_Queen._ Alas, 'tis better we should perish here, than stay to expect the Violence of his Passion, to which my Heart's too sensibly inclin'd.
_Ana._ Why do you not obey its Dictates then? why do you fly the Conqueror?
_Queen._ Not fly--not fly the Murderer of my Lord?
_Ana._ What World, what Resolution can preserve you? and what he cannot gain by soft submission, Force will at last o'ercome.
_Queen._ I wish there were in Nature one excuse, either by Force or Reason to compel me:--For Oh, _Anaria_--I adore this General;--take from my Soul a Truth--till now conceal'd--at twelve Years old--at the _Pauwomungian_ Court, I saw this Conqueror. I saw him young and gay as new-born Spring, glorious and charming as the Mid-day's Sun; I watch'd his Looks, and listned when he spoke, and thought him more than mortal.
_Ana._ He has a graceful Form.
_Queen._ At last a fatal Match concluded was between my Lord and me; I gave my Hand, but oh, how far my Heart was from consenting, the angry Gods are Witness.
_Ana._ 'Twas pity.
_Queen._ Twelve tedious Moons I pass'd in silent Languishment; Honour endeavouring to destroy my Love, but all in vain; for still my Pain return'd whenever I beheld my Conqueror; but now when I consider him as Murderer of my Lord-- [Fiercely.] I sigh and wish--some other fatal Hand had given him his Death.--But now there's a necessity, I must be brave and overcome my Heart; What if I do? ah, whither shall I fly? I have no _Amazonian_ Fire about me, all my Artillery is Sighs and Tears, the Earth my Bed, and Heaven my Canopy. [Weeps.
[After Noise of Fighting.
Hah, we are surpriz'd; Oh, whither shall I fly? And yet methinks a certain trembling Joy, spite of my Soul, spite of my boasted Honour, runs shivering round my Heart.
Enter an _Indian_.
_Ind._ Madam, your Out-guards are surpriz'd by _Bacon_, who hews down all before him, and demands the Queen with such a Voice, and Eyes so fierce and angry, he kills us with his Looks.
_Cav._ Draw up your poison'd Arrows to the head, and aim them at his Heart, sure some will hit.
_Queen._ Cruel _Cavaro_,--wou'd 'twere fit for me to contradict thy Justice.
[Aside.
_Bac._ [Within.] The Queen, ye Slaves, give me the Queen, and live!
He enters furiously, beating back some _Indians_; _Cavaro's_ Party going to shoot, the _Queen_ runs in.
_Queen._ Hold, hold, I do command ye.
[_Bacon_ flies on 'em as they shoot and miss him, fights like a Fury, and wounds the _Queen_ in the Disorder; beats them all out.
--hold thy commanding Hand, and do not kill me, who wou'd not hurt thee to regain my Kingdom-- [He snatches her in his Arms, she reels.
_Bac._ Hah--a Woman's Voice,--what art thou? Oh my Fears!
_Queen._ Thy Hand has been too cruel to a Heart--whose Crime was only tender Thoughts for thee.
_Bac._ The Queen! What is't my sacrilegious Hand has done!
_Queen._ The noblest Office of a gallant Friend, thou'st sav'd my Honour, and hast given me Death.
_Bac._ Is't possible! ye unregarding Gods, is't possible?
_Queen._ Now I may love you without Infamy, and please my dying Heart by gazing on you.
_Bac._ Oh, I am lost--for ever lost--I find my Brain turn with the wild confusion.
_Queen._ I faint--oh, lay me gently on the Earth. [Lays her down.
_Bac._ Who waits-- [Turns in Rage to his Men.
Make of the Trophies of the War a Pile, and set it all on fire, that I may leap into consuming Flames--while all my Tents are burning round about me.
[Wildly.
Oh thou dear Prize, for which alone I toil'd!
[Weeps, and lies down by her.
Enter _Fearless_ with his Sword drawn.
_Fear._ Hah, on the Earth--how do you, Sir?
_Bac._ What wou'dst thou?
_Fear._ _Wellman_ with all the Forces he can gather, attacks us even in our very Camp; assist us, Sir, or all is lost.
_Bac._ Why, prithee let him make the World his Prize, I have no business with the Trifle now; it contains nothing that's worth my care, since my fair Queen--is dead--and by my hand.
_Queen._ So charming and obliging is thy Moan, that I cou'd wish for Life to recompense it; but oh, Death falls--all cold upon my Heart, like Mildews on the Blossoms.
_Fear._ By Heaven, Sir, this Love will ruin all--rise, rise, and save us yet.
_Bac._ Leave me, what e'er becomes of me--lose not thy share of Glory--prithee leave me.
_Queen._ Alas, I fear thy Fate is drawing on, and I shall shortly meet thee in the Clouds; till then--farewel--even Death is pleasing to me, while thus--I find it in thy Arms-- [Dies.
_Bac._ There ends my Race of Glory and of Life.
[An Alarm at distance--continues a while.
_Bac._ Hah--Why should I idly whine away my Life, since there are nobler ways to meet with Death? Up, up, and face him then--Hark--there's the Soldier's Knell--and all the Joys of Life--with thee I bid farewel-- [Goes out. The _Indians_ bear off the Body of the _Queen_.
The Alarm continues: Enter _Downright_, _Wellman_, and others, Swords drawn.
_Well._ They fight like Men possest--I did not think to have found them so prepar'd.
_Down._ They've good Intelligence--but where's the Rebel?
_Well._ Sure he's not in the Fight; Oh, that it were my happy chance to meet him, that while our Men look on, we might dispatch the business of the War--Come, let's fall in again, now we have taken breath.
[They go out.
Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_ hastily, with their Swords drawn; meet _Whim._ _Whiff_, with their Swords drawn, running away.
_Dar._ How now, whither away? [In anger.
_Whim._ Hah, _Daring_ here--we are pursuing of the Enemy, Sir; stop us not in the pursuit of Glory.
[Offers to go.
_Dar._ Stay!--I have not seen you in my Ranks to day.