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And follow'd will be impudence, Bonduca,
to no belief, to taint these Romans, Have I not seen the Britons
Cạr. Disheart ned,
Bon. O ye powers,
Car. Yes, Bonduca,
Nen. And what did you then, Caratach?
Car, I fled too,
heard Me speak this, of ever seen the child more,
But that the son of Virtue, Penyus,
Thy 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 honour him.
THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO,
GEDY. BY JOHN FLETCHER.
Rollo, Duke of Normandy, a bloody tyrant, puts to death
his tutor Baldwin, for too freely reproving him for his crimes; but afterwards falls in love with Edith, daughter to the man he has slain. She makes a show 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 flatteries, and real or dissembled remorse, she faints in her resolution.
Rol. What bright star, taking beauty's form upon her, In all the happy lustre of heaven's glory, Has dropt down from the sky to comfort me ? Wonder of Nature, let it not prophane thee My rude hand touch thy beauty, nor this kiss, The gentle sacrifice of love and service, Be offer'd to the honour of thy sweetness.
Edi. My gracious lord, no deity dwells here, Nor nothing of that virtue but obedience; "The servant to your will affects no flattery,
Rol. Can it be flattery to swear those eyes
Edi. Your grace is full of game.
Rol. By heaven, my Edith,
Edi. Wil't please you sit, sir?
Rol. So you please sit by me.
Edi. Of what, sir?
my directions ? speak of love then ;
you sigh, sir?
Rol. The way to paradise, my gentle maid,
Edi. Your tears, sir;
Rol. Thou'lt never love me,
Edi. I stagger.
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 me, turn not from me; Alas I do confess I'm made of mischiefs, Begot with all man's miseries upon me: But see 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 learn to kill with cruelty,
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: Of heaven we call for mercy and obtain it, To justice for our right on earth and have it, Of thee I beg for love, save me, and give it.
Edi. Now, heaven, thy help, or I am gone His tongue has turn'd me into melting pity.
THIERRY AND THEODORET. A TRAGEDY.
Thierry, King of France, being childless, is foretold by an
Astrologer, that he shall have Children if he sacrifice the first Woman that he shall meet at sun-rise coming out of the
Temple of Diana. He 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 early stirring
Thier. How can he sleep Whose happiness is laid up in an hour He knows comes stealing towards him? Oh Martel! Is't possible the longing bride, whose wishes Out-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 the honour'd purchase Ready to guild his valour? Mine is more, A power above these passions; this day France, France, that in want of issue withers with us, And like an aged tiver, runs his head Into forgotten ways, again I ransom, And his fair course turn right.
Mart. Happy woman, that dies to do these things.