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That the same Objects cause our Love and Hate.
You say, you cannot love this beauteous Stranger;
I's not my Heart like yours?
King. Come near, my Brother ;
And while I lean thus fondly on thy Bosom;-
I will disclose my inmoft Soul to thee,
And Thew thee ev'ry secret Sorrow there.
I love, my Aribert; I doat to Death:
The raging Flame has touch'd my Heart, my Brain,.
And Madness will ensue,
Ari. "Tis most unhappy!
But say, what Royal Maid, or Saxon born,
Or in the British Court, what fatal Beauty
Can rival Rodogune's Imperial Charms?
King. 'Tis all a Tale of Wonder, 'cis a Riddle.
High on a Throne, and Royal as I am,
I want a Slave's Consent to make me happy:
Nay more, poffefs'd of her I love, or Love,
Or fome Divinity, more strong than Love,
Forbids my Bliss, nor have I yet enjoy'd her.'
Tho' I have taught my haughty Heart to bow, !
Tho' lowly as she is, of Birth obscure,
And of a Race unknown, I oft have offer'd
To raise her to my Throne, make her my Queen;
Yet still her colder Heart denies my Suit,
And weeping, still she answers, 'tis in vain.
Ari. Mysterious all, and dark! Yet such is Love,
And such the Laws of his fantastick Empire.
The wanton Boy delights to bend the Mighty,
And scoffs at the vain Wisdom of the Wise.
King, Here in my Palace, in this next Apartment,
Unknown to all but this
faithful Seofrid, The Charmer of my Eyes, my Heart's dear Hope
Remains, at once my Captive and my Queen.
Ari. Ha! in your Palace! here!.
King. Ev'n here, my Brother,
But thou, thou shalt behold her, for to thee,
As to my other felf, I trust. The Cares
Of Courts, and Tyrant Business draw me hence,
But Seofrid fhall stay, and to thy Eyes
[The King Signs to Seofrid, who goes out.
Disclose the secret Treasure! Oh! my Aribert,
Thou wo't not wonder what diftracts
When thou behol'ft those Eyes. Pity thy Brother,
And from the Beach lend him thy friendly Hand,
Left while conflicting with a Sea of Sorrows,
The proud Waves over-bear him, and he perish.
Ari. Judge me, just Heav'n, and you, my Royal Bro-
If my own Life be dear to me as yours.
All that my scanty Pow'r can give is yours.
if I am circumscrib'a by Fate, oh! pity me,
That I can do ao more; for oh! my King,
I would be worthy of a Brother's Name,
Would keep up
my Int'rest in your Heart,
'That when I kneel before you (as it foon
May happen that I fhall) when I fall proftrate,
And doubtfully and trembling ask a Boon,
The greatest you can give, or I can ask,
I may find Favour in that Day before you,
And bless a Brother's Love, that bids me live.
King. Talk not of asking, but command my Pow'r.
By Thor, the greatest of our Saxon Gods,
I swear, the Day that sees thee join’d to Rodozune,
Shall see thee crown'd, and Partner of my Throne.
Whate'er our Arms fhall conquer more in Britain,
Thinę be the Pow'r, and mine but half the Name.
With Joy to thee, my Aribent, 1 yield
The Wreaths and Trophics of the dusty Field;
To thee I leave this nobleft Ife to fway,
And teach the stubborn Britains to obey;
While from my Cares to Beauty I retreat,
Drink deep the lufcious Banquet, and forget
That Crowns are glorious, or that Kings are great.
Ari. Oh fatal Love!--curst unaufpicious Flame!
Thy baleful Fires bilaze o'er us like a Comet,
And threaten Discord, Desolation, Rage,
And most malignant Mischief.. Lov'd by Rodogune!
What I must I wed Rodogune! - Misery!
Fantastick Cruelty of Hoodwink'd Chance!
There is no end of Thought the Labyripth winds,
And I am lost for ever -Oh! where now,
that dear one,
That gently us'd to breathe the Sounds of Peace,
Gently as Dews defcend, or Slumbers creep;
That usd to brood o'er my tempestuous Soul, .
And bush me to a Calm.
Entex Seofrid and Ethelinda.
Seof. Thus ftill to weep,
Is to accuse my Royal Master's Truth.
He loves you with the best, the noblest Meaning;
Ethel. Keep, oh keep him in that Thought,
And save me from Pollution. Let me know-
AU Miseries beside, each kind of Sorrow,
And prove me with Variety of Pains,
Whips, Racks and Flames: For I was born to suffer ;
And when the Measure of my Woes is full,
That Pow's in whom I truft will set me free,
Ari. It cannot be-No, 'ris Illusion all. [Seeing her:
Some mimick Fantom wears the lovely Form,
Has learnt the Musick of her Voice, to mock me,
To ftrike me dead with Wonder and with Fear.
Esbel. And do I see thee then! my Lord! my
r Aribert !
What! once more hold thec in my trembling Arms!
Here let my Days, and here my Sorrows end,
I have enough of Life.
Seof Ha! What is this!
But mark a little farther,
Eibel. Keep me here,
O bind me to thy Breaft, and hold me fast;
For if we part once more, 'twill be for ever.
It is not to be told what Ruin follows..
'Tis more than Death, 'tis all that we can fear,
And we shall never, never meet again.
Ari. Then here, thus folded in each others Arms,
Here, let us here resolve to die together;
Lefie the Malice of our cruel Fate,
And thus preserve the sacred Bond inviolable,
Which Heav'n and Love ordain'd to laft for ever.
But ’ris in vain, 'tis torn, 'tis broke already;
And envious Hell, with its more potent Malice,
Has ruin'd and deform'a the beauteous Work of
Else, wherefore art thou here! Tell me at once,
And strike me to the Heart-But 'tis too plain :
I read thy Wrongs I read the horrid Incest
Seof. Ha! Incest, said he, Incest-
Ethel. Oh! forbear
The dreadful impious Sound; I shake with Horror
To hear it nam'd. Guard me, thou gracious Heav'n,
Thou that haft been my sure Defence 'till now,
Guard me from Hell, and that its blackest Crime.
Ari. Yes, ye Celestial Hoft, ye Saints and Angels,
She is your Care, you Ministers of Goodness.
For this bad World is leagu'd with Hell against her,
And only you can save her.--I
[To Ethel. Ev’n I am sworn thy Foe, I have undone thee , My Fondness now betrays thee to Destruction.
Ethel. Then all is bad indeed.
Ari. Thou seest it not.
My heedless Tongue has talk'd away thy Life:
And mark the Minister of both our Fates,
[Pointing to Seofrid, Mark with what Joy he hugs the dear Discovery, And thanks my Folly for the fatal Secret: Mark how already in his working Brain, He forms the well-concerted Scheme of Mischief: 'Tis fix'd, 'tis done, and both are doom'd to DeathAnd yet there is a Pause-If Graves are silent, And the Dead wake not to moleft the Living, Be Death thy Portion die, and with thee die The Knowledge of our Loves.[Aribert catches hold of Scofrid with one Hand, with
the other draws his sword, and kolds it. to his Breaft. Seof. What means my Lord? Ethel. Oh hold! for Mercy's fake restrain thy Hand,
[Holding his Hand. Blot not thy Innocence with guiltless Blood. What would thy rash, thy frantick Rage intend? Ari. Thy Safety and my own