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Dum. My wife !
Ven. I tremble at thy words.
Dum. Be not dismay'd; the camp is still our own. Night is impending, and the Romans halt.
Ven. But what of Boadicea ?
Dum. Hear and mourn.
Ven. Oh! most unhappy sister !
That thou couldst deviate from a prosp'rous course, When ev'ry gale conspir'd to swell thy glory.
Boad. Throw not on me the crime of envious for
Dum. Dost thou blame fortune, traitress?
Boad. Then the blame
Dun. Avoid my sight.
Boad. Thou Aed'st the first.
Dum. Too true I find a woman curs'd with pow'r
you should clothe this spirit of a wolf
Boad. Beset with perils, as I am, pursu'd
Dar'd to dispute with me supreme command,
Ven. Oh, once united by the friendliest ties,
Dum. Shall thy perfections kneel
Ven. Oh! stop, nor give resentment utt'rance.
Which there lie mangled by the Roman sword”
Dum. By Heav'n, I know distraction rends thy soul, And to its view presents th' approaching scene Of shame and torture, when th' indignant Romans Exact a tenfold vengeance for their suff'rings; And when thou passest through their streets in chains, The just derision of insulting foes, A frantic woman, who resign'd her hopes, And to indulge an empty pride, betray'd Her children, friends, and country; then recal, What once was Boadicea, fall'n how low From all her honours, by her folly fallin From pow'r, from empire, victory, and glory, To vilest bonds, and ignominious stripes.
Boad. May curses blast thee, worse than I can utta And keener pangs than whips or shackles seize thee?
Ven. Oh! sister, how unseemly is this rage ! Whom dost thou load with these ungen'rous curses? Thy faithful friend, thy counsellor and brother, Whom thou has injur’d, injur'd past the pow'r Of reparation. “ Dost thou call for whips “ To print those venerable limbs with shame, « For bonds to humble that majestic head, “ Which foes themselves must honour? Yet, if chains “ Must be our fate, what cruel hand hath forg'd
them, “ But thine alone? Thy hand hath heap'd destruction « On him, thy once rever'd ally, on me, “ On my poor children, guiltless of offence, « And on thy own, who claim'd protection from
thee ;'' Yet thou, obdurate, to thy rage a prey, Dost chide remorse and pity from thy breast. Dum. Source of thy own afflictions! to behold thee
[To Boadicea. Distracted thus, thus fall'n and lost, to see Thus strongly painted on thy lab'ring features The pangs, thou feel'st within, awakes compassion.
Boad. Hal no -divine Andate shall uphold me Above thy pity. Think'st thou, Boadicea Is thus deserted by her patron goddess, Thus void of all resources? Think so still, And be deceiv'd. Ev'n now I feel her aid ; [Aside. I feel her here; the warlike queen inspires