The British drama

Such tracts of land, and visit this cold region,
To love and languish? Answer me, what motive
First brought thee hither? But forbear to urge
It was in quest of honour; for the god
Of war disclaims thee.

Flam. Well, suppose I answer,

That friendship drew me from the golden Tiber,
With thee to combat this inclement sky,
Will it offend thee?

Enob. No, I am thy friend,

And I will make a Roman of thee still;
But let me see no languishing dejection
More on thy brow, nor hear unmanly sighs.
Gods! canst thou dream of love, when yonder

see,

The Roman legions, all arrayed for battle,
Are now descending; see their dreaded eagles,
Their dazzling helmets, and their crimson plumes;
A grove of javelins glitters down the steep;
They point their terrors on the astonished foe;

Soon will they charge the Britons in the vale,
And with the auspicious glories of this day
Enrich the annals of imperial Rome.
O curst captivity! with double weight
I feel thee now! malicious fate! to suffer
A Roman thus to stand confined in bondage,
And see the triumphs, which he cannot share.
By Heaven, Flaminius! I will never bear it.
Where is thy Briton? Will she lead us hence?
Else, by the god of war, unarmed I rush
To join the glorious scene, which opens there.
Flam. I see her coming, and will fly to meet
her.
[Exit.
Enob. Our time is short, remember, do not

Flam. Our lovely guide attends us. Thy im- What has thy tame submission now availed,

patience

Hath called me loiterer.

Enob. Thou mayest loiter still.

Thou canst not hasten, nor retard our fate,
Which is irrevocably fixed.

Flam. What sayest thou?

Enob. I say, prepare to die. If Boadicea
*Return once more, our destiny is fixed.
Whate'er her merciless revenge may purpose,
Elate with conquest, or incensed by loss,
If on the rack to strain our bursting sinews,
If from the bleeding trunks to lop our limbs,
Or with slow fires protract the hours of pain,
We must abide it all. Collect thy spirit,
And, like a Roman, dauntless wait thy doom.
Flam. I hear thee, but thy meaning-
Enob. Hear again :

Before the tent some paces as I stood,
And joyful saw the Trinobantian guard,
Of us neglectful, from this quarter drawn
To view the impending battle; on a sudden
A cursed Icenian cast his jealous eye
Athwart my steps, then call'd a numerous band,
Who prowl around us, as a destin'd prey.

Flam. Malicious fortune!

Enob. Now thou seest my meaning.

Thy abject supplication to barbarians?
Hadst thou with courage met thy fate at first,
We had been dead, ere now.

Flum. To view the sun

Through his gay progress from the morn, till

even,

Possess my friends, my parents, and my love,
Within the circle of my native walls,
Were joys I deemed well worthy of my care;
But since that care is fruitless, I can leave
This light, my friends, my parents, love, and
country,

As little daunted at my fate as thou,
Though not so unconcerned.

Enob. Oh, Mars and Vesta!

Is it a vision, which you raise before me
To charm my eyes? Behold a scene, Flaminius,
To cheer a Roman in the gasp of death!
The Britons are defeated; look, Flaminius,
Back from the vale in wild tumultuous flight
Behold their numbers sweeping toward the hill;
Already some are swarming up its side,
To reach their camp for shelter; pale dismay
With hostile rage pursues their broken rear,
While massacre, unchidden, cloys his famine,
And quaffs the blood of nations. Oh! in vain

Dost thou oppose thy bosom to the tide
Of war, and brandish that recovered standard!
Vain is thy animating voice to those,
Whom fear makes deaf! Oh, Dumnorix! thy
toils

Are fruitless; Britain in the scale of fate
Yields to the weight of Rome. Now, life, fare-
well!

Shine on, bright Phoebus! those who rest behind

To share thy splendors, while I sink in darkness,
Are far beneath my envy. I resign
These eyes with pleasure to eternal shades;
They now have seen enough.

Flam. Whence this despair?

A blind confusion fills the spacious camp.
Already consternation hath dispersed

Our guard. Even Dumnorix retires-He comes;
Avoid him-Trust me, I am well instructed,
And will conduct thee to a safe retreat.

own.

Night is impending, and the Romans halt.
Ven. But what of Boadicea?

Dum. Hear, and mourn.

The Trinobantians scarce had filled the vale,
When, from a narrow pass between the woods,
Forth burst the Romans wedged in deep array.
I found our struggle vain, and sent for aid
To Boadicea; she, with scorn, replied,
I did not want the assistance of a woman;
Nor left her station, till my broken ranks
Were driven among the Icenians; in a moment
All was confusion, slaughter, and defeat.

Enter BOADICEA.

Dum. Gods! art thou safe?

Ven. Oh! most unhappy sister! When last we parted, cruel were thy words, A sure presage of endless grief to me; Yet my desponding spirit ne'er foreboded,

That thou couldst deviate from a prosperous

course,

When every gale conspired to swell thy glory. Boad. Throw not on me the crime of envious

fortune.

Dum. Dost thou blame fortune, traitress?
Boad. Then the blame

Take on thy single head.
Dum. Avoid my sight!
Boad. Thou ledst the van.
Dum. Avaunt!

Boad. Thou fled'st the first.

Now find'st too late the importance of a woman. Dum. Too true I find a woman cursed with

power

To blast a nation's welfare. Heavenly rulers!
How have our Britons merited this shame?
Have we with fell ambition, like the Romans,
Unpeopled realms, and made the world a desert?
Have we your works defaced; or how deserved
So large a measure of your bitterest wrath,
That you should clothe this spirit of a wolf
In human form, and blend her lot with ours?

Boad. Beset with perils, as I am, pursued
By rout and havoc to the encircling toil;
Untamed by this reverse, my lofty soul,
Upbraiding still thy arrogance, demands,
Who spared the captive Romans? Who provo-
ked

My just resentment? Who, in power, in name And dignity inferior, but elate

With blind presumption, and by envy stung, Dared to dispute with me supreme command, Then pale and trembling turned his back on danger?

Ven. Oh, once united by the friendliest ties, And leaders both of nations, shall this land Still view its bulwarks, tottering with disunion, Enhance the public and their own misfortunes? Thou, my complacent lord, were wont to smooth That manly front at pity's just complaint; And thou, entrusted with a people's welfare, A queen and warrior, let disdain no more Live in the midst of danger-See Venusia Upon her knees

Dum. Shall thy perfections kneel To this

Ven. Oh! stop, nor give resentment utterance. In such a cause the proudest knee might sue To less than Boadicea-Turn not from me!

[To Boadicea,

Look on a prostrate sister; think, thou hear'st
Our children's plaintive notes enforce my prayer,
And Albion's genius mix his solemn moan;
That lamentations through thy ears resound,
From all the wives and mothers of those thou-
sands,

Whose limbs lie stretched on yonder field of

death;

Those wretched wives and mothers, oh! reflect, But for the fatal discord of this day,

With other looks, with other cries and gestures,

tears,

Might have received their sons and husbands home,

With different transports, and with different | And on thy own, who claimed protection from thee;
Yet thou, obdurate, to thy rage a prey,
Dost chide remorse and pity from thy breast.
Dum. Source of thy own afflictions! to behold
thee
[To Boadicea.
Distracted thus, thus fallen and lost, to see
Thus strongly painted on thy labouring features
The pangs thou feel'st within, awakes compas-

Than they will now survey their pale remains,
Which there lie mangled by the Roman sword,
To feed the raven's hunger-yet relent!
Yet let restoring union close our wounds,
And to repair this ruin be thy praise!

Dum. Rise, rise. Thy mildness, whose per-
suasive charm

No cruelty, but hers, could hear unmoved,
In vain would render placable and wise
That malice, inhumanity, and frenzy,
Which have already wasted such a store
Of glory and success.
Boad. Oh!

Dum. Dost thou groan?

Boad. No, no, I do not feel a moment's pain. Dum. Thy words are false. Thy heart o'erflows with anguish.

Boad. No, I despise both thee and fortune still.

Dum. By Heaven, I know distraction rends
thy soul,

And to its view presents the approaching scene
Of shame and torture, when the indignant Ro-

mans

Exact a tenfold vengeance for their sufferings; And when thou passest through their streets in chains,

The just derision of insulting foes,

A frantic woman, who resigned her hopes,
And, to indulge an empty pride, betrayed
Her children, friends, and country; then recal,
What once was Boadicea, fallen how low
From all her honours, by her folly fallen
From power, from empire, victory, and glory,
To vilest bonds, and ignominious stripes.
Boad. May curses blast thee, worse than I can
utter,

And keener pangs than whips or shackles seize
thee!

Ven. Oh! sister, how unseemly is this rage! Whom dost thou load with these ungenerous curses?

Above thy pity. Think'st thou, Boadicea
Is thus deserted by her patron goddess,
Thus void of all resources? Think so still,
And be deceived. Even now I feel her aid;
[Aside..
I feel her here; the warlike queen inspires
My pregnant soul; the mighty plan is forming;
It grows, it labours in my ardent bosom;
It springs to life, and calls for instant action;
Lead on, exert thee, goddess! till the furies,
Which heretofore have thundered at thy heels,
Start at the new-born horrors of this night.

Who now wouldst burst my agonizing breast-
Hath Dumnorix been guilty? Wilt thou, Britain,
To me impute the horrors of this day?
Perhaps a Roman's policy had yielded,
And to a colleague's cruelty and pride
Had sacrificed humanity and justice:
I did not so, and Albion is destroyed.
Yet, oh, be witness, all ye generous spirits,
So lately breathing in those heaps of death,
That in this day's extremity and peril,
Your Dumnorix was mindful of his charge;
My shivered javelin, my divided shield,
And blunted sword, be witness for your master,
You were not idle in that dreadful hour;
Nor even amid the carnage piled around me,
Will I relinquish my pursuit of hope-
Hope may elude me-For myself I fear not-
destruc-But my Venusia-Ha! prepare, my soul-
There is thy struggle, on her tender mind
To graft thy firmness, which can welcome death,
And hold it gain, when liberty is lost. [Erit.
40

Thy faithful friend, thy counsellor and brother,
Whom thou hast injured, injured past the power
Of reparation. Dost thou call for whips
To print those venerable limbs with shame,
For bonds to humble that majestic head,
Which foes themselves must honour? Yet, if
chains

Must be our fate, what cruel hand hath forged
them,

But thine alone? Thy hand hath heaped

tion

On him, thy once revered ally, on me,
On my poor children, guiltless of offence,
VOL, I.

SCENE I.

Enter DUMNORIX.

ACT IV.

Dum. Think not my own calamities distress

me;

I can encounter fortune's utmost malice :

Dum. TILL good Tenantius and the rest re- But, oh! for thee, Venusia

turn,

Ven Alas! deep-plunged in sadness still I find thee.

Dum. Dost thou? Come nearer. Thou hast seen this day,

How thy perfidious, thy inveterate sister
Hath stained my glory, and my fortune baffled;
Thou hast received me vanquished, who before
Was used to greet thee with the sound of con-
quest.

Now tell me truly; am I still the same
In my Venusia's eyes?

Ven. What means my lord?

Dum. Am I still loved and honoured, as before?

Ven. Canst thou suspect that fortune rules my love?

Thy power and honours may be snatched away,
Thy wide possessions pass to other lords,
And frowning heaven resume whate'er it gave,
All but my love, which ne'er shall know decay,
But ev'n in ruin shall augment its fondness.
Dum. Then will my dictates be regarded still.
Ven. Impart this moment thy revered com-
mands;

And if it prove within my slender power
To ease thy troubles, I will bless the gods,
And, unrepining, to our fate submit.

Ven. Do not fear.

Its care withdraws from this ill-destined isle,
Thou, in the fall of nations, shalt be safe.
Oh! heed, Venusia! never did thy welfare
Raise in my breast such tender cares before;
Else from the public danger would I spare
These precious moments to assist thy virtue ?
Ven. Thou makest me all attention.
Dum. Reach thy hand.

Now, while I hold thee, do I bless Andate,
That this free hand, protected by my sword,
Hath not yet known the shameful doom of bond-

My utmost efforts, can I then protect thee?
Ven. Why dost thou leave me to despair?
Why fill

My breast with terrors? Never did I see thee,
Till this sad hour, thus hopeless and dejected.
Oh! how shall I, a woman, weak and fearful,
Sustain my portion of the general woe,
If thou, in perils exercised and war,
Dost to ill fortune bow thy gallant spirit?

Dum. Think not, Venusia, I abandon hope.
No, on the verge of ruin will I stand,
And, dauntless, combat with our evil fate;
Nor till its rancour bear me to the bottom,
My soul shall ever entertain despair:
But as the wisest and the best resolved
Cannot controul the doubtful chance of war,
I would prepare thee for the worst event.
Ven. Fly where thou wilt, my faithful steps
shall follow.

I can pursue thy course with naked feet,
Though roaming o'er the rough and pointed

crags,

Or through the pathless tract of deepest woods;
By thy dear hand supported, would I pass
Through the cold snow, which hides the moun-
tain's brow,

And o'er the frozen surface of the vale.

Dum. Thou best of women! I believe thou wouldst ;

Believe thy constant heart would teach those
limbs,

Thus soft and gentle, to support all hardship,
And hold with me society in toil.

But should we want the wretched power to fly,
What then?

Ven. What then?

Dum. The Romans may surround us. Ven. How wouldst thou act in such a ful season?

I never felt the anguish of a wound;
Thy arm hath still kept danger at a distance:
If now it threatens, and my heart no more
Must beat with safety, it is new to me.

Dum. It is, my love. My tenderness implies
No expectation, that thy gentle mind
Should be at once familiarized with fate.
Not insurmountable I hold our danger.
But to provide against delusive fortune,
That thou may'st bear, unterrified, the lot,
Which best shall suit thy dignity and name,
Demands thy care; take counsel of thy virtue.
Ven. 1 will.

Dum. And arm thy breast with resolution.
Ven. Indeed I will, and ask the gracious gods
To fill my heart with constancy and spirit,
And shew me worthy of a man, like thee:
Perhaps their succour, thy revered injunction,
dread-And high example, may controul my terrors.

Dum. Ne'er shall the hands of Dumnorix en-
dure

The shame of fetters; ne'er shall Rome behold
This breast, which honourable war hath seamed,
Pant with the load of bondage: generous wounds!
Ye deep engraven characters of glory,
Ye faithful monitors of Albion's cause,
Oft, when your midnight anguish had rebuked
Oblivious slumber from my watchful pillow,
And in her danger kept my virtue waking:
You, when that office can avail no more,
Will look more graceful on my death-cold bo-

som,

Than to be shewn before the scoffing Romans,
Should they behold that Dumnorix in shackles.
Whom they once dreaded in the field of war.
Ven. Assist me, Heaven!

Dum. Speak out.

I watch to hear thee,

My powers are all suspended with attention.

Ven. What shall I do?

Dum. Explain thy thoughts.

Ven. I cannot.

But, Oh! what power shall soothe another care,
Than life more precious, and a keener pang
Than death's severest agony, relieve;
The sad remembrance of my helpless infants,
Our love's dear pledges, who before me rise
In orphan woe, defenceless and forsaken,
And all my borrowed fortitude dissolve!

Dum. Thou perfect pattern of maternal fond

uess,

And conjugal compliance, rest assured,
That care was never absent from my soul.
Confide in me; thy children shall be safe.
Ven. How safe?

Dum. Shall live in safety. Thou shalt know.
Mean time retire. Our anxious chiefs, returned,
Wait my commands, and midnight is advancing.
[Exit Venusia,

She goes-
-her love and duty will surmount
This hideous task-Oh, morning, bright in hope,
Closed by a night of horror, which reduces
This poor-dear woman, yet in blooming years,
Blessed in her husband, in her offspring blessed,
Perhaps to cut her stem of being short

Dum. Why canst thou not? Remember who With her own tender hand-if ever tears

thou art,

And who thy husband is.

Ven. The first of men,

Joined to the least deserving of her sex.

Dum. View thy own heart; be conscious of
thy merit;

And, in his strength confiding, be secure,
That thou art worthy of the greatest man,
And not unequal to the noblest task.

Ven. Oh, I will struggle to assert that claim!
Yet, dearest lord, extend thy whole indulgence,
Nor undeserving of thy love esteem me,
While trembling thus.

Dum. I know thy native softness.

Yet wherefore dost thou tremble? Speak, my

love.

Ven. Oh, I have not thy courage, not been used,

Like thee, to meet the dreadful shape of death;

Might sort with valour, nor debase a soldier,
It would be now-Ha! whither do I plunge?
Enter EBRANCUS, TENANTIUS, and Trinoban-

tians.

Dum. Well, my brave friends, what tidings?
Ebrun. Through thy quarter,

With weary steps, and mourning, have we tra

versed

A silent desert of unpeopled tents,

Quite to the distant station of the Icenians.
Their chiefs we found in council round the
queen;

The multitude was arming: twenty thousand
Were yet remaining, and unhurt by war,
Unlike our Trinobantians, who, unaided,
The fatal onset bore. Those huge battalions,
Which Rome so dreaded, are, alas! no more.

Dum. Be not dejected. Far the greater part

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The British drama, Volumen1