Arviragus! my bold, my breathless boy,
Thou hast escap'd such pity; thou art free.
Here in high Mona shall thy noble limbs
Rest in a noble grave; posterity

Shall to thy tomb with annual reverence bring
Sepulchral stones, and pile them to the clouds :
Whilst mine

AULUS DIDIUS.

The morn doth hasten our departure. Prepare thee, King, to go: a fav'ring gale Now swells our sails.

CARACTACUS.

Inhuman, that thou art!

Dost thou deny a moment for a father

To shed a few warm tears o'er his dead son?
I tell thee, chief, this act might claim a life,
To do it duly; even a longer life,

Than sorrow ever suffer'd. Cruel man!
And thou deniest me moments.

Be it so.

I know you Romans weep not for your children;
Ye triumph o'er your tears, and think it valour:
I triumph in my tears. Yes, best-lov'd boy,
Yes, I can weep, can fall upon thy corse,
And I can tear my hairs, these few grey hairs,
The only honours war and age have left me.
Ah, son! thou might'st have rul'd o'er many na-
tions,

As did thy royal ancestry: but I,

Rash that I was, ne'er knew the golden curb
Discrétion hangs on brav'ry: else perchance
These men, that fasten fetters on thy father,

Had su'd to him for peace, and claim'd his

friendship.

AULUS DIDIUS.

But thou wast still implacable to Rome,
And scorn'd her friendship.

CARACTACUS, starting up from the body.

Soldier, I had arms,

Had neighing steeds to whirl my iron cars,
Had wealth, dominion. Dost thou wonder,
Roman,

I fought to save them? What if Cæsar aims
To lord it universal o'er the world,

Shall the world tamely crouch at Cæsar's foot

stool?

AULUS DIDIUS.

Read in thy fate our answer.

Thy pride had yielded――

CARACTACUS.

Yet if sooner

Thank thy Gods, I did not.

Had it been so, the glory of thy master,
Like my misfortunes, had been short and trivial,
Oblivion's ready prey: now after struggling
Nine years, and that right bravely 'gainst a tyrant,
I am his slave to treat as seems him good;
If cruelly, 'twill be an easy task

To bow a wretch, alas! how bow'd already!
Down to the dust: if well, his clemency,

When trick'd and varnish'd by your glossing

penmen,

Will shine in honour's annals, and adorn

Himself; it boots not me. Look there, look

there,

The slave that shot that dart, kill'd ev'ry hope
Of lost Caractacus! Arise, my daughter.
Alas! poor Prince; art thou too in vile fetters?
[To Elidurus.
Come hither, youth: be thou to me a son,
To her a brother. Thus with trembling arms
I lead you forth; children, we go to Rome.
Weep'st thou, my girl? I prithee hoard thy tears
For the sad meeting of thy captive mother:
For we have much to tell her, much to say
Of these good men, who nurtur'd us in Mona;
Much of the fraud and malice, that pursu'd us;
Much of her son, who pour'd his precious blood
To save his sire and sister: think'st thou, maid,
Her gentleness can hear the tale, and live?
And yet she must. O Gods, I grow
talker!

Grief and old age are ever full of words :
But I'll be mute. Adieu! ye holy men ;

Yet one look more-Now lead us hence for ever.

LETTERS.

I

LETTER I.

was aware, when I sent you my* poem, that it would be liable to the very objections you make to it. Yet perhaps they will be obviated to your satisfaction, when I have laid before you (as indeed I ought to have done at first) the original idea which led me to chuse such a subject, and to excuse it in so peculiar a manner.

Had I intended to give an exact copy of the antient drama, your objections to the present poem would be unanswerable. But my design was much less confined. I meant only to pursue the antient method, so far as it is probable a Greek poet, were he alive, would now do, in order to adapt himself to the genius of our times, and the character of our tragedy. According to this notion, every thing was to be allowed to the present taste, which nature and Aristotle could possibly dispense with; and nothing of intrigue or refinement was to be admitted, at

* ELFRIDA, to which these letters were prefixt in the former editions of that poem.

which antient judgment could reasonably take offence. Good sense, as well as antiquity, prescribed an adherence to the three great unities; these, therefore, were strictly observed. But on the other hand, to follow the modern masters in those respects wherein they had not so faultily deviated from their predecessors, a story was chosen, in which the tender rather than the noble passions were predominant, and in which even love had the principal share. Characters too were drawn as nearly approaching to private ones, as tragic dignity would permit; and af fections raised rather from the impulse of common humanity, than the distresses of royalty and the fate of kingdoms. Besides this, for the sake of natural embellishment, and to reconcile mere modern readers to that simplicity of fable, in which I thought it necessary to copy the antients, I contrived to lay the scene in an old romantic forest. For, by this means, I was enabled to enliven the poem by various touches of pastoral description; not affectedly brought in from the store-house of a picturesque imagination, but necessarily resulting from the scenery of the place itself: a beauty so extremely striking in the COMUS of Milton, and the As you LIKE IT of Shakspeare; and of which the Greek Muse (though fond of rural imagery) has afforded few examples, besides that admirable one in the PHILOCTETES of Sophocles.

By this idea I could wish you to regulate your criticism. I need not, I think, observe to you