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Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches,
When many a frozen storm sung through my cuirass,
And made it doubtful whether that or I
Were the more stubborn metal, have I wrought through,
And all to try these Romans. Ten times a night
I have swum the rivers, when the stars of Rome
Shor at ine as I floated, and the billow's
Tumbled their watry ruins on my shoulders,
Charging my barier'd sides with troops of agues,
And still w try these Romans; whom I found
(And if I lie, my wounds be henceforth backward,
And be you witness, gods, and all my dangers)
As ready, and as full of that I brought
(Which was not fear nor flight) as valiant,
As vigilant, as wise, to do and suffer,
Ever advanc'd as forward as the Britons ;
Their sleeps as short, their hopes as high as ours.
dye, and as subtle, Lady. 'Tis dishonor,
And follow'd will be impudence, Bonduca,
And grow to do belief, 10 taint these Romans.
Have I not seen the Britons

Bon. What ?

Car. Disheart'ued,
Run, run, Bonduca, not the quick rack swifter;
'The virgin from the hated ravisher
Vot half so fearful; -no a flight drawn home,
A round stone from a sling, a lover's wish,
E’er made that haste that they have. By heavens,
I have seen these Britons that you magnify,
Run as they would have oui.run time, and roaring,
Basely for mercy, roaring; the light shadows,
That in a thought scur o'er the fields of cora,
llalied on crutches to them.

Bon. O ye powers,
What scandals do I suffer!

Car. Yes, Bonduca,
I have seen ihce run too, and thee, Nennius;
Yea run apace, both; then wben Penyus,

The Roman yirl, cut through your armed carts,
And drove them headlong on ye down the hill :
Then when he hunted ye like Britain.foxes,
More by the scent than sight: then did I see
These valiant and approved men of Britain,
Like boding owls, creep into tols of ivy,
And hoot their fears to one another nightly.

Non. And what dill you then, Curatach?

Car. I Ned too,
But not so fast ; your jewel had been lost then,
Young lengo there ; be trasht me, Nennius :
For when your fears out-run him, then stept I,
And in the head of all the Roman's fury
Took him, and, with my tough beli to my back,
I buckled him; behind him, my sure shield ;
And then I follow'd. If I say I fought
Five times in bringing off this bud of Britain,
I lie noi, Nennius. Neither had

ye

heard Me speak this, or ever seen the child inore, But that the son of Virtue, Penyus, Seeing me steer through all these storms of danger, My helm still in my hand (my sword), my prow Turn'd to my foe (my face), he cried out nolly, "' [jo, Briton, bear thy lion's whelp off safely ; • hy manly sword has ransom'd thee: grow strong, “ And let me meet thee once again in arms: “ Then if thou stand’st, thou art mine." I took his offer, And here I am to honor him.

66

THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO: A TRAGEDY. BY JOIIN

FLETCHER.

Rollo, Duke of Normandy, a bloody iyrant, puts to death his tutor Ballo

vin, for too freely reproving him for his crimes ; but aftercards falls in love with Edith, daughter to the man he has slain. She makes a shou of returning his love, and invites him to a banquet; her design

being to train him there, that she may kill him : but overcome by his faltcries and real or dissembled remorse, she faints in her resolution.

ROLLO. EDITH.
Rol. What bright star, taking beauty's form upon her,
In all the happy lustre of heaven's glory,
Ilas drope down from the sky to confort me ?
Wonder of Nature, lei it not profane theo
My rude hand touch thy beauty, nor this kiss,
The gentle sacrifice of love and service,
Be offer'd to the honor of thy sweetness.

Edi. My gracious lord, no deity dwells here,
Nor nothing of that virtue but obedience;
'The servant to your will affecis no flattery.

Rol. Can it be Aattery to swear those eyes
Are Love's eternal lamps he fires all hearts with :
That tongue the smart string to his bow ? those sighs
The deadly shafts he sends into our souls ?
Oh, look upon me with thy spring of beauty.

Edi. Your grace is full of game.

Rol. By heaven, my Edith,
Thy mother fed on roses when she bred thee.
The sweetness of the Arabian wind still blowing
l'pon the treasures of perfuines and spices,
In all their pride and pleasures, call thee mistress.

Edi. Wil't please you sit, sir ?

Rol. So you please sit by me.
Fair gentle maid, there is no speaking to thee,
The excellency that appears upon thee
Ties up my tongue: pray speak to me.

Edi. Of whai, sir ?

Rol. Of anything, anything is excellent.
Will you take my directions ? speak of love then ;
Speak of thy fair self, Edith: and while thou spcak'st,
Let me thus languishing give up myself, wench.

Edi. H'as a strange cunning tongue. Why do you sigh, sir ? How masterly he turns himself to catch me!

Rol. The way to paradise, my gentle maid,

Is hard and crooked : scarce repentance finding,
With all her holy helps, the door to enter.
Give me thy hand, what dost thou feel ?

Edi. Your tears, sir ;
You weep extremely; strengthen me now, justice.
Why are these sorrows, sir ?

Rol. Thou'll never love me,
If I should tell thec; yet there's no way left
Ever 10 purchase this blest paradise,
But swimming thither in these tears.

Edi. I stagger.
Rol. Are they not drops of blood ?
Edi. No.
Rol. They're for

blood

then, For guiltless blood; and they must drop, my Edith, They must thus drop, till I have drown'd my mischiefs.

Edi. If this be true, I have no strength to touch him.

Rol. I prithee look upon mc, turn not from me ;
Alas I do confess I'm made of mischiefs,
Begot with all man's miseries upon me :
But sce my sorrows, maid, and do not thou,
Whose only sweetest sacrifice is softness,
Whose true condition, tenderness of nature

Edi. My anger melts, oh, I shall lose my justice.

Rol. Do not thou Icarn to kill with cruelty,
As I have done, to murder with thine eyes,
(Those blessed eyes) as I have done with malice.
When thou hast wounded me to death with scorn,
(As I deserve it, lady) for my true love,
When thou hast loaden me with earth for ever,
Take heed my sorrows, and the stings I suffer,
Take heed my nightly dreams of death and horror
Pursue thee not : no time shall tell thy griefs then,
Nor shall an hour of joy add to thy beauties,
Look not upon me as I kill'd thy father,
As I was smear'd in blood, do not thou hate me ;
But thus in whiteness of my wash'd repentance,

In my heart's tears and truth of love to Edith,
In my fair life hereafter.

Edi. He will fool me.

Rol. Oh, with thine angel eyes behold and bless me :
On heaven we call for mercy and obtain it,
To justice for our right on carth and have it,
of thee I beg for love, save me, and give it.

Edi. Now, heaven, thy help, or I am gone for ever!
Ilis wongue has turn'd me into melting pity.

THIERRY AND THEODORET: A TRAGEDY. BY JOHN

FLETCHER.

Thierry, l'ing of France, being childless, is foretold by an Astrologer,

thal ke shall have children if he sacrifice the first woman that he shall meet at sun-rise coining out of the Temple of Diana. Ile waits before the Temple, and the first Woman he sees proves to be his own Wife Ordella.

THIERRY. MARTEL, a Nobleman.
Mart. Your grace is carly stirring.

Thier. How can he sleep
Whose happiness is laid up in an hour
llc knows comes stealing towards him? Oh Martel !
Is't possible the longing bride, whose wishes
Oui-run her fears, can on that day she is married
Consume in slumbers; or his arms rust in case
That hears the charge, and sees ihe honor'd purchase
Ready to guild his valor? Mine is more,
A power above these passions: this day France,
France, that in want of issue withers with us,
And like an aged river, runs his head
Into forgotten ways, again I ransom,
And his fair course iuro right.

Dlarl. Happy woman, that dies to do these things.

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