ve is lost, let marriage end,
And leave a husband for a friend.

_Dem._ With jealousy swarming,
The people are arming,
The frights of oppression invade them.

_Zel._ If they fall to relenting,
For fear of repenting,
Religion shall help to persuade them.

_Aug._ No more, no more temptations use
To bend my will;
How hard a task 'tis to refuse
A pleasing ill!

_Dem._ Maintain the seeming duty of a wife,
A modest show with jealous eyes deceive;
Affect a fear for hated Albion's life,
And for imaginary dangers grieve.

_Zel._ His foes already stand protected,
His friends by public fame suspected,
Albanius must forsake his isle;
A plot, contrived in happy hour,
Bereaves him of his royal power,
For heaven to mourn, and hell to smile.

_The former Scene continues._

_Enter_ ALBION _and_ ALBANIUS _with a train._

_Alb._ Then Zeal and Common-wealth infest
My land again;
The fumes of madness, that possest
The people's giddy brain,
Once more disturb the nation's rest,
And dye rebellion in a deeper stain.

II.

Will they at length awake the sleeping sword,
And force revenge from their offended lord?
How long, ye gods, how long
Can royal patience bear
The insults and wrong
Of madmen's jealousies, and causeless fear?

III.

I thought their love by mildness might be gained,
By peace I was restored, in peace I reigned;
But tumults, seditions,
And haughty petitions,
Are all the effects of a merciful nature;
Forgiving and granting,
Ere mortals are wanting,
But leads to rebelling against their creator.

MERCURY _descends._

_Mer._ With pity Jove beholds thy state,
But Jove is circumscribed by fate;
The o'erwhelming tide rolls on so fast,
It gains upon this island's waste;
And is opposed too late! too late!

_Alb._ What then must helpless Albion do?

_Mer._ Delude the fury of the foe,
And, to preserve Albanius, let him go;
For 'tis decreed,
Thy land must bleed,
For crimes not thine, by wrathful Jove;
A sacred flood
Of royal blood
Cries vengeance, vengeance, loud above. [MERCURY _ascends._

_Alb._ Shall I, to assuage
Their brutal rage,
The regal stem destroy?
Or must I lose,
To please my foes,
My sole remaining joy?
Ye gods, what worse,
What greater curse,
Can all your wrath employ!

_Alban._ Oh Albion! hear the gods and me!
Well am I lost, in saving thee.
Not exile or danger can fright a brave spirit,
With innocence guarded,
With virtue rewarded;
I make of my suffer