And trouble me no more.

Does he fend thee

With Tales of dull Refpect, and faint Excufes?
Tell him he might have fpar'd the formal Meffage,
'Till fome kind Friend had told him how I languifh'd,
How like a Turtle I bemoan'd his Abfence.

Seof. Pardon, fair Excellence, if falt'ring Age
Prophanes the Paffion I was bid to paint,
And drops the Tale imperfect from my Tongue.
But Lovers beft can plead their Cause themselves;
And fee, your Slave, the King my Mafter comes,
To move your gentle Heart with faithful Vows,
And pay his humble Homage at your Feet.

Enter the King, Guards, and other Attendants.
King. But that I truft not to that Babbler, Fame,
Who, careless of the Majefty of Kings,

Scatters lewd Lies among the Croud, and wins
The eafie Ideots to believe in Monsters,

I should have much to charge you with, my Brother:
I ftand accus'd-

Offa. How, Sir?

King. So fpeaks Report,

As wanting to my Honour, and my Friend;
By you I stand accus'd.-

Offa. Now by our Friendship,

If that be yet an Oath, refolve me, Hengift,

Whence are these Doubts between us, whence this

Coldness?

Say thou, who know'ft, what fudden fecret Thought
Has ftept between, and dash'd the publick Joy.
Thou call'ft me Brother; wherefore wait the Priests,
And fuffer Hymen's holy Fires to languish?
What binders but that now the Rites begin,

That

That now we lofe all Thoughts of past Displeasure,
And in the Temple tie the facred Knot

Of Love and Friendship to endure for ever?

King. What hinders it indeed, but that which makes
This medly War within? but that which caufes
This Sickness of the Soul, and weighs her down
With more than mortal Cares?

Offa. What fhall I call

This fecret gloomy Grief, that hides its Head,
And loves to lurk in fhades? Have royal Minds
Such Thoughts as fhun the Day?

King. Urge me no farther,

But, like a Friend, be willing not to know
What to reveal
al would give thy Friend a Pain,
Be ftill the Partner of my Heart, and share
In Arms and Glory with me; but oh! leave,
Leave me alone to ftruggle through one Thought,
One fecret anxious Pang that jars within me,
That makes me act a Madman's Part before thee,
And talk Confufion- if thou art my Frend,
Thou haft heard me, and be fatisfy'd-if not,
I have too much defcended from my felf
To make the mean Request-

1

-but reft we here,

Rodo. No! there needs no more;

For I would spare thee the unready Tale.

Know, faithless King, I give thee back thy Vows,
And bid thee fin fecure, be fafely perjur'd.
Since if our Gods behold thee with my Eyes,
Their Thunder fhall be kept for nobler Vengeance,
And what they scorn, like me, they fhall forgive.
King. When Anger lightens in the fair One's Eyes,
Lowly we bow, as to offended Heav'n,

With

With blind Obedience, and fubmiffive Worship;
Nor with too curious Boldness rafhly reason
Of what is juft or unjuft, fuch high Pow'r
Is to its felf a Rule, and cannot err.
Yet this may be permitted me to speak,
Howe'er the prefent Circumftance reproach me,
Yet ftill my Heart avows your Beauty's Power,
My Eyes confefs you Fair.-

Rodo. Whate'er I am

Is of my felf, by native Worth existing,
Secure, and independent of thy Praise;
Nor let it seem too proud a Boast, if Minds
By Nature great, are conscious of their Greatness,
And hold it mean to borrow ought from Flattery.
King. You are offended, Lady.

Rodo. Hengift, no.

Perhaps thou think'ft this generous Indignation,
That blushing burns upon my glowing Cheek,
And sparkles in my Eyes, a Woman's Weakness,
The Malice of a poor forfaken Maid,

Who rails at faithless Man- -Miftaken Monarch-
For know e'en from the firft, my Soul difdain'd thee;
Nor am I left by thee, but thou by me.

So was thy Falfhood to my Will fubfervient,
And by my Purpose bound; thus Man, tho' limited
By Fate, may vainly think his Actions free,
While all he does, was at his Hour of Birth,
Or by his Gods, or potent Stars ordain'd.

Offa. No more, my Sifter: Let the Gown-men talk,
And mark out Right and Wrong in noifie Courts;
While the Brave find a nearer way to Juftice,
They hold themselves the Ballance and the Sword,
And fuffer Wrong from none. Tis much beneath me,

То

To ask again the Debt you owe to Honour;

So that be fatisfy'd, we still are Friends,

And Brothers of the War. But mark me, Hengift,
I am not us'd to wait; and if this Day
Pafs unregarded as the former two,

Soon as to Morrow dawns, expect me.

King. Where?

Offa. Arm'd in the Field.

Seof. Befeech you, Sir, be calm,

The valiant Prince

Offa. Tho' I could wish it otherwife,
And fince the Honour of the Saxon Name,
And Empire here in Britain, refts upon thee,
Believe me, I would still be found thy Friend.

[To the King.

[Exeunt Offa, Rodogune, and Attendants. King. No, I renounce that Friendship; perish too, Perish that Name and Empire both for ever; What are the Kingdoms of the peopled Earth, What are their Purple, and their Crowns to me, If I am curft within, and want that Peace

Which every Slave enjoys?

Seof. My Royal Master,

It racks my aged Heart to fee you thus;

But oh! what Aid, what Counsel can I bring you,
When all yon Eastern Down, ev'n to the Surge
That bellowing beats on Dever's chalky Cliff,
With crefted Helmets thick embattel'd fhines;
With thefe your Friends, what are you but the great-

eft?

With thefe your Foes-Oh! let me lofe that Thought,
And rather think I fee you Britain's King:
Ambrofius vanquifh'd, and the farthest Pics
Submitted to your Sway, tho' the fame Scene

Discover'd

Discover'd to my View the haughty Rodogune
Plac'd on your Throne, and Partner of your Bed.
King. What! fhould I barter Beauty for Ambition,
Forfake my Heav'n of Love to reign in Hell?
Take a Domestick Fury to my Breast,

And never know one Hour of Peace again?
Statesman thou reafon'ft ill. By mighty Thor,
Who wields the Thunder, I will rather chufe
To meet their Fury. Let 'em come together,
Young Offa and Ambrofius. Tho' my Date
Of mortal Life be fhort, it fhall be glorious,
Each Minute fhall be rich in fome great Actions,
To fpeak the King, the Hero, and the Lover,
Seof. The Hero and the King are glorious Names;
But oh! my Mafter, wherefore is the Lover?
In Honour's Name remember what you are,
Break from the Bondage of this feeble Paffion,
And urge your way to Glory: Leave with Scorn
Unmanly Pleafures to unmanly Minds,

And thro' the rough, the thorny Paths of Danger,
Aspire to Virtue, and immortal Greatness,

King. Hence with thy hungry, dull, untimely Morals,

The fond deluding Sophiftry of Schools.

Who would be Great, but to be happy too?
And yet fuch Ideots are we, to exchange
Our Peace and Pleasure for the Trifle Glory;
What is the Monarch, mighty, rich and great?
What? but the common Victim of the State:
Born to grow old in Cares, to waste his Blood,
And ftill be wretched for the publick Good.
So by the Priests the nobleft of the Kind
Is to atone the angry Gods defign'd;

And