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But that the son of Virtue, Penyus, Seeing me steer through all these storms of danger, My helm still in my band (my sword) my prow Turn’d to my foe (my face) he cried out nobly, « Go Briton, bear thy lion's whelp off safely; “ Thy manly sword has ransom'd thee : grow strong, “ And let me meet thee once again in arms: “ Then if thou stand’st, thou art mine." I took his
offer, And here I am to honour him.
THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO.
GEDY. BY JOHN FLETCHER.
Rollo, Duke of Normandy, a bloody tyrant, puts to death his tutor Baldwin, for too freely reproving him for his crimes ; but afterwards falls in love with Edith, daughter to the man he has slain. She makes a show of returning his love, and invites him to a banquet ; her design being to train him there, that she may kill him : but overcome by his flatteries, and real or dissembled remorse, she faints in her resolution.
Edi. My gracious lord, no deity dwells here,
Rol. Can it be flattery to swear those eyes
Edi. Your grace is full of game.
Rol. By heaven, my Edith,
Edi. Wilt please you sit, sir?
Rol. So you please sit by me.
Edi. Of what, sir?
Rol. Of any thing, any thing is excellent. Will you take my directions ? speak of love then"; Speak of thy fair self, Edith : and while thou speak’st. Let me thus languishing give up myself, wench. Edi. H’as a strange cunning tongue. Why do
you sigh, sir?
Rol. The way to paradise, my gentle maid,
Edi. Your tears, sir;
Rol. Thou'lt never love me,
Edi. I stagger.
Rol. They're for blood then, For guiltless blood; and they must drop, my Edith, They must thus drop, till I have drown'd my mischiefs.
Edi. If this be true, I have no strength to touch him.
Rol. I prithee look upon me, turn not from me;
Edi. My anger melts, oh, I shall lose my justice.
Rol. Do not thou learn to kill with cruelty,
Edi. He will fool me.
Rol. Oh, with thine angel eyes behold and bless me: Of heaven we call for mercy and obtain it, To justice for our right on earth and have it, Of thee I beg for love, save me, and give it.
Edi. Now, heaven, thy help, or I am gone for ever, His tongue has turn'd me into melting pity.
THIERRY THIERRY AND THEODORET. A TRAGEDY. BY
Thierry, King of France, being childless, is foretold by an
Astrologer, that he shall hare Children if he sacrifice the first Woman that he shall meet at sun-rise coming out of the Temple of Diana. He waits before the Temple, and the first Woman he sees, proves to be his own Wife Ordella.
THIERRY, MARTEL, a Nobleman. Mart. Your grace is early stirring.
Thier. How can he sleep
Mart. The day wears,
Thier. Stand and mark then.
Thier. This hand, Martel:
Mart. Would I were she,
Ordella comes out from the Temple, veiled.
peace, Like his whose innocence the gods are pleas'd with, And offering at their altars, gives his soul Far purer than those fires, pull heaven upon her ; You holy powers, no human spot dwell in her; No love of any thing, but you and goodness, Tie her to earth; fear be a stranger to her, And all weak blood's affections, but thy hope, Let her bequeath to women: hear me, heaven, Give her a spirit masculine and noble, Fit for yourselves to ask, and me to offer. O let her meet my blow, doat on her death; And as a wanton vine bows to the pruner, That by his cutting off more may increase, So let her fall to raise me fruit. Hail womar! The happiest and the best (if the dull will Do not abuse thy fortune) France e'er found yet. Ordel. She's more than dull, sir, less and worse than wo
man, That may inherit such an infinite