SCENE before the Camp.

Enter Criftiern, Trollio, and Attendants.

CRISTIERN.

OUR obfervation's juft, I see it, Trollio:

YOUR

Men are machines, with all their boasted freedom,
Their movements turn upon fome fav'rire passion ;
Let art but find the latent foible out,

We touch the fpring, and wind them at our pleasure.
Trol. Let Heav'n fpy out for virtue, and then starve it;
But vice and frailty are the ftatefman's quarry,
The objects of our fearch, and of our fcience,
Mark'd by our fmiles, and cherish'd by our bounty;
'Tis hence you lord it o'er your fervile fenates;
How low the flaves will stoop to gorge their lufts
When aptly baited: ev'n the tongues of patriots,
(Thofe fons of clamour) oft relax the nerve
Within the warmth of favour.

Crift. How elfe fhould kings fubfift? For what is pow'r,
But the nice conduct of another's weakness ?
That thing call'd Virtue, is the bane of government,
A libel on the state, that afks fuppreffion;
It has a hateful and unbending quality;
It ferves no end, ftill reftive to the rein,
And to the fpur unfpeedy: they who boast it
Are traitors, rivals of their king, my Trollio;
And, wanting other fubjects, greatly dare
To lord it o'er themfelves. Such is Gustavus,
If yet he be

And fuch Arvida was; though now, I trust,
He is too far advanc'd in our defigns
To think of a retreat.

Trol. Impoffible!

Already has he leap'd the guilty mound.

That might appal his virtue; for the world

He dare not now look back; where shame pursues,
And cuts off all retreat.

Enter

Enter Gentleman Ufher and Peterson, who kneels.
Gent. My liege, Lord Peterfon.

Crift. Rife to our truft, moft worthy Peterson;
Rife to our friendship: by my head, I fwear,
Bar but our Trollio here, there's not a Swede,
Who holds thy valued level in our heart!

For thou'rt unfhaken, though thy nation fwerve;
Faithful among the faithless.

Peter. What I am,

Let this inform your majesty.

Trol. A pacquet!

Whence had you that, my friend?

Peter. Even from the hands

Of the once great Gustavus.

[Gives a pacquet.

Crift. Then you have feen him. Tell me, tell me,
Peterfon,

What faid he? Eh! How look'd the mighty rebel?
His means, his fcope, the pride of his prefumption,
Give me the whole!

Peter. Last night, my gracious Lord,

While yet I held your meffenger in conference;
Arriv'd, who brought a letter from Gustavus,
Wherein, digesting many flagrant terms

Of mutinous import against the state

Of your high dignity; by morning light

He pray'd me to attend him; boafting much

Of plenteous hopes, and means of boldeft enterprize.
Of this I gave you notice; and ere dawn
Set out for freth intelligence- I came;
I faw him fhrunk, that glory of the north,
Soil'd with the vileness of a flave's attire;
Where in the depth and darkness of the mines,
For fix long months he hath not feen the fun;
Colleagu'd with circling horrors; hourly toil
Hath been his watch, and penury his earning;
But like the lion, newly broke from bonds,
The mingling paffions from his eyes dart glory;
Pride lifts his ftature, and his opening front
Still looks dominion.

Crift. Who were his adherents?

Peter. The traitor Anderson, and a few friends,
To whom, ere I fet out, he stood reveal'd.
And when I feem'd to question on his pow'rs

Of rivalfhip, the props whereon he meant
To lift contention to the princely front
Of fuch high oppofition; he reply'd,
His powers were near your person.
Crift. How! what's here?

[Looks on the pacquet.

To Laurens, Aland, Haquin, and Roderic,

Confufion! Treafon's in our camp! Who's there?

Gent. My liege!

Crift. Bear this to Norbi- -Bid him feize

The Swedish captains.

Trol. Might I but prefume—

[Gives a fignet.

Crift. I will not be controul'd-bid him seize all, Soldiers and chiefs! By hell, there's not a Swede, But lurks an instrument to prompt rebellion, And plots upon my life! Look there, 'tis evident: [Gives Trollio a letter. They are all leagu'd, confed'rate with Guftavus, Th' abettors of his treafon.

Trol. It fhould seem so:

And yet it should not-Tell me, Peterson,
Art thou affur'd thy credit with Gustavus
Will answer to a trust like this?-Ha! Say.

Peter. Yes, well affur'd: my zeal appear'd too warm To give the leaft cold colour for fufpicion.

d you.

Trol. I fear, my friend, I fear he has o'er-reach'dy
Divide and conquer, is the fum of politics.
Beyond the dreaded circle of his fword,
Guftavus triumphs in an ample genius;

He walks at large, fees clear and wide around him;
Calm in the storm and turbulence of action n;

He ponders on the laft event of things,

And makes each caufe fubfervient to the confequence.

Crift. You over-rate his craft; they're falfe, my TrolFalse ev'ry Swede of them; I read their fouls.

Enter Cristina and Mariana.

Criftina. I heard it was your royal pleasure, Sir, I should attend your highness.

Crift. Yes, Criftina,

But bufinefs interferes.

[lio,

[Exeunt Chriftina and Mar.

Enter an Officer.

Off. My fovereign liege!

Wide o'er the western shelving of yon hill,

We

We think, tho' indiftinctly, we can spy,
Like men in motion muft'ring on the heath;
And there is one who faith he can difcern
A few of martial gefture, and bright arms,
Who this way bend their action.

Crift. Friends, perhaps :

For foes it were too daring

Hafte thee, Trollio,
Detach a thousand of our Danish horse,
To rule their motions. We will out ourself,
And hold our pow'rs in readiness. Lead on.
Enter Criftina and Mariana.

[Exeunt.

Mar. Ha! did you mark, my Princefs, did you mark?
Should fome reverse, some wond'rous whirl of fate,
Once more return Gustavus to the battle,

New nerve his arm, and wreathe his brow with conqueft,
Say, would you not repent that e'er you fav'd
This dreadful man, the foe of your great race,
Who pours impetuous in his country's caufe,
To fpoil you of a kingdom?

Criftina. No, my friend;

Had I to death or bondage fold my fire,
Or had Guftavus on our native realms
Made hoftile inroad, then, my Mariana,
Had I then fav'd him from the ftroke of justice,
I should not cease my fuit to Heav'n for pardon.
But if, tho' in a foe, to rev'rence virtue,
Withstand oppreffion, rescue injur❜d innocence,
Step boldly in betwixt my fire and guilt,

And fave my king, my father from dishonour;
If this be fin, I have fhook hands with penitence.
First, perifh crowns, dominion, all the fine
And tranfience of this world, ere guilt shall serve,
To buy the vain incumbrance.

Mar. Do not think

I meant, my Princefs, to arraign your virtues,
Howe'er I feem'd to question on the confequence.
Criftina. The confequence of virtue must be good;
It must. Tho' it fhould prove my father's lot,
In being refcu'd from one act of guilt,
To lose the whole of all his wide dominions,
He were a gainer. Blafted be that royalty,

Which murder must make fure, and crimes inglorious!

E

The

The bulk of kingdoms, nay, the world is light,
When guilt weighs oppofite. Oh, would to Heav'n,
The lofs of empire would restore his innocence,
Reftore the fortunes, and the precious lives
Of thoufands, fall'n the victims of ambition!
Enter Laertes.

Ha, Laertes! most welcome-Well, and have you? Say,
Laer. O, royal maid!

Criftina. Thy looks are doubtful. Speak

Why art thou filent? Does he live?

Laer. He does:

[Laertes

But death, ere night, must fill a long account.
The camp, the country's in confufion; war
And changes ride upon the hour that haftes
To intercept my tongue-I else could tell
Of virtues hitherto beyond my ken;
Courage, to which the lion stoops his creft,
Yet grafted upon qualities as foft

As a rock'd infant's meeknefs; fuch as tempts
Against my faith, my country, and allegiance,
So with thee fpeed, Gustavus.

Criftina. Then you found him.

Laer. I did; and warn'd him; but in vain; for death To him appear'd more grateful than to find

His friend's dishonour.

[Laertes! Criftina. Give me the manner-quick-foft, good

Enter Cristiern, Trollio, Peterfon, Danes, &c.

Crift. Damn'd, double traitor! Oh, curs'd, falfe Arvida! Guard well the Swedish pris'ners; bind them hard. Stand to your arms. Bring forth the captives there. Enter Augusta and Gustava guarded.

Trol. My liege

Crift. Away! I'll hear no more of politics. Fortune! we will not truft the changeling more, But wear her girt upon our armed loins,