And while the meaner fort from Death are freed,
The mighty Bull, that wont the Herd to lead,
Is doom'd for fatal Excellence to bleed.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter the King and Seofrid.
TO more of these unneceffary Doubts:
Thy cold, thy cautious Age is vainly anxious
Thy Fears are unaufpicious to my Courage,
And chill the native Ardour of my Soul.
This fullen cloudy Sky that bodes a Storm
Shall clear, and every Danger fleet away;
Our Saxons fhall forget the present Discord,
And urge the Britons with united Arms;
Hymen fhall be atton'd, fhall join two Hearts
Agreeing, kind and fitted for each other,
And Aribert fhall be the Pledge of Peace.
Seef. Propitious God of Love, encline his Hearted
To melt before her Eyes, to meet her Wishes,
And yield Submiffion to the haughty Maid.
Thou that delight'ft in cruel Wantonness,
To join unequal Necks beneath thy Yoak,
For once be gentle, and infpire both Hearts
With mutual Flames, that each may burn alike.
Oft haft thou ruin'd Kingdoms, fave one now; i baA And those who curft thee, parfimonious Age gev!c? And rigid Wisdom, fhall raife Altars to thee.
King. But fee he comes, and brings our Wishes with him.
Oh, Aribert! my Soul has long defir'd thee,
Has waited long for thy Relief, and wanted
To fhare the Burthen which she bears with thee,
And give thee half her Sorrows.
Ev'n all the Pain you feel, and let my Truth
Be greatly try'd, let there be much to fuffer,
To prove how much my willing Heart can bear,
To cafe my King, my Brother, and my Friend.
King. I know thee ever gentle in thy Nature,
Yielding and kind, and tender in thy Friendship,
And therefore all my Hope of Peace dwells with thee.
For oh! my Heart has labour'd long with Pain,
I have endur'd the Rage of fecret Grief,
A Malady that burns and rankles inward,
And wanted fuch a Hand as thine to heal me.
Ari. Speak it, nor wound the Softness of my Soul
With thefe obfcure Complainings; fpeak, my Lord.
King. First then, this fatal Marriage is my Curfe,
This galling Yoak to which my Neck is doom'd,
This Bride-fhe is my Plaguefhe haunts my Dreams,
Invades the fofter filent Hour of Reft,
And breaks the balmy Slumber. Night grows tedious,
She feems to lag, and hang her fable Wing;
And yet I dread the Dawning of the Morn,
As if some screaming Sprite had fhriek'd, and call'd,
Hengift, arife, to Morrow is thy last.
Ari. A thousand speaking Griefs are in your Eyes,
To tell the Rack within read it plain.
But oh! my King what Prophet could have dreamt
A Turn like this? that Beauty fhould destroy,
And Love, which should have bleft you, curfe you moft.
King. Oh! wherefore, nam'st thou Love? Can there be
When Choice, the free, the chearful Voice of Nature,
And Reason's deareft Privilege is wanting?
What cruel Laws impofe a Bride, or Bridegroom,
On any Brute but Man? Observe the Beasts,
And mark the feather'd Kind; does not the Turtle,
When Venus and the coming Spring incite him,
Chufe out his Mate himself, and love her moft,
Because he likes her beft? But Kings must wed,
Curfe on the hard Condition of their Royalty!
That fordid Slaves may fweat and eat in Peace.
Ari. 'Tis hard indeed-
-Would he had never come,
Ari. Ay! now what Remedy?
When to refuse the Saxon Offa's Sifter,
Shall fhake your Throne, and make the Name of Hen
The famous, the victorious Name of Hengift,
Grow vile and mean in Britain.
King. Yes, my Brother,
There is a Remedy, and only one.
This proud imperious Fair, whofe haughty Soul
Difdains the humble Monarchs of the Earth,
Who foars elate, affects to tread the Stars,
And fcorns to mingle but with those above,
Ev'n fhe, with all that Majefty and Beauty,
The proudest and the fairest of her Sex,
She has the Paffions of a very Woman,
And doats on thee, my Aribert.
What means my Lord? impoffible!
As true, as that my Happiness depends
Upon her Love to thee. My faithful Seofrid
Has pierc'd into her very inmost Heart,
And found thee reigning there.
My fwelling Heart heaves at the Wrong you do me,'
And wo'not be repreft. Some Fiend from Hell
Has fhed his Poison in your Royal Breast,
And stung you with the gnawing Canker, Jealousy.
But wherefore fhould I feek for Fiends from Hell,
And trace the Malice of the Thought from far,
Since the perfidious Author stands confest?
This Villain has traduc'd me..
Of your victorious Father, Royal Hengift,
My ever gracious, ever honour'd Master,
Much have you wrong'd your faithful Seofrid,
To think that I would kindle Wrath betwixt you,
Or strive to break your holy Bond of Brotherhood.
King. No, Aribert, accuse him not, nor doubt
His oft, his well-try'd Faith. But caft thy Eyes
Back on thy felf, and while I hold the Mirror,
Survey thy felf, the certain Caufe of Love:
Survey thy youthful Form, by Nature fashion'd
The most unerring Pattern of her Skill;
The Pomp of Lovelinefs fhe fpreads all o'er thee,
And decks thee lavishly with ev'ry Grace,
That charms in Woman, or commands in Man;
Behold- -nor wonder then if Crowns are scorn'd;
And purple Majefty looks vile before thee.
Ari. Oh! whither, whither would you lead? And why This Prodigality of ill-tim'd Praife?
Seof. Were you not all my Royal Mafter faid, Form'd to enthral the Hearts of the foft Sex, Yet that she loves is plain, from
Ari. Hence, thou Sycophant!
Seof. Your Pardon, Sir; it has not been my Office
To forge a Tale, or cheat your Ear with Flattery,
Nor have I other Meaning than your Service;
But that the Princess loves you is most true.
Emma, the chief, most favour'd of her Women,
The only Partner of her fecret Soul,
To me avow'd her Paffion; and howe'er
Her haughty Looks refent the King's Delay,
Yet in her Heart with Pleasure she applauds it,
And would forego, tho' hard to Womankind,
The Pride, high Place and Dignity of Empire,
To share an humbler Fate with princely Aribert.
King. Why dost thou turn away? wherefore deform
The Grace and Sweetness of thy fmiling Youth,
With that ungentle Frown? Art thou not pleas'd
To see the Tyrant Beauty kneel before thee,
Divested of her Pride, and yield to thee
Unask'd a Prize, for which, like Gracian Helen,
The Great Ones of the Earth might strive in Arms,
And Empires well be loft?
Ari. Are we not Brothers?
We are; and Nature form'd us here alike;
Save that her partial Hand all the Majefty!
And Greatness to my King, and left me rich
Only in Plainness, Friendship, Truth and Tenderness.
Then wonder not our Paffions are the fame;
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