Dum. We have been long companions, brave
Tenantius,

Thy leader I, once fortunate and great,
And thou my faithful and intrepid soldier.
Nay, do not weep; we have not time for wailing.
By thy approved fidelity and love,
Thy chief, just entering death's unfolded gates,
Stops, and once more conjures thee to retain
This his last charge in memory-his children.
[Erit TENANTIUS.
The sun is risen. All hail! thou last of days
To this nigh-finished being. Radiant power!
Thou through thy endless journey mayst prc-
claim,

That Dumnorix died free, for thou shalt view it.
Behold! the appointed signal from the grove,
Just as Flaminius warned us, is upreared,
To call Suetonius and his legions on.
Come Desolation, Tyranny, resort
To thy new seat; come Slavery, and bend
The neck of Albion, all her sons debase,
And ancient virtue from their hearts expel!

Now, then, ye honoured mansions of our fathers,
Ye hallowed altars, and ye awful groves,
The habitation of our gods, farewell!
And yet the guilty authoress of these woes
Deserves a share of praise, who, still retaining
One unextinguished spark of generous honour,
Scorned to remain spectatress or partaker
Of Albion's fall, and, dying, still is free.
Need I say more, Venusia?

This last embrace. And now prepare, Venusia.
Ven. Oh, my lord!

Dum. Why heaves that sigh?

Ven. Alas, I am a woman!

Dum. True, a defenceless woman, and exposed

To keener sorrow by thy matchless beauty; That charm, which captivates the victor's eye Yet, helpless to withstand his savage force, Throws wretched woman under double ruin. But wherefore this? Thy virtue knows its duty. Ven. Stay but a little!

Dum. Would I might for years!

But die that thought-False tenderness away!
Thou British genius, who art now retiring
From this lost region, yet suspend thy flight,
And in this conflict lend me all thy spirit--
We only ask thee to be free and die.
Well, my Venusia, is thy soul resolved,
Or shall I still afford a longer pause?

Aside.

Ven. Though my weak sex by nature is not armed

With fortitude like thine, of this be sure,
That dear subjection to thy honoured will,
Which hath my life directed, even in death
Shall not forsake me; and thy faithful wife
Shall with obedience meet thy last commands.
But canst thou tell me Is it hard to die?

Dum. Oh! rather ask me, if to live in shame,
Captivity and sorrow, be not hard?
Ven. Oh, miserable!

Dum. In a foreign land

The painful toils of servitude to bear
From an imperious mistress?

Ven. Dreadful thought!

Dum. Or be insulted with the hateful love Of some proud master? Ven. Oh proceed

No further!"

Dum. From thy native seat of dwelling, From all the known endearments of thy home, From parents, children, friends, and-husband torn!-

Ven. Stop there, and reach the potion; not to drink

The cure of troubles will I longer pause.
[Exit DUMNORIX.
For every past possession of delight,
Both in my offspring and their godlike sire,
A dying matron bends her grateful knee,
Ye all-disposing powers! as now these blessings
Must reach their period, to my sons transfer
That copious goodness, I have shared so long!
Through my resigning soul that promise breathe,

And my last moments comfort thus with peace!

Re-enter DUMNORIX with a bowl.

Dum. [Aside, seeing VENUSIA on her knees.] Hold, resolution; now be doubly armed.

[He gives her the bowl, and she drinks.
Now stand awhile before the fanning breeze;
So, with its subtile energy, the potion,
Less rudely stealing on the powers of life,
Will best perform its office, to remove

Pain, fear, and grief, for ever from thy breast.
Dost thou not feel already every terror
Begin to lessen? that a calm succeeds
Within thy bosom, banishing the sense
Of present pain, and fear of future woes?
How dost thou fare, Venusia?
Ven. I perceive

No alteration; every sense remains

Yet unimpaired. Then, while these moments last,
Let me on thee direct my eyes to gaze,
While unobstructed still their sight endures;
Let me receive thee to my faithful bosom,
Before my heart is motionless and cold.
Speak to me, Dumnorix, my lord, my husband!
Give one kind accent to thy dying wife,
Ere yet my ears be frozen, and thy voice
Be heard no longer; join thy lip to mine,
While I can feel thy last and tenderest kisses.
Dum. Yes, I will utter to thy dying ear
All my fond heart, sustain thee on my bosom,
And cheer thy parting spirit in its flight.
Oh, wheresoe'er thy fleeting breath shall pass,
Whate'er new body, as the Druids sing,
Thou shalt inform hereafter, still thy soul,
Thou gentle, kind, and ever-pleasing creature,
Shall bear its own felicity along,

Still in its native sweetness shall be blessed,
And in its virtue, which can thus subdue

My faultering tongue

Dum. What sayst thou?
Ven. Cease to grieve→→

No pain molests me-every pain is calm-
Support my drowsy burthen to that couch-
Where death-serenely smiles.

[He bears her off. Enter FLAMINIUS, speaking to the Romans behind the scene.

Flam. My warlike friends,

Keep back-Our troops on every side advance;
I cannot long controul them. Yet I tremble
To enter there--By Heaven, he lives and sees
me!

Re-enter DUMNORIX, with his sword drawn. Dum. Importunate Flaminius! art thou come To rob my dying moments of their quiet?

Flam. Forgive the crime of ignorance-For-
give,

Since accident hath joined us once again,
If strong compassion at thy fate yet pleads-
Dum What! when Venusia is no more?
Flam. No more!

Dum. No; and be further lessoned by a Briton,

At thy request, who, since her last defeat,
Blind with despair and disappointed fury,
Fled to her tent; expiring, there, I found her,
With one ill-fated daughter, both by poison;
Nor had the friendly Emmeline escaped,
But by the swift prevention of my hand.
Dost thou not thank me, whose suggestion
prompted

Our quick return to seize the secret pass?
Thou gav'st me freedom: love and fame repay
thee.

Flam. If thou could'st add, that Dumnorix survived

Enob. [Looking into the tent.] Thou seest the gods have otherwise decreed. Forbear to mingle vain regret with conquest. He hath done nobly. Fair befall his urn!

Death is his triumph, which a captive life
Had forfeited to Rome, with all the praise
Now from the virtuous to his ashes due.

Flam. Then art thou fallen at last, theu mighty tower,

And more than Roman edifice of glory?
See, too, Venusia, pale in death's embrace,
Presents her faded beauties. Lovely ruin!
Of every grace and virtue once the seat!
The last kind office from my hand receive,
Which shall unite thee to thy husband's side,
And to one grave your mingling reliques trust.
There soon a hallowed monument shall rise;
Insculptured laurel with the myrtle twined,
The well-wrought stone adorning, shall proclaim
His generous valour, and thy faithful love.
[Exeunt omnes,

Now we have shewn the fatal fruits of strife,
A hero bleeding with a virtuous wife,
A field of war, embrued with nations' gore,
Which to the dust the hopes of Albion bore:
If weak description, and the languid flow
Of strains unequal to this theme of woe,
Have failed to move the sympathising breast,
And no soft eyes their melting sense express'd,
Not all the wit this after-scene might share,
Can give success where you refus'd a tear.
Much less, if haply still the poet's art
Hath stol'n persuasive to the feeling heart,
Will he, with Fancy's wanton hand, efface
From gen'rous minds, compassion's pleasing trace;

Nor from their thoughts, while pensive they pur

sue

This maze of sorrow, snatch the moral clue.
If yet to him those pow'rs of sacred song,
To melt the heart and raise the mind, belong,
Dar'd he to hope this sketch of early youth
Might stand th' award of nature and of truth;
Encouraged thus, hereafter might he soar
With double strength, and loftier scenes ex-
plore,

And, following Fortune through her various wiles,
Shew struggling Virtue dress'd in tears or smiles;
Perhaps his grateful labours would requite
With frequent offerings one propitious night.

OUR desp❜rate bard a bold excursion tries, Though danger damp'd his wings, he dares to rise: From hope, high rais'd, all glorious actions spring;

'Tis hence that heroes conquer, poets sing. Even he may feel the soul-exalting fire, Fame prompts the humblest bosom to aspire.

Without a guide this rash attempt he made, Without a clue from art, or learning's aid. He takes a theme where tend'rest passions glow, A theme your grandsires felt with pleasing woe. Essex' sad tale he strives to clothe anew, And hopes to place it in a stronger view. Poets, like painters, may, by equal law, The labour'd piece from different masters draw;

Perhaps improve the plan, add fire and grace, And strike the impassion'd soul through all the face.

How far our author has secur'd a claim
To this exalted palm, this wish'd-for fame,
Your gen'rous sentiments will soon declare:
Humanity is ever prone to spare.
'Twere baseness then your candour to distrust ;
A British audience will at least be just.

A flattering truth he fearful must confess,
His sanguine friends made promise of success;
But that he fears, their ardent wishes wrought,
Since partial favour seldom sees a fault.
Then hear, like patient friends, this first essay,
| His next shall thank you in a nobler way.

SCENE I.- An Antechamber in the Palace.

Enter BURLEIGH and RALEIGH.

Bur. THE bill, at length, has pass'd opposing numbers,

Whilst crowds, seditious, clamour'd round the senate,

And headlong faction urg'd its force within.
Ral. It has, my lord !-The wish'd-for day is

come,

When this proud idol of the people's hearts
Shall now no more be worshipp'd.-Essex falls.
My lord, the minute's near, that shall unravel
The mystic schemes of this aspiring man.
Now Fortune, with officious hand, invites us
To her, and opens wide the gates of greatness,
The way to power. My heart exults; I see,
I see, my lord, our utmost wish accomplish'd!
I see great Cecil shine without a rival,
And England bless him, as her guardian saint.
Such potent instruments I have prepar'd,
As shall, with speed, o'erturn this hated man,
And dash him down, by proof invincible.

Bur. His day of glory now is set in night; And all my anxious hopes, at last, are crown'd. Those proofs against hún, Raleigh

Ral. All arrived.

Bur. Arrived! how? when?
Ral. This very hour, my lord:

Nay more, a person comes, of high distinction,
To prove some secret treaties made by Essex,
With Scotland's monarch and the proud Tyrone.
Bur. How say'st? to prove thein?
Ral. Ay, my lord, and back'd

With circumstances of a stronger nature.
It now appears, his secretary, Cuff,

With Blunt and Lee, were deep concern'd in this

Destructive scheme, contriv'd to raise this lord,
And ruin Cecil. Oh, it is a subtle,
A deep-laid mischief, by the earl contriv'd
In hour malignant, to o'erturn the state,
And, horror to conceive! dethrone the queen!
Bur. These gladsome tidings fly beyond my
hopes!

The queen will listen now, will now believe,
And trust the counsel of her faithful Burleigh.
Dispose them well, till kind occasion calls
Their office forth; lest prying craft meanwhile
May tamper with their thoughts, and change their
minds:

Let them, like batteries conceal'd, appear
At once, both to surprise and to destroy.

Ral. His headstrong friend, the bold South-
ampton, too,

Now finds his rash endeavours all defeated; And storms at thee, and the impeaching commons.

Bur. Let him rave on, and rage.-The lion, in The toils entangled, wastes his strength, and roars In vain; his efforts but amuse me now.

Enter Gentleman.

Gent. My lord, the lady Nottingham desires, With much impatience, to attend your lordship. Bur. What may the purport of her business be? Her tender wishes are to Essex tied In love's soft fetters, and endearing bands: Conduct her in. [Exit Gentleman. And you, my Raleigh, watch Southampton's steps; With care observe each movement of his friends; That no advantage on that side be lost.

[Exit RALEIGH. Southampton's Essex' second self; His daring heart, and bold ungovern'd tongue, Are both enlisted in the rash designs Of this proud lord, nor knows a will but his : A limb so fix'd, must with the body fall.

Enter Lady NOTTINGHAM.

Not. Thrice hail to rescu'd England's guiding genius!

His country's guardian, and his queen's defence. Great Burleigh, thou whose patriot bosom beats With Albion's glory, and Eliza's fame;

Who shield'st her person, and support'st her

throne;