The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Works of John Dryden vol. 8, by John Dryden and Walter Scott Ed.

Con. Then this is the deciding day, to fix

Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.

Aur. Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.

Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,

Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.

Con. In ten set battles have we driven back

These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.

As earth recovers from an ebbing tide

Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,

From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,

Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,

And not one Saxon face has been beheld;

But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck

With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,

Because they have no farther ground, they stand.

Aur. Well have we chose a happy day for fight;

For every man, in course of time, has found

Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.

Alb. But why this day more lucky than the rest?

Con. Because this day

Is sacred to the patron of our isle;

A christian and a soldier's annual feast.

Con. Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;

And, once resolved, is never to be moved.

Alb. Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!

Con. This was the character he then maintained,

When in my court he sought my daughter's love,

My fair, blind Emmeline.

Aur. For that defeat in love, he raised this war;

For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,

Ere Oswald moved his suit.

Con. Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;

One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,

As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,

I would have chosen out, from all mankind,

To be my sovereign lord.

Aur. His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;

So born, without desert to be so born;

Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,

And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.

Con. Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,

And void of all his faults. In battle brave,

But still serene in all the stormy war,

Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,

As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,

As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,

And praise is dumb before him.

Arth. [Reading.] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:

Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;

While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;

Confronting art with art, and charms with charms."

So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event, [To Conon.

With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,

You taught my tender hands the trade of war;

And now again you helm your hoary head,

And, under double weight of age and arms,

Assert your country's freedom and my crown.

Con. No more, my son.

Arth. Most happy in that name!

Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,

You made my plighted bride:

Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,

Unaiming hits, with surest archery,

And innocently kills.

Con. Remember, son,

You are a general; other wars require you,

For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.

Arth. Their infantry embattled, square and close,

March firmly on, to fill the middle space,

Covered by their advancing cavalry.

By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:

The noble Oswald has provoked my envy.—

Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,

A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:

Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.

Con. Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye. [Exit Conon.

Em. O father, father, I am sure you're here;

Because I see your voice.

Arth. No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:

He's gone, my Emmeline;

And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,

Which cannot view the conquest they have made.

Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,

But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,

That see not, when they shine!

Em. What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,

To which you thus compare my eyes and me?

I understand you, when you say you love:

For, when my father clasps my hand in his,

That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;

But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,

And something smarts and tickles at my heart.

Arth. Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,

And only nature speaks what nature thinks!—

Had she but eyes!

Em. Just now you said, I had:

I see them, I have two.

Arth. But neither see.

Em. I'm sure they hear you then:

What can your eyes do more?

Arth. They view your beauties.

Em. Do not I see? You have a face like mine,

Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,

That heave like mine.

Arth. But you describe a woman;

Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.

Em. Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;

For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?

Arth. No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.

Em. If you can see so far, and yet not touch,

I fear you see my naked legs and feet

Quite through my clothes. Pray do not see so well.

Arth. Fear not, sweet innocence;

I view the lovely features of your face,

Your lips carnation, your dark-shaded eye-brows,

Black eyes, and snow-white forehead; all the colours

That make your beauty, and produce my love.

Em. Nay, then, you do not love on equal terms;

I love you dearly, without all these helps:

I cannot see your lips carnation,

Your shaded eye-brows, nor your milk-white eyes.

Arth. You still mistake.

Em. Indeed I thought you had a nose and eyes,

And such a face as mine: have not men faces?

Arth. Oh, none like yours, so excellently fair.

Em. Then would I had no face; for I would be

Just such a one as you.

Arth. Alas, 'tis vain to instruct your innocence;

You have no notion of light or colours. [Trumpet sounds within.

Em. Why, is not that a trumpet?

Arth. Yes.

Em. I knew it,

And I can tell you how the sound on't looks;

It looks as if it had an angry fighting face.[19]

Arth. 'Tis now indeed a sharp unpleasant sound,

Because it calls me hence from her I love,

To meet ten thousand foes.

Em. How do so many men e'er come to meet?

This devil trumpet vexes them, and then

They feel about for one another's faces;

And so they meet, and kill.

Arth. I'll tell you all, when we have gained the field.

One kiss of your fair hand, the pledge of conquest,

And so a short farewell.

[Kisses her Hand, and Exit with Aurelius, Albanact, and Attendants.

Em. My heart and vows go with him to the fight.

May every foe be that which they call blind,

And none of all their swords have eyes to find him!—

But lead me nearer to the trumpet's face;

For that brave sound upholds my fainting heart;

And, while I hear, methinks I fight my part.

[Exit, led by Matilda.

Osm. 'Tis time to hasten our mysterious rites,

Because your army waits you.

Osw. Thor, Freya, Woden, all ye Saxon powers,

[Making three Bows before the three Images.

Hear and revenge my father Hengist's death!

Osm. Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!

Mount thy hot courser, drive amidst thy foes,

Lift high thy thundering arm, let every blow

Dash out a misbelieving Briton's brains!

Osw. Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!

Give conquest to thy Saxon race, and me!

Osm. Thor, Freya, Woden, hear, and spell your Saxons,

With sacred Runick rhymes, from death in battle;

Edge their bright swords, and blunt the Britons' darts!—[20]

No more, great prince; for see my trusty fiend,

Who all the night has winged the dusky air.—

Grinbald, a fierce earthy Spirit, arises.

What news, my Grimbald?

Grim. I have played my part;

For I have steeled the fools that are to die,—

Six fools, so prodigal of life and soul,

That, for their country, they devote their lives

A sacrifice to mother Earth, and Woden.

Osm. 'Tis well; but are we sure of victory?

Grim. Why askest thou me?

Inspect their entrails, draw from thence thy guess:

Blood we must have, without it we are dumb.

Osm. Say, where's thy fellow-servant, Philidel?

Why comes not he?

Grim. For he's a puling spirit.

Why didst thou chuse a tender airy form,

Unequal to the mighty work of mischief?

His make is flitting, soft, and yielding atoms;

He trembles at the yawning gulph of hell,

Nor dares approach the flame, lest he should singe

His gaudy silken wings:

He sighs when he should plunge a soul in sulphur,

As with compassion touched of foolish men.

Osm. What a half-devil is he!

His errand was to draw the lowland damps,

And noisome vapours, from the foggy fens;

Then breathe the baleful stench, with all his force,

Full on the faces of our christened foes.

Grim. Accordingly he drained those marshy grounds,

And bagged them in a blue pestiferous cloud;

Which when he should have blown, the frighted elf

Espied the red-cross banners of their host,

And said, he durst not add to his damnation.

Osm. I'll punish him at leisure.

Call in the victims, to propitiate hell.

Grim. That's my kind master: I shall breakfast on them.

Woden, first to thee,

A milk-white steed, in battle won,

We have sacrificed.

Chor. We have sacrificed.

Vers. Let our next oblation be

To Thor, thy thundering son,

Of such another.

Chor. We have sacrificed.

Vers. A third, of Friesland's breed was he,

To Woden's wife, and to Thor's mother;

And now we have atoned all three,

We have sacrificed.

Chor. We have sacrificed.

2 Voc. The white horse neighed aloud.

To Woden thanks we render;

To Woden we have vowed;

Chor. To Woden, our defender.

[The four last lines in chorus.

Vers. The lot is cast, and Tanfan pleased;

Chor. Of mortal cares you shall be eased,

Brave souls, to be renowned in story.

Honour prizing,

Death despising,

Fame acquiring,

By expiring;

Die, and reap the fruit of glory,

Brave souls, to be renowned in story.

Vers. 2. I call ye all

To Woden's hall;

Your temples round,

With ivy bound,

In goblets crowned,

And plenteous bowls of burnished gold;

Where you shall laugh,

And dance, and quaff

The juice, that makes the Britons bold.[21]

[The six Saxons are led off by the Priests, in order to be sacrificed.

Osw. Ambitious fools we are,

And yet ambition is a godlike fault;

Or rather 'tis no fault in souls born great,

Who dare extend their glory by their deeds.—

Now, Britany, prepare to change thy state,

And from this day begin thy Saxon date. [Exeunt.

Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;

Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:

We come, we come, we come, we come,

Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.

Now they charge on amain,

Now they rally again:

The gods from above the mad labour behold,

And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.

The fainting Saxons quit their ground,

Their trumpets languish in the sound:

They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;

Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.

Now the victory's won,

To the plunder we run:

We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,

Triumphant with spoils of the vanquished invaders. [Exeunt.

Phil. Alas, for pity, of this bloody field!

Piteous it needs must be, when I, a spirit,

Can have so soft a sense of human woes!

Ah, for so many souls, as but this morn

Were clothed with flesh, and warmed with vital blood,

But naked now, or shirted but with air!

Mer. What art thou, spirit? of what name, or order?

For I have viewed thee in my magic glass,

Making thy moan among the midnight wolves,

That bay the silent moon; speak, I conjure thee.

'Tis Merlin bids thee, at whose awful wand

The pale ghost quivers, and the grim fiend gasps.

Phil. An airy shape, the tenderest of my kind,

The last seduced, and least deformed, of hell;

Half-white, and shuffled in the crowd, I fell,

Desirous to repent, and loth to sin;

Awkward in mischief, piteous of mankind.

My name is Philidel, my lot in air,

Where, next beneath the moon, and nearest heaven,

I soar, and have a glimpse to be received,

For which the swarthy dæmons envy me.

Mer. Thy business here?

Phil. To shun the Saxon wizard's dire commands,

Osmond, the awfullest name, next thine, below.

'Cause I refused to hurl a noisome fog

On christened heads, the hue and cry of hell

Is raised against me, for a fugitive sprite.

Mer. Osmond shall know, a greater power protects thee.

But follow thou the whispers of thy soul,

That draw thee nearer heaven;

And, as thy place is nearest to the sky,

The rays will reach thee first, and bleach thy soot.

Phil. In hope of that, I spread my azure wings;

And wishing still,—for yet I dare not pray,—

I bask in day-light, and behold, with joy,

My scum work outward, and my rust wear off.

Mer. Why, 'tis my hopeful devil. Now mark me, Philidel;

I will employ thee, for thy future good.

Thou know'st, in spite of valiant Oswald's arms,

Or Osmond's powerful spells, the field is ours.

Phil. Oh, master! hasten

Thy dread commands; for Grimbald is at hand,

Osmond's fierce fiend; I snuff his earthy scent.

The conquering Britons he misleads to rivers,

Or dreadful downfals of unheeded rocks;

Where many fall, that ne'er shall rise again.

Mer. Be that thy care, to stand by falls of brooks,

And trembling bogs, that bear a green-sward show.

Warn off the bold pursuers from the chace.—

No more; they come, and we divide the task.

But, lest fierce Grimbald's ponderous bulk oppress

Thy tender flitting air, I'll leave my band

Of spirits, with united strength to aid thee,

And force with force repel.

[Exit Merlin in his Chariot. Merlin's Spirits stay with Philidel.

Grim. Here, this way, Britons; follow Oswald's flight.

This evening, as I whistled out my dog,

To drive my straggling flock, and pitched my fold,

I saw him, dropping sweat, o'er-laboured, stiff,

Make faintly, as he could, to yonder dell.

Tread in my steps; long neighbourhood by day

Has made these fields familiar in the night.

Arth. I thank thee, shepherd;

Expect reward. Lead on, we follow thee.

Phil. } Hither this way, this way bend,

sings. } Trust not that malicious fiend;

Those are false deluding lights,

Wafted far and near by sprites.

Trust them not, for they'll deceive ye,

And in bogs and marshes leave ye.

Chor. of Phil. Spir. Hither this way, this way bend.

Chor. of Grimb. Spir. This way, this way bend.

Phil. } If you step, no danger thinking,

sings. } Down you fall, a furlong sinking:

'Tis a fiend, who has annoyed ye;

Name but heaven, and he'll avoid ye.

Chor. of Phil. Spir. Hither this way, this way bend.

Chor. of Grimb. Spir. This way, this way bend.

Philidel's Spirits. Trust not that malicious fiend.

Grimbald's Spirits. Trust me, I am no malicious fiend.

Philidel's Spirits. Hither this way, &c.

Con. Some wicked phantom, foe to human kind,

Misguides our steps.

Alba. I'll follow him no further.

Grimb. By hell, she sings them back, in my despite.

I had a voice in heaven, ere sulphurous steams

Had damped it to a hoarseness; but I'll try.

He sings. Let not a moon-born elf mislead ye

From your prey, and from your glory.

Too far, alas! he has betrayed ye:

Follow the flames, that wave before ye;

Sometimes seven, and sometimes one;

Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry on.

See, see the footsteps plain appearing,

That way Oswald chose for flying;

Firm is the turf, and fit for bearing,

Where yonder pearly dews are lying.

Far he cannot hence be gone;

Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry on.

Aur. 'Tis true he says; the footsteps yet are fresh

Upon the sod, no falling dew-drops have

Disturbed the print. [All are going to follow Grimbald.

Philidel sings. Hither this way.

Chor. of Phil. Spir. Hither this way, this way bend.

Chor. of Grimb. Spir. This way, this way bend.

Philidel's Spirits. Trust not that malicious fiend.

Grimb. Spirits. Trust me, I am no malicious fiend.

Philidel's Spirits. Hither this way, &c. [They all incline to Philidel.

Grim. Curse on her voice! I must my prey forego;—

Thou, Philidel, shalt answer this below. [Grimbald sinks with a Flash.

Arth. At last the cheat is plain;

The cloven-footed fiend is vanished from us;

Good angels be our guides, and bring us back!

Phil. singing. Come follow, follow, follow me.

Chor. Come follow, &c.

And me; and me; and me; and me.

Vers. 2 Voc. And green-sward all your way shall be.

Chor. Come follow, &c.

Vers. No goblin or elf shall dare to offend ye.

Chor. No, no, no, &c.

No goblin or elf shall dare to offend ye.

Ver. 3 Voc. We brethren of air,

You heroes will bear,

To the kind and the fair that attend ye.

Chor. We brethren, &c.

Em. No news of my dear love, or of my father?

Mat. None, madam, since the gaining of the battle.

Great Arthur is a royal conqueror now,

And well deserves your love.

Em. But now I fear

He'll be too great, to love poor silly me,

If he be dead, or never come again,

I mean to die. But there's a greater doubt,

Since I ne'er saw him here,—

How shall I meet him in another world?

Mat. I have heard something, how two bodies meet;

But how souls join, I know not.

Em. I should find him,

For surely I have seen him in my sleep;

And then methought he put his mouth to mine,

And eat a thousand kisses on my lips.

Sure by his kissing I could find him out,

Among a thousand angels in the sky.

Mat. But what a kind of man do you suppose him?

Em. He must be made of the most precious things;

And I believe his mouth, and eyes, and cheeks,

And nose, and all his face, are made of gold.

Mat. Heaven bless us, madam, what a face you make him!

If it be yellow, he must have the jaundice,

And that's a bad disease.

Em. Why then do lovers give a thing so bad

As gold to women, whom so well they love?

Mat. Because that bad thing, gold, buys all good things.

Em. Yet I must know him better: Of all colours,

Tell me which is the purest, and the softest.

Mat. They say, 'tis black.

Em. Why, then, since gold is hard, and yet is precious,

His face must all be made of soft, black gold.

Mat. But, madam,——

Em. No more; I have learned enough for once.

Mat. Here are a crew of Kentish lads and lasses

Would entertain ye, till your lord's return,

With songs and dances, to divert your cares.

Em. O bring them in;

For, though I cannot see the songs, I love them;

And love, they tell me, is a dance of hearts.

How blest are shepherds, how happy their lasses,

While drums and trumpets are sounding alarms!

Over our lowly sheds all the storm passes;

And when we die, 'tis in each others arms.

All the day on our herds and flocks employing;

All the night on our flutes, and in enjoying.

Chor. All the day, &c.

Bright nymphs of Britain, with graces attended,

Let not your days without pleasure expire;

Honour's but empty, and, when youth is ended,

All men will praise you, but none will desire;

Let not youth fly away without contenting;

Age will come time enough for your repenting.

Chor. Let not youth, &c.

[Here the Men offer their Flutes to the Women, which they refuse.

2 Shepherdess.

Shepherd, shepherd, leave decoying,

Pipes are sweet a summer's day;

But a little after toying,

Women have the shot to pay.

Here are marriage-vows for signing,

Set their marks that cannot write;

After that, without repining,

Play, and welcome, day and night.

[Here the Women give the Men Contracts, which they accept.

Chor. } Come, shepherds, lead up a lively measure;

of all. } The cares of wedlock are cares of pleasure:

But whether marriage bring joy or sorrow,

Make sure of this day, and hang to-morrow.

[The Dance after the Song, and Exeunt Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

Enter, on the other side of the Stage, Oswald and Guillamar.

Osw. The night has wildered us; and we are fallen

Among their foremost tents.

Guil. Ha! what are these?

They seem of more than vulgar quality.

Em. What sounds are those? they cannot far be distant.

Where are we now, Matilda?

Mat. Just before your tent.

Fear not, they must be friends, and they approach.

Em. My Arthur! speak, my love; are you returned

To bless your Emmeline?

Osw. [To Guil.] I know that face:

'Tis the ungrateful fair, who, scorning mine,

Accepts my rival's love.—Heaven, thou art bounteous,

Thou owest me nothing now.

Mat. Fear grows upon me.—

Speak what you are; speak, or I call for help.

Osw. We are your guards.

Mat. Ah me, we are betrayed! 'tis Oswald's voice.

Em. Let them not see our voices, and then they cannot find us.

Osw. Passions in men oppressed are doubly strong.

I take her from king Arthur; there's revenge:

If she can love, she buoys my sinking fortunes:

Good reasons both: I'll on.—Fear nothing, ladies,

You shall be safe.

[Oswald and Guillamar seize Emmeline and Matilda.

Em. and Mat. Help, help! a rape, a rape!

Osw. By heaven, ye injure me; though force is used,

Your honour shall be sacred.

Em. Help, help! Oh, Britons, help!

Osw. Your Britons cannot help you.

This arm through all their troops shall force my way,

Yet neither quit my honour, nor my prey.

[Exeunt, the Women still crying. An Alarm within: Some Soldiers running over the Stage, "Follow, follow, follow."

Enter Albanact, Captain of the Guards, with Soldiers.

Alb. Which way went the alarm?

1 Sol. Here, towards the castle.

Alb. Pox o'this victory, the whole camp's debauched;

All drunk, or whoring.—This way; follow, follow.

[Exeunt. The Alarm renews: Clashing of Swords within for a while.

Re-enter Albanact, Officer, and Soldiers.

Offi. How sits the conquest on great Arthur's brow?

Alb. As when the lover with the king is mixt.

He puts the gain of Britain in a scale,

Which weighing with the loss of Emmeline,

He thinks he's scarce a saver. [Trumpet within.

Offi. Hark, a trumpet!

It sounds a parley.

Alb. 'Tis from Oswald then,

An echo to king Arthur's friendly summons,

Sent since he heard the rape of Emmeline,

To ask an interview, [Trumpet answering on the other side.

Offi. But hark! already

Our trumpet makes reply; and see both present.

Enter Arthur on one side attended, Oswald on the other with Attendants, and Guillamar. They meet and salute.

Arth. Brave Oswald! we have met on friendlier terms,

Companions of a war, with common interest,

Against the bordering Picts: but times are changed.

Osw. And I am sorry that those times are changed,

For else we now might meet on terms as friendly.

Arth. If so we meet not now, the fault's your own;

For you have wronged me much.

Osw. Oh you would tell me,

I called more Saxons in, to enlarge my bounds.

If those be wrongs, the war has well redressed ye.

Arth. Mistake me not; I count not war a wrong.

War is the trade of kings, that fight for empire:

And better be a lion, than a sheep.

Osw. In what, then, have I wronged ye?

Arth. In my love.

Osw. Even love's an empire too; the noble soul,

Like kings, is covetous of single sway.

Arth. I blame ye not for loving Emmeline:

But, since the soul is free, and love is choice,

You should have made a conquest of her mind,

And not have forced her person by a rape.

Osw. Whether by force, or stratagem, we gain,

Still gaining is our end, in war, or love.

Her mind's the jewel, in her body locked;

If I would gain the gem, and want the key,

It follows I must seize the cabinet.

But, to secure your fear, her honour is untouched.

Arth. Was honour ever safe in brutal hands?

So safe are lambs within the lion's paw;

Ungriped and played with, till fierce hunger calls,

Then nature shews itself; the close-hid nails

Are stretched, and opened, to the panting prey.

But if, indeed, you are so cold a lover,—

Osw. Not cold, but honourable.

Arth. Then restore her:

That done, I shall believe you honourable.

Osw. Think'st thou I will forego a victor's right?

Arth. Say rather, of an impious ravisher.

That castle, were it walled with adamant,

Can hide thy head but till to-morrow's dawn.

Osw. And ere to-morrow I may be a god,

If Emmeline be kind: but, kind or cruel,

I tell thee, Arthur, but to see this day,

That heavenly face, though not to have her mine,

I would give up a hundred years of life,

And bid fate cut to-morrow.

Arth. It soon will come, and thou repent too late;

Which to prevent, I'll bribe thee to be honest.

Thy noble head, accustomed to a crown,

Shall wear it still, nor shall thy hand forget

The scepter's use: from Medway's pleasing stream,

To Severn's roar, be thine;

In short, restore my love, and share my kingdom.

Osw. Not though you spread my sway from Thames to Tyber:

Such gifts might bribe a king, but not a lover.

Arth. Then pr'ythee give me back my kingly word,

Passed for thy safe return; and let this hour,

In single combat, hand to hand, decide

The fate of empire, and of Emmeline.

Osw. Not that I fear do I decline this combat;

And not decline it neither, but defer:

When Emmeline has been my prize as long

As she was thine, I dare thee to the duel.

Arth. I named your utmost term of life,—to-morrow.

Osw. You are not fate.

Arth. But fate is in this arm.

You might have made a merit of your theft.

Osw. Ha! theft! your guards can tell I stole her not.

Arth. Had I been present,—

Osw. Had you been present, she had been mine more nobly.

Arth. There lies your way.

Osw. My way lies where I please.

Expect (for Oswald's magic cannot fail)

A long to-morrow, ere your arms prevail.

Or, if I fall, make room, ye blessed above,

For one who was undone, and died for love. [Exit Oswald and his Party.

Arth. There may be one black minute ere to-morrow:

For who can tell, what power, and lust, and charms,

May do this night?—To arms, with speed, to arms. [Exeunt.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

KING ARTHUR,
OR, THE
BRITISH WORTHY.

ACT I—SCENE I.

SCENE II.—

ACT II. SCENE I.

SCENE II.—A Pavilion.

ACT III. SCENE I.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

KING ARTHUR, OR, THE BRITISH WORTHY.

ACT I—SCENE I.

SCENE II.—

ACT II. SCENE I.

SCENE II.—A Pavilion.

ACT III. SCENE I.

KING ARTHUR,
OR, THE
BRITISH WORTHY.