Post. Pardon me, sir, the fatal news I bring
Like vulture’s poison every heart shall sting.
Athlone is lost without your timely aid,
At six this morning an assault was made,
When, under shelter of the British cannon,
Their grenadiers in armour took the Shannon,
Led by brave Captain Sandys, who with fame,
Plunged to his middle in the rapid stream.
He led them through, and with undaunted ire
He gained the bank in spite of all our fire;
Being bravely followed by his grenadiers
Though bullets flew like hail about their ears,
And by this time they enter uncontrolled.
St. Ruth. Dare all the force of England be so bold
T’ attempt to storm so brave a town, when I
With all Hibernia’s sons of war am nigh?
Return: and if the Britons dare pursue,
Tell them St. Ruth is near, and that will do.
Post. Your aid would do much better than your name.
St. Ruth. Bear back this answer, friend, from whence you came.
[Exit Post.’st.’
The picture of brave Sandys, ‘who with fame plunged to his middle in the rapid stream,’ is not a bad image on the part of the Post; and St. Ruth’s reply, ‘Tell them St. Ruth is near, and that will do,’ characteristic of the vanity of his nation. But Sarsfield knows Britons better, and pays a merited compliment to their valour:
‘Sars. Send speedy succours and their fate prevent,
You know not yet what Britons dare attempt.
I know the English fortitude is such,
To boast of nothing, though they hazard much.
No force on earth their fury can repel,
Nor would they fly from all the devils in hell.’
Another officer arrives—Athlone is really taken, St. Ruth gives orders to retreat to Aughrim, and Sarsfield, in a rage, first challenges him, and then vows he will quit the army. ‘A gleam of horror does my vitals damp,’ says the Frenchman (in a figure of speech more remarkable for vigour than logic); ‘I fear Lord Lucan has forsook the camp!’ But not so: after a momentary indignation, Sarsfield returns to his duty, and ere long is reconciled with his vain and vacillating chief.
And now the love intrigue begins. Godfrey enters—and states Sir Charles Godfrey is his lawful name: he is an Englishman, and was on his way to join Ginckle’s camp, when Jemima’s beauty overcame him: he asks Colonel Talbot to bestow on him the lady’s hand. The Colonel consents, and in Act II., on the plain of Aughrim, at five o’clock in the morning, Jemima enters and proclaims her love. The lovers have an interview, which concludes by a mutual confession of attachment, and Jemima says, ‘Here, take my hand. ‘Tis true the gift is small, but when I can, I’ll give you heart and all.’ The lines show finely the agitation of the young person. She meant to say, Take my heart, but she is longing to be married to him, and the words slip out as it were unawares. Godfrey cries in raptures—
‘Thanks to the gods! who such a present gave:
Such radiant graces ne’er could man receive (resave);
For who on earth has e’er such transports known?
What is the Turkish monarch on his throne,
Hemmed round with rusty swords in pompous state?
Amidst his court no joys can be so great.
Retire with me, my soul, no longer stay!
In public view, the General moves this way.’
‘Tis, indeed, the General; who, reconciled with Sarsfield, straightway, according to his custom, begins to boast about what he will do:—