That the fame Objects cause our Love and Hate.
You fay, you cannot love this beauteous Stranger;
I's not my Heart like yours?

And while I lean thus fondly on thy Bofom;
I will disclose my inmoft Soul to thee,
And fhew thee ev'ry fecret Sorrow there.
I love, my Aribert; I doat to Death:

The raging Flame has touch'd my Heart, my Brain,
And Madness will enfue,

Ari. 'Tis most unhappy!

But fay, what Roval 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, 'tis 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, of Love,
Or fome Divinity, more strong than Love,
Forbids my Blifs, nor have I yet enjoy'd her.
Tho' I have taught my haughty Heart to bow, !
Tho' lowly as fhe is, of Birth obfcure,
And of a Race unknown, I oft have offer'd
To raise her to my Throne, make her
my Queen;
Yet ftill her colder Heart denies my Suit,
And weeping, still she answers, 'tis in vain.

Ari. Myfterious all, and dark! Yet fuch is Love,
And fuch the Laws of his fantastick Empire.
The wanton Boy delights to bend the Mighty,
And fcoffs at the vain Wisdom of the Wife.

King, Here in my Palace, in this next Apartment, Unknown to all but this my faithful Seofrid, The Charmer of my Eyes, my Heart's dear Hope B 3 Remains,

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 truft. The Cares
Of Courts, and Tyrant Bufinefs draw me hence,
But Seofrid fhall ftay, and to thy Eyes

[The King figns to Seofrid, who goes out.
Disclose the secret Treafure! Oh! my Aribert,
Thou wo't not wonder what distracts my Peace,
When thou behold'ft thofe Eyes. Pity thy Brother,
And from the Beach lend him thy friendly Hand,
Left while conflicting with a Sea of Serrows,
The proud Waves over-bear him, and he perish.

Ari. Judge me, juft Heav'n, and you, my Royal Brother,

If my own Life be dear to me as yours.
All that my scanty Pow'r can give is yours.
if I am circumfcrib'd by Fate, oh! pity me,
That I can do no more; for oh! my King,
I would be worthy of a Brother's Name,
Would keep up all my Int'reft 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,

may find Favour in that Day before you,

And blefs 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 fwear, the Day that fees thee join'd to Rodozune,
Shall fee thee crown'd, and Partner of my Throne.
Whate'er our Arms fhall conquer more in Britain,

Thine

Thine be the Pow'r, and mine but half the Name.
With Joy to thee, my Aribert, I yield
The Wreaths and Trophies of the dufty Field;
To thee I leave this nobleft Ifle to fway,
And teach the ftubborn 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.

Manet Aribert:

[Exit King.

Ari. Oh fatal Love!-curft unaufpicious Flame!
Thy baleful Fires blaze o'er us like a Comet,
And threaten Difcord, Defolation, Rage,
And most malignant Mischief.

Lov'd by Rodogune!

-Ọ Mifery!

What I!- -muft I wed Rodogune!-
Fantastick Cruelty of Hoodwink'd Chance!

There is no end of Thought-the Labyrinth winds,

And I am loft for ever

Where is my Ethelinda now!

-Oh! where now,

-that dear one,

That gently us'd to breathe the Sounds of Peace,
Gently as Dews defcend, or Slumbers creep;
That us'd to brood o'er my tempeftuous Soul,
And hufh me to a Calm.

Enter Seofrid and Ethelinda.

Seof. Thus ftill to weep,

Is to accufe my Royal Master's Truth.

He loves you with the beft, the nobleft Meaning;
With Honour-

Ethel. Keep, oh keep him in that Thought,
And fave me from Pollution. Let me know
All Miferies befide, each kind of Sorrow,
And prove me with Variety of Pains,

B4

6

Whips

Whips, Racks and Flames: For I was born to fuffer;
And when the Measure of my Woes is full,

That Pow'r in whom I truft will fet me free,

Ari. It cannot be-No, 'tis Illufion all. [Seeing her: Some mimick Fantom wears the lovely Form,

Has learnt the Musick of her Vojce, to mock me,
To ftrike me dead with Wonder and with Fear.

Ethel. And do I fee thee then! my Lord! my
Aribert!

What! once more hold thee 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.

Ethel, 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 refolve to die together;

Defie the Malice of our cruel Fate,

And thus preserve the facred Bond inviolable,
Which Heav'n and Love ordain'd to laft for ever.
But 'tis in vain, 'tis torn, 'tis broke already;
And envious Hell, with its more potent Malice,

[Afide

Has ruin'd and deform'd the beauteous Work of
Heav'n:

Elfe, wherefore art thou here! Tell me at once,
And ftrike me to the Heart-But 'tis too plain:
I read thy Wrongs 1 read the horrid Inceft.
Seof. Ha! Inceft, faid he, Incest-

[Afide. Ethel

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 fure 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 Minifters of Goodness.

For this bad World is leagu'd with Hell against her,
And only you can fave her.-I my self,

Ev'n I am fworn thy Foe, I have undone thee,
My Fondness now betrays thee to Destruction.
Ethel. Then all is bad indeed.

Ari. Thou feeft it not.

My heedlefs Tongue has talk'd away thy Life:
And mark the Minifter of both our Fates,

[To Ethel,

[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 Death-
there is a Paufe-If Graves are filent,

And yet

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 Seofrid 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. 10 What would thy rafh, thy frantick Rage intend? Ari. Thy Safety and my own

Ethel.