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Ari. Oh! by what friendly Means? Be swift to an

swer,
Nor waste the precious Minutes with Delay.

Seof. The King, now absent from the Palace, seems
To yield a fair Occasion for your Wishes;
A private Postern opens to my Gardens,
Thro' which the beauteous Captive might remove

Till Night, and a Disguise shall farther aid her,
To fly with Safety to the Britons Camp.
'Tis true, one Danger I might well object

Ari. Oh! do not, do not blaft the springing Hopes
Which thy kind Hand has planted in my Soul,
If there be Danger, turn it all on me.
Let
my

devoted Head
Seof. Nay!- 'tis not much,
Tis but my Life; and I would gladly give it,
To buy your Peace of Mind:

Ari. Alas! what mean'st thou?

Seofi Does it not follow.plain? shall not the King
Turn all his Rage upon this hoary Head?
Shall not all Arts of Cruelty be try'd,
To find out Tortures equal to my Falshood ?
Imagine you behold me bound and scourg’d,
My aged Muscles harrow'd up with Whips,
Or hear me groaning on the rending Rack,
Groaning and screaming with the sharpeft Sense
Of piercing Pain; or sec me gafh'd with Knives,
And Teard with burning Steel, 'till the scorch'd Marrow
Fries in the Bones, the shrinking Sinews start,
A smeary Foam works o'er my grinding Jaws,
And utmost Anguish shakes my lab'ring Frame:
For thus it must be.
Ari, Oh! my Friend! my Father!

It

It must not be, it never can, it sha'not.
Wouldlt thou be kind, and save my Echelinda,
Leave me to answer all thy Brother's Fury.
The Crime, the Fallhood, shall be all my own.
Seof. Just to my Wish.

[4de
Ari. Thou shalt accuse me to him.
Thou know'st his own Admittance gave me Entrance:
Swear that I stole her, that I forc'd her from thee;
Frame, with thy utmoft Skill, some artful Tale,
And I'll avow it all.

Seof. Then have you thought
Upon the Danger, Sir?

Ari, Ob, there is none,
Can be no Danger while my Love is safe.

Seof. Methinks indeed it lessens to my View.
When the first Violenge of Rage is over,
The Fondness of a Brother will return,
And plead your Cause with Nature in his Heart:
You will, you must be fafe; and yet 'tis hard,
And grieves me much I should accuse you to him.

Ari. 'Tis that muft cover the Design. But fly,
Lose not a Minute's time.
Haste to remove her from this cursed Place;
My faithful Oswald fhall at Night attend thee,
And help to guide her to the British Camp;
Thou know.'lt that is not far,
Seof. Too near I know it.

[Aide.
Ari. She has a Brother there, the noble Lucius,
A gallant Youth, and dear to brave Ambrosius;
To his kind Care resign thy beauteous Charge.
Seof. This Instant I obey you.

[Going Ari. Half my Fears Are over now

Seof

Seof. One thing I had forget.
It will import as much, that you should feem
Inclin'd to meet the Love of haughty Rodogune :
"Twill cost you but a little courtly Flattery,
A kind respectful Look, join'd with a Sigh,
And few soft tender Words, that mean just nothing,
Yet win moft Womens Hearts. But fee she comes,
Constrain your Temper, Sir, be false, and meet her
With her own Sex’s Arts; pursue your Task,
And doubt not all shall prosper to your Wish.

[Exit Seofrid

Aribert folus.

Ari. She comes indeed! Now where fhall I begin,
How shall I teach my Tongue to frame a Language
So different from my Heart ? Oh Erhelinda !
My Heart was made to fit and pair with thine,
Simple and plain, and fraught with artless Tenderness;
Form’d to receive one Love, and only one,
But pleas'd and proud, and dearly fond of that,
It knows not what there can be in Variety,
And would not if it could.

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Enter Rodogune.
Rodo. Why do I stay,
Why linger thus within this hated Place,
Where ev'ry Object shocks my loathing Eyes,
And calls my injur'd Glory to Remembrance ?
The King!

the Wretch; but wherefore did I name him? Find out, my Soul, in thy rich Store of Thought, Somewhat more Great, more Worthy of thy self; Or let the mimick Fancy shew its Art, And paint some pleasing Image to delight me.

Let

Let Beauty mix with Majesty and Youth,
Let manly Grace be temper'd well with Sofoness;
Let Love, the God himself, adorn the Work,
And I will call the charming Fantom, Aribert.
Oh Venus! - whither

whither would I wander ? Be hush'd, wy Tongue-ye Gods! - 'tis he himself,

[Seeing Ari. Ari. When, fairelt Princess, you avoid our Court, And lonely thus from the ful Pomp retire, Love and the Graces follow to your Solitude; They croud to form the fining Circle round you, And all the Train seems yours; while Purple Majesty, And all those outward Shews which we call Greatness, Languish and droop, feem empty and forsaken, And draw the wondering Gazer's Eyes no more.

Rodo. The Courtier's Art is meanly known in Britain,
If yours present their Service, and their Vows,
At any Shrine but where their Master kneels.
You know your Brother pays not his to me,
Nor would I that he should.

Ari. The Hearts of Kings
Are plac'd, 'tis true, beyond their Subjects search;
Yet might I judge by Love or Reason's Rules,
Where shall my Brother find on Earth a Beauty,
Like what I now behold?

Rodo. That you can flatter,
Is common to your Sex ; you say indeed,
We Women love it and perhaps we do.
Fools that we are, we know that you deceive us,
And yet, as if the Fraud were plealing to us,
And our undoing Joy till you go on,
And fill we hear you. But, to change the Theme,
I'll find a fitter for

you
than my Beauty.

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Ari. Then let it be the Love of Royal Hengift.
Rodo. The King, your Brother, could not chuse an Ad-

vocate,
Whom I would sooner hear on any Subject,
Bating that only one, his Love, than you ;
Tho' you perhaps (for some have wondrous Arts)
Could soften the harsh Sound. The String that jars,
When rudely touch'd ungrateful to the Sense,
With Pleasure feels the Master's flying Fingers,
Swells into Harmony, and charms the Hearers.

Ari. Then hear me speak of Love.
Rodo. But not of his.

Ari. 'Tis true, I should not grace the Story much,
Rude and unskilful in the moving Passion,
I Mould not paint its Flames with equal Warmth;
Strength, Life, and glowing Colours would be wanting,
And languid Nature speak the Work imperfect.
Rodo. Then happly yet your Breast remains un-

touch'd ;
Though that seems strange: You've seen the Court of

Britain;
There, as I oft have heard, imperial Beauty
Reigns in its native Throne, like Light in Heaven;
While all the Fair Ones of our neighb'ring World,
With second Lustre meanly seem to shine,
The faint Reflections of the Glory there.

Ari. If e'er my Heart incline to Thoughts of Love,
Methinks I should not (tho' perhaps I err)
Expect to meet the gentle Passion join'd
With Pomp and Greatness: Courts may boast of Beauty,
But Love is seldom found to dwell amongst 'em. “}})

Rodo. Then Courts arę wretched. } .
Ari. So they seem to Love...!:0

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