Britannia and Batavia: a masque. Written on the marriage of the Princess Royal with his Highness the Prince of Orange. By the late Mr. Lillo.

Britannia and Batavia: A MASQUE.

SCENE the FIRST. A Pleasant Country. Britannia asleep under a small, but rich Pavilion. Her Sword and Shield lying by her. Ithuriel her Guar∣dian Angel with a drawn Sword, leaning on a Cloud, and suspended in the Air near her.

Ith.

SLEEP, fair Britannia, sleep secure; Thy own Ithuriel, happy in his Charge, Thy Guardian Angel wakes.

AIR I.

Rest is the Recompence of Toil, The noblest Fruit of Conquest, Peace; Learn but Content, high-favour'd Isle, And nothing can your Bliss increase.

What Splendor rises in the East, Now when the Sun has measured half the Day? Some alien Spirit sure—

Descends, and stands before Britannia in a Posture of Defence. Eliphas, the Guardian Angel of Batavia, descends with an Olive Branch in his Hand.

Eliphas,

as I think, The vigilant Protector of Batavia.

El.

Exalted Seraph, powerful and benign, Thou judgest right, I am indeed Eliphas.

Ith.

Distinguish'd as thou art, Prudent, and brave, and of approv'd Integrity, Thou can'st not doubt thy Welcome: Yet let me wonder, high and friendly Guest, Why thou hast left thy Charge.

El.

Not so, bright Chief; Unable to defend her From proud Hispania's fierce and cruel Power, I've brought her here, To seek Protection from Britannia's Arms.

Ith.

For others Dangers I may not interrupt her calm Repose; Her Peace and Safety are my Care, Her Virtue is her own.

AIR II.

El.

'Tis great to succour the distrest!

Ith.

Britannia's Bounty stands confest, Unequal'd and alone.

El.

Can lost Batavia sue in vain?

Ith.

Must Britain endless Wars maintain For Causes not her own.

El.

Behold the mourning Fair.

Enter Batavia in Mourning, supported; her Hair di∣shevel'd, and her Coronet falling.

Bat.

Ah! me, ah! wretched, wretched lost Ba∣tavia.

Britannia wakes.

Brit.

Whoe'er thou art, thy Groans have wak'd Britannia.

Bat.

Kneeling.

Thou great and just Defender of th'opprest, See at your Feet poor and distrest Batavia: Her Cities ras'd, her sacred Rights destroy'd, Her Nobles slaughter'd, and her Sons enslav'd.

AIR III.

O whither shall I turn me, whither fly, If you refuse your Aid? By Friends forsaken, By my Foes betray'd, There's not on Earth so lost a Wretch as I. O! whither, &c.

Brit.

Arise, afflicted Fair, my Sister, rise; Believe, I feel and will redress thy Wrongs; Deceitful bloody Rome, and haughty Spain, Shall be compell'd to render back their Prey.

AIR IV.

Brit.

Let Tyranny devour, And build in Blood her Throne; Britannia holds her Power For righteous Ends alone.

Bat.

While Heaven refers to you the Fate Of Europe; while you hold the Scale, And may dispense the casting Weight, Justice and Virtue must prevail.

Both repeat the first Stanza.

End of the first serious Interlude.