SCENE I.--_A chamber royal, an Indian hammock discovered in it_.
_Enter_ ODMAR _with soldiers_, GUYOMAR, _and_ ALIBECH
_bound_.
_Odm_. Fate is more just than you to my desert,
And in this act you blame, heaven takes my part.
_Guy_. Can there be gods, and no revenge provide?
_Odm_. The gods are ever of the conquering side:
She's now my queen; the Spaniards have agreed,
I to my father's empire shall succeed.
_Alib_. How much I crowns contemn, I let thee see,
Chusing the younger, and refusing thee.
_Guy_. Were she ambitious, she'd disdain to own
The pageant pomp of such a servile throne;
A throne, which thou by parricide dost gain,
And by a base submission must retain.
_Alib_. I loved thee not before; but, Odmar, know,
That now I hate thee, and despise thee too.
_Odm_. With too much violence you crimes pursue,
Which if I acted, 'twas for love of you.
This, if it teach not love, may teach you fear:
I brought not sin so far, to stop it here.
Death in a lover's mouth would sound but ill:
But know, I either must enjoy, or kill.
_Alib_. Bestow, base man, thy idle threats elsewhere,
My mother's daughter knows not how to fear.
Since, Guyomar, I must not be thy bride,
Death shall enjoy what is to thee denied.
_Odm_. Then take thy wish--
_Guy_. Hold, Odmar, hold:
My right in Alibech I will resign;
Rather than see her die, I'll see her thine.
_Alib_. In vain thou wouldst resign, for I will be,
Even when thou leav'st me, constant still to thee:
That shall not save my life: Wilt thou appear
Fearful for her, who for herself wants fear?
_Odm_. Her love to him shows me a surer way:
I by her love her virtue must betray.--[_Aside_.
Since, Alibech, you are so true a wife, [_To her_.
'Tis in your power to save your husband's life:
The gods, by me, your love and virtue try;
For both will suffer, if you let him die.
_Alib_. I never can believe you will proceed
To such a black, and execrable deed.
_Odm_. I only threatened you; but could not prove
So much a fool, to murder what I love:
But in his death I some advantage see:
Worse than it is I'm sure it cannot be.
If you consent, you with that gentle breath
Preserve his life: If not, behold his death.
[_Holds his sword to his breast_.
_Alib_. What shall I do!
_Guy_. What, are your thoughts at strife
About a ransom to preserve my life?
Though to save yours I did my interest give,
Think not, when you were his, I meant to live.
_Alib_. O let him be preserved by any way:
But name not the foul price which I must pay.
[_To_ ODM.
_Odm_. You would, and would not,--I'll no longer stay.
[_Offers again to kill him_.
_Alib_. I yield, I yield; but yet, ere I am ill,
An innocent desire I would fulfil:
With Guyomar I one chaste kiss would leave,
The first and last he ever can receive.
_Odm_. Have what you ask: That minute you agree
To my desires, your husband shall be free.
[_They unbind her, she goes to her husband_.
_Guy_. No, Alibech, we never must embrace.
[_He turns from her_.
Your guilty kindness why do you misplace?
'Tis meant to him, he is your private choice;
I was made yours but by the public voice.
And now you leave me with a poor pretence,
That your ill act is for my life's defence.
_Alib_. Since there remains no other means to try,
Think I am false; I cannot see you die.
_Guy_. To give for me both life and honour too,
Is more, perhaps, than I could give for you.
You have done much to cure my jealousy,
But cannot perfect it unless both die!
For since both cannot live, who stays behind
Must be thought fearful, or, what's worse, unkind.
_Alib_. I never could propose that death you chuse;
But am, like you, too jealous to refuse.
[_Embracing him_.
Together dying, we together show
That both did pay that faith, which both did owe.
_Odm_. It then remains I act my own design:
Have you your wills, but I will first have mine.
Assist me, soldiers--
[_They go to bind her: She cries out_.
_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and two Spaniards_.
_Vasq_. Hold, Odmar, hold! I come in happy time
To hinder my misfortune, and your crime.
_Odm_. You ill return the kindness I have shown.
_Vasq_. Indian, I say, desist.
_Odm_. Spaniard, be gone.
_Vasq_. This lady I did for myself design:
Dare you attempt her honour, who is mine?
_Odm_. You're much mistaken; this is she, whom I
Did with my father's loss, and country's buy:
She, whom your promise did to me convey,
When all things else were made your common prey.
_Vasq_. That promise made, excepted one for me;
One whom I still reserved, and this is she.
_Odm_. This is not she; you cannot be so base.
_Vasq_. I love too deeply to mistake the face:
The vanquished must receive the victor's laws.
_Odm_. If I am vanquished, I myself am cause.
_Vasq_. Then thank yourself for what you undergo.
_Odm_. Thus lawless might does justice overthrow.
_Vasq_. Traitors, like you, should never justice name.
_Odm_. You owe your triumphs to that traitor's shame.
But to your general I'll my right refer.
_Vasq_. He never will protect a ravisher:
His generous heart will soon decide our strife;
He to your brother will restore his wife.
It rests we two our claim in combat try,
And that with this fair prize the victor fly.
_Odm_. Make haste,
I cannot suffer to be long perplext;
Conquest is my first wish, and death my next.
[_They fight, the Spaniards and Indians fight_.
_Alib_. The gods the wicked by themselves o'erthrow:
All fight against us now, and for us too!
[_Unbinds her husband_.
[_The two Spaniards and three Indians kill each
other,_ VASQUEZ _kills_ ODMAR, GUYOMAR _runs
to his brothers sword_.
_Vasq_. Now you are mine; my greatest foe is slain.
[_To_ AL.
_Guy_. A greater still to vanquish does remain.
_Vasq_. Another yet!
The wounds, I make, but sow new enemies,
Which from their blood, like earth-born brethren, rise.
_Guy_. Spaniard, take breath: Some respite I'll afford,
My cause is more advantage than your sword.
_Vasq_. Thou art so brave--could it with honour be,
I'd seek thy friendship more than victory.
_Guy_. Friendship with him, whose hand did Odmar kill!
Base as he was, he was my brother still:
And since his blood has washed away his guilt.
Nature asks thine for that which thou hast spilt.
[_They fight a little and breathe_, ALIBECH _takes
up a sword and comes on_.
_Alib_. My weakness may help something in the strife.
_Guy_. Kill not my honour to preserve my life:
[_Staying her_.
Rather than by thy aid I'll conquest gain,
Without defence I poorly will be slain.
[_She goes back, they fight again_, VASQUEZ _falls_.
_Guy_. Now, Spaniard, beg thy life, and thou shalt live.
_Vasq_. 'Twere vain to ask thee what thou canst not give;
My breath goes out, and I am now no more;
Yet her, I loved, in death I will adore. [_Dies_.
_Guy_. Come, Alibech, let us from hence remove.
This is a night of horror, not of love.
From every part I hear a dreadful noise,
The vanquished crying, and the victor's joys.
I'll to my father's aid and country's fly,
And succour both, or in their ruin die. [_Exeunt_.
SCENE II.--_A Prison_.
MONTEZUMA, _Indian High Priest, bound_; PIZARRO, _Spaniards
with swords drawn, a Christian Priest_.
_Piz_. Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store.
_Mont_. I neither can nor will discover more;
The gods will punish you, if they be just;
The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust.
_Chr. Priest_. Mark how this impious heathen justifies
His own false gods, and our true God denies:
How wickedly he has refused his wealth,
And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth:
Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby.
_Ind. High Pr_. Can heaven be author of such cruelty?
_Piz_. Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail,
We must by other means your minds assail;
Fasten the engines; stretch 'em at their length,
And pull the straitened cords with all your strength.
[_They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them_.
_Mont_. The gods, who made me once a king, shall know,
I still am worthy to continue so:
Though now the subject of your tyranny,
I'll plague you worse than you can punish me.
Know, I have gold, which you shall never find;
No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind.
_Chr. Pr_. Pull harder yet; he does not feel the rack.
_Mont_. Pull 'till my veins break, and my sinews crack.
_Ind. High Pr_. When will you end your barbarous cruelty?
I beg not to escape, I beg to die.
_Mont_. Shame on thy priesthood, that such prayers can bring!
Is it not brave, to suffer with thy king?
When monarchs suffer, gods themselves bear part;
Then well mayest thou, who but my vassal art:
I charge thee, dare not groan, nor shew one sign;
Thou at thy torments dost the least repine.
_Ind. High Pr_. You took an oath, when you received the crown,
The heavens should pour their usual blessings down;
The sun should shine, the earth its fruits produce,
And nought be wanting to your subjects' use:
Yet we with famine were opprest, and now
Must to the yoke of cruel masters bow.
_Mont_. If those above, who made the world, could be
Forgetful of it, why then blamest thou me?
_Chr. Pr_, Those pains, O prince, thou sufferest now, are light
Compared to those, which, when thy soul takes flight,
Immortal, endless, thou must then endure,
Which death begins, and time can never cure.
_Mont_. Thou art deceived; for whensoe'er I die,
The Sun, my father, bears my soul on high:
He lets me down a beam, and mounted there,
He draws it back, and pulls me through the air:
I in the eastern parts, and rising sky,
You in heaven's downfal, and the west must lie.
_Chr. Pr_. Fond man, by heathen ignorance misled,
Thy soul destroying when thy body's dead:
Change yet thy faith, and buy eternal rest.
_Ind. High Pr_. Die in your own, for our belief is best.
_Mont_. In seeking happiness you both agree,
But in the search, the paths so different be,
That all religions with each other fight,
While only one can lead us in the right.
But till that one hath some more certain mark,
Poor human kind must wander in the dark;
And suffer pain eternally below,
For that, which here we cannot come to know.
_Chr. Pr_. That, which we worship, and which you believe,
From nature's common hand we both receive:
All, under various names, adore and love
One Power immense, which ever rules above.
Vice to abhor, and virtue to pursue,
Is both believed and taught by us and you:
But here our worship takes another way--
_Mont_. Where both agree, 'tis there most safe to stay:
For what's more vain than public light to shun,
And set up tapers, while we see the sun?
_Chr. Pr_. Though nature teaches whom we should adore,
By heavenly beams we still discover more.
_Mont_. Or this must be enough, or to mankind
One equal way to bliss is not designed;
For though some more may know, and some know less,
Yet all must know enough for happiness.
_Chr. Pr_. If in this middle way you still pretend
To stay, your journey never will have end.
_Mont_. Howe'er, 'tis better in the midst to stay,
Than wander farther in uncertain way.
_Chr. Pr_. But we by martyrdom our faith avow.
_Mont_. You do no more than I for ours do now.
To prove religion true--
If either wit or sufferings would suffice,
All faiths afford the constant and the wise:
And yet even they, by education swayed,
In age defend what infancy obeyed.
_Chr. Pr_. Since age by erring childhood is misled,
Refer yourself to our unerring head.
_Mont_. Man, and not err! what reason can you give?
_Chr. Pr_. Renounce that carnal reason, and believe.
_Mont_. The light of nature should I thus betray,
'Twere to wink hard, that I might see the day.
_Chr. Pr_. Condemn not yet the way you do not know;
I'll make your reason judge what way to go.
_Mont_. 'Tis much too late for me new ways to take,
Who have but one short step of life to make.
_Piz_. Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack.
_Chr. Pr_. I must by force convert him on the rack.
_Ind. High Pr_. I faint away, and find I can no more:
Give leave, O king, I may reveal thy store,
And free myself from pains, I cannot bear.
_Mont_. Think'st thou I lie on beds of roses here,
Or in a wanton bath stretched at my ease?
Die, slave, and with thee die such thoughts as these.
[_High Priest turns aside, and dies_.
_Enter_ CORTEZ _attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering_.
_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight;
I much repent me of this bloody night:
Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far,
And makes a massacre what was a war:
Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move,
'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love.
Ha--[_Sees_ MONT.
What dismal sight is this, which takes from me
All the delight, that waits on victory!
[_Runs to take him off the rack_.
Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown?
Haste, holy avarice, and help him down.
Ah, father, father, what do I endure
[_Embracing_ MONT.
To see these wounds my pity cannot cure!
_Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring,
And give an infant's comfort to a king?
Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned;
Or aught have done deserving to be moaned.
_Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence?
[_To_ Piz.
But martial law shall punish thy offence.
And you, [_To the Christian Priest_.
Who saucily teach monarchs to obey,
And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway;
Set up by kings as humble aids of power,
You that which bred you, viper-like, devour,
You enemies of crowns--
_Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away,
We but provoke his fury by our stay.
_Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline,
Which did in Spanish camps severely shine:
Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes;
Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes!
And into Spain wilt fatally be brought,
Since with the price of blood thou here art bought.
[_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO.
[CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_.
_Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit?
_Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit:
Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs:
Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears:
Must I chear you?
_Cort_. Ah heavens!
_Mont_. You're much to blame;
Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame,
Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring:
But weep not you, and I'll be still a king.
You have forgot, that I your death designed,
To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind:
You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die.
_Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty.
_Enter a Spaniard_.
_Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains,
Our men retreat, and he their ground regains:
But once encouraged by our general's sight,
We boldly should renew the doubtful fight.
_Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend;
[_To_ MONTEZUMA.
I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend.
_Mont_. Excellent man! [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, &c.
But I, by living, poorly take the way
To injure goodness, which I cannot pay.
_Enter_ ALMERIA.
_Alm_. Ruin and death run armed through every street;
And yet that fate, I seek, I cannot meet:
What guards misfortunes are and misery!
Death, that strikes all, yet seems afraid of me.
_Mont_. Almeria here! Oh turn away your face!
Must you be witness too of my disgrace?
_Alm_. I am not that Almeria whom you knew,
But want that pity I denied to you:
Your conqueror, alas, has vanquished me;
But he refuses his own victory:
While all are captives in your conquered state,
I find a wretched freedom in his hate.
_Mont_. Couldst thou thy love on one who scorned thee lose?
He saw not with my eyes, who could refuse:
Him, who could prove so much unkind to thee,
I ne'er will suffer to be kind to me.
_Alm_. I am content in death to share your fate;
And die for him I love, with him I hate.
_Mont_. What shall I do in this perplexing strait!
My tortured limbs refuse to bear my weight:
[_Endeavouring to walk, not being able_.
I cannot go to death to set me free;
Death must be kind, and come himself to me.
_Alm_. I've thought upon't: I have affairs below,
[ALM. _musing_.
Which I must needs despatch before I go:
Sir, I have found a place where you may be, [_To him_.
(Though not preserved) yet, like a king, die free;
The general left your daughter in the tower,
We may a while resist the Spaniards' power,
If Guyomar prevail.
_Mont_. Make haste and call;
She'll hear your voice, and answer from the wall.
_Alm_. My voice she knows and fears, but use your own;
And, to gain entrance, feign you are alone.
[ALM. _steps behind_.
_Mont_. Cydaria!
_Alm_. Louder.
_Mont_. Daughter!
_Alm_. Louder yet.
_Mont_. Thou canst not, sure, thy father's voice forget.
[_He knocks at the door, at last_ CYDARIA _looks over the balcony_.
_Cyd_. Since my love went, I have been frighted so,
With dismal groans, and noises from below;
I durst not send my eyes abroad, for fear
Of seeing dangers, which I yet but hear.
_Mont_. Cydaria!
_Cyd_. Sure, 'tis my father calls.
_Mont_. Dear child, make haste;
All hope of succour, but from thee, is past:
As when, upon the sands, the traveller
Sees the high sea come rolling from afar,
The land grow short, he mends his weary pace,
While death behind him covers all the place:
So I, by swift misfortunes, am pursued,
Which on each other are, like waves, renewed.
_Cyd_. Are you alone?
_Mont_. I am.
_Cyd_. I'll strait descend;
Heaven did you here for both our safeties send.
[CYDARIA _descends and opens the door_, ALMERIA _rushes betwixt
with_ MONTEZUMA.
_Cyd_. Almeria here! then I am lost again.
[_Both thrust_.
_Alm_. Yield to my strength, you struggle but in vain.
Make haste and shut, our enemies appear.
[CORTEZ _and Spaniards appear at the other end_.
_Cyd_. Then do you enter, and let me stay here.
[_As she speaks,_ ALMERIA _overpowers her, thrusts
her in, and shuts_.
_Cort_. Sure I both heard her voice and saw her face:
She's like a vision vanished from the place.
Too late I find my absence was too long;
My hopes grow sickly, and my fears grow strong.
[_He knocks a little, then_ MONTEZUMA, CYDARIA, _and_
ALMERIA, _appear above_.
_Alm_. Look up, look up, and see if you can know
Those, whom in vain you think to find below.
_Cyd_. Look up, and see Cydaria's lost estate.
_Mont_. And cast one look on Montezuma's fate.
_Cort_. Speak not such dismal words as wound my ear;
Nor name death to me, when Cydaria's there.
Despair not, sir; who knows but conquering Spain
May part of what you lost restore again?
_Mont_. No, Spaniard; know, he who, to empire born,
Lives to be less, deserves the victor's scorn:
Kings and their crowns have but one destiny:
Power is their life; when that expires, they die.
_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these!
_Mont_. Name life no more;
'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore;
I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die,
In spite of your mistaken clemency.
I was your slave, and I was used like one;
The shame continues when the pain is gone:
But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_.
He wants no subjects, who can death command:
You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me;
But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free.
[_Stabs himself_.
_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father!
_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more.
[_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_.
We shall have time enough to take our way,
Ere any can our fatal journey stay.
_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine,
Take my last thanks: no longer I repine;
I might have lived my own mishap to mourn,
While some would pity me, but more would scorn!
For pity only on fresh objects stays,
But with the tedious sight of woes decays.
Still less and less my boiling spirits flow;
And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do.
Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_.
_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone,
And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.
_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die,
That you may bear your father company.
_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so,
That with the fear I shall prevent the blow:
I know, your mercy's more than to destroy
A thing so young, so innocent as I.
_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood,
Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good,
Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name,
But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame.
_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart;
But on my rival I'll revenge my smart.
_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault,
I'll speak the kindest words--
That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought.
Dear--lovely--sweet--
_Alm_. This but offends me more;
You act your kindness on Cydaria's score.
_Cyd_. For his dear sake let me my life receive.
_Alm_. Fool, for his sake alone you must not live:
Revenge is now my joy; he's not for me,
And I'll make sure he ne'er shall be for thee.
_Cyd_. But what's my crime?
_Alm_. 'Tis loving where I love.
_Cyd_. Your own example does my act approve.
_Alm_. 'Tis such a fault I never can forgive.
_Cyd_. How can I mend, unless you let me live?
I yet am tender, young, and full of fear,
And dare not die, but fain would tarry here.
_Cort_. If blood you seek, I will my own resign:
O spare her life, and in exchange take mine!
_Alm_. The love you shew but hastes her death the more.
_Cort_. I'll run, and help to force the inner door.
[_Is going in haste_.
_Alm_. Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes:
That moment that I lose your sight, she dies.
To look on you, I'll grant a short reprieve.
_Cort_. O make your gift more full, and let her live!
I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay!--
Her I would save, I murder either way.
_Cyd_. Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy
My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy?
I just approach to all I would possess:
Death only stands 'twixt me and happiness.
_Alm_. Your father, with his life, has lost his throne:
Your country's freedom and renown is gone.
Honour requires your death; you must obey.
_Cyd_. Do you die first, and shew me then the way.
_Alm_. Should you not follow, my revenge were lost.
_Cyd_. Then rise again, and fright me with your ghost.
_Alm_. I will not trust to that; since death I chuse,
I'll not leave you that life which I refuse:
If death's a pain, it is not less to me;
And if 'tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee.
But hark! the noise increases from behind;
They're near, and may prevent what I designed;
Take there a rival's gift. [_Stabs her_.
_Cort_. Perdition seize thee for so black a deed.
_Alm_. Blame not an act, which did from love proceed:
I'll thus revenge thee with this fatal blow;
[_Stabs herself_.
Stand fair, and let my heart-blood on thee flow.
_Cyd_. Stay, life, and keep me in the cheerful light!
Death is too black, and dwells in too much night.
Thou leav'st me, life, but love supplies thy part,
And keeps me warm, by lingering in my heart:
Yet dying for him, I thy claim remove;
How dear it costs to conquer in my love!
Now strike: That thought, I hope, will arm my breast.
_Alm_. Ah, with what differing passions am I prest!
_Cyd_. Death, when far off, did terrible appear;
But looks less dreadful as he comes more near.
_Alm_. O rival, I have lost the power to kill;
Strength hath forsook my arm, and rage my will:
I must surmount that love which thou hast shown;
Dying for him is due to me alone.
Thy weakness shall not boast the victory,
Now thou shalt live, and dead I'll conquer thee:
Soldiers, assist me down.
[_Exeunt from above, led by Soldiers, and enter both, led by_ CORTEZ.
_Cort_. Is there no danger then? [_To_ CYDARIA.
_Cyd_. You need not fear
My wound; I cannot die when you are near.
_Cort_. You, for my sake, life to Cydaria give;
[_To_ ALM.
And I could die for you, if you might live.
_Alm_. Enough, I die content, now you are kind;
Killed in my limbs, reviving in my mind:
Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my crime.
[CYDARIA _starts back_.
You need not fear my rage a second time:
I'll bathe your wounds in tears for my offence.
That hand, which made it, makes this recompence.
[_Ready to join their hands_.
I would have joined you, but my heart's too high:
You will, too soon, possess him when I die.
_Cort_. She faints; O softly set her down.
_Alm_. 'Tis past!
In thy loved bosom let me breathe my last.
Here, in this one short moment that I live,
I have whate'er the longest life could give. [_Dies_.
_Cort_. Farewell, thou generous maid: Even victory,
Glad as it is, must lend some tears to thee;
Many I dare not shed, lest you believe [_To_ CYD.
I joy in you less than for her I grieve.
_Cyd_. But are you sure she's dead?
I must embrace you fast, before I know,
Whether my life be yet secure, or no:
Some other hour I will to tears allow,
But, having you, can shew no sorrow now.
_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH _bound, with Soldiers_.
_Cort_. Prince Guyomar in bonds! O friendship's shame!
It makes me blush to own a victor's name.
[_Unbinds him,_ CYDARIA, ALIBECH.
_Cyd_. See, Alibech, Almeria lies there;
But do not think 'twas I that murdered her.
[ALIBECH _kneels, and kisses her dead sister_.
_Cort_. Live, and enjoy more than your conqueror:
[_To_ GUYOMAR.
Take all my love, and share in all my power.
_Guy_. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake
Those gifts I cannot with my honour take:
I for my country fought, and would again,
Had I yet left a country to maintain:
But since the gods decreed it otherwise,
I never will on its dear ruins rise.
_Alib_. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose,
Our liberty's the only gift we chuse:
Absence alone can make our sorrows less;
And not to see what we can ne'er redress.
_Guy_. Northward, beyond the mountains, we will go,
Where rocks lie covered with eternal snow,
Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields,
The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields:
There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy;
No Spaniards will that colony destroy.
We to ourselves will all our wishes grant;
And, nothing coveting, can nothing want.
_Cort_. First your great father's funeral pomp provide:
That done, in peace your generous exiles guide;
While I loud thanks pay to the powers above,
Thus doubly blest, with conquest, and with love.
[_Exeunt_.
EPILOGUE
BY A MERCURY.
To all and singular in this full meeting,
Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting.
To all his sons, by whate'er title known,
Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town;
From his most mighty sons, whose confidence
Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense,
Even to his little infants of the time,
Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme:
Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved
To see good plays condemned, and bad received)
Ordains, your judgment upon every cause,
Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.
He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance
His censure, farther than the song or dance.
Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb,
And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme:
All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too;
All that appears high sense, and scarce is low.
As for the coffee-wits, he says not much;
Their proper business is to damn the Dutch:
For the great dons of wit--
Phoebus gives them full privilege alone,
To damn all others, and cry up their own.
Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will,
They should have power to save, but not to kill:
For love and he long since have thought it fit,
Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit.
SECRET LOVE;
OR, THE
MAIDEN QUEEN.
_Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille
Qui minimis urgetur_. HORAT.
THE MAIDEN QUEEN
The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain
passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious
Bassa." Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting
these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of
this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task;
satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time
loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such
well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to
a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the
"Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is
admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward;
the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last
moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of
beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in
act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that
of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in
particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition,
nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might
have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had
he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing
interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of
the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles
II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join
in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of
the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial
chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age,
concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty
of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to
the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have
been strictly in character.
The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has
informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the
title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it
was probably received very favourably.
PREFACE
It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate
their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have
had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the
stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example,
though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece,
as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a
manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his
play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say
malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved
has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his
most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this
glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send
it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to
him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming
to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and
settlement of his people.
For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is
regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is
a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which
our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value
myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want
an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis
a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a
competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance
of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of
the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that
without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of
the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern
by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the
discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is
the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These
qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed
to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may
infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But
for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and
_bizarre_ in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the
child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very
imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment.
Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment)
here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself,
can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two
crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I
have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my
readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above
the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least
dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this
to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor." But the argument of that
was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet
if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general
notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the
vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence
of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to
be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his
joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who
obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take
up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely,
that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no
reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person
so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already
destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the
queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which
rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time,
can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any
shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to
determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my
plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love,
than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of
it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from
that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for
that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it
is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would
have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from
the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise
censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed,
what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being
one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one
great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the
person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set
to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the
audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the
circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures
us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself
best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the
restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his
expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love
to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum,
is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and
Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of
the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of
the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by
telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more
smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most
divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I
am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty,
the best judge, to think it so.
I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the
"Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character,
as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous
Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write
by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I
fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in
seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic,
being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a
command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the
courage to have made it public.
PROLOGUE.
I.
He who writ this, not without pains and thought,
From French and English theatres has brought
The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought.
II.
The unities of action, place, and time;
The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime
Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme.
III.
But while dead colours he with care did lay,
He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh,
Which are the living beauties of a play.
IV.
Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified
By engineers, have still some weaker side,
By the o'er-seen defendant unespied.
V.
And with that art you make approaches now;
Such skilful fury in assaults you show,
That every poet without shame may bow.
VI.
Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom,
If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come,
With flying colours, and with beat of drum.
_The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after
which he returns again_.
SECOND PROLOGUE.
I had forgot one half, I do protest,
And now am sent again to speak the rest.
He bows to every great and noble wit;
But to the little Hectors of the pit
Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit.
He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay
To see each peevish critic stab his play;
Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast,
Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost.
No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good,
They are excepted all, as men of blood;
And the same law shall shield him from their fury,
Which has excluded butchers from a jury.
You'd all be wits--
But writing's tedious, and that way may fail;
The most compendious method is to rail:
Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used,
When in smart prologues you are not abused.
A civil prologue is approved by no man;
You hate it, as you do a civil woman:
Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay
To have it quickened ere you see a play;
Just as old sinners, worn from their delight,
Give money to be whipped to appetite.
But what a pox keep I so much ado
To save our poet? He is one of you;
A brother judgment, and, as I hear say,
A cursed critic as e'er damned a play.
Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare;
He is, like you, a very wolf or bear;
Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade,
Or stop the course of your free damning trade;
For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit,
But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit:
Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight;
Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write;
With such he ventures on an even lay,
For they bring ready money into play.
Those who write not, and yet all writers nick,
Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
LYSIMANTES, _first Prince of the Blood_.
PHILOCLES, _the Queen's favourite_.
CELADON, _a courtier_.
_Queen of Sicily_.
CANDIOPE, _Princess of the Blood_.
ASTERIA, _the Queen's confident_.
FLORIMEL, _a maid of honour_.
FLAVIA, _another maid of honour_.
OLINDA, SABINA, _Sisters_.
MELISSA, _mother to_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA.
_Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers_.
SCENE--_Sicily_.
SECRET LOVE
OR THE
MAIDEN QUEEN.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_Walks near the Court_.
_Enter_ CELADON _and_ ASTERIA, _meeting each other, he in
a riding habit; they embrace_.
_Cel_. Dear Asteria!--
_Ast_. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks,
this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious:--I hope, as you
have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back
again to court?
_Cel_. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in,
except it were an old woman's.
_Ast_. Or at a funeral.
_Cel_. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier
than I was at a creditor's of mine, whose book perished with him.
But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa's two fair
daughters?
_Ast_. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I'll
answer you.
_Cel_. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question's there?
With both of them; with each and singular of them.
_Ast_. Bless me!--You are not serious?
_Cel_. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are
they not handsome?
_Ast_. Ay; but both together--
_Cel_. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of
them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one?
_Ast_. But you cannot marry both?
_Cel_. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep
them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and
that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage
is poor folks' pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I
am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I
can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go
to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a
visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be
the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a
thousand things that I could name.
_Ast_. And none of them to any purpose.
_Cel_. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might
oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings.
_Ast_. You know I am always busy about the queen.
_Cel_. But once or twice only; 'till I am a little flushed in my
acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I
promise you I'll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being
in love somewhere else.
_Ast_. You would think it hard to be denied now?
_Cel_. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of
one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two;
especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown?
_Ast_. There's one Florimel, the queen's ward, a new beauty, as
wild as you, and a vast fortune.
_Cel_. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I'll
release you of your promise for the other two.
_Enter a Page_.
_Page_. Madam, the queen expects you.
_Cel_. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister:--you have a
little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service.
_Ast_. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel.
_Cel_. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I'll think
upon her, and the rest too; I'll forget none of them. [_Exit_
ASTERIA.
SCENE II.
_Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage hastily; After him_
FLORIMEL _and_ FLAVIA _masked_.
_Fla_. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us?
_Gent_. In faith, I have a little business.
[_Exit Gent_.
_Cel_. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman's room, ladies?
_Fla_. Which of us would you serve?
_Cel_. Either of you, or both of you.
_Fla_. Why, could you not be constant to one?
_Cel_. Constant to one!--I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a
traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some
twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than
any woman can turn her to.
_Flo_. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in
his hands.
_Cel_. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any
man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I
shift my linen.
_Flo_. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour
rarely. [_Aside_.
_Fla_. You are as inconstant as the moon.
_Flo_. You wrong him, he's as constant as the sun; he would see
all the world in twenty-four hours.
_Cel_. 'Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and
away.
_Flo_. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be
troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover.
_Cel_. A rare creature this! [_Aside_]--Besides, madam, how
like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes
before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment.--Ladies
both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you.
_Fla_. I'll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be
constant to one.
_Cel_. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I'll do more; I'll be
constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one,
agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me.
_Flo_. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you
cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I
take you for my servant.
_Cel_. And for once I'll make a blind bargain with you. Strike
hands; is't a match, mistress?
_Flo_. Done, servant.
_Cel_. Now I am sure I have the worst on't: For you see the worst
of me, and that I do not of you, 'till you shew your face.--Yet, now I
think on't, you must be handsome.
_Flo_. What kind of beauty do you like?
_Cel_. Just such a one as yours.
_Flo_. What's that?
_Cel_. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown
eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world.
_Fla_. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this.
_Cel_. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set
on't.
_Flo_. 'Tis true she tells you.
_Cel_. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you
have,--let me see.
_Flo_. Ill swear, you shall not see.
_Cel_. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:--Oh,
I find I am more and more in love with you!--a full nether lip, an
out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a
little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, 'tis
well; and for your wit, 'twas given you by one that knew it had been
thrown away upon an ill face.--Come, you're handsome, there's no
denying it.
_Flo_. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not
be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse
you.
_Cel_. I defy your mask:--Would you would try the experiment!
_Flo_. No, I won't; for your ignorance is the mother of your
devotion to me.
_Cel_. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I'll make
bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me.
_Fla_. This is pleasant.
_Cel_. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see,
I am going to be the most constant Maudlin,--
_Flo_. 'Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you
have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen?
_Cel_. It seems, you know me then:--Well, if thou should'st
prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for
offering to make me love thee twice.
_Flo_. You are i'the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an
old tune; the pleasure on't is past, when we have once learned it.
_Fla_. But what woman in the world would you wish her like?
_Cel_. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen's ward; would she
were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour!
_Fla_. Do you hear that, cousin? [_To_ FLOR. _aside_.
_Flo_. Florimel's not handsome: Besides she's inconstant; and
only loves for some few days.
_Cel_. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by
winter days and summer nights, i'faith.
_Flo_. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean
time, adieu, sweet servant.
_Cel_. Why, you won't be so inhuman to carry away my heart, and
not so much as tell me where I may hear news on't?
_Flo_. I mean to keep it safe for you; for, if you had it, you
would bestow it worse: Farewell, I must see a lady.
_Cel_. So must I too, if I can pull off your mask.
_Flo_. You will not be so rude, I hope.
_Cel_. By this light, but I will!
_Flo_. By this leg, but you shan't.
[_Exeunt_ FLO. _and_ FLA. _running_.
SCENE III.
_Enter_ PHILOCLES, _and meets him going out_.
_Cel_. How! my cousin, the new favourite!--[_Aside_.
_Phil_. Dear Celadon! most happily arrived.--
I hear you've been an honour to your country
In the Calabrian wars; and I am glad
I have some interest in it.
_Cel_. But in you
I have a larger subject for my joys:
To see so rare a thing as rising virtue,
And merit, understood at court.
_Phil_. Perhaps it is the only act, that can
Accuse our queen of weakness.
_Enter_ LYSIMANTES, _attended_.
_Lys_. O, my lord Philocles, well overtaken!
I came to look you.
_Phil_. Had I known it sooner,
My swift attendance, sir, had spared your trouble.--
Cousin, you see prince Lysimantes [_To_ CEL.
Is pleased to favour me with his commands:
I beg you'll be no stranger now at court.
_Cel_. So long as there be ladies there, you need
Not doubt me. [_Exit_ CELADON.
_Phil_. Some of them will, I hope, make you a convert.
_Lys_. My lord Philocles, I'm glad we are alone;
There is a business, that concerns me nearly,
In which I beg your love.
_Phil_. Command my service.
_Lys_. I know your interest with the queen is great;
(I speak not this as envying your fortune,
For, frankly, I confess you have deserved it;
Besides, my birth, my courage, and my honour,
Are all above so base a vice,)--
_Phil._ I know, my lord, you are first prince o'the blood;
Your country's second hope:
And that the public vote, when the queen weds,
Designs you for her choice.
_Lys_. I am not worthy,
Except love makes desert;
For doubtless she's the glory of her time:
Of faultless beauty, blooming as the spring
In our Sicilian groves; matchless in virtue,
And largely souled where'er her bounty gives,
As, with each breath, she could create new Indies.
_Phil_. But jealous of her glory,--
_Lys_. You are a courtier; and, in other terms,
Would you say, she is averse from marriage,
Lest it might lessen her authority.
But whensoe'er she does, I know the people
Will scarcely suffer her to match
With any neighbouring prince, whose power might bend
Our free Sicilians to a foreign yoke.
_Phil_. I love too well my country to desire it.
_Lys_. Then, to proceed, (as you well know, my lord,)
The provinces have sent their deputies,
Humbly to move her, she would chuse at home;
And, (for she seems averse from speaking with them,)
By my appointment, have designed these walks,
Where well she cannot shun them.--Now, if you
Assist their suit, by joining yours to it,
And by your mediation I prove happy,
I freely promise you--
_Phil_. Without a bribe, command my utmost in it:--
And yet, there is a thing, which time may give me
The confidence to name,--
_Lys_. 'Tis yours whatever:--
But, tell me true, does she not entertain
Some deep and settled thoughts against my person?
_Phil_. I hope, not so; but she, of late, is froward;
Reserved, and sad, and vexed at little things;
Which her great soul, ashamed of, strait shakes off,
And is composed again.
_Lys_. You are still near the queen; and all our actions
Come to princes' eyes, as they are represented
By them, that hold the mirror.
_Phil_. Here she comes, and with her the deputies:
I fear all is not right.
_Enter Queen, Deputies after her;_ ASTERIA, _Guard,_ FLAVIA,
OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. _Queen turns back to the Deputies, and
speaks entering_.
_Queen_. And I must tell you,
It is a saucy boldness, thus to press
On my retirements.
_1 Dep_. Our business being of no less concern,
Than is the peace and quiet of your subjects;--
And that delayed,--
_2 Dep_. We humbly took this time
To represent your people's fears to you.
_Queen_. My people's fears! who made them statesmen?
They much mistake their business, if they think,
It is to govern.
The rights of subjects, and of sovereigns,
Are things distinct in nature:--Theirs is to
Enjoy propriety, not empire.
_Lys_. If they have erred, 'twas but an over-care;
An ill-timed duty.
_Queen_. Cousin, I expect
From your near blood, not to excuse, but check them.
They would impose a ruler upon their lawful queen:
For what's an husband else?
_Lys_. Far, madam, be it from the thoughts
Of any, who pretends to that high honour,
To wish for more than to be reckoned
As the most graced, and first of all your servants.
_Queen_. These are the insinuating promises
Of those, who aim at power. But tell me, cousin,
(For you are unconcerned, and may be judge,)
Should that aspiring man compass his ends,
What pawn of his obedience could he give me,
When kingly power were once invested in him?
_Lys_. What greater pledge than love! When those fair eyes
Cast their commanding beams, he, that could be
A rebel to your birth, must pay them homage.
_Queen_. All eyes are fair,
That sparkle with the jewels of a crown:
But now I see my government is odious;
My people find I am not fit to reign,
Else they would never--
_Lys_. So far from that, we all acknowledge you
The bounty of the gods to Sicily:
More than they are you cannot make our joys;
Make them but lasting in a successor.
_Phil_. Your people seek not to impose a prince;
But humbly offer one to your free choice:
And such a one he is--may I have leave
To speak some little of his great deserts?--
_Queen_. I'll hear no more.--
For you, attend to-morrow at the council:
[_To the Deputies_.
There you shall have my firm resolves:--meantime,
My cousin, I am sure, will welcome you.
_Lys_. Still more and more mysterious: But I have
Gained one of her women that shall unriddle it.--
[_Aside_.
Come, gentlemen.
_All Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty!
[_Exeunt_ LYS. _and Dep_.
_Queen_. Philocles, you may stay.
_Phil_. I humbly wait your majesty's commands.
_Queen_. Yet, now I better think on't, you may go.
_Phil_. Madam!
_Queen_. I have no commands;--or, what's all one,
You, no obedience.
_Phil_. How! no obedience, madam?
I plead no other merit; 'tis the charter
By which I hold your favour, and my fortunes.
_Queen_. My favours are cheap blessings, like rain and sunshine,
For which we scarcely thank the gods, because
We daily have them.
_Phil_. Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust,
May lay me there again:
But fate nor time can ever make me lose
The sense of your indulgent bounties to me.
_Queen_. You are above them now, grown popular:--
Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you
That usage!--no tongue but yours
To move me to a marriage?--[_Weeps_.
The factious deputies might have some end in't,
And my ambitious cousin gain a crown:
But what advantage could there come to you?
What could you hope from Lysimantes' reign,
That you can want in mine?
_Phil_. You yourself clear me, madam. Had I sought
More power, this marriage sure was not the way.
But, when your safety was in question,
When all your people were unsatisfied,
Desired a king,--nay more, designed the man,--
It was my duty then,--
_Queen_. Let me be judge of my own safety.
I am a woman;
But danger from my subjects cannot fright me.
_Phil_. But Lysimantes, madam, is a person,--
_Queen_. I cannot love.
Shall I,--I, who was born a sovereign queen,
Be barred of that, which God and nature gives
The meanest slave, a freedom in my love?--
Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts;
When next I need your counsel, I'll send for you.
_Phil_. I'm most unhappy in your high displeasure;
But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased
To peruse this, and therein read my care.
[_He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown
to him, a picture. Exit_ PHI.
_Queen_. [_reads_.] A catalogue of such persons,--
What's this he has let fall, Asteria?
[_Spies the box_.
_Ast_. Your majesty?--
_Queen_. Take that up; it fell from Philocles.
[_She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles_.
_Queen_. How now, what makes you merry?
_Ast_. A small discovery I have made, madam.
_Queen_. Of what?
_Ast_. Since first your majesty graced Philocles,
I have not heard him named for any mistress,
But now this picture has convinced me.
_Queen_. Ha! let me see it.--
[_Snatches it from her_.
Candiope, prince Lysimantes' sister!
_Ast_. Your favour, madam, may encourage him,--
And yet he loves in a high place for him:
A princess of the blood; and, what is more,
Beyond comparison the fairest lady
Our isle can boast.
_Queen_. How!--she the fairest
Beyond comparison!--'Tis false! you flatter her;
She is not fair.
_Ast_. I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees,
If I offended you:--But next yours, madam,
Which all must yield to.
_Queen_. I pretend to none.
_Ast_. She passes for a beauty.
_Queen_. Ay, she may pass:--But why do I speak of her?--
Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o' the sudden.
[_She faints_.
_Ast_. Who's near there?--help the queen!
[_The guards are coming_.
_Queen_. Bid them away: 'Twas but a qualm,
And 'tis already going.
_Ast_. Dear madam, what's the matter?
You are of late so altered, I scarce know you.
You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive;
Once calm, and now unquiet:--
Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far
Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least,
A subject's share in you.
_Queen_. Thou hast a greater.
That of a friend:--But I am froward, say'st thou?
_Ast_. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that.
_Queen_. I know I am:--Pr'ythee, forgive me for it,--
I cannot help it;--but thou hast
Not long to suffer it.
_Ast_. Alas!
_Queen_. I feel my strength each day and hour consume,
Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck's heat.
Yet a few days,
And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold,
Shrouded within some hollow vault, among
My silent ancestors.
_Ast_. O dearest madam!
Speak not of death; or think not, if you die,
That I will stay behind.
_Queen_. Thy love has moved me;--I, for once, will have
The pleasure to be pitied. I'll unfold
A thing so strange, so horrid of myself--
_Ast_. Bless me, sweet heaven!--
So horrid, said you, madam?
_Queen_. That sun, who with one look surveys the globe,
Sees not a wretch like me!--And could the world
Take a right measure of my state within,
Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me.
_Ast_. Sure none could do the last.
_Queen_. Thou longest to know it,
And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth.
First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly;
And, next, be secret.
_Ast_. Can you doubt it, madam?
_Queen_. Yet you might spare my labour:--
Can you not guess?
_Ast_. Madam, please you, I'll try.
_Queen_. Hold, Asteria!--
I would not have you guess; for should you find it,
I should imagine that some other might,
And then I were most wretched:--
Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me,
And say you could not guess it.
_Ast_. Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot--and yet,
Might not ambition trouble your repose?
_Queen_. My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me.
But, since I must reveal it, know,--'tis love:
I, who pretended so to glory, am
Become the slave of love.
_Ast_. I thought your majesty had framed designs
To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant,
Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars;
Is this all, madam?
_Queen_. Is not this enough?
Then, know, I love below myself; a subject;
Love one, who loves another, and who knows not
That I love him.
_Ast_. He must be told it, madam.
_Queen_. Not for the world, Asteria:
Whene'er he knows it, I shall die for shame.
_Ast_. What is it, then, that would content you?
_Queen_. Nothing, but that I had not lov'd.
_Ast_. May I not ask, without offence, who 'tis?
_Queen_. Ev'n that confirms me, I have loved amiss;
Since thou canst know I love, and not imagine
It must be Philocles.
_Ast_. My cousin is, indeed, a most deserving person;
Valiant, and wise; handsome, and well-born.
_Queen_. But not of royal blood:
I know his fate, unfit to be a king.
To be his wife, I could forsake my crown; but not my glory:
Yet--would he did not love Candiope;
Would he loved me--but knew not of my love,
Or e'er durst tell me his.
_Ast_. In all this labyrinth,
I find one path, conducting to our quiet.
_Queen_. O tell me quickly then!
_Ast_. Candiope, as princess of the blood,
Without your approbation cannot marry:
First, break his match with her, by virtue of
Your sovereign authority.
_Queen_. I fear, that were to make him hate me,
Or, what's as bad, to let him know, I love him:
Could you not do it of yourself?
_Ast_. I'll not be wanting to my pow'r:
But if your majesty appears not in it,
The love of Philocles will soon surmount
All other difficulties.
_Queen_. Then, as we walk, we'll think what means are best;
Effect but this, and thou shar'st half my breast.
[_Exeunt_.
ACT II.
SCENE I--_The Queens Apartment_.
ASTERIA _alone_.
Nothing thrives that I have plotted;
For I have sounded Philocles, and find
He is too constant to Candiope:
Her too I have assaulted, but in vain,
Objecting want of quality in Philocles.
I'll to the queen, and plainly tell her,
She must make use of her authority
To break the match.
_Enter_ CELADON _looking about him_.
Brother! what make you here
About the queen's apartments?
Which of the ladies are you watching for?
_Cel_. Any of 'em, that will do me the good turn, to make me
soundly in love.
_Ast_. Then I'll bespeak you one, you will be desperately in love
with; Florimel: So soon as the queen heard you were returned, she gave
you her for mistress.
_Cel_. Thank her majesty; but, to confess the truth, my fancy
lies partly another way.
_Ast_. That's strange: Florimel vows you are already in love with
her.
_Cel_. She wrongs me horribly; if ever I saw or spoke with this
Florimel--
_Ast_. Well, take your fortune, I must leave you.
[_Exit_ ASTERIA.
_Enter_ FLORIMEL, _sees him, and is running back_.
_Cel_. Nay, i'faith I am got betwixt you and home; you are my
prisoner, lady bright, till you resolve me one question.
[_She makes signs she is dumb_.]
Pox, I think, she's dumb: what a vengeance dost thou at court, with
such a rare face, without a tongue to answer to a kind question? Art
thou dumb indeed? then thou canst tell no tales--
[_Goes to kiss her_.
_Flo_. Hold, hold, you are not mad!
_Cel_. Oh, my miss in a mask! have you found your tongue?
_Flo_. 'Twas time, I think; what had become of me if I had not?
_Cel_. Me thinks your lips had done as well.
_Flo_. Ay, if my mask had been over 'em, as it was when you met
me in the walks.
_Cel_. Well; will you believe me another time? Did not I say,
you were infinitely handsome? they may talk of Florimel, if they will,
but, i'faith, she must come short of you.
_Flo_. Have you seen her, then?
_Cel_. I look'd a little that way, but I had soon enough of her;
she is not to be seen twice without a surfeit.
_Flo_. However, you are beholden to her; they say she loves you.
_Cel_. By fate she shan't love me: I have told her a piece of
my mind already? Pox o' these coming women: They set a man to dinner,
before he has an appetite. [FLAVIA _at the door_.
_Fla_. Florimel, you are call'd within--[_Exit_.
_Cel_. I hope in the lord, you are not Florimel!
_Flo_. Ev'n she, at your service; the same kind and coming
Florimel, you have described.
_Cel_. Why then we are agreed already: I am as kind and coming
as you, for the heart of you: I knew, at first, we two were good for
nothing but one another.
_Flo_. But, without raillery, are you in love?
_Cel_. So horribly much, that, contrary to my own maxims, I
think, in my conscience, I could marry you.
_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; but if you are really
in love, you have done me the greatest pleasure in the world.
_Cel_. That pleasure, and a better too, I have in store for you.
_Flo_. This animal, call'd a lover, I have long'd to see these
two years.
_Cel_. Sure you walk'd with your mask on all the while; for if
you had been seen, you could not have been without your wish.
_Flo_. I warrant, you mean an ordinary whining lover; but I must
have other proofs of love, ere I believe it.
_Cel_. You shall have the best that I can give you.
_Flo_. I would have a lover, that, if need be, should hang
himself, drown himself, break his neck, poison himself, for very
despair: He, that will scruple this, is an impudent fellow if he says
he is in love.
_Cel_. Pray, madam, which of these four things would you have
your lover to do? For a man's but a man; he cannot hang, and drown,
and break his neck, and poison himself, all together.
_Flo_. Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would
not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way.
_Cel_. I am much deceiv'd in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a
song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you,
than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned.
_Flo_. However, you will grant it is but decent you should be
pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love: And that I
shall require of you when I see you next.
_Cel_. When you see me next? Why you do not make a rabbit of me,
to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn
day-light, lose time and love.
_Flo_. Would you marry me without consideration?
_Cel_. To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on't, twenty to
one would never do it. Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night
is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world.
_Flo_. Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well:
I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before
morning.
_Cel_. That's much as your pillow is laid, before you go to
sleep.
_Flo_. Shall I make a proposition to you? I will give you a whole
year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober,
and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover--
_Cel_. And at the end of it, you'll marry me?
_Flo_. If neither of us alter our minds before.
_Cel_. By this light a necessary clause. But if I pay in all
the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me
sooner into mercy.
_Flo_. Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a
twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so
many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your 'prenticeship
so much more: And of all this, I only to be judge.
_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ LYSIMANTES.
_Lys_. Is the queen this way, madam?
_Flo_. I'll see, so please your highness: Follow me, captive.
_Cel_. March on, conqueror--[_She pulls him_.
[_Exeunt_ CEL. FLO.
_Lys_. You're sure her majesty will not oppose it?
_Phil_. Leave that to me, my lord.
_Lys_. Then, tho' perhaps my sister's birth might challenge
An higher match,
I'll weigh your merits, on the other side,
To make the balance even.
_Phil_. I go, my lord, this minute.
_Lys_. My best wishes wait on you.
[_Exit_ LYSIMANTES.
_Enter the Queen and_ ASTERIA.
_Queen_. Yonder he is; have I no other way?
_Ast_. O madam, you must stand this brunt:
Deny him now, and leave the rest to me:
I'll to Candiope's mother,
And, under the pretence of friendship, work
On her ambition to put off a match
So mean as Philocles.
_Queen_. You may approach, sir; [_To_ PHIL.
We two discourse no secrets.
_Phil_. I come, madam, to weary out your royal
bounty.
_Queen_. Some suit, I warrant, for your cousin Celadon.
Leave his advancement to my care.
_Phil_. Your goodness still prevents my wishes.--
Yet I have one request,
Might it not pass almost for madness, and
Extreme ambition in me--
_Queen_. You know you have a favourable judge;
It lies in you not to ask any thing
I cannot grant.
_Phil_. Madam, perhaps, you think me too faulty:
But love alone inspires me with ambition,
Tho' but to look on fair Candiope were an excuse for both.
_Queen_. Keep your ambition, and let love alone:
That I can cloy, but this I cannot cure.
I have some reasons (invincible to me) which must forbid
Your marriage with Candiope.
_Phil_. I knew I was not worthy.
_Queen_. Not for that, Philocles; you deserve all things,
And, to shew I think it, my admiral, I hear, is dead;
His vacant place (the best in all my kingdom,)
I here confer on you.
_Phil_. Rather take back all you had giv'n before,
Than not give this;
For believe, madam, nothing is so near
My soul, as the possession of Candiope.
_Queen_. Since that belief would be to your disadvantage,
I will not entertain it.
_Phil_. Why, madam, can you be thus cruel to me?
To give me all things, which I did not ask,
And yet deny that only thing, I beg:
And so beg, that I find I cannot live
Without the hope of it.
_Queen_. Hope greater things;
But hope not this. Haste to o'ercome your love;
It is but putting a short-liv'd passion to a violent death.
_Phil_. I cannot live without Candiope;
But I can die, without a murmur,
Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth.
_Queen_. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles,
But live without, (I was about to say) [_Aside_.
Without his love, but that I cannot do;
Live Philocles without Candiope.
_Phil_. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly,
And knew it was irrevocable!
'Tis too apparent,
You, who alone love glory, and whose soul
Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge
What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures.
_Queen_. I cannot suffer you
To give me praises, which are not my own:
I love like you, and am yet much more wretched,
Than you can think yourself.
_Phil_. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts
'Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire.
When princes love, they call themselves unhappy;
Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover's mouth;
But you can cease to be so when you please,
By making Lysimantes fortunate.
_Queen_. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason;
But 'tis another, more without my power,
And yet a subject too.
_Phil_. O, madam, say not so:
It cannot be a subject, if not he;
It were to be injurious to yourself
To make another choice.
_Queen_. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love,
Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun:
He has a brightness of his own,
Not borrowed of his father's, but born with him.
_Phil_. Pardon me if I say, whoe'er he be,
He has practis'd some ill arts upon you, madam;
For he, whom you describe, I see, is born
But from the lees o' the people.
_Queen_. You offend me, Philocles.
Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms,
Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you,
(Since foolishly I have gone thus far)
Whom I esteem your equal,
And far superior to prince Lysimantes;
One, who deserves to wear a crown--
_Phil_. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live
To that detested day!--That frown assures me
I have offended, by my over-freedom;
But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest,
And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it.
_Queen_. I give it you; but,
When you know him better,
You'll alter your opinion; he's no ill friend of yours.
_Phil_. I well perceive,
He has supplanted me in your esteem;
But that's the least of ills this fatal wretch
Has practised--Think, for heaven's sake, madam, think,
If you have drunk no philtre.
_Queen_. Yes, he has given me a philtre;
But I have drunk it only from his eyes.
_Phil_. Hot irons thank 'em for't!
[_Softly, or turning from her_.
_Queen_. What's that you mutter?
Hence from my sight! I know not whether
I ever shall endure to see you more.
_Phil_. But hear me, madam.
_Queen_. I say, begone.--See me no more this day.--
I will not hear one word in your excuse:
Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen.
[_Exit_ PHILOCLES _bowing_.
Asteria, come hither.
Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles?
Help me to reproach him, for I resolve
Henceforth no more to love him.
_Ast_. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam:
Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action,
How full of haughtiness, how small respect?
_Queen_. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured,
Nay more, he whom I loved?
_Ast_. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence!
_Queen_. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant,
Or so--Yet this to me!--
_Ast_. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour,
The creature of rash love; one of those meteors
Which monarchs raise from earth,
And people, wondering how they came so high,
Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine.
_Queen_. Ha!
_Ast_. One, whom, instead of banishing a day,
You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours,
And let him see what abject things they are,
Whom princes often love without desert.
_Queen_. What has my Philocles deserved from thee,
That thou shouldst use him thus?
Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not
Have given him ruder language.
_Ast_. Did not your majesty command me?
Did not yourself begin?
_Queen_. I grant I did, but I have right to do it:
I love him, and may rail; in you 'tis malice;
Malice in the most high degree; for never man
Was more deserving than my Philocles.
Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title?
Confess, and I'll forgive you--
For none can look on him, but needs must love.
_Ast_. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty,
Have better thoughts of me.
_Queen_. Dost thou not love him then?
Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she?
How most invincibly insensible!
No woman does deserve to live,
That loves not Philocles.
_Ast_. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas!
How much distracted are your thoughts; and how
Disjointed all your words!
The sibyl's leaves more orderly were laid.
Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence,
Which guided all you did? that sense of glory,
Which raised you high above the rest of kings,
As kings are o'er the level of mankind?
_Queen_. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone,
Or lost within me, far from any use.
Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds,
But straight I am o'ercast.
_Ast_. I grieve to see it.
_Queen_. Then thou hast yet the goodness
To pardon what I said?
Alas! I use myself much worse than thee.
Love rages in great souls,
For there his power most opposition finds;
High trees are shook, because they dare the winds.
[_Exeunt_.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_The Court Gallery_.
PHILOCLES _solus_.
'Tis true, she banished me but for a day;
But favourites, once declining, sink apace.
Yet fortune, stop--this is the likeliest place
To meet Asteria, and by her convey
My humble vows to my offended queen.
Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man,
Where shall I hide?--[_Is going out_.
_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA.
_Queen_. Is not that Philocles,
Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles!--
_Phil_. I feared she saw me. [_Coming back_.
_Queen_. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear,
That I scare people from me?
_Phil_. 'Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned
The place where you might be; as, when it thunders,
Men reverently quit the open air,
Because the angry gods are then abroad.
_Queen_. What does he mean, Asteria?
I do not understand him.
_Ast_. Your majesty forgets, you banished him
Your presence for this day. [_To her softly_.
_Queen_. Ha! banished him! 'tis true indeed;
But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite.
_Ast_. That's very strange, scarce half an hour ago.
_Queen_. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon,
That I forgot he e'er offended me.
_Phil_. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner;
Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in
On narrow banks, o'erflowed my spirits.
_Queen_. No: 'tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles,
For the great injury I did you,
In not remembering I was angry with you:
But I'll repair my fault,
And rouse my anger up against you yet.
_Phil_. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace,
And I lay hold of it.
_Queen_. Princes sometimes may pass
Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong.
_Phil_. 'Tis true, but not recal them.
_Queen_. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one
I love, I will go on, and let you know
What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge,
Whether my servant have dealt well with me.
_Phil_. I beseech your majesty, excuse me:
Any thing more of him may make me
Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon.
_Queen_. But you'll be glad to know it.
_Phil_. May I not hope, then,
You have some quarrel to him?
_Queen_. Yes, a great one.
But first to justify myself:
Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion
With such care from him, that he knows not yet
I love, but only that I much esteem him.
_Phil_. O stupid wretch,
That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it!
_Queen_. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him.
_Phil_. He's blind indeed!
So the dull beasts in the first paradise,
With levelled eyes, gazed each upon their kind;
There fixed their love, and ne'er looked up to view
That glorious creature man, their sovereign lord.
_Queen_. Y'are too severe on little faults; but he
Has crimes, untold,
Which will, I fear, move you much more against him.
He fell this day into a passion with me,
And boldly contradicted all I said.
_Phil_. And stands his head upon his shoulders yet?
How long shall this most insolent--
_Queen_. Take heed you rail not;
You know you are but on your good behaviour.
_Phil_. Why then I will not call him traitor,
But only rude, audacious, and impertinent,
To use his sovereign so--I beg your leave
To wish, you have at least imprisoned him.
_Queen_. Some people may speak ill, and yet mean well:
Remember you were not confined; and yet
Your fault was great. In short, I love him,
And that excuses all; but be not jealous;
His rising shall not be your overthrow,
Nor will I ever marry him.
_Phil_. That's some comfort yet;
He shall not be a king.
_Queen_. He never shall. But you are discomposed;
Stay here a little; I have somewhat for you,
Shall shew, you still are in my favour.
[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA.
_Enter to him_ CANDIOPE, _weeping_.