At thy request, who, since her last defeat,
Blind with despair and disappointed fury,
Fled to her tent; expiring, there, I found her,
With one ill-fated daughter, both by poison;
Nor had the friendly Emmeline escaped,
But by the swift prevention of my hand.
Dost thou not thank me, whose suggestion
prompted

Our quick return to seize the secret pass?
Thou gav'st me freedom: love and fame repay
thee.

Flam. If thou could'st add, that Dumnorix survived

Enob. [Looking into the tent.] Thou seest the gods have otherwise decreed. Forbear to mingle vain regret with conquest. He hath done nobly. Fair befall his urn!

Death is his triumph, which a captive life
Had forfeited to Rome, with all the praise
Now from the virtuous to his ashes due.

Flam. Then art thou fallen at last, thou mighty tower,

And more than Roman edifice of glory?
See, too, Venusia, pale in death's embrace,
Presents her faded beauties. Lovely ruin!
Of every grace and virtue once the seat!
The last kind office from my hand receive,
Which shall unite thee to thy husband's side,
And to one grave your mingling reliques trust.
There soon a hallowed monument shall rise;
Insculptured laurel with the myrtle twined,
The well-wrought stone adorning, shall proclaim
His generous valour, and thy faithful love.
[Exeunt omnes.

Now we have shewn the fatal fruits of strife,
A hero bleeding with a virtuous wife,
A field of war, embrued with nations' gore,
Which to the dust the hopes of Albion bore:
If weak description, and the languid flow
Of strains unequal to this theme of woe,
Have failed to move the sympathising breast,
And no soft eyes their melting sense express'd,
Not all the wit this after-scene might share,
Can give success where you refus'd a tear.
Much less, if haply still the poet's art
Hath stol'n persuasive to the feeling heart,
Will he, with Fancy's wanton hand, efface
From gen'rous minds, compassion's pleasing trace;

Nor from their thoughts, while pensive they pur

sue

This maze of sorrow, snatch the moral clue.
If yet to him those pow'rs of sacred song,
To melt the heart and raise the mind, belong,
Dar'd he to hope this sketch of early youth
Might stand th' award of nature and of truth;
Encouraged thus, hereafter might he soar
With double strength, and loftier scenes ex-
plore,

And, following Fortune through her various wiles,
Shew struggling Virtue dress'd in tears or smiles;
Perhaps his grateful labours would requite
With frequent offerings one propitious night.

BY

OUR desp❜rate bard a bold excursion tries,
Though danger damp'd his wings, he dares to rise:
From hope, high rais'd, all glorious actions
spring;

"Tis hence that heroes conquer, poets sing.
Even he may feel the soul-exalting fire,
Fame prompts the humblest bosom to aspire.
Without a guide this rash attempt he made,
Without a clue from art, or learning's aid.
He takes a theme where tend'rest passions glow,
A theme your grandsires felt with pleasing woe.
Essex' sad tale he strives to clothe anew,
And hopes to place it in a stronger view.
Poets, like painters, may, by equal law,
The labour'd piece from different masters draw;

SCENE I.-An Antechamber in the Palace.

Enter BURLEIGH and RALEIGH.

Bur. THE bill, at length, has pass'd opposing numbers,

Whilst crowds, seditious, clamour'd round the senate,

And headlong faction urg'd its force within.

Ral. It has, my lord!—The wish'd-for day is

come,

When this proud idol of the people's hearts
Shall now no more be worshipp'd.-Essex falls.
My lord, the minute's near, that shall unravel
The mystic schemes of this aspiring man.
Now Fortune, with officious hand, invites us
To her, and opens wide the gates of greatness,
The to power. My heart exults; I see,
way
I see, my lord, our utmost wish accomplish'd!
I see great Cecil shine without a rival,
And England bless him, as her guardian saint.
Such potent instruments I have prepar'd,
As shall, with speed, o'crturn this hated man,
And dash him down, by proof invincible.

Bur. His day of glory now is set in night;
And all my anxious hopes, at last, are crown'd.
Those proofs against him, Raleigh-
Ral. All arrived.

Bur. Arrived! how? when?

Ral. This very hour, my lord:

Nay more, a person comes, of high distinction,
To prove some secret treaties made by Essex,
With Scotland's monarch and the proud Tyrone.
Bur. How say'st? to prove them?
Ral. Ay, my lord, and back'd

With circumstances of a stronger nature.
It now appears, his secretary, Cuff,

With Blunt and Lee, were deep concern'd in this

Destructive scheme, contriv'd to raise this lord,
And ruin Cecil. Oh, it is a subtle,
A deep-laid mischief, by the earl contriv'd
In hour malignant, to o'erturn the state,
And, horror to conceive! dethrone the queen!
Bur. These gladsome tidings fly beyond my
hopes !

The queen will listen now, will now believe,
And trust the counsel of her faithful Burleigh.
Dispose them well, till kind occasion calls
Their office forth; lest prying craft meanwhile
May tamper with their thoughts, and change their

minds:

Let them, like batteries conceal'd, appear
At once, both to surprise and to destroy.

Rul. His headstrong friend, the bold Southampton, too,

Now finds his rash endeavours all defeated; And storms at thee, and the impeaching commons.

Bur. Let him rave on, and rage.-The lion, in The toils entangled, wastes his strength, and roars In vain; his efforts but amuse me now.―

Enter Gentleman.

Gent. My lord, the lady Nottingham desires, With much impatience, to attend your lordship. Bur. What may the purport of her business be? Her tender wishes are to Essex tied In love's soft fetters, and endearing bands: Conduct her in. [Exit Gentleman. And you, my Raleigh, watch Southampton's steps; With care observe each movement of his friends; That no advantage on that side be lost.

[Exit RALEIGH. Southampton's Essex' second self; His daring heart, and bold ungovern'd tongue, Are both enlisted in the rash designs Of this proud lord, nor knows a will but his : A limb so fix'd, must with the body fall.

Enter Lady NOTTINGHAM.

Not. Thrice hail to rescu'd England's guiding genius!

His country's guardian, and his queen's defence. Great Burleigh, thou whose patriot bosom beats With Albion's glory, and Eliza's fame;

Who shield'st her person, and support'st her

throne;

Madam; my power and will are yours.

Not. Will Cecil's friendly ear vouchsafe to bend

Its great attention to a woman's wrongs;
Whose pride and shame, resentment and despair,
Rise up in raging anarchy at once,

To tear, with ceaseless pangs, my tortur'd soul?
Words are unequal to the woes I feel;
And language lessens what my heart endures.

Bur. Madam, your wrongs, I must confess, are great;

Yet still, I fear, you know not half his falsehood.
Who, that had eyes to look on beauty;
Who, but the false, perfidious Essex could
Prefer to Nottingham a Rutland's charms?
Start not!-By Heaven, I tell you naught but
truth,

What I can prove, past doubt; that he receiv'd
The lady Rutland's hand, in sacred wedlock,
The very night before his setting out

For Ireland.

Not. Oh! may quick destruction seize them! May furies blast, and hell destroy their peace! May all their nights→→

Bur. I pray, have patience, madam! Restrain a while your rage; curses are vain, But there's a surer method to destroy him; And, if you'll join with me, 'tis done he falls. Not. Ha! say'st thou, Burleigh! Speak, my genius, speak!

Be quick as vengeance' self to tell me how!
Bur. You must have heard, the commons have
impeach'd him,

And we have proofs sufficient for his ruin.
But the queen-you know how fair he stands
In her esteem; and Rutland, too, his wife,
Hath full possession of the royal ear.
Here then, my Nottingham, begins thy task:
Try ev'ry art t' incense the queen against him,
Then step between her and the lady Rutland:
Observe Southampton, too, with jealous eye;
Prevent, as much as possible, his suit;
For, well I know, he will not fail to try
His eloquence on the behalf of Essex.

Not. It shall be done; his doom is fix'd: he dies.

Oh, 'twas a precious thought! I never knew
Such heartfelt satisfaction.---Essex dies!
And Rutland, in her turn, shall learn to weep.
The time is precious; I'll about it strait.

Enter SOUTHAMPTON.

South. Where is the man, whom virtue calls her friend?

I give you joy, my lord !---Your quenchless furý At length prevails, and now your malice triumphs.

You've hunted honour to the toil of faction,
And view his struggles with malicious joy.
Bur. What means my lord?

South. O fraud! shall valiant Essex
Be made a sacrifice to your ambition!
Oh, it smells foul, indeed, of rankest malice,
And the vile statesman's craft. You dare not,

sure,

Thus bid defiance to each show of worth,
Each claim of honour: dare not injure thus
Your suffering country, in her bravest son!

Bur. But why should stern reproach her angry brow

Let fall on me? Am I alone the cause
That gives this working humour strength? Do I
Instruct the public voice to warp his actions?
Justice, untaught, shall poise th' impartial scales,
And every curious eye may mark the beam.

South. The specious shield, which private malice bears,

Is ever blazon'd with some public good;
Behind that artful fence, skulk low, conceal'd,
The bloody purpose, and the poison'd shaft;
Ambition there, and envy, nestle close;
From whence they take their fatal aim unseen;
And honest merit is their destin'd mark.

Bur. My country's welfare, and my queen's command,

Have ever been my guiding stars through life,
My sure direction still,-To these I now
Appeal;-from these, no doubt, this lord's mis-
conduct

Hath wildly stray'd; and reason, not reviling,
Must now befriend his cause.

South. How ill had Providence

Dispos'd the suffering world's oppress'd affairs,
Had sacred right's eternal rule been left
To crafty politicians' partial sway!