Aug. My turrets on the ground, That once my temples crowned!

Tham. The sedgy honours of my brows dispersed!  My urn reversed!

Merc. Rise, rise, Augusta, rise! 
And wipe thy weeping eyes: 
Augusta!—­for I call thee so: 
’Tis lawful for the gods to know
Thy future name,
And growing fame. 
Rise, rise, Augusta, rise.

Aug. O never, never will I rise,
Never will I cease my mourning,
Never wipe my weeping eyes,
Till my plighted lord’s returning! 
Never, never will I rise!

Merc. What brought thee, wretch, to this despair?  The cause of thy misfortune show.

Aug. It seems the gods take little care
Of human things below,
When even our sufferings here they do not know.

Merc. Not unknowing came I down,
Disloyal town! 
Speak! didst not thou
Forsake thy faith, and break thy nuptial vow?

Aug. Ah, ’tis too true! too true! 
But what could I, unthinking city, do? 
Faction swayed me,
Zeal allured me,
Both assured me. 
Both betrayed me!

Merc. Suppose me sent
Thy Albion to restore,—­
Can’st thou repent?

Aug. My falsehood I deplore!

Tham. Thou seest her mourn, and I With all my waters will her tears supply.

Merc. Then by some loyal deed regain
Thy long-lost reputation,
To wash away the stain
That blots a noble nation,
And free thy famous town again
From force of usurpation.

Chorus of all. We’ll wash away the stain
That blots a noble nation,
And free this famous town again
From force of usurpation. [Dance of the Followers of MERCURY.

Aug. Behold Democracy and Zeal appear;
She, that allured my heart away,
And he, that after made a prey.

Merc. Resist, and do not fear!

Chorus of all. Resist, and do not fear!

  Enter DEMOCRACY and ZEAL attended by ARCHON.

Democ. Nymph of the city! bring thy treasures,
Bring me more
To waste in pleasures.

Aug. Thou hast exhausted all my store, And I can give no more.

Zeal. Thou horny flood, for Zeal provide A new supply; and swell thy moony tide, That on thy buxom back the floating gold may glide.

Tham. Not all the gold the southern sun produces,
Or treasures of the famed Levant,
Suffice for pious uses,
To feed the sacred hunger of a saint!

Democ. Woe to the vanquished, woe! 
Slave as thou art,
Thy wealth impart,
And me thy victor know!

Zeal. And me thy victor know. 
Resistless arms are in my hand,
Thy bars shall burst at my command,
Thy tory head lie low. 
Woe to the vanquished, woe!

Aug. Were I not bound by fate
For ever, ever here,
My walls I would translate
To some more happy sphere,
Removed from servile fear.