Bonduca, or, The British heroine a tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants, with a new entertainment of musick, vocal and instrumental : never printed or acted before.

ACT V. SCENE, 1.

Enter Suetonius, Comes Dragging in Claudia.

Claud.

O Whither, whither wou'dst thou drag me, Villain?

Com.

To do a Deed thou'lt thank me for, when done, Why all this vain resistance? Can you move The Rocks or Trees to pity your Complaints? I am as firm, and resolute in my purpose: Nor wou'd I quit my Purchase for a Kingdom. Where now is all the Pride? That Womans pride, With which you melt the Endearments of my Love?

Claud.

'Tis here; 'tis fixt for ever in my Soul: I always scorn'd, but now I hate thee too. And sure— If there are Gods, and Virtue be their Care, I'm still secure from thy abhorr'd Attempts. Some unseen Power will strike thee in the Act; And Impotence blast all thy Expectations.

Comes.

Why, be it so? I'll put it to the Tryal, But Madam, you shall find, and find with Pleasure, Not all the Powers of Heav'n can disarm me. Come on; your Tears are now as vain and fruitless, As were my Pray'rs, when I ask'd your Love.

Claud.

Love! And to thee! Thou art a thing so Loathsome, Nature has shut thee quite from that thou art: Made like the Bird of Night, to be Pursu'd, Abhorr'd, and Loath'd, by all thy fellow Creatures.

Com.

Woman! Woman! Oh how I love this Pride! Thou now art fit to be belov'd by me; Not made to fill our Arms the Vulgar way.

Claud.

Oh, I have been to blame; my foolish Tongue Betray'd the weakness of my unwary Heart! Th'art Fair as Light, and Innocent as Truth: Royal by Birth, by Nature Excellent.

Com.

This is far more than my Revenge e'er hop'd for: Not only to enjoy thy Body, but Bent down thy Soul in Fear and Flattery; Which feeds both my Anger, and my Love. Nay, come, your Mignion's safely laid: His Sword, proud Beauty, will never more Be drawn in your Defence.

Enter Venutius.

Ven.

Oh where! Where is this proud Imperious Villain?

Claud.

He's here; he's here. Ye Gods, poor Claudia thanks you.

Ven.

Have at thee Prince; thus I salute.

[Draws.

Com.

Are you so hot, Sir? I have that Shall cool you

[Fight here, and Comes falls.

Curse of your Sword! You are too sure a Marks-Man.

Ven

Farewel; and tell thy fellow Devils below, 'Tis to Venutius's Sword, thou ow'st thy Death. A Fate too Noble, for a Wretch like thee.

Com.

I'm going, but leave my Curse behind me. May'st thou still Love, and be like me Rewarded. Death, Horror, and Despair! Where am I now?

[Dies

Claud.

Come to my Arms, my Hero, born for Conquest: Dearer and Greater in the single Combat, Than all the Labours of the busie day! Ha! But he bleeds! O all ye Gods! He bleeds! Those precious drops that might redeem a Kingdom; In silent pace, bear his dear life away. O fatal Conquest! dear bought Victory! O wond'rous proof of unexampl'd Love!

Ven.

Love! Yes, I call the unknowing Gods to witness, How much I love thee; through what Seas of Danger I have ventur'd for thee: Thou art that precious Diamond, that glorious Prize, which seated on a Rock;

From far hast drawn the Eyes of the Beholders! I the bold Lover, who in spight of Fortune, By Heav'n incourag'd, and Guided by my ••••ve, Rode o'er the raging Waves, and bore thee off. Ha! Have I not? What Pict shall now oppose us? What Roman Sword shall interrupt our Peace? The Winds are still; Heaven gently smiles upon us: 'Tis all Serene, and I am thine for ever.

Claud.

Alas! Thou Rav'st! 'Tis Madness all thou ut terst▪ Help, help! Where now are all those Gods, The Poets in their wild fancies Dreamt Were in the Woods? No kinder Pow'r to hear A Virgins Pray'r? No Aesculapius near, or Great Apollo?

Ven

No, 'tis too late: I find Death's Hand upon me; And feel my Soul, just ready for the sally. Weep not, my Claudia: there are Joys in store, For thee and me, tho' I am now no more.

[Dies.

Claud.

He's dead, he's dead; and in my Cause! Oh thou dear Youth! Winged like a Perseus for his rescu'd Andromeda, Thou flew'st all Soul, all Love, to my Deliverance: And this is thy Reward! Oh, where's your Justice, Heav'n; when Virtue, that shou'd be the Charge of God's, must thus neglected; thus untimely bleed; And all that most deserv'd to live, must die. But why do I live, ye Pow'rs! Why gave ye us poor Lovers, one Soul, And not one twisted Thread of life, to break and Die toget her? No Venutius! The Gods are Partial. I'll mend the work of Heav'n: But can Tears mend it? Tears, the April-shower of Girls! No, I'll weep Blood!

Enter Nennius, with Soldiers.

Nen.

Cease Madam, cease; by your untimely fall, You'll add to Royal Sorrow. The unhappy Queen, with your much Mourning Sister, Are i'th' Fort, by Roman Powr's immur'd; nothing Remains but Death, or an Ignoble Flight, or Bondage.

Claud.

Death, Nennius; Death! Look here, then talk of Life; Lead on, I'll show the way; and in my fall, Be great as any Roman of 'em all.

Enter Bonvica and Julia.

Bonv.

Where shall the wretched Off spring of Bonduca fly. To escape those dismal Screams of Horror, That fill the Britains Ears? Oh whetched Mother! Unhappy Sister! More unhappy I! Their Courage makes th' appoach of Death Seem pleasing: But I have the true fearful Soul of Woman; and wou'd not quit the World. Julia, call Lucius, and bid him bring his Lute; Fain wou'd I leave this dire consuming Melancholy.

Enter Lucius with a Lute.

Luc.

I'd have the Song you taught me last. I fear, I do resemble now the Swan, That Sings before its Death.

Second SONG, by Miss Cross.

OH! Lead me to some Peaceful Gloom, Where none but sighing Lovers come. Where the shrill Trumpets never sound, But one Eternal Hush goes round. There let me sooth my pleasing Pain, And never think of War again. What Glory can a Lover have, To Conquer, yet be still a Slave?

After the Song, enter Messenger.

Mess.

Madam, the Queen expects you on the Walls; Your Sister with you: the Roman Pow'rs Are all come down with Fury 'gainst the Castle.

Bonv.

Then, then farewel to this World. I see, I see my Fate direct before me; My Mothers Fury greater than the Romans, Presents me Death in a thousand various forms. Oh all ye Britain Powers! Oh great Andate, Pity my Youth! Oh Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

[Exit.

Appear Bonduca, Claudia, Nennius and Bonvica above.

Bond.

Now Claudia, now Bonvica, O my Children! Is the time come to shew your constant Valours? Think not, my Girls, we will be Slaves to Rome; No, we will shew these Lords o'th' World, these Romans, How they shou'd die with Honour: Hark! They come, since we must fall, fall bravely.

Enter Suetonius, Junius, Decius, Demetrius, Curius and Soldiers.

Suet.

Bring up the Catapults, and shake the Walls; We will not be out-brav'd thus.

Bond.

Shake the Earth; You cannot shake our Souls: Bring up your Rams, And with their Armed Heads make the Fort totter. You do but rock us into Death.

Dec.

Yield Noble Queen.

Bond.

I'm unacquainted with that Language, Romans.

Suet.

Yield Honour'd Lady, and expect our Mercy; We love thy Nobleness.

[Exit Decius.

Bond.

I thank ye, you say well, But Mercy and Love, are sins in Rome and Hell.

Suet.

You cannot scape our Strength, you must Yield, Lady, you must adore, and fear the Power of Rome.

Bond

If Rome be Earthly, why shou'd any Knee With Bending Adoration Worship her? She's Vicious, and your partial selves confess, Aspires the height of all Impiety; Therefore 'tis fitter I shou'd Reverence The Thatcht Houses where the Britains dwell In careless Mirth; where the best Houshold Gods See nought but chaste and simple Purity, 'Tis not high Pow'r that makes a place Divine;

But sacred Thoughts in holy Bosoms stor'd, Make People Noble and the place Ador'd.

[Exit Decius.

Suet.

Beat the Wall deeper.

Bond.

Beat it to the Center, We will not sink one Thought.

Bonv.

O Mother! These are fearful Hours: Speak gently To these fierce Men, they will afford us pity.

Bond.

Pity thou fearful Girl? 'Tis for those Wretches That Misery makes tame: Would'st thou live less? Wast thou not Born a Princess? Can my Blood And thy brave Father's Spirit, suffer in thee So base a Separation from thy self, As Mercy from these Tyrants? Say they had Mercy. The Devil! A Releuting Conscience! The Lives of Kings rest in their Diadems, Which to their Bodies, lively Souls do give, And ceasing to be Kings, they cease to Live.

Enter Decius.

Decius.

There's a Breach made, is it your Will We Charge, Sir?

Suet.

Once more Mercy, Mercy to all that yield.

Bond.

Hear me, mark me well, and look upon me Directly in my Face, my Womans Face, Whose only Beauty, is the hate it bears you. See with thy narrowest Eyes, thy sharpest Wishes Into my Soul, and see what there inhabits; See if one fear, one shadow of a terrour, One paleness dare appear, but from my Anger, To lay hold on your Mercies. No, ye Fools, Poor Fortune's Fools, we were not born for Triumphs To follow your gay sports, and fill your Slaves With ••oo••s and ••cc••amations.

Pet.

Brave Behaviour!

Claud.

The Children of as great as Rome; as Noble Our Names before her, and her Deeds our Envy; Must we gild o're your Conquest, make your State That is not fairly strong but fortunate. No, no, ye Romans, we have ways to scape you To make you poor again, indeed our Prisoners, And stick our Triumphs full.

Bond.

D'ye wonder we'll make our Monuments In spight of Fortune, in spight of all Your Eagles Wings? We'll work a pitch above ye.

Suet.

Decius, go Charge the Breach.

Bond.

Stick in thy Body, and make it good but half an hour.

Nenn.

I'll do't.

Claud.

And then be sure to Die.

Nenn.

It shall go hard else.

Bond.

Farewel, brave Nennius, we shall meet yonder, Where few of those must come.

[Exit.

Bring up the Poison.

Bonv.

O my Fortune!

Bond.

Hah! What said you?

Bonv.

Good Mother, nothing to offend you.

Bond.

Here, Girl: behold us, Romans.

Suet.

Mercy yet.

Bond.

No Talking, come, short Prayers, and let's dispatch The Business. You begin, shrink not. I'll see you do't.

Bonv.

O Gentle Mother! O Romans! O my Heart! I dare not.

Suet.

Woman! Woman! Unnatural Woman!

Bonv.

O! perswade her Romans: Alas I am Young, And wou'd Live, Noble Mother. Can you kill That you gave Life to? Are my Years Fit for Destruction?

Suet.

Yield, and be a Queen still, a Mother and a Friend.

Bond.

Ye talk in vain, come Drink it.

Claud.

Fie, Sister, fie! What wou'd you live to be?

Bonv.

Mercy. O Mercy!

Suet.

Hear her, thou wretched Woman.

Bonv.

Mercy, Mother! O whither will ye send me? I was once your Darling. Your Delight.

Bond.

O Gods! Fear in my Family? Do it, and Nobly.

Bonv.

O! Do not frown then.

Claud.

Do it, Worthy Sister. 'Tis nothing; 'tis but a Pleasure; we'll go with you.

Bonv.

O! If I knew but whither!

Claud.

To the Bless'd above, where we shall meet our Father, Where nothing but true Joy is.

Bonv.

O! Comfort me still for Heavens sake.

Claud.

No Wars, no Lustful Slaves to Ravish us.

Bonv.

That steals me along; farewel to this World.

[Drinks.

Bond.

That's my Good Girl.

Claud.

The next is mine. Show me a Roman Lady in all your Stories Dare do this for her Honour?

Bond.

Make haste.

Claud.

I will. Wou'd you learn how to Die bravely, Romans; To fling off this Case of Flesh, lose all your Cares For ever, hunt Honour and not Nations with your Sword: Keep your Minds humble, your Devotions high, So shall you learn the Noblest part, to Die.

[Dies.

Bond.

I come, my Noble Children, here, Here's the Draught wou'd ask no less than Caesar's self To pledge it for the Glories sake.

Suet.

Madam, make up your own Conditions.

Bond.

So we will.

Suet.

Stay, be any thing.

Bond.

A Saint, Suetonius, when thou shalt fear and Die Like a Slave; ye Fools, you shou'd have ty'd Up Death first when ye Conquered. You sweat for us in vain else, see him here, He's ours still, and our Friend Laughs at your Pities; And we command him with as easie Reins As do our Enemies. I feel the Poison. Poor Vanquisht Romans, with what matchless Tortures cou'd I now Rack you, but I pity ye, Desiring to Die quiet; nay, so much I hate to prosecute my Victory, That I will give you Counsel e're I Die, If you will keep your Laws and Empire whole, Place in your Romans Flesh, a British Soul.

[Dies.

Suet.

Desperate and Strange! Give her fair Funeral, she was Noble, and a Queen. Petilius haste, draw out three Companies, And make up instantly to Caratach. What means this Ceremony?

Pet.

The Body of Young Junius, that was Slain in the last Battle.

Suet.

Go then Petilius, do as I commanded. After due Ceremony done to th' Dead, The Noble Dead, we'll follow you.

[Exeunt.

Enter Caratach upon a Rock, and Hengo by him Sleeping.

Cara.

Thus we Afflicted Britains climb for Safeties, And to avoid our Dangers seek Destructions. Thus we awake to Sorrows, O thou Woman! Thou Agent for Adversities! What Curses This Day belong to thy Improvidence? To Britans, by thy means? What sad Millions Of Widows weeping Eyes? The Strong Man's Valour Thou hast betray'd to Fury; the Childs Fortune To fear and want of Friends, whose Pieties Might wipe his Mournings off, and build his Sorrows A House of Rest by his Blest Ancestors. The Virgins thou hast robb'd of all their Wishes, Blasted their blowing hopes, turn'd their Songs, Their Mirthful Marriage Songs, to Funerals, The Land thou hast left a Wilderness of Wretches. The Boy begins to stir, thy safety made, Wou'd my Soul were in Heaven.

Heng.

O Noble Uncle! Look out, I dreamt we were betray'd.

Cara.

No harm Boy, 'tis but thy Emptiness, that breeds These Fancies, thou sha't have Meat anon.

Hen.

A little, Uncle, and I shall hold out bravely.

Enter Macer and Soldiers with Meat and a Bottle.

Macer.

Hang it o'th' side o'th' Rock, as tho' the Britains Stole hither to Relieve him: who first ventures To fetch it off is ours; I cannot see him, He lies close in a hole above, I know it, Gnawing upon his Anger: Ha! No, 'tis not he.

1 Sol.

'Tis but the shaking of the Boughs.

Macer.

Plague shake 'em, I'm sure they shake me soundly. There.

1 Sol.

'Tis nothing.

Macer.

Make no noise, if he stir, a deadly Tempest Of huge Stones fall upon us: 'Tis done, close, close.

Cara

Sleep still, sleep sweetly Child, 'tis all thou feed'st on; No Gentle Britain near, no Valiant Charity To bring thee Food; poor K〈…〉〈…〉 thou art Sick, Extream Sick, almost grown wild for Meat,

And yet thy Goodness will not confess, nor show it; All the Woods are double loin'd with Soldiers, No way left us to make a Noble Escape; I'll si••down by thee, and when thou wak'st, Either get Meat to save thee, or lose my Life I'th' Purchase: Good Gods comfort thee, Ha! Courage my Boy, I have found Meat; look Hengo, Where some Blessed Britain to preserve thee, Has hung a little Food and Drink: Chear up Boy, Do not for sake me now.

Heng.

O Uncle! Uncle! I feel I cannot stay long, Yet I'll fetch it to keep your Noble Life. Uncle I am heart-whole, and wou'd live.

Cara.

Thou sha't long, I hope.

Heng.

But my Head, Uncle! Methinks the Rock goes round. Don't you hear the noise of Bells?

Cara.

Of Bells Boy! 'Tis thy fancy, Alas, thy Body's full of Wind.

Heng.

Methinks, Sir, they ring a strange sad Knell, A Preparation to some near Funeral of State. Nay, weep not, my own sweet Uncle, You will kill me sooner.

Car.

O my poor Chicken!

Heng.

Fie, faint-hearted Uncle! Come tie me in your Belt, and let me down.

Car.

I'll go my self, Boy.

Heng.

No, as you love me, Uncle. I will not eat if I do not fetch it, The danger only I desire, pray tie me.

Cara.

I will, and all my Care hang over thee; Come Child, my Valiant Child.

Heng.

Let me down apace, Uncle, And you shall see how like a Daw I'll whip it From all their Policies; for 'tis most certain A Roman Train, and you must hold me sure too, You'll spoil all else; when I have got it Uncle, We'll be as merry—

Cara.

Go i'th' Name of Heaven, Boy.

Heng.

Quick, quick Uncle, I have it. Oh!

Cara.

What ail'st thou?

Heng.

O my best Uncle, I am slain!

Cara.

I see ye, and Heaven direct my Hand. Destruction go with thy Coward Soul. How do'st thou Boy? O Villain! Villain! Villain!

Heng.

O Uncle, Uncle! How it pricks me! Am I preserv'd for this? Extreamly pricks me.

Cara.

Coward, Rascal, Coward, Dogs eat thy Flesh.

Heng.

O! I bleed hard, I faint too upon't. How sick I am; the Lean Rogue, Uncle—

Cara.

Look Boy, I have laid him sure enough.

Heng.

Have ye knockt his Brains out?

Cara.

I warrant thee, from stirring more; Chear up Child.

Heng.

Hold my Sides hard, stop, stop, O wretched Fortune! Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, Uncle.

Cara.

Heaven look upon this Noble Child!

Heng.

I once hoped I shou'd have liv'd to have met these bloody Romans At my Swords point, to have Reveng'd my Father's, To have beaten 'em. O hold me hard Uncle—

Cara.

Thou sha't live still I hope, Boy.

Heng.

I wou'd live a little longer; Spare me Heavens, but only to thank you For your tender Love. Good Uncle, Good Noble Uncle weep not.

Cara.

O my Chicken! My Dear Boy! What shall I loose—

Hen.

Why a Child that must have Dy'd however, Had this escaped me, Feaver, or Famine: I was Born to Die, Sir.

Cara.

But thus unblown, my Boy.

Hen.

I shall go the streighter my Journey to the Gods: Sure I shall know when you come, Uncle?

Cara.

Yes, Boy.

Heng.

And I hope we shall enjoy together That Great Blessedness you told me of?

Cara.

Most certain, Child.

Heng.

I grow Cold, my Eyes are going.

Cara.

Lift 'em up.

Heng.

Pray for me, and, Noble Uncle, when my Bones are Ashes, think of your little Nephew. Mercy.

Cara.

Mercy, you Blessed Angels take him.

Heng.

Kiss me, so farewel, farewel.

[Dies

Cara.

Farewel the Hopes of Britain, Thou Royal Graft, farewel, farewel: Time, and Death, you have done your worst. Fortune, now see, now proudly pluck off this Veil And view thy Triumph: Look, look What thou hast brought this Land to;

O Fair Flower! How lovely yet thy Ruins show! How sweetly, even Death embraces thee. The Peace of Heav'n; the Followship of all. Great Souls be with thee.

Enter Suetonius, Petilius, with Roman Soldiers,

Suet.

Yield thee, bold Caratach; by all the Gods, I swear, As I'm a Soldier, as I envy thee, I'll use thee like thy self, th' Valliant Britain.

Petil.

Brave Soldier, yield: Thou Stock of Arms and Honour! Thou filler of the World with Fame and Glory!

Suet.

Excellent Britain, do me but that honour; That more to me than Conquest, that true happiness To be my Friend.

Car.

O Romans! See what here is! 〈…〉〈…〉 Boy liv'd!—

Suet.

For Fame's sake, forthy Sw〈…〉〈…〉 As thou desir'st to build thy Virtues〈…〉〈…〉—

Car.

No Roman! No! I wear 〈…〉〈…〉 Soul: A Soul too great for Slav'ry.—〈…〉〈…〉 Boy! My dear lov'd Hengo! From thy 〈…〉〈…〉 down! Behold the last of thy great Race 〈…〉〈…〉ing! Suetonius, view this little Cas〈…〉〈…〉, By Roman Rapine Robb'd of all his Wealth. A fair rich Soyl; that Precious Royal Gem, By Fate's too Barbarous Hand, untimely snatcht! These Tears. I sacrifice to thee, my Boy! But to my Queen, and my unhappy Country, This richer Purple Stream, my Blood I give.

Suet.

O thou too envy'd Miracles of Worth! What bast thou done? Nas Rome, too poor a Mistress, To Wed thee to her Arms? Not one Charm In all her Courting Smiles, and Proffer'd Lawrels?

Car.

Rome, Sir. ah, no! She bids a Price too small, To Bribe me into Life: my bleeding Country Calls me to Nobler. Wreaths; and in her Fall, To mount a Star in Albion's long, long Night: And when her Caratach dies in such a Cause, A British Tomb, outshines a Roman Triumph.

Suet.

Prodigious Virtue!

Car.

Out-live my Country's Liberty! Shall Caratach dare but to think that Thought! Now Britain is all yours; but as my Blood,

From this small Fountain flows, grant me one Favour: Lay this Young British Rose, Cropt in the Bud, Close by my side; and since the World▪ your own, Spare us but Earth enough to cover o'er These small Remains, and I shall ask no more.

[Dies.

Suet.

That Hollow'd Relick! Thou Rich Diamond! Cut with the own Dust! Thou, for whose wide Fame, The would appears too narrow all Man's thought, Had they all Tongues too silent! Thus I bow To thy most Honoured Ashes, tho' an Enemy, Yet Friend to all thy Worths: Sleep peaceably. Happiness Crown thy Soul, and in thy Earth Some▪ Lawrel fix his Seat; there grow and Flourish: And make thy Grave an Everlasting Triumph Farewel all Glorious Wars, now thou art gone. All Noble Battels! Maintain'd in Thirs〈…〉〈…〉 and not of Blood. Farewel for ever. No 〈…〉〈…〉 please, Bear off the Noble 〈…〉〈…〉 a File High as Olimpus, that may 〈…〉〈…〉 wonder, To see a Star on Earth, o〈…〉〈…〉 O ever Lov'd, and ever L〈…〉〈…〉 Thy Honour'd, and most 〈…〉〈…〉 Memory!