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SCENE II.

The King discovered on a Couch.
King. Kind sleep, farewell!
Thou hast been loyal in the nightly care,
And always smooth'd my pillow: at our parting,
As to a faithful friend, I say, farewell,
And thank thee for thy service. Here's another,
Enter Bishop JUXON.

Whose better care gives quiet to the mind;
Who gives us the rich opiate of content,
That makes us sleep in hope, and wake to mer-

cy;

Him too, the bankrupt Charles can only pay
As he has done the former; no return,

But the poor gratitude of thanks, warm from the
heart.

Say, my good lord, have you so soften'd rigour,
That I may see my children ere I die?

Jux. It is permitted, sir; they wait without;
I would not let them enter, till I knew
You were prepar'd, and ready for the interview.
[Exit JUXON.
King. Good Juxon, lead them hither. Now
the father,

Spite of my firmness, steals into my eye,
And melts my manhood. Heart, thou hast no
temper

Proof against nature, speaking in a child!

Enter Bishop JUXON, JAMES, GLO'STER, and
ELIZABETH.

James. My royal father!

King. Good Juxon, make them rise;
For if I look that way I shall kneel too,
And join with them in tears. A chair, good Juxon.
[JUXON brings a chair forward, and raises

the children.

Come hither, James; nay, do not weep, my boy;
Keep thy eyes bright to look on better times.

James. I will command my nature if I can,
And stop these tears of sorrow; for indeed,
They drown my sight; and I would view thee
well,

Copy my royal father in his death,

And be the son of his heroic virtues.

Let no advantage break; nor any view
Make him give up his honesty to reach it:
Let him maintain his power, but not increase
it;

The string, prerogative, when strain❜d too high,
Cracks like the tortur'd chord of harmony,
And spoils the concert between king and subject:
Let him regard his people more than ministers,
Whose interest or ambition may mislead him.
These rules observ'd, may make him a good
prince,

And happier than his father. Wilt thou, James,
Remember this?

James. Oh, doubt not, royal sir!

Can what my father says escape my memory;
And at a time when he shall speak no more?
King. Come to my arms, my boy.

James. Would I could weep the blood that
warms my heart!

For water wrongs my sorrow.

King. My dear Elizabeth,

Draw near, and take thy dying father's blessing.
Say to thy mother (if thou e'er shalt see her,)
That my thoughts never wander'd from her; that
my heart

Holds her as dear, even in this hour of death,
As when my eyes first languish'd on her beauties;
Tell her that Charles is only gone before

T' inherit an immortal crown, and share it with
her.

Farewell, Elizabeth! and let thy love
And thy obedience wait thy brother Charles.
Eliz. Alas, my father, I but now have found
A
passage for my words, and yet you say,
Farewell, already!

King. Come, my little Glo'ster,
Come to my arms, and let me kiss thy cheek.
Glo. Alas, my lord, 'tis cold and wet with

tears!

I'll wipe it dry, and warm it with my hand,
That it may meet your kindness as it ought.

King. Glo'ster, when I am dead, your brother
Charles

Is then your king and master-Love and obey
him.

These men who shall cut off thy father's head,
When I am dead, perhaps, may make thee king;
But do not thou, I charge thee, on my blessing,

King. Thou art the child of duty: hear me, Accept the crown while thy two brothers live;

James,

And lay up this last lesson in thy heart:
When I am dead, look on thy brother Charles,
Not as thy brother only, but thy king;
Pay him fraternal love, and subject duty;
Nor let ambition, or the thirst to reign,
Poison thy firm allegiance. When thou seest

him,

Bear him my blessing, and this last advice:
If Heaven restores hiin to his lawful crown,
Let him wreak no revenge upon his foes,
But think it his best conquest to forgive;
With kindness let him treat success, so shall she

be

A constant guest; his promise, when once given,

Consider, Glo'ster, they were born before thee,
And have an elder title- -Wilt thou, Glo'ster?
Glo. A king! No, they shall tear me first in
pieces.

King. Oh, nature, nature, do not strike so
deeply!

This scene is worse than death-I am ready, [TOMLINSON at the door.

sir.

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If I should beg it, cut off mine?
King. Heart, thou art marble, not to break at
this-

Yet I must go; for dire necessity
Has struggled long with my paternal fondness,
And has at length prevail'd. Farewell, at once.
[Going, returns.
I thought I had taken my last leave of them;
But find that nature calls me back again,
And asks another look, another parting kiss.
Be virtuous, and be happy.
Glo. Oh, my poor father!-

King. So, now 'tis over

aid,

[Embrace.

[They are led off. -Let thy friendly

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'Tis now too late, impossible to save him: Fool that I was, I knew him for a villain, Yet trusted to him, to the monster Cromwell. Rich. Fairfax, the world acquits thee of the deed;

Thy power has labour'd strongly for his safety: Behold where Juxon the good bishop comes, Return'd from his last service to his master.

Fair. I will not stay to hear the sad relation, But think on my revenge on Cromwell; May the mercy which he deny'd to Charles's mortal part

Ne'er light upon his soul, though at his last entreaty !

Enter JUXON.

Rich. Charles is at peace.

Jur. He is, my gentle lord;

And may we all meet death with equal firmness!
Patience sat by him in an angel's garb,
And held out a full bowl of rich content,
Of which he largely quaff'd: then came Charity,
And in behalf of Charles, with hasty hand,
Dealt round forgiveness to the world his prayer
Was for his foes more earnest than himself,
Because their wants were greater. Thus fell

Charles

:

A monument of shame to the present age,
A warning to the future. His example
May prove this maxim's truth to all mankind:
The subject's reverence, and the prince's love,
Grasping and grasp'd, walk hand in hand toge-
ther,

Strengthen'd by union: then the king's com mand

Is lost in the obedience of the subject:
The king unask'd, confirms the people's rights,
And by the willing gift prevents the claim.
These are the virtues that endear a king,
Adorn a people, and true greatness bring.

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY A FRIEND.

Ar length our bard has told his dismal story-
He thinks without offence to Whig or Tory.
He writes not from a spirit of contention;
And only on third night expects-his pension.
Ladies, when civil dudgeon first grew high,
And the good folks fell out-they knew not
why-

A stubborn race, no doubt on't, were those
Round-heads,

Rebels at once to female power, and crown'd heads:

But now, bless'd change! our heroes give their

votes

For government of kings, and petticoats.
Had we then liv'd-what crowds of volunteers!
Down with the Rump, and hey for Cavaliers !
In those prim times, our grandmothers of yore
Preferr'd a pray'r-book to a matadore:
At court, each turtle only lov'd her mate,
And no intrigues went on-but those of state.
What odious Salique law ('twas none of nature)
Excludes us women from the legislature?
Could we assemble once in convocation,
How purely would we settle all the nation!
Lovers and op'ras should employ our cares,
Cards, masquerades, and such-like state affairs :

Debates, like a male senate, we could handle; And move, as well as they, to-snuff a candle: Our ayes and noes with one shrill voice declare, And none be mutes, but all, all speakers there. Now, on our stage, while Charles once more is try'd,

He hopes none here can prove a regicide:

A milder sentence to receive, his trust is, Tremendous pit, in your high court of justice. If bravely you'd support the good old cause, Atone your fathers' crimes by your applause; Lay not a barb'rous tax on your good-nature, Nor raise in spleen the funds of wit, by satire.

GUSTAVUS VASA,

THE

DELIVERER OF HIS COUNTRY.

BY

BROOKE.

PROLOGUE.

BRITONS, this night presents a state distrest,
Though brave, yet vanquish'd, and, though great,

opprest;

Vice, rav'ning vulture, on her vitals prey'd,
Her peers, her prelates, fell corruption sway'd;
Their rights, for power, th' ambitious weakly
sold,

The wealthy, poorly, for superfluous gold.
Hence wasting ills, hence severing factions rose,
And gave large entrance to invading foes:
Truth, justice, honour, fled th' infected shore,
For freedom, sacred freedom, was no more.
Then, greatly rising in his country's right,
Her hero, her deliverer, sprung to light;
A race of hardy, northern sons he led,
Guiltless of courts, untainted, and unread,
Whose inborn spirit spurn'd th' ignoble fee,
Whose hands scorn'd bondage, for their hearts
were free.

Ask ye, what law their conquering cause con-
fest?

Great nature's law, the law within the breast;
Form'd by no art, and to no sect confin'd,
But stamp'd by Heav'n upon th' unletter'd mind.

Such, such of old the first-born natives were,
Who breath'd the virtues of Britannia's air;
Their realm, when mighty Cæsar vainly sought,
For mightier freedom against Cæsar fought,
And rudely drove the fam'd invader home,
To tyrannize o'er polish'd, venal Rome.

Our bard, exalted in a free-born flame,
To every nation would transfer this claim:
He to no state, no climate, bounds his page,
He bids the moral beam through every age;
Then be your judgment generous as his plan!
Ye sons of freedom, save the friend of man!

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gerent to Cristiern. PETERSON,

a Swedish nobleman, secretly of the Danish party, and friend to Trollio. LAERTES, a young Danish nobleman, attendant

lo Cristina.

ANDERSON, chief lord of Dalecarlia.
ARNOLDUS, a Swedish priest, and chaplain in
the copper-mines of Dalecarlia.
SIVARD, captain of the Dalecarlians.

WOMEN.

CRISTINA, daughter to Cristiern.
AUGUSTA, mother to Gustavus, Prisoners in
GUSTAVA, sister to Gustavus, a Cristiern's
child,
camp.
MARIANA, attendant and confidant to Cristina.
Soldiers, Peasants, Messengers, and Attendants.
SCENE,-Dalecarlie, a northern province in Sweden.

GUSTAVUS, formerly general of the Swedes, and
first cousin to the deceased king.
ARVIDA, of the royal blood of Sweden, friend
and cousin to Gustavus.

VOL. II.

L

ACT I.

SCENE I.-The Inside of the Copper-mines of Or turn upon our hunters.

Dalecarlia.

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him.

Arn. Draw but the veil of his apparent wretchedness,

And you shall find his form is but assumed,
To hoard some wondrous treasure lodged within.
And. Let him bear up to what thy praises
speak him,

And I will win him, spite of his reserve,
Bind him, with sacred friendship, to my soul,
Ard make him half myself.

Arn. 'Tis nobly promised;

For worth is rare, and wants a friend in Sweden;
And yet I tell thee, in her age of heroes,
When, nursed by freedom, all her sons grew great,
And every peasant was a prince in virtue,
I greatly err, or this abandoned stranger
Had stepped the first for fame, though now he

seeks

To veil his name, and cloud his shine of virtues; For there is danger in them.

And. True, Arnoldus; Were there a prince, throughout the sceptered globe,

Who searched out merit, for its due preferment,
With half that care our tyrant seeks it out
For ruin; happy, happy were that state,
Beyond the golden fable of those pure
And early ages. Wherefore this, good Heaven?
Is it of fate, that, who assumes a crown,
Throws off humanity?

Arn. So Cristiern holds.

He claims our country as by right of conquest,
A right to every wrong.
Even now, 'tis said,
The tyrant envies what our mountains yield
Of health, or aliment; he comes upon us,
Attended by a numerous host, to seize
These last retreats of our expiring liberty.
And. Say'st thou?

Arn. This rising day, this instant hour,
Thus chaced, we stand upon the utmost brink
Of steep perdition, and must leap the precipice,

And. Now, Gustavus!

Thou prop and glory of inglorious Sweden, Where art thou, mightiest man?-Were he but here!

I'll tell thee, my Arnoldus, I beheld him,
Then when he first drew sword, serene and
dreadful,

As the browed evening ere the thunder break;
For soon he made it toilsome to our eyes
To mark his speed, and trace the paths of con-

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of night,

Since here he first arrived, in servile weeds,
But yet of mien majestic. I observed him,
And, ever as I gazed, some nameless charm,
A wondrous greatness not to be concealed,
Broke through his form, and awed my soul be-
fore him.

Amid these mines, he earns the hireling's por tion;

His hands out-toil the hind; while, on his brow,
Sits patience, bathed in the laborious drops
Of painful industry. I oft have sought,
With friendly tender of some worthier service,
To win him from his temper; but he shuns
All offers, yet declined with graceful act,
Engaging beyond utterance: and, at eve,
When all retire to some domestic solace,
He only stays, and, as you see, the earth
Receives him to her dark and cheerless bosom.

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