_Em._ By cruel charms dragged from my peaceful bower, Fierce Osmond closed me in this bleeding bark, And bid me stand exposed to the bleak winds, And winter storms, and heaven's inclemency, Bound to the fate of this hell-haunted grove; So that whatever sword, or sounding axe, Shall violate this plant, must pierce my flesh, And, when that falls, I die. _Arth._ If this be true, O never, never-to-be-ended charm, At least by me!--yet all may be illusion. Break up, ye thickening fogs, and filmy mists, All that belie my sight, and cheat my sense! For reason still pronounces, 'tis not she, And, thus resolved,-- [_Lifts up his sword, as going to strike._ _Em._ Do, strike, barbarian, strike; And strew my mangled limbs, with every stroke. Wound me, and doubly kill me, with unkindness, That by thy hand I fell. _Arth._ What shall I do, ye powers? _Em._ Lay down thy vengeful sword; 'tis fatal here: What need of arms, where no defence is made? A love-sick virgin, panting with desire, No conscious eye to intrude on our delights: For this thou hast the Syrens' songs despised; For this, thy faithful passion I reward. Haste then, to take me longing to thy arms. _Arth._ O love! O Merlin! whom should I believe? _Em._ Believe thyself, thy youth, thy love, and me; They, only they, who please themselves, are wise. Disarm thy hand, that mine may meet it bare. _Arth._ By thy leave, reason, here I throw thee off, Thou load of life. If thou wert made for souls, Then souls should have been made without their bodies. If falling for the first created fair Was Adam's fault,--great grandsire, I forgive thee; Eden was lost, as all thy sons would lose it. [_Going towards_ EMM. _and pulling off his Gauntlet_. _Enter_ PHILIDEL _running_. _Phil._ Hold, poor deluded mortal, hold thy hand, Which, if thou giv'st, is plighted to a fiend. For proof, behold the virtue of this wand; The infernal paint shall vanish from her face, And hell shall stand revealed. _Strikes_ EMMELINE _with a Wand, who straight descends_: PHILIDEL _runs to the Descent, and pulls up_ GRIMBALD _and binds him_. Now see to whose embraces thou wert falling! Behold the maiden modesty of Grimbald! The grossest, earthiest, ugliest fiend in hell. _Arth._ Horror seizes me, To think what headlong ruin I have tempted. _Phil._ Haste to thy work; a noble stroke or two Ends all the charms, and disenchants the grove. I'll hold thy mistress bound. _Arth._ Then here's for earnest. [_Strikes twice or thrice, and the Tree falls, or sinks: A Peal of Thunder immediately follows, with dreadful Howlings._