No More Learning

A feeble poet will his business do, }
Who, straining all he can, comes up to you: }
For, if you like yourselves, you like him too. }
An ape his own dear image will embrace;
An ugly beau adores a hatchet face:
So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature,
Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow creature.
In fear of which, our house has sent this day,
To insure our new-built vessel, called a play;
No sooner named, than one cries out,--These stagers
Come in good time, to make more work for wagers.
The town divides, if it will take or no; }
The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too; }
A sign they have but little else to do. }
Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise,
Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
But now they're grown a common trade for all, }
And actions by the new-book rise and fall; }
Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. }
One policy as far as Lyons carries;
Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris.
Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend,
But that the pope has proved our trusty friend.
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money,
Could we insure another Ottoboni[18].
Among the rest there are a sharping set,
That pray for us, and yet against us bet.
Sure heaven itself is at a loss to know
If these would have their prayers be heard, or no:
For, in great stakes, we piously suppose,
Men pray but very faintly they may lose.
Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking,
The city needs not your new tricks for breaking:
And if you gallants lose, to all appearing,
You'll want an equipage for volunteering;
While thus, no spark of honour left within ye,
When you should draw the sword, you draw the guinea.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17: The ancient game of shovel-board was played by sliding
pieces of money along a smooth table, something on the principle of
billiards. The allusion seems to be the same as if a modern poet had
said, that a feeble player at billiards runs no risk of pocketing his
own ball. The reader will find a variety of passages concerning this
pastime in the notes of the various commentators upon a passage in the
"Merry Wives of Windsor," where Slender enumerates among the contents
of his pocket, when picked by Pistol, "two Edward shovel-boards," that
is, two broad shillings of Edward VI. used for playing at this game. In
some old halls the shovel-board table is still preserved, and sometimes
used. ]

[Footnote 18: Cardinal Ottoboni, a Venetian by birth, succeeded to the
tiara on the death of Innocent XI. , and assumed the name of Alexander
VIII. He was, like his predecessor, an enemy to France, and maintained
the privileges of the Holy See, both in the point of the regale, and
in refusing to grant bulls to those French bishops who had signed the
formulary of 1682, by which the Pope was declared fallible, and subject
to the decrees of a general council. His death took place during the
congress of 1690. It was therefore a recent event when this play was
first represented, and the disposition of his successor, towards the
French or Imperial Courts, was matter of anxious speculation to the
politicians of the day. ]




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


_King_ ARTHUR.
OSWALD, _King of_ KENT, _a Saxon, and a Heathen_.
CONON, _Duke of_ CORNWALL, _Tributary to King_ ARTHUR.
MERLIN, _a famous Enchanter_.
OSMOND, _a Saxon Magician, and a Heathen_.
AURELIUS, _Friend to_ ARTHUR.
ALBANACT, _Captain of_ ARTHUR'S _Guards_.
GUILLIMAR, _Friend to_ OSWALD.

EMMELINE, _Daughter of_ CONON.
MATILDA, _her Attendant_.
PHILIDEL, _an Airy Spirit_.
GRIMBALD, _an Earthy Spirit_.
_Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers. _

_SCENE--Kent. _




KING ARTHUR,

OR, THE

BRITISH WORTHY.




ACT I--SCENE I.


_Enter_ CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT.

_Con. _ Then this is the deciding day, to fix
Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.

_Aur. _ Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.

_Con. _ In ten set battles have we driven back
These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.
As earth recovers from an ebbing tide
Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,
From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,
Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,
And not one Saxon face has been beheld;
But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,
Because they have no farther ground, they stand.

_Aur. _ Well have we chose a happy day for fight;
For every man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.

_Alb. _ But why this day more lucky than the rest?

_Con. _ Because this day
Is sacred to the patron of our isle;
A christian and a soldier's annual feast.

_Alb. _ Oh, now I understand you. This is St George of Cappadocia's
day. Well, it may be so, but faith I was ignorant. We soldiers seldom
examine the rubrick, and now and then a saint may happen to slip by us;
but, if he be a gentleman saint, he will forgive us.

_Con. _ Oswald undoubtedly will fight it bravely.

_Aur. _ And it behoves him well, 'tis his last stake. But what manner of
man is this Oswald? Have you ever seen him? [_To_ ALBANACT.

_Alb. _ Never but once; and that was to my cost too. I followed him too
close, and, to say the truth, somewhat uncivilly, upon a rout; but he
turned upon me, as quick and as round as a chafed boar, and gave me two
licks a-cross the face, to put me in mind of my Christianity.

_Con. _ I know him well; he's free and open-hearted.

_Aur. _ His country's character: that speaks a German.

_Con. _ Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;
And, once resolved, is never to be moved.

_Alb. _ Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!

_Con. _ This was the character he then maintained,
When in my court he sought my daughter's love,
My fair, blind Emmeline.

_Alb. _ I cannot blame him for courting the heiress of Cornwall. All
heiresses are beautiful; and, as blind as she is, he would have had no
blind bargain of her.

_Aur. _ For that defeat in love, he raised this war;
For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,
Ere Oswald moved his suit.

_Con. _ Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;
One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,
I would have chosen out, from all mankind,
To be my sovereign lord.

_Aur. _ His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;
So born, without desert to be so born;
Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,
And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.

_Con. _ Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,
And void of all his faults. In battle brave,
But still serene in all the stormy war,
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,
As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,
As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,
And praise is dumb before him.

_Enter King_ ARTHUR, _reading a letter, with Attendants_.

Arth. [_Reading. _] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:
Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;
While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;
Confronting art with art, and charms with charms. "
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event,
[
_To_ CONON.

With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,
You taught my tender hands the trade of war;
And now again you helm your hoary head,
And, under double weight of age and arms,
Assert your country's freedom and my crown.

_Con. _ No more, my son.

_Arth. _ Most happy in that name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.

_Con. _ Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.

_Arth. _ Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,
Covered by their advancing cavalry.
By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:
The noble Oswald has provoked my envy. --

_Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA.

Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,
A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:
Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.

_Con. _ Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye.
[_Exit_ CONON.

_Em. _ O father, father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your voice.

_Arth. _ No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!

_Em. _ What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my father clasps my hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts and tickles at my heart.

_Arth. _ Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,
And only nature speaks what nature thinks! --
Had she but eyes!

_Em. _ Just now you said, I had:
I see them, I have two.

_Arth. _ But neither see.

_Em. _ I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your eyes do more?

_Arth. _ They view your beauties.

_Em. _ Do not I see? You have a face like mine,
Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,
That heave like mine.

_Arth. _ But you describe a woman;
Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.

_Em. _ Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;
For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?

_Arth. _ No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.

_Em. _ If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my naked legs and feet
Quite through my clothes. Pray do not see so well.

_Arth. _ Fear not, sweet innocence;
I view the lovely features of your face,
Your lips carnation, your dark-shaded eye-brows,
Black eyes, and snow-white forehead; all the colours
That make your beauty, and produce my love.

_Em. _ Nay, then, you do not love on equal terms;
I love you dearly, without all these helps:
I cannot see your lips carnation,
Your shaded eye-brows, nor your milk-white eyes.

_Arth. _ You still mistake.

_Em. _ Indeed I thought you had a nose and eyes,
And such a face as mine: have not men faces?

_Arth. _ Oh, none like yours, so excellently fair.

_Em. _ Then would I had no face; for I would be
Just such a one as you.

_Arth. _ Alas, 'tis vain to instruct your innocence;
You have no notion of light or colours.
[_Trumpet sounds within. _

_Em. _ Why, is not that a trumpet?

_Arth. _ Yes.

_Em. _ I knew it,
And I can tell you how the sound on't looks;
It looks as if it had an angry fighting face. [19]

_Arth. _ 'Tis now indeed a sharp unpleasant sound,
Because it calls me hence from her I love,
To meet ten thousand foes.

_Em. _ How do so many men e'er come to meet?
This devil trumpet vexes them, and then
They feel about for one another's faces;
And so they meet, and kill.

_Arth. _ I'll tell you all, when we have gained the field.
One kiss of your fair hand, the pledge of conquest,
And so a short farewell.

[_Kisses her Hand, and Exit with_ AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and
Attendants_.

_Em. _ My heart and vows go with him to the fight.
May every foe be that which they call blind,
And none of all their swords have eyes to find him! --
But lead me nearer to the trumpet's face;
For that brave sound upholds my fainting heart;
And, while I hear, methinks I fight my part.
[_Exit, led by_ MATILDA.



SCENE II. --_A Place of Heathen Worship. The Three Saxon Gods_,
WODEN, THOR, _and_ FREYA, _placed on Pedestals. An Altar. _

_Enter_ OSWALD _and_ OSMOND.

_Osm. _ 'Tis time to hasten our mysterious rites,
Because your army waits you.

_Osw. _ Thor, Freya, Woden, all ye Saxon powers,
[_Making three Bows before the three Images. _

Hear and revenge my father Hengist's death!

_Osm. _ Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!
Mount thy hot courser, drive amidst thy foes,
Lift high thy thundering arm, let every blow
Dash out a misbelieving Briton's brains!

_Osw. _ Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!
Give conquest to thy Saxon race, and me!

_Osm. _ Thor, Freya, Woden, hear, and spell your Saxons,
With sacred Runick rhymes, from death in battle;
Edge their bright swords, and blunt the Britons' darts! --[20]
No more, great prince; for see my trusty fiend,
Who all the night has winged the dusky air. --

GRINBALD, _a fierce earthy Spirit, arises_.
What news, my Grimbald?

_Grim. _ I have played my part;
For I have steeled the fools that are to die,--
Six fools, so prodigal of life and soul,
That, for their country, they devote their lives
A sacrifice to mother Earth, and Woden.


_Osm. _ 'Tis well; but are we sure of victory?

_Grim. _ Why askest thou me?
Inspect their entrails, draw from thence thy guess:
Blood we must have, without it we are dumb.

_Osm. _ Say, where's thy fellow-servant, Philidel?
Why comes not he?

_Grim. _ For he's a puling spirit.
Why didst thou chuse a tender airy form,
Unequal to the mighty work of mischief?
His make is flitting, soft, and yielding atoms;
He trembles at the yawning gulph of hell,
Nor dares approach the flame, lest he should singe
His gaudy silken wings:
He sighs when he should plunge a soul in sulphur,
As with compassion touched of foolish men.

_Osm. _ What a half-devil is he!
His errand was to draw the lowland damps,
And noisome vapours, from the foggy fens;
Then breathe the baleful stench, with all his force,
Full on the faces of our christened foes.

_Grim. _ Accordingly he drained those marshy grounds,
And bagged them in a blue pestiferous cloud;
Which when he should have blown, the frighted elf
Espied the red-cross banners of their host,
And said, he durst not add to his damnation.

_Osm. _ I'll punish him at leisure.
Call in the victims, to propitiate hell.

_Grim. _ That's my kind master: I shall breakfast on them.

GRIMBALD _goes to the Door, and re-enters with six Saxons in
White, with Swords in their Hands. They range themselves, three
and three, in opposition to each other. The rest of the Stage is
filled with Priests and Singers. _


ODE.

_Woden, first to thee,
A milk-white steed, in battle won,
We have sacrificed. _

Chor. _We have sacrificed. _

Vers. _Let our next oblation be
To Thor, thy thundering son,
Of such another. _

Chor. _We have sacrificed. _

Vers. _A third, of Friesland's breed was he,
To Woden's wife, and to Thor's mother;
And now we have atoned all three,
We have sacrificed. _

Chor. _We have sacrificed. _

2 Voc. _The white horse neighed aloud.
To Woden thanks we render;
To Woden we have vowed;_

Chor. _To Woden, our defender. _
[The four last lines in chorus.

Vers. _The lot is cast, and Tanfan pleased;_

Chor. _Of mortal cares you shall be eased,
Brave souls, to be renowned in story.
Honour prizing,
Death despising,
Fame acquiring,
By expiring;
Die, and reap the fruit of glory,
Brave souls, to be renowned in story. _

Vers. 2. _I call ye all
To Woden's hall;
Your temples round,
With ivy bound,
In goblets crowned,
And plenteous bowls of burnished gold;
Where you shall laugh,
And dance, and quaff
The juice, that makes the Britons bold. _[21]
[The six Saxons are led off by the Priests, in order
to be sacrificed.

_Osw. _ Ambitious fools we are,
And yet ambition is a godlike fault;
Or rather 'tis no fault in souls born great,
Who dare extend their glory by their deeds. --
Now, Britany, prepare to change thy state,
And from this day begin thy Saxon date.
[_Exeunt. _

_A Battle supposed to be given behind the Scenes, with Drums,
Trumpets, and Military Shouts and Excursions; after which, the
Britons, expressing their joy for the Victory, sing this Song of
triumph. _

_Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:
We come, we come, we come, we come,
Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum. _

_Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again:
The gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind, that will perish for gold. _

_The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in the sound:
They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly_;
Victoria, Victoria, _the bold Britons cry_.

_Now the victory's won,
To the plunder we run:
We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,
Triumphant with spoils of the vanquished invaders. _
[Exeunt.




ACT II. SCENE I.


_Enter_ PHILIDEL.

_Phil. _ Alas, for pity, of this bloody field!
Piteous it needs must be, when I, a spirit,
Can have so soft a sense of human woes!
Ah, for so many souls, as but this morn
Were clothed with flesh, and warmed with vital blood,
But naked now, or shirted but with air!

MERLIN, _with Spirits, descends to_ PHILIDEL, _in a Chariot drawn by
Dragons_.

_Mer. _ What art thou, spirit? of what name, or order?
For I have viewed thee in my magic glass,
Making thy moan among the midnight wolves,
That bay the silent moon; speak, I conjure thee.
'Tis Merlin bids thee, at whose awful wand
The pale ghost quivers, and the grim fiend gasps.

_Phil. _ An airy shape, the tenderest of my kind,
The last seduced, and least deformed, of hell;
Half-white, and shuffled in the crowd, I fell,
Desirous to repent, and loth to sin;
Awkward in mischief, piteous of mankind.
My name is Philidel, my lot in air,
Where, next beneath the moon, and nearest heaven,
I soar, and have a glimpse to be received,
For which the swarthy dæmons envy me.

_Mer. _ Thy business here?

_Phil. _ To shun the Saxon wizard's dire commands,
Osmond, the awfullest name, next thine, below.
'Cause I refused to hurl a noisome fog
On christened heads, the hue and cry of hell
Is raised against me, for a fugitive sprite.

_Mer. _ Osmond shall know, a greater power protects thee.
But follow thou the whispers of thy soul,
That draw thee nearer heaven;
And, as thy place is nearest to the sky,
The rays will reach thee first, and bleach thy soot.

_Phil. _ In hope of that, I spread my azure wings;
And wishing still,--for yet I dare not pray,--
I bask in day-light, and behold, with joy,
My scum work outward, and my rust wear off.

_Mer. _ Why, 'tis my hopeful devil. Now mark me, Philidel;
I will employ thee, for thy future good.
Thou know'st, in spite of valiant Oswald's arms,
Or Osmond's powerful spells, the field is ours.

_Phil. _ Oh, master! hasten
Thy dread commands; for Grimbald is at hand,
Osmond's fierce fiend; I snuff his earthy scent.
The conquering Britons he misleads to rivers,
Or dreadful downfals of unheeded rocks;
Where many fall, that ne'er shall rise again.

_Mer. _ Be that thy care, to stand by falls of brooks,
And trembling bogs, that bear a green-sward show.
Warn off the bold pursuers from the chace. --
No more; they come, and we divide the task.
But, lest fierce Grimbald's ponderous bulk oppress
Thy tender flitting air, I'll leave my band
Of spirits, with united strength to aid thee,
And force with force repel.
[_Exit_ MERLIN _in his Chariot_. MERLIN'S
_Spirits stay with_ PHILIDEL.

_Enter_ GRIMBALD _in the habit of a Shepherd, followed by King_
ARTHUR, CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and Soldiers, who wander at a
distance in the Scenes_.

_Grim. _ Here, this way, Britons; follow Oswald's flight.
This evening, as I whistled out my dog,
To drive my straggling flock, and pitched my fold,
I saw him, dropping sweat, o'er-laboured, stiff,
Make faintly, as he could, to yonder dell.
Tread in my steps; long neighbourhood by day
Has made these fields familiar in the night.

_Arth. _ I thank thee, shepherd;
Expect reward. Lead on, we follow thee.

Phil. } _Hither this way, this way bend,_
sings. } _Trust not that malicious fiend;
Those are false deluding lights,
Wafted far and near by sprites.
Trust them not, for they'll deceive ye,
And in bogs and marshes leave ye. _

Chor. of Phil. Spir. _Hither this way, this way bend. _

Chor. of Grimb. Spir. _This way, this way bend. _

Phil. } _If you step, no danger thinking,_
sings. } _Down you fall, a furlong sinking:
'Tis a fiend, who has annoyed ye;
Name but heaven, and he'll avoid ye. _

Chor. of Phil. Spir. _Hither this way, this way bend. _
Chor. of Grimb. Spir. _This way, this way bend. _
Philidel's Spirits. _Trust not that malicious fiend. _
Grimbald's Spirits. _Trust me, I am no malicious fiend. _
Philidel's Spirits. _Hither this way_, &c.

_Con. _ Some wicked phantom, foe to human kind,
Misguides our steps.

_Alba. _ I'll follow him no further.

_Grimb. _ By hell, she sings them back, in my despite.
I had a voice in heaven, ere sulphurous steams
Had damped it to a hoarseness; but I'll try.

He sings. _Let not a moon-born elf mislead ye
From your prey, and from your glory.
Too far, alas! he has betrayed ye:
Follow the flames, that wave before ye;
Sometimes seven, and sometimes one;
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry on. _

_See, see the footsteps plain appearing,
That way Oswald chose for flying;
Firm is the turf, and fit for bearing,
Where yonder pearly dews are lying.
Far he cannot hence be gone;
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry on. _

_Aur. _ 'Tis true he says; the footsteps yet are fresh
Upon the sod, no falling dew-drops have
Disturbed the print.
[_All are going to follow_ GRIMBALD.

Philidel sings. _Hither this way. _
Chor. of Phil. Spir. _Hither this way, this way bend. _
Chor. of Grimb. Spir. _This way, this way bend. _
Philidel's Spirits. _Trust not that malicious fiend. _
Grimb. Spirits. _Trust me, I am no malicious fiend. _
Philidel's Spirits. _Hither this way_, &c.
[_They all incline to_ PHILIDEL.

_Grim. _ Curse on her voice! I must my prey forego;--
Thou, Philidel, shalt answer this below.
[GRIMBALD _sinks with a Flash_.

_Arth. _ At last the cheat is plain;
The cloven-footed fiend is vanished from us;
Good angels be our guides, and bring us back!

Phil. singing. _Come follow, follow, follow me. _

Chor. _Come follow_, &c.
_And me; and me; and me; and me. _

Vers. 2 Voc. _And green-sward all your way shall be. _

Chor. _Come follow_, &c.

Vers. _No goblin or elf shall dare to offend ye. _

Chor. _No, no, no_, &c.
_No goblin or elf shall dare to offend ye. _

Ver. 3 Voc. _We brethren of air_,
_You heroes will bear_,
_To the kind and the fair that attend ye. _

Chor.