Qu.

What is he?

Offi. Lord Rodna.

And flatly swore to care for no command,
Save that of the Field Marshal

Qu. The City is a wilderness of wolves!

Offi.

Am I in the midst alone? Sir, where are those
From Waradin ?

1st Offi.

Aloof, in their own quarters.

(Enter another Officer.)

Ha! what now?

2nd Offi. They have scaled Lord Bankban's house :

the roof's uncover'd.

They drag the Palatine hither: yon behold them? Qu. Ay, without eyes, I do. Offi.

Shut to the gates.

Qu. These are my subjects! Blessed state of kings To govern such! That their whole life were in

One neck! which I...

(To the Officer) Hie to their quarters Sir,
And bring me up my troops to turn the shock
Of this mad sea-breach.

I am back directly.

Offi.
Qu. Our need requires swift foot.

[Exit Officer.

Meanwhile I'm patient;

Nay, will speak words of sooth. In trice of

time

Lord Waradin must be here, and with a look
Will strike them on their knee.

[Exit QUEEN.

(Great tumult without. Shouts of "Make RODNA Palatine! Down with despotism! RODNA and Liberty!")

(Exeunt Officers.)

Ro.

Ro.

(Enter several who run across the stage full of terror. Renewed shouts - "Down with COUNT BANKBAN! Ring out the alarum bell." A rush of the populace. Conflict with guards. Guards driven off. Enter LORD RODNA with LORD BANKBAN prisoner. What ho! Hassan,

Sir Governor!

(Enter HASSAN with two or three.)

Be it your charge to see
To the order of this Lord's imprisonment,
Upon our warrant.

(HASSAN bows: the guards lay hands on
BANKBAN. Exeunt HASSAN and guard,
having BANKBAN in custody: stage fills.)

Now the death song sing

Of pageant despotism.

GRAND CHORUS OF PEOPLE.

Hail! Oh Hungaria's Spirit hail !
At Freedom's call resume thine ancient fire,

To all thy former fame aspire;

Clash thy base fetters till thy rulers quail.

Hark the trump of Freedom sounds!

Every heart with hope rebounds!

And flashing banners are unfurled on high:

Whilst our ruthless Lords aghast,

Shake with terror of the blast,

The vault of heaven beats back the cry;

Echoing, with the shock of thunder,

Death to the Tyrant! Freedom to the slave!

Reclaim the rights that Nature gave!
Burst your servile chains asunder,
(As erst ye swelled beyond the room
Of your anguish'd mother's womb)
Or your shame from heaven's wonder
Hide in shadow of the tomb.
Hungaria! trample in the earth
gory

The pomp of selfish power! The haughtiness of birth!

And thou great Rodna! lab'ring to the skies,
Where Fame aloft holds back the solemn prize,
Tempting thy soul to achieve each dangerous
Now that thy well-concerted toils succeed,

deed;

Thy country's plausive voice shall prove thy glorious meed

Once again with power array'd,
Snow-clad Dacia lifts her head,
Gaily bright'ning in the blaze,
Rodna, of thy hard-earn❜d praise.
Her free spirits, here assembled,
In divine equality,

To catch the accents of thy voice,

To which their hearts have ofttimes trembled,

When it called on Liberty,

Hail thee, Champion of their choice!

Hungaria's advocate! whose patriot zeal

Pleads energetic, and ensures her weal,

By thine omnipotence of tongue,

Behold the fell despoiler flung

From that arbitrary throne,

Whose glittering pomp her false ambition fed,

And made indignant nations groan.

To righteous Rodna now she bows her rayless head!

Move your feet to our sound,

Whilst we greet all this ground

With his honour and his name,

Who defends our lives from shame.

Sons of Genius! Souls of fire!
Sweep with daring hand the lyre,
For ne'er did Duna's haunted stream
To our patriot poet's dream

Like argument inspire.

Worth alone shall reign victorious;
Pomp unequalled! Triumph glorious!
Feudal power the neck is bending,
He hath heard the stern decree;
See the serfs their bonds are rending,
Hungary rise! Rejoice! You are free!

(A voice without.)

Make way there for her Highness!

Mob. Break off! The Queen approaches.

Qu.

Ro.

(The crowd and soldiery leave a passage for the Queen, through which she advances up the stage.)

Masters!..

(Aside.) Dogs! Masters!..

To the Mob, with a forced calmness.)

My good subjects, what's the cause You make my house your inn? Have I been gracious,

Have I been ever mild, and must my state

Be forced to stoop so low, that you can violate
My privacy unbidden?

Now rate her roundly.

1st Mob. We will have none other than Rodna. 2nd. He shall be Marshal !

3rd. Make him Palatine!

4th. Let Bankban bleed!

5th. And him, too, that led the army hither from Waradin,

The murderer of Ragotski!

Qu. Leave not me out, but to your list of slaughter
Couple a royal name, and grace the scroll

That tells your triumph ;-all shall be let blood,
So please ye will it so.

We'll have no tyrants!

1st Mob.
Qu. (Vehemently) Shiver my crown to fragments!

You rule illegally.

Mob. Qu. (Vehemently). Take each of ye a gem, and reign together!

Mob. You keep no faith.

Qu. (Vehemently) My sceptre answers that! Yonder

it sleeps;

It has grown out of use,.. that's plain.. Let it go.
None set me else? Come! What have you to say?
And you? and you? (To LORD RODNA) And
you?

1st Mob. What means this?

Qu. (In excess of passion.)

Tear my dominions into shreds. . . divide me! And the Tartars overwhelm ye! [Exit. Ro. For all this spice of temper, fellow Citizens, Be not put off your rights. Passion is female, She is female all: capricious, apt to flame With every little check; and then she shoots Vagaries out of the mind, as children sparks From fire-sticks.

Qu.

Ro.

Qu.

(Re-enter QUEEN.)

Will ye rather, Sirs, anoint
Some upstart with the regal unction? Make him
Palatine? Is't so? Marshal? And what then?
The topmost round comes next. 'Tis you I talk of,
The devil that tents in your eye, betrays you
know it.

Most puissant Prince be thou at full ourself:
There is the throne. Ascend!

Your friends will cry All hail! and royalty
Shall be your subject, for in common view
Myself will grace your pageant with my chains.
(Aside)—Oh that my knight were come!
Please you, my Liege,

Are you content that I assume .

(Interrupting)-Assume?

You do assume, be I content or not.

Ro. The generalship of the armies?

Qu.

Ro.

Any thing:

I have a little power, . . not much-I'll sign
My shame anon: order the rest.

I am bound to beg one boon?

Qu. (Solemnly)

In turn,

Name it your Highness.

Thou dost inflict such injuries upon me,