Than all your function knows, your gods and you, Your temples, altars, and your holy fhrines, • Your holy trumpery fhall blaze together.'

[They unbind Ethelinda. Rodo. "Tis vain to rave and curfe my fortune now. Thou native greatnefs of my foul befriend me, And help me now to bear it as I ought.

King. The feeble lamp of life shall lend its blaze, To light me thus far-only-and no farther.

[Falling at Ethelinda's feet. Yet I look up, and gaze on those bright eyes, As if I hop'd to gather heat from thence, Such as might feed the vital flame for ever.

Ethel. Alas! you faint! your hafty breath comes fhort, And the red stream runs gufhing from your breaft. Call back your thoughts from each deluding paffion, And wing your parting foul for her last flight; 'Call back your thoughts to all your former days, Το every unrepented act of evil;

And fadly deprecate the wrath divine.

King. Oh, my fair teacher, you advise in vain;
'The gods and I have done with one another.
This night I meant to rival them in happiness.
Spight of my brother, and thy cruel coldness,
'This night I meant t'have past within thy arms.
Ethel. Oh, horror!

King. But 'tis gone.' Thofe envious gods
Have done their worst, and blafted all my hopes;
They have defpoil'd me of my crown and life,
By a flave's hand-But I forgive 'em that.
Thee-they have robb'd me of my joys in thee-
Have trod me down to wither in the grave.-
Seof. My matter, and my king!

King. Old man, no more:

I have not leifure for thy grief-Farewel

Thou, Aribert-fhalt live, and wear my crown-
Take it, and be more bleft with it than I was.

But Ethelinda, she too fhall be thine :

That -that's too much. This world has nothing in it
So good to give the next may have-I know not--
[The King dies.
Ari. There fled the fierce, untam'd, difcainful soul.'.
Turn thee from death, and rife, my gentle love;
F

A

A day of comfort feems to dawn upon us,
And Heav'n, at length, is gracious to our wishes.
Ethel. So numberlefs have been my daily fears,
And fuch the terrors of my fleepless nights,

That still, methinks, I doubt th' uncertain happiness:
Tho' at the mufic of thy voice, I own

My foul is hufh'd, it finks into a calm,

And takes fure omen of its peace from thee.

Ofw. To end your doubts, your brother, the brave Lucius,

[To Ethel.

Will foon be here-ev'n now he fends me word
Fierce Offa and the Saxons fly before him;

The conqu'ring Britons fence you round from danger,
And peace and fafety wait upon your loves.

falfe arts,

Ar. Nor you, fair princefs, frown upon our happiness; Still fhall my grateful heart retain your goodness, And still be mindful of the life you gave. Nor muft you think yourself a pris'ner here: Whene'er you fhall appoint, a guard attends, To wait you to your brother's camp with honour. Rod. Yes, I will go; fly, far as earth can bear me, From thee, and from the face of man for ever. Curs'd be your fex, the cause of all our forrows; Curs'd be your looks, your tongues, and your That cheat our eyes, and wound our eafy hearts; Curs'd may you be, for all the pains you give, And for the fcanty pleasures we receive; Curs'd be your brutal pow'r, your tyrant fway, By which you bend, and force us to obey. Oh, nature! partial goddess lend thy hand, Be juft for once, and equal the command; Let woman, once, be miftrefs in her turn, Subdue mankind beneath her haughty scorn, And fmile to fee the proud oppreffor mourn.

[Exit Rodogune."
Of. The winds fhall fcatter all thofe idle curfes
Far, far away from you, while every bleffing
Attends to crown you. From your happy nuptials,
From royal Aribert, of Saxon race,

Join'd to the fairest of the British dames,
Methinks I read the people's future happiness;
And Britain takes its pledge of peace from you.
Ethel. Nor are thofe pious hopes of peace in vain ;

Since I have often heard a holy fage,
A venerable, old, and faint-like hermit,
• With vifions often blefs'd, and oft in thought
Rapt to the highest, brightest seats above,'
Thus, with divine, prophetic knowledge fill'd,
Disclose the wonders of the times to come:
Of royal race a British queen fhall rise,
'Great, gracious, pious, fortunate and wife ;
To diftant lands the fhall extend her fame,
And leave to latter times a mighty name :
• Tyrants shall fall, and faithlefs kings shall bleed,
And groaning nations by her arins be freed.
'But chief this happy land her care fhall prove,
And find from her a more than mother's love.
From hoftile rage the fhall preserve it free,
'Safe in the compass of her ambient sea :
'Tho' fam'd her arms in many a cruel fight,
'Yet most in peaceful arts fhe fhall delight,
And her chief glory fhall be to unite.
Picts, Saxons, Angles fhall no more be known,
'But Briton be the noble name alone.

With joy their ancient hate they shall forego,
'While difcord hides her baleful head below:
Mercy, and truth, and right the fhall maintain,
And ev'ry virtue croud to grace her reign:
'Aufpicious Heav'n on all her days fhall fimile,
And with eternal union blefs her British ifle.'
One gen'ral ftate this nation fhall arife,

In arms unrivall'd, and in councils wife;
Picts, Saxons, Angies, ball no more be known,
But Britain be the noble name alone;
To diftant lands fhe fall extend her fame,
And leave, to lateft times, a glorious name;
Her naval pow'rs fhall rule the circling fea,
Ard all her children shall be brave and free.

END of the FIFTH ACT.

}

[Exeunt

THE bus' nefs of the day being now gone through,
I quit the faint, and am like one of you. ;
As well to look to, tho' not quite fo good;
1 bate in fpirit, but keep my flesh and blood.
The moral of this play being rightly feann'd,
Is, he that leaves his nown dear wife is damn'd.
I leave to you to make the application:
The doctrine, tho' a little out of fashion,
May be of ufe in this fame finful nation.
What think you of the matter? Which of you
Would for his fpoufe, like my true turtle do?
When wealth and beauty both at once importune,
Who would not leave his wife, to make his fortune?
To fome, I know it may appear but oddly,
That this place, of all others, fhould turn godly:
But what of that? fince fome good folks there are,
Would gladly be inftructed any where;

Nor Should you fcorn the weakness of the teacher.
The wifeft man is not the ableft preacher.
Ev'n we, poor women, have fometimes the pow'r,
Read as you are, and rich in learning's ftore,
To teach you men what you ne'er knew before.
To no enthufiaftic rage we fwell,

Nor foam, nor act Tom Tumbler out of zeal.
But tho' we don't pretend to infpiration,
Yet like the prophets of a neighbour nation,
Our teaching chiefly lies in agitation.
Perhaps, indeed, fuch are your wandring brains,
Our author might have spar'd his tragic pains;
By that you've fupp'd, and are fet in to drinking,
Some feeter matters will employ your thinking;

}

}

}

With nymphs divine, writ on each glass before ye,
You'll be but little better for our story.

But fince the parting hour, tho' late, will come,
And all of you, at least, as I prefume,
May find fome kind, inftructive fbe at home,
Then curtain lectures will, I hope, be read,

Those morals then, which from your thoughts were fled,
Shall be put bome to you, and taught a-bed.

}