Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties.

SCENE I. Bedchamber.

Alfrid leaning asleep with a Lute in hand, her Woman sings.

THE SONG.

AH! lay by your Lute; Ah, Lucasia! forbear. Whilst your Tongue I may hear, Other Musick is mute. Ah! lay by your Lute. For the Heav'ns have decreed, that my Heart should submit To none but the Charms of your Wit.

The Conflict was hot, When I first met your Eyes; Yet my Heart would still rise, Though through and through shot. The Conflict was hot. But your Wit's great Artillery when drawn to the field, Oh then 'twas my glory to yield.

To satisfie all, When an Empire is due To each Beauty in you, The World is too small, To satisfie all. With the rest you in Triumph shall sit and survey; But give Wit all the Spoils of the day.

Alfr.

I tremble—Shadows I too highly rate.

Alfrid waking starts up.

'Tis but a Dream—yet often Dreams have weight. That night e're first I Ethelwold beheld, These Images my wondring Fancy fill'd: And now repeated, may Prophetick seem.

Wom.

And now repeated are but still a Dream. If any Reall Trouble crost your way, You would not with Imaginary stay. But with what Face was this strange Vision seen?

Alfr.

As I in a green Valley walkt alone, A brighter Day and Lightning round me shone. Surpriz'd, and lifting up my troubled Eyes, Behold an Eagle towring in the Skies. Of Birds a numerous train, that on him wait, Clapping their Wings, seem'd to applaud his State, In his fierce Talons he a Crown did bear, Traversing oft, and beating in the Air. At last his motion towards me was bent, Who trembling stood, expecting the Event: When two great Ravens, with a hasty flight, Struck in between, and barr'd my eager sight. One upwards, th' other towards me did take, And o're my Head his huge black Wings did shake.

Wom.

This frighted you, and with the Fright you wake.

Alfr.

These Ravens after both fell at my Feet, And on my Head the Diadem was set.

Wom.

Those winged Creatures of your Dream are gone, And all the Fate, that they portended, flown. Yet vainly you in transient Scenes of Air Seek ground whereon to build your Hope, or Fear. Rather your thoughts on that late Favour place.

Pointing at a Iewell.

That Jewell bears a more Prophetick face,

And shews more like the earnest of a Crown.

Alfr.

I have not yet that wild Ambition known; Nor did I think this Present from the King Could on me an unfriendly Censure bring. If shall no more offend a jealous eye.

Puts it in her bosome.