'Bating that only one, his love, than you;
Though you perhaps (for fome have wond'rous arts)
Could foften the harsh found. The ftring that jars,
When rudely touch'd ungrateful to the fenfe,
With pleasure feels the mafter's flying fingers,
Swells into harmony, and charms the hearers.
Ari. Then hear me speak of love.-

Rodo. But not of his.

Ari. 'Tis true I should not grace the story much, Rude and unskilful in the moving paffion,

I should not paint its flames with equal warmth; Strength, life, and glowing colours would be wanting, And languid nature fpeak the work imperfect.

Rodo. Then happ'ly yet your breast remains untouch'd; Tho' that seems strange; you've feen the court of Britain; There, as I oft have heard, imperial beauty

Reigns in its native throne, like light in heav'n;
While all the fair ones of the neighb'ring world,
With fecond luftre meanly feem to fhine,

The faint reflections of the glory there.

Ari. If e'er my heart incline to thoughts of love, Methinks I fhould not (though perhaps I err)

Expect to meet the gentle paffion join'd,

With pomp and greatnefs: courts may boast of beauty, But love is feldom found to dwell amongst 'em.

Rodo. Then courts are wretched.

Ari. So they feem to love.

From pride, from wealth, from bufinefs, and from pow'r,
Loathing he flies, and feeks the peaceful village;
He feeks the cottage in the tufted grove,

The ruffet fallows, and the verdant lawns,
The clear cool brook, and the deep woody glade,
Bright winter fires, and fummer ev'nings fun :
These he prefers to gilded roofs and crowns;
Here he delights to pair the constant swain,
With the fweet, unaffected, yielding maid;
Here is his empire, here his choice to reign,
Here, where he dwells with innocence and truth.

Rodo. To minds, which know no better, these are joys;
But princes, fure, are born with nobler thoughts.
Love, is in them a flame that mounts to heav'n,
And feeks its fource divine, and kindred stars;

That

That urges on the mortal man to dare,
Kindles the vaft defires of glory in him,
And makes ambition's facred fires burn bright.
Nor you, howe'er your tongue difguife your heart,
Have meaner hopes than thefe.

Ar. Mine have been still

Match'd with my birth, a younger brother's hopes.

Rod. Nay, more; methinks I read your future greatAnd, like fome bard infpir'd, I could foretel [nefs; • What wond'rous things our gods referve for you. Perhaps, ev'n now, your better ftars are join'd; Aufpicious love and fortune now confpire, "At once to crown you, and bestow that greatness, Which partial nature, at your birth deny'd.'

Enter the King, Guards, and other Attendants. King. She muft, the fhall be found, tho' she be funk Deep to the centre, tho' eternal night

Spread wide her fable wing, to fhade her beauties, And shut me from her fight.' But fay, thou traitor; Thou that haft made the name of friendship vile, And broke the bonds of duty and of nature, Where hast thou hid thy theft?

So young, fo false→

• Have I not been a father to thy youth,

And lov'd thee with a more than brother's love!

• And am I thus repaid?'.

Or by our gods thou dy't.

Rod. What means this rage?

But bring her forth,

[Afile.

Ar. Then briefly thus: You are my king and brother,

The names which most I reverence on earth,

And fear offending moft. Yet to defend

My honour and my love from violation,
O'er ev'ry bar refiitlefs will I rush,
And, in defpite of proud tyrannic pow'r,
Seize and affert my right.

King. What, thine! thy right!
Riddles and tales !'

Ar. Mine, by the dearest tie,

By holy marriage mine, fhe is my wife.

con

Rod. Racks, tortures, madnefs felze me! Oh.' con fufion!

[Afide.

Ar. I fee thy heart fwells, and thy flaming vifage Reddens with rage at this unwelcome truth;

D

But

But fince I know my Ethelinda safe,

I have but little care for what may happen.
To-morrow may be Heav'n's-

or yours to take," If this day be my laft, why farewel life; I hold it well beftow'd for her I love.

Rod. May forrow, shame, and sickness overtake her,
And all her beauties, like my hopes, be blasted. [Afide."
King. So brave! but I fhall find the means to tame you,
To make thee curfe thy folly, curse thy love,
And to the dreadful gods, who reign beneath,
Devote thy fatal bride. She is a christian :
Remember that, fond boy, and then remember
That facred vow, which, perjur'd as thou art,
Proftrate at Woden's altar, and invoking
With folemn Runic rights, our country's gods,
Thou mad'ft in prefence of our royal father.

Ar. Yes, I remember well the impious oath,
Hardly extorted from my trembling youth;
When, burning with mifguided zeal, the king
Compell'd my knee to bend before his gods,
And forc'd us both to fwear to what we knew not.
King. Now, by the honours of the Saxon race.
A long and venerable line of heroes,'

I fwear thou art abandon'd, loft to honour,

• And fall'n from ev'ry great and godlike thought.
• Some whining, coward prieft has wrought upon thee,
• And drawn thee from our brave forefathers' faith,'
Falfe to our gods, as to thy king and brother.

Ar. 'Tis much beneath my courage and my truth,
To borrow any mean difguite from falfhood.
No!-'tis my glory that the chriftian light
Has dawn'd, like day, upon my darker mind,
And taught my foul the nobleit ufe of reafon ;
Taught her to foar aloft, to fearch, to know,
• That vast eternal fountain of her being;'
Then, warm with indignation, to defpife
The things you call our country's gods, to fcorn
And trample on their ignominious altars.

King. 'Tis well, Sir-impious boy !-Ye Saxon gods;
And thou, Oh, royal Hengift! whofe dread will
And injur'd majefty I now affert,

Hear, and be prefent to my justice, hear me,

While thus I vow to your offended deities
This traitor's life: he dies, nor ought on earth
Saves his devoted head. One to the priests;

[Exit a Gent.

Bid 'em be swift, and drefs their bloody altars
With ev'ry circumftance of tragic pomp;
To-day a royal victim bleeds upon 'em.
Rich fhall the fimoke and fleaming gore afcend,
To glut the vengeance of our angry gods.

Rod. At once ten thousand racking paffions tear me,
And my heart heaves as it would burft my bofom.'

Oh, can I, can I hear him doom'd to death,
Nor stir nor breathe one fingle found to fave him?
It wo'not be--and my fierce haughty foul,
Whate'er the fuffers, ftill difdains to bend,
To fue to the 'curs'd,' hated tyrant king.

Oh, love! Oh, glory!-Wouldst thou die thus tamely? [To Aribert.

Is life fo fmall a thing, fo mean a boon,
As is not worth the afking?

Thou art filent;

• Wilt thou not plead for life?And waken nature in his iron heart.

Intreat the tyrant,

Ar. Life has fo little in it good or pleafing, That fince it feems not worth a brother's care, 'Tis hardly worth my afking.

King. Seize him, guards,

And bear him to his fate,

[Guards feize Aribert; and bear him off.

Rod. Yet, Hengift, know,

If thou fhalt dare to touch his precious life,
Know that the gods and Rodogune prepare
The sharpeft fcourges of vindictive war.
Fly where thou wilt, the sword shall still pursue
With vengeance, to a brother's murder due.
Driven out from man, and mark'd for public fcorn,
Thy ravish'd fceptre vainly shalt thou mourn.
And when, at length, thy wretched life shall cease,
When in the filent grave thou hop'ft for peace,
Think not the grave shall hide thy hated head;
Still, ftill I will purfue thy fleeting fhade;
I curs'd thee living, and I'll plague thee dead.
[Exit Rodogune.

D 2

King

King. On to the temple with him let her rave
And prophecy ten thoufand, thousand horrors;
I could join with her now, and bid 'em come;
They fit the prefent fury of my foul.

The ftings of love and rage are fix'd within,

And drive me on to madness. Earthquakes, whirlwinds,
A general wreck of nature now would please me.'
For, Oh! not all the driving wintry war,

When the storm groans, and bellows from afar;
When thro' the gloom the glancing lightnings fly,
Heavy the rattling thunders roll on high,

• And feas and earth mix with the dusky sky ;'
Not all thofe warring elements we fear,
Are equal to the inborn tempeft here;

Fierce as the thoughts which mortal man controul,

}

When love and rage contend, and tear the lab'ring soul. [Exeunt,

END of the THIRD ACT.

The scene is a temple, adorned according to the fuperftition of the ancient Saxons; in the middle are ⚫ placed their three principal idols, Thor, Woden, and • Freya. Mufic is heard at a distance, as of the priests ' preparing for the sacrifice.'

SCENE, a prison.

Enter Aribert.

ARIEERT.

LL night the bloody priests, a dreadful band,

ALL

• With many a dire and execrable pray❜r,
Calling the fiends beneath, the fullen demons
That dwell in darkness deep, and, foes to man,
Delight in reeking ftreams of human gore.
Now huddled on a heap, they murmur'd hoarse.
And, hiffing, whisper'd round their myftic charms;

6

• And now, as if by fudden madness struck,
With fereaming thrill they fhook the vaulted roof,
And vex'd the itill, the filent, folemn midnight.
Such, fure, in everlasting flames below,

• Such