Volume Iv Part 84 (2/2)

_King._ Invoke the G.o.d of our Quiocto to declare what the Event shall be of this our last War against the _English_ General.

[Soft Musick ceases.

[The Musick changes to confused Tunes, to which the Priests and Priestesses dance, antickly singing between, the same Incantation as before; and then dance again, and so invoke again alternately: Which Dance ended, a Voice behind the Altar cries, while soft Musick plays,

The _English_ General shall be A Captive to his Enemy; And you from all your Toils be freed, When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed: And e'er the Sun's swift course be run, This mighty Conquest shall be won.

_King._ I thank the G.o.ds for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform the Office of a Priest.

_Queen._ Oh, Sir, I fear you'll fall a Victim first.

_King._ What means _Semernia_? why are thy Looks so pale?

_Queen._ Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou'd make a truer Interpretation.

_King._ How, _Semernia_! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect my Life, to let me know your Thoughts.

_Queen._ Last Night I dream'd a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your Guards, slew you, and bore you hence.

_King._ This is thy s.e.x's fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle.

_Queen._ I cou'd convince you farther.

_King._ Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of _Semernia_: Come unriddle me the Oracle.

_Queen._ The _English_ General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me.

_King._ Hah! the General my Rival--but go on--

_Queen._ And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death.

_King._ What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?--away--it cannot be--

_Queen._ No doubt, my Lord, you'll bravely sell your Life, and deal some Wounds where you'll receive so many.

_King._ 'Tis Love, _Semernia_, makes thee dream while waking:

I'll trust the G.o.ds, and am resolv'd for Battel.

Enter an _Indian_.

_Ind._ Haste, haste, great Sir, to Arms; _Bacon_ with all his Forces is prepar'd, and both the Armies ready to engage.

_King._ Haste to my General, bid him charge 'em instantly; I'll bring up the Supplies of stout _Teroomians_, those so well skill'd in the envenom'd Arrow.

[Ex. _Indian_.

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