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Yet 'tis mcft certain that you fign'd her death,
Not knowing what the wife Pulcheria offer'd,
Who left it in my hand to ftartle you:
But, by my life and fame, I did not think
It would have touch'd your life. O pardon me,
Dear prince, my lord, my emperor, roval mafter:
Droop not because I utter'd fome rafh words,
And was a madman. By the immortal gods
I love you as my foul: whate'er I faid,
My thoughts were otherwife; believe these tears,
Which do not ufe to flow: all shall be well.
I swear that there are feeds in that fweet temper,
Tatone for all the crimes in this bad age.
Theo. I thank thee firft for my Eudofia's life.
What but my love could have call'd back that life |
Which thou haft made me hate? But, O, me-
'Twas hard, dear Marcian, very hard, from thee,
From him I ever reverenc'd as my father,
To hear fo harth a meffage! But no more;
We're friends: thy hand. Nay, if thou wilt
And let me fold my arms about thy neck,
I'll not believe thy love: in this forgive me.
First let me wed Éudofia, and we'll out;
We will, my general, and make amends
For all that's paft: glory and arms, ye call,
And Marcian leads me on!
Mar. Let her not rest, then;
Efpoufe her ftraight: I'll ftrike you at a heat.
May this great humour get large growth within
And be encourag'd by the embold'ning gods:
O what a fight will this be to the foldier,
To fee me bring you dre fs'd in fhining armour,
To head the fhouting fquadrons! O ye gods!
Methinks I hear the echoing cries of joy,
The founds of trumpets, and the beat of drums;
I fee each ftarving foldier bound from earth,
As if a god by miracle had rais'd him;
And with beholding you, grow fat again!
Nothing but gazing eyes, and opening mouths,
Cheeks red with joy, and lifted hands about you;
Some wiping the glad tears that trickle down
With broken Io's, and with fobbing raptures;
Crying, To arms! he's come; our emperor's come
To win the world! Why, is not this far better
Than lolling in a lady's lap, and fleeping,
Fafting or praying? Come, come, you shall be
And for Eudofia, the is yours already: [merry:
Marcian has faid it, Sir; fhe fhall be yours.
Theo. O Marcian! O my brother, father, all!
Thou beft of friends! moft faithful counsellor!
I'll find a match for thee too, ere I rest,
To make thee love me. For, when thou art with
I'm strong and well; but when thou'rt gone,
Believe me, she has won me much to pity her;
Alas ber gentle mature was not made
To buffet with adverfity. I told her
How worthly her cause you had befriended;
How much for your good fake we meant to do;
That you had fpoke, and all things should be well.
Het. Your highnets binds me ever to your
Gleft. You know your friendship is met pa-
tent with us,
And fhares our power. But of this enough,
For we have other matter for your ear;
The ftate is out of tune: diftra&ting fears,
And jealous doubts, jar in our public counles
Amidft the wealthy city murmurs rife,
Lewd railings, and reproach on those that rule,
With open fcorn of government; hence credit,
And public truft 'twixt man and man are broke,
The golden ftreams of commerce are withheld,
Which fed the wants of needy hinds and artilam,
Who therefore curfe the great, aud threat re
Have plac'd a pageant fceptre in my hand,
Barren of pow'r, and subject to controul;
Scorn'd by my foes, and ufelefs to my friends.
O worthy lord! were mine the rule indeed,
I think I should not fuffer rank offence
At large to lord it in the commonweal;
Nor would the realm be rent by difcord thus,
Thus fear and doubt, betwixt difputed titles.
Haft. Of this I am to learn; as not fuppong
A doubt like this-
Gloft. Ay, marry, but there is;
And that of much concern. Have you not heard
How, on a late occasion, Doctor Shaw [
Has mov'd the people much about the lawta
Of Edward's iffue? by right grave authority
Of learning and religion plainly proving,
A baftard fcion never fhould be grafted
Gloft. My lord, y' are well encounter'd; here Upon a royal stock; from thence, at full
A fair petitioner this morning with us;
Difcourfing on my brother's former contract
To Lady Elizabeth Lucy, long before
Such meddling priefts, who kindle up confufion,
And vex the quiet world with their vain fcruples!
By Heaven, 'tis done in perfect spite to peace.
Did not the king,
Our royal mafter, Edward, in concurrence
With his eftates affembled, well determine
What courfe the fovereign rule should take
When fhall the deadly hate of faction cease,
When fhall our long-divided land have reft,
If every peevish, moody malecontent
Shall fet the fenfeless rabble in an uproar,
Fright them with dangers, and perplex their
Each day, with fome fantastic giddy change?
Gloft.What if fome patriot, for the public good,
Should vary from your scheme, new-mould the
Haft. Curfe on the innovating hand attempts
Remember him, the villain, righteous Heaven,
In thy great day of vengeance! Blaft the traitor,
And his pernicious counfels, who for wealth,
For pow'r, the pride of greatnefs, or revenge,
Would plunge his native land in civil wars !
Gloft. You go too far, my lord.
Haft. Your highnefs' pardon-
Tave we fo foon forgot thefe days of ruin,
When York and Lancaster drew forth the battles?
When, like a matron butcher'd by her fons,
And caft befide fome common way, a fpectacle
Of horror and affright to paffers by,
Dar groaning country bled at ev'ry vein;
When murders, rapes, and maffacres prevail'd;
When churches, palaces, and cities blaz'd;
When infolence and barbarifm triumph'd,
And swept away diftinction; peasants trod
Upon the necks of nobles: low were laid
The reverend crofier and the holy mitre,
And defolation cover'd all the land;
Who can remember this, and not, like me,
ere vow to fheath a dagger in his heart
Whofe damn'd ambition would renew thofe hor-
and fet once more that scene of blood before us?
Gloft. How now ! fo hot!
Hell. So brave, and fo refolv'd.
Gigl. Is then our friendship of fo little moment,
at you could arm your hand against my life?
a. I hope your highnefs does not think I
G. O noble Haftings! Nay, I muft embrace
For me, I afk no more than honour gives,
To think me yours, and rank me with your
Haft. Accept what thanks a grateful heart
O princely Glofter! judge me not ungentle,
Of manners rude, and infolent of speech,
If, when the public fafety is in question,
My zeal flows warm and eager from my tongue.
Gloft. Enough of this; to deal in wordy
Is much against the plainnefs of my nature;
I judge you by myself, a clear true spirit;
And, as fuch, once more join you to my bofom.
Farewel, and be my friend.
Nor kill'd and practis'd in the arts of greatness,
To kindle thus, and give a fcope to paffion.
The duke is furely noble; but he touch'd me
Ev'n on the tend'reft point, the mafter string
That makes moft harmony or difcord to me.
I own the glorious fubject fires my breast,
And my foul's darling paffion ftands confefs'd;
Beyond or love's or friendship's facred band,
Beyond myself, I prize my native land:
On this foundation would I build my fame,
And emulate the Greek and Roman name;
Think England's peace bought cheaply with my
And die with pleasure for my country's good.
Thus fudden, thus unlook'd for, ftands before
As one efcap'd from cruel hands I come,
From hearts that ne'er knew pity, dark and
[fon -, Heaven forefond that e'er your princely perId come within the fcope of my refent-Who quaff the tears of orphans, bathe in blood, And know no mufic but the groans of Sweden. Yet, not for that my fifter's early innocence, And mother's age, now grind beneath captivity; Nor that one bloody one remorfeless hour Swept my great fire and kindred from my fide; For them Guftavus weeps not; tho' my eyes Were far lefs dear, for them I will not weep. But, O great parent, when I think on thee! Thy numberless, thy nameless, fhameful infamies,
holy Paul, y' are a right honeft man; e time is full of danger and diftrust,
warns us to be wary. Hold me not o apt for jealoufy and light furmife, when I mean to lodge you next my heart, ut your truth to trial. Keep your loyalty, d live, your king and country's best fupport:
My widow'd country! Sweden! when I think
Upon thy defolation, fpite of rage-
And vengeance that would choke them-tears
And. O, they are villains, ev'ry Dane of them, Practis'd to ftab and fmile, to ftab the babe That smiles upon them.
Arn. What accurfed hours
Roll o'er thofe wretches who to fiends like thefe,
In their dear liberty, have barter'd more
Than worlds will rate for!
Guf. O Liberty, Heaven's choice prerogative!
True bond of law, thou focial foul of property,
Thou breath of reafon, life of life itself!
For thee the valiant bleed. O facred Liberty!
Wing'd from the fummer's fnare, from flatt ring
Like the bold ftork you feek the wintry shore,
Leave courts, and pomps, and palaces to flaves,
Cleave to the cold and reft upon the ftorm.
Upborne by thee, my foul disdain'd the terms
Of empire offer'd at the hands of tyrants.
With thee I fought this fav'rite foil; with thee
Thefe fav'rite fons I fought: thy fons, O Liberty!
For e'en amid the wilds of life you lead them,
Lift their low-rafted cottage to the clouds,
Smile o'er their heaths, and from their moun-
Beam glory to the nations.
All. Liberty! Liberty!
Guf. Are ye not mark'd, ye men of Dalecarlia, Are ye not mark'd by all the circling world As the great stake the last effort for liberty? Say, is it not your wealth, the thirst, the food, The fcope and bright ambition of your fouls? Why elfe have you, and your renown'd forefathers, [thrones From the proud fummit of their glitt'ring Caft down the mightiest of your lawful kings, That dar'd the bold infringement? What but liberty, [years, Thro' the fam'd courfe of thirteen hundred Aloof hath held invafion from your hills, And fanctified their fhade?-And will ye, will ye Shrink from the hopes of the expecting world; Bid your high honours ftoop to foreign infult; And in one hour give up to infamy
The harvest of a thousand years of glory? ift Dale. No,
2d Dale. Never, never.
3d Dale. Perish all first.
4th Dale. Die all!
Guf. Yes, die by piece-meal! [umph!
Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane may tri-
Now from my foul I joy, I joy, my friends,
To fee ye fear'd; to fee that e'en your foes
Do juftice to your valours! There they be,
The pow'rs of kingdoms, fumm'd in yonder
Yet kept aloof, yet trembling to affail ye.
And, O, when I look round and fee
Of number short, but prevalent in virtue,
My heart fwells high, and burns for the encounter.
True courage but from oppofition grows;
And what are fifty, what a tholand flaves,
| Match'd to the finew of a fingle arm
That ftrikes for liberty-that ftrikes to fave
His fields from fire, his infants from the fword,
His couch from luft, his daughters from pollution,
And his large honours from eternal infamy?
What, doubt we then? Shall we, fhall we fland
Till motives that might warm an ague's frut,
And nerve the coward's arm, fhail poorly fere
To wake us to refiftance?-Let us on!
O, yes, I read your lovely fierce impatience;
You fhall not be withheld; we will ruth
This is indeed to triumph, where we hold
Three kingdoms in our toil! is it not glorion,
Thus to appal the bold, meet force with fury,
And push yon torrent back, till every wave
Flee to its fountain?
3d Dale. On, lead us on, Gustavus; one word
Is but delay of conqueft.
Guf. Take your wish.
He who wants arms may grapple with the foe,
And fo be furnish'd. You, moft noble Anderton,
Divide our pow'rs, and with the fam'd Olaus
Take the left route-You, Eric, great in arms!
With the renown'd Nederbi, hold the right,
And skirt the foreft down: then wheel at once,
Confefs'd to view, and close up all the vale:
Myfelf, and my most valiant cousin here,
Th' invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard,
Arnoldus, and these hundred hardy vet'rans,
Will pour directly on, and lead the onset.
Joy, joy, I fee confefs'd from ev'ry eye,
Your limbs tread vigorous, and your breas
Thin tho' our ranks, tho' scanty be our hands,
Bold are our hearts, and nervous are our hands.
With us, truth, justice, fame, and freedom close.
Each fingly equal to an hoft of foes:
I feel, I feel them fill me out for fight!
They lift my limbs as feather'd Hermes light!
Or like the bird of glory, tow'ring high [eye
Thunder within his grafp, and lightning in his
oo narrow for thy claim. But if thou thinkst
hat crowns are vilely propertied, like coin,
o be the means, the fpeciality of luft,
nd fenfual attribution; if thou think'st
hat empire is of titled birth or blood;
hat nature, in the proud behalf of one,
all difenfranchife all her lordly race,
d bow her gen'ral iffue to the yoke
private domination; then, thou proud one,
re know me for thy king. Howe'er, be told,
tclaim hereditary, not the trust
t even the high anointing hand of Heaven, 1 authorife oppreffion, give a law lawless pow'r, wed faith to violation, reafon build mifrule, or justly bind giance to injuftice. Tyranny olves all faith; and who invades our rights e'er his own cominence, can never be an ufurper. But for thee, for thee re is no name. Thou haft abjur'd mankind, I'd fafety from thy bleak, unfocial fide, wag'd wild war with univerfal nature. Licentious traitor! thou canst talk it largely.
o made thee umpire of the rights of kings, I pow'r, prime attribute-as on thy tongue poife of battle lay, and arms of force, throw defiance in the front of duty?
To wrath and bitterness. Yehallow'd men,
In whom vice fanctifies, whofe precepts teach
Zeal without truth, religion without virtue;
Who ne'er preach heaven but with a downward
That turns your fouls to drofs! who, fhouting,
Thefts and rapes,
The dogs of hell upon us.
Sack'd towns, and midnight howlings thro' the
round, unruly boy! thy battle comes raw, disjointed muft'ring, feeble wrath, ir of waters, borne against the rock ur firm continent, to fume, and chafe, fhiver in the toil.
Receive your fanction. O, 'tis glorious mischief!
When vice turns holy, puts religion on,
Affumes the robe pontifical, the eye
Of faintly elevation, blefleth fin,
And makes the feal of fweet offended Heaven
A fign of blood, à label for decrees
That hell would fhrink to own.
Crift. No more of this.
Guftavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace,
And hold thy motions in the fphere of duty,
Acceptance might be found.
Guf. Imperial fpoiler!
Give me my father, give me back my
Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans,
Give me the fons in whom thy ruthless fword
Has left our widows childlefs. Mine they were,
Both mine,and ev'ry Swede's, whofe patriot breaft
Bleeds in his country's woundings. O, thou
Thou haft outfinn'd all reck'ning! Give me
My all that's left, my gentle mother there,
And fpare yon little trembler.
Crift. Yes, on terms
f. Miftaken man!
he impower'd and strengthen'd in thy weak-
tho the ftructure of a tyrant's throne
on the necks of half the fuff'ring world,
trembles in the cement; pray'rs, and tears,
fecret curfes, fap its mould'ring bafe,
fteal the pillars of allegiance from it:
1 let a fingle arm but dare the fway,
long it turns, and drives upon deftruction.
alien to the love of heaven!
thou ftill harden'd to the wrath divine,
t hangs o'er thy rebellion? Know'st thou not
art at enmity with grace, caft out,
le an anathema, a curfe enroll'd
ng the faithful, thou and thy adherents n from our holy church, and offer'd up acred to damnation?
f. Yes, I know,
en fuch as thou, with facrilegious hand, on the apoftolic key of heaven,
en becomes a tool for crafty knaves fhut out virtue, and unfold thofe gates at heaven itself had barr'd against the lufts varice and ambition. Soft and fweet, looks of charity, or voice of lambs it bleat upon the mountain, are the words Chriftian meekneis! miffion all divine ! e law of love fole mandate. But your gall, Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turn'd e words of Iweet, but indigefted peace,
Of compact and fubmiffion.
Guf. Ha! with thee?
Compact with thee? and mean'st thou for my
For Sweden? No, fo hold my heart but firm,
Altho' it wring for't, tho' blood drop for tears,
And at the fight my straining eyes start forth-
They both fhall perish first.
Brutus and Titus.
Brut. WELL, Titus, fpeak; how is it with
I would attend awhile this mighty motion,
Wait till the tempeft were quite overblown,
That I may take thee in the calm of nature,
With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee;
So hufh'd a ftillness, as if all the gods
Look'd down, and liften'd to what we were fay-
Speak then, and tell me, O my best belov'd,
My fon, my Titus, is all well again? [thing?
Tit. So well, that faying how muft make it noSo well, that I could wish to die this moment, For fo my heart, with powerful throbs perfuades That were indeed to make you reparation, [me; That were, my lord, to thank you home, to die: And that for Titus too would be most happy. Brut. How's that, my fon? Would death for thee be happy?
Tit. Moft certain, Sir; for in my grave I'scape All thofe affronts which I in life muft look for, All thofe reproaches which the eyes, and fingers, And tongues of Rome will daily caft upon me;
From whom, to a soul so fenfible as mine, [ing: Each fingle fcorn would be far worse than dy. Befides, I 'scape the ftings of my own confcience, Which will for ever rack me with remembrance, Haunt me by day, and torture me by night, Cafting my blotted honour in the way [me, Where'er my melancholy thoughts hall guide Brut. But is not death a very dreadrul thing? Tit. Not to a mind refolv'd. No, Sir, to me It seems as natural as to be born:
Groans, and convulfions, and difcolour'd faces,
Friends weeping round us, blacks and obfequies,
Make it a dreadful thing; the pomp of death
Is far more terrible than death itself.
Yes, Sir, I call the pow'rs of heav'n to witness,
Titus dares die, if fo you have decreed;
Nay, he fhall die with joy to honour Brutus,
To make your juftice famous thro' the world,
And fix the liberty of Rome for ever:
Not but I must confefs my weakness too;
Yet it is great thus to refolve against it,
To have the frailty of a mortal man,
But the fecurity of the immortal gods.
Brut. O Titus! O thou abfolute young man! Thou flatt'ring mirror of thy father's image, Where I behold myself at such advantage ! Thou perfect glory of the Junian race!
Let me endear thee once more to my bosom,
Groan an eternal farewel to thy foul;
Instead of tears, weep blood, if poffible,
Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus on his child:
For thou must die, my Titus, die my fon;
I fwear the gods have doom'd thee to the grave:
The violated genius of thy country
Rears his fad head, and paffes fentence on thee:
This morning fun, that lights my forrows on
To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance,
Shall never fee thee more.
Tit. Alas, my lord! Why are you mov'd thus? Why am I worth your forrow? [me? Why should the god-like Brutus fhake to doom Why all thefe trappings for a traitor's hearfe? The gods will have it fo.
Brut. They will, my Titus: Nor heaven nor earth can have it otherwife. Nay, Titus, mark: the deeper that I fearch, My harafs'd foul returns the more confirm'd; Methinks I fee the very hand of Jove Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair, That whirl thee, like a machine, to thy fate. It feems as if the gods had pre-ordain'd it, To fix the reeling fpirits of the people, And fettle the loofe liberty of Rome. 'Tis fix'd; O therefore let not fancy fond thee: So fix'd thy death, that it is not in the pow'r Of gods or men to fave thee from the axe.
Tit. The axel O Heaven! then muft I fall fo bafely?
What, thall I perish by the common hangman? Brut. If thou deny me this, thou giv'it me nothing.
Yes, Titus, tince the gods have fo decreed That I must lofe thee, I will take th' advantage Of thy important fate, cement Rome's flaws,
And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood;
I will afcend myself the fad tribunal,
And fit upon my fons; on thee, my Titus;
Behold thee fuffer all the shame of death,
The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people;
Then with thy hopes, and all thy youth upon
See thy head taken by the common axe, [thee,
Without a groan, without one pitying tear,
If that the gods can hold me to my purpo
To make my juftice quite tranfcend example.
Tit. Scourg'd like a bondman! ah! a beatt
But I deferve it all; yet here I fail!
The image of this fuff'ring quite unnans mes
Nor can I longer stop the gushing tears.
O, Sir! O, Brutus! muft I call you father,
Yet have no token of your tenderness?
No fign of mercy? What, not bate me that!
Can you refolve, O all th' extremity
Of cruel rigour! to behold me too?
To fit unmov'd, and fee me whipt to death!
Where are your bowels now? Is this a father?
Ah, Sir, why fhould you make my heart fufped
That all your late compaffion was diffembled ?
How can I think that you did ever love me?
Brut. Think that I love thee by my prefent
By thele unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, Thefe fighs, that twitch the very ftrings of life: Think that no other caufe on earth can mort
To tremble thus, to fob, or fhed a tear,
Nor fhake my folid virtue from her point,
But Titus' death: O do not call it shameful,
That thus fhall fix the glory of the world,
I own thy fuff'rings ought tunnan me thus,
To make me throw my body on the ground,
To bellow like a beaft, to gnaw the earth,
To tear my hair, to curfe the cruel fates,
That force a father thus to drag his bowels.
Tit. O rife, thou violated majesty,
Rife from the earth, or 1 fhall beg thofe fates
Which you would curfe, to bolt me to the centre,
I now fubmit to all your threaten'd vengeance:
Come forth, you executioners of justice, [mer,
Nay, all you lictors, flaves, and common hang
Come, ftrip me bare, unrobe me in his fight,
And lafh me till I bleed, whip me like furies;
And when you've fcourg'd me till I foam and
For want of fpirits, grovelling in the duft, [fai,
Then take my head, and give it his revenge;
By all the gods, I greedily refign it!
Brut. No more-farewel, eternally farewel!
If there be gods, they will reserve a room,
A throne for thee in heaven. One laft embrace]
What is it makes thy eyes thus fwim again?
Tit. I had forgot: be good to Teraminta When I am in ashes,
Brut. Leave her to my care. See her thou must not, for thou canst not bear it, O for one more, this pull, this tug of heart. ftrings!
Farewel for ever!
Tit. O Brutus! O my father!
Brut. Can't thou not fay farewel?