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And make thee mourn my Coldness and Difdain.
No more! I'll hear no more.

Ari. They bind her! fee!›

See with rude Cords they strain her tender Limbs,
"Till the red Drops start from their fwelling Channels,
And with fresh Crimson paint her dying Paleness.
Oh all ye Hoft of Heav'n! ye Saints and Angels! -
Ethel. Oh tay thy Tears, and mourn no more for

me,

Nor fear the Weakness of my Woman's Soul,

For I am arm'd, and equal to the Combat.
In vain they lavish all their cruel Arts,
And bind this feeble Body here in vain;

The free, impaffive Soul mounts on the Wing,
Beyond the reach of Racks, and tort'ring Flames,
And feorns their Tyranny-Oh follow thou!
Be conftant to the laft, be fix'd, my Aribert
"Tis but a short, fhort Paffage to the Stars.
Oh follow thou! Nor let me want thee long,
And search the blissful Regions round in vain.

Enter an Officer.

Offic. Arm, Royal Maid, and take to your Defence: The King with fudden Fury fallies forth,

And, drives our utmost Guards with foul Confufion. Rodo. The King! What Frenzy brings the Madman

on

Thus headlong to his Fate ?

But let him come, His Death fhall fill my Triumph-Wealth and Ho

nours,

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The nobleft, beft Reward, fhall wait the Man,
Whofe lucky Sword fhall take his hated Head.

Enter

Enter a fecond Officer, his Sword drawn.

Second Offic. Hengift is here; he bears down all before

him:

The Britons too have join'd their Arms to his,

And this way bend their Force..

Rodo. Fly to my Brother,

And call him to our Aid.

[To her Attendants.

[Shout within, and clashing of Swords..

King within.] Slave, give me way,

Or I will tear thy Soul

Sold, within.] You pass not here.

Seof. within.] What, know'st thou not the King?

oh curfed Villain!

Enter the King wounded, Seofrid, Ofwald and Soldiers, with their Swords drawn. Ofwald runs to Aribert.

Seof. Perdition on his Hand-you bleed, my Lord!
King. My Blood flows faftWhat, can I languish ́:
now!

So near my Wish-Lend me thy Arm, old Seofrid,
To bear me to her-Ha! bound to the Rack!
Merciless Dogsye moft pernicious Slaves!
And ftand ye ftupid, haggard and amaz'd!
Fly fwift as Thought, and fet her free this Moment,
Or by my injur'd Love, a Name more facred
Than all your Function knows, your Gods and you,
Your Temples, Altars, and your painted Shrines,

Your holy Trumpery fhall blaze together.

[They unbind Ethelinda Rodo. 'Tis vain to rave and curfe my Fortune now," Thou native Greatness of my Soul befriend me,

And help me now to bear it as I ought.

King

King. The feeble Lamp of Life fhall lend its Blaze, To light me thus far-only-and no farther.

[Falling at Ethelinda's Feet.

Yet I look up, and gaze on those bright Eyes,
As if I hop'd to gather Heat from thence,
Such as might feed the vital Flame for ever.

Ethel. Alas! you faint! your hafty Breath comes
short,

And the red Stream runs gufhing from your Breaft.
Call back your Thoughts from each deluding Passion,
And wing your parting Soul for her laft Flight;
Call back your Thoughts to all your former Days,
To ev'ry unrepented A&t of Evil:

And fadly deprecate the Wrath Divine.

King. Oh! my fair Teacher, you advise in vain:])

The Gods and I have done with one another.

This Night I meant to rival them in Happiness.
Spight of my Brother, and thy cruel Coldness,
This Night I meant t'have past within thy Arms]
Ethel. Oh! Horror!

King. But 'tis gone: Those envious Gods

Have done their worst, and blafted all my Hopes;
They have defpoil'd me of my Crown and Life,
By a Slave's Hand-but I forgive 'em that.

Thee

they have robb'd me of my Joys in thee - Have trod me down to wither in the Grave..

Seof. My Mafter, and my King!

King. Old Man, no more:

I have not leifure for thy Grief- - Farewel

Thou, Aribert

fhalt live, and wear my Crown

Take it, and be as curft with it as I was.
But Ethelinda, the too fhall be thine:

That

That

in it

that's too much. The World has nothing

So good to give---the next may have---I know not
[The King dies.
Ari. There fled the fierce, untam’d, disdainful Soul.
Turn thee from Death, and rife, my gentle Love;
A Day of Comfort feems to dawn upon us,
And Heav'n at length is gracious to our Wishes.
Ethel. So numberlefs have been my daily Fears,
And fuch the Terrors of my fleepless Nights,
That ftill, methinks, I doubt th’uncertain Happiness :
Tho' at the Mufick of thy Voice, I own,

My Soul is husht, it finks into a Calm,

And takes fure Omen of its Peace from thee.

Ofw. To end your Doubts, your Brother, the brave Lucius, [To Ethelinda Will foon be here: Ev'n now he fends me Word, Fierce Offa and his Saxons fly before him;

The conqu'ring Britons fence you round from Danger, And Peace and Safety wait upon your Loves.

Ari. Nor you, fair Princess, frown upon our Happi nefs.

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Still fhall my grateful Heart retain your Goodness,
And ftill be mindful of the Life you gave.
Nor muft you think your felf a Pris'ner here:
Whene'er you shall appoint, a Guard attends,
To wait you to your Brother's Camp with Honour.
Rodo. Yes, I will go; fly, far as Earth can bear me,
From thee, and from the Face of Man for ever.
Curst be your Sex, the Cause of all our Sorrows;
Curft be your Looks, your Tongues, and your

Arts,

That cheat our Eyes, and wound our eafie Hearts;

falfe

Curft

Curft may you

be for all the Pains you give,

And for the scanty Pleasures we receive;
Curft be brutal Pow'r, your tyrant Sway,

your

By which you bend, and force us to obey.
Oh Nature! partial Goddess, let thy Hand
Be juft for once, and equal the Command;
Let Woman once be Miftrefs in her turn,
Subdue Mankind beneath her haughty Scorn,
And smile to fee the proud Oppreffor mourn.

[Exit Rodogune. Ofw. The Winds shall scatter all thofe idle Curses Far, far away from you, while ev'ry Bleffing Attends to crown you. From your happy Nuptials, From Royal Aribert, of Saxon Race,

Join'd to the Fairest of the British Dames,

Methinks I read the Peoples future Happiness;
And Britain takes its Pledge of Peace from you.
Ethel. Nor are thofe pious Hopes of Peace in vain;
Since I have often heard a holy Sage,

A venerable, old, and Saint-like Hermit,
With Vificns often bleft, and oft in Thought
Rapt to the highest, brightest Seats above,
Thus, with Divine, Prophetick Knowledge fill'd,
Disclose the Wonders of the Times to come.
Of Royal Race a British Queen fhall rife,
Great, Gracious, Pious, Fortunate and Wife;
To diftant Lands fhe fhall extend her Fame,
And leave to latter Times a mighty Name:
Tyrants fhall fall, and faithless Kings fhall bleed,
And groaning Nations by her Arms be freed.
But chief this happy Land her Care fhall prove,
And find from her a more than Mother's Love.

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