Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

BOADICEA.

BY

GLOVER.

PROLOGUE.

BESIDE his native Thames our poet long Hath hung his silent harp, and hush'd his song. Kind Commerce whisper'd, see my blissful state, And to no smiles but mine resign thy fate; Beneath the pregnant branches rest awhile, Which by my culture spread this favour'd isle; On that fair tree the fruits of every coast, All which the Ganges and the Volga boast, All which the sun's luxuriant beam supplies, Or slowly ripens under frozen skies, In mix'd variety of growth arise. The copious leaves beneficence diffuse, Which on affliction drops restoring dews, And birds of hope among the loaded sprays, Tune with enchantment their alluring lays, To cheer dependence and th' inactive raise. Rest here, she cried, and smiling Time again May string the lyre, and I approve the strain. At length his muse from exile he recalls, Urged by his patrons in Augusta's walls. Those generous traders, who alike sustain

Their nation's glory on th' obedient main,
And bounteous raise Affliction's drooping train;
They, who benignant to his toils afford
Their sheltering favour, have his muse restored.
They in her future fame will justly share,
But her disgrace herself must singly bear;
Calm hours of learned leisure they have giv'n,
And could no more, for genius is from heav'n.
To open now her long-hid roll she tries,
Where varied forms of pictured passions rise.
Revenge and pride their furies first unfold,
By artless virtue fatally controul'd.
Scenes, wrought with gentler pencil, then suc-
ceed,

Where love persuades a faithful wife to bleed;
Where, joined to public cares, domestic woe
Is seen from manly fortitude to flow.
But if her colours mock the candid eye
By spurious tincts, unmixt with nature's dye,
Ye friendly hands, restrain your fruitless aid
And with just censure let her labours fade.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE I.

ACT I.

Enter BOADICEA, DUMNORIX, Icenians, Tri-
nobantians, and Roman Ambassador.
Rom. Am. SUETONIUS, leader of the Roman
arms,

With gentlest greetings to the Icenian queen,
And Dumnorix, the Trinobantian chief,
Sends health, and proffers friendship. Let the

wrongs,

The mutual wrongs, sustained by Rome and Britain-

Boud. May stern Andate, war's victorious god-
dess,

Again resign me to your impious rage,
If e'er I blot my sufferings from remembrance;
If e'er relenting mercy cool my vengeance,
Till I have driven you to your utmost shores,
And cast your legions on the crimsoned beach!
Your costly dwellings shall be sunk in ashes:
Your fields be ravaged; your aspiring bulwarks
O'erturned, and levelled to the meanest shrub;
Your gaping matrons, and your children's blood,
With mingled streams, shall dye the British sword;
Your captive warriors, victims at our altars,
Shall crowd each temple's spacious round with
death:

Else
may each power, to whom the Druids bend,
Annul my hopes of conquest and revenge!
Dum. [To the Ambassador.] You come to of-
fer terms. Stand forth and answer.
Did not Prasutagus, her dying lord,
On your insatiate emperor bestow
Half of his rich possessions, vainly deeming
The rest might pass unpillaged to his children?
What did ye then, ye savage sons of rapine?
You seized the whole inheritance by force;
Laid waste our cities; with the servile scourge
Disgraced a royal matron; you deflowered
Her spotless daughters, stole our noblest youth,
To serve your pride and luxury in Rome;
Our priests you butchered, and our hoary elders;
Profaned our altars, our religious groves,
And the base image of your Cæsar thrust
Among the gods of Britain; and, by Heaven!
Do you repair to these victorious tents
With proffered peace and friendship?

Rom. Am. Yes, to treat,

As faith, benevolence, and justice dictate. Dum. How shall we treat with those, whose impious hands

Have rent the sacred bands of mutual trust? How shall we treat with those, whose stony hearts

Compassion cannot melt, nor shame controul, Nor justice awe, nor piety restrain,

Nor kindness win, nor gratitude can bind?

Rom. Am. Thou art a stranger to our general's virtues,

No pillager, like Catus, but a soldier,
To calm and sober discipline inured;
He would redress, not widen, your complaints.
Dum. Can he restore the violated maid
To her untainted purity and fame?
Can he persuade inexorable death
To yield our slaughtered elders from the grave?
No, nor by soothing tales elude our vengeance.
Rom. Am. Yet hear us calmly, ere from yon-
der hills

You call the legions of imperial Rome,
And wake her eagles, which would sleep in peace.
Boad. Begone, and bear defiance to your le

gions.

Tell them, I come; that Boadicea comes,
Fierce with her wrongs, and terrible in vengeance,
To roll her chariot o'er their firmest ranks,
To mix their soaring eagles with the dust,
And spurn their pride beneath her horses' hoofs.
Rom. Am. Then be prepared for war.
Boud. We are prepared.

Come from your hills, ye fugitive remains
Of shattered cohorts, by their fear preserved.
The embattled nations of our peopled isle,
Yet fresh from seventy thousand slaughtered Ro-

mans,

Shall add yon refuse to the purpled heap.
And yet amid triumphant desolation,
Though flames each Roman colony devour,
Though each distracted matron view her infant
Grasp with its tender hands the piercing spear;
Though your grey fathers to the falchion's edge
Each feeble head surrender-my revenge
Will pine unsated, and my greatness want
Redress proportioned to a queen's disgrace.

Dum. Go, and report this answer to Suetonius: Too long have parents' sighs, the cries of orphans,

And tears of widows, signalized your sway,
Since your ambitious Julius first advanced
His murderous standard on our peaceful shores.
At length, unfettered from his parent sloth,
The British genius lifts his ponderous hands,
To hurl, with ruin, his collected wrath,
For all the wrongs a century hath borne,
In one black period, on the Roman race.
Rom. Am. Yet, ere we part, your price of ran-

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Enter ENOBARBUS and FLAMINIUS in chains.

Boad. Stay, if thou wilt, and see our victims
fall.
[To the Ambassador.
Enov. [To BOAD.] Dart not on me thy fiery
eyes, barbarian!

Vain are thy efforts to dismay a Roman.
Life is become unworthy of my care;
And these vile limbs, by galling chains disho-
noured,

I give most freely to the wolves and thee!
Rom. Am. Mistaken queen! the Romans do
not want

These instigations, nor thy proud defiance,
To meet your numbers in the vale below.
Enob. To the Ambas.] Then, wherefore dost
thou linger here in vain?

Commend us to Suetonius; bid him straight
Arrange his conquering legions in the field,
There teach these rash barbarians to repent
Of their disdain, and wish for peace too late.
Rom. Am. [To the prisoners.] Yes, to Suetoni-
us, and the Roman camp,
These heavy commendations will we bear:
That, for two gallant countrymen, our love
And indignation, at their fate, may sharpen
Each weapon's point, and strengthen every nerve,
Till humbled Britain have appeased their shades.

Enob. Come, let us know our fate.
Boad. Prepare for death.

[Exit.

Enob. Then cease to loiter, savage. Dum. [To ENOB.] Now, by Heaven, Wert thou no Roman, I could save and love thee. That dauntless spirit, in another breast, And in a blameless cause, were truly noble, But shews, in thee, the murderer and ruffian.

Enob. Thy hate or favour are alike to me.
Flam. [To DUM.] May I demand, illustrious
Trinobantian,

Why must we fall, because uncertain war
Hath made us captives?

Dum. If, in open battle,

With generous valour to have faced our arms, Were all our charge against thee, thou might'st

rest,

Secure of life; but leading thee to die
Is execution on a general robber.

Enob. [To FLAM.] And dost thou meanly sue to these barbarians?

Flam. [To DUM.] Though our rapacious countrymen have drawn

Your just resentment, we are guiltless both. Boud. [To FLAM.] So are ten thousand infants, whom the name,

The single name of Roman shall condemn,
Like thee, to perish by the unsparing sword.
Flam. Yet more than guiltless, we may plead
desert

With Boadicea.

Boud. Insolent pretension!

A Roman plead desert with Boadicea!

[blocks in formation]

For thy base life?

Flam. I fear not death, oh, queen! But dread dishonour, even among my foes. Enob. Death is thy terror; reason else would teach thee,

No gratitude with cruelty can dwell.

Flam. Deep in that wood we met the lovely maid,

Chased by a brutal soldier. At our threats
He soon retreated. To our home we led her,
From insult guarded, sent her back with honour:
Nor was she less than Boadicea's daughter.

Ven. Now, dearest sister, whose successful standard

Not valour more than equity upholds ;
And thou, my husband, who dost rise in arms,
Oppressive deeds in others to chastise,
From your own guiding justice will you stray,
And blend deservers with the herd of guilt?

Dum. And are you Romans? Yes, we will,
Venusia,

Repay their worthy deed. Strike off their fetters.
Boad. What do I hear! A British chief's com-

mand!

Who'er unchains a Roman, on mankind

Lets loose oppression, insolence, and rapine, Sets treason, falsehood, vice, and murder free! Ven. Yet these preserved thy Emmeline from shame.

Boad. Not less the victim of eternal shame Was she conducted to their hateful mansion. To guard her honour, and be less than ruffians, Had been repugnant to their name and race; But fear of me compelled them to relieve her. Then shall two Romans, nursed in fraud and falsehood,

From childhood trained to each flagitious deed, By coloured pleas to shun the fate they merit, Here find regard against the thousand mouths Of Boadicea's sufferings? No, this moment Shall they expire in torture.

Ven. Yet reflect;

Of all the paths, which lead to human bliss,
The most secure and grateful to our steps
With mercy and humanity is marked.
The sweet-tongued rumour of a gracious deed
Can charm from hostile hands the uplifted blade,
The gall of anger into milk transform,
And dress the power of enmity in smiles.
Boad. Still dost thou dare, Venusia-
Dum. Gently, sister:

And, trust me, these resemble virtuous men. Boad. Was I not virtuous, whom the Romans lashed?

Were not my violated children virtuous?—
Bear them this instant to the fiercest rack;
And, while their trembling limbs are strained

[blocks in formation]

With Boadicea, and protect her focs,
Did she awaken thy ignoble sloth,

Which else, without resentment of thy wrongs,
Had slept obscure at home?

Dum. Forbear; be calm.

Boad. Yes, under bondage thou hadst tamely bowed,

Had not I fired thy slow, inactive soul.

Dum. Not with unbridled passion, I confess,
I wield the sword and mount the warlike car.
With careful eyes I viewed our suffering isle,
And meditated calmly to avenge her.
Unmoved by rage, my soul maintains her pur-
pose

Through one unaltered course; and oft before
As I have guided thy unruly spirit,
Against its wildness will I now protect thee,
And from a base, inhuman action save thee.
Boad. Thy boasted calmness is the child of

fear;

7

Thou tremblest to exasperate the foe.
Well was it, Britons, in our former conquests,
That I presided o'er the scene of slaughter;
Else had those thousands of the Roman youth,
Whose bodies lie extended on our fields,
Stood at this hour a threatening host against you.
Come, then, ye warriors! follow your conductress,
And drag these slaves to death.

Dum. They will not move,

Fixed with amazement at thy matchless frenzy. Do thou revere these warriors, who with scorn Observe thy folly.

Ven. Husband, sister, bear!

Oh, if my humbled voice, my prostrate limbs,
If tears and sighs of anguish may atone
For this pernicious discord I have raised-
Boad. [To VEN.] Hence with thy despicable
sighs and tears!
[To DUM.
And thou, presumptuous, what invidious power,
Foe to thy safety, animates thy pride
Still to contend with Boadicea's wrath?

Dum. No, by Andate, I contend not with thee.
At this important season, when the soldier
Thirsts for the conflict, it would ill become me
To trifle here in discord with a woman.
Nay, do not swell that haughty breast in vain :
When once the sacred evidence of justice
Illuminates my bosom, on a rock,
Which neither tears can soften, nor the gusts
Of passion move, my resolution stands.

Boad. Now Heaven fulfil my curses on thy
head!

May every purpose of thy soul be frustrate,
May infamy and ruin overtake thee,
May base captivity and chains o'erwhelm thee,
May shameful crimson from thy shoulders start,
Like mine, dishonoured with a servile scourge!
With pain all shivering, and thy flesh contracting,
Low may'st thou crouch beneath the expected
stroke,

Even from the hands thou sav'st!

Tenan. Alas, great princess!
Divert this wrath against the impending foe,
Whose formidable ranks will soon descend
From yonder hill.

Boad. [To the Britons.] Ungrateful and perfidious!

Now would I draw my spirit from your camp,
Leave you with them defenceless and exposed;
Then should your shattered chariots be o'er-
thrown,

Your javelins broken, and in hasty flight
Far from your trembling hands the buckler cast,
Did not the insatiate thirst, which burns my soul
To empty every vein of Roman blood,
Protect you, traitors, from my indignation.
But, by the ensanguined altars of Andate,
Thou, Dumnorix, be sure, shalt rue this day;
For thou, henceforward, art to me a Roman.

Ven. Oh, Dumnorix !

[Erit.

Dum. Let not this frantic woman Grieve thy mild nature-Romans, cease to fear; These are my tents: retire in safety thither. [Exeunt FLAM. and ENOB

Do thou go forth this instant and command
[T TENAN.
Each ardent youth to gird his falchion round him,
His ponderous spear to loosen from the turf,
And brace the target firmly on his arm.
His car let every charioteer prepare,
His warlike seat each combatant assume,
That every banner may in battle wave,
Ere the sun reaches his meridian height.

Ven. My lord and husband!

[Exit TENAN.

Dum. Wherefore dost thou hold me, And in my passage thy endearments plant? I must prepare this moment to confront The foul and ghastly face of cruel war: And, by the gods, I rather court at present That shape of horror than thy beauteous form. Then go, thou dear intruder, and remove Thy softness from me.

Ven. I will stay no longer

Than brave Tenantius hath performed thy orders.
Long have I known thy valour, skilled to throw
The rapid dart, and lift the unconquered shield.
A confidence, like this, hath still diffused
Enough of firmness through my woman's heart,
Ne'er to molest thee with a woman's fears,
This day excepted; now my weakness governs,
And terror, too importunate, will speak.
Hast thou encountered yet such mighty powers
As down that mountain suddenly will rush?
From every part the Romans are assembled,
All versed in arms, and terrible in valour.

Dum. Tell me, thou lovely coward, am not I
As terrible? or falls the Roman sword
On the tough buckler, and the crested helm,
With deadlier weight than mine? Away, and fear

not;

Secure and calm, repose thee in thy tent;
Think on thy husband, and believe he conquers:
Amid the rage of battle he will think

On thee; for thee he draws the martial blade,
For thy loved infants gripes the pointed ash.
Go, and expect me to return victorious;
Thy hand shall dress my wounds, and all be well.
Ven. Far better be our fortune, than for thee
To want that office, from my faithful hand,
Or me to stain thy triumphs with my tears!

Dum. Fear not. I tell thee, when thou seest
my limbs

With dust bespread, my brows with glorious sweat,

And some distinguished wound to grace my breast,

Thou, in the fulness of thy love, shalt view me, And swear, I seem most comely in thy sight. Thy virtue, then, shall view me worthier of thee, Than did thy fondness on our nuptial day.

Ven. It shall be so. All wounded thou shalt find

My heart prepared to stifle its regret,
And smooth my forehead with obedient calmness.
Yet hear me further; something will I offer
More than the weak effects of female dread;
Thou goest to fight in discord with thy colleague:
It is a thought, which multiplies my fears.

Dum. Well urged, thou dearest counsellor, who best

Canst heal this mischief. Let thy meekness try
The soft persuasion of a private conference,
To win from error a bewildered sister,
While none are present to alarm her pride.

Ven. I go, but, trembling, doubt my vain at

[blocks in formation]

My Trinobantians! it is time to seek
The embattled foe. And you, all-judging gods!
Look down benignant on a righteous cause.
Indeed we cannot give you, like the Romans,
A proud and sumptuous offering: we abound not
In marble temples, or in splendid altars :
Yet though we want this vain, luxurious pomp,
Rough though we wander on the mountain's
head,

Through the deep vale, and o'er the craggy rock,
We still demand your favour; we can shew
Hands, which for justice draw the avenging steel,
Firm hearts, and manners undebased by fraud.
To you, my dauntless friends, what need of
words?

Your cities have been sacked, your children slain, Your wives dishonoured-Lo! on yonder hills You see the spoilers; there the ruffians stand. Your hands are armed; then follow, and revenge.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter FLAMINIUS and ENOBArbus.

Flam. Ho! Enobarbus, thou may'st now come forward.

What has thy angry soul been brooding o'er ?

Enob. Well, thou hast sued, and hast obtained thy suit ;

Of these barbarians meanly hast implored
Thy wretched life, and hast it. Must I thank
thee

For this uncommon privilege to stand
A tame spectator of the Roman shame,

« AnteriorContinuar »