Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, VORTIGERN, by WILLIAM HENRY IRELAND


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

VORTIGERN, by                    
First Line: Good vortigern! As peace doth bless our isle
Last Line: Finis.
Alternate Author Name(s): Ireland, Samuel, Jr.
Subject(s): Henry Ii, King Of England (1133-1189); Shakespeare - Forgeries


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

CONSTANTIUS.
AURELIUS.
UTER.
VORTIGERN.
WORTIMERUS.
CATAGRINUS.
PASCENTIUS.
HENGIST.
HORSUS.
FOOL.
SERVANT.
PAGE.
EDMUNDA.
FLAVIA.
ROWENA.
Barons, Officers, Guards, Attendants, &c., &c.

VORTIGERN.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—A Large Hall.

Discovers Constantius, Vortigern, Wortimerus, Catagrinus, Pascentius and
Attendants.

Constantius.—Good Vortigern! as peace doth bless our isle,
And the loud din of war no more affrights us,
And as my soul hath plac'd thee next herself,
'Tis our desire that thou deny'st us not
That, which anon we carve thee to accept;
For though most weighty be the proffer'd task,
We trust thy goodness will the toil accept,
Since we have always found thee kind by nature;
And, as the pelican, e'en with thy blood,
Ready to succor and relieve.
Vortigern.—Most gracious sov'reign! to command is thine;
And, as a subject, mine is to obey.
Con.—Such was the answer we did here expect,
And farther now we shall explain our meaning:—
As frozen age we find doth fast approach,
And state affairs lie heavy with ourself,
To thee one-half our pow'r we here resign,
That due reward may pace with thy great labor.
To this our proposition, what reply?
Vor.—Oh! my most noble, good and bounteous lord,
These honors are indeed so great, so weighty,
I fear, least, like a garment too confin'd,
They awkwardly should press upon the wearer;
Therefore, my gracious lord, let one more worthy,
I do beseech thee, bear them.
Con.—Nay, nay! this thy excuse will not suffice.
E'en now we do await thy full consent;
And, that more speedily we may conclude,
We do require of thee, thou here shouldst sign
This deed prepar'd, by which thou wilt become—ourself
conjoin'd—
Sov'reign of this our realm.
Vor.—I shall, my lord, obey your high command.
(Signs the paper.)
Con.—Anon, we shall await thee at our palace.
Vor.—Fortune, I thank thee! (Exit Constantius.)
Now is the cup of my ambition full!
And, by the rising tempest in my blood,
I feel the fast approach of greatness, which,
E'en like a peasant, stoops for my acceptance.
Yet hold: O! conscience, how is't with thee?
Why dost thou whisper? should I heed thee now,
My fabric crumbles, and must fall to nought?
Come, then, thou soft, thou double-fac'd deceit!
Come, fawnning flattery! silence-sealing murder!
Attend me quick, and prompt me to the deed!
What! jointly wear the crown? No! I will all!
And that my purpose soon may find its end,
This, my good king, must I, unmannerly,
Push from his seat, and fill myself the chair—
Welcome thou glittering mark of royalty!
And with thy pleasing, yet oppressive weight,
Encircle fast this my determin'd brow.
Yet soft: ere I proceed, let caution guide me;
For though the trunk and body of the tree
Be thus within my gripe, still do I fear
Those boughs which stand so near and close allied,
That will, ere long, yield seeds for dire revenge.
Then since my soul e'en murder must commit,
To gratify my thirst for royalty,
Why should I play the child; or, like a niggard,
By sparing, mar and damn my cause for ever?
No! as the blow strikes one, all three must fall!
Then shall I, giant-like, and void of dread,
Uprear my royal and encircled brow,
And, in the face of the Omnipotent,
Bid bold defiance.—
This my determination, then, shall be,
So firm as adamant the end I'll see.

SCENE II. A Chamber in Vortigern's Palace.

Enter Edmunda and Flavia.

Flavia.—"My dearest mother! why let watery grief,
"Like a corroding and slow malady,
"Nip thus the fairest and most beauteous form
"That bounteous nature, in her happiest mood,
"E'er fram'd in mould celestial to grace
"This nether world?"—Oh! my beloved mother!
Turn, turn those tear-worn eyes, and let one smile,
One cheering look of sweet serenity,
Beam forth to comfort my afflicted soul!
Edmunda.—Oh! heavens! my gentle Flavia, would I could!
But this corroding, pensive melancholy,
Most venom-like, destroys its nourisher.
Oh! Vortigern, my lov'd, once loving husband,
Why rend this bursting heart with cold disdain?
E'en the poor culprit, dragg'd before his judge,
May boldly plead his cause; but I, alas!
Most innocent and ignorant of fault,
Must bear the weight of judgment.

Enter Pascentius.

Fla.—What news of fav'ring import, dearest brother,
Does this thine eager joy forebode?
Pascentius.—I have tidings I would fain make known;
Yet are they of such wondrous magnitude,
Scarce can I give them utterance.
Edm.—Oh! speak, my child! my dear Pascentius, speak;
For much thy mother consolation needs.
Pas.—The King, then, madam, in his royal bounty,
Hath, jointly with himself, conferr'd the sway
Of this, our mighty kingdom, on my father.
Edm.—Now woe, indeed, hath made its masterpiece!
Thou fell ambition! thou art mine enemy:
Thy idle dreams have forc'd my husband from me;
Thy honey'd visions have depriv'd my soul
Of that alone which made life worth retaining.
Yes, thou art now, alas! become a flower
That by the radiance of the sun is parch'd,
And, lacking drops of succor, droops and dies.

Enter Fool, whimsically attired, with his bells and ladle.

Pas.—Whither so fast, good Fool?
Fool.—Good Fool, say'st thou! Marry, these are sweet words, that
do not often fall to our lot; but let me tell you, good master, fools have
excellent wits, and those that ha' none will gladly go flatter, lest the
fool's folly should make them still more foolish.
Pas.—But, prithee, tell us what is thine affair?
Fool.—Oh! my affair is weighty indeed, being burthened
with the speech o' royalty.
Pas.—And wherefore so!
Fool.—I prithee, stay thy patience but awhile, and I
will tell thee: thou dost expect nought from the Fool but folly;
but from a king thou wouldst a cunning speech.
Pas.—And is't not so?
Fool.—Oh no! by my troth, our good sovereign hath
unto my noble master betrayed great lack of policy.
Pas.—How so?
Fool.—Why, your wise man will tell you, the crown doth gall the w
earer; but, marry, I will show myself the fool indeed; for I do say the half
oft pinches more than the whole.
Pas.—Thou wouldst be witty, Fool.
Fool.—Marry, say not I would be, but that I am; for, let me
tell you, the wit of your Fool is true wit: being solely his own, no man
coveting it; whereas, that of your wise man comes from books, and from
those who went before. But wherefore should I thus lose wind? My wit,
being folly, is not by your wise man understood; therefore, I'll to
the purpose. My master is made half king, and sends me, his
Mercury, to tell your gentle ladyship his honor's pleasure.
Edm.—Prithee, be brief, and speak thine errand quickly.
Fool.—An't please you, sweetest mistress,
this he wills: that, in your best attire, you straight
attend to honor him and th' other half of the crown.
Edm.—We shall be ready at command. (Exeunt.)

SCENE III.—Another Apartment in Vortigern's Palace.

Enter Vortigern.

Vortigern.—Thus far, then, have my deeds a sanction found;
For still each morn doth the resplendent sun
Dart forth its golden rays, to grace my sight.
O what an inconsistent thing is man!
There was a time when e'en a murd'rous thought
Would have congeal'd my very mass of blood;
"And, as a tree, on the approaching storm,
"My frame would shake and tremble."
But now I stand not at the act itself,
Which breaks all bonds of hospitality.—
To me, the King hath ever been most kind;
Yea, even lavish of his princely favors—
And this his love do I requite with murder!
And wherefore this? Why! for a diadem,
Than the perdition of my precious soul;
Still at that self-same price must I obtain it.
The rooted hate the Britons bear the Scots
Is unto me an omen most propitious.
I have despatched my secret emissaries,
And the young princes, sons of the old king,
Long since for study, sojourners at Rome,
Even for them have I prepared honors:
For ere the moon shall twice have fill'd her orb,
Death shall entwine them with a crown immortal

Enter Servants.

Servant.—Two officers, my lord, await your leisure.
Vor.—Shew them to our presence.

Enter Murderers.

Have ye concluded?
Is your answer ready?
Murderers.—We have consider'd all;
And on your promis'd bounty undertake
The speedy execution.
Vor.—Ye are agreed?
Both.—Yes, my good lord.
—List, then, awhile!
This night Constantius gives a feast, whereat
He wills I shall be present. Mark me well;
And let your signal my retiring be:
Then tarry not, but to it on the instant.
Mur.—Fear not, my noble lord, we are resolv'd.
(Exeunt.)
Vor.—So now, good King, prepare thee for the worst.
And, ere the thick and noisome air of night
Shall with damn'd Hecate's baneful spells be fill'd,
Thou must from hence to the cold bed of death,
To whom the peasant and the king are slaves.
Come, then, black night, and hood the world in darkness;
Seal close the hearts of those I have suborn'd,
That pity may not turn them from their purpose.
(Exit.)

SCENE IV.—A Chamber in Constantius' Palace.

Enter Constantius with a Groom.

Constantius.—Place here the light. Now hasten to the hall,
And unto Vortigern present this ring,
Pledge of my sacred friendship and alliance.
Tell him, I fain would see him in the morning.
So, fare thee well; we now would be alone.
(Exit Page.)
O sleep, sweet nourisher of man and babe:
Soother of every sorrow, that canst bury
The care-distracted mind in sweet oblivion—
To thee, O gentle pow'r! I plight my soul!
Here, then, on my bended knee, great God,
Let me implore thy grace, and look for mercy!
"Though thou hast plac'd me sovereign over men,
"And on my temples bound to the diadem;
"Yet am I subject still to human frailty,
And nought can boast more than my meanest vassal."
How wisely fram'd is Nature's glorious work:
The smallest reptile doth its instinct boast;
Aye, is as nicely form'd as man himself.
Both doom'd to die, to rot, and come to dust.
Yet man hath one great property besides—
A never fading, an immortal soul!
Upon that thought rest I my happiness.
(Lies on the couch.)

Enter two Murderers.

1st Murderer.—"Oh! if one spot did sully his pure soul,
"In heaven hath he wip'd it clean away,
"With this, his sweet, unfeigned orison."
2d Murderer.—"Tis true.
"The King to us hath ever been most kind:
"'Twould have disgrac'd the name of murderer
"Had we to death despatch'd him unprepar'd."
1st Mur.—"Why, how now?
"Hast thou forgot thine errand?
"Wast sent here to prate thus,
"Or to fulfill thy promise?
"I'll do't; nor this my dagger will I sheath
"Till reeking with his blood."
2d Mur.—"Yet, one moment, I pray thee, comrade."
1st Mur.—"I tell thee, I will not:
"For, as I am a man and soldier,
"So will I scorn to break my promis'd vow."
2d Mur.—"Thou shalt not yet;
"For, statue like, here will I fix myself,
"Till thou dost hear me out.
"Oh! is't not unmanlike, that we stain
"Our hands with blood that ne'er did us offend?
"Is't not most serpent-like, to sting sweet sleep,
"Which even from the giant takes all strength,
"And makes man taste of that which is to come?
"Let us, I pray thee, friend, turn from the deed!
"I cannot, dare not, nay! I will not do't."
1st Mur.—"Coward! take hence that poor, unmanly frame,
"Or this my steel shall work a double end."
2d Mur.—"Lay on, then! for I will defend the King,
"And may the gods aid this my good design."
(They fight; 2d Murderer dies behind the scenes.)

The King awakes.

Con.—"Vassal, I say! what means this bloody deed?
"This bold intrusion on our royal presence?
"Can majesty command no more respect;
"But, that our very sleep must be disturb'd
"With murder, rude and most licentious?"
Mur.—"Why, plainly then, I do not fear thy presence;
"And to be brief with thee, thine hour is come!"
King.—"Traitor and villain, what wouldst thou?"
Mur.—"Nay then, an thou dost speak so rudely,
"Take thy reward." (Stabs him.)
King.—"Oh! I die, sweet heaven receive my soul!
"Forgive, oh! pardon this his crime!
"I come! Bliss! bliss! is my reward for ever."
(Dies.)
Mur.—"Farewell, good King! and thou my comrade, too!"
Hence on time's wing will I to Vortigern,
And this my two-edg'd work to him unfold. (Exit.)

SCENE V.

Enter Vortigern, with Guards, as having viewed the dead body of the King
behind the scenes.

Vortigern.—Oh! this prewoosterous and inhuman act
Doth stir up pity in the blackest hell.
Heav'n's aspect did foretell some ill this night;
For each dread shrieking minister of darkness
Did chatter forth his rude and dismal song,
While bellowing thunder shook the troubled earth,
"And the livid and flaky lightning
"Widely burst ope each crack in heav'n's high portal."
Have ye the traitor seiz'd? Is he yet dead?
Officer.—Hard by, my lord, he lies reeking in's blood!
Despair and horror master'd each man's breast;
The attempt to check their rage would have been useless,
His body is become one gaping wound.
Vor.—O! my good friends, would ye had spar'd his life,
And that your zeal had been more temperate!
For, by the workings of my soul, I find
This was the instrument, but not the head.
Off.—Name him you deem the murderer, good my lord!
Vor.—Be silent, and mark well, that I shall say:
The Scots, you know, bear us fell enmity:
Many of rank do tarry in our court;
On them the guilt of this foul murder rests.
I pray you, instantly despatch the guard,
And seize each Scotsman ye shall chance to meet.
I will go summon all the lords to council,
And well consider that 'twere best to do. (Exeunt.)

SCENE VI.—Assembly of Barons.

Enter Vortigern.

Vortigern.—Oh! my thrice noble and right worthy peers,
We now are met upon he heaviest summons
That ever yet did occupy our thoughts:
The sparkling drop which graces every eye,
And fain would deluge every manly cheek,
Denotes the brimful sorrow of the heart:
Pity disgraces not the manlike brow;
And yet it suits but ill the present crisis,
When our best strength and wisdom both are needful,
To stem this black, this damn'd conspiracy!
For bloody war and foul rebellion lurk
Beneath the mask of cruel treachery,
Which, i' th' present, is so plainly shown,
By the brutal deed of these vile Scotsmen!
Then let not drowsy thought deter our purpose,
Nor basely rot in us the plant of justice.
The clamorous people call aloud for sentence!
Should we delay, it will go hard with us.
1st Baron.—Trusting to thee, our noble sage protector,
We here, without delay, pronounce as guilty,
The perpetrators of this crying deed.
We further, with one general accord,
Beseech you bear the badge of royalty,
Until the princess shall return from Rome:
For on Aurelius, now the elder son
Of our deceased King, the election lights.
Well do we feel how tedious is the task,
How full of trouble and perplexity!
But we do also know thee for a man,
Most good, most perfect, and most merciful!
Vor.—I fear, good Barons, you do flatter me.
I thought, ere this, to have resigned the weight,
Which the late King had heaped upon my shoulders:
But mark the sad reverse; for even now,
You double this my load, and bear me down.
Oh! ye have struck me where I am indeed
Most vulnerable—"The voice o' th' people!"
For them I will surrender liberty.
Despatch to Rome the messengers, I pray;
And let Aurelius know, that he is call'd
To wear this gold, this forked diadem,
That gives to main the sway of sovereignty.
2d Baron.—My lord, the people, Barons, all do thank you,
For this your kind compliance with their will.
To-morrow's dawn shall see the packets ready;
And we will, then, consult what messengers
Shall to the princess bear these heavy tidings.
Vor.—'Tis well! I do commend your zealous care.
And now, good friends, one mournful charge remains,
To 'tend the burial of our murder'd King.
Oh! 'twas a nipping blast, which suddenly
Bereft us of our first, our sweetest plant;
Both king and father it hath stolen from us.
"But, wherefore do I strive to ope anew,
"Those gates which bar the course of liquid sorrow?
"No! rather let your griefs now pine unseen,
"Where cold restraint can neither chide nor curb ye."
Farewell! time then be yours untill to-morrow.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE VII.—A Hall in Vortigern's Palace.

Enter Vortigern.

Vortigern.—How stands it now?—then am I but protector?
Oh! 'tis an attribute my soul abhors,
To sovereignty a pander and a slave,
That looks with wistful eyes upon the crown,
And dares not touch it:—No! I will none on't.
Curse on those lords that did award me this,
Whose justice needs must force them keep the crown
For those, who, by descent, do justly claim it.
By heav'ns! I'll pour my bitter vengeance down,
For this, their slow and niggardly promotion.
Yet, as they did award, and give me sway,
Until young Prince Aurelius should arrive;
Then is it mine most sure! The princes cannot,
From their cold graves, return to snatch it from me!
Their wish'd-for deaths are sure! yet, do I dread—
For here, within, there lurks a messenger
That cautions me, and fain would have me fear.
What, ho! without, I say! who attends there?

Enter Servant.

Vor.—Are there no letters yet arrived from Rome?
Servant.—No, my good liege.
Vor.—Nor messengers?
Serv.—Neither, my gracious sir.
Vor.—Retire a while. (Exit Servant.)
Vor.—Retire a while.
Nor messengers, nor letters! this alarms me!
But what care I: e'en let the princes come;
When come, there's room enough i' th' ground for them.
But, soft! now let me weigh my present state;
For much I fear these Barons' proffer'd friendship.
"Their niggard show of liberality
"Suits ill my lofty aim, and but the semblance wears
"Of that my soul is thirsting for—dominion!
"Not riveted by closer ties, their chief, tho' friendly,
"May swerve, and prove a foe!"—
Yet, I've a lure that shall ensnare that chief:
My daughter's hand! but, if she should refuse,
Then were my purpose baffled, or destroy'd.
Is it not strange, a flinty heart like mine,
Should stagger thus, when thinking of a daughter?
Flavia! whose fondest love to young Aurelius,
Now sojourning at Rome, hath long been pledg'd!
Yet, what of that? shall she, a whining girl,
Oppose a father's and a monarch's will?
My firm resolve once known, will shake that mind,
Which in her gentlest moments nature fram'd.
This work achiev'd, each lord his aid shall lend;
And to my will the haughtiest crest shall bend.
(Exit.)

SCENE VIII.—London. The Palace.

Enter Flavia and Pascentius.

Flavia.—Oh, heav'ns! in thy great mercy thou hast led me
To that dear object I so long have sought,
Through ev'ry secret winding o'th' palace.
Pascentius.—My Flavia say!
What is't hath ruffled thus thy gentle bosom?
I fear our father hath occasion'd this;
For late, as passing through the hall I saw him,
He paced to and fro in great disorder;
Sometimes, in deep thought lost, he'd stop and pause,
Then o'er his troubled breast crossing his arms,
Would utter words, but in a voice so low,
That they distill'd themselves in gentle air.
Tho'I did thrice address him, yet he brake
Abruptly from me, and no answer made.
I never saw the conflict of his soul
So plainly in this countenance portray'd.
Fla.—Alas! 'tis true! I too have seen my father;
And harshly has he urg'd my breach of vow
To my Aurelius, and to pledge my love
To one my soul abhors! say, then, my brother,
Is that kind friendship for my lov'd Aurelius,
Which first in years of infancy took root—
Is't yet untainted? Speak truly, brother.
And are thy vows of friendship to thy sister
Pure and unspotted as the face of heav'n?
And wilt thou save her?
Pas.—'Tis not in my nature
To act a treach'rous or ungenerous part!
Fla.—Enough, enough! I meant not to offend.
That I'm about to ask is truly urgent,
Nor more nor less than our own banishment.
Pas.—Th' impending exile is to me most strange;
But, if thy dearest mother thou canst leave,
Then must it be most pressing: I consent,
And will not ruffle thee by further question.
But silence for a while: here comes the Fool,
Of him some tidings we, perchance, may glean.


Enter Fool.

Fla.—Speak, Fool, when did'st last see my gentle mother?
Fool.—Rather ask, when 'twas that I e'er saw thy father in such
sort before: marry, he did never speak so roundly to me. Of old, your Fool did
make your sage one tremble; but my foolship hath not found it so. Times must
indeed be bad, when fools lack wit to battle wise men's ire. Nay, but I have le
gs, therefore, can run; a heart, that's merry, but would be more so, an 'twas
drench'd with sack from my ladle: but no matter, that's empty, till you
gentles choose to fill it: then, by your leaves, we'll walk, and carry
our wits where they'll chance meet better fare.
Pas.—Nay, nay; come hither, Fool; be not too hasty.
This fellow's true and honsest; and, dear sister,
Might well our purpose serve: wilt thou consent
That in our service he be bound?
Fla.—Of me ask nothing, but pursue that council
Which, in thy riper wisdom, shall seem meet.
Pas.—What's thy purpose, Fool?
Fool.—To quit thy father.
Pas.—What think'st o'me for a master?
Fool.—Nay, o' that I think not, for thou wouldst joke; but
an thou dost, thou hast rare impudence to do't i' th' presence of a fool.

When thy beard is somewhat blacker,
When thy years have made thee riper,
When in purse the pounds thou'rt telling,
And for a brothel thou'lt be selling
Thy patrimony, and thy lands,

Why marry, and I should, then, find nought more siting, my charity
shall bid me follow thee, and teach thee the ways o' this slippery world.
Fla.—O tarry not, for we must hence away.
What hour is it?
Pas.—Near five o' th clock.
This brilliant mass o' fire, the golden sun,
Hath just saluted with a blushing kiss
You partner of his bed, the vasty sea.
Fool.—Yea, and your father wills that ye do soon salute your beds; f
or he hath ordered that supper be instantly brought into the hall.
Fla.—Good heav'ns! so soon! Oh! my Pascentius,
Each moment lost is an eternity. (Exeut.)
Fool.—Nay, then, ye are gone and ha' left your poor Fool behind.
Methinks, I love that young master; nay, I know not how 'tis, but my legs
would needs go follow him: yet, master Fool, is this wisdom? for they say the e
gs should ne'er carry away the brains. Yet, let me see: cannot I, in my folly,
new form this saying, and turn it to mine own conceit? I ha' hit it: for it
matters not what comes o' my brains; for men say they are good for nought,
but my legs are; therefore, let the better o' th' two serve as guide for
the other. I'll away, then, and follow him. (Exit.)

ACT II.

SCENE I.—Rome.

Enter Aurelius and Uter, Constantius' two Sons.

Uter.—E'en now in Rome have we for seven long years
Made this our wearisome and constant sojourn:
I would we were again in Britain.
Aurelius.—Even so, good Uter, stands it with myself;
Nay, an thou yearn'st to see thy native land,
How is it, then, with me, that there have left
The jewel of my soul, my dearest Flavia!
Uter.—Nay, good my brother, patience yet a little:

All will be well, Flavia doth love you still.
Aur.—I cannot, will not bear this absence longer.

Enter Servant.

Servant.—A messenger, my lord, attends without,
On busines of great import.
Aur.—Whence comes he?
Serv.—From Britain.
Aur.—From Britain, say'st thou? then admit him straight.
(Exit Servant.)

Enter Messenger.

Messenger.—My gracious lord, are you the eldest son
Of our good King Constantius?
Aur.—Even so.
Mes.—This packet, then, I fear, will news contain
The most afflicting.

Aurelius reads.

These letters we in haste despatch, to tell you
Of your dear father's death, and to forewarn you
Of your own danger:—murder most foul hath ta'en him.
Vortigern on the Scots hath laid the murder;
Yet, under this pretence, much lies conceal'd.
Till you arrive, he is to rule deputed:
But as you prize your lives return not yet.
Aur.—Oh! horror! horror! my dear father murder'd!
Uter.—By whom? speak, Messenger, where, when, and how?
Mes.—The plot, good princes, hath been deeply laid.
Aur.—This is, indeed, most foul! say on, my friend;
Speak quickly, I entreat thee!
Mes.—Then, thus it is—Vortigern hath done the deed;
His love of splendor, pomp, and sovereignty,
And his great int'rest in the people's minds,
All, all did prompt him to this hellish act.
Aur.—Uter—oh, heavens! the father of my Flavia!
It is impossible! It cannot be!
Uter.—Oh! this, indeed, is damned treachery.
My dear Aurelius, let not stupor choke
The worthy feeling of a just revenge.
Courage, Aurelius! courage, my dear brother!
Aur.—Speak on, speak on, and end thy sad discourse!
Mes.—Thy friends in Britain long suspected this,
And to each port despatch'd their trusty spies,
To learn what vessels there for Rome were bound.
Haply that which hither hath convey'd me,
Was to have brought your executioners.
Aur.—Oh! would it had been so. Uter support me!
Uter.—Let us retire awhile, my gentle brother;
Hereafter, we will send and question thee,
Touching thy tidings, and their direful cause.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE II.—Rome.

Enter Aurelius, Uter, and Messenger.

Aurelius.—Our friends in England, then, have thought it fitting,
That, on receipt of these, thy woeful letters,
We should, with speed, to Scotland hie us?
Messenger.—E'en so did they instruct for weighty reasons.
"Know, Vortigern did always hate the Scots;
"And ofttimes hath, during thy father's reign,
"Fram'd laws most burthensome unto that people.
"But the keen tooth of hatred and revenge,
"With double fury since hath shown itself;
"For every noble Scot then found in London,
"Did suffer 'neath the tiger's 'vengeful fangs,
"And this, to direst rage, hath stirr'd their blood."
Your story told, will raise you aid of thousands.
Three years of plenty have, among the Britons,
Sown seeds of luxury and baneful riot;
Therefore, they're unprepar'd, nor think of war.
Uter.—Are vessels ready to convey us thither?
Mes.—Yes, my good lord.
Aur.—Come, brother, let's away then, with all speed—
But wer't not better that we change these habits?
Mes.—No, no! your Roman vestments will disguise you;
And may, in Scotland, greatly aid your cause.
Aur.—Then be it so. Farewell to thee, O Rome!
I ne'er did think that, when thus quitting thee,
My brimful heart would have ran o'er with sorrow.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE III.—A Hall.

Discovers Vortigern, Edmunda, Wortimer, etc., at supper.
Vortigern.—Seek, Wortimer, thy brother and thy sister:
Tell them it suits but ill their present years,
To tarry thus, when summon'd to our presence.
Wortimer.—My gracious father, I obey.
Edmunda.—O! dearest husband, calm thy ruffled soul,
They mean not to offend your grace; perchance,
They know not of thy wish for their attendance.
Vor.—Peace, then; and with thy words, whet not, I pray,
That wrath, which kindles sore within my breast!
Again, dost hear me, bid thy tongue be silent,
'Twere better else, thou didst retire.
Edm.—I go, and though a vulture gnaw my heart,
I'd bear it all with meekness and with patience,
Rather than this my voice should e'er offend thee.
(Exit.)
Wort.—My gracious sir, I've search'd the chambers through,
And call'd aloud, but answer had I none,
Save mine own words, return'd upon mine ear,
In airy sound.
Vor.—What! scorn'd, and thus defied! I will not bear it.
Send for my prating wife, and should I find
That she, in anywise, did aid their flight,
Let her beware of my revenge—What, ho!

Enter Servant.

Quick to my wife, and say I'd speak with her.
As yet, from those dull sluggards sent to Rome,
No tidings have I heard. But here she comes.

Enter Edmunda.

Edm.—What is your pleasure, sir?
Vor.—Where are my recreant son and daughter gone:
Nay, think not with those eye-drops to deceive me;
Tell me, I say—thou know'st full well their flight!
Edm.—If in these veins doth run the blood of life,
Or there be truth on earth, I know not of them.
Vor.—Deceive me not; I say thou speak'st most false.
I know the quality of women's eyes,
That, in a breath, can weep, can laugh, or frown.
Say not these waters flow for loss o' them;
I know thee well, thou hast with both conspir'd;
'Twere better thou mak'st known their hiding place.
Edm.—O! sir, these tears do stop my pow'r o' speech,
Which would again vouch that I utter'd.
Vor.—It is most false: but look to't, and dost hear me—
Come not athwart me and my purposes,
Lest thou shouldst add to that flerce hate I bear thee.
(Exit.)
Edm.—And can this be? these ears were sure deceiv'd,
Yet I sleep not, nor is my brain distemper'd.
It was not so, he said not he did hate me!
O! heav'ns, in your great mercy, aid me now;
And if your pleasure be not to torment
Our poor existence in this span of life,
Aid me to bear my weight o' miseries!
Oh! yet again! my son and daughter gone,
And tell not me the cause o' this, their flight.
My brain grows hot, I can no longer bear it.
Forbid his presence, too! O! I am distracted!
If sleep will quiet me, I'll to the poppy,
And with its juices drench these fev'rous lips!
Yes! I ha' need of med'cine and of comfort!
Again, my wits do wander: I'll retire;
And lest the bleak winds battle with my head,
I'll to my couch, and lay me on it's pillow. (Exit.)

SCENE IV.—A Wood.

Enter Pascentius, Flavia disguised, and Fool.

Pascentius.—Speak, dearest sister, say, how fares it with thee?
For those soft limbs were form'd for gentler usage;
But cheer thee up, my Flavia; whilst I'm with thee,
Thou must not faint: if there be comfort near,
I'll seek it, and from out the tiger's jaw
Tear forth its food; or if the thirsty lion
Should stand betwixt me and the bubbling brook,
This arm should find a passage to its heart.
But an thou need'st nor food, nor element,
Then will I sit and comfort thy sweet tears;
And as the smaller stream doth ofttimes mingle,
And add its nothingness ot the vasty sea,
So on thy streaming cheek will I let fall
One pitying tear, one tender drop of sorrow.
Flavia.—Oh! gentle, excellent, most loving brother,
It is my aching heart which thus o'ercomes me.
Wretch that I am! what hath my mother done,
That, lacking pity, I could leave her thus:
How can her drooping heart bear this sad shock?
Can her meek soul my father's rage encounter?
No, no! impossible! thus am I wretched.
Then O! you righteous and all-powerful Judge,
If human breath, with pure soul offer'd up,
Can touch you, or obtain your gentle hearing,
Behold a maiden for a mother sues,
And on her bended knees implores protection.
Let some kind angel, minister of mercy,
Pour on her wounded soul the balm of comfort;
And, in the place of overwhelming sorrow,
Let the dear plant of smiling joy bud forth:
And should she weep, then may her dewy tears
Be those of tender peace and charity.
Fool.—By my troth, mine eyes did never water so before: sweet
mistress, an thou hast charm'd thy Fool, methinks the choir o' angels
needs must listen to thy prayer: and yet these underprops o' mine do
sorely ache; and wherefore should they? for an I do eat, then am I
loaded, and do bear it well; but now that I am empty, these
porters won't carry me! this is strange, and needs more
wisdom to unveil than lies in my poor, foolish brain.
Fla.—Methinks, I'd sit and rest me here awhile.
Pas.—Then to the shade of yon imperial oak
I'll lead thee; there thou calmly may'st repose:
Our honest knave the while shall sing a strain,
And sooth thy sad and secret melancholy.
Fool.—Why, to be brief, good master, I needs would sing; but that ge
ntle lady hath crack'd the strings o' my voice: an 'twill please you weep,
marry I'll take the loudest pipe; and should I fail in giving
entertainment, why then I'll to Paul's, and there, i' the
presence of Bonner, be whipped for a slanderer.
Pas.—I pray thee, Fool, do as I list.
Fool.—Now, then, I'll pipe; but, by my troth,
you seem sad, and needs will me to sing merrily well, an folly will please you,
I'll to't straight.

Fool sings.

A Fool must needs be merry,
Lack, lack, and a well a day!
And in his shoes must bury
His sorrow, and all his care.
Then is not the Fool's lot hard;
Is not his mind sore treated;
Do not his friends, of 's poor brains,
Make physic for their senses?
Then lack, lack, and well a day!

But in this our world, 'tis true,
Lack, lack, and well a day!
We our old friends change for new,
When they no longer suit us.
Then heigh-ho, poor dobbins all,
Be sharp with men, I pray you;
They bear the minds of fools indeed,
Yet are but knaves, I tell you.
Then lack, lack, and well a day!

Fla.—Good, honest Fool, I do sincerely thank thee.
Fool.—Nay, nay, say not so; an I had flattered, why then,
perchance, I had merited this; but i'faith, gentle lady, he that
says nought, save the bare truth, doth ofttimes meet but a bare
compliment. But an you do flatter, methinks the compliment will savor more of u
ntruth, than did the flattery; but thus it goes with our slippery world.
Pas.—Who is it comes this way?
Fla.—Let us retire;
Perchance, it may be one of our pursuers.
Fool.—An thou'lt Iisten awhile to me, I'll tell thee thou need'st
not fear; 'tis but the post on 's way to your father's palace.

Enter Post.

Pas.—Friend, thou outrunnest almost speed itself;
Whither art bound?
Post.—I am for London, sir.
Pas.—Nay, stop one moment; I conjure thee, stop!
Say what these tidings that demand such haste?
Post.—That which my packets do contain.
Pas.—An thou will tell me their contents, there's gold.
Fool.—Now, i' troth, thou'It unlock letters, packets, and all:
look, look! the knave doth handle it with good grace! Sirrah, an thou
play'st on David's harp, thy fingers ne'er would move so glibly o'er
the strings, as o'er yon gold. Dost hear me?
Post.—Thy gold, indeed, doth please; it fills my purse!
And though it should not, yet what matters it?
I am well fee'd for telling that alone,
Which every simple peasant soon must know.
Then thus it is—Vortigern is accus'd
Of the base murder of Constantius!
Fla.—Heavens!
Post.—Yea; and even now the princes marching hither
From Scotland, with them bring a numerous army.
Pas.—Alas! my father: yet, I do beseech thee,
How know they this? Who was't instructed them?
Post.—Swift messengers, despatch'd by friends to Rome:
Further I know not—therefore, must away.
(Exit Post.)
Fool.—Go to, go to, I do believe thee: marry, an thou art humble,
thy purse is somewhat prouder. Good sir, wer't not best we put on; I am
faint at heart: marry, 'tis pity my wits did not fill their owner, as
well as those who do beg them.
Pas.—Let's on; and yet what course is't fit we take?
The night doth throw his sooty mantle round,
And robs us of the cheering light of day.
Fla.—Oh! would this night could pluck my sorrow from me,
Or that the long, eternal sleep of death
Would close life's wretched, weary pilgrimage.
Pas.—Oh! sister, an thou lov'st me, grieve not so.
Fla.—If charity be meek, e'en so will I;
And where thou lead'st, resign'd I'll follow thee.
Fool.—Marry! an you'll listen to a fool, perchance he may, for once,
speak wisely.
Pas.—Out with thy counsel, then.
Fool.—Thus it is:—chance hath made me your Fool; and chance
will now, that your Fool speak something like wisdom: marry, is not this
the road to Scotland? Dost understand me?
Pas.—Truly, I understand thee.
Fool.—To't again:—what say'st thou o' joining the young
princes on their march?
Pas.—It is most wisely utter'd, my good Fool!
Come, gentle sister; we'll to th' skirt o' th' wood,
And find some cottage that may serve to-night,
As 'twere a palace.—All may yet be well. (Exeunt.)

ACT III.

SCENE I.—An Assembly of Barons.

Vortigern.—To you have been explain'd our late despatches:
Say; did we not invite these princes home,
And tender them the crown? Yet do we find
They come with foreign aid and civil war,
To bear the sway and empire over us.
Can any present say why this should be?
1st Baron.—No! they're the sons of our late king, 'tis true;
As such, the elder doth, by right, inherit
The crown and kingdom; and, in their defence,
Our lives, yea, and our very best heart's blood,
Were truly offer'd, which we now revoke:
And, since they tear the bowels of our land,
And come with blood and naked sword to court us,
We'll to the field; and when bright victory
Hath with the sacred laurel bound our brows,
The princes' heads in triumph shall be borne
Throughout our ranks; rebellion's just reward!
2d Baron.—Then are they traitors to their God and country.
3d Baron.—And as the crown is now untenanted,
'Tis fit the most deserving brow should wear it.
1st Bar.—If any one there be that doth deserve it,
'Tis he that hath it even now in trust.
All.—Then be it his!
1st Bar.—Girt tight the drum, and sound yon brazen trump!
Let it proclaim aloud our flrm decree:—
Aurelius and his brother, both are traitors,
And 'gainst their mother country do rebel!
(Trumpet sounds.)
2d Bar.—Nay; stop not there, but let them bellow on,
Till with their clamorous noise they shame the thunder;
And o'er the earth, and e'en to heaven, proclaim
Vortigern our king, our lawful sovereign!
Vor.—The exigencies of the state demand
My quick consent; I, therefore, give it you.
And when the crown shall on my front be bound,
My faithful soul shall prize the sacred trust;
My arm be nerv'd to fight in its defence.
Barons.—All hall, great Vortigern, of Britain King!
(Trumpet sounds.)
Vor.—My lords, vain compliment would suit but ill
The present time; I, therefore, briefly thank you.
But, ere we part, I fain would crave your hearing:—
Our troops have now been long disus'd to war;
Yet, do not think I mean their fame to tarnish,
Or on a Briton throw the damned slur
Of shameful cowardice; no, my good lords!
But, though their ribs do serve as castle walls,
And fast imprison their strong, lion hearts,
Yet e'en the lion, when full gorg'd with food,
Will bask, and tamely lay him down to sleep;
Then in such sort, hath undisturbed peace,
And want of custom (nature's substitute,
That changes e'en our very properties)
Soften'd their manhood. Then 'twere policy
That we should court the Saxons to our aid.
This, too, will in our Britons raise the flame
Of bright and generous emulation.
Say, lords! doth this my proposition please you?
1st Bar.—We do approve, and thank its noble author.
Vor.—You, my good lord, then do I here depute,
Jointly with Catagrine, our second born,
That you with speed repair to Saxony;
Our eldest shall, at home, command the Britons:
Time needs your haste, therefore use no delay;
Your country calls, so, look you, quick obey.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE II.—A Distant View of the Sea.

Enter Aurelius and Uter (with the Scottish army), as just disembarked, habited
as Britons.

Aurclius.—O, dearest soil! bless'd mother earth! hail to thee!
Fain would my feet play wanton on thy breast,
And skip with joy to tread thee once again.
'Tis not to wound thee that I thus do come,
In glitt'ring steel, and dire array of war,
But as my right to claim thee for mine own.
Uter.—Brother, each lip for thee sends forth a blessing;
And, with the smile that buds on ev'ry face,
Alike expands a ray of happiness.
Never did I before blame nature's work;
But now I fain would quarrel with her hests,
For that in me she caus'd a lack of years;
Else had these prayers, these blessings all been mine!
To have a crown and kingdom at command
Is but as dross; but thus to have them come,
Might from their airy beds the angels draw
To taste the joys of this our mortal earth.
Throughout the camp now all is hush'd in silence,
And Morpheus, with his leaden wings outspread,
Hath on each eyelid laid the weight of slumber.
(Exit.)
Aur.—Then, as the general, the task is mine
To thank that mighty God, whose name alone
Doth carry awe, and strikes the soul with fear.
Here prostrate, then, I fall before thy face;
And, tho' unworthy of thy mercy, pray:—
If giant form doth more enlarge the mind,
Would that my front did with the mountains vie;
That so my heat-amazed brain might work
Thoughts suiting more this vast immensity!
O! most expanded—O! most fertile mind!
When thou wouldst copulate with thoughts like this,
Thou art mere nothingness! or when the lips
Do pour forth boisterous and high-sounding words,
They back again to the poor mortal brain,
And scoff at thy presumption.
"O, God! why should I, a mere speck on earth,
"Tear thousands from their wives, children and homes?
"O! wherefore, from this transitory sleep,
"That now doth steal from them their inward cares,
"Should I send thousands to cold, dreary death?
"Tis true, I am a king, and what of that?
"Is not life dear to them, as 'tis to me?
"O! peasant, envy not the prince's lot;
"Thy page in life's great book is not foul charg'd,
"And like to ours besmear'd with dying breaths.
"O! had I lives myself enough to answer
"The ravenous and greedy jaws of death,
"That will on these, my friends, my soldiers,
"Such havoc make, and wanton gluttony!
"Father of mercy, spare, O! spare this blood!
"And if I must alone receive the crown,
"Bedeck'd with purple gore, I here resign it." (Exit.)

SCENE III.—Gates of London.

Enter Catagrinus, Hengist and Horsus, with Saxon troops, in grand procession.

Catagrinus.—Here halt we then, and let the trumpet sound.
(Trumpet sounds. Officer appears on the walls.)
Officer.—Say, be ye friends or foes?
Cata.—My father sent us hence to Saxony;
Go, say our embassy is now fulfill'd.
(Trumpet sounds.)
Yet soft, that sound proclaims his quick approach.
Hengist.—Throughout the ranks let each man be prepar'd,
To hail our new ally, King Vortigern.

SCENE IV.—Gates Open.

Vortigern appears in robes of majesty, followed by the Barons and British
troops.

Catagrinus kneels to Vortigern.

Vortigern.—Rise, my dear son! thou'rt welcome home again:
And you, brave Saxons, greet we to our land.
Hengist.—We come, great sir, to fight in thy defence,
And from thy kingdom wipe away rebellion.
Vor.—Give me thy hand, brave general; and with it,
Exchange we mutually a soldier's faith.
Here let our British troops in friendship join,
And with the Saxons share our present joy.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE V.—The Country.

Enter Flavia, Pascentius and Fool.
Pascentius.—Why, sister, thus should grief usurp thy cheek?
O mingle not so much of lily dye
With thy sweet, rosy blood: thou'rt cold as death:
Pine not in silence thus!
Flavia.—I'll sit me down and court sweet music's aid.
(She sings.)

I.

She sang, while from her eye ran down
The silv'ry drop of sorrow;
From grief she stole away the crown,
Sweet patience, too, did borrow.
Pensive she sat while fortune frown'd,
And smiling woo'd sad melancholy.

II.

Keen anguish fain would turn her heart,
And sour her gentle mind;
But charity still kept her part,
And meekness to her soul did bind.
She bow'd content,
Heav'd forth one sigh,
Sang, wept, then turn'd to melancholy.

III.

Careless her locks around her hung,
And strove to catch each dewy tear;
And plaintive bird in pity sung,
And breath'd his sorrow in her ear.
Amaz'd she look'd,
And thank'd his care,
Then sunk once more to melancholy.

Pas.—O! why sing thus? thou dost join woe to woe:
Thy grief, methinks, demands more cheering notes.
Fla.—Oh! brother, this strange frame that keeps in life,
Is almost sick and weary of its tenant.
Tho' short hath been its course, yet flckle fortune
Hath with it wanton made, and blown it
To and for, a toy for this remorseless world.
Pas.—Listen, I pray thee now, to reason's voice:—
Were it not strange, if thou alone shouldst 'scape
The numerous ills and buffets of the world?
Fool.—I'troth, thou hast wisely spoken.
Pas.—Dost think so, my good Fool?
Fool.—Marry, aye, do I: an I'll tell thee why; thy speech hath not
wearied the Fool; therefore, 'tis a wise speech.
Pas.—Thou'rt, then, a judge?
Fool.—Aye, and a righteous one, too: dost mark me? 'tis your Fool
alone will make a true report.
Pas.—I understand thee not.
Fool.—The more's the pity. He that doth, or well speak, or write, wi
ll be praised by fools only: for look ye: envy doth sting those that have
knowledge, and makes them fear lest their wise heads should be outwitted; there
fore, again, 'tis your Fool alone that is your upright judge; cause, forsooth,
his brains are not in plenty; but, those which he hath are at's own disposal.
Pas.—This road, methinks, should lead us on our way
To the prince's camp! Fool, go you on before.
(As they retire, enter Captain and Soldiers.)
Captain.—Not quite so fast, good master: prithee, halt.
Fla.—What, guards! O! brother, now we are undone.
Pas.—Be calm, be calm! the troops are not my father's.
Wil't please you, sir, inform us whence ye came?
Capt.—From Scotland, sir.
Fla.—Then, O! good heav'ns protect me?
Pas.—And who is your commander?
Capt.—One whose merit
Outweighs whatever yet did breathe on earth.
If ye be Britons, as your looks bespeak,
Then show your wonted quality of justice:
Did ye not 'fore the awful face of heaven,
Proclaim Constantius as your lawful king,
When on his head, was pour'd the sacred oil?
Pas.—But he is now no more.
Capt.—Yet hath he two sons living,
Whose souls, for purity, I can compare
Unto this bright, this spotless canopy.
Pas.—Are ye bound toward the camp?
Capt.—We are; and if you're upright men, and true,
Thither you'll follow, and there wield the sword
For justice, truth, and your anointed king.
Yet, in this hallow'd cause, we would not force you;
But lead into the fold, with gentleness,
Each sheep that may, unknowingly, have stray'd,
And broke from out its bounds and flowery pasture.
Pas.—Proceed, then, and we'll follow. Tell me, sister,
Doth not your heart beat high?
Fla.—Yea, it swells so, this little breast, in truth,
Can scarce contain it.—
How shall we bear the meeting?
Fool.—I troth, merrily, merrily, as I do. 'Tis true I am a Briton;
but, then, am I not a fool? And ne'er will I put my folly to the test.
Think'st thou, I'll risk my brains for mine anointed king? Nay, nay;
in this affair, mine heels shall be my guide, and quick teach me the way to run
(Exeunt.)

SCENE VI.—A Chamber in the Palace.

Enter Edmunda and Attendants.

Edmunda.—I will not to my chamber, then, I tell ye.
1st Maid.—Beseech you, madam, to return again;
For so did your physician order.
Edm.—Come hither, pretty maid, look at me well:
Now say, hath he so orde'd it, or not?
1st Maid.—Indeed, he hath.
Edm.—Nay, get thee gone: a maid, and still so false!
Go to, live I not yet? Am I, then, call'd?
And hath my sweetheart, death, yet fondly clasp'd me:
Say, hathe the heavy passing bell yet sounded,
And hail'd me to my sung and chilly chamber?
2d Maid.—Madam, I fear your reason wanders.
Edm.—Ay, ay! I understand thee, it is flown;
My poor brain, alas! is sore distemper'd.
Sweet, sweet, come from you branch, here's food for thee:
My pretty birds, come back, I will not harm ye;
My bosom, as your little nest, is warm,
And is as soft, aye, and full of comfort, too.
Nay, stop! it is too warm, come not! twill burn ye.
2d Maid.—My tears do flow for her so plenteously,
That I have left in me no power to help her.
Edm.—O! you great gods! why pelt ye thus my brain,
And with your thunders loud, cause such dire outrage
Within this little ball—this, O! this nothing?
Tell me, high heaven! is this your justice?
Did I not nourish them: aye, teach them, love them?
Yes, little drops, oh! come, cool my poor face:
Speak! aye, ye come, I know, to say I did,
Now, please your highness, and what would you more?
Say, are not here a host of witnesses?
Longer, O! let me not detain the court;
For in such plenty they do now rush forth,
That you, sir, you who fill yon seat of justice,
Must throw away your gown, and swim for life.
1st Maid.—Will't please, we lead you in?
Edm.—I 'gin, indeed, to think I need support;
For I am even weaker than a babe.
Hush! hush! come hither both, I'll tell ye something.
Now, then, your ears; I'm mad: ha! ha! ha!
Say! is not this Whitsuntide?
2d Maid.—Aye, an't please you, madam.
Edm.—Then, listen. (She sings.)
Last Whitsunday, they brought me
Roses, and lilies fair;
Violets, too, they gave me
To bind my auburn hair:
But, then, my face look'd smiling,
'Cause that my babes were near;
Now you stinging nettle bring,
'Twill better suit this tear.
How like you this?
1st Maid.—Excellently well, madam.
Edm.—The time has been, when thus thou mightst have said,
What, must these poor eyes never see them more?
And have I need of these vile rags? off! off!
I'll follow ye to th' extreme point o' the world;
And, naked, bear the icy mountains cold,
And the dread scorches o' that ball of fire,
Till I have found them i' the antipodes;
Should I not meet them there, I will rail so!—
Pardon these starts! in troth I will not harm ye;
Indeed, indeed, I'm wrong'd! most sadly wrong'd!
Did these my warblings charm ye? then I'll die;
For look you, maiden, I'll sing sweeter far,
Than dying swan at ninety and nine years!
Lack, lack, a day! I'm faint! your arm, sweet maid.
There is my gage, farewell: good night, sweet! good night!—
(Exeunt.)

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—Aurelius' Camp.

Enter Aurelius, Uter, Pascentius and Flavia.

Aurelius.—You, then, escap'd, disguis'd in man's attire?
Flavia.—'Tis true, I did; but ne'er hath rapier yet
Adorn'd a side less fitting to support it.
Aur.—To you, Pascentius, my best thanks are due.
Pascentius.—Nay, nay; 'tis little that to me you owe.
Fla.—Indeed, but for his aid, I long, ere this
Had broke my sacred vow, and wedded death.
Uter.—Brother, the enemy is near at hand;
Straight let us forth, and range our troops for battle.
Aur.—Go you before, and swift I'll follow.
Now to thy care, my dearest friend, I trust
Thy beauteous sister, and my sweetest love.
Should victory proclaim the day our own,
All will be well; but should the loss be ours,
To heav'n's just guard I must resign you both.
Two trusty servants have I plac'd without,
Who will conduct you westward of our camp:
If we be beaten, thither we'll retreat.
Haste! fare thee well, sweet love.
Fla.—This token let me brace around thine arm,
Think of me in the field, nor let revenge
Blot from thy gen'rous breast all sense of pity.
Aur.—O! cruel fortune, so soon to wrench from me
This lovely form; to steal thy beauteous hand,
And offer to my grasp this weighty steel. (Exeunt.)

SCENE II.—The Camp of Hengist.

Enter Hengist and Horsus.

Hengist.—Have Vortigern's brave sons yet ta'en their station?
Horsus.—Yea, to our right the Briton's strength is form'd.
Heng.—Then, bid them wait the enemy's attack.
(Exit Horsus.)
Now, O, ye gods! prove to my pray'r propitious,
And yield me but the victory this day.
A mightier force I've summon'd to this isle,
And with them my fair daughter will arrive.
If, then, her beauty catch this vicious king,
E'en as mine own I'll hail the fertile land,
And these brave Britons, by my arts and arms,
Bind to a foreign yoke.

SCENE III.—A Wood.

Enter Britons and Saxons; they encounter the Scots, and after a hard contest,
the Scots are defeated.

Enter Aurelius and Uter.

Aurelius.—O, brother! fortune frowns, the day is lost.
Uter.—But it hath cost them dear!
Rally, then, our troops, and march them toward the west.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE IV.—Another Part of the Field.

Enter Flavia and Pascentius.

Pascentius.—Be of good cheer; tho' they have lost the day,
Yet was the victory most dearly bought:
The Scots, too, in good order, have retir'd.

Enter Horsus.

Say, what's thy business in this bloody field,
And who's the maid that bears thee company?
It should seem that thou hast fought and conquer'd;
And hast, in triumph, seiz'd on this fair prize.
Pas.—I, sir, am her protector.
Horsus.—If thou'It resign her, here is gold for thee.
Pas.—Although my peasant habit shows me poor,
Yet covers it a soul that boldly scorns thee:
I am a Briton, sir, will that suffice thee?
Hor.—Vile stripling! dost thou know me?
Pas.—I do not.
Hor.—Thou shalt repent this!
Pas.—Approach her not, if yet thou lov'st thyself.
Hor.—Thy lack of years doth save thee from my wrath:
Thou beardless boy, who thus doth ape the man,
Once more, I tell thee!—
Flavia.—O Pascentius! O, my brother!
Pas.—Fear naught, he shall not harm thee, gentle Flavia.
(To Horsus.) Insolent, presumptuous slave! what wouldst thou?
Hor.—I'll make thee dearly answer for thy rashness.
(They fight, and Horsus falls.)
Oh! I am wounded! speak, what is thy name?
But thou are brave, and I forgive thee this:
Good youth, approach, I fain would tell thee something:
But O! I'm faint, death's cold and heavy hand
Doth rest like ice upon my parting soul.
Go to the king, I pray thee,
Bid him beware of Hengist. (Dies.)
Pas.—I now lament the deed that I have done.
Fla.—O! sadly doth repentance sit on us.
Pas.—How soon this lord of the creation dies;
The errant'st coward now may spurn him!
Fla.—Sure, he did make some mention of our father,
And bade us tell him to beware of Hengist.
Pas.—Something, methinks, he spoke to that effect:
This, must our parent know. (Exeunt.)

SCENE V.—A Wood.

Enter Hengist and Officer.

Hengist.—Hath Horsus yet been found?
Officer.—Thrice has the field, with greatest care, been search'd;
But all in vain.
Heng.—Then, have I lost my first, my dearest friend:
If he be slain, by the great gods I swear,
I will revenge him on these Scottish-men.
But, whither are the princes now retir'd?
Off.—Toward Badon Hill.
The day was bloody, and it cost us dear:
The Scots were firm, and fought us, man to man:
Four thousand souls have perish'd.
Heng.—Good Heav'ns!

Enter another Officer.

What's thy business?
2d Officer.—Fourteen thousand troops have join'd our army,
And with them your fair daughter—look, she comes!

Enter Rowena.

Rowena.—(Kneeling.) O! joy once more to see my father's face.
Heng.—Rise, rise, my child!
Row.—First with my kisses let me dew this hand,
And round a father's neck these arms entwine.

Enter Soldier.

Soldier.—From London, Vortigern is on his march;
And comes, in haste, to greet your late success.
Heng.—'Tis well! go straight, put all in readiness.
Retire! I would be private with my daughter.
Off.—We obey, my lord. (Exeunt Officers.)
Heng.—Daughter, thou heard'st but now o' th' King's approach.
Row.—Your officer so express'd it!
Heng.—True! and dost hear, much rests with thee to act.
Row.—If aught, dear father, my poor services
Can aid thee, but command, and I'll obey.
Heng.—Thus then it is:—I shall prepare a feast,
And greet the King with joy and merriment.
Women, I know, have very many ways,
And subtle traps, to catch the hearts of men:
So practice all your wiles to win his love.
Row.—But should I fail?
Heng.—Nay, fear it not; his nature well I know.
Come to my tent, and there we'll weigh this business.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE VI.—A Magnificent Feast.

Vortigern on a Throne. Hengist, Wortimerus, Catagrinus, Lords and Ladies, with
Attendants.

Vortigern.—To mirth we dedicate this noble feast!
And you, brave Hengist, do we greet withal.
Hengist.—O! my most gracious King, I am unworthy.
Vor.—Thou didst fight manfully, and bravely conquer.
Wine there! a health to Hengist! would that Horsus
Were here to grace the feast.
Lords.—The King doth drink.
Heng.—Thou sentest for me, noble sir, to fight;
I have done naught, save that I promis'd:
Had I play'd other than the soldier's part,
Then had I tarnish'd the true Saxon name.

(Hengist speaks to one of the Lords aside.)

Vor.—Thou, Hengist, at our hands, hast well deserv'd;
We will consider, and reward thy labors.

Enter Rowena.

Ye heavenly powers! what lovely maid is this,
Whose form might raise the blush in Dian's cheek?
Heng.—Rowena, sir; my daughter, and your slave.
Rowena.—(Kneeling.) All hail, great King!
Vor.—O! thou most lovely maiden!
Here let me pledge thee in this golden cup.
On its smooth brim, I pray thee, print a kiss,
That so I may inhale the roseate sweets,
And taste the nectar of those vermil lips.
(Takes the cup and drinks.)
This seat is empty; fair Rowena, take it:
Would it were that Jove's haughty wife doth grace!
Catagrinus.—It is Edmunda's place; the queen's, our mother's.
Vor.—Peace! she is unworthy of that station.
Wortimerus.—She, sir, is our queen; and, though not present,
Most righteously, the law awards it her's.
Any usurping it, doth break the law.
Vor.—How! do ye murmur? Must I then humble,
And stoop the neck to bear my children's yoke?
Begone, I say! lest that my present wrath
Make me forget the place by blood I hold,
And break the tie 'twixt father and his child.
Wort.—We shall retire, my lord.
Vor.—Here sit, fair maid! if I presage not vainly,
Thou shalt, ere long, by right assume this place.
Row.—How can I merit love of such a King?
An humble vassal only.
Vor.—Thy meekness and sweet looks have won my soul.
O! let thy tongue here title me thy lord!
Row.—Already, sir, have I avow'd you King.
Vor.—And, therefore, here I do proclaim thee Queen.
Good Hengist, speak! wilt thou consent hereto?
Heng.—My lord, that honor is too weighty.
Vor.—Then speak, my lords: what say ye to my choice?
True, I am married, and my wife doth live;
Yet none, methinks, by law, can here be bound,
When the dread wrath of heaven doth show itself,
And on a wedded wife pours madness down.
1st Lord.—The law, methinks, should, then, proclaim it void.
Vor.—Be it, then, void: and here I pledge myself,
To take this lovely maiden to my wife.
To thee, good Hengist, we resign all Kent,
As a sure earnest of our future bounty:
Proclaim it in the camp; and let each man
Receive in largess, from our royal coffers,
That massy ore, which long hath lain entomb'd,
And now shall well reward the soldiers' toils.
2d Lord.—The law allows not this; it is not justice.
3d Lord.—That power lies in the barons, not the King.
Vor.—What! dare ye, then, dispute it?
All but 1st Lord.—We do.
3d Lord.—And while the power remains that's vested in us,
We ne'er will countenance a vile injustice,
That tramples on our country's dearest rights.
Vor.—Take heed, lest this your rashness ye repent.
(Exeunt Lords.)

Scene closes. Vortigern comes forward.

Vor.—O! these vile, petty kings, do make more uproar,
E'en than, above, the thund'ring god himself.
To-morrow be the nuptials loud proclaim'd:
And that Guorongus, that proud lord of Kent,
Who boldly in our presence call'd for justice,
His lands, his property, and all his titles,
We here invest with Hengist and his line.
(Hengist bows.)
Vor. to Row.—Give me thy hand; let us retire, my Queen!
(Exeunt.)

SCENE VII.—An Ante-Chamber.

Enter Wortimerus and Catagrinus.

Wortimerus.—Shall we, in quiet, tamely suffer this?
See our most excellent, most gentle mother,
In bold defiance of all sacred laws,
Thus basely treated?
Catagrinus.—Do they, then, think our substance form'd of flint?
Or that our hearts are adamant itself?
Where is our brother?—where our dearest sister?
I fear, indeed, they had just cause for flight.
Wort.—Let's to the princes, and our troops will follow.
They like not the rude treatment of these Saxons!
Cata.—I do accept thine offer.

Enter Lords.

2d Lord.—Most gentle princes, whither are ye bound?
Wort.—To quit oppression, and to seek for justice.
3d Lord.—Under your banners, then we do enlist.

Cata.—Speak! what hath now been done, that thus ye quit
Your king, your country, and your weighty trust?
2d Lord.—The King, on th' pretext of malady,
Most basely hath divorc'd your mother from him;
And means to take Rowena to his wife.
Wort.—Gods!
2d Lord.—And, her proud father, Hengist, to enrich,
He hath despoil'd me of mine heritage;
And from my sweet, my lovely babes, cut off
Their rights, and ta'en from me my vast estate.
Wort.—Then, look you, quick repair toward our camp;
Thither, in secret, we'll convey our mother.
So, fare ye well, good lords. (Exeunt.)

SCENE VIII.

Enter Aurelius, Uter, Pascentius and Flavia.

Aurelius.—Though bloody battle calls us forth again,
I'll rather part with life, with all on earth,
Than leave thee, Flavia, unprotected.
Uter.—Hengist hath pitch'd on t'other side of Badon:
The noise of arms, and distant hum of soldiers,
Bespeak their hasty preparation.
'Twere best to attack them early in the morn.
Aur.—Then be it so.
Pascentius.—And yet I must not 'gainst my father arm!
Flavia.—Indeed, thou'dst arm against they sister, too!
Who would protect me, then, or calm my fear?
Who sit, and tell me tales of hope? O! no one.
It were too much; you cannot, must not, leave me.

Enter Officer.

Officer.—Two sons of Vortigern do crave admittance.

Enter Wortimerus and Catagrinus.

Wortimerus.—My brother and my sister here!
Catagrinus.—O! joy unthought of! oh! unlook'd-for bliss!
Fla.—Say; speak! how fares it with my gentle mother?
Wort.—Beseech thee, ask me not of her sad story.
Fla.—Sad, say'st thou? Heav'n forefend! she is not dead?
Wort.—Calm thyself, dear sister, she lives still.
Fla.—O! where, where? tell me; that, with these moist tears,
I may rain comfort on her wounded soul.
Wort.—Let us retire.

SCENE IX.

Enter the Saxon and British Armies; they fight, and the Saxons are routed.

Enter Hengist and Officer.

Hengist.—All, all is lost! Fly, fly, to the king's tent!
Bid him to London speedily repair.
Away, away! tarry not, on your life.
A curse upon his sons for quitting us!
Should they but follow up this victory,
My hope, my every wish, for ever's blighted.

Enter Wortimerus.

Heng.—Vile traitor to your liege King and your Sire!
What blasted flend, blaker than hell itself,
Could prompt thee to this damned treachery?
Wortimerus.—Canst thou, base Saxon! thou, base braggart, ask it?
'Tis thou, and on thy soul, I'll prove it so.
Heng.—Ask where's thy queen, and then I'll answer thee!
Wort.—Dares thus thy tongue, with notes unmannerly,
My heart-strings tear asunder? Fiend, have at thee!
(They fight, Hengist falls.)
Heng.—Thine hand be wither'd for this fatal blow.
And must, then, all my hopes lie buried here?
Wort.—Yea; and thou need'st not much of Kent's domain;
A little mole-hill now will serve.
Heng.—Yet, chance one lives, that may avenge this deed.
'Tis the brave Horsus; 'tis my noble friend!
Wort.—He fought his last.
On him were found the secrets of thy plot.
Wouldst thou not have enthrall'd my countrymen?
Was not thy daughter to have basely poison'd
Her king, and husband? and, then, wert not thou
To have seiz'd the crown? O! villain, villain! traitor!
Heng.—Yea; all, had I but liv'd a little longer.
Hell, swallow me not up! nor ope thy jaws
So wide. The flends do tug, and strain my heart-strings!
They burst, they crack!—Oh! curs'd ambition! Oh!
(Dies.)

Enter Catagrinus.

Catagrinus.—All, all is ours: the ranks are broken!—
They fly before us; come, let's follow them.
Good heav'ns! who's this?
(Looking to the body of Hengist.)
Wort.—Hengist himself.
Cata.—And was it thou didst slay the monster fell?
Wort.—Aye, marry; but he fought, indeed, like one
That begg'd a little time to save his soul.
Cata.—Our father hath toward London ta'en his flight:
But yet, Rowena is our prisoner.
Wort.—That's well, indeed: come, let us on, and join them.
(Exeunt.)

SCENE X.—Vortigern's Palace.

Enter Vortigern and First Baron.

1st Baron.—Speed, my most gracious lord! think on your safety.
They course your troops, and dreadful is the carnage.
Vortigern.—Where are my sons?
1st Bar.—Let not your tongue curse me when I shall say.
Vor.—Speak, quick!
1st Bar.—With all their troops they join'd the enemy,
And bore with them their mother.

Enter Officer.

Vor.—Well, sir; and what more tidings do you bring?
Officer.—To London's lofty walls they've follow'd us.
Vor.—I care not an' they follow'd to the grave.
Speak, vassal! coward, speak! where is Rowena?
Off.—Alas! I fear me, sir, she's ta'en a prisoner.
Vor.—Then all, indeed, is lost!—Thou sweetest death!
Bury but in this bosom thy fell dart,
And I will bless thee for the gentle deed.
Off.—Shall I go forth, my lord, and man the walls?
Vor.—Do as thou wilt.
Good friend, I'd speak with thee.
Off.—What, sir, are your commands?
Vor.—Thou art an old, and ever-faithful servant.
Off.—My means have not kept pace with my desires.
Vor.—I know thee well. Wouldst thou not serve me, friend?
Off.—Aye, my good lord: but put me to the test,
And you shall see me smile on death himself.
Vor.—I take thee at thy word. Hold here my sword,
And but one friendly office render me:
Flinch not, strike deep and home: there lies my heart.
Off.—O! if each drop that were to issue from thee,
Was a most costly jewel, and the whole
Were my reward, by heav'n I would not do't!
Vor.—Thou coward! what, afraid? O! shame, fie on't!
Off.—Consider, sir, your queen yet lives.
Vor.—My friend, thou'rt in the right. To arms, then—out.
Bring me my burnish'd shield, my weighty axe,
And man the northern gate; let every bell
Sound forth its brazen peal; until they rouse
Our tombed fathers from their silent graves,
To come and aid us at this pinch of time:
Ring till the very steepless totter down.
Mark well my orders; he that flinches, dies.
If aught of murmur's heard, choak it with death.
Away, away! the grave or victory!

ACT V.

SCENE I.—Apartment in Vortigern's Palace.

Edmunda on a couch. Flavia and Pascentius.

Soft music.

Edmunda.—Indeed, my gentle maid, indeed, thou'rt kind,
And by those tears that glaze thy lovely eyes,
'Twould seem, that truly, thou didst pity me.
Flavia.—Pity thee, O, gods!
Edm.—Nay, wherefore, weep ye both;
'Tis long, long since I was thus kindly treated:
Your pardon, but I fear you scoff me.
Pascentius.—Doth she yet know you?
Fla.—Would to heaven, she did?
Edm.—And yet there was a maid that once did love me:
Heigho! she went, alack! I know not whither:
Thou ne'er didst see her; else what I shall say,
Methinks, would make thee vain; but yet, indeed,
Thou seem'st right well to ape her pretty manners.
Fla.—O! 'tis too much; I cannot bear all this.
Edm.—Nay, nay; why shoudst thou wail and tremble so?
Till this, I thought that grief was only mine;
It is not fair to rob me of all comfort.
I thought thee honest; but, indeed, the world
Doth flatter, fawn, and stroke upon the face,
And sadly censure when the back is turn'd.
Pas.—O! dearest mother, say, dost thou not know me?
Edm.—Aye, aye, right well; thou'rt one by name, a man:
Thy form is well enough, and thou may'st pass;
But hast thou a heart for melting pity?
For better be a brute,
Than lack it under that most godlike form:
And yet I do thee wrong; for even now,
Thou didst add graces to that manly cheek,
With scalding tears: and for whom do you this?
For one that neither asks, nor merits it.

Enter Wortimerus and Catagrinus.

Wortimerus.—How doth she now?
Pas.—Alas! she wanders yet: her mind's diseas'd.
Fla.—I am that maiden lost, your loving daughter.
Edm.—Bring here my glasses, stand before me here!
Now, now, I'll judge thee well; I'll see this straight:
And first her look was mild—in this thou'lt do;
Then she was kind, most excellent, and good;
Well, and so seemest thou. Now for the last:
O! her heart was—but thine I cannot see;
There thou deceivest me: I know thee not.
Yet, if thou be my daughter,
On thy forehead is a mark—
Away, then, with those locks from off thy front—
Now, let me look! O, gods! 'tis she, 'tis she!
Pas.—She faints, she faints! this shock is too afflicting
For such a shatter'd and disabled frame.
Fla.—O! dearest, kindest, most beloved mother!
Edm.—Indeed, my brain is something cooler now:
I should know you, sir, and you too; nay, all!
I'm very faint—alas! this joy o'ercomes me!
Fla.—Sweet mother, you need rest; we'll lead you in.
Edm.—Then be it so; and wilt thou sit and watch me?
Fla.—Aye; and I'll kneel and pray, and sometimes weep.
Edm.—Lead, then; I'll in to rest: come, follow me.
(Exeunt.)

Enter Aurelius and Uter.

Aurelius.—The breach is made; the southern gate is forc'd;
Yet still doth he hold out; and hath ta'en flight,
E'en to the Tower, and there he'll wait the siege.
Uter.—Aurelius, your fair prisoner is no more.
Aur.—How, say'st thou?
Uter.—Rowena swallow'd poison, and is dead.
Aur.—Then hath a wicked spirit ta'en its flight
From the most lovely frame that e'er was form'd,
To charm or to deceive. (Exeunt.)

SCENE II.—Cæsar's Tower.

Enter 1st Baron and Officer.

Baron.—Is the King yet safe?
Officer.—He is, my lord.
Bar.—Are many troops with us?
Off.—Two thousand, full well arm'd; and braver men
Ne'er buckled on their limbs the glitt'ring steel
O! what a sight it was to see the King!
No sooner had he reach'd the bridge, but firm,
And with a voice that rung each coward heart,
He hail'd them to come on. Here, then, he stood:
In his right hand griping his massy axe,
Whilst with the left he held the brazen chain;
Nor did he budge, until each hardy soldier
Safely within the walls had enter'd:
Then, waving thrice his cased hand in air,
And, with a nod that spread pale fear around,
And seem'd to animate his bloody plume,
Triumphantly, he bade them all defiance;
Then, slowly turning, with a horrid frown,
"Soldiers!" he cried, "soldiers! break down the drawbridge."
Like hail, in flight, we pour'd on them our arrows,
Until their blood had stain'd the moat around us—
But look, my lord, here comes the King.

Enter Vortigern.

Vortigern.—Why stand ye here, like fools, catching the air?
What! think ye this to be your mistress' chamber?
Bar.—My gracious prince, we wait your orders here.
Vor.—Then fight, I say.
Go, get you hence.
Bar.—I'm all obedience.
Vor.—No, no; thou must stay here: thou'rt my sole prop.
I sicken fast, and 'gin again to flag.
Pour forth, I pray thee now, some flatt'ring words,
For I am weary, and my lamp of life
Doth sadly linger, and would fain go out;
For, look you, my poor soul is sore diseas'd.
Bar.—Courage, my noble sir.
Vor.—Time was, alas! I needed not this spur.
But here's a secret and a stinging thorn,
That wounds my troubl'd nerves. O! conscience! conscience!
When thou didst cry, I strove to stop thy mouth
By boldly thrusting on thee dire ambition:
Then did I think myself, indeed, a god!
But I was sore deceiv'd; for as I pass'd,
And travers'd in proud triumph the Basse-court,
There I saw death, clad in most hideous colors:
A sight it was, that did appal my soul;
Yea, curdled thick this mass of blood within me.
Full fifty breathless bodies struck my sight;
And some, with gaping mouths, did seem to mock me;
While others, smiling in cold death itself,
Scoffingly bade me look on that, which soon
Would wrench from off my brow this sacred crown,
And make me, too, a subject like themselves:
Subject! To whom? To thee, O! sovereign death!
That hast for thy domain this world immense:
Church-yards and charnel-houses are thy haunts,
And hospitals thy sumptuous palaces;
And, when thou wouldst be merry, thou dost choose
The gaudy chamber of a dying King.
O! then thou dost ope wide thy bony jaws,
And, with rude laughter and fantastic tricks,
Thou clapp'st thy rattling fingers to thy sides:
And when this solemn mockery is o'er,
With icy hand thou tak'st him by the feet,
And upward so, till thou dost reach the heart,
And wrap him in the cloak of lasting night.
Bar.—Let not, my lord, your thoughts sink you thus low;
But, be advis'd; for, should your gallant troops
Behold you thus, they might fall sick with fear.

Enter an Officer.

Officer.—My lord! my lord!
Vor.—Wherefore dost tremble thus, paper-fac'd knave?
What news should make thee break thus rudely in?
Off.—Indeed, indeed, I fear to tell you, sir.
Vor.—Speak, vassal, speak! my soul defies thy tongue.
Off.—Your newly-married Queen—

Vor.—Speak, what of her?
Off.—My lord, she hath ta'en poison, and is dead.
Vor.—Nay, shrink not from me now; be not afraid:
There lie my sword! and with it all my hopes.
Lord.—Yet we may hope—
Vor.—O! friend, let not thy tongue delude with hope:
Too long against th' Almighty have I fought.
Hope now is vain—I will hear none on't.
Off.—Yet is the breach not made, and we are strong;
Still we may out, my lord, and beat them off.
Vor.—Can wicked souls e'er stand before the just;
Can strength outweigh the mighty hand of God?
No, no; never, never! O! repentance,
Why dost thou linger thus to ask admittance?
Thou com'st, alas! too late; thou'rt stale and nauseous.
Where, where is now the good, old murder'd king?
In fields of bliss, where guilty souls ne'er come.

Enter another Officer.

2nd Officer.—All, all is lost; the post is ta'en by storm:

The breach is made; they pour in fast upon us.
Vor.—If it be so, then will I out and die
Now aid, ye gods! but if ye will not hear,
E'en, then, on hell I call again for succor!
My friends have boldly stemm'd this tide of war;
And shall I flinch at last, and play the woman?
Let any but Aurelius meet my arm,
And this my sword shall ope a gate so wide,
That the imprison'd soul shall take its flight,
And either seek the murder'd king above,
Or down and join me in the pit below. (Exeunt.)

SCENE III.—The Basse-Court of the Tower.

Enter Aurelius and Uter.

Uter.—Where, brother, are the sons of Vortigern?
Aurelius.—I bade them with their gentle mother stay;
For much 'twould have offended righteous heaven,
If, 'gainst their father, they had join'd with us.
For here there always is a sacred tie,
Which suffers not a son's uplifted hand
To strike a father, be he e'er so vile.
Did he not give him birth, and nourish him?
And when thy direct foe becomes thy slave,
Say, shouldst thou use revenge? No, rather shame him
With pity and all-softening charity,
Then on a golden bed thou lay'st thy soul,
And art on earth a blessed angel.
Uter.—Brother, I do commend thee for this deed;
Worthy a prince, worthy a Briton, too.
But, come! now for the tyrant Vortigern!

Enter Officer.

Aur.—What's the news?
Officer.—Th' ill-fated King doth flee tow'rd Caesar's tow'r,
While half his troops have fall'n into our hands.
Aur.—Did ye obey mine orders?
Off.—Aye, my good lord, in ev'ry circumstance.
Aur.—Then Uter, look; you march toward that same tow'r.
Let me, ye gods! but meet with this vile traitor:
And should his soul not shrink beneath my sword,
Heav'n has no justice. (Exeunt.)

SCENE IV.—The Gate of Cæsar's Tower.

Enter Lord and Troops.

Lord.—In, in! for they do scar our very backs;
And score us cowards in our hasty flight.

Enter Vortigern.

Vortigern.—Give me another sword! I have so clogg'd,
And badged this with blood and slipp'ry gore,
That it doth mock my gripe. A sword, I say!
Lord.—Here, here, my noble lord!
Vor.—As with their bloods I stain'd my reeking blade,
From summit of the tow'r, the raven croak'd;

Th' heavy-wing'd crow did chatter o'er my head,
And seem'd to bear black laurels for this brow:
Yet, did not, erst, the sun-defying eagle
O'er the world-conquering Macedonian hero,
Flutter, and point his way to victory?
Then from thy jarring throat spit pestilence;
And, bird of hell, I'll take thee for my guide.
Lord.—The troops are enter'd; please you follow them?
Vor.—I love not to be shut in walls of flint:
My soul likes better this vast field of air.
Let them come on.
Lord.—Consider, my dear lord; think of your safety.
Vor.—Must we not die? then, wherefore in a door,
And rot with famine, and with pale-fac'd hunger?
No; 'twere better nobly fall, full-stomach'd,
Than linger out a six-weeks' tedious siege.
Do as ye list, here firmly will I stand.
Lord.—Is it your pleasure, then, they shall proceed?
Vor.—Aye; e'en to it straight.
Nay, stop! why should all these be doom'd to death?
Mine is the crime, not theirs.

Enter Aurelius.

Aurelius.—Villain and traitor! at thy word I take thee.
Vor.—Ah! thy face the semblance of thy father's bears.
Thine eyes do pierce, more than thy steel-clad arm.
Were fifty souls within that body cas'd,
Proudly I'd scorn them all: but, ah! thy looks—
Aur.—Thou perjur'd wretch! thou most abhorred villain!
Vor.—Prate on, prate on: 'tis true, I merit this.
But go not yet too far, lest, stripling boy,
You should, to indignation, fire my blood,
Which thou hast turn'd from out its wonted course,
And make it fall on thee.
Aur.—Alike, I do defy thy rage and threat.
Where is my father?
Vor.—Curse upon thee, thou grat'st my soul!
O! if around this tatter'd conscience, e'er
Did cling repentance, I now cast it off.
(They fight and pause.)
Nay, stand aloof, and hear me yet awhile.
Aur.—I will not.
Vor.—'Twere better that thou didst, lest, waxing warm,
I rise, and pour upon thy unform'd limbs
That rage, which 'gins to swell within my veins,
And lay a double murder on my soul.
Aur.—Come, on; come on, I say!
(They fight; Vortigern is thrown to the ground.)
Now, tyrant! now, I have thee in my power.
Vor.—Dost think I'll blanch my face, and be a coward?
A lily coward? No! strike, then!
Ne'er will I crave thy mercy.
Aur.—Now, traitor! where's my father?
Vor.—Murdered!
Aur.—And by whom?
Vor.—Is not the crown thine own?
Aur.—Aye; and is mine by right: then, speak, I say!
Vor.—I will not, boy: hadst thou ten thousand voices,
And lungs of brass to give them utterance,
I'd not answer aught.
Aur.—Then die!
Flavia rushes forward.
Flavia.—O! stop, Aurelius!—stay thy hand!
Remember, he is still my father!
Vor.—My daughter, here! then curse the tardy blow,
That lingers thus performing of its office.
Strike, strike, I now beseech thee; for I'm sick,
And do abhor the very light of heaven.
Fla.—O, mercy! on my knees I sue for mercy.
Vor.—'Twas I, 'twas I! this hand thy father murder'd.
Aur.—And say'st thou this, e'en to my very face?
Aur.—Aye, to thy face, and in thy ears I'll ring it,
Till thou for mercy's sake shalt strike the blow.

Enter Wortimerus, Catagrinus, Soldiers, Lords, etc.

Wortimerus.—What! my father?
Aur.—My Flavia, for thy sake, I grant him life.
Vor.—In charity, then, I pray ye bear me hence!
Aur.—Aye, lead him toward the Friars.
Vor.—Yea, where ye list; but, take me from this sight.
(Vortigern is let out.)
Aur.—How speeds Edmunda?
Wort.—Her mind far better fares, yet is she feeble.
Aur.—And of your father doth she e'er say aught?
Wort.—Yea, truly; but she haply thinks him dead.

Enter Uter.

Uter.—Of all, the King hath truly made confession.
To you he justly renders up the crown,
And bade me hail you Albion's rightful King.
(All kneel.)
All.—Hall to Aurelius,
Lawful King of Britain.

Pascentius enters.

Pascentius to Aurelius.—Vortigern on thee bestows our sister,
And bade me, in his name, present her hand:—
Aur.—Which thus I kiss; and, with the self-same breath,
Do hail her wife, and Britain's lovely Queen.
All.—All hail to Flavia, Queen of Britain.
Aur.—Much, we confess, we owe to all here present;
Each distinct service we shall well repay,
As best our dignity and state befit.
To-morrow, Lords, we'll meet at Westminster;
For your ripe ages and experience,
Must teach our young and giddy years the way,
To sow content after these dismal times.
(Curtain drops.)

Fool comes forward.

"Methinks, but now I heard some gentles say—
"Where's master Fool? I'troth, he's run away.
"Right! for look you, when there's danger near,
"He, then, most courage hath, who most doth fear;
"Besides, observe, I came not here to fight,
"Let him that dares, say nay, I'm in the right:
"I will not out and risk a knocking down,
"For though I like our king, I like my crown:
"Besides, there is a time for Fools to play;
"But, then, they must have nought, save good to say.
"Chance, you will ask if this be tragedy;
"We kill, indeed, but still 'tis comedy:
"For none save bad do fall, which draws no tear,
"Nor lets compassion sway your tender ear:
"Play! grant it, then—the story ye have read,
"For 'tis well chronicled in Hollinshed.
"Now give your plaudits, and when that be done,
"Your Fool shall bow, and thank ye ev'ry one."

FINIS.






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