In wrath reluctant-Then, with gentler voice;
'Cristina, thou hast conquered! Go,' he cried,
'I yield thee to her virtues.'
Enter TROLLIO and Guards, swords drawn.
Troll. Haste, O king!
The foe has hemmed us round; O haste to save
Thyself and us!
The Danish prisoners, and the traitor Peterson,
Attend their fate.
Gust. Send home the Danes with honour,
And let them better learn, from our example,
To treat whom next they conquer with humanity.
And. But then for Peterson!
Gust. His crimes are great:
A single death were a reward for treason:
[Takes a sword from one of the guards. Let him still languish-Let him be exiled!
Troll. What means my
Crist. Villain!
Well thought, by Hell! Ha! Yes, thou art our
The reverend monitor of vice-the soil,
Baneful and rank with every principle,
Whence grow the crimes of kings. First perish
thou!
[Stabs him.
Who taught the throne of power to fix on fear,
And raise its safety from the public ruin;
Fall thou into the gulph thyself hast fixed
Between the prince and people; cutting off
Communion from the ear of royalty,
And mercy from complaint-away, away!
Thy death, old man, be on thy monarch's head;
On thine, the blood of all thy countrymen,
Who fell beneath thy counsels.
TROLLIO attempts to rise, and then speaks.
Troll. Thou bloody tyrant! late, too late I
find,
Nor faith, nor gratitude, nor friendly trust,
No force of obligations can subsist
Between the guilty-O, let none aspire
To be a king's convenience! Has he virtues,
Those are his own; his vices are his minister's.
Who dares to step 'twixt envy and the throne,
Alike to feel the caprice of his prince,
As public detestation. Ha! I am going-
But whither? No one near! to feel! to catch!
The world but for an instant! for one ray
To guide my soul! Her way grows wonderous
dark,
And down! down! down!
No more to see the land of liberty,
The hills of Sweden, nor the native fields
Of known, endeared idea.
This is to pardon, to encourage villains;
And hourly to expose that sacred life,
Where all our safety centres.
Gust. Fear them not.
The fence of virtue is a chief's best caution;
And the firm surety of my people's hearts
Is all the guard that e'er shall wait Gustavus.
I am a soldier from my youth; yet, Anderson,
These wars, where man must wound himself in
Have somewhat shocking in them: trust me,
friend,
Except in such a cause as this day's quarrel,
I would not shed a single wretch's blood
For the world's empire.
Arn. O exalted Sweden!
Blessed people! Heaven! wherein have we deserved
A man like this to rule us!
Enter ARVIDA leading in CRISTINA. He runs
to GUSTAVUS.
Gust. My Arvida!
Arv. My king! O hail! Thus let me pay my
homage.
[Kneels.
Gust. Rise, rise, nor shame our friendship.
Aro. See, Gustavus! Behold, nor longer won-
der at my frailty.
Gust. Be faithful, eyes! Ha!-Yes, it must
be so.
'Tis she; for Heaven would choose no other form
Wherein to treasure every mental virtue!
Cristina. Renowned Gustavus! mightiest
If such a wretch, the captive of thy arms,
Trembling and awed in thy superior presence,
May find the grace that every other finds,
For thou art said to be of wondrous goodness!
Then hear, and O excuse a foe's presumption,
While low, thus low, you see a suppliant child,
Now pleading for a father, for a dear,
Much loved-if cruel, yet unhappy-father!
Ob, let, let him escape, who ne'er can wrong thee
If he, with circling nations, could not stand
Against thee single; singly, what can he,
When thou art fenced with nations?
Gust. Ha! that posture!
O rise-surprised, my eye perceived it not.
Cristina! thou all formed for excellence!
I've much to say, but that my tongue, my thoughts,
Are troubled; warred on by unusual passions.
'Twas hence thou hadst it in thy power to ask,
Ere I could offer.-Come, my friend, assist,
Instruct me to be grateful. O Cristina !
I fought for freedom, not for crowns, thou fair
They shall sit brighter on that beauteous head,
Whose eye might awe the monarchs of the earth,
And light the world to virtue!--My Arvida!
Arv. O great and good, and glorious to the
last!
I read thy soul, I see the generous conflict,
And come to fix, not trouble, thy repose.
Could but know with what an eager haste
you
I sprung to execute thy late commands;
To shield this lovely object of thy cares,
And give her thus, all beauteous, to thy eyes!
For I've no bliss but thine, have lost the form
Of every wish that's foreign to thy happiness.
But, O, my king! my conqueror! my Gustavus!
It grieves me much, that thou must shortly mourn,
Even on the day in which thy country's freed,
That crowns thy arms with conquest and Cristina.
Gust. Alas! your check is pale-you bleed,
my brother!
Arv. I do, indeed-to death! Gust. You have undone me: Rash, headstrong man! O, was this well, Ar[Turns from him. Arv. Pardon, Gustavus! mine's the common lot,
How art thou fallen, thou greatly valiant man!
In ruin graceful, like the warrior spear,
Though shivered in the dust!-So fall Gustavus !
But thou art sped, hast reached the goal before
And one light lapse, throughout thy course of virtue,
Shews only thou wert man, ordained to strive, But not attain, perfection.
Dost thou, too, weep? transcendent, loveliest maid!
Pardon a sinking heart, o'ercharged with grief,
That in thy presence will not be exiled,
Though every joy dwells round thee.
Cristina. O Gustavus!
A bosom, pure like thine, must soon regain
The heart-felt happiness that dwells with virtue;
And Heaven, on all exterior circumstance,
Shall pour the balm of peace, shall pay thee
The bliss of nations, breathing on thy head
The sweets that live within the prayers of foes,
Subdued unto thy merits.--Fare, farewell!
Gust. Thou shalt not part, Cristina.
Cristina. O!—I must-
Gust. No, thou art all that's left to sweeten life, And reconcile the wearied to the world.
Cristina. It will not be-I dare not hear-
Gust. You must,
I am thy suppliant in my turn-But, O!
My suit is more, much more, than life or empire,
Than man can merit, or worlds give without
Cristina. Now, aid me, aid me, all ye chaster
That guard a woman's weakness! 'Tis resolved;
Thy own example charms thy suit to silence.
Nor think alone to bear the palm of virtue,
Thou, who hast taught the world, when duty calls,
To throw the bar of every wish behind them.
Exalted in that thought, like thee I rise,
While every lessening passion sinks beneath me.
Adieu, adieu, most honoured, first of men!
I go, I part, I fly, but to deserve thee.
Gust. Yet stay-a moment-till my fluttering
heart
Pour forth in love, in wonder pour before thee, Thou cruel excellence-Wouldst thou, too, leave me?
Not if the heart, the arms, of thy Gustavus
Have force to hold thee!
Cristina. O delightful notes!
That I do love thee, yes, 'tis true, my lord;
The bond of virtue, friendship's sacred tie,
The lover's pains, and all the sister's fondness-
Mine has the flame of every love within it.
But I have a father! guilty if he be,
Yet is he old; if cruel, yet a father.
Abandoned now by every supple wretch,
That fed his years with flattery-I am all
That's left to calm, to soothe his troubled soul
To penitence, to virtue; and, perhaps,
Restore the better empire o'er his mind,
True seat of all dominion. Yet, Gustavus,
Yet there are mightier reasons-O, farewell! Had I ne'er loved, I might have stayed with ho[Exit. GUSTAVUS looks after CRISTINA, then turns and looks on ARVIDA.—ANDERSON, ARNOLDUS, &c. advance.
And. Behold, my lord, behold the sons of war, Of triumph, turn to tears; while, from that eye, All Sweden takes her fate-and smiles around, Or weeps, with her Gustavus!
Arn. Wilt thou not cheer them? say, thou great deliverer!
Siv. O general! 1 Dale. King!
2 Dale. Brother!
3 Dale. Father!
Gust. Come, come, my brothers all! Yes, I will strive
To be the sum of every title to ye,
My sister, mother, all that's kind and dear,
shall be my sire, my friend revived,
For so Gustavus holds ye--O, I will
Of private passions all my soul divest,
And take my dearer country to my breast;
To public good transfer each fond desire,
And clasp my Sweden with a lover's fire;
Well pleased, the weight of all her burdens bear,
Dispense all pleasure, but engross all care.
Still quick to find, to feel my people's woes,
And wake, that millions may enjoy repose.
[Exeunt omnes.
BY WAY OF ENTERTAINMENT. BY MR OGLE.
WELL, ladies, to the court your plea submit, Box, upper-region, gallery, and pit: Our poet, trembling for his first essay, Fear'd to dismiss you, though you sav'd his play. Cry'd Nell (in pity for the bashful rogue) 'Give 'em a joke! a joke was once in vogue! Thus authors us'd in less judicious times, When merry epilogues were thought no crimes.' 'That (said Cristina) would his ruin crown: Nothing but virtue takes this virtuous town. No, let his epilogue be clean and chaste : This is the sense of every man of taste !'— High rose the conflict in our room of state, Where tragic kings and queens maintain debate; When, lo! we heard, your pow'rs began to rise,' Whose horrid cat-call is our worst excise! Our inmost palace felt the loud dissention; Where each new tragedy's a new convention. Whence we determin'd, without further pother, To give you, of the one, and of the other.
Our author on the brave and chaste relies;
He thinks, the virtuous are the only wise.
And, if his muse, with voice exalted, sings,
Of camps and courts, of ministers and kings,
Yet, be not, to the great, his rules confin'd!
His moral is a lesson to mankind.
If virtue, beauteous, vice, deform'd he'draws,
You, that applaud him, sound your own applause.
Where vice, distaste, where virtue, gives delight,
Alike, who judge or paint, are just and right.
Virtue, like vice, escapes the public eye,
m humble life, yet blazes in the high.
INTENDED FOR MR WRIGHT, MRS GIFFARD, AND CLIVE.
Hence tragedy, that owns no vulgar flight,
Shines, with the king, in a mild sphere of light;
Or vagrant, with the tyrant, strains to run,
A burning comet-not a cheering sun!
That worth is worth, be by Gustavus known:
More glorious in a mine, than on a throne!
And, for Cristina might I hope a smile,
Less great was she in empire, than exile !
Some worth it shows, to aim at worthy praise,Then, wither not the plant that you may raise! Crush not his youth! No!--give him age to spread :
For we have heard you rumbling o'er his head.
Fell a few flashes, with portentous blaze,
To blast th' ambitious branches of his bays;
Yet, if soft sorrows stream'd from virtuous eyes
If rose, from gen'rous breasts, regaling sighs,
Refresh'd by the attack, the laurel stands,
And dares the loudest thunder-of your hands.
Mrs Clive.
Great the design !-I grant-the moral good!
But 'tis my weakness to be flesh and blood.
What virgin, here, so tender and so kind,
Would not her love, with her own hands, un
bind?
Preliminaries settle in the dark,
And, though she lost her father, fix her spark?
Or, when she bade the attendant 'Save him
Fly!'
Would she not send a billet, by the by?
Not article? 'Tis nonsense to say, not!
Had she no feel, no guess of what is what?
At her expence the great Gustavus shines;
My lover, he!-I'd send him to the mines.-
Arvida falls!--Gustavus wails his end,
And many a spouse caresses such a friend.
Well, let him wail his death; then, rise to life;
Clasp the fond maid, too strict to be his wife!
He held her in his camp; might hold, alone;
Compulsion some humanity had shown.
Thy countrymen-will damn thee-the third day
This is not, sure, the true Hibernian way?
But I forgive him. He's a young beginner! Not quite a prostitute, and yet, a sinner! Forward to please, yet awkward to delight! He wants a kindly hand to guide him right! A novice yet-Instruct him-He will mendFull many a widow wishes such a friend.
E'en married dames may think a greater curse,
The slow performer that grows worse and worse!
This, with a blush, I say, behind my fan—
Cherish the boy, you'll raise him to a man!
Mr Wright.
The cause is heard. Ye gentle and ye brave,
'Tis your's to damn him--But, you join to save--
Then, hail Gustavus, who his country freed!
Ye sons of Britain, praise the glorious Swede!
Who bravely rais'd, and gen'rously releas'd.
From blood-stain'd tyrant, and perfidious priest,
The state and church expiring at a breath!
Who held a life of slav'ry worse than death!
Reform'd religion! re-established law,
And, that you dare to praise him, hail Nassau!
To point what lengths credulity has run,
What counsels shaken, and what states undone,
What hellish fury wings th' enthusiast's rage,
And makes the troubled earth one tragic stage,
What blasphemies imposture dare advance,
And build what terrors on weak ignorance,
How fraud alone rage to religion binds,
And makes a Pandemonium of our minds;
Our Gallic bard, fir'd with the glorious views,
First to his Crusade led his tragic muse,
Her power through France his charming numbers
bore,
But France was deaf-for all her priests were sore.
On English ground she makes a firmer stand,
And hopes to suffer by no hostile hand:
No clergy here usurp the freeborn mind,
Ordain'd to teach, and not enslave mankind;
Religion here bids persecution cease,
Without all order, and within all peace;
Truth guards her happy pale with watchful care,
And frauds, though pious, find no entrance there.
Religion, to be sacred, must be free;
Men will suspect-where bigots keep the key:
Hooded, and trained like hawks, th' enthusiasts
fly,
And the priests' victims in their pounces die.
Like whelps born blind, by mother church they're bred,
Nor wake to sight to know themselves misled;
Murder's the game-and to the sport unprest,
Proud of the sin, and in the duty blest,
The layman's but the bloodhound of the priest.
Whoe'er thou art that dar'st such themes advance,
To priest-rid Spain repair, or slavish France,
For Juda's here there do the devil's task,
And trick up slav'ry in religion's mask ;
England still free, no surer means requires
To sink their sottish souls and damp their mar-
tial fires.
Britons! these numbers to yourselves you owe; Voltaire has strength to shoot in Shakespeare's
Fame led him at his Hippocrene to drink,
And taught to write with nature as to think;
With English freedom English wit he knew,
And from the inexhausted stream profusely drew :
Cherish the noble bard yourselves have made,
Nor let the frauds of France steal all our trade.
Now of each prize the winner has the wearing,
E'en send our English stage a privateering;
With your commission we'll our sails unfold,
And from their loads of dross import some gold.
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