SCENE II.

The King discovered on a Couch.
King. Kind sleep, farewell!
Thou hast been loyal in the nightly care,
And always smooth'd my pillow: at our parting,
As to a faithful friend, I say, farewell,
And thank thee for thy service. Here's another,
Enter Bishop JUXON.

Whose better care gives quiet to the mind;
Who gives us the rich opiate of content,
That makes us sleep in hope, and wake to mer-

cy;

Him too, the bankrupt Charles can only pay
As he has done the former; no return,

But the poor gratitude of thanks, warm from the heart.

Say, my good lord, have you so soften'd rigour, That I may see my children ere I die?

Jux. It is permitted, sir; they wait without; I would not let them enter, till I knew You were prepar'd, and ready for the interview. [Exit JUXON. King. Good Juxon, lead them hither. the father,

Now

Let no advantage break; nor any view
Make him give up his honesty to reach it;
Let him maintain his power, but not increase
it;

The string, prerogative, when strain'd too high,
Cracks like the tortur'd chord of harmony,
And spoils the concert between king and subject:
Let him regard his people more than ministers,
Whose interest or ambition may mislead him.
These rules observ'd, may make him a good
prince,

And happier than his father. Wilt thou, James, Remember this?

James. Oh, doubt not, royal sir!

Can what my father says escape my memory;
And at a time when he shall speak no more?
King. Come to my arms, my boy.

James. Would I could weep the blood that
warms my heart!

For water wrongs my sorrow.

King. My dear Elizabeth,

Draw near, and take thy dying father's blessing.
Say to thy mother (if thou e'er shalt see her,)
That my thoughts never wander'd from her; that
my heart

Holds her as dear, even in this hour of death,
As when my eyes first languish'd on her beauties;
Tell her that Charles is only gone before
T' inherit an immortal crown, and share it with
her.

Farewell, Elizabeth! and let thy love
And thy obedience wait thy brother Charles.

Eliz. Alas, my father, I but now have found A passage for my words, and yet you say, Farewell, already!

King. Come, my little Glo'ster,
Come to my arms, and let me kiss thy cheek.
Glo. Alas, my lord, 'tis cold and wet with
tears!

I'll wipe it dry, and warm it with my hand,
That it may meet your kindness as it ought.

King. Glo'ster, when I am dead, your brother

Charles

Is then your king and master- -Love and obey him.

These men who shall cut off thy father's head, When I am dead, perhaps, may make thee king; But do not thou, I charge thee, on my blessing,

Consider, Glo'ster, they were born before thee, And have an elder title-Wilt thou, Glo'ster? Glo. A king! No, they shall tear me first in pieces.

King. Oh, nature, nature, do not strike so deeply!

This scene is worse than death--I am ready,

sir. James. Oh, sir! Eliz. My lord! Glo. My father!

King, Oh!

[TOMLINSON at the door.

Glo. I cannot part from you, my dearest father. Would not those bloody men that cut your head

off,

I should beg it, cut off mine?

King. Heart, thou art marble, not to break at this

et I must go; for dire necessity

las struggled long with my paternal fondness, And has at length prevail'd. Farewell, at once. [Going, returns. thought I had taken my last leave of them; But find that nature calls me back again, And asks another look, another parting kiss. Be virtuous, and be happy.

[Embrace. [They are led off. King. So, now 'tis over—— Let thy friendly aid,

Glo. Oh, my poor father!

Good Juxon, bear me company to death-
Now, sir, lead on: ere long I hope to see
A world more glorious; where no discord lives,
Nor error rises, and no faction thrives :
There the unfettered mind perfection knows,
And looks with pity upon human woes. [Exeunt.
Enter Duke of RICHMOND and Marquis
LINDSEY.

Rich. Oh, fatal day! now horror is on foot
In her worst garb, and stern calamity
Can do no more to England: Charles's sun
Sets in his blood, and blushes for his people.
Lind. What awful majesty his visage bears,
Nor deigns the tribute of one sorrowing look,
To grace misfortune!

of

Rich. Look where Fairfax comes; His motion wild, and his distemper'd eye Shoots fire around, and speaks some strange emotion.

Enter FAIRFAX.

Fair. Curs'd be the villain's arts and every wile

That wrought me to believe him! Oh Credulity, Thou hast as many ears as Fame has tongues, Open to every sound of truth and falsehood!

'Tis now too late, impossible to save him: Fool that I was, I knew him for a villain, Yet trusted to him, to the monster Cromwell. Rich. Fairfax, the world acquits thee of the deed;

Thy power has labour'd strongly for his safety: Behold where Juxon the good bishop comes, Return'd from his last service to his master.

Fair. I will not stay to hear the sad relation, But think on my revenge on Cromwell; May the mercy which he deny'd to "Charles's mortal part

Ne'er light upon his soul, though at his last entreaty!

A monument of shame to the present age,
A warning to the future. His example
May prove this maxim's truth to all mankind:
The subject's reverence, and the prince's love,
Grasping and grasp'd, walk hand in hand toge
ther,

Strengthen'd by union: then the king's command

Is lost in the obedience of the subject:
The king unask'd, confirms the people's rights,
And by the willing gift prevents the claim.
These are the virtues that endear a king,
Adorn a people, and true greatness bring.

[Exeunt.

For government of kings, and petticoats.
Had we then liv'd-what crowds of volunteers!
Down with the Rump, and hey for Cavaliers !
In those prim times, our grandmothers of yore
Preferr'd a pray'r-book to a matadore:
At court, each turtle only lov'd her mate,
And no intrigues went on-but those of state.
What odious Salique law ('twas none of nature)
Excludes us women from the legislature?
Could we assemble once in convocation,
How purely would we settle all the nation!
Lovers and op'ras should employ our cares,
Cards, masquerades, and such-like state affairs:

Debates, like a male senate, we could handle; And move, as well as they, to-snuff a candle: Our ayes and noes with one shrill voice declare, And none be mutes, but all, all speakers there. Now, on our stage, while Charles once more is try'd,

He hopes none here can prove a regicide:

A milder sentence to receive, his trust is, Tremendous pit, in your high court of justice. If bravely you'd support the good old cause, Atone your fathers' crimes by your applause; Lay not a barb'rous tax on your good-nature, Nor raise in spleen the funds of wit, by satire.

Dalecarlia.

Enter ANDERSON, ARNOLDUS, and Servants, with torches.

And. You tell me wonders.
Arn. Soft, behold, my lord,

[Points behind the scenes.
Behold him stretch'd, where reigns eternal night,
The flint his pillow, and cold damps his covering!
Yet, bold of spirit, and robust of limb,
He throws inclemency aside, nor feels
The lot of human frailty.

And. Now, Gustavus!

race

Ne'er hold their den, but where some glimmer

ing ray

May bring the cheer of morn. What, then, is he?
His dwelling marks a secret in his soul,
And whispers somewhat more than man about
him.

Arn. Draw but the veil of his apparent wretchedness,

And
you shall find his form is but assumed,
To hoard some wondrous treasure lodged within.
And. Let him bear up to what thy praises
speak him,

And I will win him, spite of his reserve,
Bind him, with sacred friendship, to my soul,
Ard make him half myself.

Arn. 'Tis nobly promised;

For worth is rare, and wants a friend in Sweden;
And yet I tell thee, in her age of heroes,
When, nursed by freedom, all her sons grew great,
And every peasant was a prince in virtue,
I greatly err, or this abandoned stranger
Had stepped the first for fame, though now he
seeks

To veil his name, and cloud his shine of virtues;
For there is danger in them.

And. True, Arnoldus; Were there a prince, throughout the sceptered globe,

Who searched out merit, for its due preferment,
With half that care our tyrant seeks it out
For ruin; happy, happy were that state,
Beyond the golden fable of those pure
And early ages. Wherefore this, good Heaven?
Is it of fate, that, who assumes a crown,
Throws off humanity?

Arn. So Cristiern holds.

He claims our country as by right of conquest,
A right to every wrong. Even now, 'tis said,
The tyrant envies what our mountains yield
Of health, or aliment; he comes upon us,
Attended by a numerous host, to seize
These last retreats of our expiring liberty.
And. Say'st thou ?

Arn. This rising day, this instant hour,
Thus chaced, we stand upon the utmost brink
Of steep perdition, and must leap the precipice,

Arn. He was, indeed, whate'er our wish cou

of night,

Since here he first arrived, in servile weeds, But yet of mien majestic. I observed him, And, ever as I gazed, some nameless charm, A wondrous greatness not to be concealed, Broke through his form, and awed my soul fore him.

Amid these mines, he earns the hireling's E tion;

His hands out-toil the hind; while, on his br
Sits patience, bathed in the laborious drops
Of painful industry. I oft have sought, ·
With friendly tender of some worthier servic
To win him from his temper; but he shuns
All offers, yet declined with graceful act,
Engaging beyond utterance: and, at eve,
When all retire to some domestic solace,
He only stays, and, as you see, the earth
Receives him to her dark and cheerless boson