The Sons of the Duke of Saxony run away with Lucibel, the Duke of Austria’s Daughter.—The two Dukes, in separate pursuit of their children, meet at the Cell of a Hermit: in which Hermit, Saxony recognises a banished Brother; at which surprised, all three are reconciled.
Austria. That should be Saxon’s tongue.
Saxony. Indeed I am the Duke of Saxony.
Austria. Then thou art father to lascivious sons,
That have made Austria childless.
Saxony. Oh subtle Duke,
Thy craft appears in framing the excuse.
Thou dost accuse my young sons’ innocence.
I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongues,
Not to be metamorphosed with the view
Of flattering Beauty—peradventure painted.
Austria. No, I defy thee, John of Saxony.
My Lucibel for beauty needs no art;
Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mind
Ever inclin’d to this ignoble course,
But by the charms and forcings of thy sons.
Saxony. O would thou would’st maintain thy words, proud Duke!
Hermit. I hope, great princes, neither of you dare
Commit a deed so sacrilegious.
This holy Cell
Is dedicated to the Prince of Peace.
The foot of man never profan’d this floor;
Nor doth wrath here with his consuming voice
Affright these buildings. Charity with Prayer,
Humility with Abstinence combined,
Are here the guardians of a grieved mind.
Austria. Father, we obey thy holy voice.
Duke John of Saxony, receive my faith;
Till our ears hear the true course, which thy sons
Have taken with me fond and misled child,
I proclaim truce. Why dost thou sullen stand?
If thou mean peace, give me thy princely hand.
Saxony. Thus do I plight thee truth, and promise peace.
Austria. Nay, but thy eyes agree not with thy heart.
In vows of combination there’s a grace,
That shews th’ intention in the outward face.
Look chearfully, or I expect no league.
Saxony. First give me leave to view awhile the person
Of this Hermit.—Austria, view him well.
Is he not like my brother Roderic?
Austria. He’s like him. But I heard, he lost his life
Long since in Persia by the Sophy’s wars.
Hermit. I heard so much, my Lord. But that report
Was purely feign’d; spread by my erring tongue,
As double as my heart, when I was young.
I am that Roderic, that aspired thy throne;
That vile false brother, that with rebel breath,
Drawn sword, and treach’rous heart, threaten’d your death.
Saxony. My brother!—nay then i’ faith, old John lay by
Thy sorrowing thoughts; turn to thy wonted vein,
And be mad John of Saxony again.
Mad Roderic, art alive?—my mother’s son,
Her joy, and her last birth!—oh, she conjured me
To use thee thus; [embracing him] and yet I banish’d thee.—
Body o’ me! I was unkind, I know;
But thou deservd’st it then: but let it go.
Say thou wilt leave this life, thus truly idle,
And live a Statesman; thou shalt share in reign,
Commanding all but me thy Sovereign.
Hermit. I thank your Highness; I will think on it
But for my sins this sufferance is more fit.
Saxony. Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.—
Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand:
I’ll look thee in the face, and smile; and swear.
If any of my sons have wrong’d thy child,
I’ll help thee in revenging it myself.
But if, as I believe, they mean but honour,
(As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim’d),
Then thou shalt be content to name[506] him thine,
And thy fair daughter I’ll account as mine.
Austria. Agreed.
Saxony. Ah, Austria! ’twas a world, when you and I
Ran these careers; but now we are stiff and dry.
Austria. I’m glad you are so pleasant, good my Lord.
Saxony. ’Twas my old mood: but I was soon turn’d sad,
With over-grieving for this long lost Lad,—
And now the Boy is grown as old as I;
His very face as full of gravity.
C. L.
[506] By one of the Duke’s sons (her Lover) in honour of Lucibel.
Discoveries
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XV.
Ancient Surgery.
Mr. Bernard, principal surgeon to king William, affirms respecting ancient surgical skill as follows:—
There is no doubt but the perfection to which surgery has been carried in these last ages, is principally owing to the discoveries which have been made in anatomy. But the art of curing wounds, to which all the other parts ought to give way, remains almost in the same state in which the ancients transmitted it to us.