Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties.
Rymer, Thomas, 1641-1713.
SCENE IV.
Edgar.
Edg.
—Heav'ns otherwise decree.
As she goes to drink, Ed∣gar snatches the Glass.
O're humane Life what Fate, what Furies reign?
What Plagues, what Seas did that small Glass contain?
Page 32All Troubles from her by that Potion wash't—
She swounds.
On me the Death and Bitterness had dash't.
No Deluge could have Nature more annoy'd:
The World to me were by her Death destroy'd.
But what untimely Fate has clos'd her Sight?
Unlock those Eyes, two living Globes of Light.
Now am I equal to the Blest above;
She opens her eyes.
Now in their Orbs the rolling Wonders move.
Without which Stars, I, by dire Tempest tost,
In Death and everlasting Night am lost.
Alfr.
Sweet Vision—still detain'd in earthly Clime—
I'm blest—and seem in Heav'n before my time—
The King himself—
Pardon, great Sir, a sick, disorder'd Mind.
Edg.
I can account your Sickness onely kind.
My Happiness from this Confusion grows,
As Heav'ns fair Frame from ancient Chaos rose.
Alfr.
You, what by dying Wretches is confest,
Unhumane, to encrease their Torture, wrest.
Edg.
I am that Wretch, by your sole Breath who live,
And from your Mouth have waited a Reprieve.
Yet you retract what in my favour past.
Alfr.
In me (alas!) a Pow'r's unduely plac't,
A Pow'r of Life, unfortunately shown,
That fails even in disposing of mine own.
Who fail in this are damn'd before their time.
Edg.
I cannot hear this Sorrow's dismall Chime.
Before that Face the blackest Tempests fly,
The scattered Clouds leave a serener Skie.
Glad Nature smiles—where you (her Pride and Care)
Once breathe, her richest Odours fill the Air.
She strows her fragrant Treasures in your way,
And there do's all her Sweets, and all her Pomps display.
Alfr.
Nature to me nor Fortune e're was kind;
For still my Steps more Thorns then Roses find;
And sharpest Grief still ranckles in my Mind.
Edg.
If any Monster-grief or Harpy gnaw,
Try what an English King and Love can doe.
I Nature's secret Chambers will explore,
The deepest Sea, and the remotest Shore;
Page 33Make stubborn Rocks to your free Wishes yield,
Till your Desires with shining Spoils are fill'd;
Till Gems and Pearls on heaps around you lie,
With all that's rare, and precious to the Eye,
Sweet to the Tast, or to the Touch is fine:
Your every Sense shall have its Magazine.
Alfr.
To no Intemperance my Desires fly out;
Yet in my Soul ranck Sorrows firmly root;
And there for other Bounties leave no room,
But onely those through Death's cold hands that come.
Edg.
Betwixt your Thoughts and Death let Ages stand;
And Happiness take from a better hand.
Alfr.
Death, Death I want—
Edg.
—Thus in Diana's Train
Some Nymph would fly the shadow of a Man,
And bear the fight of Savages alone,
On which her Darts and dextrous Rage was thrown.
You, from the Woods howe're retriv'd, appear
To Man as strange, and wilfully severe;
And from a flaming Heart as wildly fly,
Not yielding your's should know Humanity.
This milder Air should softer Thoughts inspire,
And a new Sense, more kind to my Desire.
Musick howe're may this Aversion break,
And tame her Spirit—come, fair Nymph, partake—
The Masque is ready—
Leads her away.
