertue.

Val.

Blush rather, that you are a Slave to Passion;

Subservient to the Wildness of your Will;

Which, like a Whirlwind, tears up all your Vertues;

And gives you not the Leisure to consider.

Did not the Romans civilize you?

Van.

No!—

They brought new Customs, and new Vices over;

Taught us more Arts, than honest Men require;

And gave us Wants, that Nature never gave.

Val.

We found you naked:—

Van.

And you found us free!—

Now, on my Soul, the Mountain Stag, that springs

From Height to Height, and bounds along the Plains,

Nor has a Master to restrain his Course;

That Mountain Stag would Vanoc rather be,

Than be a Slave!—Much less, the Slave of Slaves!

Val.

Would you be temperate once, and hear me out!—

Van.

Speak Things▪ that honest Men may hear with Temper!

Speak the plain Truth; and varnish not your Crimes!

Say, that you once were vertuous:—Long ago!

A frugal, hardy People;—like the Britons:

Before you grew thus elegant in Vice,

And gave your Luxuries the Name of Vertues.

The Civilizers!—The Disturbers, say;—

The Robbers, the Corrupters of Mankind!

Proud Vagabonds! who make the World your Home;

And lord it, where you have no Right.

Val.

You wrong

Your Friends, your Benefactors, your Instructors!

Since you will have the Truth, I speak it out.

Who, but the Romans, fashion'd your rude Natures?

Smooth'd your rough Tempers? Changed you into Men,

From wild Barbarians, Savages in Woods?

Van.

You changed us into Beasts, most servile Beasts!

To bear your Impositions; your Dominion:

Taught us, indeed, to cloath, to dwell in Houses,

To feast, to sleep on Down, to be profuse:

A fine Exchange for Liberty!—What Vertue

Have you taught?

Val.

Humanity.

Van.

Oh, Patience!—

Val.

Can you disown a Truth, confess'd by All?

A Praise, a Glory, known in barbarous Climes?

Far as our Legions march, they carry Knowledge;

The Arts, the Laws, the Discipline of Life.

Our Conquests are Indulgencies; and We,

Not Masters, but Protectours of Mankind.

Van.

Prevaricating, false,—most courteous Tyrants;—

Romans!—Rare Patterns of Humanity!

Came you, then, here, thus far, through Waves, to conquer,

To waste, to plunder; out of mere Compassion?

Is it Humanity that prompts you on

To ravage the whole Earth: To burn, destroy?

To raise the Cries of Widows, and of Orphans?

To lead in Bonds, the generous, free-born Princes,

Who spurn, who fight against your Tyranny?

Happy for us,—and happy for you, Spoilers,

Had your Humanity ne'er reach'd our World!—

It is a Vertue,—(so it seems you call it)

A Roman Vertue! that has cost you dear:—

And dearer shall it cost, if Vanoc lives.—

Or if we die, we shall leave those behind us,

Who know the Worth of British Liberty.

Val.

I mean not to reproach your Ancestors;

Untaught, uncultivated, as they were:

Inhospitable, full of Ferocity;

Lions in Spirit; cruel beyond Men:

Your Altars reeking oft with human Blood.

Nor will I urge you farther on our Merits.

I come instructed, Sir, to offer Peace:

The Peace, that Didius offers, Valens sues for.

Propose your Terms; and you will find me forward

To win the General to a Compliance;

And to deserve, once more, the Name of Friend.

Van.

Deliver up the Queen; send back my Daughter:

This done; we may be brought to treat of Peace.

Val.

Therein the Dignity, the Faith of Claudius,

Would highly suffer.

Van.

Is, then, the Dignity,

The Faith of Claudius, founded on Injustice?

Is it his Glory to protect a Traiteress;

A base, a profligate adulterous Woman?

Fit Emperour, indeed, to govern Romans!—

But, Valens, let me tell you, the free Britons

Would not endure his Sway.—They must have Justice;

And from their Prince, do they require it most!—

Nay, they demand it.—

Were I a Villager, the meanest Freeman

In all your State; and Claudius should presume,—

Or any Caesar,—to abuse his Power,

And authorize enormous Crimes; I would not,—

No!—were his Anger Death,—I could not bear it!

But would oppose him, to my stretch of Power.

Val.

In blaming us; in making your Demands,

You do not recollect the Services,

The Debt, we owe to Cartismand.

Van.

The Services; the Debt!—Notorious Deed!—

Her earliest Infamy; your worst Disgrace!

Not recollect! O Caradoc!—Thy Prowess,

Not thy Credulity, be my Example!

Not know your Shame!—Yes, every Briton knows it.

You triumph'd by a Woman's Perfidy!

Ostorius bought the Foe, he could not conquer;

Who, else, had conquer'd him, and freed this Island.

Val.

Impetuous Briton! Partial in your Rage!

Van.

The Fate of Caradoc, and Shame of Cartismand,

Will ever be remembred through the Land.

Did she not promise Aids? Invite him to her?

Receive him with adulterated Smiles?

Then bind the brave, believing Man in Chains;

And barter with you for the Boast of Britain?

Yet this, your Emperour vainly call'd a Triumph:

And made a Spectacle of Vertue, thus betray'd!

Val.

You need not thus, employ your Eloquence:

We know it all.

Van.

Yet let me recollect.

Through the wide crowded Streets of Rome, behold

The Warriour walk, Majestick in his Bonds!—

In the full Senate, now, he stands undaunted;

An aged, awful, a triumphant Captive!

His Looks, his Words, appall the robed Assembly;

And shake vain-glorious Claudius on his Throne.

Val.

Claudius took off his Chains.—Remember that!

Van.

Then did your Nobles see a Man; a Briton!

The Admiration; the Terrour of the Romans.

This is the mighty Debt you owe that Woman.

Val.

Yet, after this, you married Cartismand!

Van.

I was ambitious.—That I learn'd from You.

That I did wed with Treachery, and was a Friend

To Romans, is the whole Reproach of Vanoc.

But they and she, combin'd, have clear'd my Honour!

And, when I stain it, by forgiving Either;

Let my own Subjects brand me for a Coward.

Val.

Talk not of Honour, Prince!—An empty Sound;

The Vaunting of a Briton in his Choler!—

To me, at least, you should have spar'd the Boast.

You can renounce your Word, we know, at Pleasure;

Forget past Services, worn Marks of Kindness:

Then quarrel with your Friends, to free the Debt;

And sacrifice all Faith to your Resentments.

Van.

This Accusation I can hear unmov'd:

It sullies not my Soul, nor taints my Fame.

It is a Slander; I expect no better.

Val

Do I calumniate then?—Ungrateful Vanoc!—

Perfidious Prince!—Is it a Calumny

To say, that Gwendolen, betroth'd to Yvor,

Was, by her Father, first assur'd to Valens?

By solemn Promises you made her mine;

And I, by faithful Services deserv'd her.

What have I done, to merit this Injustice?

Van.

Then Valens was our Friend.

Val.

I never was

Your Foe.—Urge not that weak Defense.—You know,

How much my Heart approv'd your Cause in secret;

How I remonstrated against the War;

How I abhorr'd the Conduct of the Queen!

What did I not for you?—Through my Persuasion,

How often did Ostorius proffer Peace?

Van.

When I had worsted him, and kept the Field;

Which still I keep, Thanks to the valiant Yvor.

Val.

I once did think the Word of Vanoc sacred.—

You may confirm it still.

Van.

Where it is due,

It shall not fail.—You never were my Foe:—

Those are your Words.—Yet when Ostorius died,

And the Command devolv'd on you alone;

You fought for Cartismand.—My Daughter!—No!—

Were it to save her Life, she should not wed

A Roman.

Val.

Then hear me,—proud Cornavian!—

Unthinking Prince; I take you at your Word:

Nor shall you forfeit it a second Time.

She shall not wed; she shall not be a Wife:

But she shall be a Slave;—And to a Roman!

The wretched Mother shall she be of Slaves;

And live to curse her Offspring, and her Father!

I will not ask your Leave, to use my Captive,

As I please:—She is my Right, my Property.

We thank you, that there needs no farther Courtship.

I can command her; and she must comply.

Fortune is just:—What you refuse, she gives;

And Vanoc suffers, for his Breach of Promise.

Van.

Hence Menacer!—Nor tempt me into Rage.—

This Roof protects thy Rashness.—But be gone!—

I cannot answer for mine Indignation.

If thou should'st dare to violate my Child;

Or but pollute her Cheek, with one rude Kiss:

What heavy Vengeance shall I not require!—

Nor Man, nor Woman, nor the new born Infant,

Nor any Thing, that's Roman, will I spare;

But in the Bitterness of Wrath destroy.

And for thy Iewd, ill-manner'd Threats, remember,

That I, henceforward, do abjure all Peace:

Nor shall you buy my Friendship with your Empire.

Away!—Alan, conduct the Tribune forth:—

And let him pass unquestion'd.

SCENE IX.

Alan, Valens.

Valens,

Soldier, come.

The King is much incens'd.—Alas! he knows not

How far a Lover's Tongue belies his Heart!—

Mine are fond Menaces; the Throws of Love.

O Gwendolen, amidst thy Charms secure,

Still dost thou reign, whatever I endure.

Thy Beauty and thy Innocence, combin'd,

At once inflame, and overawe, the Mind.

The End of the Third ACT.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

SCENE, The Pavilion of the General, in the Roman Camp.

Didius.

THIS beauteous Captive is our Pledge of Peace.

If Valens rightly judges of the Father;

His fond Affection may o'er-rule his Rage.

SCENE II.

Didius, Cartismand.

Cart.

Where is my Foe? This Stranger; this Betrayer?—

Stand off.—I will have Entrance.—Have I found you?

Deceitful Roman!—

Didius, Madam!—

Cart.

Did you, then, think

To perpetrate this Fraud; and I not know it?

Is not the Death of Vellocad enough;

Sufficient Woe to combat in one Day?

But you, to finish my Distress, must give

Me, widow'd, to the Rage of that Usurper?

Is this your boasted Faith to your Allies?

Did.

I stand confounded!

Cart.

Must I explain your Guilt?

Go, base Dissembler; cool in studied Wiles!

Practis'd in Arts, that we disdain.—

Do you not treat with Vanoc, now? And treat

To my Undoing?

Did.

Unjust Suspicion!

Cart.

Is not your Tribune gone; dispatch'd in Secret?

A private Herald, to my deadliest Foe?

Why was not I consulted?—Know you not,

That Vanoc is implacable to me?

However you agree; I will not stoop

To Terms from him!—But, there can be no Terms

The Romans may have Peace; but not with Both.

Did.

Till I am better known, I can excuse

This Jealousy.

Cart.

Is it not manifest?

I know the Price, you pay for Vanoc's Friendship:

It will not be refus'd.—Do, General; do!

Give up the Queen, who gave up Caradoc;

And, expiate my Folly, by your Falshood.

But, Didius, I will disappoint your Malice:

You shall not send me living to the Tyrant.

And, e'er I die, I may commit a Deed,

A Vengeance of such Note, on my Betrayers;

That even Vanoc shall applaud my Daring.

Did.

Accuse me not, if I forbore to add

Unnecessary Cares to your Affliction:

If I was tender of the Doubts and Fears,

Which, in a Female Breast, are too prevailing.

Cart.

Mistaken Man; presume not on my Sex!

Am I unfit to share in all your Counsels?

Or, Is this Treaty no Concern of mine?

What? Do you take me for a Roman Matron;

Bred tamely to the Spindle and the Loom?

Are these the Business of a British Queen?

A Woman, train'd to Arms; to Empire born;

Redoubted, far!—Ostorius knew me better.—

I am not us'd to such unworthy Treatment!

Did.

Once hear me: Then, upbraid me, as I merit.

Cart.

What more could I have done to serve these Romans?

But, let it pass!—Adversity is friendless.—

It wrings my Soul.—Deserted at my Need!—

And yet I stood their Friend, when they were helpless!—

Ungrateful Men!—A Nation of Deceivers!—

O, it is plain!—Claudius himself deceives me!—

It was contriv'd!—You came instructed hither,

To make a Sacrifice of Cartismand:

Else, had you brought Supplies from Gaul.—You knew

Our weak Condition, and the Strength of Vanoc.

If I am thus betray'd, what Leagues can bind you?

Did.

How, Princess, shall I answer to this Rage?

Or, must I give it way; as to a Torrent,

When sudden Rains assist its Fury?

Cart.

Oh,

For Words, that carry Death!—Mine have no Force;

Not Power to stir the Guilty.

Did.

Forbear a while.

Let Valens come: and judge, from his Report,

The Extravagance of your Conjectures.

Cart.

No!

That you confide in Valens, is my Ruin.

I know his Treachery, and the Reward.—

Did.

See where he comes.—But hear him out with Temper.

SCENE III.

Didius, Cartismand, Valens.

Did.

Here, Valens, in the Presence of the Queen,

Declare the Purport of your Interview;

Your whole Discourse with Vanoc.

Cart.

Tribune, speak.

Val.

His haughty Soul rejects our proffer'd Friendship;

Denounces War; and bids us bold Defiance.

Cart.

Thanks to his Pride, that frustrates your Intentions.

Did.

But, made he no Proposals?

Cart.

What Proposals!—

Would you, then, poorly supplicate—

Did.

Not so.—

Valens, Proceed.

Val.

Deliver up the Queen,

He said;—

Did.

The Queen!—

Val.

Send back my Daughter: This

Perform'd, We may be brought to treat of Peace.

Did.

Most insolent Demand!

Cart.

You know not Vanoc.

No less did I expect from his Presumption.

Hence, all my Jealousy.

Did.

Have worthier Thoughts

Of us.

Cart.

Forgive a Woman's busy Fears.—I know

The Pride, the Rage, the Rancor of his Soul!

He will not be appeas'd, but with my Blood.

Did.

Give up the Queen!—Insulting Briton; No!

The farther we extend our Power, the more

Is Rome oblig'd to cherish her Allies.

This Maxim, the Palladium of the State,

This Vertue, only, can secure our Greatness.

We shall not deprecate the Rage of Vanoc,

Nor dread his Enmity.—And, be assur'd,

The Roman State will send new Legions over,

Employ her utmost Power to save her Friends,

And quell the stubborn, refractory Foe.

Cart.

Subdue, destroy, avenge me of, this Man;

Avenge your self, maintain your Emperor's Glory▪

And take my Diadem: I give it freely.

Let him be wretched first; and, let him know,

That I am Author of his Misery:

It matters not, what Torments I endure.

Did.

We must proceed with Caution; gaining Time.

Val.

It were a Rashness, now, to risque a Battel.

Cart.

Didius, to you I leave the War.—But, treat no more.

For, he has vow'd Destruction to the Romans.

Did.

He shall not give the Law: Nor you complain

Of Roman Faith.—

Cart.

Nor you of Cartismand.

Now, rash Cornavian, learn to dread a Woman.

Henceforth, my Vengeance shall be vigilant;

Nor, shall my Heart recoil at any Deed,

That may afflict thy Soul—Now I return,

With Comfort, to my drooping, faithful Soldiers.

SCENE IV.

Didius, Valens.

Did.

What a tempestuous Spirit!—

Val.

Turbulent,

As Hyperborean Seas!

Did.

I summon'd all

The Force of Reason to my Aid; and yet,

With Pain could I support her jealous Outrage.

Val.

Such is the Nature of these Islanders.

But when, through Time, they shall be civiliz'd,

This native Fierceness (like Falernian Wine,

Mellow with Age) will ripen into Vertue.

Did.

Valens, this Briton over-rates his Power:

Though we are not to think too lightly of him:

The meanest Foe, contemn'd, may overcome.

Val.

Three Victories, obtain'd without Repulse,

Have swell'd his Hopes into a Confidence.

Mean time, his ardent Spirit does not cool;

And, Caesar like, he sleeps not on his Conquests.

Did.

This Night I purpose to remove our Camp;

Retreating still, as he pursues: Till we

Can turn upon him, with superiour Powers.

Val.

Thus flush'd, he thinks his captive Daughter safe;

And that he may reclaim her at his Pleasure.

Did.

She is exceeding beautiful: A Prize,

That, in my younger Years, I should have valued,

Beyond a Triumph o'er an Eastern King.

Val.

A matchless Beauty!—Even here, in Britain,

Where Women most excell in Bloom and Feature,

She is allow'd the fairest of her Sex.

Then she is vertuous, Sir, as she is fair!

All Gentleness, and harmless as the Turtle.

Did.

She shall be kindly entertain'd. To you

I recommend that Care. Soften her Fears:

Make her Confinement easy: Let her have

Attendance, suiting to her Rank.—See Valens,

Where she comes.—I leave you: And, while You

Impart her Father's Resolutions, will dispatch

A Messenger to Gaul, for speedy Succours.

SCENE V.

Valens.

Val.

O Didius, were I to reveal my Passion,

But half my Love; thou might'st suspect my Vertue!

SCENE VI.

Valens, Gwendolen.

Gwend.

Valens, excuse the Impatience of a Heart

Perplex'd with Doubts.—I long'd for your Return.—

Did you succeed?—What Comfort do you bring

To my Distress?—Or, Am I quite forlorn?

Val.

Why, fairest Princess, this dejected Mien;

These anxious Thoughts?—Give up your Cares to me.

Where Valens is, you cannot be forlorn.

Gwend.

O say; inform me!—Is my Father yet

Inclin'd to Peace?—What Answer did he give?

Val.

What you will grieve to hear.

Gwend.

Alas, My Fears!

Val.

More obstinate than ever, more enrag'd,

He has renounced all Friendship with the Romans.

Gwend.

O, my hard Fate!—

Val.

Let me forbid those Tears.

Gwend.

Yet, I did hope, my hapless sad Condition

Might have prevail'd d o'er all his Injuries.—

But, they are grievous Wrongs!—And call for Vengeance:—

If there are Wrongs, that cannot be forgiven.

Val.

I curse the guilty Cause of his Resentment.

Gwend.

Yet she offends; and I am punish'd.—

Val.

No:

It must not be.—But every Fear adieu:

And think, that you are now the Care of Valens.

Whatever be the Issue of this War;

No Danger, no Disquiet, shall appproach you.

Mean time, no Captive, but a welcome Guest,

Here shall you reign admir'd; the Queen of Beauty:

Here shall you live, as in your Father's Palace;

Nor dread the Frowns of that imperious Woman.

Gwend.

Alas, what have you said!—Here shall I live!—

Oh, Valens; this is no abiding Place.

Already have I liv'd a weary Time;

And lengthen'd every Minute with my Sighs.

Val.

What then have I endured!—Revolving Moons;

Divided from your Presence; from my Bliss.

And, do you wish already to be gone!

And, can you not allow me one short Day,

One Hour to renew my ardent Vows,

And breathe my tender Sighs once more, before you?

Those Sighs, that nightly fill my silent Tent,

And keep me waking on my lonely Couch.

Consider; Gwendolen, my lasting Passion;

A Passion, that, through Time, takes deeper Root;

A Love, that, spight of Absence, hourly grows;

In spight even of Despair:—Yet, will I not

Despair; since Fortune favours thus my Hopes.

Gwend.

Good Valens, say no more.—Oh, send me hence!

Home to my Father, send me.—

Val.

And to Yvor.—

No, Princess;—when I do, I must not love you.

In vain you ask, what I can never grant.

Gwend.

Will Valens make me wretched?—

Val.

Cruel Fair!—

Guend.

How have I been deceiv'd!—I thought to find

A Friend in you.—How often have you sworn,

That you would suffer all Extremes, e'er I

Should feel a Misery; a transient Pain?

And do You study to prolong my Woe;

A Woe, too heavy to support, and live!

Val.

Your Happiness shall be my tenderest Care.

Gwend.

Restore me, then;—

Val.

It is not in my Power.—

Gwend.

To Yvor, to my self, restore me;—

Val.

To my Rival!—

Guend.

And I shall live to praise, to bless your Friendship,

And cherish your Remembrance, in my grateful Heart.

Val.

Distracting Thought!—My Hope, and my Despair!—

What to resolve!—But, how can I resolve?

Or, how sustain this Conflict in my Soul?—

And, must I yield?—And, must you be obey'd?—

Gwend.

O, generous Roman!—

Val.

But it will not be!—

No, Gwendolen; I cannot let you go.

It would convince you, that I never lov'd.

Gwend.

Then let me die, and finish my Affliction,

When it shall be too late, your Cruelty

Will turn to Lamentation, o'er a Princess,

Who, but for Valens, might have liv'd, most happy,

Blest, above Womankind!—

Val.

What can I do!—

I would,—and I would not detain you.—Go.—

But not with my Consent!—But, whither go you?—

Not to Vanoc.—O, that belov'd Silurian!—

To him I will not,—Oh, I cannot send you.

Gwend.

From him I cannot live.—Good, gentle Valens;—

The Prince, my Father,—every gallant Briton,—

Nay, every Roman,—all, but Cartismand,

Will praise the Greatness of your Resolution.

The generous Deed would overcome my Father;

And bring you Peace.

Val.

First let me die in War;

E'er I consent to forfeit all my Hopes!—

And yet, whate'er I do, my Hopes are blasted.

That this fierce Combat in my Heart were over!—

Which way shall I decide the cruel Contest?

Perplexing Strife!—Some God determine for me!

Assist me, Princess;—Save me from Distraction.—

I would restore your Quiet,—And my own.

Deal gently with your Slave:—Allow me Time;

Some Days, to recollect my scatter'd Reason,

And wean my dearest, my most hopeless, Love!

Gwend.

O, Yvor!—Can I multiply thy Sufferings?

Or, give away one Moment of thy Quiet?

Val.

Ungrateful Maid!—E'er he beheld your Charms,

I lov'd through Years!—And am I thus despis'd?—

Not grant a Day!—Not sooth my Pains a Moment!—

I see my easy Nature is abus'd.

Gwend.

Witness, these Tears,—

Val.

They are not shed for Me.

What Right has Yvor, more than Valens?—Mine

Is an elder Claim:—Sooner will I die,

Than give it up.—Vanoc, you know,

Approv'd my Love.—Confiding in his Word,

Day after Day, I cherish'd my fond Hopes;

Indulg'd my thriving Passion, till it grew

Too strong to be controll'd.—And, shall I now

Decree my own sad Doom? And, shall I now

Renounce my just Pretensions; and assist

Your Father to accomplish his Injustice?

Gwend.

Alas; am I to blame?—I never lov'd,

I never gave you hope.

Val.

Through Length of Time,

Through Constancy, that triumphs over Time,

You might have lov'd.—But, Princess, place your Love

On whom you please; you shall not wed another.

Gwend.

Oh, can you tear me from my plighted Lord!

Sever Two Hearts, that never lov'd before;

That cannot love again:—For ever joyn'd!

Had, once, my Virgin Love been plac'd on You,

It had prov'd lasting, as it is to Yvor.

Val.

Enough!—It is too much!—Insulting Captive!—

Your open Scorn, unmerited Disdain,

Makes me most desperate; and turns my Love,

My slighted Goodness, into Indignation.—

Gwend.

You are my Friend; you, only, my Protectour.—

Why should you thus alarm a helpless Virgin?

A Princess, who relies upon your Goodness?

Val.

We know the Rights of War.—

Gwend.

Oh, kill me not.

I am unfortunate;—But, not unkind.

Val.

Most cruel!—Not to let me hope a while!—

But, I will make You desperate as my Self.

Gwend.

Is my Sincerity a Crime?—Alas, what Hope

Have I to give?—What shew of Love?—Indeed,—

Val.

I shall not ask it more.—Your Tears are vain,

As was my Love.—

Gwend.

Let me conjure you, Valens,—

Val.

You see, I now can smile at your Displeasure▪

Can pain You in my Turn; and make You feel

The Torments of a disappointed Love.

Gwend.

Inhuman Tribune!—

Val.

Nay, to Cartismand

Will I resign you.

Gwend.

Then am I lost indeed!—

Val.

For ever lost to Y•or.

When next we meet; you may perhaps repent

Of your. Disdain.

Gwend.

Oh, leave me not, in Anger!—

Have you no Pity, then?

Val.

I learn from You.—

Guards, to her Tent, conduct the Princess.

Gwend.

Stay:—

Oh, Stay!—

SCENE VII.

Gwendolen.

Hard-hearted Man!—He will not hear me.

Nowk, Yvor; now, are we compleatly wretched!—

That vengeful Woman!—Oh, my gathering Terrours!—

How to support my Anguish, unassisted!

Unbefriended!—destitute of Comfort!—

But, though my Fears, like rising Floods, prevail,

And my weak Heart, on every Side, assail;

Through all Distresses, Yvor, will I prove

Still true to Thee; unshaken in my Love.

End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT V. SCENE I.

The SCENE continues.

Valens, Idwall.

Valens.

WHOM seek you, Idwall? The General?

Id.

You, Valens;—

And, to disclose a Secret, may deserve

Your kindest Thanks.

Val.

I doubt not of your Friendship:

But, what fresh Instance of it?

Id.

In your Love,

Your dearest Interest, am I come to serve you.

Val.

Alas, my Friend!—Would it might be!—But, say:

How can'st thou serve me, in my Love?

Id.

Know then;

The Queen, enraged at the Demand of Vanoc,

Resolves to claim your Captive from you:—

Val.

How!

Id.

The Princess, for her Prisoner!—This obtain'd;

I fear the Event.

Val.

It strikes my Soul with Horrour!

Id.

She is too young, too good, too innocent,

To suffer: And Cartismand too far provok'd,—

To treat her kindly.

Val.

Oh, the very Fright,

Were Gwendolen to know it, would be fatal,

Thou dost deserve my best of Thanks.

Id.

No more.

Val.

I will preserve her: With my Life, will I

Preserve the charming Maid!—Though still, I live

Depriv'd of Hope; abandon'd to Despair!

Id.

For Her, Compassion pleads, as strong as Love.

Val.

Thou art a worthy Soldier.

Id.

But, the Queen

May come:—I must be gone.

Val.

Adieu.

SCENE II.

Valens.

Alas;

Where, now, are my Resolves!—Do what I can,

My Tenderness prevails.—O, Gwendolen;

How exquisite art thou!—Perfection all!—

Nor can I blame thy Love.—Too happy Yvor!

How could I send her hence, oppress'd with Sorrow?—

Severest Proof of Fondness!—To her Tent,

This Instant will I hasten: Ask Forgiveness;

Asswage her Grief, and dissipate her Fears.

SCENE III.

Valens, Cartismand.

Cart.

Let me not, Valens, hinder your Occasions.—

My Business is to Didius.

Val.

In his Absence

May Valens be intrusted?

Cart.

My Request,

Though small in Consequence, were bettertold

To Him.—Yet, you may hear it.—But I fear,

Your Heart may misinterpret my Intentions.

Val.

Then, Madam, were it kind to disabuse me.

Cart.

Yet, why do I suppose, you should not wish,

The Princess were committed to my Care?—

Didius, I know, will not refuse it.

Val.

Madam,

The General may think, his Captive as secure,

If she continues under his Protection.

Cart.

But, she is here, a Stranger; among Men;

Companionless; and full of Virgin Fears.

My Tent would be her Home.—I only ask,

What Decency requires.—It is my Duty.

Val.

What Decency requires, shall not be wanting.

Her Women, her Attendants, shall have free Access.

Cart.

I should promote Your Love; watch every Season;

And teach her to forget all Thoughts of Yvor.

Val.

I read your Purpose, through the thin Disguize.

Is Cartismand no better known?

Cart.

How, Tribune!—

Does your malicious Thought pervert my Meaning?

Val.

Do I not know your Hatred to the Princess?—

The pitying Gods preserve her from Your Mercy!

Cart.

Presumptuous Man; thus to arraign my Goodness!

Val.

Was I not Witness to your cruel Usage?

When with submissive Gentleness, she bore

(Beneath her Father's Eye) your bitter Scorn;

Stifled her Griefs; hid all your blame in Smiles;

And interceded for the Wrongs she suffer'd.

And would you, now, resume your Tyranny;

Redouble every Anguish in her Soul;

And, through the harmless Daughter, wound the Father?

Cart.

Peace, Traytor; peace!—The General shall know

Thy secret Dealings; thy dishonest Love.

Thou would'st for Gwendolen betray thy Countrey.

Thou hast, this very Day, combin'd with Vanoc:

Hast sold us: I perceive it.—But thy Life

Shall answer for the Treason!—

Val.

Your Displeasure,

Your Suspicions concern me not.—To you

I might appeal, to every Roman here,

To every Briton, to acquit my Faith,

My Loyalty; unblemish'd by my Love.

I own, it was with Pain, I could prefer

〈◊〉 Duty to my Passion; to such Charms!—

〈◊〉, in my early Youth, have I been taught,

The Love, a brave Man to his Countrey owes,

Should triumph over every sond Endearment.

Cart.

Resign the Princess then:—And stand acquitted.

Yours is a thin Disguize; a Boast of Vertue;

While in your Love, you meditate our Ruin.—

But why, regardless of my Dignity,

Do I waste Words? When Didius can command;

Can check your Insolence.—

Val.

You are a Queen

Of high Descent: High seated, once, in Power;

And join'd in Wedlock, to a noble Prince.

That you are, now, abandon'd by your Subjects,

The People's Scorn; is not through our Demerits.

Cart.

Speak on! And give full Proof, perfidious Wretch,

Of thy Adherence to the Foes of Claudius.

Declare thy smother'd Treason.

Val.

Yes; my Heart

Did ever disapprove your rash Attempt,—

That you had never reign'd, or reign'd more vertuous!—

What have I lost; what suffer'd by your Crime!

Accuse My Love!—Accuse your own Dishonour,

The Cause of all this War: A War to us,

Innlorious.—What could Vanoc less? Or, how

Can He forgive?—My sharp Despair

Will have its Vent.—Was not your V•ll•ead,

Your Paramour, your Infamy,—my Curse!—

That Man of Dress, the Servant of your Lord?

A Prince of such rare Qualities! So eminent!—

A juster Prince there lives not!—Nor more injur'd▪

Cart.

Audacious Roman!—Thy unruly Tongue

Be thy Accuser.—It is evident,

What made you fly; to whom you left the Field;

To whom you gave a Victory, so cheap!

Val.

Opprobrious Woman!—What is your Reproach?

Your Praise▪ alas! was never my Ambition.

Even all your Merit, howe'er confess'd by Claudius,

Turns to Disgrace on You.—One Prince betray'd;

And one dishonour'd: Both of high Renown;

Unmatch'd in British Story; have been the Sport

Of Cartismand, grown wanton in her Power.

Cart.

Have done!—No farther urge me, on thy Life!—

O I could rend my Heart!—Do any Thing!—

So low am I declin'd; a Tribune's Scorn!

The Mock of Underlings!—My shameful Tears!—

But I will have the Prisoner; yes, I will!—

Or, woe upon you all!—

SCENE IV.

Valens, Cartismand, Didius,

Cart.

Come General; Come:—

Avenge an injur'd Woman!—Right a Queen!

Did.

What new Disturbance, Madam?—More Suspicions!

Cart.

Abusive Treason utter'd! Spoke aloud!—

Your Tribune, there, betrays us Both!—

Val.

Injurious Rage!—

Cart.

He leagues with Vanoc: Sells us for his Daughter.

Did.

Valens, explain this Tumult of the Queen.

Cart.

To him do you appeal?—

Did.

Inform me, Tribune.

Val.

She comes, Sir, to demand your Captive from you.

Cart.

My Subject, Didius:—Is she not?

Did.

My Hostage, Cartismand.

Val.

Her Life would not be safe, could She obtain her.

Did.

Madam, if this disturbs you; cool, at leisure.

I am to answer for the Princess.—

Cart.

Oh,

My Distraction!—Are You smitten too?—

A Blight upon her Charms!—Now I perceive,

(Too late, alas!) I live amongst my Foes;

Or, with Allies, too powerful to be just.—

I am controll'd! A Bond-slave!—Perish first!—

Such Treatment, from the Men, I sav'd!—Endure it?—No!—

Rather will I submit to Vanoc's Vengeance;

And make my Ruin fatal to the Romans!

SCENE V.

Valens, Didius.

Did.

Centurion, there!—Haste to the Captive Princess.—

Attend her hither.—Go,—return,—with Speed.

Valens, We have no Time for Counsel.—

Val.

Sir!—

Did.

Vanoc, and Yvor, with united Powers,

Bear (like a Tide) upon our Camp.

Val.

I fear'd

Some Enterprize: Though, not so sudden.—See,

The Princess.

SCENE VI.

Valens, Didius, Gwendolen.

Gwend.

O General! O Valens!—

What means this hasty Message to me?—Say,—

Am I deliver'd, then, to Cartismand?

Did.

In this Pavilion, Madam, guarded from Her,

Shall you remain; secure in my Protection.

Scarce have I Time to say; your Father, now,

Attempts our Mounds.—

Gwend.

O Heaven!

Val.

Be not alarm'd.—

The General is tender of your Safety.

Did.

Keep a strict Watch, Centurion. On your Life,

Forbid all Entrance here; till we return.—

Princess, compose your Fears.—Come, Tribune; to our Posts.

Val.

It grieves me, Gwendolen, to leave you thus;

Though here I leave you, unexpos'd to Danger.!

Forgive me, Princess:—Pity my Offence.

When I return, whatever Pangs I suffer,

You shall be happy.—Even Yvor shall confess,

Your Eyes ne'er kindled up a brighter Flame.

SCENE VII.

Gwendolen.

Unhappy, that I am.—My Cares now take

A different Cast; and fright me with new Terrors.—

O Yvor!—O, my Father!—Who can tell,

If ever we shall meet, in Life?—When You are slain;

In vain, am I preserv'd from Cartismand.—

You are not Proof against the Javelin's Point:

Nor I, against the Fears,—perhaps the Woes,—

The killing Woes of this uncertain Hour.—

Oh, 'tis begun!—The Roman Trumpet sounds!—

Again, the Signal ecchoes!—Louder still!—

My beating Heart!—Now it boads Wounds and Death.—

Let me be gone!—Oh, why am I confin'd?—

And, yet amidst the Battel, what can I!—

Can these defenseless Tears!—The distant Din

I hear confus'd!—That I cou'd be inform'd!—

But, oh, forbear!—I dread, alas, to know my Fate.—

What wafting Noise?—The British shouts!—Again!—

The Shouts of Victory!—Transporting Tumult!—

'Tis not Delusion?—Yet; Another Peal!—

Auspicious Token!—My Deliverance comes!

And thou, Adrasté, dost regard my Vows!—

What Clash of Weapons?—O defend them now!—

It is the Prince;—it is the King:—Or Both.—

Give way;—resist not, Romans!—Let me meet—

SCENE VIII.

Gwendolen, Cartismand.

Cart.

Yes; we are met!—And, in Despight of Valens,

Gwend.

Heaven shield me!—

Cart.

No Delay.—You must with me.

Gwend.

Oh, whither must I?

Cart.

Hence.—Our Hostage now!—

My Men shall guard you,:—better than the Romans.—

Vance is Master of the Camp.—

Gwend.

One Moment hear me!—

Cart.

We must away.—And now, thy boasted Sire.

Shall, soon, resign my Crown; or, thou shalt die.

Gwend.

I never did offend

Cart.

My Chariot waits.—

Gwend.

Hark!—

Cart.

My Destruction!—Vanoc comes upon me!—

Gwend.

Most timely Rescue!—

Cart.

Death to Thee!—

Gwend.

O spare▪

My Life!—

Cart.

I will sequre my Vengeance!—

Gwend.

Mercy!—

Help;—speedy Help!—

Cart.

Thus, Vanoc, to Thy Heart,

I drive the Poignard.—Thus, I brave thy Fury!

Gwend.

Oh,—it is done!—

SCENE IX.

Gwendolen, Cartismand, Yvor.

Yvor.

Once more, my Gwendolen,

Receive me!—Take me to thy Arms!—Tumultuous Joy!—

We, never more, will part!—The King is safe:—

And thou, my Fair, art Yvor's Bride, again!

Gwend.

O, Yvor; O!—support me.—I grow faint.—

Yvor.

Distracting Sight!—Blood, on thy Bosom!—

Gwend.

Inward,

I bleed.—

Yvor.

Where?—When?—How?—

Gwend.

See, the murdering Queen!—

Yvor.

O, my disorder'd Senses?—Can it be!—

Gwend.

E'er you could force your Entrance,—

Yvor.

Accursed Woman!—Bane of Innocence!—

Cart.

Remember Vellocad!—

Yvor.

Most cruel Savage!—

But;—Vanoc shall award thy Doom.—My Gwendolen!—

How fares my Love!—My dearest Life!—

Gwend.

The Sight

Of You delights,—and pains, my wounded Heart.—

Fain would I live!—

Yvor.

Thou shalt live.—

Gwend.

I cannot bear

To think of—parting from you.

Yvor.

Name it not!—

Gwend.

Relentless Fate! I feel the Stroke of Death!—

Yvor.

Oh, thy Cheek turns pale!—

Gwend.

We are to live again.—Continue mine.—

Through every Life we pass,—let me be Yours.

Yvor.

O, ever!—Ever mine!—

Gwend.

Sweet,—pleasing Hope!—

No Jealousy did ever interrupt our Love:—

Nor shall it yield to Death!—

Yvor.

My Agony!—

Thy Eye-Beams fade!—Oh, Gwendolen!—

Gwend.

My Prince!—

Yvor.

Revive!—What Hope?—I cannot live without thee!

Gwend.

Live, for our Father's Sake:—And, do not grieve,—

Too much.—One Look!—O Yvor!—My Desire!—

My first,—my latest Love!—a while—farewel.

Yvor.

Despair and Death!—Quite Speechless!—O, Distraction!—

Here will I fix:—Thus o'er thy dear Remains,

For ever weep;—and waste out Life, in wailing.

SCENE X.

Cartismand, Yvor, Vanoc.

Van.

O, where! Where is my Child? My Gwendolen?—

The Purchase of our Victory!—O, Horrour!—

Cart.

Bend thy stern Brow on Me!—I did the Deed!

Van.

Perdition on thee!—But, I stay my Hand!—

Speak, Yvor!—Oh, my Daughter!—Dead!—

Breathless, and pale!—O, most accomplish'd Mischief!—

SCENE XI.

Cartismand, Ivor, Vanoc, Alan.

Van.

Come, Alan; come.—See, there!—See my Distress!

Thy Master's Woe!—Behold the bloody Tygress!—

Cart.

Rave on!—My Vengeance is compleat!—

Live wretched!

Reign on, in Sorrow!—

Van.

O, thy Misery

Will I prolong; and vary it through Life!—

Cart.

Hadst thou been more forgiving;—I had been

Less cruel.—

Van.

Wickedness! Barbarian! Monster!—

What had She done, alas?—Sweet Innocence!—

She would have interceded for thy Crimes.

Cart.

Too well I knew the Purpose of thy Soul!—

Didst thou believe I would submit?—Resign my Crown?—

Or, that Thou, only, hadst the Power to punish?

Van.

Yet, I will punish;—meditate strange Torments!—

Then, give thee to the Justice of the Gods.

Cart.

Thus, Vanoc, do I mock thy treasur'd Rage.—

My Heart springs forward, to the Dagger's Point.

Van.

Quick!—Wrest it from her!—Drag her hence to Chains.

Cart.

There needs no second Stroke.—

Adieu, rash Man!—My Woes are at an End:—

Thine but begun;—and lasting, as thy Life!—

SCENE XII.

Yvor, Vanoc, Alan.

Van.

Lasting, indeed! That thou hadst been less Guilty!—

My Shame not publick!—And more just the Romans!—

That my Resentment might have been appeas'd!—

O, Yvor, Prince!—Sad Partner in my Woe!—

Alan.

Auspicious Morning!—Fatal Close of Day!

Van.

Turn here thy streaming Eyes; O, Yvor, turn;

And mingle Tears with mine!—

Yvor.

Most irksome Life!—But, what is Life to Me?—

My Sword shall end my Cares,—

Van.

Forbear, my Son!—

Already my Affliction is too heavy.

Yvor.

Not die?

Van.

Leave that false Vertue to the Romans.—

Our Injuries, my Daughter's Fate, our Countrey's Cause,

Bid us to live.—We must not throw off Life;—

But lay it down; when Heaven appoints us Rest.

Just Gods!—If my Resentments be too strong;

Or, over-rigid to compensate Wrong:—

Severely you my rash Offence chastise;—

Bereft, in Gwendolen, of All, I prize!

End of the Fifth ACT.

Information about this book

Title statement

The Briton: A tragedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane by His Majesty's servants. By Mr. Philips.

Philips, Ambrose, 1674-1749.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4351

ID [isbn10]

1106013506

ID [isbn13]

9781106013507

ID [TCP]

K050786.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3309502314

ID [ECLL]

0048301200

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The Briton: A tragedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane by His Majesty's servants. By Mr. Philips., Philips, Ambrose, 1674-1749.. [16],64p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for B. Lintot,. 1722.. [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT57685.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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