Chapter XXII: Act IV

SCENE I. _A Temple, with an _Indian_ God placed upon it, Priests and Priestesses attending: Enter _Indian King_ on one side attended by _Indian_ Men; the _Queen_ enters on the other with Women. All bow to the Idol, and divide on each side of the Stage. Then the Musick playing louder, the Priests and Priestesses dance about the Idol with ridiculous Postures, and crying (as for Incantations) thrice repeated, _Agah Yerkin, Agah Boah, Sulen Tawarapah, Sulen Tawarapah_._

_After this soft Musick plays again: then they sing something fine: after which the Priests lead the _King_ to the Altar, and the Priestesses the _Queen_; they take off little Crowns from their Heads, and offer them at the Altar._

_King._ Invoke the God of our Quiocto to declare what the Event shall be of this our last War against the _English_ General.

[Soft Musick ceases.

[The Musick changes to confused Tunes, to which the Priests and
Priestesses dance, antickly singing between, the same Incantation
as before; and then dance again, and so invoke again alternately:
Which Dance ended, a Voice behind the Altar cries, while soft
Musick plays,

The _English_ General shall be
A Captive to his Enemy;
And you from all your Toils be freed,
When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed:
And e’er the Sun’s swift course be run,
This mighty Conquest shall be won.

_King._ I thank the Gods for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform the Office of a Priest.

_Queen._ Oh, Sir, I fear you’ll fall a Victim first.

_King._ What means _Semernia_? why are thy Looks so pale?

_Queen._ Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou’d make a truer Interpretation.

_King._ How, _Semernia_! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect my Life, to let me know your Thoughts.

_Queen._ Last Night I dream’d a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your Guards, slew you, and bore you hence.

_King._ This is thy Sex’s fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle.

_Queen._ I cou’d convince you farther.

_King._ Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of _Semernia_: Come unriddle me the Oracle.

_Queen._ The _English_ General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me.

_King._ Hah! the General my Rival--but go on--

_Queen._ And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death.

_King._ What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?--away--it cannot be--

_Queen._ No doubt, my Lord, you’ll bravely sell your Life, and deal some Wounds where you’ll receive so many.

_King._ ‘Tis Love, _Semernia_, makes thee dream while waking:

I’ll trust the Gods, and am resolv’d for Battel.

Enter an _Indian_.

_Ind._ Haste, haste, great Sir, to Arms; _Bacon_ with all his Forces is prepar’d, and both the Armies ready to engage.

_King._ Haste to my General, bid him charge ‘em instantly; I’ll bring up the Supplies of stout _Teroomians_, those so well skill’d in the envenom’d Arrow. [Ex. _Indian_. --_Semernia_--Words but poorly do express the Griefs of parting Lovers--’tis with dying Eyes, and a Heart trembling--thus-- [Puts her Hand on his Heart. they take a heavy leave;--one parting Kiss, and one Love pressing sigh, and then farewel:--but not a long farewel; I shall return victorious to thy Arms--commend me to the Gods, and still remember me. [Exit.

_Queen._ Alas! What pity ‘tis I saw the General, before my Fate had given me to the King--But now--like those that change their Gods, my faithless Mind betwixt my two Opinions wavers; while to the Gods my Monarch I commend; my wandring Thoughts in pity of the General makes that Zeal cold, declin’d--ineffectual.--If for the General I implore the Deities, methinks my Prayers should not ascend the Skies, since Honour tells me ‘tis an impious Zeal.

_Which way soever my Devotions move,
I am too wretched to be heard above._ [Goes in.

[All exeunt.

SCENE II. _Shows a Field of Tents, seen at some distance through the Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with hollowing. The _Indians_ are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting from the _English_, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately beating back the _English_, the _Indian King_ at the head of his Men, with Bows and Arrows; _Daring_ being at the head of the _English_: They fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance._

Enter _Bacon_ with his Sword drawn, meets _Fearless_ with his
Sword drawn.

_Fear._ Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, _Daring’s_ engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe; the King in Ambush, with his poison’d Archers, fell on, and now we are dangerously distrest.

_Bac._ _Daring_ is brave, but he’s withal too rash, come on and follow me to his Assistance-- [Go out.

[A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the _Indians_ beaten
back by _Bacon_, _Daring_ and _Fearless_; they fight off; the
noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.

Enter _Indians_ flying over the Stage, pursued by the _King_.

_King._ Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains, Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and aim’d at nothing but my conquering him--now like a Coward I must fly with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the numbers. [Follows the _Indians_.

Enter _Bacon_ inraged with his Sword drawn, _Fearless_ and
_Daring_ following him.

_Bac._ --Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid him from my just Revenge?--search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.

_Dar._ We cannot do wonders, Sir.

_Bac._ But you can run away.--

_Dar._ Yes, when we see occasion--yet--shou’d any but my General tell me so--by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.

_Bac._ Forgive me, I’m mad--the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it out.

Re-enter _Indians_ running over the Stage, pursued by the _King_,
who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.

_King._ All’s lost--the Day is lost--and I’m betray’d;--Oh Slaves, that even Wounds can’t animate. [In Rage.

_Bac._ The King!

_King._ The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!

_Bac._ Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.

_King._ That’s nobly said!--the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir, first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with Success: But now--’tis for _Semernia_ that it draws, a Prize more valued than my Kingdom, Sir--

_Bac._ Hah, _Semernia_!

_King._ Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the conquer’d Foe?

_Fear._ What, fight a single Man--our Prize already.

_King._ Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.

_Bac._ Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let the King pass freely to his Tents.

_Dar._ The Devil’s in the General.

_Fear._ ‘Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us.
[They fight and pause.

_King._ You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done in Generosity.

_Bac._ You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to set us even-- [Fight again.

_King._ You bleed apace.

_Bac._ You’ve only breath’d a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour
by it.
[They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the _King_ staggers;
_Bacon_ takes him in his Arms; the _King_ drops his Sword.
How do you, Sir?

_King._ Like one--that’s hovering between Heaven and Earth; I’m--mounting--somewhere--upwards--but giddy with my flight,--I know not where.

_Bac._ Command my Surgeons,--instantly--make haste;
Honour returns, and Love all bleeding’s fled. [Ex. _Fearless_.

_King._ Oh, _Semernia_, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her--I know you’ll--visit--your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her--oh--but Death prevents the rest. [Dies.

Enter _Fearless_.

_Bac._ He’s gone--and now, like _Cæsar_, I could weep over the Hero I my self destroyed.

_Fear._ I’m glad for your repose I see him there--’twas a mad hot-brain’d Youth, and so he died.

_Bac._ Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.

Enter a _Soldier_.

_Sold._ Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples, which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there with all her _Indian_ Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage from setting fire to the holy Pile.

_Bac._ Hang ‘em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will fly to rescue her. [Goes out, they bear off the _King’s_ Body; Ex. all.

Enter _Whimsey_, pulling in _Whiff_, with a Halter about his Neck.

_Whim._ Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General comes.--What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so generously given us our freedom, and listed us Cadees for the next Command that fell in his Army--I’m resolved to hang thee--

_Whiff._ Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner--drinking at my own charge--

_Whim._ No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang thee--but as for thy drinking with me--I scorn to be behind-hand with thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee. [Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.

_Whiff._ I can’t drink.

_Whim._ A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.

_Whiff._ You us’d to be o’ my side when a Justice, let the Cause be how it wou’d. [Weeps.

_Whim._ Ay--when I was a Justice I never minded Honesty, but now I’ll be true to my General, and hang thee to be a great Man.--

_Whiff._ If I might but have a fair Trial for my Life--

_Whim._ A fair Trial!--come, I’ll be thy Judge--and if thou canst clear thy self by Law, I’ll acquit thee: Sirrah, Sirrah, what canst thou say for thy self for calling his Honour Rebel? [Sits on a Drum-head.

_Whiff._ ‘T was when I was drunk, an’t like your Honour.

_Whim._ That’s no Plea; for if you kill a Man when you are sober, you must be hanged when you are drunk. Hast thou any thing else to say for thy self why Sentence may not pass upon thee?

_Whiff._ I desire the Benefit of the Clergy.

_Whim._ The Clergy! I never knew any body that ever did benefit by ‘em; why, thou canst not read a word.

_Whiff._ Transportation then--

_Whim._ It shall be to _England_ then--but hold--who’s this?
[_Dullman_ creeping from a Bush.

_Dull._ So the Danger’s over, I may venture out--Pox on’t, I wou’d not be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how now, Cornet?--what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with Bow and Arrows.

Enter _Timorous_ with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on
his Head.

_Tim._ I’m in the posture of the times, Major--I cou’d not be idle where so much Action was; I’m going to present my self to the General, with these Trophies of my Victory here--

_Dull._ Victory--what Victory--did not I see thee creeping out of yonder Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight--stumble on a dead _Indian_, and take away his Arms?

_Tim._ Why, didst thou see me?

_Dull._ See thee, ay--and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert sure he was dead.

_Tim._ Well, well, that’s all one--Gads zoors, if every Man that passes for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his Reputation, the World wou’d be but thinly stock’d with Heroes; I’ll say he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill’d him hand to hand, and who can disprove me?

_Dull._ Disprove thee--why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of the Coward in’t.

_Tim._ Shaw, that’s with loss of Blood--Hah, I am overheard I doubt--who’s yonder-- [Sees _Whim._ and _Whiff_.] how, Brother _Whiff_ in a Hempen Cravat-string?

_Whim._ He call’d the General Traitor, and was running away, and I’m resolv’d to peach.

_Dull._ Hum--and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of Treason--

_Tim._ Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by a Council of War, Man--Come, come, let’s disarm him-- [They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket.

_Whiff._ What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my last comfort.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, it’s come in good time--we’ll drink it off, here, Major-- [Drinks, _Whiff_ takes him aside.

_Whiff._ Hark ye, Cornet--you are my good Friend, get this matter made up before it come to the General.

_Tim._ But this is Treason, Neighbour.

_Whiff._ If I hang--I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your War-Captain.

_Tim._ Come, Brother _Whimsey_--we have been all Friends and loving Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this Business.

_Dull._ Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us all.--Put it up--and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest Resolution to run away together; for this same _Frightall_ minds nothing but Fighting.

_Whim._ I’m content, provided we go all to the Council, and tell them (to make our Peace) we went in obedience to the Proclamation, to kill _Bacon_, but the Traitor was so strongly guarded we could not effect it: but mum--who’s here?--

To them, enter _Ranter_ and _Jenny_, as Man and Footman.

_Ran._ Hah, our four reverend Justices--I hope the Blockheads will not know me--Gentlemen, can you direct me to Lieutenant General _Daring’s_ Tents?

_Whiff._ Hum, who the Devil’s this?--that’s he you see coming this way. ’.death, yonder’s _Daring_--let’s slip away before he advances.

[Exeunt all but _Ran._ and _Jen._

_Jen._ I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming.

_Ran._ Why, now I tell thee--my damn’d mad Fellow _Daring_, who has my Heart and Soul, loves _Chrisante_, has stolen her, and carried her away to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him.

_Jem._ Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy.

_Ran._ Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved--

_Jen._ What, Madam?

_Ran._ Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off _Chrisante_.

_Jen._ Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General?

_Ran._ Hang ‘em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with; and got a Name, and a great Commission.

_Jen._ But if he should kill you, Madam.

_Ran._ I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ‘em; as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr.

Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_.

_Fear._ Have you seen _Chrisante_ since the Fight?

_Dar._ Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she keeps my Love still in its humble Calm.

_Ran._ Can you direct me, Sir, to one _Daring’s_ Tent? [Sullenly.

_Dar._ One _Daring!_--he has another Epithet to his Name.

_Ran._ What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?

_Dar._ Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find that certain Fate they have decreed?

_Ran._ I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if they have ordain’d me to fight with _Daring_:--by thy concern thou shou’dst be he?

_Dar._ I am, prithee who art thou?

_Ran._ Thy Rival, though newly arrived from _England_, and came to marry fair _Chrisante_, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady dies.

_Dar._ Dies for me?

_Ran._ Therefore resign her fairly--or fight me fairly--

_Dar._ Come on, Sir--but hold--before I kill thee, prithee inform me who this dying Lady is?

_Ran._ Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by telling you--come, Sir, for _Chrisante_--draw. [They offer to fight, _Fearless_ steps in.

_Fear._ Hold--what mad Frolick’s this?--Sir, you fight for one you never saw [to _Ranter_.] and you for one that loves you not. [To _Dar._

_Dar._ Perhaps she’ll love him as little.

_Ran._ Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare--if thou be’st generous, bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place.

_Dar._ That’s fair, put up thy Sword--I’ll bring thee to her instantly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Tent.

Enter _Chrisante_ and _Surelove_.

_Chris._ I’m not so much afflicted for my Confinement, as I am that I cannot hear of _Friendly_.

_Sure._ Art not persecuted with _Daring_?

_Chris._ Not at all; though he tells me daily of his Passion, I rally him, and give him neither Hope nor Despair,--he’s here.

Enter _Daring_, _Fear._ _Rant._ and _Jenny_.

_Dar._ Madam, the Complaisance I show in bringing you my Rival, will let you see how glad I am to oblige you every way.

_Ran._ I hope the Danger I have exposed my self to for the Honour of kissing your Hand, Madam, will render me something acceptable--here are my Credentials-- [Gives her a Letter.

_Chrisante_ reads.

Dear Creature, I have taken this Habit to free you from an
impertinent Lover, and to secure the damn’d Rogue _Daring_ to my
self: receive me as sent by Colonel _Surelove_ from _England_ to
marry you--favour me--no more--

Yours, _Ranter_.

--Hah, _Ranter_? [Aside.] --Sir, you have too good a Character from my Cousin Colonel Surelove, not to receive my Welcome. [Gives _Surelove_ the Letter.

_Ran._ Stand by, General--
[Pushes away _Daring_, looks big, and takes _Chrisante_ by the
Hand, and kisses it.

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, there’s room enough--at first sight so kind! Oh Youth, Youth and Impudence, what Temptations are you to Villanous Woman?

_Chris._ I confess, Sir, we Women do not love these rough fighting Fellows, they’re always scaring us with one Broil or other.

_Dar._ Much good may it do you with your tame Coxcomb.

_Ran._ Well, Sir, then you yield the Prize?

_Dar._ Ay, Gad, were she an Angel, that can prefer such a callow Fop as
thou before a Man--take her and domineer.
[They all laugh.
--’Sdeath, am I grown ridiculous?

_Fear._ Why hast thou not found the Jest? by Heaven, ‘tis _Ranter_, ‘tis
she that loves you; carry on the humour.
[Aside.
Faith, Sir, if I were you, I wou’d devote my self to Madam _Ranter_.

_Chris._ Ay, she’s the fittest Wife for you, she’ll fit your Humour.

_Dar._ _Ranter_--Gad, I’d sooner marry a she-Bear, unless for a Penance for some horrid Sin; we should be eternally challenging one another to the Field, and ten to one she beats me there; or if I should escape there, she wou’d kill me with drinking.

_Ran._ Here’s a Rogue--does your Country abound with such Ladies?

_Dar._ The Lord forbid, half a dozen wou’d ruin the Land, debauch all the Men, and scandalize all the Women.

_Fear._ No matter, she’s rich.

_Dar._ Ay, that will make her insolent.

_Fear._ Nay, she’s generous too.

_Dar._ Yes, when she’s drunk, and then she’ll lavish all.

_Ran._ A pox on him, how he vexes me.

_Dar._ Then such a Tongue--she’ll rail and smoke till she choke again; then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she good-natur’d.

_Ran._ I must lay him on--

_Dar._ There’s not a Blockhead in the Country that has not--

_Ran._ What--

_Dar._ Been drunk with her.

_Ran._ I thought you had meant something else, Sir. [In huff.

_Dar._ Nay--as for that--I suppose there is no great difficulty.

_Ran._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, you lye--and you are a Son of a Whore.
[Draws and fences with him, and he runs back round the Stage.

_Dar._ Hold--hold, Virago--dear Widow, hold, and give me thy hand.

_Ran._ Widow!

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, I knew thee by instinct, Widow, though I seemed not to do so, in Revenge for the Trick you put on me in telling me a Lady dy’d for me.

_Ran._ Why, such an one there is, perhaps she may dwindle forty or fifty years--or so--but will never be her own Woman again, that’s certain.

_Sure._ This we are all ready to testify, we know her.

_Chris._ Upon my Life, ‘tis true.

_Dar._ Widow, I have a shreud Suspicion, that you your self may be this dying Lady.

_Ran._ Why so, Coxcomb?

_Dar._ Because you took such Pains to put your self into my hands.

_Ran._ Gad, if your Heart were but half so true as your Guess, we should conclude a Peace before _Bacon_ and the Council will--besides, this thing whines for _Friendly_, and there’s no hopes. [To _Chrisante_.

_Dar._ Give me thy Hand, Widow, I am thine--and so entirely, I will never--be drunk out of thy Company:--_Dunce_ is in my Tent,--prithee let’s in and bind the Bargain.

_Ran._ Nay, faith, let’s see the Wars at an end first.

_Dar._ Nay, prithee take me in the humour, while thy Breeches are on--for I never lik’d thee half so well in Petticoats.

_Ran._ Lead on, General, you give me good incouragement to wear them.

[Exeunt.