ACT IV. SCENE I.

_Enter_ OSMOND.

Now I am settled in my forceful sway; Why then, I'll be luxurious in my love; Take my full gust, and, setting forms aside, I'll bid the slave, that fires my blood, lie down. [_Seems to be going off._

_Enter_ GRIMBALD, _who meets him_.

_Grim._ Not so fast, master, danger threatens thee: There's a black cloud descending from above, Full of heaven's venom, bursting o'er thy head.

_Osm._ Malicious fiend, thou liest; for I am fenced By millions of thy fellows, in my grove. I bade thee, when I freed thee from the charm, Run scouting through the wood, from tree to tree, And look if all my devils were on duty: Had'st thou performed thy charge, thou tardy sprite, Thou would'st have known no danger threatened me.

_Grim._ When did a devil fail in diligence? Poor mortal, thou thyself art overseen. I have been there, and thence I bring this news,-- Thy fatal foe, great Arthur, is at hand; Merlin has taken his time, when thou wert absent, To observe thy characters, their force, and nature, And counterwork thy spells.

_Osm._ The devil take Merlin! I'll cast them all a-new, and instantly, All of another mould; be thou at hand. Their composition was, before, of horror; Now they shall be of blandishment, and love, Seducing hopes, soft pity, tender moans: Art shall meet art; and, when they think to win, The fools shall find their labour to begin. [_Exeunt_ OSM. _and_ GRIMB.

_Enter_ ARTHUR, _and_ MERLIN _at another Door. Scene of the Wood continues._

_Merl._ Thus far it is permitted me to go; But all beyond this spot is fenced with charms; I may no more, but only with advice.

_Arth._ My sword shall do the rest.

_Merl._ Remember well, that all is but illusion. Go on; good stars attend thee.

_Arth._ Doubt me not.

_Merl._ Yet, in prevention Of what may come, I'll leave my Philidel To watch thy steps, and with him leave my wand; The touch of which no earthy fiend can bear, In whate'er shape transformed, but must lay down His borrowed figure, and confess the devil. Once more farewell, and prosper. [_Exit_ MERLIN.

_Arth._ [_walking._] No danger yet; I see no walls of fire, No city of the fiends, with forms obscene, To grin from far on flaming battlements. This is indeed the grove I should destroy; But where's the horror? sure the prophet erred.-- Hark! music, and the warbling notes of birds! [_Soft Music._ Hell entertains me, like some welcome guest.-- More wonders yet! yet all delightful too: A silver current to forbid my passage, And yet, to invite me, stands a golden bridge: Perhaps a trap for my unwary feet, To sink and whelm me underneath the waves. With fire or water let him wage his war, Or all the elements at once, I'll on.

[_As he is going to the Bridge, two Syrens arise from the water. They shew themselves to the waist, and sing:_

1 Syren. _O pass not on, but stay, And waste the joyous day With us in gentle play: Unbend to love, unbend thee: O lay thy sword aside, And other arms provide; For other wars attend thee, And sweeter to be tried._

Chor. _For other wars_, &c.

Both sing. _Two daughters of this aged stream are we; And both our sea-green locks have comb'd for thee: Come bathe with us an hour or two, Come naked in, for we are so; What danger from a naked foe? Come bathe with us, come bathe and share What pleasures in the floods appear. We'll beat the waters till they bound, And circle, round, around, around, And circle round, around._

_Arth._ A lazy pleasure trickles through my veins; Here could I stay, and well be cozened here. But honour calls;--is honour in such haste? Can it not bait at such a pleasing inn? No; for, the more I look, the more I long.-- Farewell, ye fair illusions! I must leave ye, While I have power to say, that I must leave ye. Farewell! with half my soul I stagger off,-- How dear this flying victory has cost, When, if I stay to struggle, I am lost.

_As he is going forward, Nymphs and Sylvans come out from behind the Trees. A Bass and two Trebles sing the following Song to a Minuet._

Dance with a Song, all with Branches in their Hands.

Song. _How happy the lover, How easy his chain, How pleasing his pain, How sweet to discover He sighs not in vain. For love every creature Is formed by his nature; No joys are above The pleasures of love._

The Dance continues, with the same measure played alone.

II.

_In vain are our graces, In vain are your eyes, If love you despise; When age furrows faces, 'Tis time to be wise. Then use the short blessing, That flies in possessing: No joys are above The pleasures of love._

_Arth._ And what are the fantastic fairy joys, To love like mine? false joys, false welcomes all. Be gone, ye Sylvan trippers of the green; Fly after night, and overtake the moon. [_Here the Dancers, Singers, and Syrens vanish._ This goodly tree seems queen of all the grove. The ringlets round her trunk declare her guilty Of many midnight-sabbaths revelled here. Her will I first attempt.

[ARTHUR _strikes at the Tree, and cuts it; Blood spouts out of it; a groan follows, then a shriek_.

Good heavens, what monstrous prodigies are these! Blood follows from my blow; the wounded rind Spouts on my sword, and sanguine dies the plain. [_He strikes again: The Voice of_ EMMELINE _from behind_.

Em. [_from behind._] Forbear, if thou hast pity, ah, forbear! These groans proceed not from a senseless plant; No spouts of blood run welling from a tree.

_Arth._ Speak what thou art; I charge thee, speak thy being, Thou, that hast made my curdled blood run back, My heart heave up, my hair to rise in bristles, And scarcely left a voice to ask thy name! [EMMEL. _breaks out of the Tree, shewing her Arm bloody_.

_Em._ Whom thou hast hurt, unkind and cruel, see; Look on this blood; 'tis fatal still to me, To bear thy wounds; my heart has felt them first.

_Arth._ 'Tis she; amazement roots me to the ground!

_Em._ By cruel charms dragged from my peaceful bower, Fierce Osmond closed me in this bleeding bark, And bid me stand exposed to the bleak winds, And winter storms, and heaven's inclemency, Bound to the fate of this hell-haunted grove; So that whatever sword, or sounding axe, Shall violate this plant, must pierce my flesh, And, when that falls, I die.

_Arth._ If this be true, O never, never-to-be-ended charm, At least by me!--yet all may be illusion. Break up, ye thickening fogs, and filmy mists, All that belie my sight, and cheat my sense! For reason still pronounces, 'tis not she, And, thus resolved,-- [_Lifts up his sword, as going to strike._

_Em._ Do, strike, barbarian, strike; And strew my mangled limbs, with every stroke. Wound me, and doubly kill me, with unkindness, That by thy hand I fell.

_Arth._ What shall I do, ye powers?

_Em._ Lay down thy vengeful sword; 'tis fatal here: What need of arms, where no defence is made? A love-sick virgin, panting with desire, No conscious eye to intrude on our delights: For this thou hast the Syrens' songs despised; For this, thy faithful passion I reward. Haste then, to take me longing to thy arms.

_Arth._ O love! O Merlin! whom should I believe?

_Em._ Believe thyself, thy youth, thy love, and me; They, only they, who please themselves, are wise. Disarm thy hand, that mine may meet it bare.

_Arth._ By thy leave, reason, here I throw thee off, Thou load of life. If thou wert made for souls, Then souls should have been made without their bodies. If falling for the first created fair Was Adam's fault,--great grandsire, I forgive thee; Eden was lost, as all thy sons would lose it. [_Going towards_ EMM. _and pulling off his Gauntlet_.

_Enter_ PHILIDEL _running_.

_Phil._ Hold, poor deluded mortal, hold thy hand, Which, if thou giv'st, is plighted to a fiend. For proof, behold the virtue of this wand; The infernal paint shall vanish from her face, And hell shall stand revealed.

_Strikes_ EMMELINE _with a Wand, who straight descends_: PHILIDEL _runs to the Descent, and pulls up_ GRIMBALD _and binds him_.

Now see to whose embraces thou wert falling! Behold the maiden modesty of Grimbald! The grossest, earthiest, ugliest fiend in hell.

_Arth._ Horror seizes me, To think what headlong ruin I have tempted.

_Phil._ Haste to thy work; a noble stroke or two Ends all the charms, and disenchants the grove. I'll hold thy mistress bound.

_Arth._ Then here's for earnest.

[_Strikes twice or thrice, and the Tree falls, or sinks: A Peal of Thunder immediately follows, with dreadful Howlings._

'Tis finished, and the dusk, that yet remains, Is but the native horror of the wood. But I must lose no time; the pass is free; The unroosted fiends have quitted this abode. On yon proud towers, before this day be done, My glittering banners shall be waved against the setting sun. [_Exit_ ARTHUR.

_Phil._ Come on, my surly slave; come stalk along, And stamp a madman's pace, and drag thy chain.

_Grim._ I'll champ and foam upon it, till the blue venom Work upward to thy hands, and loose their hold.

_Phil._ Know'st thou this powerful wand? 'tis lifted up; A second stroke would send thee to the centre, Benumbed and dead, as far as souls can die.

_Grim._ I would thou would'st, to rid me of my sense: I shall be whooped through hell, at my return Inglorious from the mischief I designed.

_Phil._ And therefore, since thou loath'st etherial light, The morning sun shall beat on thy black brows; The breath thou draw'st shall be of upper air, Hostile to thee, and to thy earthy make; So light, so thin, that thou shalt starve for want Of thy gross food, till gasping thou shalt lie, And blow it back all sooty to the sky. [_Exit_ PHILIDEL, _dragging_ GRIMBALD _after him_.